#this is great what a great start to the day

[justmylvr]

everlasting.

new dad!katsuki bakugo x fem reader.

a/n: aaaAH! i know i might have mistyped his personality a little bit but i got so excited.

despite the pain you were in, this was heaven. it was a dream come true when you saw your husband holding your little baby, when he carried her carseat out, and how tender he was with her.

she was perfect. she had the prettiest blonde hair, thick and curly which hadn't been expected. your eyes were practically glued to her during the hospital stay. though katsuki already kicked in protectiveness into gear, not allowing her to leave the room unless he accompanied them. he's heard too many stories about babies being switched or just taken.

it was a week after and you two were so, very confused. she had slept through every. single. night. without an issue. the doctor you guys had visited to check on both you and her found nothing to be wrong. she was perfectly healthy, she just found her perfect rhythm. of course you had to make a bottle up and feed her every few hours, though not being extremely sleep deprived was really beneficial.

katsuki took wonderful care of both you and hayami. he was terribly stubborn in everything, especially with you getting up. he wanted to make sure you were as comfortable as you could be. he would pick you up half the time you needed anything, grumbling something about 'don't be an idiot'.

some of your favorite moments of the day are when the three of you woke up a little earlier than normal. it had been cloudy the past 3 days so you guys would spend the morning outside. this morning was no different.

katsuki had brought out a cup of tea and a bottle for hayami, quickly going inside to grab what remained. he returned with two plates of food, the smell absolutely divine. he set them on the table infront of you, motioning to give him the baby. with a small rag settled against his shoulder, he sat down carefully with the little one in his hands.

"eat before it gets cold, baby." he mumbled, giving you a look before his attention shifted. he looked down at the small baby nestled in the crook of his arm, nothing but love in his eyes.

he grabbed the bottle, giving it a quick shake before angling it into her mouth. once she took to it, he nodded and hummed.

"look, great eater like her mama." he said proudly, nodding at your already half eaten plate. he chuckled as you swatted a hand at him, knowing he was right.

"she gets it from you too. you cook great and eat just as good." you hummed, trying to defend yourself playfully. he simply rolled his eyes at you and focused back on the baby.

once the little one had finished, he held her again his chest, patting her back gently. as he did this, he leaned forward slightly, looking between you and his food. you got the idea as you started to feed him, quiet thanks coming through each bite.

eventually everybody had eaten, katsuki holding your hand as he leaned back. he held hayami against his chest, his right hand settled on her back. she slept peacefully as you two talked quietly. the sight before you was one the would be everlasting.

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

need more nanami and yapper gf!!!! Please please pleaseeeee

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ teddy’s notes: your wish is my command!!! this is based on a couple of scenarios from this post. enjoy!!

nanami looked like he had been through war.

his tie was loosened, his usually neat hair was slightly disheveled, and he carried the aura of a man who had exhausted every last ounce of patience.

he barely acknowledged you as he set his briefcase down, exhaling sharply as he shrugged off his coat.

you, of course, saw this as a perfect opportunity.

“darling,” you called from your place on the couch, voice dripping with false concern.

nanami sighed. “what.”

you turned to him with wide, sympathetic eyes. “who hurt you?”

he gave you a look. “the world.”

“tragic,” you sighed, patting the spot beside you. “come, sit. tell me all about it. i’ll be your emotional support animal.”

nanami stared at you for a long moment before slowly, exhaustedly, sinking onto the couch beside you.

he leaned his head back against the cushions, closing his eyes. “long day.”

“i knew it,” you said, crossing your arms. “i could feel the tragic main character energy radiating off you the moment you walked in.”

nanami didn’t even open his eyes. “don’t start.”

“don’t start?” you echoed, scandalized. “nanami kento, have we met?”

he sighed again, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

you saw the cracks forming.

so you leaned in, lowering your voice dramatically. “he’s struggling. he pinches the bridge of his nose, a man burdened by the weight of responsibility. his jaw tightens. his shoulders are stiff. but through it all—he remains strong.”

nanami’s eyes finally opened, just so he could give you the flattest look imaginable.

“he sighs,” you continued, undeterred, “a sound so deep, so weary, it could shake the heavens. he suffers in silence—”

“i am not suffering,” nanami interrupted, voice heavy with exhaustion.

you gasped. “oh, but you are. a tortured soul, caught in the throes of capitalism and incompetence—”

“i regret coming home.”

“no, you don’t,” you said smugly, flopping against his side.

nanami exhaled as you rested your head against his shoulder. despite his complaints, he didn’t move away.

you tilted your head up to look at him, eyes twinkling with mischief. “oh? what’s this? a moment of vulnerability? has the brooding sorcerer finally let down his walls?”

he shut his eyes again. “i am begging you to stop narrating my life.”

“never,” you said firmly.

nanami groaned, but there was no stopping you now.

“and yet,” you whispered dramatically, “despite all odds… despite his desperate pleas for peace… he allows the menace to stay.”

“no choice,” he muttered. “you’d just break in if I locked the door.”

“he knows me well,” you agreed. “and, deep down, perhaps… he even likes it.”

nanami huffed.

but it wasn’t his usual exhausted sigh. it was softer. lighter.

you grinned.

“oh?” you gasped. “was that—”

“no,” nanami said immediately.

“it was. it was a laugh. a chuckle, even!” you sat up, turning to face him fully. “i’ve done it. i’ve cracked the code!”

nanami opened one eye. “do you ever run out of energy?”

“nope,” you said, popping the ‘p.’ “and lucky for you, i’m here to restore yours.”

before he could respond, you swung a leg over his lap, straddling him. nanami blinked up at you, looking both unimpressed and amused.

“ah,” he said dryly, hands settling on your hips. “so this is your great cure for exhaustion.”

“it’s part one,” you said, reaching up to smooth your fingers through his hair.

he hummed, closing his eyes for a brief moment as you massaged his scalp.

“and part two?” he asked, voice lower now.

you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

“this,” you murmured, trailing kisses along his cheek, down to his jaw.

nanami let out a slow breath, his grip on your hips tightening just slightly.

“mm,” he hummed. “better than your usual nonsense.”

“excuse me,” you scoffed, pulling back to glare at him. “my nonsense is the reason you’re feeling better right now.”

he tilted his head, considering. “debatable.”

you gasped.

“how dare you.”

nanami smirked, tilting his head back against the couch, waiting for your inevitable response.

you narrowed your eyes, then grabbed his face with both hands and smushed his cheeks together.

“take it back,” you demanded.

he made a noise of protest, voice muffled by your hands.

“what was that? didn’t quite catch it,” you said, grinning.

nanami exhaled sharply through his nose. then, without warning, he grabbed your wrists, flipped you onto the couch, and pinned you beneath him in one smooth motion.

you blinked up at him, momentarily stunned.

“you were saying?” nanami asked, leaning down so his nose brushed yours.

“um,” you squeaked. “hello.”

his lips twitched. “hello.”

you cleared your throat, regaining your composure. “so, what i meant was—”

nanami kissed you before you could finish.

it was slow, lingering—his lips warm and steady against yours.

when he pulled back, his thumb brushed along your cheek. “thank you,” he murmured.

you blinked. “for what?”

“for making me laugh,” he admitted. “for making me feel… lighter.”

your chest ached at how soft he sounded.

so, naturally, you ruined the moment.

“so you do admit my nonsense is good for you.”

nanami sighed. “i should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

“too late,” you said smugly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “now come back here and kiss me again, grumpy man.”

nanami huffed. “menace.”

but he kissed you anyway.

[reminiscingtonight]

Just Friends

Jana Fernández x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

[WOSO Masterlist]

The arms that wrap around your waist should shock you. They come out of nowhere, entrapping you in a mini-prison that smells like the perfect blend of vanilla and coffee. 

You’ve never been an overly touchy person, even the slightest brush from your national teammates often resulting in a hole being burned into their face. 

So yeah, the arms that wrap around you should shock you. 

But they don’t.

Jana’s grinning your way when you turn your head, the older girl giving you an affectionate squeeze that nearly lifts you off your feet before she lets go. 

“Are we still having dinner tonight?”

You nod, her smile infectious as the corner of your lips tick upwards. “Of course. You still dropping by like seven-ish?”

“Six. You said you were going to teach me how to play… what was it…” the Spanish girl falls silent as she thinks hard about a conversation the two of you had late after a game the other day. “Ah yes! Play speed!” She blinks. “Whatever that means.”

You bite back a giggle and nod, waving the older girl goodbye when Vicky tugs at her arm for attention. Jana looks conflicted for a second but you give her a goodhearted shove, shooing her off to entertain Vicky's burning questions before training starts. 

You trail slightly behind, taking your time walking out onto the pitch. There’s a slight haze already settling in as you begin tying your hair up. It’s a slightly warmer than normal day, the sun up and blazing already. You’re not used to such temperatures, regular rainy skies plaguing the skies back home. But you’re not one to complain. Anything’s better than having to figure out the logistics of lugging water clogged tops, soggy shorts, and anything in between back home after training. 

Your brief period of solace is broken by the presence of another body sliding up next to you. 

“So you and Jana, huh?”

Lost in thought, it takes you a second to realize Patri’s talking to you, a soft smile breaking on your face when you finally do. “Jana? Oh yeah, she’s been great. I don’t think I’ve ever made a friend so quickly before.”

There’s a scoff before the older girl is nudging your shoulder. “Just a friend?”

You frown. “Yes? I mean, I hope she thinks of me as a friend. She’s so cool.”

There’s a second where Patri freezes. Then she’s looking at you strangely. She seems to ponder her choice of words before settling with a simple, “Chica, she likes you.”

Your face brightens. “Really?”

Patri has to bite back her groan at the clear misunderstanding painted all over your face. The pure joy that can only come when finding out your “coolness” status rather than romantic interest. 

“Si. She likes likes you.”

A beat passes. 

Patri watches as your eyebrows furrow together, trying to decipher her words.

“You know. Like more than a friend?”

“What?” Your head jerks up, eyes growing wide. “Jana doesn’t like me like that! She’s just being nice!”

You frantically turn your head, checking to see if Jana could hear your conversation. The last thing you’d want is Jana hearing Patri’s conspiracies and writing you off as a crazy follower.

The defender’s on the other side of the pitch, clearly nowhere close enough to hear a single thing Patri’s said to you. But almost as if she could sense your gaze on her, Jana raises her eyes to meet yours, shooting you a smile before turning back to her conversation with Vicky.

“See?”

“See what?” You shove Patri’s arm off your shoulder, making a point to slap the teasing finger she raises to poke at your forehead. “Jana is being nice. Nice people smile when others look their way!”

Patri rolls her eyes. “Well you don’t see Jana offering to cook me dinner now do you?”

“You’re an adult. I sure hope Jana’s not offering to cook for you. You should know how to do that yourself.”

“You’re missing the point,” she groans, hands reaching out as if to shake some sense into you before quickly deciding against it. Instead, she sighs before giving your shoulder a couple awkward pats. “You know what, forget it. Just… never change.”

There’s a couple muttered words you fail to catch, words that sound suspiciously like ‘stupid’ and ‘idiot’, but Patri’s gone before you can question her. Shrugging, you don’t think much about it, chalking the conversation off to Patri being a weirdo. 

At least you don’t think too much about it until suddenly it’s night and Jana’s in your place and then it’s all you can think about it. 

“Jana?”

The older girl hums, stirring the pot she’s been working on for a while. 

Whatever she’s making smells heavenly. Your card game has long been abandoned in favor of cooking dinner. And by cooking dinner you mean Jana doing absolutely everything and you just giving her moral support. 

It’s honestly quite impressive how you’ve managed to survive this long being a professional footballer. Cooking has never been your forte, jumping from teammate to teammate who were willing to feed you back at your last club. And in Spain? Yeah, that was all Jana.

“Do you like me?”

Jana laughs, eyes crinkling adorably when she tilts her head to meet your gaze. “Yes? Why? What have you heard?”

You shrug. “Patri was just being silly today.”

Jana rolls her eyes. “Whatever Patri said she was probably lying.”

Her response gets a frown, your feelings of elation quickly turning to confusion. “So you don’t like me?”

There’s a slight pause as Jana blinks, fixing you with a confused look. “What? No, I do.”

“But you just said Patri lies.”

“She told you I liked you?”

You nod timidly. 

Jana’s got that look on her face again, the one that tells you she’s thinking really hard about something. You’re not sure exactly what that means, but then Jana’s slowly nodding. “Okay. Well I… Yes. I like you.”

You let out a long breath. It feels like relief but at the same time it doesn’t. You’re not sure how to describe the icky feeling that starts to grow in your chest. 

“I told Patri she was being stupid.”

It’s clear Jana’s completely lost the direction of the conversation, the older girl now looking the most perplexed you’ve seen in a while. “Why was she stupid?”

“Well she, er--” your brain grinds to a halt, not having thought this well ahead. All you wanted to do was prove Patri was just pulling your leg, but you didn’t actually want to bring to Jana’s attention the contents of your conversation. Really walked yourself straight down a hole it seems. “Well Patri thought that you might like me. Like, romantically.”

Jana doesn’t say anything, hands coming to a still on the stove. The longer the silence drags on the more antsy you become.

“But she was just being stupid. You know Patri, always a joker.”

Jana’s frown deepens. “What? No. She’s right. I like you. A lot.” Her eyes widen suddenly, everything clicking all at once. “Wait, you didn’t know that?”

Your mouth drops open. “What-- what do you mean you like me?”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“What-- How was I supposed to know?”

Jana gives you a look. 

You feel like you’re on a different planet, thoughts getting all jumbled up in your brain. 

Jana likes you? 

She likes you. 

She likes you a lot. 

Oh god, Jana likes you and you’re pretty sure you like her too. 

You must have been quiet for too long because Jana’s grabbing your hands to pull your attention back to her. 

