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avatar-anna · 1 day ago

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this is the second part of my exrry in italy oneshot! you can read that here

Three days had passed and Harry hadn't left your tiny apartment.

He kept saying he should probably leave, and you insisted there were things you had to do, but neither of you actually made it past the threshold of your door. No one said goodbye, or even bothered to shrug back into clothes. For three days, you ate, drank, and slept with Harry.

"You're making it hard to leave," he murmured, his voice low and content as you placed tiny kisses on his neck, his collarbone, his jaw, anywhere you could reach, really. It was how you used to wake Harry up when you were together, and when morning number four rolled around, you couldn't help yourself but lean across the bed and kiss his soft, sun kissed skin.

At first, you kept up the pretense of being unattached, of sleeping with Harry merely because you knew each other well enough physically. "This doesn't mean we're back together," you'd both whisper, or something to that effect, before blurring the lines of your non relationship once more.

"You're not making it any easier to kick you to the curb," you mumbled, one hand reaching up to caress his stubbly cheek. The fine, short hair that seemed to grow in the last few days.

Harry smelled good, like he usually did with a mix of the soap in your shower. It messed with your head in a way that was dangerous, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

So he didn't leave (again), and you didn't tell him to go(again). You and Harry stayed in bed for most of the day, only bothering to get up when hunger was too apparent to ignore. You managed to whip something up from the meager groceries you had, not having gone to the market recently, and sat with Harry at the little dining table by the kitchen. The balcony would've been a much nicer spot, as it looked out over the neighborhood square you stayed in, but it was too public, too many keen eyes would've spotted Harry immediately.

"Part of me wishes I hadn't seen you at all," Harry confessed later in the day. You were back in bed after a brief stint in the kitchen where you tried to make pancakes, which promptly turned into kissing and licking pancake batter off Harry as he did the same to you on the kitchen counter, pancakes no longer a priority.

You knew he hadn't meant it to hurt you, but the words sent a pang through your chest, so different from the heat and fireworks and butterflies you usually got from him. Everything was so different now. It was hard to face how much had changed, especially now that Harry was in bed beside you. "I know."

"It's easier to pretend when I can't see you," he said softly, his hand never once stopping as it tracked through your hair, nor did your hand stop tracing patterns in his chest.

"Pretend?"

Harry blew out a large sigh before sitting up in your bed, his arms stretching high above his head. There were hickeys littered all over his body, one on his hip revealing itself as the bedsheet fell and settled just below his waist. You found yourself transfixed by your ex's body, the one you still loved so much the idea of him leaving made your heart hurt.

"Do you still love me?" Harry asked out of the blue.

The question shocked you, but only because you thought the last three days would've made it obvious. You certainly didn't have to ask him how he felt. "Yes."

"That makes it easier too. In a selfish way, I guess," he said, not once meeting your eye. "Knowing you're in as much pain as I am."

Unexpected tears welled in your eyes. You never wanted to hurt Harry. He'd been right to say it was easier to imagine him happy and healthy post break up if you didn't see or hear from him. It was easier to move on if you convinced yourselves that you were better off without each other.

"Harry—"

"I miss you, Y/n," he said, his voice trembling slightly. Harry wouldn't meet your eye, which made all of this so much worse. "I know why we broke up, and I've done everything short of sleeping with someone else to try and move on, but I just—Tell me you're struggling as much as I am. Tell me you don't sleep as well as you used to because I'm not there. Or don't. Tell me this has all just been sex to you so I know there's an end to this—this—"

"Misery?" you finished for him. "I wish I could. I don't know if I'll ever be the same again, honestly."

"Then why—"

"Don't ask why. Please. Not when you know the answer."

It wasn't like you and Harry woke up one day and stopped loving each other. Everything about your relationship had been nothing short of perfect from the very beginning.

Until it wasn't.

"No one has to know this time," Harry said. His tone had taken on a desperate edge, almost making you turn away from him so you wouldn't have to face it, do this all over again. "We can—We can keep this a secret. It'll be just us."

It will never be just us, you thought miserably. "People already know, H."

At the look of confusion on his face, you reached for your phone. You showed him the slew of articles that had already been written. Pictures of you and Harry walking through Rome together three days ago, each one picking you apart or depicting you as the villain in Harry's life.

"I know that's why you're still here. You're waiting for the storm to blow over," you said, unable to meet his eye.

"That's not—After everything I just said, you really think that's why I stayed?" he asked. You'd turned away from him, but you felt his hand on your shoulder, the kiss to your temple as he leaned in close.

"I wish I was the kind of person who didn't care what anyone thought, that I could simply exist in this relationship and not let anyone else in, but—but I'm not. I can't."

"You. Are. Enough," Harry murmured, pressing each word into your skin with a kiss. You closed your eyes, tears leaking from the corners as he curled himself around your body. One leg slid between yours, and you selfishly pulled him closer as he continued to murmur in your ear.

You fell asleep in your ex's arms, the weight of his body on yours more comforting than any blanket. When you woke up, Harry was there, but he wasn't wrapped around you anymore. He sat at the edge of your bed, wearing clothes for the first time since he'd set foot in your apartment.

"You're leaving?" you asked, voice scratchy with sleep.

"I'm supposed to go to Florence tomorrow," Harry said, bent over as he tied his shoes. "I've got a dozen messages on my phone asking where I am."

Something in Harry's voice sounded different, distant, just the way he sounded when you initially ran into him. It pulled at something in your heart, something that you'd been keeping at bay since you invited Harry into your apartment—the knowledge that this would eventually end.

"So you're—You were just going to leave? Without saying anything?"

You heard Harry sigh as he rested his head in his hands. "I thought it would be easier. Our last conversation seemed...final."

"I know, but—"

But what? Harry was right. This wasn't going anywhere. You told him you couldn't be in a relationship with him, and he was responding to that. You knew it was coming, but it didn't hurt any less now that the moment had finally come.

"You're right," you said eventually, sitting up in your bed. "We came here separately, of course you have plans. I'm sorry if I kept you."

"You didn't," Harry reassured. "There's nowhere I wanted to be the last few days, but we... we're broken up, and as much as I want to stay, I don't want to keep giving myself false hope."

Your fingers twitched, itching to reach out, to touch him, hold him. But he was right. As much as you loved this relationship limbo, that was all it was. Stringing you and Harry along would only hurt you more.

"I'm sorry," was all you could say. For too many things, none of which you could bring up without crying.

"Me too," Harry said.

Leaning across the bed, he kissed your forehead, then stood up. "One day you'll realize how extraordinary you are, and you wont care how people perceive you," he said, his thumb caressing your cheek. "And then you'll go and make someone the luckiest man in the world by giving yourself over to him completely. I'm just devastated it wasn't me."

You watched him go from the sanctuary of your bed, knowing the second he was out of sight you'd break down completely. The door closed with a soft clock, and even though you knew you shouldn't, you hurried over to your bedroom window, waiting anxiously to get one last glimpse of him.

Harry's lean figure appeared a couple minutes later, his head bent and shoulders slightly hunched, avoiding the few photographers who had been waiting for him to leave the building. You wanted him to turn around. You wanted to see his face one last time, a final farewell. But perhaps for his sake, he didn't, and you watched as he retreated down the street and turned down the road out of sight.

On your last day in Rome, you found a note he'd written.

Harry had hidden it in one of the pockets of his favorite of your sweaters, though you weren't exactly sure when. It wasn't very long, and the note itself was no more than a scrap of paper, one you'd nearly thrown out by accident. But you would've recognized his handwriting anywhere, and fond memories of notes you used to find among your things kept you from throwing away the folded paper and opening it instead.

Perhaps in another life. Unless you change your mind in this one, H.

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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kettlefire · 1 day ago

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A Panic in Time (DP x DC)

This is all thanks to the awesome @tkiesai for basically being the foundation of this idea! This is probably going to be long, and probably won't delve that deep into my ideas about this idea. Largely so it's not insanely long. But here I go!

°•°•°•°

Bruce's head felt like it had been shoved through a straw and spit out on the other side. The throbbing was annoying, but it wasn't anything the man couldn't handle.

His mind was muddled, memories of what happened prior to him awaking was blurry and unsure. Bruce knew it wasn't something good.

He vaguely remembered a league meeting, a threat, something looming. It wasn't world ending, or at least that's what Bruce remembered. It should have been something they could handle.

But now, here was Bruce. Waking up in the grass of some random park. He was dressed in casual attire, something he'd wear in public as Bruce. Although last he remembered he was in the Batsuit.

The sun felt too bright in the sky. The sound of families filled the air and children's laughter. No one seemed to blink twice at Bruce as he pulled himself together.

It took a moment to steel himself, to gain composer again. It took a few sweet lines, and a charming smile for a nice mother to slide him a few painkillers. The lies rolling off his tongue like second nature.

To his luck there was a newspaper at the top of the trashcan. He was in some town called Amity Park, and the year... the year was the problem.

It was 1996. Whatever had happened had sent Bruce back in time. There was a few suspects Bruce can think were the cause of this. But something in his gut kept drawing his train of thought to the Flash.

It seemed like each time the League had any time related problems, Barry was in the center of it. Which also leaves Bruce with the question if he was the only one sent back in time.

God, he could only imagine the nightmare if the others were sent back in time. Yes, they can be professional. They understand the risk of changing things in the past.

But Bruce also understands that his team can be less than... intelligent at times.

Despite that, Bruce needed to find a way to get back to Gotham. He might not know for sure where everyone was right now, but he knew Alfred was the safest bet.

A plan laid out in Bruce's mind, a list of people he knew wouldn't be a risk to approach. He just needed to find a way to get to them. He had barely made it to the gates of the park before a shrill cry pierced the air.

There was just one loud outcry, before it quieted down. Bruce glance around the space, spotting a young boy curled on the ground. Tears streamed down the boy's chubby cheeks.

And no one even moved to the boy's aid. Not a single mother spared more than one glance in the kid's directions. No parents came rushing over to the boy's side.

Bruce almost walked away, he really did. This wasn't his time, anything he does can cause immense damage to the timeline. But when Bruce caught sight of blood bubbling from a scrape on the boy's knee, Bruce couldn't ignore him.

Maybe it's just the father in him, but Bruce barely even notices when he's crossing the small distance. His mind zeroing in on a hurt child that needed help. Kneeling before the small boy with a gentle smile, and pulling his handkerchief free from his pocket.

"You're alright there, buddy. It looks like you took a bit of a tumble there." Bruce slipped into the same tone he used to use when his kids were young. Gentle and understanding, as he pressed the handkerchief to the small scrape.

The boy sniffled, tears slipping from his eyes. Bruce was more focused on the way the kid was looking at him. Like he couldn't fathom someone coming to his aid.

That look had Bruce's heart breaking slightly. He's seen a similar look before. The few times he's come to the aid of a hurt child that wasn't used to getting help.

Something no child should ever feel or experience.

"Where's your parents, kiddo?" Bruce asked after a moment of silence from the boy. He had waited until the kid's breathing settled down when the boy's chest stopped pumping so quickly.

Except his question only seemed to bring a new wave of tears to the boy's eyes. The small child just seemed to curl into himself further, ducking his gaze away from Bruce.

And as much as Bruce didn't want it to be true, it was clear the kid didn't have the support he needed. It might not as be as far as some of Bruce's kids have had in the past.

But it was clearly not good.

"That's okay, it's alright. What's your name?" Bruce tried again. The boy's silence was leaving an uncomfortable pit in Bruce's stomach.

"D-Danny..." The boy spoke out his name between sniffles, and Bruce felt a wave of relief hearing the boy speak.

In hindsight, Bruce can see how strange the scene might look. A slightly disheveled man comforting a lone young boy in a park. It wasn't exactly perfect.

But with the lack of reactions from the parents around, Bruce had a feeling the town had an idea who this boy was. The whole situation just didn't feel that right for him.

It took a few more comments before Bruce managed to get the boy to crack a smile. A laugh had felt like breaking a massive wall.

Before long, Bruce had Danny actually like any other boy he's known. Carefree and happy, just like a child should be.

"You didn't tell me your name, mister." Danny had suddenly cut down the relaxed moment they were in. A pout laced the boy's lips as he looked up at Bruce, almost accusatory.

"I'm Bruce. Bruce Wayne." Bruce responded without missing a beat. He knew this might cause problems in the future. He wasn't supposed to be here.

But when his gut is telling him something, he can't just ignore it. He checked his pockets, finding no business cards anywhere. So, Bruce fell back in plan B.

"No matter how long it's been from now, you can come to me for help. Just look for Bruce Wayne in Gotham City, and when you find me... just say Fairbanks sent you."

Bruce wasn't sure if he'll ever see Danny again when he goes back to his own time. Wasn't even sure if this was the same universe as his own. But he couldn't walk away without at least offering the boy help in some way.

When Danny's eyes filled up with tears again, Bruce thought he said something wrong at first. That was until the boy was suddenly clinging to his shoulders in a tight embrace, muttering 'thank you' over and over again.

Bruce felt himself almost close to tears just from that alone. His heart was aching for the small boy. Even if Bruce couldn't help Danny anymore than this, he was hoping the boy would have a better life.

One where he wasn't clinging to a stranger for comfort that family should be providing him.

THWAMP

It didn't hurt, but it did cut their hug short as Bruce suddenly pulled away. Turning his head to see a young girl wielding a wiffle bat, and another young boy standing behind her.

Her purple eyes glared at Bruce like he had done the worst thing in the world. Her grip on the bat was threatening and ready to swing again. Her knuckles white from the tight grip alone.

Maybe leaving this time era might not be as easy as Bruce thought as the young girl probbed him with angry and scolding questions. Not that Bruce could blame her.

He just hoped this hiccup didn't get back to the league. They'd have a field day hearing about how Batman got scolded by a child with a wiffle bat.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Danny wasn't sure if this was the best idea. It's been years since he met Bruce Wayne. So many years. Danny had just been a kid, not even ten, when Bruce had introduced himself.

When he had an adult, actually check in on him. Yet, it was a memory Danny couldn't forget. Maybe it was just the kindness that Bruce radiated.

Or maybe it was when Sam came to his "rescue" near the end. Regardless, it was cemented in his mind. A core memory that Danny cared with him through the years.

Now, here he was, roughly seven years later. Standing in front of a manor that put even Sam's place to shame.

It took a lot of courage for Danny to knock. Barely a second later, an old man answered the door, an accent Danny was certain Bruce hadn't had.

A stuttered explaination of being here to see Bruce Wayne, that the man knew him, barely left Danny's mouth before the old man ushered him inside.

The man, Alfred, told Danny to wait by the door before vanishing further into the manor. It took a lot for Danny to not just vanish.

Being half ghost nowadays had its quirks, Danny could just vanish, and no one but Alfred would know. But he couldn't.

It had taken a lot for Danny to make the journey to Gotham City. He hadn't even thought to look up a current picture of Bruce either. Which was probably a big mistake on his end.

Danny didn't even know if Bruce was offering this kind of help. But Danny didn't have many allies to turn to. He needed help.

Not just for himself but for his family. For Amity Park. He couldn't be afforded the ability to run away. Not now.

Danny felt all the air leave his lungs when Bruce entered the area. The man didn't look a day older than what Danny remembered. Bruce looked a bit more put together, not like he had just jumped out of a moving car, but it was Bruce.

"Uhm... I don't know if you remember me. But my name's Danny... we met when I was a kid." Danny started trying to explain himself before Bruce could speak. He recognized that confused look anywhere, and Danny didn't have the guts to go through with this if Bruce asked any questions.

"You told me if I ever needed help, to come find you. Bruce Wayne in Gotham City... you, uh, told me to tell you Fairbanks sent me?"

That came out more like a question than Danny would have liked. But it did ease his nerves a bit as he watched Bruce's slightly confused expression turn to alarm and surprise.

Danny wasn't sure what this would do. If Bruce could truly help him. But he was out of options. Just seeing Bruce recognize something he said was enough to calm the teen's anxiety slightly.

"I'm sorry, Danny... I don't remember you. But I believe you and I want to help you. Come inside, have a seat, and tell me what's going on."

That response was enough to have Danny's eyes fill with tears. His chest filling with a sense of hope he hadn't felt in weeks now.

Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

#dc x dp #batman #dp x dc #phandom #bruce wayne #danny fenton #child danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #ofc Sam saw a stranger hugging her crying friend and wasn't going to just stand by #is it really dpxdc without angst?#for whatever reason when Bruce went back to his time he had forgotten the memories of what happened during his trip #he didn't remember meeting Danny but he couldn't just ignore a teen who knows one of the few codewords he has #besides how could Bruce not believe a kid who has his codeword and looks exactly like a child Bruce would adopt #Bruce will never live this down #just because he doesn't remember doesn't mean Danny and everyone else doesn't #they know so Bruce get's to learn a second time about being battered with a wiffle bat by child Sam #no current plans to turn this into a full fic cause I'm trying to keep my list of active fics short #but if anyone wants to take this idea and run with it all I require is a link drop!!!#I partly wanted to write more #but my brain is only coming up with certain scenes and not how it all ties into the main plot #basically Justice League stuff happens that sends Bruce (and maybe others) back in time where Bruce meets child Danny #what exactly well don't ask me #Danny be crying a bit in this one #but come on he was just a baby at the start #by the end he's just an overwhelmed teenager who is just happy to have someone who might be able to help on his side

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hellobykittys · 11 hours ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 (𝐈𝐌)𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓.𝐈𝐈 ✦ 𝐂𝐋¹⁶

SUMMARY: Charles Leclerc, a Formula 1 star, faces the decline of his reputation after breaking up with art curator Alexandra Saint Mleux. Under pressure from his team, he is forced into a fake relationship with one of the most popular influencers of the moment. NOTES: English is not my first language, so there might be some writing mistakes. I apologize for that, and feel free to point out any improvements. WC: 1.9k WARNING: teasing, fake relationship

PREVIOUS PART | MASTERLIST | SMAU VER | NEXT PART

The next morning, Charles was already regretting it. Or maybe just annoyed. Or both. He hadn’t decided yet. The truth was, the plan had started before he was even awake.

“Did you like her photo?” Lorenzo asked, barging into the room without knocking.

“Good morning to you too,” Charles replied, throwing a pillow at his brother.

“Charles, I’m serious. Did you?”

“Which photo? She posts like fifty a day.”

Lorenzo sighed and handed his phone to his brother. On the screen, Y/N’s latest post glowed—a seemingly casual photo but so flawlessly composed it was impossible not to notice the meticulous planning behind it.

“Liked it yet?” Lorenzo pressed, pointing at the heart button.

Charles mumbled something unintelligible but tapped the button anyway.

“There. Done. Now let me sleep.”

But it wasn’t done. The second his like went live, the internet worked its obsessive magic. Gossip accounts picked up on the move almost immediately. “Charles Leclerc likes Y/N’s photo. Coincidence or something more?”

Meanwhile, across the city, Y/N was sitting in a chic café, laughing quietly as her phone blew up with notifications.

“They’re fast, huh?” she commented to her best friend, Clara, who was rolling her eyes as she stirred her cappuccino.

“Are you actually enjoying this?” Clara asked, sounding a little skeptical.

“It’s not about enjoying it. It’s a job.” Y/N shrugged, though the smirk on her lips said otherwise.

Charles was never a fan of hosting dinners at home. He was more of a fine-dining restaurant kind of guy—or, when no one was looking, fast food in his car. But tonight, his apartment had turned into Sofia’s mission control.

He opened the door still in sweatpants, his hair a mess, and looking just a little tired.

“You look like a teenager,” was the first thing Y/N said as she walked in, holding a bag of desserts.

“And you always look ready for a runway,” he shot back, taking in her flawless outfit: skinny jeans, a white cropped tee, and sneakers—casual but calculated.

“Thanks. I practice.”

She waltzed in, ditching her shoes near the door and taking in the space. His apartment was minimalist but not soulless. Trophies were scattered across a shelf, abstract art he clearly didn’t choose hung on the walls, and a big couch dominated the living room, probably the epicenter of his social life.

“Do you actually live here? I expected it to be… messier,” she remarked, flopping onto the couch.

“If it were messier, you’d complain. If it were tidier, you’d say it’s fake. So, please, tell me the exact level of chaos that would make you happy.”

“You’re starting to figure me out,” she said with a laugh.

The dinner, as it turned out, was delivery that took so long to arrive they were already brainstorming the next steps of the plan before eating. Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, her laptop open and notes scattered across the coffee table.

“Okay, we need something for the first public appearance. Nothing too obvious, but not so subtle that people miss the point.”

Charles, slouched on the couch, watched as she spoke, distracted by the businesslike tone she used.

“Do you talk this seriously all the time, or is it just when you’re in work mode?” he asked, resting his chin on his hand.

“This is serious, Leclerc,” she replied without looking up. “If you want to salvage your reputation, you’re going to have to trust me.”

He sighed, knowing she was right.

“Our first appearance could be next week, just before the Monaco race weekend. We could stroll around the streets in your car or stop at a café,” she suggested. “It’ll look casual, but everyone will notice.”

“What if we just let the rumors do their thing?” he tried.

“Because that would be too easy for you.” Y/N finally looked up. “You need to give people a reason to believe this story. And I’m very convincing.”

At that moment, the delivery arrived. Charles went to grab it while Y/N rearranged the table to make it look casually perfect.

“Let’s start small,” she said, stretching her arm out to snap a photo. He watched as she worked, following her directions like a puppet.

“This will drive people crazy,” she commented, showing him the image before posting it.

The picture showed Charles’s hand holding a wine glass and part of his torso. On the table between them sat two pizzas.

Charles rolled his eyes. “You’re good at this, I’ll admit.”

“Not just good—excellent,” she corrected.

As they ate, the tension between them grew more noticeable. While they discussed details like when she’d start appearing in the paddock, the teasing didn’t stop.

“Do you think people will actually believe I fell for you?” he asked, smirking.

“If I can pretend to find you interesting, people can believe anything,” she shot back, taking a bite of pizza.

He laughed. “Interesting? I thought you were having fun.”

“I’m a great actress,” she said, giving him a playful wink.

“Now we need more pictures,” Y/N said after a while, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Something a bit more… intimate.”

“More?” Charles sighed, clearly exhausted. “Wasn’t that last one enough?”

“Of course not! People need to believe we’re in love. Think of something subtle: holding hands, your hand on my thigh… something like that.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile immediately forming on his lips. “For someone who made the ‘no touching’ rule, you seem pretty eager for this. Trying to relive that night at the club?”

The comment was bold, but Y/N didn’t even blink. She simply stared at him for a moment, her calm almost irritating, before replying, “What night, Leclerc? You must be confusing me with one of your dreams.”

He chuckled, but there was something about the way she brushed off the topic that left him unsettled. After all, she had walked out that night without a word, pretending like nothing had happened. And it still nagged at him.

Unbothered, Y/N stood up and moved to the couch behind them, sitting like someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

“Come here. You need to sit next to me,” she ordered, patting the spot beside her on the couch.

Charles raised an eyebrow but stood up, following her instructions without protest. “What do I need to do now, boss?”

Y/N firmly took his hand and placed it on her thigh. With her other hand, she adjusted her phone’s camera.

“You just need to sit still,” she said, winking at him before snapping the picture. “Look, it turned out so cute!”

She showed him the result, a satisfied smile lighting up her face.

He glanced at the photo, then back at her. “You seem pretty excited about this. I’m starting to think I’m not the only one dreaming here.”

Y/N let out a small laugh, ignoring his comment as she went back to adjusting the photo’s filter. But Charles couldn’t help but notice: as much as she tried to stay in control, there was something in her eyes that hinted she might be enjoying this more than she let on.

Later, as they cleared the empty plates and went over the plan’s timeline, their eyes met. For a moment, silence filled the room. It wasn’t awkward, but it was heavy with something neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

“Well, this was… productive,” Y/N said, breaking the tension as she stood up to grab her bag.

“‘Productive’ is one way to put it,” he replied, following her to the door.

Once she left, Charles collapsed onto the couch and grabbed his phone. The picture she had just posted was already blowing up with comments. He liked it quietly before tossing the phone onto the table.

At the media day press conference, Charles had already memorized the answers Sofia had prepared for him. When someone asked about his personal life, he replied with a cryptic smile:

“I’ve been spending more time at home, enjoying it with people I like.”

Meanwhile, Y/N was doing her part. During an Instagram live, someone asked,

“Do you like Formula 1?”

She smiled, as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

“I didn’t think I did, but lately… I’ve been watching it more.”

tαglıst: @charlesgirl16 @sltwins

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x you

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onlinedolly · 3 days ago

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cw: drug use, misogynistic undertones (brief mention of gender roles), degradation, p in v, p in mouth, dubcon (if u squint maybe?), mentions of piss, mean awful leon, i think that’s it? lmk if i miss any ok thank u

an: for my angel 🕊️ annonie who rq more corrupt cop leon!!!! i don’t put tws in tags so please read the list above carefully. if any of those things are too much for you please feel free to bypass this okay thanks so much. also i did not proof read this cuz im terrible sorry ):

corrupt cop!leon is a mean man. a star in the raccoon city PD, an officer who’d spent years building up nothing but a positive reputation, but behind closed doors he was anything but kind. you were his pretty little girlfriend, over a decade his junior and a former rookie at the same place he worked.

corrupt cop!leon who drank the minute he got home until he went to bed, expecting dinner and clean home when he arrived. so pleased to see his pretty little doll and dressed up for him over a hot stove. he got too drunk, like usual, and that’s when he’d become violent and crude.

“why don’t you come over here, little one?”

corrupt cop!leon would say, patting his legs with an almost empty whiskey glass to his side. and like the pretty, sweet thing you are, there you’d go prancing over to place yourself on his lap. smothering him with kisses, asking about his day, complimenting him on what a good cop he was (not that he needed the ego boost). and he’d sigh, tap your pretty cheek to get you to open your mouth big and wide before slipping whatever pills he’d stolen from the evidence locker a few hours prior. it really wasn’t as bad as it seemed, leon would think to himself, he was just helping, right. the pills made you happy, pliable, sweet and made that little brain of yours dumb.

and oh boy, did corrupt cop!leon love when you were hazy and high and oh so fucking stupid.

“ain’t got a thought up there, do ya?”

corrupt cop!leon who’d roughly knock on your head as if someone would answer. and you just smile all bright at him, like you do so often, and tell him the only thing up there is thoughts of him. you were perfect, a small, sweet thing who let him do whatever he wanted to you. and he ate it up.

corrupt cop!leon who was drunker now, meaner, and after supper is when he’d start to push you around. climbing onto his lap to only be shoved into the cold hardwood as he mumbled how ‘fucking hot he was’. pressing down on your tummy with a full bladder until you pissed yourself, getting so angry at you for using the restroom on the living room floor. and still, you looked at him with hearts and stars in your eyes.

corrupt cop!leon who had you so trained all he had to do was pull his cock out and there you were, on your knees in a second.

“dirty thing, this is all your good for, hm? taking cock and fuckin annoyin me’”

corrupt cop!leon would slur out drunkenly, as you kitten lick the top of his cock. leon would let you tease him for only a few moments before he’d grab the back of your head, hand in your hair, pushing you roughly down the length of his cock. you sputter and cough in a feeble failed attempt to tell him to pull back, but it’s to avail (it’s usually not).

“bet you like that, don’t cha? choking around an older guys cock, whore.”

corrupt cop!leon’s cock which is so big you’re terrified it’ll break your jaw, and especially at the rough and fast pace he’s fucking himself. you can’t breathe and tears spring to the corners of your eyes as you desperately try to gasp for air. but leon’s never been one to give up, no. your tongue is swirling around his cock and your hands are cupped around his balls like you’ve been trained to do, despite the lack of air.

“ain’t you something? fucking perfect.”

corrupt cop!leon would growl out between moans. and right before he cums does he let you breathe, pulling you roughly off of him by your hair. you gasp for air, big gulps that can’t seem to come soon enough as you wipe the tears and snot away from your face. before leon even has to instruct you you’re sinking down on his cock, no panties under that pretty little dress he picked out for you this morning.

corrupt cop!leon who thinks you’re going just too fucking slow. so he takes matters into his own hands, grabbing your hips roughly and slamming you down on his cock and you cry out. leon loved to hear your pained little whimpers, especially when they were still paired with that oh so loving, hazy look you give him.

“next time speed up and i won’t have to hurt ya, so bad y’know? stupid little baby, need me to do fucking everything.”

“s-sorry, sir,” you sputter out, “need you to everything your rig-“ a scream rips through your body as he lifts you up and slams you back down on his cock, you lean forward gripping the back of the couch for some kind of support as he begins a brutal pace, pistoning himself inside your tight cunt.

“fuckers at the force think i’m so good, don’t they baby? it’s cuz im the best, ain’t i? go on say it, your old mans the best cop there ever was, hm?”

you want to speak, relay compliments on him like you’ve done a thousand times before. but you’re just so full and so so overwhelmed. you’re sobbing from the needy feeling as leon fucks into you, enough to give you a tinge of pleasure but never enough to hit that soft spongy spot inside of you.

and leon wasn’t an idiot, he was actually very smart thank-you-very-fucking-much, he knew exactly what he was doing. knew your body enough to fuck you until you’re begging for him to hit right where you need him too.

corrupt cop!leon is a mean fucking man, who loves fucking you like one.

“can’t answer me? what? am i a terrible cop? a bad guy? is that what you think of me?” he eggs on, venom laced in his words.

“n-no!” you cry, his grip on your hips so tight it makes you gasp, “leon’s a good man, good cop, good — ah — everything.”

leon’s fucking you brutally at this point, the exact words he needs to hear from his baby has him reeling, and finally he slams you down against his thighs, his cock hitting you so deep it’s borderline pain as he finally grazes that spongy little spot with his tip. it sends you over the moon, leaning back to rest your hands on his thighs as your hips involuntarily roll against him, hitting your g spot over and over again until your eyes are rolling in the back of your head.

“god what a slut you are, fucking yourself on my cock, now who told your pretty self you could do that?”

it’s like whiplash the way he picks your smaller frame up, spinning you both around and slamming you into the couch. your legs are spread in the air and he’s fucking you so roughly the couch rocks against the wall.

and corrupt cop!leon is a mean man, but he’s not cruel, so he takes one of his hands and rubs fast circles on your clit until your spasming around him, your orgasm crashing over you like a large tidal wave.

and he’s close too, he can feel it, so he picks up the pace, fucking you hard and ruthlessly as he mumbles pet names into your ear.

“god baby” “fuck, angel.” “cunt made just for me, hm, cupcake?”

finally he cums with a growl that’s almost animalistic, gripping your hip harshly as he unloads his seed inside of you. he’s sweating and panting and you’re looking at him with stars in your glossed over eyes, he takes a few moments to soften inside of you before pulling out.

“you should really clean yourself up, huh? look downright filthy with cum leakin’ out of you like that.”

he says before sauntering away, sure to grab his whiskey glass he’d left of the table.

corrupt cop!leon was a mean man and he was everything to you.

#leon kennedy #resident evil #tw.dark content #ೃ mars writes !#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #re2 #re4 #dead dove do not eat #dd:dne #leon smut

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doctorprofessorsong · 3 days ago

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I've been waiting to really have some time to type out my thoughts about the Ody3, and now I have managed to sneak away, so here you go.

Doctor Odyssey is not being presented as a love triangle, but instead as a throuple. A basic tenet of polyamory for a lot of people is: one person cannot meet all my emotional and physical needs.

And to be crystal clear, that's also something the show has expressly outlined. The captain said it. Out loud. About a throuple. So it's not like this is unintentional.

With that, here's why this throuple story is balanced and conveying clearly that they each meet separate and important emotional needs (physically they've all said it was awesome so let's assume the sex is good)

Avery - Avery is an interesting character because she is very smart and largely defines herself by academic accomplishments. In fact, she is considering med school but doesn't have a burning need to be a doctor. She just feels like it's what she should do. This wars with her nature to pursue pleasure. She wants to see the world. She isn't interested in settling down. And she has a fear of commitment that stems from being hurt while envisioning a future where she has "fixed" herself and has kids and a spouse. She also froze her eggs, which takes commitment, but didn't say kids as her bucket lost goal.

Tristan - Tristan is all heart. He's touchy and feels deeply and openly and unapologetically. He openly loves, appreciates being wanted, and tbh is a himbo (honorific). He also is terrified of being left because of his mother who love bombed and abandoned him over and over again. He craves something stable while also being absolutely terrified of getting it and either losing it or losing his taste for it. He wants kids but isn’t willing to risk his heart unless he knows his partner is all in on him which is basically an impossibility at the front end of a relationship.