“Hey, where’s that head of yours at?”

You shrug, trying to fight the blush that’s threatening to rise to your cheeks. Because now that you’re thinking about it, Jana actually likes you and you like her and she’s really, really, really pretty. 

“So I’m going to assume you didn’t realize those three dates we’ve been on were actually dates?

You look at Jana. 

She looks right back. 

You blink. 

She blinks. 

Silence. 

Then,

“I’m sorry, we’ve what?!”

[plutoslastwords]

I see lando as a single dad too and I was wondering if you’d ever write daughter!reader when she’s a teenager and is going through, well her first menstrual cycle and he’s so completely lost lol

shark week

lando norris x daughter!reader

summary: lando has no idea how a woman's body works, baby norris doesn't listen in health class. the outcome? chaos.

warnings: your first period?

w/c: 1.5k

a/n: okay so i know that it may be unrealistic that a 12 year old would have never heard of a period but idc. it works in the story. sorry for being so mia!! school is terrible atm 😩😩 love you all!! promise i am working on the requests xx

~~~

Going to high school in Monaco was not fun at the best of times.

Everyone says that surely it must be great! It’s Monaco! But when you don’t speak the language fluently - though you have got quite good after living there for 12 years of your life - and have just transferred to a new secondary school where you know no one, life isn’t great. 

Everyone in Monaco has one or two parents who are rich and famous in some way, meaning you can’t even pull the famous dad card to get yourself some friends. You’re stuck sitting alone at lunch, and being picked last for every team.

Lando hates it. He hates it so so much. He doesn't think he can stand seeing his baby coming home sad every afternoon, and he hates how sometimes he can’t be there to comfort you when life is feeling especially tough. He’s debated many a time just sending you to a boarding school back in England, where at least you could speak the same language as the kids there, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to cope with being apart from you for that much of the year.

Therefore, both you and your dad just have to cope with the unfortunate situations, hoping and wishing that soon enough you’ll find your own feet and make some friends. 

Back to the fact that school in Monaco isn’t great on the best days, school in Monaco is absolute hell on the worst days.

On this particular day, you were sitting in Maths class, your least favourite, how were you meant to be able to understand maths in French when you didn’t even understand it in English. It was whilst the teacher was going on about something to do with algebra that you decided that you’d had enough, you put your hand up and quickly asked to go to the bathroom, you weren’t bothered about this anymore.

You took your normal long route around school to get to the bathrooms, having no intention of going back to your maths class anytime soon. You finally get to the bathrooms and it is there that you learn that you’re going to die.

You know that it is not normal to have blood in your pants. It can’t be normal. You must be dying. You sit there in shock for a moment, before starting to hyperventilate and presume the worst. 

When looking back, Lando knows that it is probably his fault that you got yourself into this situation. You never really listened in your Health classes, as they were all in French, and so it was probably his responsibility to educate you on what was going to happen at a certain point, but he’s still just a young guy, that was not top of his list of what he wanted to talk to his preteen daughter about!

You sit in the bathroom stall sobbing and shaking, surely this is the end, you were practically waiting for the Grim Reaper himself to come and pluck you away. In your disorientated mind the only thing that you can think to do is call Lando.

“Daddy I’m dying!” You bawl into the phone, the words barely coming out through your intense sobs.

Immediately Lando drops everything he was doing, freezing at your distressed tone, his mind going straight to the worst. “Baby?!? What’s going on, are you okay?!?” He practically shouts down the phone.

“No!!” You sob, “I’m dying!!!! Daddy please pick me up I-” You don’t finish your sentence because enough intense sob comes in the way and you fall back into hysterically crying.

Lando doesn’t even think twice before leaping up from his desk and rushing to grab his car keys. “I’m on my way, my angel, you’re gonna be okay, daddy’s gonna look after you.” He tries to soothe, but the worry in his voice is evident. 

When he arrives you’re still a sobbing mess, but you have to drag your tear stained body out of the cubicle and to the front office in order to be dismissed. When you see Lando you immediately jump into his arms, sobs wracking your body.

“Oh darling…”  He says, brokenly, he hates seeing you like this, “What’s happened, my love?” 

You don’t respond, too distressed, he seems to get the message and manoeuvres you to the car, where he drives home as quick as he can, to get you someplace familiar, hoping that that will soothe you slightly.

It works, partially. By the time that you’re home your sobbing has lessened, but you’re still nowhere near stable, still almost shaking with the fear that you’re feeling. Lando sits you down on the sofa with a glass of water, putting an arm around your shoulders.

“Baby, tell me what’s going on.”

“I-I’m dying!! I’m bleeding and I’m dying!” You sniffle.

Suddenly everything clicks for Lando and then his mind goes completely blank. Shit, shit shit shit shit shit. He was not ready for this day, not ready whatsoever. 

“I-uhm-oh.” He stutters, not knowing what to say. “Y-you’re not dying, sweetheart, okay?”

“Yes I am!!! I’m dying!!!”

He has no idea what to do. He was hoping he had a year or two left before today came, but apparently luck was not on his side. He sits there, staring blankly at you, as you continue to cry. 

“Baby, I promise you you’re not dying, why don’t you go change your clothes and I’ll come up to your room in a sec and we’ll chat, okay?”

You shuffle to your room, still sobbing but if you’re dad seems so confident that you’re okay, then surely that means something…?

Lando paces around in a panic downstairs, waiting for his sister to answer the damn phone. There is no way that he can be doing this with no help.

After a horrible phone call, with a lot of him being laughed at by his sister for having a 12 year old daughter and still knowing fuck all about the menstrual cycle, he feels more prepared to actually talk to you.

You’re sitting in your bed, covered in blankets and watching a movie when he knocks at your door.

“Darling, can I come in?” 

You hum in response, tired from all of the sobbing and therefore not bothered to actually speak. He enters, with a shopping bag in his hand.

“How're you feeling, my angel?”

You shrug, curling up smaller in your blanket ball.

“Oh, baby, you’re okay, I promise, it’s all natural, okay?”

“Doesn’t feel natural…”

“It’s your period, angel. It’s your body getting ready for pregnancy”

You pull a face of absolute horror at that, “I’m pregnant?!??!”

His eyes widen and he backtracks immediately “No, no, no, no, you’re not pregnant, absolutely not.” He shudders at the thought, “It’s just so that maybe, at some point in the future, if you do get pregnant, your body is gonna be prepared…”

“So I’m gonna bleed until I get pregnant?”

“No, no, just for a couple days every month…”

“For how long?”

“Uhm, I’m not sure about that… like until your 40? I don’t know…”

“40?!??!?! I don’t want to bleed every month until I’m 40!!!!”

“I know, baby, but it’s just something that all women have to go through, it’s just a natural part of life, you’ll learn to cope with it…”

You pause, taking in his words, before eventually nodding in understanding, but that doesn’t mean that you’re done talking, much to Lando’s dismay, who’d quite like to get this conversation over and done with.

“So why do I need to bleed to be ready for pregnancy?” You question.

Lando knows this one, he practised it on the phone with his sister, “It’s the wall of your uterus shedding-”

“Ew.”

“Because your body got itself ready to be pregnant, and then obviously the egg was never fertilised.”

“So if I did get pregnant then I wouldn’t get my period?”

“Yes, I think.”

“Hm.”

“It’s all very normal, sweetheart, this just means that you’re healthy, okay?”

“Mhm…”

“Good..” He smiles, “You all good?”

“Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“What am I gonna do now..? With, you know, uhm- I don’t wanna ruin all my underwear…”

“Oh! Yes, that..” He reaches into his bag, “So, uh- these will stick on top of your underwear, and like uh- catch the blood, I guess.. And then you throw them away after wearing them for like 5 hours or so… That sound okay?”

You nod, slightly sceptical, but oh well.

Eventually, Lando leaves to go and do his own thing, and you stew in the knowledge of your new life. After getting yourself showered and cleaned up, as well as trying your new items, you shuffle downstairs, just needing a hug.

“Hey, baby…” Your dad smiles, as he sits on the tv, watching some nonsense reality show.

You don’t reply, just nestling yourself next to him, needing his comforting touch. He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“My baby… getting so big… daddy loves you, more than anything…”

~~~

a/n: fank you for reading!!11 send in any requests xx

[yailtsv]

Secret - p.b

💌 Syn: Azzi’s younger sister dates one of their teammates behind Azzi’s back

»»— warnings: none i don’t think

»»— notes: i hate how this one turned out 🤠

»»— word count: 917

»»— pair: Paige x Fudd!Gfreader

“shhh we gotta be quiet” you tell paige after she knocked something off of your dresser when sneaking in

paige just ignores you and picks up what she dropped and then closed and locked your bedroom door - heading towards you.

you and azzi share a dorm together with caroline, carols asleep and azzi’s in her room doing homework, so what did you do? called your girlfriend to come over

but…said girlfriend has to sneak in because you both are hiding your relationship. azzi would not approve of your relationship and you both aren’t gonna ask your teammates to lie for you so you can be public around them, that’s just insane.

so that gets you to where you are right now - watching paige get clothes from the bottom drawer of your dresser, and then changing into those clothes

“movie and cuddles?” paige asked after putting the clothes she just took off, onto your desk chair for her to grab when she leaves

you nod, already getting in your bed and under the covers, making paige do the same

you both fell asleep watching the movie, all cuddled up together. but you both woke up to consistent knocking, only waking up fully when you heard azzi say through the door “alright fine i’m using the key” making both of you sit up startled, but before you could move and push paige into your closet the door had opened and in walked azzi.

you could see azzi’s facial expression change, you could tell when she put the scene in front of her together in her brain, you could also see the look of hurt and betrayal all across her face

“az-“ “no! do not say anything!” she tells you before turning to face paige “you’re sleeping with my sister? AFTER i told you she was off limits?”

paige doesn’t really know what to say. azzi’s right, she did tell paige that you were off limits - and has been telling her since paige and azzi first met - which was years ago. paige did follow through with that, up until last year.

she never showed she was attracted to you - she was even in denial with her feelings for you. she always treated you as a friend - a very close friend but a friend.

she never thought you and her would eventually become a thing, she always fully intended to keep you at arms length - so that azzi wouldn’t be mad at her.

she’s not really sure on the time stamp of when she accepted her feelings, but whenever it was, was one of the greatest days. the even better day, was when she finally decided to do something with her feelings - that’s the day you guys started dating.

you and her have been dating for a little over a year now. she thought you guys wouldn’t be caught this far along, and she was wrong, and she’s having a difficult time on swallowing this pill.

“az- i’m sorry” paige stutters out, kinda overwhelmed with this situation “YOU’RE sorry?! you can date anyone in the world, and you chose the ONE person that i said was off limits, and you’re sorry?!”

“azzi i’m an adult, i can date who i want to date.” you tell her, wanting this conversation to be over

“you’re also my little sister dating MY best friend.” azzi responded back, still mad about the situation “why are you making it sound like she’s not my friend too? we’re all teammates, we’re all friends, we didn’t tell you we were seeing each other because we knew you were gonna act like this.”

“act like what?! i told both of you that i didn’t want you guys to ever date each other and look what’s happening now! you guys couldn’t of just respected that wish? i don’t ask anything of either of you but the one thing i do, you go behind my back and do it any ways?”

“azzi that’s not fair-“ paige starts but got cut off “fair?! you wanna talk about being fair?” “if you would let me talk that would be great!” paige said after cutting azzi off

azzi stopped talking and crossed her arms over her chest looking at paige expectingly “go on”

“we both did what you asked. we ignored each other romantically until last year, we spent all of our time together since me and you met at arms length, we’ve done everything, and unexpectedly fell for each other in that time. we are both adults, we can both do what we want - and what we want is to be with each other. you can’t stop us from dating, we’ve respected your wish this whole time but you never say why we can’t date you just say to not date, and that’s not fair at all. if your gonna forbid us from doing something at least tell us why. and until you can come up with a good reason - we’re gonna continue seeing each other”

azzi just looks at paige, her arms still crossed over her chest “i love her” paige replied again after a few moments of silence

azzi doesn’t say anything but after a few seconds walks out the door and back to her room. you and paige both make eye contact before sighing out loud

🏷️ @melpthatsme @rebecca-woso @authentic-girl03 @ldapper

requested on wattpad

[ober-affen-geil]

Tips from my experience (ymmv):

If you are ambulatory I absolutely second shoes with ankle support. Also get inserts. My flat feet compound my bad knees and back so even though they are the lesser of my internal evils I treat them or suffer the compounding consequences.

It may help to keep something to track your pain/context around it. I'm currently seeking a diagnosis so I started a spreadsheet to see if weather is actually a significant contributing factor. Partially for my own reference and partially for any doctor who might get involved. Can be as simple as marking an x on your day planner or as complex as tracking everything you eat. (This has the added benefit of learning what pain triggers you might have and either how to avoid them or when to brace for a bad day.)

Find a pain scale that works for you, and refer to it often. Chronic pain makes your baseline different and it helps me accurately report it when I check my experience against the chart I like.

Find medical people from either good recommendations from other patients or from good medical people you already know. I got a recommendation for a knee PT from a different PT I was working with for my back who was an angel. And I got THAT PT from my surgeon, and I got that surgeon from my regular doctor whom I love. A specialist I just went to for a second opinion was recommended to me by a friend, and I had a much better experience than the first opinion who was unrecommended.

Find a way to make sure you do your exercises. I tie mine to brushing my teeth. I don't get all of them done every night, but I get a baseline done that does happen daily.

Did you inherit your disability? That person is a great resource about what you're going to experience in the next 20-30 years. Learn from their experience and/or mistakes.

Figure out what OTC or DIY stuff works to relieve your pain. Braces, heat, cold, pressure, elevate, bath, patches, gel, etc. On days that you know are going to be bad, stay ahead of the pain if you can. And keep them where they're the most useful to you. I have several different wraps that live in my work bag because I need them there most often. K tape strips now travel with me everywhere, along with an emergency dose of painkillers. (Also wear that wrap or brace if you need it! Who cares if other people can see it.)

Critical reminders:

You are still disabled even if your disability doesn't affect you every day.

If there is something that will assist you in relieving your pain, use it. Even if it's "not for you", if it helps, it's for you.

You are worth it.

I've been disabled for almost 29 years. Here's what I've learned.

Tablets sink and capsules float. Separate out your tablets and capsules when you go to take them. Tip your head down when taking capsules and up when taking tablets. Liquigels don't matter, they kinda stay in the middle of whatever liquid is in your mouth.

If your pill tastes bad, coat it with a bit of butter or margarine. I learned this from my mom, who learned it from a pharmacist.

Being in pain every day isn't normal. Average people experience pain during exceptional moments, like when they stub their toe or jam their finger in a door, not when they sit cross-legged.

Make a medical binder. Make multiple medical binders. I have a small one that comes with me to appointments and two big ones that stay at home, one with old stuff and one with more recent stuff.

Find your icons. Some of mine include Daya Betty (drag queen with diabetes), Stef Sanjati (influencer with Waardenburg syndrome and ADHD), and Hank Green (guy with ulcerative colitis who... does a bunch of stuff). They don't have to be disabled in the same way as you. They don't even have to be real people. Put their pictures up somewhere if you want; I've been meaning to decorate my medical binders with pictures of my icons.

Take a bin, box, bag, basket, whatever and fill it with items to cope with. This can be stuff for mentally coping like colouring books or play clay or stuff for physically coping like pain medicine or physio tape.

Decorate your shit! My cane for at home has a plushie backpack clip hanging from the end of the handle and my cane for going places is covered in stickers. All of my medical binders have fun scrapbooking paper on the outside. Sometimes, I put stickers and washi tape on my inhalers and pill bottles. I used my Cricut to decorate my coping bin with quotes from my icons, like "I've seen enough of Ba Sing Se" and "I need you to be angrier with that bell".

If a flare-up is making you unable to eat or keep food down, consider going to the ER. A pharmacist once told me that since my eye flares can make me so nauseous that I cannot eat, then I need to go to the hospital when that happens.

Cola works wonders for nausea. I have mini cans of Diet Pepsi in my coping bin.

Shortbread is one of the only things I can eat when nauseous. Giant Tiger sells individually-wrapped servings of shortbread around Christmas or the British import store sells them year-round. I also keep these in my coping bin.

Unless it violates a pain contract or something, don't be afraid to go behind your doctor's back to get something they are refusing you. I got my cardiologist referral by getting in with a different NP at my primary care clinic than who I usually saw. I switched from Seroquel to Abilify by visiting a walk-in.

If you have a condition affecting your abdomen in some way (GI issues, reproductive problems, y'know) then invest in track pants that are too big. I bought some for my laparoscopy over a year ago and they've been handy for pelvic pain days, too. I've also heard loose pants are good for after colonoscopies.

Do whatever works, even if it's weird. I've sat on the floor of the Eaton Centre to take my pills. I've shoved heating pads down my front waistband to reach my uterus.

High-top Converse are good for weak ankles. I almost exclusively wear them.

You can reuse your pill bottles for stuff. I use my jumbo ones to store makeup sponges and my long skinny ones to hold a travel-size amount of Q-Tips.

Just because your diagnostics come back with nothing, it doesn't mean nothing is wrong. Maybe you were checking the wrong thing, or the diagnostic tool wasn't sensitive enough. I have bradycardia episodes even though multiple cardiac tests caught nothing. I probably have endometriosis even though my gynecologist didn't see anything.

You can bring your comfort item to appointments, and it's generally a green flag when someone talks to you about it. I brought a Squishmallow turkey (named Ulana) to my laparoscopy and they had her wearing my mask when I woke up. I brought a Build-A-Bear cat (named Blinx) to another procedure and a nurse told me that everyone in the hall on the way to the procedure room saw him and were talking about how cute he was. Both of those ended up being positive experiences and every person who talked to me about my plushies was nice to me. If you don't feel comfortable having it visible to your provider during the appointment, you can hide it in your bag and just know it's there, or if you're in a video appointment, you can hold it below frame in your lap.

Get a small bucket, fill it with stuff, and stick it in your bed (if you have room for it). I filled a bucket with Ensure, juice boxes, oatmeal bars, lotion, my rescue inhaler, etc. in October 2023 in anticipation of my laparoscopy and I still have it in my bed as of January 2025.

If your disability impacts your impulse control (e.g. ADHD, bipolar disorder), you should consider setting limits around your spending -- no more than X dollars at a time, nothing online unless it's absolutely necessary, and so on. Or, run these purchases by someone you trust before committing to them; I use my BFF groupchat to help talk sense into myself when I buy stuff.

Feel free to add on what you've learned about disability!

[angelfic]

never let me go.

PART TWO ➺ series masterlist

[jason todd x reader]

summary — you’ve returned to gotham after a few years away, having left as soon as you could to escape the constant reminders of your deceased best friend, jason todd. you expected to be haunted by the ghost of him the minute you stepped foot in the city, but certainly not like this — the city you call home has much more in store than you could have imagined. warnings — childhood best friends to lovers, mentions of death + mourning, angst, mentions of blood + violence a/n; this is going to be very slow burn (if i can help it) btw. thank you for all the love so far + lmk your thoughts <3

The drive up to Wayne Manor always feels like entering another world. The chaos of Gotham fades behind you, replaced by the quiet, eerie stillness of Bristol that might be relaxing for most people. You always find yourself unsettled when you make the drive alone, your ears ringing with the silence and lack of Gotham’s noise pollution that you need to be calm.

You’re starting to think there may be something wrong with you, especially considering how you used to yearn for nothing more than to leave the place. But, like you do with most things, you push this to the back of your mind to psychoanalyse another day. Far, far away in the future hopefully.

The road winds through thick forest, the canopy of gnarled trees overhead casting ominous shadows in front of you. Now it feels more like home, you think to yourself.

Your mom’s car is sturdy enough, but getting old and the wear and tear from over the years has you slowing down as the cracked pavement gets bumpier. It’s an old road, rarely used outside of visits to Wayne Manor, and Bruce has other, faster ways of making his own trips. You’re suddenly glad for the caution you have while driving that you definitely didn’t possess when you were younger as a fox runs out onto the street and you brake suddenly. You jolt forward slightly, one hand gripping the wheel and the other reaching next to you to prevent your bag from falling off the seat, contents threatening to spill out.

The fox glances over at you for a split second before scampering off and you nearly laugh to yourself, the deja vu hitting you like a truck.

“Come on, just keep going. Faster, come on—”

“Jason, shut up!” you shout, palms getting sweaty on the steering wheel where his own cover yours in an attempt to help you steer. “If you don’t can it, I swear to God, I’ll—”

“You’ll what? You gonna turn this thing around, sweetheart?” he asks, raising a brow. “Oh, wait, you can’t— because you don’t know how to reverse.”

If you weren’t so focused on the road ahead, you’d probably hit him for being so cocky. You knew this was a bad idea from the start. When your mom had come home from the night shift and tossed her keys on the counter before going to bed and immediately knocking out, Jason had shot you that look. It screamed trouble.

Fast forward to now, where you’re sorely regretting your short-lived burst of spontaneity and trying to control your feet which are hovering awkwardly between the gas and the brake.

Jason is slouched in the passenger seat like he’s got all the confidence in the world, grinning at you and totally unbothered by the fact that neither of you are supposed to be here.

Legally, neither of you can drive. But being Robin, he now possesses quite a few skills that most people your age don’t have. Bruce had long since taught him how to drive a car for emergencies and he was now great at it. He’d driven you guys out of Gotham and towards Wayne Manor, insisting it was time to teach you and that it’d be easier where there are hardly ever any cars.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” you mutter, fingers gripping the wheel tighter when he lets go and allows you free rein.

Jason simply laughs at your misery, tipping his head back against the seat. “Okay, first of all — you’re being dramatic. Second, wouldn’t you rather it be me teaching you, instead of some old guy who overcharges?”

“I’m seriously debating the old guy right now,” you grumble, ignoring his offended scoff. “What the fuck, Jay! This road is not straight.”

“It’s straight,” he insists, sitting up again to actually resume teaching you. “You’re nowhere near the edge, relax.”

You listen to him, loosening up a little and realising he’s right. You haven’t drifted in a while, and you are going in a pretty straight line. You won’t admit it, but it is kind of thrilling. The hum of the engine, the way the tires respond beneath you and the peaceful sense of freedom you have surrounded by nothing but trees and Jason. You test out the gas by pushing a little harder and speeding up, partly wanting to feel more control and partly so Jason doesn’t hound you about it.

“See, what’d I say?” Jason says, leaning back again and lightly nudging you. “You’re doing great…”

A flash of fur darts in front of the car and your breath hitches.

Your hands jerk the wheel, tires screeching against the pavement from the speed you were going at and you swerve hard to the right.

Jason slams one hand against the dashboard, his other arm reaching across your front to stop you going through the windshield, despite the fact you have your seatbelt on. “Fuck—”

The car skids to a stop, inches away from a tree. The animal — a raccoon, you realise with wide eyes — scurries off into the bushes, blissfully unaware.

You sit there, trying to remember how to breathe. From the corner of your eye, you see Jason’s shoulders shaking and you realise with horror that he’s laughing.

“Holy shit,” he wheezes, wiping at his eyes. “I really thought we were dead for a second.”

“We almost were!”

“Hey, you didn’t hit it. That’s a win!” He turns to you and grasps your by the arms, shaking you slightly and releasing the tension in your shoulders from where you’re all coiled up. “And do you really think I’d let anything happen to you?”

Jason smiles at you, but his eyes are concentrated on yours, his gaze unwavering. He’s trying to talk you off a ledge, but you don’t need it, not really. You know he’d never put you in actual danger.

Still, you groan, dropping your head against his shoulder and hiding your smile. The adrenaline still hasn’t left. “I hate you.”

“Nah,” Jason replies, easily. One hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, the other resting against your back and rubbing soothing circles. His voice is teasing, but warm. “You don’t.”

No, you think to yourself. You don’t.

Your mom has kept the same car since then, and you’ve never really wished for her to change it until you remember things like that.

You’re startled to realise that the wrought-iron gates of Wayne Manor loom ahead. They rise high, wrapped in ivy, intricate and imposing. Their black metalwork centres around the ‘W’ emblem which gleams in the daylight.

You get out your phone to text your arrival, but the security system whirs to life before you can, a camera adjusting overhead. Alright then.

The gate unlocks, swinging open slowly and deliberately and as you drive forward, the massive house rises up to greet you.

Your chest feels tight.

The manor towers over you, cutting sharp edges against the bright, clear sky. The windows glow faintly, but it’s a cold kind of warmth. Too big and grand for too few people.

When you park in the circular driveway, Alfred is unsurprisingly already waiting at the door for you and you try and control every muscle in your face to not physically wince with guilt.

“Miss,” he greets you, stepping aside to let you in. His voice carries the same steady patience as always, but there’s a flicker of something accusatory in his expression as he raises a brow at your appearance. You deserve worse, considering you’ve been avoiding these visits for months.

“Hey, Alfred,” you say, offering him a sheepish smile as you step past him. He takes your coat before you can insist you don’t need him to. You should be used to these things considering the majority of your friends happen to be the adopted children of a billionaire, the billionaire’s butler and, arguably, the billionaire himself. If you’re getting technical. Unfortunately, your less than privileged upbringing seems to be so completely engrained in you, and you still bristle at the rich people antics. You step back awkwardly. “Long time, huh?”

“Quite.” He gestures for you to follow him into the house and you obey, falling into step beside him. Despite the mildly reproachful tone, he seems pleased to see you. “I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten the way.”

Wincing, the excuse falls from your lips before you can even process the words. “I’ve just been so busy with work—” As soon as you say it, you’re grimacing, because this is Alfred you’re talking to.

If he had a nickel for every time he heard the same words from the inhabitants of Wayne Manor, he’d be able to buy his own Wayne Manor. Twice over. So, you at least have the grace to cut yourself off.

You sigh, turning to face him properly. “I’m sorry,” you say, injecting as much sincerity as you possibly can, because you are. And work has actually been busy, but you know that you could have carved out time to see Alfred. You just had a small problem with the meeting location.

You spent a good amount of time here when Jason was alive, but that wasn’t really the issue. If anything, you choose to surround yourself in spaces that feel like him — why else would you still be living in Crime Alley? Certainly not for the ambience.

After Jason’s death, you found yourself practically living here, unable to tear yourself away from his bedroom and retracing the steps the two of you would take together every time you ran around the Manor. And no one else really wanted to take you away either, taking pity on the teenage girl who couldn’t mention his name without crying for a whole year.

So, as much as you wish you could focus on the happier memories of this place, the memories of the time spent mourning your best friend seem to take priority in your brain.

Despite this, you suppose it’s time to grow up a little. It’s not like you’re having to physically fight the demons every time you step foot in the Manor, so what’s another migraine from having to fight them in your head over a couple dinners every month. You attempt a sincere smile towards Alfred. “I promise I’ll be better about visiting. I, uh… I should have come sooner, but… y’know,” you try and explain without words, vaguely gesturing to the high ceilings and polished floors.

Something in his expression softens. “Indeed.”

A beat of silence. Then, his lips twitch — just slightly and you relax.

“Well,” he says, stepping aside as you reach Bruce’s study. “I suppose there’s no time like the present.”

He nods once, before turning to walk in the direction of the kitchen, undoubtedly to make the dinner that he’s going to force you to stay and eat.