Max - Max is smart and he knows it. He loves learning new things with an enthusiasm most people don't appreciate. But that's both an attribute and a drawback for him because Max hides behind his knowledge when he's scared or hurt. Rather than be vulnerable, he falls into a pattern of professionalism and authority (earned or not). He longs to let his hair down, but stepping out of his self-imposed role is terrifying.

So knowing all that, let's look at them ttogether.

Max and Avery - these two absolutely thrive in an academic or cerebral challenge. They challenge each other and push each other intellectually. They are attracted to the other in part by those sexy brains. But they have no idea how to cross the divide on an emotional level. Avery has no clue how to tease Max out of his rigid walls (something she seems to acknowledge when asking Tristan to help with the throuple idea). And Max also can't figure that out. Also, Max encourages Avery's instinct to define herself by academic achievements (not purposely so much as because they are too alike here)

Max and Tristan - Max and Tristan have similar life goals but it's the way they connect emotionally that is the key to the balance for both characters. Tristan can reach Max, like he did in the mid season finale. He breaks the ice around Max's heart. Max, meanwhile, gives Tristan and stability and maturity he craves. And Max feels like he's a constant. He may retreat behind his walls and rules, but you get the feeling that if he lets that guard down, he would be a steady partner.

Avery and Tristan - these two like each other. They're close. They care about each other. Yet they didn't find a space without Max. I think it's because they are both too prone to having fun (Avery) and running away from commitment (both of them). Tristan has historically held Avery up as an idea while not seeing the person. Avery has either dismissed Tristan or recognized she isn't willing to give him the steady commitment he craves. They are GREAT for each other. They care about each other and support each other and connect so well. But neither of them is in a space where a healthy relationship can form on their own.

When you put them all together, you start to see both how they fulfill certain needs in each other but also how they fill in the gaps. No pairing stands alone. It's unbalanced. But together, they work so well.

Interestingly, we're shown that. They are best when they are together and on the same page. Things feel unbalanced when they aren't on screen together. Even when they work well together one on one, eventually coming together as a triad is like an emotional home base for them.

#doctor odyssey #ody3

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dekariosclan · 1 day ago

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Epilogue Friend Gale is great I love him so much but your post brought to mind something I saw a while ago

When Tav chooses to refuse his proposal, he's still ever the gracious host and friend, still offering an invitation to visit him sometime, maybe even be a guest lecturer, I think!

I wonder though how friend Gale might feel about Tav who is his ex, who he may still have feelings for, who may also still have feelings back for Gale, and how he may go about winning Tav's heart once again?

Thank you for sending in an ask that takes a gut-punch of a scene (WHO COULD DECLINE GALE’S PROPOSAL?!?!!?!!?) and ends up turning it into a happy ending! Truly an anon after my own heart! did i actually send this ask in to myself 🤔

There’s just one caveat I want to add to your scenario, which is that: There’d have to have been a damn good reason that Tav had to break up with Gale/not stay with him at all. Because Gale is so loyal and devoted (waits for Tav even when they abruptly go to Avernus!) that I could not see him willingly taking the risk of giving his heart to Tav a second time if they rejected him for a frivolous reason.

But if there WAS a good reason—perhaps something in Tav’s past that they’d been obligated to finish on their own, and they weren’t able to commit to Gale as a result—then I think upon their reunion at the Epilogue party and especially when Tav visited Waterdeep, Gale would have to do his best to hide just how much his heart still belonged to Tav. And he would absolutely fail on all counts.

In other words, he’d be so adorably sweet and flustered and charming that I don’t think he’d need to try very hard to win Tav’s heart again.

He still would try, of course; he’d be absolutely over the moon at Tav accepting his invitation to visit him in Waterdeep, and would take great pains to pull out all the stops (the food and drink being absurdly high quality as we’ve noted). But he’d also fret about the accommodations in his Tower, whether the guest bed was good enough, what kind of music Tav would like, etc. He’d be in a bit of a frenzy of preparation.

The irony would be that when Tav arrived, despite Gale doing everything he could to impress them with the surroundings, the only thing they really would be focused on was Gale himself. How sweet he was, how effortlessly kind he was, how soft his eyes looked when he smiled at them.

How much they’d missed him.

I don’t think it would take long at all (maybe a week? maybe two?) before their conversations turned from how long Tav planned to stay, to Tav being welcome to stay as long as they’d like, to wondering why Tav would need to leave at all?

Gale would be ridiculously happy of course, and the very first thing he’d want to do is join Tav in sharing the joyous news with Tara.

Tara’s happiness, on the other hand, would be about what you’d expect:

“Oh. You again. Shall I tell Mrs. Dekarios that the prospect of grandchildren is back on the table then?”

“TARA!”

#Thanksgiving cooking is done so now this blog is gonna be cooking on asks 🔥I have to catch up to y’all!#Also! fyi that I temporarily shut off my ask box to help accomplish this but it shall return ☝️#bg3 #gale dekarios #baldur's gate 3 #answered ask #gale x tav #gale of waterdeep

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cosmiccardistry · 2 days ago

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Advice You Need To Hear Right Now

(Minors DNI + DNF!) Hello everyone, it's Cosmic or Card! Today, I'm doing a relatively simple, but needed tarot reading - one that pertains to, 'Advice You Need To Hear Right Now'! There are three colors to choose from: 'Pile One' will be blue, 'Pile Two' will be green, and 'Pile Three' will be red. When choosing a pile, look at the colors. Truly take them in. After that, shut your eyes. Breathe in and out until you feel calm - almost empty. Once you are relaxed, allow the color corresponding to the pile you're meant to engage with to appear within your mind. DISCLAIMER: I am a novice tarot reader. So, I do not intend for people to take my reads one hundred percent seriously! Also, this is a collective tarot reading. I am not reading your specific energy alone. As a result, it is unlikely that everything in your chosen pile will apply to you. Be discerning and use your own intuition! ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

PILE ONE

Shufflemancy/Channeled Song(s) : I'll Try Anything Once - The Strokes, The Less I Know The Better - Tame Impala, Borderline - Tame Impala, Jingle Bell Rock - Bobby Helms, Canned Heat - Jamiroquai Words/Sentences/Phrases/Numbers That Came To Mind : "I fucking love Tame Impala, man - did you know that it's just one guy?", 555, banana, minions, bwah, rabbids First Four Cards From Deck #1 : Seven of Cups (Rx), King of Pentacles, Ace of Cups, Ten of Wands (Rx) First Four Clarifying Cards From Deck #2 : The Fool (Rx) (Clar. 7oC - Rx), The Sun (Clar. KoP), The Hermit (Rx) (Clar. 1oC), Nine of Wands (Clar. 10ofW - Rx) You really believe in something. You are deeply committed to whatever this "something" is. It could be a relationship, career, goal, idea, or something else entirely - however, what it is matters little. This commitment you are making is not as positive as you seem to believe it is. It is a negative situation pretending to be otherwise. The foundation you are currently focusing on - regarding this "something" you deeply believe in, despite all the red flags - is simply waiting to crumble. It's waiting to crumble because it's not meant for you. A good commitment, worthy of belief, does not make you feel extremely exhausted, or sap you of the passionate energy you wish to pour into something or someone. In fact, it is meant to do the opposite of all those things, Pile One. You have many options and opportunities, whether you see them or not. You could be putting your time and energy into many other and healthier things, but you don't... why? I think you understand, deep down, in all your wisdom, that you should commit yourself to things that make you truly happy - energies and opportunities that heal your heart, rather than break it further, but... you continue to ignore your inner wisdom. You ignore your inner wisdom in favor of continuing karmic cycle after karmic cycle with... whatever this commitment is. You might even become annoyed when the Divine tries to give you other, more emotionally fulfilling, opportunities in favor of pretending to be happy. The thing is, though, you could actually be happy! You would just have to do the work (which is easier said than done, I know - but still)! And there is an outright refusal to do the work, here - to heal the wounds that keep you in these karmic cycles. Your advice is to drop the swords - the defensiveness - against the help your spiritual team is trying to give you, Pile One. Not only that but drop the commitments that continuously hurt you in favor of... taking a leap toward happiness instead. Genuine happiness, I mean - not the kind of faux happiness you've convinced yourself you have, but the actual stuff! Head toward the future and away from the past, focus on healing yourself with the assistance of those around you (physical and/or spiritual), and you will achieve honest-to-God contentment. Thank you for reading, Pile One! And take care of yourself! :-) ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

PILE TWO (TW)

Shufflemancy/Channeled Song(s) : Kiss Me, Son of God - They Might Be Giants, Rose Blood - Mazzy Star, Fade Into You - Mazzy Star, Video Games - Lana Del Rey Words/Sentences/Phrases/Numbers That Came To Mind : Election, death, pass away, "play stupid games, win stupid prizes", president, precedent First Four Cards From Deck #1 : Two of Swords (Rx), Eight of Wands (Rx), Page of Wands (Rx), Queen of Wands (Rx) First Four Clarifying Cards From Deck #2 : Page of Pentacles (Clar. 2oS - Rx), Eight of Swords (Rx) (Clar. 8oW - Rx), Ten of Cups (Clar. PoW - Rx), The Moon (Clar. QoW - Rx) Pile Two, I am going to be as kind to you as possible. Namely, because it seems like you need that kindness right now. You've been going through a rough time lately... haven't you? I immediately started feeling sad when I began reading for you. I'm here to tell you that it's okay. Everything is going to be alright, no matter what happens next. You'll get through this. There is always an upside to every negative situation we face, even if that upside is hard to see in the heat of the moment. You might not know what to do with yourself. You might feel like you have no sense of direction, at the moment. You had all these plans and ideas, but... now - all of a sudden - they don't seem to matter. That being said, though, they do still matter. Your wants, hopes, and dreams will always be worth considering and fighting for - even if the world around you suggests otherwise. You are not meant to forgo your passions - not in this lifetime, not ever. Things might be moving slowly, but they are still moving nonetheless. You aren't trapped. Everything is not falling apart. You are not unmendable - and your life is not, either. The sadness and anxiety you feel are clouding your judgment right now. You have more opportunities for happiness than you, currently, think you do. For instance, you have many people who love you. They love you, whether they are around you physically or not. Don't push everyone away in favor of being alone. Embrace your loved ones - family, friend(s), romantic partner(s), pet(s), spiritual guides, ancestors - they want to be here for you in this trying, emotional time. Please, allow them to be. Get tarot cards for yourself, if you don't have them already - lean further into spirituality. Lean on the shoulders of the bright, unseen spiritual beings who love, guide, and protect you. On the other side of all this anguish, there is sunlight. There is justice and peace. There is victory and stability. Life is a constant cycle - you suffer the lows, so you can experience the highs again. I only ask that you prepare to see those highs, Pile Two. If we are not open to seeing the blessings as blessings, they pass us by without notice - prolonging our suffering. Consider noticing the small things—the little positives that make life worth living. It may be difficult to do, especially if you're dealing with mental illness, but it does make a difference. Not only that, but it becomes easier with time. You could also try twisting consistent, reoccurring, negative thoughts you have into positive ones! I know this seems like such a cop-out, but it does work! You will have negative thoughts no matter what; we all have them. Don't make it your job to force positivity onto every "bad thought" you have. I'm only suggesting that, if you notice a particular, negative thought process returning repeatedly, turn it on its head. It works and, again, it is something that gets easier to do with time. As a final bit of advice for you, Pile Two, get involved in something that will give its energy back to you. This could be a hobby. Anything. Involve yourself in something that brings you some semblance of happiness, is healthy, and lets you put your worries on the backburner for a while. Therapy could definitely be of use, too - if available to you! Oh, oh, and here are two lists of crisis prevention hotlines - if you need them: (x) (x) Aside from all that, I hope you feel better, Pile Two, and that you have a good one! :-) Thank you for reading!

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PILE THREE

Shufflemancy/Channeled Song(s) : What Makes You Beautiful - One Direction, Just Dance - Lady Gaga, Spectronizer - Sentai Express, Sticky - Tyler, The Creator, Balloon - Tyler, The Creator Words/Sentences/Phrases/Numbers That Came To Mind : "I'm/You're insecure", Just Dance (the video game series), childhood, remember, internet, Justice (the clothing store), brick wall, things, thingies, trombone, trumpet, band, violin, orchestra, balloons, Animal Crossing First Four Cards From Deck #1 : King of Pentacles, Ace of Cups (Rx), Six of Cups, Nine of Cups (Rx) First Four Clarifying Cards From Deck #2 : Queen of Pentacles (Rx) (Clar. KoP), Justice (Clar. AoC - Rx), Ace of Wands (Clar. 6oC), Knight of Cups (Rx) (Clar. 9oC - Rx) You may have been feeling incredibly stuck recently. Particularly when regarding your career, finances, and goals. Either that or you believe that gaining more stability - financial or otherwise - will keep you from becoming stuck. If your heart isn't involved in the process, though, that is unlikely to be true. I say this all the time, but follow what you are passionate about and stability will come after the fact. The last time you followed your heart, however, may be cemented in your mind as a negative experience. Whatever happened has caused you to internalize an immense amount of heartbreak. It could have been anything - a bad relationship, a terrible job, an abusive home life - it doesn't matter. You were taught not to follow your heart and intuition as a result of what happened regardless. You need to break free from the trauma and suffering you have dealt with in the past, Pile Three. It's holding you back and keeping you from the stability you long for. This, also, could have even been a wounding that occurred in childhood because I keep occasionally thinking of different things that remind me of my own childhood. Me thinking of my own childhood makes me also believe, that - maybe - you finding ways to connect to your inner child could be helpful, here. You may believe that avoiding others and their assistance is best for you, but it really isn't - not when it comes to healing, anyway. In fact, by avoiding others, being judgmental, and pushing kind people who only want to help away, you are screwing yourself over. You are clearly not content with the past, so - again - release it! Easier said than done, definitely, but it can be done, Pile Three. By releasing and moving forward toward the future with an open mind, things will become so much easier and you'll actually get what you want. Stuff will actually start moving in the present when you release opportunities and ideas from the past that weren't meant for you. You have a future to enjoy, and you have a current moment to thrive in - don't let the past take anything more from you. You have everything you need, currently, to lead a fulfilling life - even if it may not seem so. You simply need to inspect things differently, with a fresh set of eyes, and you will see that fact. It is difficult to flip your perspective so abruptly, so be kind to yourself while you're working through any negative thought processes you may have, or past traumas that still haunt you. Resilience and strength will be instrumental, at this time - if you do choose to put the work into healing what still pains you and holds you back. However, I do believe you have what it takes to heal, Pile Three! I genuinely do! I wish you the best of luck on your journey, and I thank you for reading! :-)

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

#free tarot #pick a pile #pick one #pac tarot #pick a card reading #tarot pick a card #november 2024 #spirituality #spiritual journey #tarot #tarot reading

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bulgariansumo · 1 day ago

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Rambling about Adeline and Eiland's social lives under the cut.

For being the super responsible, super organized, for lack of a better word, nerd, I initially assumed that Adeline would be the type that struggles socially. And to some extent, she does a little. She admits to struggling with balancing her work and her hobbies because her work is her hobby, not to mention how important it is to keep up the town.

But that's where Reina and Celine come in. They will make her take a break from work to hang out with them. I get the impression that Adeline is not quite as prone to feel overworked as much as someone else in her position might be because of how her brain is wired. (Just saw her six heart event. Nevermind! Please rest, ma'am!) Still, she enjoys their company and fits in with them well whenever they do hang out. It may help that having good relationships with members of the community is part of running it, which is her fixation.

Then there's Eiland. He doesn't seem to be friends with any of the other bachelors. That's not to say that he's on bad terms with them, but there's no one he hangs out with regularly other than Errol. Most interactions with Balor and March are business dealings related to his interest in archeology. There's room for some kind of relationship development there, but it's interesting to me that it hasn't happened already.

I feel like a big part of the reason Adeline made friends with Reina and Celine is because they're all girls around the same age, so they probably grew up together (though I can see her having met Celine through Nora instead of the other way around).