You adjust your heavy bag at your side and knock twice on the door, pushing it open when you hear Bruce calling for you to come in.

He sits at his desk, papers strewn everywhere and multiple mugs of unfinished coffee that have gone cold. He looks up when you walk in, offering you the closest thing he has to a smile — a subtle nod and a slight shift in posture that means he’s glad to see you.

“You made it,” he says, as if he was the one who invited you and not the other way around. You hadn’t had the position of Philanthropy and Outreach Co-ordinator for long, and who better than Bruce Wayne to go to when you want to ensure you’re actually doing your job at Wayne Enterprises properly. Not that it was a particularly easy task. He’s genuinely the busiest man you know and you’re lucky you were able to have a conversation with him about this that lasted longer than a few seconds.

“Shocking, I know,” you tease, dropping a folder on his desk. “Try not to look too excited.”

He huffs a quiet breath, flipping open the folder. Inside are the details for the upcoming Wayne Foundation gala — your latest, carefully curated headache. Bruce may hate the public-facing side of things, but he understands the necessity, which is exactly why he agreed to look over things for your first official project.

“This is a lot,” he says, skimming the notes. The lack of a frown on his face tells you that he’s complimenting you and you can’t help glowing inside. You feel like you’re fifteen again. “I’m sure you don’t even need me for this.”

“I just want to make sure it runs smoothly,” you say, letting out a nervous chuckle and crossing your arms, watching him. “Also, if I don’t get your input, I’ll have to deal with the board complaining about how the Wayne Foundation is ‘out of touch’ or whatever. And quite frankly, I don’t get paid enough to handle that and put up with your brooding.”

That earns you a half-smirk. Small victories.

“You’re still coming, right?”

Bruce doesn’t look up, but his hesitation is enough of an answer.

“Bruce.”

He sighs. “I’ll be there.”

You lean against the desk and attempt to stare him down. It’s a lot easier when you’re not having to physically look up at him — it was a hundred times worse when you and Jason were kids and you were practically looking up to the ceiling.

“You sure? I know how much you love playing host, but I really want this to go well.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Fantastic,” you deadpan. “That’s really the kind of enthusiasm we need to make this a huge success.”

Bruce pointedly ignores you. He flips to another page in your folder, skimming over the guest list. You watch his expression carefully, but he stays silent. He’s a man of few words, but when you’re in front of him, you seem to revert back to the girl you used to be and it’s hard to leave the silence alone.

“Well?” you ask, rocking back and forth on your feet — another old habit. You carefully selected the guest list with a whole myriad of purposes behind each individual, so you’re sorely hoping he doesn’t have a problem. “Guest list up to par?”

“It’s good,” he simply states, nodding and moving onto the next page. It’s just about decor and themes and you don’t think he has any interest in it, but he politely glances over it nonetheless. “No notes.”

You raise your brows, surprised with yourself. “What, no shady businessmen or criminals or undercover villains? You’re kidding.”

“Oh, no, there are plenty of them,” he clarifies, matter-of-fact. You deflate and he shakes his head, waving you off. “But, they’re nothing to be concerned about. They’re all major names and donors and they won’t be causing any trouble at an event like this.”

You know that he’s already run the calculations in his head, weighed the risks and is thinking five steps ahead like he always does. It isn’t the donors you care as much about. Sure, the money is a huge part of the fundraiser (It’s literally in the name. You do need the funds). However, it’s not as if Wayne Enterprises is running low on the stuff.

Your main agenda here is networking (the word makes you internally cringe a little, because God, you’re such an adult now), and while you’re not going to say no to the guests donating money, you’re in dire need of signatures. Unfortunately, Bruce doesn’t own every inch of land in Gotham, a fact that you’ve jokingly berated him for in the past. Planning permission for the children’s shelters and renovations and such that you have in mind will need the support of your seriously corrupt government officials.

Enter the bells and whistles needed to suck up to them — fortunately you aren’t too proud to use them. You’re not one of the Bats.

Still, inviting a bunch of them, littered with a whole group of hopefully normal, nice people, to your first event makes you something akin to nervous.

“Right…” you trail off, still unsure if you should be concerned or just accept it. “Good to know what the current state of Gotham’s most esteemed politicians and businessmen is. Really gives me faith in our city.”

Bruce’s lips quirk up and he closes the folder, looking up at you. Story of his life, you guess. The next words coming out of his mouth make you pause. “It looks good. You’re doing well.”

It’s not exactly Shakespeare, but it has the same effect as if he had just hugged you and recited poetry in your name. Praise from Bruce was something that never got old. You swallow, suddenly feeling an embarrassing wave of emotion come over you, but you quickly quell it down before Bruce gets awkward and doesn’t know where to look. “Thank you, Bruce. Really.”

He nods, satisfied. Although it does seem as though he wants to say something else, but appears to be struggling to find the words. Thankfully, for both of you, Alfred chooses that moment to interrupt.

“I do hope the two of you are planning to eat something this evening,” he says, standing at the door with his hands clasped behind his back. His stare makes you squirm.

You fidget, looking at Bruce who is conveniently looking through the same page in your folder he was looking at five minutes ago. “I mean, I—”

“Excellent. I’ve prepared a dinner that I’m sure will provide more sustenance than whatever processed meal you were planning to pick up on your way home.” His gaze shifts to Bruce. “It certainly trumps eating nothing at all.”

Bruce exhales. “Alfred—”

“Master Wayne,” he cuts in smoothly, already taking a step back to walk away. “I trust you will be joining us, rather than working… at the risk of being a rude host.”

You bite back a grin when Bruce frowns at you. You’ve never really been a guest at this house, so the idea of Bruce hosting you is a laughable concept that you’re sure he wants to argue with Alfred about. The attempt to stare his butler down is a good effort, you think. But futile, as it’s never been done successfully.

“…Fine,” Bruce mutters eventually.

Alfred has already set the table by the time you and Bruce step into the dining room which tells you he really wasn’t planning on leaving without the two of you. Everything is perfectly arranged, warm lighting softening the cavernous space, the faint scent of something freshly baked lingering in the air. It’s not a grand affair, but it’s practically a party in comparison to your usual takeout on the couch.

Damian is already sat there, feeding a piece of something under the table to his dog, Titus. He glances up at you, mild surprise flickering across his face before it settles back to expressionless. “I see. That explains all this.”

“Hello to you too, Damian,” you say cheerfully, pulling out a chair as Bruce does the same at the head of the table. His confusion doesn’t surprise you. It really has been a while since you visited, and it’s not as though either you or Damian hang out together on the regular. He’s thirteen years old. You aren’t that lonely.

You like to think he has a level of respect for you from a comfortable distance the same way you do. In a ‘Hey, I too, was once a misunderstood child running around this house with your deceased adoptive older brother that you never knew’ kind of way.

Damian huffs, picking up his fork. “I was in the middle of training, Father.”

“And now you’re in the middle of dinner,” Bruce says, raising a brow. “Eat.”

Damian grumbles, stabbing a piece of his food with a little too much force. “So, what is the purpose of this gala?”

You blink, not expecting him to take an interest. “It’s a Wayne Foundation event for youth outreach. I’m trying to encourage more scholarships, community engagement and all that. Get some signatures to build some more shelters in the near future.”

“And will I be expected to attend?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” you say, at the same time as Bruce who says, “Yes.”

Damian lets out a long suffering sigh. “Is Drake being forced to go as well?”

“I need him to come,” you explain, frowning. “He has connections.”

Probably the only twenty one year old in the world with the connections that you’re talking about. Damian seemingly accepts this, going back to his food without another word.

From across the table, Bruce leans back slightly and watches you. You feel like you’re under a microscope.

“You’re still living in Park Row?”

You tense. “You know I am.”

He doesn’t look away, his posture seemingly stiffer than before, if that were even possible. “You should move.”

Here we go.

You truly thought that this conversation was done with months ago. That Bruce had finally accepted you weren’t going to just pack up and leave your home just because he insisted. The Batman card wasn’t going to work with this.

You take a deep sigh, tilting your head back. “God, not this again.”

“It’s not safe.”

“It’s Gotham. Name one place there hasn’t been any trouble.”

Damian, who has been silently watching the exchange in a not-so-subtle way, chimes in. “It is a valid concern.”

You glance at him, raising a suspicious brow. “Since when do you care where I live?”

“I don’t,” he says bluntly. You don’t miss the way he exchanges a look with Bruce or how he sat up a little straighter when he mentioned Park Row. Like annoying father, like annoying son. “But you’re not exactly… equipped to handle an ambush alone.”

“Wow. Thanks,” you say, before turning back to Bruce. “I’m not moving.”

Bruce exhales, setting down his fork. No, you almost want to whine like a moody teenager getting a lecture again. Pick it up and go back to dinner and stop talking about this!

Being reprimanded by Bruce at twenty three years of age isn’t nearly as funny as it was back in the day. For one thing, Jason wasn’t here being on the receiving end of it. You were usually just there to tag along by his side hearing most of the scolding being directed towards him, with the occasional ‘I expect more from both of you.’ You sometimes felt like he just didn’t want to leave you out. Another thing being that you actually have a parent in your life who you hear enough of it from.

Bruce furrows his brows. “Your mother—”

“—is living in her nice little house in Burnley, thanks to you.” You point your fork at him. “She’s good. She’s happy. She also calls me twice a week to say I should move, so I really don’t need you doubling down.”

Bruce’s expression doesn’t change. “She’s right.”

You sigh, dropping your own fork. It probably doesn’t have nearly the same stern effect as Bruce doing it, but damn it, a girl can try. “I like where I live.”

Alfred, ever the peacekeeper, smoothly refills your glass of water. But there’s a hint of something reprimanding in his own tone as he speak to Bruce. “I believe the young Miss is quite capable of making her own decisions.”

“Hear, hear,” you say, nodding at him. You know these vigilante types are stubborn, though and you’ve been doing some light research, reading some local newsletters about that Red Hood guy you heard about the other day. You’ve barely formed an opinion about him yourself, so you don’t know why you bring him up in an attempt to sway Bruce’s opinion on Crime Alley being a safe enough place to live, but the words are spilling out before you can think twice. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, anyway. I hear there’s some new guy hanging around and keeping people out of trouble, so…”

The mood shifts almost immediately. Bruce doesn’t look at you directly, but his hand flexes slightly before resting back against the table. Damian’s fork pauses again — not even for a full second, but enough that you catch it. Even Alfred stills, before going back to fussing around with the place settings.

“…What?” You glance between them. “What did I say?”

Damian looks as though he wants to say something, but a look from Bruce’s stormy grey eyes, which have turned hard and stern, has him turning back to petting Titus under the table. You don’t miss the way his jaw has tightened.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bruce says, allowing his shoulders to relax when no one says anything. You’re used to the weird silences around you when it comes to vigilante business. It had been going on since Jason was around, (although he would fill you in on most things privately, anyway) and it didn’t really bother you. The less you knew about things, the better. It doesn’t make this conversation any less tense though. “Just… keep safe.”

“Yes, sir,” you mumble, giving him a two-fingered salute and returning to your dinner as he does the same.

There’s a beat of silence. Then, as if on cue, Alfred clears his throat. “More vegetables?”

You drop your mom’s car off at hers, stepping in for an hour to catch up and letting her interrogate you about your eating and sleeping habits while you nod and lie, the occasional truth thrown in.

She insisted you take the car home, but after ten minutes of arguing, she’s convinced that you’ll make it to your apartment alive if you take a cab instead. You choose to omit the fact that you’re stopping at work to drop off your files for your boss to look over in the morning now that you’re happy with Bruce’s input and that you’ll walk the rest of the way home.

(You’ve got to get your steps in. Plus the weather is looking pretty good. Mental health walks are very important in the current state of the world and you like to think they cancel out the unhealthy eating and lack of sleep.)

You try your best not to walk home from work when it’s dark, because as much as your protests against Bruce and your mom may suggest otherwise, you don’t actually want to be murdered in Crime Alley.

The streets stretch out ahead of you, no longer slick with the remnants of the earlier light rain and you breathe in as much fresh air as you can before you start to enter the shadier part of town.

The buildings start to lose their shine the closer you get to home, turning older and angrier in the dark. The grime covered windows, rusted balconies and bricks, weathered by rain and neglect look like they could collapse in on you any second now. They won’t, though. They’ve been around longer than you’ve been alive.

The first sign of trouble comes as a sound.

A sharp, violent crack — the unmistakeable impact of a fist against bone.

You freeze.

Damn it, you think to yourself. Damn it all to hell, because you don’t want to live in a world where Bruce and Damian are right and you’re wrong.

You deduce that the sounds are coming from the alley across the street, which is unfortunate considering that’s the way to your apartment complex.

It’s the space between two crumbling brick buildings, half-lit by the flickering glow of a neon pink ‘OPEN’ sign hanging above a little beauty parlour that isn’t actually open, but the sign is always on. You shouldn’t look. You should just keep walking.

There’s just one little thing. If you take another route, it adds at least ten minutes to your journey and your feet are already dragging from exhaustion. So if you’re going to avoid going through your usual alley route, it’s got to be for a good reason.

You aren’t stupid. But you’re also a curious person by nature. And maybe you’re a tiny bit desensitised to these things with the crowd you tend to run with.

At least that’s what you tell yourself when you start to venture towards the noise, a single streetlamp dimly glowing overhead to light your path, revealing old cigarette butts ground into the concrete and a pile of shattered glass. There’s also something dark smeared across the concrete that, in spite of yourself, you lean in a bit closer to inspect.

The smell of stale beer, damp cardboard and the rot of garbage from the general vicinity suddenly wafts into your nose and causes a wave of nausea that has you standing straight again. That’s definitely enough of that.

At the same time, you catch sight of a figure shifting in the alley ahead of you.

It’s the Red Hood, you note with a hint of surprise.

You recognise him from your previous Google inspection, the blurry pictures not doing much justice to his imposing figure, but it’s definitely him.

He’s taller than you expected. Broad-shouldered and solid. His black leather jacket shifts as he exhales, head tilting just slightly like he’s considering something as he looks down.

There are four guys. Or at least, four bodies. Two of them are on the ground, unmoving and the other two don’t look much better. One is spitting blood onto the pavement, another is trying (and failing miserably) to push himself upright. He groans something unintelligible. If Red Hood responds, you don’t hear it.

Instead, he shifts his weight, combat boots scuffing against the cracked concrete. He doesn’t look tired or out of breath and when he’s stationary, it’s a deadly stillness.

When he does move, the neon glow catches on his helmet, the deep red gleaming like fresh blood. You have to give it to him — it takes a really frightening figure to not look silly under bright pink lighting. You suppose the rusted fire escape to the side of building helps the image, considering the lowest rung is bent at an odd angle. There’s a man lying unconscious beside it. You can put two and two together.

Red Hood straightens, rolling his shoulders and breathing steadily. He looks at you.

Your pulse jumps. You should move, should pretend you didn’t just stop in the middle of a dark and creepy alleyway to gawk at a violent fight scene. Well, the end of one anyway.

But you can’t find the will to move your legs. From fright or something else, you aren’t sure. But there’s something about the way he stands; relaxed, but coiled beneath the surface, like a predator that hasn’t decided if it’s ready to pounce or not. His fingers flex at his sides before curling back into loose fists, and then he moves.

Not towards you, or anything in particular. Just a slight shift of weight, as if registering your presence and deciding not to acknowledge it further.

You take that as your cue to leave and take the long way home, tearing your gaze away from the white gleam of his eyepiece and slowly backing up. You’re still not running, just walking at a leisurely pace and trying to control your breathing until you get back onto the main sidewalk. It isn’t until you’re walking past other people that you feel like you can relax your shoulders and actually start thinking about what you just saw.

In hindsight, your survival instincts probably need some work, but hey — he’s meant to be a vigilante. Sure, you shouldn’t believe everything you read online, but if you can’t trust Google, then what hope do you really have.

Maybe it can’t hurt to look at some of those apartment listings that Tim is always sending you.

tag list: @sakur4ii @theendofthematerialgworl @daughterofthemoons-stuff @staraniseed @harbours-lighthouse @eli-com @flanhog @catsaresillyasheck @wafflez-009 @straight-n-arrow @ydkmsstuff @alikkatz @doperthanabitch @wadehowl3tt

© angelfic. 2025

[dragon-ascent]

Imagine Chonkli as a Pokemon. Tiny, fluffy, cute--the perfect starter 'mon. However, he gets left behind in the professor's lab because everyone else wanted the cool Fire, Water, and Grass starters.

Nobody wants the Rock type.

Except, apparently, you. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, you're starting your journey as a Trainer rather late. Very late, in fact, but that's because you wanted to finish your education and higher studies before embarking on your very own journey.

He's literally the most adorable little creature ever; it's a wonder you've managed to pick him as your companion. And you should see the look on his face when you choose him--all tappy paws and wiggly tail, eager to join you.

This lil guy is way too sweet to belong in a Pokeball for the better part of the day, so you let him stay outside his ball. He's quite the strong 'mon even for a starter, the thump of his tail making for a great attack in battles.

He really, really loves berries, you soon learn. After every victory in a battle, he comes bounding over to you and baps your leg, tongue lolling out for some nice berries as his treat.

It's also really neat that he's so soft and fluffy. Fluffier than even an Altaria, if you do say so yourself. It's a shame his species is so rare, but you're glad you can cuddle this little fella all night and listen to his soothing purrs.

Until one day, you're traipsing through the woods, soft little Chonkli in your arms, licking his paws, and you encounter an Ursaluna, towering over you like an angry shadow. Its eyes are glowing a sharp red, and its growls signify the black flag of danger.

You have no choice but to run, so run you do, fleeing in the opposite direction as fast as your legs can carry you. It's not enough, Ursaluna is gaining on you with thunderous footfalls of its own, getting closer and closer...you won't be able to defend yourself from its ravenous teeth and blade-like claws, and your low-level Chonkli certainly is no match for-

Chonkli hops out of your arms, and you scream as he runs towards the bigger creature...and then you watch, agape, at what unfolds.

A brilliant white light engulfs your sweet little Chonkli, expanding and elongating until...there's a long brown Dragon Pokemon coiled up on the forest floor, golden eyes ablaze, the sunlight filtering through the canopy shining down on his shimmering scales. He must be the size of a Rayquaza at least. The Ursaluna pauses in its pursuit, standing frozen.

Chonkli opens his great big maw and unleashes a terrific ball of flaming energy that beams a straight path through the air, blasting away the Ursaluna in a frenzy of light and chaos. Trees collapse; the earth shakes; the threat is gone. All around the Dragon sizzle tendrils of gilt power.

And then the white light envelops the big Dragon once more, and right there on the forest floor, is your fluffy little Chonkli. His tongue bleps out once more, tail wagging like mad. He blinks like nothing's happened.

"What the heck was that?!" you exclaim, utterly flabbergasted, after a long bout of stunned silence. Your legs feel like they're made of jelly, and you might just faint any minute now. "Chonkli, what was that?!"

Chonkli simply flicks his fluffy tail and pads over to you, purring. He just wants some berries right about now.

[elumish]

@cuteykitsune asked in a reply: How do you show religion in your story? Prayer? Chuch? Holidays? Traditions?

I wanted to actually give a full response to this, because I think it's a great question.

Religions consist of a few things:

Stories

Beliefs/creeds

Rules/norms

Traditions

These aren't quite collectively exhaustive, and they're certainly not mutually exclusive (they are closely tied to each other), but they encompass the vast majority of what makes up a religion.

Stories are probably the simplest part of a religion: the written or oral tales passed down in the religion that tie to its beliefs, teachings, and/or origins. The Bible, the Torah, the Quran, stories about pantheons, creation stories, etc. all serve to both explain the world and provide guidance on how to live a proper religious life. These stories don't need to be part of the official canon of the religion and can be about historical figures tied to the religion (e.g., Catholic saints).

In stories, this may show by through people telling or referencing stories, through art or architecture depicting those stories, or through references to holy books, as some examples.

Beliefs are about the shared ideological viewpoints of the religion. These are often documented in the religious stories, but don't necessarily have to be. They can be as formal as the Nicene Creed or as informal as just a general shared understanding.

Theism is a major belief for the vast majority of religions, though it is not necessary. It also includes belief in what is sacred, what is acceptable, whether there is an afterlife, what good or bad traits are, etc.

If the religion is a theistic one, this belief would also include one about how the god(s) engage with the world and with people. Do they believe there is direct physical engagement (see: Zeus and the many mortal women he sleeps with) or that guidance is provided spiritually? Do they believe that there may be intervention in times of crisis? Do they believe that the god(s)'s hands are shaping the world constantly or that they created the world and then stopped? Do they believe that the god(s) listen to direct prayer from anyone or that specific locations, objects, rituals, or qualifications are required? Are the god(s) benevolent? Omniscient? Omnipresent? Do they care about humans?

In stories, this can show up any way you show the character thinking about the religion or gods. Do they think that the god(s) support their actions or if their actions follow their religious teachings? Do they care if that's the case? Do they always wash their hands carefully because their religion teaches cleanliness is important? Do they believe that certain things are good or evil?

Rules/Norms cover the institution/enforcement of those beliefs. These may be strict laws outlined in religious texts or by religious institutions (e.g., dietary restrictions) or general norms (e.g., dressing up for church). This may dictate how someone can engage with the religion or how religious people can engage with the broader world.

This is also where two religions or sects with similar beliefs really start to differentiate from each other. One might explicitly disallow something that a different one begrudgingly tolerates, even if both believe that it's bad

The structure of the religion also starts to come into play here. If a religion says only men can serve certain roles, for example, men will then be the ones playing those roles in the religious institution.

In stories, this is shown the same way any other rules or norms are.

Traditions, in my view, cover a wide range of things, from big societal traditions like holidays or rest days to small personal traditions like prayer. This is what you do as part of a religion--the actual actions taken by individuals or groups to participate in the religion.

Do people go to a physical location on a regular basis? Are all locations equal or can a person only go to certain ones? Is there someone who leads services? If people congregate for worship or other religious practice, how often? What does it look like?

Do people pray individually? What does that look like? Do houses have shrines or other dedicated areas for worship, or is it only conducted in congregate areas?

Do religious practices include specific rituals? Specific objects? Specific clothing?

This is also where the structure of the organization really shows up. Is there an organized structure (a la the Catholic Church) or is it religional? Local? Individual?

In stories, this can look like any physical practice of the religion.

Some of the biggest fantasy worldbuilding fails that I see, in no particular order

Gods without religion. The Gods are real and a known historical fact, but virtually nobody is religious.

Cultural racism/discrimination without structural racism/discrimination. Discrimination that exists only in microagressions or mean comments, without existing in any sort of structural way.

Secret history with no clear reason for it to be secret and no clear method for maintaining that secrecy. Major parts of the world's history are kept entirely secret, even though there's not an obvious reason to do so and even when history has shown this is virtually impossible to enforce (especially in a world with any movement or communication across borders).

Large, homogeneous countries. Even without immigration, virtually no country larger than the Vatican will be fully homogeneous in terms of culture, dialect, beliefs, traditions, etc., much less a large one with limited communication technology as is often seen in fantasy. The Planet of Hats problem.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales 9

Author's Note: Sorry this chapter is a little shorter than usual, I've been sick in bed for a good couple of days and didn't have as much time to write as usual.

Content Warnings: Talk of Depression/Depressive Episodes; Reader Gets Drugged.

----------------------

The Trajan Markets are the pinnacle of growth and development in the Capital, a sign the people said that the Gods favored us above all others. No other province grew as ours does. No other nation boasted such booms in business that a five story building need be built for the sole purpose of selling goods. Our streets have become too crowded, markets overflowing with buyers and sellers until the roads clog and the city becomes too rowdy during peak times of the day. There are other Markets in the city of course, but none as grand as Trajan.

None as easy to hide in as Trajan. 

I keep my hood pulled up over my face, a full basket in one hand, the other tapping anxiously along the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh. The crowds are heavy, the summer air thick with the smell of sweat and incense and the roasted meat from the food stalls. The heavy din of haggling and bartering makes the pounding of my heart sound far more dull than it had on the crazed dash I’d made to get here. Ditching the Guard to come out had been a challenge; dodging Anise a military feat I think might have made even Cassian proud. Not that Cassian knew I’d left. Or any of my mates for that matter. They would be too recognizable in this crowd; as is I feel like eyes watch my every move. This needs to be quick.

My list of supplies is half scratched off, just a few more pieces of armor and a couple more custom weapons and my mates will be well protected for their next match. I’ve all but thrown myself into the task, as if the extra effort will make the difference in the arena. As if the extra bit of leather might be the very thing that ensures they return to me afterwards.

I try to shake off the pressure driving into my chest like a spike. The Games are tomorrow. I’d chosen Kallias’s Orc for their opponent via a letter--Father hadn’t spoken to me directly since the Council meeting two days ago. I suppose that means Eris has kept his word thus far, but the silence makes time stretch out like a bad dream. I’ve spent nearly every waking moment watching the windows, waiting for the worst to happen.

Abandoning one booth, I move to another, fingers skimming over metal and leather chestpieces alike. All too thin. Too hollow. Orc’s favor axes, they need something that can withstand multiple blows. 

The next shop is too flashy. Too many Imperial colors. My stomach turns at the thought of seeing Rhys in Imperial gold. 

I dodge a squad of the Praetorian, they’ve been doing routine sweeps through the city more frequently since the parade. Perhaps it’s just Father’s paranoia, but there is a small piece of me that dares to hope that there was some sympathy in the crowd, that someone, somewhere in this damned city felt as horrified as moved to action as I was. 

I keep my hood drawn a little lower over my face as I move to the next level. This would be easier if I could have brought them along, no need to constantly double check the scribble of measurements I’d had the tailor make. They could pick what would be most comfortable for themselves, and I’d feel better about sending them off in it, at least they knew what they were doing. But the risk was too great. And worse, I’m a terrible coward.

I haven’t so much as looked at Azriel since the Council Meeting. I’d forced myself to climb into my empty bed and not use the secret tunnels. I’d found anything and everything to keep myself busy the next day. Not because I didn’t want to see him, or any of them, but because I couldn’t bear the waiting. The countdown to the next match had started like a death null in the back of my head. I can’t bring myself to be selfish and sit there with them when there are things within my power to do to save them. It’s not right that I will sit in my cushy booth with a drink while they fight for their lives. I have to give them a fighting chance. I have to do more than last time.

I have to ensure they get back alive. We will have time to work out what we want from each other when this is over. When I can ensure my heart won’t shatter into a million unfixable pieces if something happens.

I give myself a little shake as I skirt past food stalls swarming with several families of Sprites. Trajan, unlike many of the markets on the Square, is full of all sorts of creatures: Trolls and Goblins pull carts of wares down the aisles and up the stairs to the top levels. Pixies and Sprites flit about in the open air, directing traffic. Nephilim with their feathered wings tucked tight shop with Humans and Elves. We are all just shoppers here, none of the Empire’s prejudice to separate us. None of it’s cruelty to turn us on each other. This is how it should be. Tomorrow we will be in the Arena again. The crowds will be different. The atmosphere will be different. It will not be so peaceful.

My next stop is a merchant shop boasting the best armor in the Empire. This will be the third shop with that sign, I don’t have high hopes, but I cannot leave until I’ve searched every shop, exhausted every outlet. 