I haven't read all of the new stuff related to the recent 0.12.0 update, so I don't know March and Olric's backstory or when they ended up in town. Balor and Ryis are new in town. Hayden is much older than Eiland, but more importantly, he doesn't have an interest in archeology. Eiland doesn't usually hang out with any of the girls, either. Celine sometimes talks about him, but in a very "my friend's brother" kind of way. Even his sister, who he's closest with out of any of the singles, is only ever with him during business or dinner. There's dialogue that implies that they're not really interested in the other's fixation, but they respect it. If Eiland had other friends in Mistria, then they must've left after the earthquake.

This is interesting to me because between the siblings, Eiland is the more casual one. He's friendly enough, he's got a sense of humor, and he's not that responsible (messy room, prioritizes sweets over necessities, hates any meeting or paperwork that isn't archeology-related.) If it weren't for his intense focus on archeology, he'd be the kind of person people his age would find easier to vibe with. But he's so obsessed that I genuinely think he struggles to get through any interaction that doesn't involve archeology or sweets. And that's not as easily translatable to everyday conversation as town maintenance.

I get the impression that part of the reason he focuses so much on the past is because he finds it far easier to understand than the present and the people in it. And judging by some things I read about the update, I think I'm right.

#fields of mistria #fom v.12 update spoilers #fom spoilers #fields of mistria spoilers #fom adeline #fom eiland #text post #me playing sdv for years: “i don't have anything to say about the marriage candidates but the other npcs are kinda cool”#me playing fom for 3 months: “In this essay I'll--”

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zaynontour · 2 days ago

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🌿 Take Me Higher Than I've Ever Been by crimsontheory @ireallysawanangel [51k]

Harry is pretty simple. He goes to work everyday, comes home, then watches Netflix with his cat. And if he happens to have a tiny little crush on his coworker, then that’s just his own business.

🌿 Crave** by dimpled_halo @comebackassholes [90k]

All eyes are on Louis Tomlinson to bring new talent to save Hanover Records from the mess the previous executive left behind. His newest artist, Harry Styles, is charismatic and everything Louis needs to revive the label. It’s up to Louis and his team to make Harry the star he was born to be. When Harry and Louis come face to face, it isn’t the first time they’ve met, and their worlds are about to be turned upside down.

🌿 Young Gods by sincewewereeighteen [77k]

“Why don’t you stay?” Harry looked down at him and snorted. “What?”

“You’re not my type, Louis”, the boy rolled his eyes sitting on the edge of the bed to put on his boots.

“Says the man you just had sex with”, Louis pointed feeling smart, but Harry was one step ahead of him, with the answer on the tip of his tongue.

“You see, if you were my type, I wouldn’t have”, Harry winked, cheeky as hell. “I would’ve gotten to know you first.”

“Bullshit”, he accused the boy not letting it show how intrigued he was. “How can you know I’m not your type if you don’t know me?”

“How about I list five things about you to prove I’m right and if any of them are false I’ll lie down again.”

“Ok. Go.”

the one in which Louis is a model and Harry's supposed to be a normal guy... Until he isn't

🌿 School Of Extraordinary Lovers by @stylinsoncity [191k]

harry is a third-year witch and violinist at Laitswold, the only magical academy in the UK, with dreams of taking on the world, and hopefully breaking the centuries-old curse on his family while he's at it. he does not dream of facing off against his childhood rival and duet partner, but louis is back in town after six years abroad, so that's exactly what happens.

🌿 One Last Time by @smittenwithlouis [24k]

“I mean it, Harry, this is the last time,” Louis breathes out as Harry kisses down his neck.

“Sure,” Harry mumbles into his heated skin.

The action makes Louis shudder. He hates how good it feels. He knows he should be revolted. Disgusted. But god does it feel so damn good.

Or: Louis is a werewolf, and Harry is a vampire. They’re supposed to hate each other, but they’re too busy fucking to care.

🌿 Where I Burn To Be by pleasinglouis @pleasing-louis [143k]

“That’s right. I do own the skies. And you wanna know why?” he sneered. Without his boots on, Louis was a fair bit shorter than Harry, his eyes pretty much level with Harry’s chin and his socked toes bumping into the boots of the other man, close enough that Louis could make out the tiny scar on Harry’s brow and the individual shades of emerald in his irises. He was handsome, but that only made Louis hate him more. Heart thumping heavily against his sternum and his hands balled into fists, Louis lifted his chin defiantly and plastered a coldhearted smirk across his lips. “Because I’m the best goddamn pilot here.”

aka the Top Gun AU

🌿 Like A Melody In My Head by sarcasticinfluentry [60k]

A college marching band AU in which Harry is just trying to get through his first semester of college while pining over the hot drum major, Louis is trying to ignore his feelings for a certain curly-haired freshman, Zayn is trying to become less guarded, Liam is trying to be patient, and Niall is trying to make his dad proud.

🌿 Now You Know Me (For Your Eyes Only) by nadinecestmoi [77k]

au where harry and louis are solo artists and they’re not exactly friends per se but they’re friendly, know each other from industry parties and things like that and there’s always been this weird unspoken sexual tension between them and louis’ always kinda confused bc isn’t harry the biggest ladies’ man in the industry?? and one day harry asks louis to collab with him and of course louis says yes even tho he’s kinda surprised and harry plays the song for him and louis is completely blown away by how beautiful it is and it’s a love song and he’s like damn whoever this is about is lucky as fuck bc it’s clearly written from personal experience so they spend all this time together recording and it’s super bittersweet bc they click right away and it takes louis about three seconds to realize he has a huge fucking crush on harry but on the other hand harry clearly had someone in mind when he wrote the song so the last day of recording comes and louis’ like “thanks for having me on the song” and harry just shrugs and is like “well it just seemed fitting bc the song is about you”

🌿 Cold As Ice by larryspillows [76k]

Two famous boys, one passion. Two hearts, one home: the ice.

Or, an ice skating ff where the two most famous skaters in the world are forced to skate at the same rink. The only problem: They hate each other. What could go wrong?

🌿 take my hand (and my heart and soul)** by bananasandboots @anylessreal [45k]

The one where Harry hasn't spoken to his best friend in sixteen months and can't remember why.

Total Fics Read: 10

** rereads

#larry fic rec #larry fanfiction #28th appreciation #hlcreators #hljournal #1dsource #hlficlibrary #my monthly fic rec

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scary-grace · 1 day ago

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what I don't remember now - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

Tomura's life doesn't end when his death sentence is handed down, and he knows damn well that he's innocent. It won't be long before one of his appeals proves it, and he can come home -- back to his friends, and back to you, the girlfriend who stood by him through the trial. But death row is a nightmare Tomura can't wake up from, and as the years behind bars begin to pile up, Tomura starts to question if it really matters whether he did it. If he'll ever be free. And if you and the other people who love him have forgotten him for good. (cross-posted to Ao3)

This is the prequel fic to 'if my heart was a house', and covers what's happened to Tomura since the last time he and the reader saw each other. I did a not-insignificant amount of research into the criminal justice system in Japan, specifically on prison conditions, prisoner treatment, and the administration of the death penalty. There is some dark and potentially triggering content, especially in later chapters, so please be wary! dividers/banners by @cafekitsune

one

It’s cold. Tomura lies still in the half-darkness of his cell, willing himself not to shiver. If he shivers, that’s it. That’s an admission that he can’t hack it, that being here is getting to him, that he can’t swallow the fistful of bitter pills that have been shoved down his throat. Tomura made a decision, somewhere between his sentencing and when he was shoved out of an armored transport in the yard of an unnamed prison, that he’s not going to give a nanometer. He’s not going to blink, or flinch, or whatever the fuck. Do that, and it’ll look like acceptance. And Tomura’s not going to accept being sentenced to death for something he didn’t fucking do.

Tomura’s not a good person. On his best day he’s lazy and on his worst he’s an unapologetic asshole. The most redeeming feature he has is the fact that better people than him want to be around him for some reason, and it’s not because he’s good-looking or ambitious or rich. Since birth Tomura’s been a disappointment. That’s not the same thing as being a murderer, and as many good reasons as Tomura has to hate the house he grew up in and the family who lived there with him, none of them are enough to make him kill them all.

He doesn’t remember what he was doing the night of the murders, except that he spent part of it in the hospital. He doesn’t remember confessing, which he apparently did, and when he tries to think about any of it, he gets a splitting headache and the kind of nausea that means he’s gotten hosed down in his cell eight times since he arrived three weeks ago. Tomura’s trial is a blur, too. The only thing that’s clear in his head is the memory of you – you, and your hands clasped tight around his, holding on so hard that Tomura thought his fingers would break. Your hands are smaller than his. Your hands were strong. Your hands are warm.

Thinking of you is one way to warm up, but it comes at a cost. A shiver runs through Tomura from his fingers up, and he lurches upright on his cot to hide the motion. A split second later, the lights in his cell go on, so bright that he’s blinded for a second. He raises his hand to shield his eyes, and a guard barks at him over the intercom. “Inmate 230385, return to the rest position immediately.”

“I just sat up,” Tomura says. “Is that illegal or something?”

“Return to the rest position.”

“Why?”

“Return to the rest position or corrective action will be taken.”

Corrective action? Tomura’s already on death row. What the hell do they think they can do to him that will make a difference? Take him out of his cell, probably. And put him somewhere colder. Tomura’s blanket slid down when he sat up. He hitches it back up and lies down again.

He doesn’t need to cause trouble. He’s not going to be here long. He’s got appeals pending, and there’s no way the judge who hears the next one will be as stupid as the one at his trial. Tomura’s not going to die here. Sooner or later, he’s going to get out, and when he does, nothing anyone said at the trial will matter. His friends will still be there, and so will you. Tomura just has to hold out until then.

He stares up at the ceiling and tries not to shiver. It gets easier when he remembers the warmth of your hands around his, the last time he saw you. Tomura thinks about that, about you, and it helps. But even your memory can’t quite keep out the cold.

two

Someone’s coughing. Tomura can’t tell which cell they’re in, but they’re making a hell of a lot of noise, and it’s ripping at Tomura’s nerves. He didn’t use to have such a problem with noise, but the death row is so silent most of the time that Tomura can hear the other inmates breathing in their tiny cells. No one gets to talk unless spoken to by the guards, and the guards never speak to anyone unless it’s to correct someone. Tomura’s been on the receiving end of corrective action more than a few times by now. It’s usually not worth it.

Tomura knows it’s not worth it, and still, the urge is there. He wants to say things. He wants to ask questions – like why he’s not allowed to make phone calls or write letters, what’s happening to all the phone calls and letters that he knows are coming for him. He doesn’t want anything to do with the other prisoners, but if he needed to talk to them, he’d want to know the option was available without risking the loss of his exercise period or getting his meals reduced from three to two per day. Tomura’s heard there are worse punishments. If he’s going to get one of those, it’s not going to be for trying to talk to someone.

Still, the coughing sounds like it’s killing whoever’s doing it – but before it kills them, it’s going to kill Tomura, because he can’t take this fucking noise. He can’t say a word without permission, but this asshole gets to hack out a lung with no consequences at all? Fuck that. Tomura clenches his jaw, trying to hold in the howl of frustration. He clamps his hands over his ears so he won’t have to hear it any longer. They need to stop. No one cares, and it’s driving Tomura insane – more insane than the silence, more insane than the cold. Shut up, he thinks at them, whoever the fuck they are. Shut up, shut up –

“Shut the fuck up!” someone else explodes from somewhere further down death row. “Just die already!”

“Inmate 113019, this is a verbal reprimand for speaking out of turn. If you continue –”

“Yeah. Go for it! Put me in the protection cells! At least then I’ll be away from this fucking noise –”

The coughing takes on a weird, wet note that it hasn’t had before, something that makes Tomura’s skin crawl. It’s drowned out almost instantly by the sound of the guards’ footsteps down the hall on their way to lower the hammer on 113019, whoever he is. Whoever he is, he puts up a fight. Tomura hears heavy thuds, curses, a burst of sound that might be sobs or laughter, and somewhere in the middle of it, the coughing comes to a complete stop. It doesn’t start up again, and once the guards drag 113019 away, the cell block is dead silent once more.

Two minutes ago, all Tomura wanted was for it to be quiet again. Right now, he can’t help wondering why the coughing stopped so suddenly. Right now, he misses the noise.

three

There’s frost on the ground, and Tomura can see his breath. His teeth are chattering, and he’s shivering too hard to walk. He shouldn’t be outside. But he gets one exercise period per day, and it’s the only time he gets to spend outside his cell. The only time he gets to see the sky and breathe air that hasn’t been recycled thousands of times until it tastes old and stale. It doesn’t matter if it’s below freezing. If Tomura has a chance to be outside, he should use it.

He forces himself to take even steps on his way around the tiny exercise yard, and at the same time, he lets his mind wander – back to you, because it’s easier to think about you out here than it is in his cell. He doesn’t want to imagine you in there with him. Out here, it’s easier. He can pretend the two of you are meeting up to go for a walk, like you did on your first date. He can pretend you’re just around the next turn.

After the first time you ran into each other, Tomura didn’t think he’d see you again. Which was stupid. You worked at the library on campus, and he needed to use the library, so of course he was going to see you. And every time you saw him, you talked to him until you had to go do something else – like renew someone’s checked-out book, reserve them a study room, schedule a session with a tutor, find a source they really should have been able to find on their own. At first Tomura took those interruptions as his cue to leave. Then he started waiting through them. Then he started coming by even if you were busy, waiting however long it took for you to have time for him.

Tomura hadn’t meant to ask you out, exactly. He just told you that he wanted to talk more sometime when you weren’t busy, and you suggested taking a walk together. Worked for him. Except for the part where it was really cold, even though the sun was out and the air was still, and the part where Tomura handles the cold the same way cats handle being sprayed with a hose. He was shivering before the two of you made it halfway around campus.

You noticed. Are you okay?

Fine, Tomura muttered, and you gave him a skeptical look – but you didn’t argue. You always knew how to call him on his bullshit, right from the beginning. Aren’t you cold?

I run kind of warm, you said, and you held out your hands. Here.

Tomura knew it didn’t mean anything, but his stomach still twisted, and his hands were shaking from more than the cold when he settled them in yours. Your hands were warm, just like you said they’d be. Warm, but not sweaty, and before Tomura could say anything, you folded his hands together, with yours on either side. You’re freezing, you said. I can keep you warm, but we should probably go inside.

Yeah. Tomura was glad you were holding his hands that way. Any other way, and he’d have latched on tight, refusing to let go. Sorry. This was a dumb idea.

Not really. A walk is a decent first date.

A first date. You wanted it to be a date, and you thought it was a good one. Tomura’s face somehow managed to heat up without making the rest of him any warmer. If I ask you to get coffee with me right now, can that be our second date?

You smiled. That made Tomura feel warmer, almost as warm as your hands felt around his. That works for me.

You always kept Tomura warm, and not for the first time, Tomura wonders what’s happening to you out there. Where you are, what you’re doing. If you found somewhere to live, because you can’t pay the rent in yours and Tomura’s apartment alone. If you’ve got your job still, because Tomura was pretty sure you were going to lose it for calling out so many days to sit with him during the trial. If you’re okay without him.

Tomura’s not okay without you. That’s why he has to be careful where he thinks about you. Not inside, when he can’t escape the fact that he’s been in prison for three years already. Only out here, in the cold, when he can think about what it’ll be like when all this is over. A guard shouts at Tomura that it’s time to come inside, and Tomura picks up the pace. One more circuit around the tiny yard. A few more seconds walking with you.

four

Tomura closes his eyes and listens to the quiet tapping against the bars of the cell beside his. It’s taken him four years in here to learn Morse code, and now that he knows it, he can talk to the other inmates on death row – the ones he feels like talking to, which is basically no one. The person next to him is all right. He calls himself Kurogiri. Tomura doesn’t know why he’s here.

Nobody knows why Tomura’s here, either. On the rare occasions anyone gets to talk to anyone else, they have better things to do than go over what bullshit twist of fate led to their death sentences. Convictions don’t matter when they’re all waiting on the same punishment. All that matters is time – how much time they’ve spent in here, and how much more time it’ll take for this to end. It says something about this place that four years after he was sentenced, Tomura’s still the newest one on the block.

Not for long, though. That’s what Kurogiri’s saying. Tomura taps out a response. H-o-w k-n-o-w?

G-u-a-r-d-s. Kurogiri has some kind of in with the guards. He’s never said what it is, and Tomura’s never asked. K-u-n-i-e-d-a o-l-d c-e-l-l.