My fingers trace over the plated armor, shaped like scales. The design is well made, but the material… I tap a knuckle against it and hear a dull, hollow echo. Too thin. The next stall, boasts the best greaves and manicas. The extra padding of a sleeve will be useful, and the dark leather, layered like scales would look good on them. I buy three, one for each and add them to my basket before moving on.

A small cart selling ribbons momentarily halts my search, the colors vibrant and blowing softly in the breeze that drifts through the open market windows. I run my fingers over a violet thread, the same shade as Rhys’s eyes. 

“That’s a pretty color!” The merchant woman, a human I think, but her ears are tucked under a multicolored head scarf, calls out from the worn stool she sits atop.

If we were normal, I’d braid the ribbon into my hair, boast Rhys’s colors with a bit of black thread for everyone to see. A pang of longing hits me in the chest; we will never be normal people, not while the Empire stands. I’ll go to the Games tomorrow in white and gold to match my Father.

“It is,” my voice shakes as I remove the ribbon from the hook. I shouldn’t. I should be practical. It’s a waist of coin, I can’t wear it anyway. Still… 

“We’re having a sale,” the merchant continues. “Three for the price of one!”

The irony makes a laugh bubble out of me. Of course it would be three.

A cobalt one draws my eye next, then a bright red one. Before I can think twice about it, I’ve taken them off the hooks too.

“For anyone special?” She asks as I fish some coins from my purse.

“Of course,” I reply, but I don’t give her any more of an explanation.

The merchant pats my hand affectionately as she passes my change back, a knowing smile on her lips. I tuck the ribbon into the pocket of my cloak that sits over my heart; they’ll be another secret dream, meant for a girl less duty bound as me, but I cannot stop myself from hoping for a chance to one day wear them. 

“I hope they bring your lover luck,” the merchant says in farewell.

A shiver of anticipation runs down my spine; they’ll certainly need it.

--

It had taken hours, but I finally found suitable armor on the fifth floor of the market. Upon sneaking back into the House, I’d left the supplies with the tailor and instructed that she take it to our guests. If the Guard were to ask where she’d gotten it, she’d been instructed to say she’d picked it up in town on her last visit and had just finished adjusting the straps and various ties up until now. A ruse that should be believable and hopefully not be looked into too deeply. I was curious to see what they thought about my decisions, but bringing it in myself felt like it would draw too much attention, so I schemed as best I could and busied myself by going back to the Temple to make some offerings for tomorrow. 

I doubt there is enough bronze in the Empire to sway Fortuna, but that doesn’t stop me from offering my sacrifices all the same. 

Victoria’s altar gets more than its fair share of bull’s blood and wine; I’ve burned so much incense the warm spice mixture feels like it’s seeping into my skin. 

But while my offerings to Luck and Victory may look extreme to the priestesses, they are small in comparison to the blood I spill for the Mother. My nightly prayers have felt feeble and unheard, I remain at the altar far longer than necessary, whispering in Latin for as long as I can before people start asking questions. 

By the time I’ve finished, the afternoon heat is settling into a warm evening wind. I gather my spinning thoughts and head to the kitchens to give Cook instructions for our guests' nightly meal. It takes more than a few coins to bribe him into making enough food for a feast and then sending all of it to the guest wing, along with far more deserts than probably necessary. 

Everything today has probably been a little more than necessary, truth be told,  but I have to do everything in my power to help. I have to tell myself it’s enough. That I’ve exhausted every outlet, covered every angle, left nothing to chance. I won’t sleep tonight as is, but it’ll be worse if I cannot find some way to convince myself that I helped. 

I’m so busy directing plates this way and that I don’t even stop to consider that I haven’t eaten today until Anise grabs me by the elbow. With a couple plates in hand, she all but drags me into the triclinium to eat, despite my protest. There is still so much I need to do! 

“Sit!” The plate clangs against the table. 

The formal dining room has been empty for months. I’ve been eating my meals in my room for one reason or another. She throws open a dust covered curtain with a huff, letting in the last few glimmers of sunlight. 

“You’re pale as a fucking spirit!” She hisses at me. Her gnarled hands strike a match and light a few candles along the forlorn tables, her own plate sitting untouched next to me as she fusses over the room. 

“Probably high off incense too,” she grumbles.

I place my elbows on the table and brace my face in my hands so I can rub my temples. There’s that stash of mirthroot in my bedside table I’d purchased to trick my Father and I’m tempted to use a little bit of it, just to calm my nerves. 

“Do my prayers bother you all of a sudden, Anise?”

She leaves for a moment and returns with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Glaring in my direction, she fills the first glass to the brim and chugs the entire thing before pouring a second, less generous portion into her glass. “Your reasons more so.”

I grab a fork and stab at a piece of roast chicken. “Do we need to do this tonight?”

She pushes a glass my way as she weighs the bottle in hand, debating if her second glass is really full enough to deal with me tonight. 

My eyes fix on the door to the kitchens, where the shadows from the other room make it obvious that some of the staff are listening behind the door. This is not the time or the place. My nerves feel absolutely shot. I run my fingers absently over my ribs, where I feel a burst of power flittering around my lungs, like it just might bubble out and spill from my throat.

“You’ve scarcely made yourself available for it any other time,” she snaps.

I sip the wine and tear into a loaf of bread, swirling it around in the red sauce next to my plate, trying to find ways to swallow down my powers before they hurt someone. Or blow out the window. “For months and months you’ve harassed me about never leaving the house and suddenly it’s become a problem?”

She slams her palms down on the table as she lowers herself into the bench seat. “You were drowning!” Her voice is so loud I can hear the staff listening at the door jump back in surprise.

“Do you know what it was like? Watching you get swallowed up by your grief? It was like watching you be hollowed out, turned into this shell that didn’t care if the world around her caught fire. You were empty and broken, a ghost of a person.”

“I know,” I nod, shifting vegetables around on my plate until they turn to mush in the sauce. 

“I couldn’t reach you,” her breath stutters out of her and I look away so I don’t see her cry. “Nothing I said worked! Nothing got through to you. Sending you out to watch the Games…”

I use the wine to try and dislodge the lump forming in my throat. She’s the only real family I have left and I know that all this secrecy has hurt her, but I can’t let her in now. She can only know what’s necessary. If something were to happen to her because I’d told her the truth, I’d never forgive myself.

“I knew you hated them. You’d always come back crying as a child. They’re brutal and bloody and…” She pauses to gulp down more wine. “I thought it would wake you up. That seeing all that death might… might convince you that you still wanted to live.”

She’d been right of course, she always is, just not for the same reasons she’d thought. Her actions had pushed me right onto this path; given me a reason to hold on, to fight. 

“It did, Anise,” I start.

“Did it?” She cuts in. “Because this looks a Hel of a lot like self-sabotage to me! Do you have any idea what they’re saying about you in the Capital? What the staff whisper about when you leave the room?”

“You’re the one that’s been pouring contraceptive tea down my throat, I think I can guess.”

Her weathered palm hits the table again, rattling the glasses. “This is not a joke! They kill people for rumors like this! They’ve already tried to do so! Doesn’t that bother you, even a little?”

Truth be told, that Raven has felt like the least of my worries these last few days. 

My gaze flicks to the partially open door; how many of the staff will report this conversation to my Father? How many will go into town for one reason or another and gossip in the markets over this little spat? I have to be extremely careful about what I say next. 

“Of course it does,” I say slowly. 

“Then you know what you have to do to make this right.”

“I’m doing everything that has been asked of me-”

“That’s not what I mean!” She hisses, emerald eyes flashing. “Get rid of them!”

The room spins. Candlelight flickering. The window rattles; table bouncing off the floor. It takes far longer than it should for me to realize that it’s my doing. Dark clouds of ether seep from my skin, slithering out from under the soles of my feet like snakes--like Azriel’s shadows.

Anise gapes at me as more and more pours from my skin, filling the room. 

Shit! I draw in a shaky breath and hurriedly pull it all back beneath my skin, until there’s not a drop of it left in the room. The bond is a roaring, living thing in my chest, bashing against my rib cage, filling up my lungs with the acrid scent of smoke. I drown it out with another big gulp of wine while Anise gapes at me like I’ve grown a second head. It has never been that bad before.

I swallow hard and push away from the table. “They’re not going anywhere!” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, the growling a deep rumble from within my chest. I rub absently at the spot where the tension feels the greatest, even as I storm from the room. 

Anise doesn’t follow, and the staff scatter out of my way as I sweep throw the kitchen in a huff. How dare she demand I send my mates away! They’re mine to protect! Mine to care for! 

Mine.

Darkness trails out from behind me like a scarf, billowing and snapping from where it seeps out of my back. The bond will not quiet, will not stop bashing itself against my insides at the mere thought of being separated from them. 

I all but sprint down the hall, looking for somewhere to expel all this energy. Now is not the time to lose control! I have too many things to do before the morning to worry about this new found lack of control. 

I make it to the safe room, tucked behind a bookshelf in the library, and rip the key that always hangs around my neck off. My hands tremble as more darkness loops round and round my hands. My breath rasps out of me, chest heaving; I can’t get air in fast enough. 

By some miracle, I manage to wrangle the key into the lock and force my way inside before I explode entirely. Darkness, empty and cold and unyielding flies in every direction, until there is no longer light in the room. Until there is nothing but shadow. I surrender myself to it; let it fill and empty itself from every orifice until I no longer exist as I am. There is only darkness. Endless void. Nothingness. The room is inlaid with gorsian stone, so that no outside force could feel the power that escapes me. Mother says she built it in case I needed to hide from the outside world, but I have always known the truth: She built it in case she’d needed to hide the outside world from me.

If this is an indication of the sort of possessive intensity I’m capable of, maybe she was right to do so. 

I’m not sure I closed the door. Blindly, I reach out a tendril of power and ensure it's sealed before I let myself sink back into the nothingness. Let everything that is dark and ugly and cold pour out of me like water. It feels as if it might never stop coming out of me; more and more flows like the breaking of a damn.

Until I hear an ominous crack.

The sound in the emptiness pulls me back from the edge and I count down from ten to try and reign my power back in. 

Another crack follows, the sound like stone crumbling.

I have to blindly find the door to let out the cloud of darkness that fills the room and find a lantern. Once it’s lit, I find myself gaping up at the ceiling, where my power had not only splintered the heavy layer of concrete, but the gorsian stone as well. The greenish metal splinters in the shape of a lightning bolt as the concrete crumbles and falls away from the roof, littering the floor with debris.

“Shit,” I whisper to no one in particular. 

I run back out into the library to grab a chair so I can get a hand on the roof and further inspect the damage. It’s a deep cut, about three inches through the gorsian stone. Not all the way through the other side but enough that I can feel the waning power. The stone is built to absorb and hold power, with a crack like that, it releases into the air like vapor. A clean crack all the way through might very well make the whole room as un-warded and unprotected as another other room.

And there’s nobody who can fix it.

I climb down from the chair with a shudder. No one can know about this. The room itself has always been a closely guarded secret, but if anyone were to see what I had done, what I was truly capable of, forget the mating bond damning me, my powers would ensure my head rolled from my shoulders. Power like that cannot exist within the Empire.

I drag the chair out and lock the door behind me. This place will have to remain a tomb; just another secret to add to my ever growing list. 

I place the chair back at the proper table and go to turn off the lamp when it hits me. If I can crack this stone, can I do it with all of them?

My fingers trail absently over my throat as the idea mulls around in my head. Could I hone it just enough that I could be capable of cracking, say a collar?

The house is dark and quiet. I’d spent a lot longer there than I‘d thought! I rush through the now quiet kitchen, nothing left but a few dirty dishes for the morning, and slip into the cellar. Maybe this could be the edge I’d prayed for! Maybe Fortuna had accepted my offerings!

I can’t get the secret door open fast enough, my hands shaking again, but this time from excitement. I could save them! If done right, the collar wouldn’t be an issue, they could fight freely.

I should have brought a light with me. I’d be a liar if I said I was a little disappointed that the other end of the tunnel isn’t already open and none of them are waiting for me on the other end, but I guess can’t really fault them. I haven’t exactly given the impression I’d be coming around any time soon. 

I fumble for a few minutes to find the lock, pausing briefly to press my ear to the door to listen for signs that it’s even safe for me to do so. None of the vents have picked up any conversation, which is odd now that I think about it. Have they already gone to sleep?

I turn the lock gently. They do need as much rest as they can get, but if I can give them this advantage, maybe this will be the last time in the Pit they ever have to have. Maybe we can turn things around from here. I have to try.

The door groans when it opens, ominous in the stillness. All the lights are off, the curtains drawn so not even a sliver of moonlight can filter through. 

Strange…

I tap at the bond. There’s no sounds of Cassian’s snores. And the thing in my chest is… quiet.

I pick my way carefully over to the room they’ve crammed all their beds in. The door is shut, the metal of the handle cold like it hasn’t been touched in awhile. My heartbeat is a clanging drum in my ears as I turn the knob and push the door open.

It feels like an eternity for the hinges to turn, for the room to come into view. My heart plummets into my stomach, every second of the drop a free fall into the depths of an abyss. The room is empty. 

Every room is empty. I check each in a panic, tugging incessantly at the bond but there is only quiet. 

This can’t be happening!

I was so close! I was going to be able to fix this! 

Footsteps sound down the open tunnel and for a moment the swell of hope threatens to overwhelm me. They’re fine. They’re fine. They’re-

Anise appears in the doorway, frowning. 

Just like that, my hope deflates. My legs wobble and I have to brace myself against the base of the statue of the Mother. “Anise, where are they?”

She closes the door behind her, emerald eyes shifting around like she expects some great beast to pop out and devour us. “The Guard came.”

Panic sweeps through me like a title wave, so intense my fingers live indents in the metal base of the statue. “What did you do?”

She huffs at me, offended. “I hadn’t decided what I was going to do yet, since you no longer are capable of seeing reason, but…” she shrugs, “the decision was made for me. The Emperor has declared that no sponsored champions should spend the night before a match anywhere but the Arena’s barracks. To ensure no outside tampering with the gladiators, of course.”

The room flips end over end and it’s a fight just to get enough air in my lungs. No! No! No! This can’t be happening!

“They’ll be returned to you, if they win.”

“Anise,” I don’t know what I mean to say, what I mean to beg for. I have to see them! I have to finish what I came here to do!

“This will be good for you,” she insists. “This obsession of yours is unhealthy. You need to start tomorrow with a clear head.”

“I need to see them!” I choke out.

“The morning will come soon enough. It’s best if you put it out of your mind and get some rest.”

Rest? They stole my mates! The statue rattles beneath my hands as my control weans again. I have to get them back! I have to-

Something pricks the back of my neck as Anise comes around the side of me, her weathered hand outstretched. 

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she says gently. “I told your Mother it would never come to this, that I would never need to use it. You’ve always had such exceptional self-control, even as a child. It seemed silly that she’d had such precautions, but now…”

It feels like flames beneath my skin, fire shooting up my veins, consuming every lick of power it can find. A hand like a vice clamps itself around the beast that lives in my chest and squeezes so tight my knees give out and I fall like a penitent sinner at the base of the altar.

“Anise-” I choke out.

“It’s just a little faebane, to help with the control. It’ll help you sleep.”

NO!

My body curls up on itself as the burning intensifies. She bends, her old knees popping, to pat my head. “I know you don’t believe me, but I am doing this for your own good.”

Tears prick my eyes as they roll down my cheeks. I don’t know if they’re for me, or my mates. 

Anise wipes them away, making shushing noises like she used to do when I was a child with a scraped knee. “I promised your Mother I’d never let anything happen to you.” She coos. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Spots swim across my vision and I thrash my head, trying to fight them off, but it’s useless. The faebane continues to course through me like a wildfire, burning all resistance in it’s path until my limbs go limp and the darkness inside me snuffs out. Worse, the bond, fragile as it is, shrivels further, until it is a hollow, empty echo. I can’t even feel them on the other end.

“Please,” I whimper. “Please, make it stop, Anise!”

She strokes her hands through my hair, humming a lullaby she used to sing me to sleep with, as if this is normal. As if I’m still a child too scared of the dark to sleep. The spots that swim across my vision grow bigger and bigger. I can’t move my limbs enough to struggle, can’t even turn my head.

The chill of the tile seeps through my skirts as my erratic breathing starts to calm, heart rate slowing.

“There you go,” she coaxes. “Stop fighting it.”

“Please,” the word sounds garbled; feels strange in my mouth, my tongue not quite forming the letters.

“Sshhh.”

The spots consume me, darkness yet again filling my vision, but this time it pulls me under as I lose the battle against it.

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Chapters 1/2/3/4/5/6/ 7/ 8

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[keferon]

Thinking more about apocalyptic hazards, there’s a lot from the human side too — navigating the new water patterns in particular. Rooms that seem safe to enter, but then the tide comes in and they start filling up with water. Alleyways where tides get compressed into concentrated streams of water as they flood, sweeping away anything in that path. Buildings that initially stayed standing having their foundations destabilized so they could still fall at a moments notice.

Whether for a while after the initial wave there would be a time where, for everyone (humans and mer) involved, each day is a completely new day, a new level, a new challenge because the landscape could still be shifting that much in the aftermath?

They could assume that the paths that were safe the day before might still be valid and safe. But that assumption could just as easily be wrong. And therefore, is dangerous to make.

(And this is without even getting into dynamics of leviathans from the deep or mer-human relations!)

Hoooooo boy

What a great game that would be

We can basically mix every possible obstacle into the plot here haha

Wanna challenge a characte? Get him drowned. Get him electrocuted. Get him poisoned. Get him lost. Get him fighting monsters. Get him doing all this stuff in various orders~

[magiccarpetman]

Two years ago, I started reading in depth about day to day life in and around the WWII Japanese internment camps, particularly focusing on the two that were located near where I live. I’ve read over a hundred firsthand accounts written by internees and their children as well as poetry, literary magazines, and newsletters written by internees during their time in the camps. I’m interested, too, in the parallel stories of the German and Italian prisoners of war held on US soil and the ways in which their treatment differed from the conditions the internees—many of them US citizens—were held under.

It’s fascinating work, and I genuinely think it’s a research/archival interest that will sustain me for the rest of my life. It wasn’t until last night that I realized why I care so much.

My partner and I were talking about our grandfathers and the different-but-parallel ways in which the pressure to assimilate into American whiteness challenged their connections to their family history. “Is that why you care so much about the internment camps?” he asked suddenly. I realized it was.

I was raised on the stories of my maternal grandfather and his brothers, second generation German Americans, enlisting during WWII and being assigned to guard captured Nazi officers, responding to their insults in fluent German to the admiration of their once-xenophobic peers. A “bootstraps” story.

When I started looking into my local Japanese internment camps, I learned that those captured officers were held in a former internment camp (the two camps in my state consolidated later in the war, leaving one site empty to be repurposed as a military prison). Based on the information I can glean about the timeline of my grandfather and great uncles’ service from family records, it’s entirely possible that they were assigned to guard the camp while it still held Americans whose freedom, property, and dignity had been seized by their government. I keep an eye out for their names when I read new material.

What my partner helped me realize, though, is that it’s really my other grandfather’s life story that’s inspired me to care so much about Japanese internment. My paternal grandfather was taken from his birth family when he was too small to have formed clear memories of them. The government records surrounding his placement in foster care are ninety years old and often contradict each other in a way that suggests either carelessness or deliberate obscuring of information. His mother (first name not recorded; my grandfather does not know it) is listed as “schizophrenic and hysterical” and seems to have been forcibly institutionalized the day my grandfather was taken. He would never see his birth family again.

My grandfather’s earliest paperwork from his entry into the foster care system lists him as Native American. When the woman I grew up calling “great grandma” adopted him eleven years later, three years after the last Japanese internment camp shut down, his newer paperwork called him white, as it has for the rest of his life.

Academically and poetically, I’m interested in displacement and its aftermath, the way ruptured communities work together to become whole again. I’m interested, too, in the stories that are lost along the way, all the people who are allowed to disappear into the holes in the record.

One of the post-internment accounts I’ve read was written by a woman whose family changed their names to allow themselves to pass as Chinese after their release from the camp. In this way, they were able to put down new roots in a nearby community. They experienced a strange racial liminality there. At one point, the woman wrote, their white landlord successfully lobbied for her and her siblings to be allowed to attend the local “white” school rather than the “colored” school.

Rereading that account today, I’m thinking about the first tiny slip of a pen that rendered my grandfather white. I can feel the edges of the hole in the record that threatens to swallow his story and the stories of those like him. That’s what gets me about Japanese internment. If we forget the messy, unconscionable day to day of what the internees’ lives were like in the camps, we’ll be one step closer to letting the whole thing fold up into a neat, palatable story.

Sorry to write so much on your post! (And to post my sleep-deprived ramblings unedited).

“Be curious about what you’re writing about” is not stock Common Writing Advice but it really, really should be. There are a lot of written works that fail due to the authors just being obviously incurious about what they are writing about.

[witherby]

I think a really cool day idea for Conner and mouse would be like the circus scene from Teen Titans were Robin let Starfire try some cotton candy and it’s really cute 



I remember that scene!!! Robin's absolutely lovesick expression was so romantic to me, even back then.

I didn't replicate that one-for-one, but they're certainly at a carnival! I hope you like it!

The Littlest Wayne: Carnival

(features: established relationship, Conner Kent x gn!Reader, fluff, discussions of structures that aren't OSHA compliant, kissing)

Masterlist is Here!

"That doesn't look safe."

"None of these rides really are," you admit, queueing into the line to ride the Wave Swinger with your boyfriend. "Pop-up carnivals are designed in such a way that they can be thrown up and taken down within a day or two. You can't really afford to bolt anything down because it isn't going to be there in a week."

Conner looks at you with incredulity. He looks like he's trying not to pout, which is adorable. You barely refrain from kissing him.

"Then why are we lining up to get on one?"

"S'part of the vibe," you explain, lifting your hands for emphasis. One of them is interlaced with your boyfriend's, so his arm gets swung around, too. "You don't really go to these things to walk around and then leave again. You gotta ride a ride while wondering in the back of your mind if this is how it ends. You gotta spend way too much money playing a rigged game to win a prize that wasn't worth even a third of what you spent to earn it. You gotta eat a bunch of deep-fried foods that shouldn't be deep-fried and feel incredibly nauseated for the next two days about it. That's the real Carnival Experience™."

"This doesn't sound fun, M," Conner says. "I can take you on a flight and pretend to drop you a couple times. I can ask you for an absurd amount of money and not pay it back for like a week. I can cook you dinner and narrowly avoid giving you food poisoning. We don't have to be here."

"Trust me, it wouldn't be the same," you insist, moving up in the line. This swing ride is one of your favorites, next to The Whip, but you haven't seen one of those in a few years. "It's also the atmosphere. You're surrounded by fun, neon colors and happy strangers and screaming children — it's all part of the experience."

"Yeah..." Conner grimaces, gaze a little distant. "I could do without the screaming children."

"Oh, right," you frown, digging out a specialized pair of earbuds from your pocket and offering them to him. They help muffle out extra sensitive sounds for him, like breathing and footsteps and other people's heartbeats, so he can better control what noise he chooses to perceive. "Here."

Conner takes them, briefly letting go of your hand to put them in, then un-tenses his shoulders and offers you a thin smile.

"That's better," he admits, "but I still think getting on rides knowing they aren't bolted down properly is stupid."

"Welcome to the carnival," you grin. You both shuffle forward in the line, close enough now that you'll be able to get on next round. "You're gonna love this."

"I can fly, M. I don't think I'm gonna care."

Then it turns out he cares. He cares a lot. He actually cares so much. When you and Conner get strapped into your seats, he's white knuckling the chains keeping his chair suspended off the ground.

"You're joking. There's one little bike chain keeping me in this chair and there's a single hook on top holding me up. You're actually joking."

You start spinning and twisting around in your own chair, gleeful. "Isn't it great?"

"No??"

"Alrighty riders. Please refrain from bouncing, spinning, twisting, or yanking on the chains. When the ride is in motion do not grab onto other riders' chairs. Keep the strap secure across your waist while the ride is in motion, and do not attempt to remove it until it comes to a complete stop again. Enjoy."

Conner flinches when the chairs lift into the air. He watches the ground get pulled out from under him, shitty carnival music starting to come out of the speakers while the lights on the ride start flashing. If he weren't invulnerable, he'd be losing his mind right now. How are you able to enjoy such risky activities!? Are you insane!? Actually — you're the one civilian child to a family of crime fighting vigilantes. Of course you're insane.

He looks up to make another comment, but the words quickly die in his throat. Because you look stunning.

You look great all the time, of course. Conner loves to look at you, and you know that. But as the ride starts to spin and your chair starts swaying with the wind, you throw your head back and laugh. You spread your arms out to your sides and kick your feet, eyes closed and hair fanned out.

You're practically ethereal when you're having fun. Conner watches the colorful lights dance over your skin and feels himself falling even more in love with you than he already is. He never wants the ride to end, if it means he gets to see you like this forever.

Using the trick Clark taught him, he speeds himself up to slow the world down, giving himself more time to admire you. To you, it's just a couple minutes in the air, but to him it's hours of unbridled admiration. When you're finally lowered to the ground again, he's unlatched himself from his seat and come around to kiss you.

"Let's go find another ride," he mumbles against your lips. You smirk, victorious, and grab his hand. He's utterly helpless to do anything but trail after you.

"Knew you'd come around. It's the Carnival Experience, babe; it pulls everyone in! Never should've doubted me."

"Yeah..." He says, smiling like a lovesick idiot. It's definitely the rides and games and people making him feel this good, and not the echo of your happy heartbeat or the image of your carefree smile under the neon lights burned into his memory. "Shouldn't have doubted you."

[kaxserlvr]

You knew this day would come eventually. You had spent years by Sae’s side—first as his best friend, then as his manager, always supporting him through every match, every exhausting training session, and every grueling press conference. But somewhere along the way, you realized you had forgotten how to live for yourself.

Sae Itoshi was already a star, a prodigy who didn’t need anyone to hold his hand. He was strong, talented, and destined for greatness. And you? You were just… there. Maybe even holding him back.

So, you planned to leave. You didn’t tell him—you weren’t sure how. You figured he’d be fine without you. But Sae found out anyway.

It was another worker who spilled the news, the one who had been flirting with you lately. He had casually mentioned to Sae that he was planning to ask you out once you quit. The moment the words left his mouth, something in Sae snapped.

Sae wasn’t the type to panic. He wasn’t the type to beg. But the idea of you leaving? That was unacceptable.

So now, here he was, standing in front of you, his sharp eyes narrowed in something you had never seen before—desperation.

“You’re quitting?” His voice was cold, but there was something beneath it, something unsteady.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I just… I want to enjoy my life more, Sae. You don’t really need me anymore.” You start fidgeting with your hands

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “That’s bullshit.”

“Sae—”

His hands gripped your wrist, not rough, but firm enough that you couldn’t pull away. “You think I don’t need you? You think you don’t matter to me?”

Your breath hitched. His face was closer now, his usually calm expression darkened with something raw, something you weren’t sure you could handle.

“Sae, you’ll be fine without me,” you tried again, but your voice wavered.

His grip tightened slightly, and before you could react, his lips crashed against yours.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant. It was a declaration.

Sae was never good with words, but this—this was everything he wanted to say.That you were his strength. That no matter how much he achieved, no matter how far he went, you were the one thing he couldn’t bear to lose.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “You’re not holding me back,” he murmured. “You’re the only one keeping me together.”