So far in Tomura’s time here, only one inmate’s died, and it wasn’t in an execution. The inmate who was sick during Tomura’s second winter here died of whatever he had, and the guards didn’t find him in the cell until the next morning. By that point the smell of death was everywhere, and instead of letting the inmates move somewhere else until it was gone, the guards left all the vents open to flush it out. They let in the cold, too. It took Tomura two weeks to get warm.

He wonders if anyone’s going to tell the new guy what happened to the last person who lived there. Then again, nobody’s told Tomura what happened to the last occupant of his cell. He doesn’t want to know. Kurogiri is tapping out another message, and Tomura listens idly. Y-o-u o-k?

Tomura double-taps – shorthand for yes. W-h-y?

There’s a long pause. A really long pause. Tomura’s in the process of repeating himself when another prisoner responds from down the hall. C-h-i-c-k-e-n-s-h-i-t. T-e-l-l h-i-m o-r I w-i-l-l.

W-h-a-t? Tomura asks. His stomach is clenching, nausea welling up like he hasn’t felt in months. It’s hard to get scared in here. Nothing ever happens. T-e-l-l –

F-i-r-s-t a-p-p-e-a-l d-e-n-i-e-d. Kurogiri answers so fast that Tomura can barely decipher it. O-n-l-y f-i-r-s-t o-n-e. O-t-h-e-r-s –

Tomura’s not listening anymore. He manages to roll sideways off his bed before he throws up, but that’s it. The nausea that overtakes him is too powerful for him to do anything but vomit on the floor, then dry-heave once his stomach empties itself completely. The other inmates are laughing at him, calling out even though the guards are already on their way. The same inmate who always gets dragged out for talking is the loudest. “You’re getting off easy, kid! You killed seven people, but you only have to die once.”

“There are more appeals,” Kurogiri says. His voice is soft, almost comforting, completely at odds with the sound of Tomura’s cell door scraping open, drowned out almost entirely by the rush of cold water spraying from the fire hose, dousing Tomura and the mess and everything in his cell all at once. “You don’t need to worry. The process has already begun –”

“I didn’t know.” Tomura’s voice is hoarse, and his mouth tastes so awful that the sensation of air rushing over his tongue makes him retch again. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

The other inmates jeer at him, pointing out that they did tell him, but they must know that’s not what Tomura meant. Tomura should have heard that news from a lawyer, from an administrator, from a doctor – from somebody important. Not from a bunch of murderers. What if that hadn’t been his first appeal? What if it was his last one? If all his appeals fail, how is Tomura going to find out? Is anyone going to tell him, or is he just going to wake up one morning and find out it’s his last day on earth?

Tomura tries not to think of you in here, when things get bad. But he lets himself this time, just this once. Just to imagine that someone’s here who loves him, someone who cares that he’s sick and lonely and terrified. Someone who could tell him that it’ll be all right. Someone he’d believe. But when his skin is crawling with cold and disgust and terror so strongly that he can’t help but try to scratch it away, it’s hard to imagine that even you could make him feel better.

five

Tomura’s never gotten a letter from the outside. Never gotten a letter from you or any of his friends or whichever lawyer is handling his appeals – or even from Sensei, who spent the entire trial testifying against him so he could “learn his lesson”. Tomura thinks Sensei owes him an explanation, given that Sensei’s testimony put him away. The person he described as committing the murders sounds nothing like Tomura, because Tomura didn’t do it. He wants to hear what Sensei has to say about that. If Sensei thinks he’s learned his lesson yet.

It’s the lack of contact from you and the others that worries him more. He thought for sure he’d hear from you, from Spinner, from Toga, from Twice. Dabi’s not the letter-writing type, and Magne and Compress were newer additions to the group, but Tomura thought they’d maybe write at least once in five years. He’d call and ask, but he’s only got some of the phone numbers memorized, and what if you’ve changed them? It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t get visits or phone calls anyway.

It feels like a punishment, but Tomura can’t figure out what he did. He acts up the standard amount for a death row prisoner, enough to lose his exercise period or get his food restricted or have his cell tossed and lose anything he’s managed to keep in there. Nothing that deserves no phone calls for five years. Five fucking years. It’s not until the newest inmate starts acting up that Tomura gets a real answer.

He knows the name of the guy in Kunieda’s old cell only because the guy keeps insisting on being called by it, no matter how many times the guards correct him for speaking out of turn. When he’s not picking stupid fights with the guards, Chisaki is bitching about how this prison compares to his last prison, and everybody got tired of it within six weeks of his arrival. Tomura doesn’t have anything to compare this prison to. Before this, he’d never spent even a night in jail.

As summer turns to fall turns to winter and the temperature inside the cell block drops to just above freezing, Chisaki calms down. For a week, then another week, then an entire month. Did he get religion or something? Tomura’s seen that happen to at least one prisoner by now, but from what he can tell, it usually takes longer. To go from fucking around constantly to not fucking around at all is a big shift. It’s weird.

One day, while he’s huddled up in his cell under his stupidly thin blanket, Tomura hears voices filtering in from the exercise yard. His cell has vents that let in the cold, and apparently also give him the chance to eavesdrop. He’s never had a chance to eavesdrop before, but that’s because no one ever talks.

Of course it’s Chisaki talking. He’s somehow gotten permission from one of the guards to speak up, and he’s getting straight to the point. “My behavior for the last month has been exemplary. In my previous prison such a record has resulted in the renewal of privileges which were previously removed – such as the opportunity for visitors. When will that be restored?”

Whichever guard he’s talking to laughs awkwardly. “Nobody told you?”

“Told me what?”

Tomura’s interested, too. He listens closer. “You were in maximum security before, but it’s – different here,” the guard says awkwardly. “Once a sentence is finalized, no contact is allowed with the outside world.”

“What?” Chisaki demands. “Why not?”

“It’s policy. Contact with the outside world causes distress for condemned prisoners and their families and has no practical benefit. I – no, stop –”

Shouting erupts in the yard, and Tomura cringes away from the vents, his eyes burning. It’s not a punishment. It’s not a punishment, which means it can’t be lifted, which means that even if you and the others have been calling and writing letters, you can’t get through. Tomura will never get those letters. Tomura can’t write back. When Tomura saw you in the courtroom after his sentencing wasn’t just the last time he ever saw you, it’s the last time he’ll ever get to talk to you. And he didn’t know it. If he’d known it he would have said –

The noise from the exercise yard is so intense that the rest of the cell block can hear it, too. They’re doing what they usually do, any time someone shows weakness, and because they’re shouting at Chisaki, who’s bought himself a one-way ticket to the protection cell for the next month, no one notices as Tomura sinks down in the corner of his cell and scratches his neck until it bleeds.

six

Somebody’s death sentence gets reduced to life, and the cell next to Tomura’s opens up. Rather than leaving it open, leaving Tomura alone, the guards move fucking Chisaki into it. It’s not bad enough that Tomura has to rot in here until one of his appeals is successful and gets him out of here – he has to listen to Chisaki’s bitching and whining, too. And eventually Chisaki breaks the cardinal rule, the one rule that keeps everybody on death row even sort of sane. He picked up Morse code faster than Tomura did, and one day he taps out a question aimed at Tomura. W-h-a-t d-i-d y-o-u d-o?

He signs off with the last two numbers of his prisoner number, like Tomura’s confused about who’s sending this dumb message. Tomura doesn’t bother with identifying himself by tacking the last two digits of his ID on the front of his response. f-u-c-k o-f-f.

D-i-d y-o-u d-o i-t?

f-u-c-k o-f-f. Not for the first time, Tomura wishes he could all-caps a message without banging on the bars loudly enough to attract the guards’ attention. Morse code really needs a shift key. W-h-a-t d-i-d y-o-u d-o? Y-o-u f-i-r-s-t.

Silence. Of course. Chisaki can dish it out, but he can’t take it for shit. Tomura settles into the quiet, not hoping to enjoy the break so much as get through it without making himself feel worse. Downtime is bad for Tomura these days. He spends too much time thinking. Too much time getting angry. Too much time figuring out how he got here.

He knows Sensei set him up. It had to have been Sensei, because Sensei was in charge of Tomura when Tomura was fifteen, and Sensei kept hinting that Tomura should try to reconcile with his family. Tomura only agreed so Sensei would leave him alone about it. He’d meet them, deal with whatever happened, see if he could talk Hana at least into staying in touch and sending him pictures of Mon, and get out of there. It was going to be a bad night no matter what. At least Sensei agreed to go with him.

But something went wrong. They never made it there, at least not in Tomura’s memory, because Tomura woke up in the hospital. He’d blacked out or passed out or something, and as soon as he was borderline lucid, Sensei gave him the news. Tomura still remembers the weird way he delivered it, like he was telling Tomura they were having something gross for dinner instead of telling him that his entire family had been murdered. Tomura didn’t react the right way, either. He was supposed to meet his family. Now he wasn’t going to. He laid back down and went under again.

They used that, at the trial, seven years later. The fucking prosecutor asked Sensei a bunch of questions about how Tomura responded to the news, and Sensei told them how unsettling it was that Tomura didn’t care at all about his family dying. Tomura’s lawyer wouldn’t let him get on the stand to explain his side. They’ve already decided you’re guilty. Don’t make it worse.

They were going to kill him. Tomura knew that by then. There was no way to make it worse than it was already going to be, and if he was already guilty, he might as well have told the truth. What little of it he remembers.

Chisaki is tapping on the bars again at a pace Tomura couldn’t keep up with if he wanted to. His fingers are too fucking cold. W-e a-r-e-n-t d-i-s-c-u-s-s-i-n-g m-e.

No, they’re not discussing anybody. Tomura’s done with this. Screw the guards – he taps with emphasis. F-U-C-K O-F-F.

“You want to know what he did? I’ll tell you.” Prisoner 113019 laughs from across the hallway – the same one who always laughs when something bad happens to someone else. For the first time since he got here, Tomura prays for the guards to get here fast. “The little rat bastard’s a mass murderer. Greased his entire family.”

Tomura doesn’t know how 19 got ahold of that information, and right now, he doesn’t care. He just wants the guards to get here and shut him up. “His body count is higher than mine, and he won’t even own up to it like a man,” 19 continues, gleeful. “You’ve heard him talking in his sleep. He says he’s innocent.”

“Shut up,” Tomura says. His voice sounds awful, and he realizes all at once that he can’t remember the last time he spoke. It doesn’t matter if he talks now. They’ve only got one protection cell, and 019 is going in it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about –”

“And not only is his count the second-highest on death row,” 019 continues, ignoring Tomura, “he’s a sadist, too. Maybe his family deserved it – they’d have to for raising something like him – but there’s no way his dog had it coming.”

“Shut up!” Tomura explodes. His voice cracks, and he can feel his face contorting, eyes squeezing shut and jaw clenching tight. He’s not going to cry. He can’t cry here. “You stupid fuck. I didn’t do it!”

Death row erupts in laughter, just in time for the guards to arrive. Sure enough, they head to 019’s cell first, but two guards break off to drag Tomura out of his for a talking-to, also known as getting beaten up in places that won’t show. Tomura’s been in here long enough, knows how it works here well enough, to be almost thankful for a reason to feel pain. If anyone sees him, they’ll think his eyes are watering because he just took a baton to the ribs. Not because he misses his dog.

Tomura didn’t mention his family’s deaths to you for a while. He didn’t want to see you react, because he knows how people react to stuff like that – like Tomura’s just a tragic backstory with an ugly face, like everything he is can be described by the worst things that ever happened to him. He didn’t bring up his family, but he mentioned Mon, and you asked. Tomura told himself to answer like a normal person. He ended up crying instead, and you didn’t laugh or look at him differently. You just reached for his hand and –

A blow to the hip knocks Tomura off-balance, just in time for another hit in the stomach to double him over, and Tomura crashes sideways to the floor. He sprawls out, pinned with a guard’s knee on his back, as 019 marches past, flanked by four guards, and still leering down at him. Something snaps in Tomura’s head. He reaches through the guards’ legs, seizes 019’s ankle, and yanks his leg out from underneath him.

The knee grinds harder into his back, knocking the air out of his lungs, but Tomura can barely feel it. He’s trying to pull his hand back, and he’s too slow. Slow enough for a guard to see what he’s doing. Slow enough for the guard to raise one boot and stomp down on Tomura’s hand with all his strength, and for the first time since he set foot on death row, Tomura screams.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #prison fic #needle compass north #x reader #reader insert #man door hand hook car door #a bisquared production

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jaredfromsiliconvalley · 3 days ago

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The scene where Galinda gives Elphaba her iconic hat is so heartbreaking. Let's break it down,

NessaRose is grateful to Galinda and of course with Elphaba blaming herself for her sisters disability, she in turn is grateful but it isn't really until Galinda gives her a gift all her own, "from the goodness of [her] heart" that Elphie decides to go request she is in the seminar.

Why does Galinda give her the hat tho? We see from the scene just before that that Galinda thinks the hat is hideodus and "doesn't hate anyone that much" when Elphaba walks in her friends see her as the perfect candidate for the hat however it isn't until we get that shot of Elphaba's books that Galinda makes her decision.

Galinda gives her that hat out of jealousy. She sees Elphaba getting the things she wants and decides to exact some revenge in order to make herself feel better. She gives her the hat but Elphaba, thinking it truly was out of the goodness of her heart, goes straight to madam Morrible and gets her to let Galinda join the classes.

She wants to repay Galinda's kindness which was actually bitterness. Gosh that scene breaks my heart.

#wicked film #wicked movie #wicked part one #wicked part 1 #elphaba thropp #galinda upland #no one mourns the wicked #dancing through life #ariana grande #cynthia erivo

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mixupmycota · 14 hours ago

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NEVE GALLUS THE WOMAN THAT YOU ARE

neve gallus is a lower class mage who had a good relationship with, as far as she has said in either of my runs so far, one relative - her uncle. her family considered her a ladder to climb for better prospects, and she isn't on good terms with them.

instead, she has her community. neve is analytical, focused, near obsessive when something catches her attention, to a degree that sometimes puts her in immense danger. she's self-reliant, to a deleterious degree. she's too in her own head. as are all the companions. she's incredibly dedicated, and once she takes a job she is seeing it through, no matter the cost. she's playful, clever, achingly compassionate and loyal and gentle. she's a, to borrow her term, sap. It's dangerous to be open with that in her life, so she is very selective about who she lets see that side of herself. It is a 'weakness' that can be exploited, and is, by Aelia.

she worries about people who are openly earnest and emotive. she worries so much.

neve shields her heart behind a layer of ice, and depending on which city is saved it's thinner or thicker.

she has decided that protecting dock town is her job. that if nothing else, she can do this. this one part of minrathous is hers to watch over, the people in it are hers to protect - we'll come back to that - and even if the city is a festering hive cf corruption and injustice, she will do whatever she can to make this one part of it better.

neve is a detective, yeah. she's also a protector, a defender of her community. just by moving through the world, she builds bonds between people. she demonstrates that a better world is possible.

she maintains connection with the people she helps. she puts them in contact with others who might help them. she's the queen of mutual aid, for everyone except herself.

on a deep level, neve gallus does not consider herself someone worth showing up for. because when people do, historically, they get hurt. or worse. and otherwise, they're out to use her for their own ends.

even at a baseline, with minrathous intact, there is so much guilt in her. so much anger. deep, simmering fury against the injustice that declares her better than her neighbors, the people she has helped, for being born a mage. she uses it, because she uses anything she can take and run with to improve circumstances around her. but she specifically often does not wear robes, she eschews a traditional staff, and while she uses her magic to help people it is her mind first and foremost that she relies on.

she lives humbly, in an apartment that is apparently very close to her room in the lighthouse, demonstrating that she's very in tune what she needs. mysteries to solve and inconvenient but friendly companionship to break her attention from time to time in the form of the wisps. (fade cats......beloved fade cats) the sound of the sea.

neve's issue isn't what she does, it's not her devotion to her community and her work, it's that she doesn't look after herself and she doesn't let anyone else do it either. when she is in pain she throws herself immediately into helping others, she pulls back to a surface level of friendliness with those she is closest too and professionalism with everyone else.

like many of the crew, and also solas (the whole team have things in common with that man's maladaptive methodology), she takes on entirely too much responsibility and doesn't let anyone help her. she doesn't expect anyone to want too, not really. and if they offer, well, they clearly don't know what they're in for. she has an impeccably assembled facade, both literal and metaphorical.

she dresses expensively when we meet her - but that's her best dress, and it's is a gift from a tailor she saved. she lives case to case. she knows that dressing like she's wealthy is something that will protect and open doors for her, which is a very real phenomenon that's desperately unfair. neve projects power and authority that she does not have in order to get the job done.

she projects an image of herself as aloof and unapproachable because she thinks it is dangerous to be close to her, and because it hurts her very deeply when people DO get close, and then are lost because they try to help. so for everyone's protection, she holds herself away from others.

she takes on so much responsibility that, like bellara, it skirts the edge of arrogance. at the start of the game she doesn't see the full extent of the effect she has on others, how she inspires and rallies them to show up for each other.

she is haunted by her past mistakes, by those she was unable to save. by the people who got away and went right back to hurting others.

words are cheap and often hollow, especially in minrathous. action is not. neve needs to see people showing up for her. she needs to see that people care through demonstration of sustained interest and effort before she'll truly let her guard down.

neve can go through so so much. in my first run, she certainly did. her home was devastated, as a start. but she showed up for her city, again and again. she kept as much of it safe as she could, and by the end of that run, she had allowed herself to ask for help.

for neve gallus to ask for help is a sign of her trust, and im very proud of her.

#dragon age spoilers #veilguard spoilers #datv spoilers #when i finish the next route for her i will revisit this post i expect with more layers to it but this is what i got from my first run!#and the half of my next #i love her so much

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redroomreflections · 7 hours ago

Text

Meet The Family

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader (Black Reader)

The Loud House Universe

Summary: Natasha meets R's family for the first time

W/c: 7k

"Babe, I have no idea what you are so nervous about." You shook your head. You grabbed onto your luggage as you deboarded the plane. "They're going to love you."

"I don't doubt that," Natasha said as she slipped the sunglasses onto her face. It's not like it's her first time flying economy before. She insisted that the two of you act as normal as a couple. That's what she craved. Normalcy. Someone not into the lights and cameras and the novelty of her being a hero. That is why she was excited to do the typical thing of meeting your family.

"Sure doesn’t seem like it,” you teased, nudging her lightly with your elbow as the two of you made your way through the terminal. Natasha’s calm exterior might fool anyone else, but you caught the subtle way she fiddled with the strap of her carry-on, her usual poise betraying just a hint of unease.

“I’m just... being cautious,” Natasha replied with a smirk, though you could hear the sincerity in her tone. “Your family is important to you. That means they’re important to me.”

Her words warmed your heart even as you rolled your eyes playfully. “That’s sweet, but they’re just regular people, babe. You're not meeting the president. Just eat good food, laugh at my mom's jokes, and pretend we haven't had premarital sex. Which is interesting of a hill to die on for my mom, but..."

Natasha let out a laugh. "I think I can handle that."

"And don't feel intimidated if they ask you many questions about your job," you continued. "I already warned them about keeping the interrogation to a minimum, but my family is the worst when it comes to asking about every little detail."

Natasha stopped, turning towards you with a serious expression. "I am more than prepared for an interrogation. That's my job description."

The two of you continued walking to baggage claim, keeping up with the traffic flow as you talked.

“Okay,” she said suddenly, tilting her head toward you. “Anything I should know before we get there? Any family secrets or rules I should avoid breaking?”

You snorted. “Well, for starters, don’t say you don’t eat pork. My mom might take that as a personal attack on her cooking.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Good to know. What else?”

“Let’s see,” you mused, counting off on your fingers. “Peyton’s going to act like she runs the world because she’s the oldest, Quincy will probably crack a million dad jokes, and Brandon’s baby's mother… well, don’t take it personally if she doesn’t say much. She’s not big on conversation.”

"She's 17, right?" Natasha asked, her eyes widening as you walked through the airport.

"They both are," You nodded. "Everything I've told you about my family before, believe it."

"That's a lot of people," Natasha smiled softly. She'd always been more comfortable being around small groups. The bigger the group, the more uncomfortable she was.

"Yeah," You grinned. "My parents were great at making babies. There's four of us."

"Hmm," Natasha nodded. "Let me guess that's your brother over there with the sign." She gestured with a raise of her chin to the teenaged boy with a toddler in one arm and a sign that read "Welcome back from the Convent."

You burst out laughing as soon as you spotted the sign. "Of course he did," you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief. Natasha chuckled beside you, the corner of her mouth quirking up in amusement.

"That's Brandon for you," you confirmed as you adjusted your bag and walked toward him. "Always a comedian."

Brandon caught sight of you as you approached and broke into a grin. "Hey, sis!" he called out, holding the baby with one arm while waving enthusiastically with the other. The baby, a chubby-cheeked little girl with curly hair, looked unimpressed but content in his hold.

"Really, Brandon?" you said, gesturing to the sign as Natasha raised an eyebrow. "A convent? That’s what you went with?"

"What? It’s funny," he replied, shrugging with a smirk. "Gotta keep you humble."

You rolled your eyes, stepping forward to hug him while Natasha stood back, observing the interaction with quiet interest. "And what about me screams ‘convent,’ exactly?"

"Law school, late nights studying, no time for fun—sounds like a convent to me," Brandon teased before shifting his attention to Natasha. "So, this must be the famous Natasha. Welcome to the family."

"Oh, we're not..." Natasha's cheeks turned a soft shade of pink as she looked at you. "We're not married or anything."

"Yet," He finished with a smile, reaching out to shake her hand. "The way she talks about you, I'd have thought you had already put a ring on it."

"Brandon, stop," You groaned, your cheeks reddening. Natasha looked at you curiously, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"What? It's true. I mean, the whole family's heard all about your girl—"

"Give me my niece. She's getting fussy," You interrupted before he could embarrass you. You and Natasha had been dating for almost a year and a half. She knows practically everything there is to know. But hearing your family's opinion of her made you nervous.

"Fine," Brandon sighed. "You'll have to catch up on all the drama once we're in the car anyway. It's crazy at home."

"Oh? Why's that?" You asked, reaching out to take the toddler in your arms.

"I'll take the bags," He offered to Natasha. He didn't find offense when she declined. He simply kept the conversation going.

"Mom's pissed about Tori," He said, referring to his current girlfriend. "Her parents still won't let her move back home. Also, Peyton and Ross are having some issues. You didn't hear it from me, though. Oh- I parked over here."

He led the three of you to the car, where he opened the trunk and tossed all of your bags in there.

"Hey, that's Gucci," You warned him. "That bag has my laptop."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be careful." He waved you off. "Can you buckle her in?" He asked.

Buckling Willow into her car seat was a feat. It was a new experience that you were excited to have, but she was a wiggler. You were glad to be an aunt and help her dad. You knew Natasha was watching the interaction with interest. Once everyone was seated, Brandon backed the car onto the road and out of the airport parking lot. You were terrified of his driving.

"Mom, let you drive the car," You thought aloud. "That's a first. Peyton and I had to beg her to let us drive practically."

"Well, I'm the baby. I get special privileges," He bragged. "Miss Natasha, you're quiet back there."

"She's fine," You defended her.

"I'm just listening," She replied.

Brandon glanced at Natasha through the rearview mirror as he navigated the freeway. His curiosity was written on his face, and you braced yourself for whatever line of questioning he was about to launch into.

“So,” he started one hand on the wheel and the other drumming lightly on the console. “What’s it like being an Avenger? Do y’all just fight aliens and save the world all day, or is it mostly paperwork?”

Natasha chuckled softly, the sound surprising you a little. She leaned forward just enough to meet Brandon’s gaze in the mirror. “A lot less glamorous than you’d think. Fighting aliens happens occasionally, but it’s mostly meetings, training, and arguing over whose turn it is to clean the kitchen.”

"Wait, you mean to tell me y'all don't have maids or a team to do that stuff?"

"Not for personal stuff, no," Natasha explained.

"And I'm gonna assume there are no benefits, insurance, or anything like that."

"It's government-funded," Natasha said. "So there's plenty of benefits and health insurance."

"Do you get to fly around in a spaceship, or is that reserved for Captain America and Iron Man?"

"There's a jet," Natasha replied.

"Brandon, can we not?" You asked.

"Oh, come on," he protested. "You didn't warn her about the third degree? Besides, it's not like you've seen any action."

"Not directly," You corrected. "But I've watched the news."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I'm not trying to pry. I just want to make sure you're safe. The rest of the fam is going to want to know."

"That's understandable," Natasha said.

"So, what are the chances I'll get a ride in one of those Avengers planes?" He joked.

"Brandon!" You groaned.

"What? Can't blame a guy for dreaming," he laughed. "Okay, I have a real question—do you guys like to hang out? Play cards? Do movie nights? Or is it all business?”

“Depends on the day,” Natasha answered, her voice relaxed. “We’ve had our share of poker nights, but Thor’s terrible at bluffing, and Clint’s too good. Movie nights are better unless someone picks Star Wars. That always ends in arguments about the ‘proper’ order to watch them in.”

“Man, I wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall for some of that,” Brandon said, shaking his head. “You ever bring her to the tower?” he asked, jerking his thumb in your direction.

“A few times,” Natasha said, glancing at you with a small smile. “We mostly hang out at her apartment with Karen. She keeps saying she doesn’t want to ‘cramp my style.’”

“Excuse me for wanting to keep a low profile,” you said, feigning indignation. “Unlike you, Brandon, I’m not trying to be best friends with everyone.”

Brandon shot you a look of mock outrage, pressing one hand against his chest.

"You wound me, sister. Truly."

"I'll do worse than that if you don't focus on the road," You warned him.

"Fine, fine." He raised his hands in surrender.

It would be long if the rest of the day would be like Brandon's questioning.

**********

As Brandon hoisted Willow out of her car seat, she babbled happily, grabbing his hair as he balanced her on his hip. “Alright, ladies, this is where I leave you to fend for yourselves,” he said with a teasing grin, holding open the front door with his foot.

“We can manage,” you shot back with a smirk, lugging your bags from the trunk.

“You sure? I can carry the fancy bag,” Brandon said, eyeing your Gucci luggage again.

“Get inside, Brandon,” you said firmly, laughing despite yourself.

Brandon shrugged and disappeared into the house with Willow, leaving you and Natasha standing by the car.

You turned to Natasha, who was sliding her sunglasses off and tucking them into the neckline of her sweater. “Hey,” you said softly, touching her arm. “You good? I know my family can be a lot.”

"Baby, I'm fine," Natasha said. "Trust me. This is what I do."

"I can't pretend I don't love it when you call me baby." You sighed.

"Well, then maybe I should use it more often," She said. "Also, relax. It's Thanksgiving."

"You're right," You said. "But still, if it gets overwhelming, just let me know."

Natasha nodded, and the two of you headed into the house. As soon as the door opened, the sounds and smells of Thanksgiving Day swarmed around you. Loud, chattering voices, the clatter of dishes, and the mouthwatering scent of roasting turkey filled the house, and you took a moment to close your eyes and soak it in.

"Is that my daughter, I hear?" Your mother's voice rang out from the kitchen.

"Yes, Mama, it's me." You called back. You kicked your shoes off and placed them neatly inside the coat closet. Natasha followed suit.

"Are you the famous girlfriend we've heard so much about?" Your mom asked.

"Yes, ma'am. My name is Natasha."

"Come here, girl, and hug me," your mom ordered, appearing from the kitchen and wiping her hands on a dish towel. "My name's Vivian. It's nice to meet you finally."

Natasha initially hugged Vivian, a bit hesitant, but the older woman’s firm and affectionate embrace quickly put her at ease. “It’s so nice to meet you, ma’am,” Natasha said, stepping back with a warm smile. “You have an incredible daughter. I’ve been hearing nothing but great things about you.”

Vivian chuckled, her sharp eyes twinkling as she gave Natasha a once-over. “Well, flattery will get you everywhere,” she teased. “But please, don’t call me ma’am. It makes me feel old. Vivian or Mama Viv will do just fine.”

“Mama Viv, then,” Natasha said with a slight nod, her voice smooth and respectful.

“Good. Now tell me, Natasha,” Vivian said, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe, “what exactly are your intentions with my baby?”

Your eyes widened as you fumbled for words. “Mama!”

Natasha didn’t miss a beat, though. She clasped her hands together, her expression sincere. “To love her, respect her, and make her proud, ma’am—uh, Mama Viv. And to eat as much of your cooking as you’ll let me,” she added with a playful smirk.

Vivian broke into a laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, she’s good,” she said, glancing at you. “I see why you like her. Alright, Natasha, you’re off to a good start. Come help me in the kitchen, and we’ll see if you can hold your own in there.”

Natasha glanced at you for confirmation, and you gave her a subtle nod. She followed Vivian into the kitchen without hesitation. You followed behind, though, at a slower pace. The next few moments were crucial for first impressions.

"I'll warn you, I'm not a great cook," She said.

"That's alright," Vivian said. "I'll put you to work peeling potatoes or something. Wanna see if you'll pull your weight around here."

You smiled, hearing them chat back and forth. It was a good sign. You were sure your mom would find something Natasha could do.

"You made it," Quincy's voice boomed from behind you. He didn't give you time to react before he pulled you into a bear hug. "And you brought Natasha."

"Of course," You laughed.

"Good." He nodded. "I was worried you were going to bail on us. You never come home anymore."

"Don't start, Quincy," You rolled your eyes. "I was home last Thanksgiving."

"Yeah, after not coming home for a whole year," He said. "Introduce me to your girlfriend." He grinned. He was starstruck.

"She's helping Mom cook," You informed him. You both walked into the kitchen and saw Natasha shaking hands with your sister, Peyton. Brandon was at the counter feeding a few strawberries to Willow as his girlfriend Tori sat beside him on her phone. She seemed completely unaware of the world around her.

"So, you're an Avenger," Peyton said, her tone a little skeptical. "I must admit we didn't believe y/n when she said she was dating you."

"Oh really," Natasha said, quirking an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Well, it's not every day a girl claims she's dating the Black Widow," Peyton pointed out.

"Yeah, but y/n isn't exactly the type to make shit up," Quincy interrupted.

"Language, boy," Vivian warned from her place at the stove.

Natasha chuckled, her eyes flickering to Peyton and then to Vivian, who had her back turned to the stove. "Don’t worry, I’ve heard worse," she said, giving Quincy a playful wink.

"See?" Quincy smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Told ya."

Vivian turned from the stove, placing a wooden spoon on the counter. "Alright, enough with the show, everyone. Peyton, get the table set. Quincy, stop trying to embarrass your sister. And you," she pointed at Natasha, "come help me with this cornbread."

Natasha nodded and stepped over to Vivian, who seemed confident in her kitchen. "What can I do?" Natasha asked, her hands instinctively moving to help without waiting for an answer.

"First things first," Vivian said, pushing a bowl of ingredients toward her, "you’re going to stir this batter, but carefully. I like a nice smooth texture for the cornbread."

Natasha rolled up her sleeves, already comfortable in the space. "I’ve got it. I’ll make it the best cornbread you’ve ever had."

Vivian, clearly pleased, gave her a once-over before speaking again. "You’re making good impressions so far, Natasha. Y/n deserves someone who knows their way around the kitchen." She eyed Natasha for a moment, her smile warm. "You do all your cooking, or is someone else handling that?"

"I do a bit of both," Natasha replied, gently mixing the batter. "But I’m always down for new recipes, especially if they come from someone who knows what they’re doing. I'm not a great cook but a fast learner."

"Well, we'll see how you do here," Vivian said.

"I guess I'll start on the pies," You rolled up your sleeves to wash your hands. A perk of flying in on Thanksgiving day was being late to the party. It was a last-minute decision to come home.

"You better be making a chocolate one," Peyton warned.

"Peyton, hush." Vivian shushed her.

"I can't wait to try it," Brandon said, his attention still on his daughter.

"I think the last thing that kid needs is sugar," Peyton teased, poking the little girl's belly. She squealed, kicking her chubby little legs.

"The sugar is the best part," Brandon retorted, kissing his daughter.

"She's getting big," You observed. "Is she talking yet?"

"No," Brandon said. "Not yet. She'll get there eventually. I can't believe she's a year old. Feels like just yesterday she was born."

"Yeah," You nodded. "Hi, Tori." You said to Brandon's girlfriend.

"Hi," She had the decency to look up from her phone.