Your heart pounded, your thoughts spiraling. You had thought he didn’t need you. That he’d let you go without a second thought. But the way he was looking at you now, like you were his greatest weakness and his only salvation, made your resolve crumble.

“…What am I supposed to do with you, Sae?” you whispered.

His lips brushed against yours again, softer this time, a plea disguised as a kiss. “Stay.”

And that you did.

[stove-top96]

what if you did a valentine’s day one shot where the reader gets asked on a date and yandere batfam are not happy about it?

I LOVE your works so far!! I hope that you’re sleeping well and eating!! have a great day/night!!!💜💜💜

-🐈‍⬛

Please, Please, Please

Oneshot

Y Batfam x GN Reader

Featuring Platonic: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne

2.5K Words

Masterlist

You glance at the clock—15 minutes tell school is over. To pass the time you doodle on the corner of your notebook. Mr Miller's chemistry class was the worst. His monotone voice could lull anyone to sleep.

Your eyes drift to your desk mate, Parker. They seem just as bored as you, staring blankly out the window. Chemistry was the only class you had without Tim, which left you alone without anyone to talk to. Parker is nice, they’re the only friend you have that’s not already a part of Tim’s circle— If you could call them a friend.

They seemed to catch you staring because they started to scribble something in they’re notebook. A moment later they slid it over to you.

‘You understand any of this’ you smile and glance up at them. They had a cheeky grin. It was cute.

You shake your head and scribble something down. ‘Not a bit’.

They take the notebook back, Parker chuckles as they read your message, rolling their eyes.

“Guess we’re screwed than” they whisper.

You let out a small giggle “guess so”.

The bell rings before you and Parker can chat more. You’re quick to pack up your things, you wanna get home as soon as possible.

You sling your backpack over your shoulder but before you can head out the door Parker speaks up.

”Hey Y/n I got a question for you”

you pause before turning all your attention to them “yeah what’s up?”

”I was wondering…” their voice wavers and their cheeks go pink “well you know how Valentine’s Day is in a few days” Parker stumbles out, fingers tapping on the notebook. you nod.

”I was hoping… you and me could go out together, like on a date” their voice seemed to gain some confidence, and a boyish smile tugs on their lips.

You paused. You haven't really thought about going on a date with anyone, but the more you think about it why would you say no. Parker’s nice, funny, and they’re pretty cute.

You smile “Sure sounds like fun”.

Parker stares at you, wide eyed, like a deer in headlights. You take that as your cue to start heading out.

“Uhh. Yeah we’ll talk more tomorrow yeah?” They stammer.

“Yeah lets talk tomorrow” you call out from the other end of the classroom, before heading out the door.

Walking through the halls you check your phone. It’d been buzzing all class, it had to have been Dick.

<Dick>

Hey baby bird, how were your classes?

I’m in town today and we need to go out.

I Just asked Alfred I’m picking you up today!!

I’ll be waiting outside

Tim’s got a ride so don't worry about him

just you and me today!!

You scoff rolling your eyes. He easily could have sent these as one message, he just liked being annoying.

After putting your books away in your locker, you made your way to the parking lot. It’s packed with people and cars, but before you could spot him.

“Babybird I missed you so much!”

He yelled from across the parking lot, as he leaned against his car. You cringed as students stared at you and him. Could he get anymore embarrassing?

He ruffled your hair as you got into the passenger seat.

“C’mon let's go” he ushered you inside before, racing out of the parking lot.

“So I’m thinking we head to that new cafe you were talking about, and maybe stop by that old bookstore you like so much before we head home.” He keeps his eyes on the road.

“Yeah sounds like a plan” you smile.

He starts talking again, you tune him out. Your mind wanders back to when Parker asked you out. A giddy smile tugged at your lips. It made you feel all warm inside, this will be your first valentine’s on an actual date.

“You spacing out baby bird?” Dick raises a brow.

”sorry, sorry long day” you stammer. Dick makes a face, like he doesn’t quite believe you.

“sure.” His voice is a little irritated. Great, he's already starting to get pissy.

Your family’s always been weird about you. It's probably because you're not a vigilante but you can still take care of yourself.

It’s been getting worse as you get older, they just keep adding rules on top of rules. No going out past 7. No leaving anyone’s side at a gala. Always eat lunch with Tim’. Damian has way less rules than you do, and he doesn’t even follow them. It’s like they're scared to let you grow up.

Lately it’s been worse. Conversations stop once you enter a room. Touches lingering a little longer than normal. Eyes lingering for too long.

Whatever you’re used to their overprotectiveness.

It’s why you plan to keep your Valentine’s Day plans to yourself. You can just imagine everyone’s reactions. Dick will probably get super clingy. Tim will pull up their search history. Damian will go on a rant about how Parker doesn’t deserve you. Jason might corner them in some alley. and Cass will have that disappointed look on her face, the kind that makes you feel horrible.

Bruce might even ground you.

“Yeah” Dick’s grip tightened on the steering wheel tightens “no way” he mutters to himself.

Dicks muttering snaps you back to reality “what did you say?” You ask.

He forces a smile “Oh nothing baby bird, just excited”

You and Dick make it back after a few hours, and you’re exhausted. He took all across Gotham, trying to any and everything with you. It’s pretty obvious that he was trying to make up for lost time. He’s been in Blüdhaven more often.

by the time you step through the front door you want nothing more than to calloused into bed.

Instead you’re greeted by Damian. Judging from the scowl on his face he’s more pissed off than usual

Damian crossed his arms. ”You said you’d only take them out to eat.” He scoffed.

Dick slid off his shoes lazily , not even bothering to look up.”We were having too much fun and lost track of time.” Dick forced laughed.

Damian doesn’t move. ”You were gone for nearly 3 hours.” His voice is flat, clearly not buying the excuse.

“It’s my fault” you chime in, trying to diffuse the tension. Damian’s head turns toward you, his expression softens. “I asked Dick to drive me all over town” you smile, Dick ruffles your hair before heading down the hall. Damian doesn’t spare him a glance, his eyes locked in on you.

You start to make your way to your room, Damian follows— of course.

”you promised to be my model for my newest painting. When do you expect to make it up?” He asks. You hum “After dinner? You’ll still have a few hours until patrol”.

He pauses for a moment “I suppose that will work.” He says, the faintest smile forming on his lips.

You grip the handle of your bedroom door, praying you’ll get some alone time for once.

You don’t.

As you step inside Damian follows, his sharp gaze assessing the space. You sigh but don’t say anything.

Dinner should be ready in an hour, Damian’s not gonna leave anytime soon. might as well scroll through your phone in the meantime.

You and Damian head downstairs and as you make your way to your seat the conversation at the table does. everyone's eyes flicker towards you. You raise a brow but before you can say anything Alfred pipes up.

”I cooked your favourite tonight master y/n” he says, as if nothing is off.

You smile, shaking off the tension. “thank you Alfred”

As you go to take a bite you notice Jason’s gaze. it’s not his usual lazy smile. It’s sharper, more intense, watching. Did something happen? His anger is almost never directed towards you. Did Bruce say something?

Before your mind starts to wander your eyes glance towards Cass, she’s frowning like she’s almost disappointed in you but not quite.

“How was school today y/n?” Bruce’s voice cuts through the silence.

Everyone’s head turns to look at you. Waiting, as if they’re expecting something.

It’s fine you’re used to your family being weird like this.

You take a sip of your water ”it was fine” you force a casual tone. There is no way you can let them know about Parker.

Jason tilts his head “Nothing exciting happened?” He asked, studying your face.

You swallow “No not really.” You take another bite of your food, praying they don’t press the issue any further.

The family shares a look, silent but you noticed.

you pretend you didn’t.

Dick tried to steer the conversation in a different direction. But everyone seemed to be too lost in their thoughts to put in much effort.

The air remains heavy, the tension is palpable, and you feel everyone’s eyes on you.

It was the longest family dinner ever.

As the week drags on your family grows more intense.

It’s different this time.

They watch you closer, you never get any alone time. Even after spending more time with them than usual, they still expect something from you.

But what?

You don’t have time to think about that, todays the 14th, your first real valentine’s date. And you have everything planned.

At lunch you subtly drop a hint to Tim that you have this big chemistry project due tomorrow. Then after Lunch you’ll text Bruce and Alfred that you'll be home late, ‘working on it’. Bruce might check in with Tim, but Tim will confirm your story.

It’s practically fool proof.

Excitment courses through you all day. You have chemistry next, so you’ll be able to see Parker. You were just so excited— you deserved this.

At lunch Tim did not seem amused, in fact he looked quite pissed.

When you told him about your ‘Chemistry project’ he just forced a simile and nodded, he didn’t say anything for the rest of the period.

You didn’t pay him much mind though, you were to focused on your date.

As you walked through the halls to your chem class you kept glancing at your phone, waiting for Bruce’s response.

<y/n>

I have this super big chemistry project due tomorrow. My partner and I are gonna work on it together after school.

They’ll give me a ride back, don't worry.

<Bruce>

Ok, Tim will wait for you.

Shit.

what were you gonna do now? Tim was already onto you, there’s no way you’ll be able to go out now.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t even notice Parker sitting down.

“Hey y/n you okay?”

You frown ”I don't think we’ll be able to go out today, my family is on my ass right now”

Why can’t you just have one nice thing, for once?

”oh” Parker pauses, they fiddle with their bag. Parker’s clearly upset about the situation as well. Then suddenly their face lights up.

Parker grins ”What if we go right now?” they exclaim. Quickly packing up their things.

You blink “What do you mean?”

“There’s only 10 minutes until class starts. We can leave right now and the teacher will never know” Excitement exudes from their voice.

Your heart pounds in your chest.

you’ve never even thought of skipping class before. You family would kill you.

But then again they’re the ones that never let you do anything. They control everything

So who cares what they do, you want to have fun.

A grin tugs on your lips. You scramble to pack up your stuff “sure lets do you”.

Parker gives that same childish smile from when they asked you out.

Despite the small voice telling you this is a bad idea, you felt excited, giddy.

you felt free.

You race to Parker’s car. A mix of adrenaline and excitement made you run faster than you ever have before.

Behind you, Parker struggled to up ”Jesus, Y/n— I’ve never seen you run so fast before” they gasped, hands on their knees trying to catch their breath.

You chuckle “sorry I got excited”

Parker shakes his head, same childish smile on their face as they unlock the car, before sitting on the driver’s side.

Before you get in you look back at the school. A shiver runs down your spine and a little voice whispers at you to turn back.

For a moment you pause. If you turn back now you wont be in any trouble.

You shake it off and hop into the seat.

+++

A cozy cafe would be the best choice. It’s close to the school you’ve been there a couple of times, and the food is really good.

As they pull into the parking lot you’re nervous. This is your first date, what is supposed to happen? What’s even the proper etiquette?

You shake your head and brush those thoughts away.

As you and Parker walk inside, you relax. The cafe is warm, with subtle pinks and blues on the wall. It smells like coffee and pastries. Parker picks a table near the back, and you settle down across from them.

Conversation between you two just seems to flow. You never realized how funny they are until today.

Any doubt you had washes away.

Once you’re finished giving the waitress your order, you take a sip of water enjoying Parker’s company. Then the bell to the door jingles.

You briefly glance up— just to see who’s there.

Bruce. Jason. Dick. Tim. Cass. Damian.

They stand in the doorway, eyes locked in on you. Their faces are unreadable.

your stomach drops.

You’re stuck. frozen like a deer in headlights, under the weight of their stare.

How did they know?

They make their way over to your table.

Bruce stops in front of you, towering over the table. “I’m disappointed y/n” his voice is monotone, but you can see the crinkle in his brows.

you just stare back at him. Too stunned to speak.

you try say something, anything. But the words die in your throat.

Dick grabs your arm, his grip is soft but firm. ushering you out of your seat.

Dick and Damian walk you out. You don’t resist, you couldn’t even if you wanted to.

Before you walk out the door you glance back.

Parker is surrounded.

Bruce says something too low for you to hear. Your chest sinks. You can only guess what they’re saying to them.

They look petrified.

It feels like an eternity before everyone else gets into the car.

“You’re grounded” Bruce states. A faint smile, barely there tugs at his lips.

You want to disappear forever.

Being grounded meant one thing.

You’ll never be alone again.

Tears start to slide down your checks, your voice wobbles ”I’m sorry— please don't ground me”

No one speaks.

No one listens.

You glance out the window, watching your freedom slip away.

I got my first request done!!!!!! As you can tell I need a lot of practice with writing short stories/oneshots. I suck at making things fast paced but I did my best. I hope you like it 🐈‍⬛ anon, tysm I had a lot of fun writing it. I also kept Parker GN so that way the reader can truly be any self insert. I’m working on CH. 03 of wicked Game rn so that’ll be what I post next. But if you have any ideas send a request I need more practice.

Also 215 followers! Thank you!!!

[thenotoriouserg]

I’m sure I read another post like this on here yesterday or the day before… and it was basically someone commenting that a lawyer colleague/associate/acquaintance etc said something that they did/said was totally non-confrontational and the lawyer saying how they could be confrontational in court because thems the rules, but outside of court thems wasn’t the rules so he wasn’t gonna argue with his wife over what was for dinner.

I’m sorry, I have a terrible memory and this reblog seemed like such a good idea when I started it.

Anyway, seems to be a running theme, sounds like I’d make a great lawyer in the multiverse.

I was walking out of court yesterday and the deputy working the security desk goes 'stay safe out there!" And I go, yeah the sidewalks are pretty slippery. He responds, "hey, do you carry?' and I said no, because we're very much not allowed to bring guns to court. And he goes, "You want some mace? or a knife? we got extras"

so now I have some random mace and a knife.

Just in case.