You sat at the kitchen table, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you glanced at Tori. Finding someone like her who kept to themselves was rare, but you knew it was essential to show interest. "So, Tori, how's school and everything? I mean, besides, you know, trying to avoid getting caught in the middle of this chaotic family," you teased lightly, gesturing around the room.

Tori blinked, clearly surprised by the question, but then she seemed to soften, a hint of relief in her eyes. "Well, school is fine. I've been attending every day. I want to be a nurse," she said, her voice quieter than usual but more animated than you'd seen before. "I’ve always liked the idea of helping people, you know? I’ve been thinking about moving to Louisiana after high school to study. My aunt lives there, and she’s been telling me to come stay with her while I figure things out."

"That’s awesome," you said, genuinely interested. "Is it something you’ve wanted to do for a while?"

"Yeah," she nodded, looking down at her hands briefly. "I’ve always kind of gravitated toward taking care of people. And... I don’t know. Louisiana feels like a place where I could start fresh, away from all the stuff back here." She paused, her eyes flicking briefly to Brandon, who was still sitting with Willow. "I just... I think I could do more there. Maybe even learn some things to help me get my life on track."

You nodded thoughtfully, respecting her quiet resolve. "I think you’ll do great."

Brandon, listening in from across the room, chimed in with a knowing smile. "Yeah, we're still figuring it all out. Tori's been thinking about it, but we're also trying to figure out how to ensure Willow stays close to family." His expression softened as he glanced at his daughter. "I’m not sure how I feel about taking her away from everyone... but Tori’s excited, and it’s a big opportunity for her."

Tori shot Brandon a small, appreciative smile, though she didn’t say anything.

You could tell there was a lot of unspoken tension around it. You nodded in understanding. "It's a big decision. But I know Willow’s lucky to have you both looking out for her."

"That's so sweet," Tori said.

"I only have to put the collard greens on," Vivian began. "Natasha, do you eat pork?"

"Yes," Natasha answered.

"Good," Vivian nodded.

"What else can I do, Mama Viv?" Natasha asked.

"You're gonna make the biscuits," Vivian ordered.

"Yes, ma'am." Natasha nodded.

Things were going well. Your mom putting Natasha to work meant she was interested in her, which was a plus in your book.

As Natasha busied herself with biscuit-making under Vivian’s watchful eye, Peyton followed you into one of the bedrooms upstairs. You knew by her closeness she was about to say something. Peyton rarely held back when it came to her opinions.

“So,” she began, her tone casual but pointed, “is this thing with Natasha serious? Or is she just another quest, like Melinda?”

You paused, barely glancing at her, placing your bags in the closet. Peyton had always had a knack for finding the most loaded questions to ask, and this was no exception. You took a breath, willing yourself to stay composed.

“First of all,” you said calmly, “Natasha is not a ‘thing.’ She’s my girlfriend, Peyton. And yeah, we’re serious. Also, Melinda wasn't a quest. We were in a relationship for two years."

Peyton shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I’m just saying. You’ve always had a type, you know? Strong, intense, probably a little emotionally unavailable,” she added with a smirk. “And we all know how that turned out last time.”

You shot her a warning look. “Wow, Peyton. Thank you so much for your insight into my love life. Maybe next time, you can try delivering it without the shade.”

“What? I’m just asking the questions everyone else is thinking,” she said, raising her hands defensively. “I mean, you’ve got a history. Don’t you think it’s fair to wonder how long this one will last?”

"Are you going to start? Dinner is less than three hours away," You sighed. "I came to be with family. You didn't even hug me when I came in the door."

"Because you've been here ten minutes," Peyton argued. "Look, I'm not trying to start anything, y/n. I'm just curious. It's not like we see or talk to you very much."

"Well, I've been busy," You retorted.

"You could've called more," Peyton insisted. "The girls miss you."

"I'm sorry," You shook your head. "Law school has been intense."

Peyton’s eyes flicked to the Gucci bag you’d set neatly by the door, her expression shifting into something slightly amused but undeniably pointed. “That’s a nice bag you’ve got there,” she remarked, her tone light but laced with something else. “Designer, right?”

You bristled, sensing where this was going. “Yeah, it’s a gift,” you replied curtly, refusing to elaborate. You’d learned that giving Peyton more information was like throwing fuel on a fire.

“Must be nice,” she said, her voice slightly more severe. “Meanwhile, Mom’s been stressing over the laundromat. She doesn’t say it outright, but I know things have been tight lately.”

You froze, your jaw tightening. “Peyton—”

“She’s paying your tuition,” Peyton continued, folding her arms. “So, I just think, you know, maybe she deserves to know if you’re spending money on fancy bags.”

“It’s a gift,” you repeated, your voice sharper now. “And last I checked, my education was something Mom was proud to support, not some burden she needed you to fight about.”

Peyton shrugged, unfazed by your defensiveness. “I’m not saying it’s a burden. I’m just saying she’s doing a lot. And maybe you could... I don’t know; check in a little more. Be more aware of what’s going on back home.”

“Wow, Peyton. Thanks for the lecture,” you shot back. “I had no idea you were Mom’s financial advisor now.”

“I’m just saying,” Peyton countered. “You’re out there living your life, and we’re holding things down. It wouldn’t hurt to pick up the phone or swing by more often. The girls miss you, Mom misses you, and whether you want to hear it or not, things aren’t easy around here.”

You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms. “Look, I get it, okay? I know I’ve been caught up with school and everything else. But you don’t need to guilt-trip me about it. I’m doing the best I can.”

Peyton’s face softened, if only slightly. “I’m not trying to guilt-trip you, y/n. I just... I worry about Mama, and I worry about you too. You’ve got this shiny new life now, and it’s great, but don’t forget where you came from. That’s all I’m saying.”

You shook your head, annoyance and regret swirling in your gut. Part of you wanted to defend yourself, but another part felt like it was too little, too late. Instead, you breathed and tried to let the frustration melt away. Paying your tuition was something your mother did for each of her children. Quincy had gone to get his mechanical engineering degree and became a product engineer. You're still determining exactly what he does, but he earns an excellent salary. Peyton had gone to college and ultimately dropped out after becoming pregnant with the twins in her junior year. Now it was your turn.

You felt that despite how much your mom wanted you to attend law school, the money was tighter than she'd initially let on. It wasn't that she was stingy. Your mom was the most generous person you knew. But she had her pride. You knew you had to pay her back one day.

"Okay, okay," You said, rubbing your temples. "I've been working a lot. I can take out loans if I have to. Just let me talk to Mom. See what she says."

Peyton didn't look entirely convinced. "If you say so."

"Look, it's been a long trip, and I wanted to see everyone and have a good time," You explained. "Are you going to treat me like this the whole time?"

"No," Peyton rolled her eyes. "We can pretend we're normal and get along for one day."

"Good," You said. "Now, can we please just go hang out with everyone? I didn't come from New York to spend the holiday with you lecturing me."

"I love you, little sister," Peyton said as you began to walk past her. "I apologize for coming across that way."

"I know, Peyton," You sighed.

The two of you walked back downstairs, and you returned to the kitchen to see Natasha holding Willow in her arms. You paused in the doorway, your steps slowing as your gaze landed on Natasha. She held Willow close, her movements careful yet natural, like she’d been doing this forever. Willow babbled happily, one tiny hand clutching at Natasha’s necklace and the other reaching up to pat her cheek. Natasha smiled, a soft, genuine curve of her lips that you didn’t get to see often.

It was... endearing. Unexpected but endearing.

Natasha had always struck you as someone who thrived in control, her precision and composure unshakeable. But here she was, rocking a squirmy, giggling baby in her arms with a quiet patience that made your chest ache the best way.

She caught you watching, her green eyes meeting yours over Willow’s head. “Hey,” she said softly, a trace of shyness in her voice. “She’s a natural charmer, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice catching just a bit. “She likes you.”

Natasha chuckled, shifting Willow so the baby rested more securely against her shoulder. “I like her too,” she admitted. “But, full disclosure, I have no idea what I’m doing. I think she’s just being nice to me.”

You smiled, stepping closer. “You’re doing fine,” you said, your tone warm. “Better than fine. She doesn’t let just anyone hold her without pitching a fit.”

Willow reached for Natasha’s face again, her little fingers brushing against her cheek. Natasha didn’t flinch, just gently caught the baby’s hand and kissed her tiny palm. The sight was almost too much—tenderness wrapped up in someone so unrelentingly strong.

“Do you want her ?” Natasha asked, her voice light but filled with a bit of hesitation like maybe she didn’t want to let go just yet.

You shook your head, leaning against the counter. “Nah, you’re doing great. Besides, I think she’s already picked a favorite.”

Natasha gave a soft laugh, the sound low and genuine. “Guess I’ll have to live up to it, then.”

Vivian came in a moment later. "Everything's all ready," She said.

"Mom, did you make mac and cheese?" Peyton asked.

"Yes," Vivian nodded. "Your daughter requested it."

"Thanks, Mama," Peyton said.

Vivian glanced at you and Peyton, her eyes narrowing. "Y'all weren't fighting, were you?"

"No, ma'am," You and Peyton said in unison.

"Don't lie," Vivian scolded.

"We're fine," You insisted.

"We can save the arguing after Thanksgiving dinner," Peyton added.

"Alright," Vivian shrugged. "I'm not going to pretend to understand you two."

Natasha glanced between you and your sister, but you did not indicate that you were bothered by what had happened.

"Twins are back," Ross called from the front door as he entered the house with Deyjah and Diamond. All you heard was the pitter-patter of little feet as they kicked off their shoes and ran toward the kitchen.

"There's the troublemakers," You joked, ruffling their heads.

"You're back," Diamond exclaimed, pulling you into a hug.

"I am," You laughed, squeezing her back.

"Did you bring presents?" Deyjah asked, looking up at you expectantly.

"I didn't," You said. "It's not Christmas just yet. Girls, there's someone I want you to meet. This is my girlfriend, Natasha."

Diamond and Deyjah eyed Natasha curiously, their matching gazes assessing her with an unnerving and impressive sharpness.

"Why's your hair red?" Deyjah asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Well, I was born with red hair," Natasha explained. "Just like how y/n was born with dark hair."

"I was born first," Diamond announced proudly, puffing out her chest. "But I don't remember."

"Duh, 'cause you were a baby," Deyjah scoffed.

"Girls," Vivian scolded, "don't be rude. Why don't you go wash up for dinner?"

They did as they were told, rushing off to the bathroom.

"They're pretty cute," Natasha began. "How do you tell them apart?" She directed her question to Peyton.

"There are a few subtle differences," Peyton began. "Diamond has slightly better speech than Deyjah. Deyjah always has some sort of bracelet or necklace on. Though if you look closely, Diamond has a tiny mole on the left side of her neck."

Natasha nodded, seeming satisfied. "So, how old are they?"

"Six," Peyton answered.

"Six," Natasha echoed.

"Yep, six going on sixteen," Peyton joked. "They keep me busy most days."

"I can imagine," Natasha chuckled. "They're smart kids."

"Oh yeah," Peyton grinned. "They're smart."

You couldn't help but smile at Natasha's interest in the twins. She seemed genuinely curious and focused solely on Peyton as she talked about the girls. Seeing someone other than your mom and Brandon engaging with her was refreshing.

"This is my husband, Ross," Peyton introduced.

"Pleasure to meet you," Ross shook Natasha's hand. "Big fan."

"He's a fan," Peyton explained. "He loves all that superhero stuff. I'm not really into it, though."

"I can imagine," Natasha smiled. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Ross."

"Yeah, likewise," he replied, clearly starstruck. "How was the flight?"

"It was alright," You answered. "It's good to be back home."

Indeed it was.

******

The dining room was packed, every seat around the table taken, and a few extra chairs were squeezed in to accommodate the crowd. The smell of collard greens, roasted turkey, and freshly baked cornbread filled the air, mingling with the soft strains of gospel music playing from a speaker in the corner. Laughter and chatter echoed through the room as plates and glasses were passed around.

You sat beside Natasha, her hand resting lightly on your knee beneath the table. She looked calm, but you could tell she was soaking everything in—the voices, the warmth, the energy. She wasn’t used to this world, but she fit into it better than you’d expected.

“Alright, y’all, quiet down!” Vivian’s voice rose above the din, commanding attention. The table settled almost instantly, everyone turning toward her.

She stood at the head of the table, a serene yet authoritative presence. “Before we dig in, we’re going to give thanks,” she said, glancing around the room. “Natasha, since this is your first time joining us, I want you to know how happy we are to have you here. Family is everything to us; today, you’re family too.”

Natasha’s eyes widened slightly, and she gave a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Mama Viv. That means a lot.”

"Now, in our household, we start with a prayer before Thanksgiving dinner," Vivian said. "I understand that you may not want to participate."

"No, ma'am," Natasha said.

"Well, okay then," Vivian said. "Now, let's bow our heads."

"Bow our heads, everybody," Vivian instructed, and the room obeyed. You noticed that even Natasha bowed her head a little, though her eyes remained open. "Dear Lord, thank you for bringing our family together today."

Natasha observed the room as the prayer went on. This was like a culture study for her. Experiencing a different family dynamic was intriguing.

"I want to thank you for the food and the company. And I pray that our family continues to stay safe and healthy. Amen."

Everyone lifted their heads and said, "Amen."

"Thank you, Mama," Peyton spoke up.

"Thank you, Mom," Brandon agreed.

"Yeah, thank you, Mama," Your brother, Quincy, said.

"Thanks, Mom," You nodded. The food began to be passed around, with everyone choosing which dishes they wanted and didn't want.

"I don't think we've ever had a guest that didn't participate in the prayer," Peyton commented. "Natasha, you were born in Russia, right?"

"Yeah, well, it's not exactly my thing," Natasha said. "I was born in Russia."

"It's not mine either," you said, hoping to diffuse the tension. "I think we all have ways of being thankful, and it's not anyone else's place to judge."

Peyton gave a slight shrug. "I was just curious. No harm meant."

"I get it," Natasha replied.

"You're welcome here, whether or not you believe in God," Vivian assured. "We're all a little different. It's what makes us interesting."

Natasha flashed Vivian a small, appreciative smile. "Thank you, Mama Viv. I appreciate that."

As everyone dug into their plates, the conversation shifted to lighter topics. Silverware scraping against plates filled the air, with only snippets of conversation breaking through the hum of family conversation. Your mom, ever the host, ensured no one went without refills, while your siblings kept things lively with playful banter. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Natasha enjoying the food. Some of the menu options were things she hadn't tasted before. It was endearing and a little heartwarming to see her want things.

"So, Natasha," Brandon leaned forward. "I gotta ask—who is the coolest person you've met?"

"Um..." Natasha's expression shifted into something thoughtful. "Well, I've met many interesting people in my life. I wouldn't say anyone was cooler than the other. Maybe the president?"

Brandon frowned. "I was hoping for someone a little more exciting."

"That is exciting," Quincy said.

"What?" Brandon protested.

"She's Black Widow, and you're asking her about who she's met," Quincy replied. "I want to know her stats. I mean, she's a spy. You must do some pretty cool stunts. What's your training regimen like?"

"Oh, come on," You lowered your fork. "Can we just not talk about work right now?"

"It's okay," Natasha smiled, patting your hand.

"I can answer a few questions," She said.

"Oh yeah," Brandon smirked. "How many push-ups can you do?"

"A lot," Natasha shrugged.

"Do you do chin-ups?" Quincy asked.

"Yes," Natasha said.

"I'd like to challenge you to a push-up contest," Quincy wiped his mouth. "You seem tough, but I bet I could take you."

"I could do the same," Brandon said. "We could all have a contest."

"I'm not going to do a push-up contest," Peyton shook her head. "It's Thanksgiving."

"Fine," Quincy shrugged. "Brandon and I can do it."

"I don't think you guys understand what you're challenging her to," You said. You knew firsthand how athletic Natasha was. Her stamina was out of this world both on and off the field.

"She's an Avenger," You said.

"So," Brandon shrugged.

"She's a trained assassin," You explained.

"I'm sure we could hold our own," Quincy countered.

"No, you can't," You shook your head.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Brandon put his hands up. "It sounds like you don't want us to take your girlfriend. Afraid she might fall in love with one of us?"

"I'm right here," Tori pinched Brandon. "Behave."

"Sorry, babe," Brandon muttered.

"No, I'm not worried," You rolled your eyes.

Natasha smirked, her eyes glinting with amusement as she leaned forward slightly. "Yeah, I think you guys should sit this one out," she said, her voice laced with humor but just enough seriousness to get her point across. "No offense, but I’ve been around some pretty intimidating people. I’m not exactly shaking in my boots here."

Quincy feigned a wounded expression. "Ouch. So, we’re not intimidating enough for you?"

"Not in the slightest," Natasha quipped, her smirk widening.

Brandon chuckled, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, fair enough. Guess we’ll stick to arm-wrestling each other and leave the assassin stuff to the pros."

Tori gave Brandon a side-eye but couldn’t help smiling. "Maybe you should worry about behaving before trying to impress Natasha."

You shook your head, unable to keep from laughing. "See? Even Tori knows you two would be hopeless."

Natasha reassured your thigh under the table, leaning in close enough that only you could hear. "I like your family," she murmured softly and sincerely.

You smiled at her, warmth blooming in your chest.

"We like you too," Vivian nodded. “It may be time for these boys to get put in their place.”

"I would like to see it," Peyton muttered.

"After dinner, then," Natasha smiled. "I have one condition if I win."

"What's that?" Quincy asked.

"You guys teach me how to play spades," Natasha suggested.

"Deal," Quincy nodded.

"And if you win, we can take some photos together," Brandon said.

"Fair enough," Natasha said.

"This will be interesting," Vivian commented.

"I know, right," Tori chuckled.

It was settled. Natasha would be challenging your brothers to a push-up contest. She was used to men challenging her to do things. It was in their nature almost.

After the meal, you helped clean up while your siblings gathered in the living room. They were ready for Natasha to kick their asses, and you could barely contain your excitement.

"Willow, you're about to watch your Daddy get beat," You whispered to the toddler.

"Don't count on it," Brandon said. "She won't be so confident when we're finished."

"We'll see," You said, setting the child on the couch.

Ross volunteered to be the referee, clearly enjoying the chaos. "Alright, everyone ready?" he asked, standing over the contestants with exaggerated authority.

Brandon and Quincy dropped to the floor with exaggerated confidence, flexing their arms dramatically to show off. Natasha joined them, calm and focused, her form perfect even before they started.

"Okay," Ross said, his voice booming for no reason. "On my count—one, two, three, go!"

The room filled with exaggerated grunts as your brothers enthusiastically attacked their push-ups, counting out each one loudly. "One, two, three—"

Natasha, meanwhile, moved effortlessly, her breathing even and controlled. You noticed she wasn’t counting out loud, focusing entirely on her form. By the fifteenth push-up, Brandon’s face turned red, and Quincy was already starting to slow down.

“That’s it?” Natasha teased, casually switching to one-handed push-ups without missing a beat.

The room erupted into gasps and laughter. Ross's jaw dropped. "Wait, wait, what?!"

"One hand?" Quincy groaned, struggling to keep his pace. "She’s showing off now."

"Is she even human?" Brandon muttered between labored breaths.

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning against the back of the couch. “Don’t worry, Willow,” you told the toddler watching from her perch. “Your daddy’s about to learn a hard lesson.”

Despite their efforts, Natasha’s movements remained smooth and effortless. Not once did her arms so much as tremble. When Brandon and Quincy finally collapsed in a heap, Natasha was still going strong, with a slight smirk as she pushed through another set.

“Thirty-five… thirty-six…” Ross counted, shaking his head in disbelief.

When she finally stopped, Natasha rose gracefully and brushed herself off as if the entire thing had been a warm-up. "Good effort, boys," she said with a smirk, extending her hand to help Brandon.

"You didn’t even break a sweat!" Quincy protested, sprawled on the floor.

"Maybe next time," Natasha quipped, her tone light but undeniably victorious.

Brandon groaned dramatically, glancing at Willow, who was giggling. "Willow, Daddy did his best," he muttered, defeated.

“She’s my new favorite,” Ross declared, earning laughter from everyone in the room.

You walked over to Natasha, shaking your head with an affectionate smile. “Show-off,” you teased.

She leaned in close enough that only you could hear. “You love it.”

She wasn’t wrong.

**********

Later that night, everyone is tucked into their rooms as you help your mom with the dishes. Natasha had taken an early shower to decompress from such a busy day. She wasn't used to big family affairs like this and needed a moment alone. This gave you time to talk with your mom.

As she washed the dishes, you dried them.

"So, what do you think?" You asked as you placed another place in the cabinet. "Do you like her?"

"She's lovely," Vivian nodded. "You seem happy."

"I am," You confirmed.

"Good," Vivian continued washing the dishes.

"She seems to be fitting in well," You said.

"She is," Vivian said. "She's a sweet girl."

"She is," You agreed.

"Are you sleeping with her?"

"Whoa, Mom," You sputtered. She gave you a knowing look, and you sighed. "Why are you asking?"

"I'm your mother," Vivian said. "It's a valid question. Is she a good partner?"

"Yes, she is," You said.

"She doesn't treat you right; I will come and cut her," Vivian threatened.

"She does treat me right," You insisted.

"Then there shouldn't be a problem with my question," Vivian said.

"She does," You repeated.

"Well, I'm glad," Vivian said.

You nodded, continuing the routine of putting the dishes away.

"So, what's next for you two?"

"Next?" You asked, unsure of what she meant.

"Where do you see the relationship going?" Vivian asked.

"Um," You hadn't thought about it much. "I don't know. We're taking it slow. Just enjoying each other's company."

"But do you think it will be a long-term relationship?" Vivian asked.

"I hope so," You said. "I like her and hope the feeling is mutual."

"Well, if you like her and she likes you, I'm sure it will work out," Vivian said. There was a moment of silence. "I see the way she looks at you. The same way your daddy looked at me."

"You think so?"

"I know so," Vivian smiled. "He always had that twinkle in his eye when he talked about me."

You smiled, finishing the last of the dishes.

"I'm happy for you, baby," Vivian said. "You deserve someone who makes you feel special. Someone who puts a smile on your face."

"I'm glad you approve," You nodded. "She's a good person. I know people have their reservations about her past and..."

"People have their reasons for being judgmental," Vivian said. "You know as well as I do that a lot of the time, people are just scared and misguided."

"Yeah," You nodded.

"Besides, your daddy taught me something important."

"What's that?"

"It doesn't matter where a person came from, just who they are," Vivian answered.

"He taught me the same," You replied.

"I know," Vivian kissed your forehead.

You hugged her, feeling a wave of emotions wash over you.

"Mom," You began.

"Yeah, baby?"

"I miss him," You said.

"So do I," Vivian pulled away. "But, we have to carry on without him."

"You know, Peyton told me how things are going at the laundromat," You began. "If my tuition is too much."

"Baby, you're not giving up school because of me," Vivian said. "The laundromat is fine. We just had a bad few months, is all."

"I'm sure we can figure out a way to increase revenue," You suggested.

"Maybe, but not now," Vivian said. "It'll work itself out. I have a little savings if it comes down to it."

"Well, maybe I can talk to the admissions office," You said. "See about a payment plan or loans."

"We'll figure it out," Vivian reassured. "Don't you worry about it?"

"I'm not worried," You insisted.

"You're a horrible liar," Vivian chuckled. "Now, go check on your girlfriend. It's getting late."

You smiled. "Thanks, mom."

"Anytime," Vivian winked.

******

When you returned to your room, Natasha was out of the shower and curled under the covers. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was deep and even, suggesting she was already asleep.

You smiled, careful not to wake her, as you changed into a pair of pajamas and brushed your teeth. As you crawled into bed beside her, she stirred slightly, cracking one eye open.

"Sorry," you whispered, draping an arm across her waist. "Go back to sleep."

"Everything okay?" She asked.

"Yeah, it's fine," you reassured, resting your head on her shoulder.

"Okay," She closed her eyes.

You pressed a kiss to her jaw, snuggling closer. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," She replied. "Thanks for bringing me here."

"Of course," You whispered.

You lay in the darkness for a while, listening to her breathing and enjoying the warmth of her body. Gradually, your eyelids grew heavy, and you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the safety of her arms.

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #natasha romanov #natasha x you

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gothamite-rambler · 18 hours ago

Text

It's a start (Harley and Dick start to make amends)

Harley kicked in the door of Joker's warehouse, striding in confidently while wielding her iconic red and black bat. Dressed in a sleek anti-hero business suit, she felt empowered and ready for anything.

Harley (singing): Young and sweet, only seventeen, dancin' queen, feel the beat from the tangerine—why would a tangerine have a beat? Hm... anyways, Nightwing?!

Nightwing: Harley, turn to your left.

Harley turned, surprised when she spotted Nightwing trapped in a cage suspended above the ground. She waved enthusiastically, but he could only raise an eyebrow in response.

Nightwing (correcting casually): Also, the lyric was "tambourine," not "tangerine." It's not about a piece of fruit with a heart beat.

Harley: That makes more sense, thanks.

Nightwing (indifferent): No problem. Could you help me out here?

Harley (gasping quickly when she realized she was wasting time chit chatting): Sure! They set up this cage a good distance from the entrance; makes sense. But why is that vat over there empty?

Nightwing: They were going to fill it with Joker venom, but during the struggle, I managed to dump the original one they planned to use. So, they went off to get more.

Harley's expression shifted from curiosity to amusement as she began to giggle, which quickly morphed into her characteristic cackle. She quickly covered her mouth.

Harley (apologetic): Sorry! I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, it's how I laugh with the Joker goop effects.

Nightwing shrugged, gripping the bars of his cage tightly.

Nightwing: I've been told my laugh is creepy. Apparently, I have a slight cackle too. They have to give me a break, I had Joker toxin in my blood a couple of times. I’m an adult! I don’t giggle anymore!

Harley shook her head with a smile as she approached the crane mechanism that held the cage in place.

Harley: You had a cute giggle when you were a kid, though. I remember when we first met. I was twenty-six at the time, and you had to be, what, eleven?

Nightwing (nodding): Yeah, eleven and three months. You were in your mid-twenties? You looked way younger back then. Honestly, I thought you were like nineteen.

Harley grinned widely, waving her hand as she maneuvered the crane to move the cage a safe distance from the empty vat, then began to slowly lower it to the ground.

Harley: I was smart, but not graduating from college early smart. Maybe it was the Joker goop on my skin and my obsession with skincare routines. I was tryin' to be like Paris Hilton for a while.

Nightwing (sweetly): Women like that get Botox, which robs us of our natural beauty. You're a bit insane-looking, but I won't argue that you're pretty too. I knew a few lady clowns in the circus that I… went to a lot as a kid and they were all gorgeous and you are too. There you go, elevated your mood for the night.

Harley (surprised by the compliment): Oh… wow, thank you! I wasn't expectin' ya to be nice to me. Are you just doin' that so I’ll actually save ya? Because I'd be helpin' ya either way.

Nightwing (shrugging): No, I’m being nice because it’s basic human decency. I don't trust you, but I've come to that point in my adulthood where I can let a couple of grudges go.

Harley shook her head with a teasing grin.

Harley: That's a healthy mindset. Batman raised ya well. My life before meetin' Joker never taught me to be kind; it was more about cursin' people out. Funny thing is, a couple of heroes have talked about how you're nicer to them than Batman. I thought they had to be exaggeratin'. You were Batman's sidekick and… you know.

Nightwing rolled his eyes.

Nightwing: While I do care about Batman, his antisocialness didn't rub off on me. I think that's what he wanted for me. He's… a good parent, to say the least.

Harley finished lowering the cage to the ground with a quick thud and then walked over, preparing her bat to break the lock.

Harley: I don't doubt that. Oh, stand back! I’m goin' to break the lock with my bat!

Nightwing stepped aside as Harley approached the cage, steadying her bat before slamming it against the lock repeatedly. With each strike, the lock buckled under her force.

Harley (while swinging): I swear I needed a Pops like that. Although college was tough, too! There was this guy, Melvin, who hated me because I kept turnin' him down for dates, and he was jealous I was smarter than him. He even started a rumor that I was sleepin' with my teachers for good grades.

After the fifth hit, the lock finally snapped, and Harley tossed it aside, stepping back to give Nightwing space. He pushed the cage door open, relieved to be free.

Nightwing (sympathetic smile): A vengeful nice guy in college wanted to ruin your reputation over that? I can believe it, sadly. I never actually believed the rumor. I read your case file with Batman once, and you earned your degree before you met the Joker.

Harley shrugged and rested her bat on her shoulder.

Harley: Blind love makes you do stupid, crazy, bad things, like tossin' aside every bit of progress you’ve made in life just to be with a guy who couldn't shut up about how, "One bad day can break a man." Ugh, blah, blah, blah! Lookin' back, he was all talk with that nihilism nonsense.

Nightwing nodded, letting out a soft sigh of agreement.

Harley: Anyways, I’m glad I could save ya, but I’ll give you some distance like you ya asked me to and head off. Ivy says hi, by the way.

Harley spun on her heel, but Nightwing stopped her, even though part of him wanted her to leave.

Nightwing (reluctantly): Well, don’t leave just yet. The Joker’s goons will be back soon, and I might… need assistance stopping them, especially from someone who used to work with them.

Harley turned back, her signature grin wide and genuine.

Nightwing (reluctantly): I might regret this later, but would you like to stay and help me?

Harley (hopeful): Does that mean ya comin' around to forgivin' me?

Nightwing placed his hands on his hips and chuckled.

Nightwing: It'll take time to fully forgive you or make amends. This is simply me being nice to someone trying to change. Just don't touch me, okay?

Harley: I won't, Ivy didn't go into specifics, but made it clear you don't want crazy women makin' any type of physical contact with ya. I get it honestly. I used to work at a dive bar for villains and goons. Not a fun time.

Nightwing (laughing softly while stretching his sore legs): I'm glad she didn't tell you everything and respects that secret.

Harley: Oh yeah, she won't admit it, but she doesn't hate ya . I'm glad she's got another person she "doesn't hate with a burning passion, but tolerates immensely." How was my impression of her?

Nightwing gave her a thumbs up trying not to joke around too much in the middle of a mission.

Nightwing: She always... said kind things about you even before you two got together.

Harley smiled proudly, warmed by his reassuring words. She felt a growing connection to Jason as she considered the idea of befriending one of the Batfam members. Yet, it was Nightwing's kindness and generosity, both towards her and others, that truly illuminated why so many people admired him.

Harley: See, this is a nice start. Jason put me on a probation period with his team, and you… you want me to stay here and help. Man, you boys are somethin' else, but I like that about ya. Ya wouldn’t hurt me like other men would, and I appreciate that.

Nightwing crossed his arms, a furrow of concern etched on his brow. Despite feeling encouraged by Harley's words, he still harbored doubts about her progress. The fear lingered in the back of his mind that one day she might slip back into the Joker's grasp. After all, he'd seen how easily the Joker had manipulated her before and with the right persuasion and even literal toxins at his disposal he had done it with others in the past.

Yet, Harley hadn’t faltered since finally cutting ties with him, and that was admirable. Nightwing couldn’t help but respect her tenacity. He recalled the darkness he had almost lost Jason to—anger, resentment, and the overwhelming weight of isolation had once threatened to swallow his friend whole. If Harley was indeed changing for the better, he didn't want to be the one who could potentially push her back toward evil.

Taking a breath, he reminded himself that everyone deserves a chance at redemption. But the stakes were high; he couldn’t shake the feeling that the moment he let his guard down, it could all unravel. Nightwing wanted to be a source of support for her, but he was also wary of the delicate balance between redemption and relapse, especially when it came to someone as unpredictable as Harley Quinn.

Nightwing (reassuringly): I would have to lose part of my brain and morals if I ever treated you like the Joker mistreated you. I'm... kind of proud of you for actually trying to be a better version of yourself.

Harley covered her mouth, stifling her emotions as she fought back tears. She nodded in understanding before walking over to Nightwing and sitting down on the ground beside him.

Harley: Want to sit with me? We can play cards. I always bring a deck!

Nightwing (slightly amused): Nah, I have to stand and keep watch. They’ll be here any minute, and I want to be ready. You can set up solitaire while we wait.

Harley: I love that game! Nightwing have ya ever been told you’re the best?

Nightwing (nonchalantly): I was born this way, but I appreciate the compliment.

As Harley set up her game, Nightwing stood watch at the door, his eyes scanning for any potential threats. He felt a bit more at ease giving her this chance. It might not be the same as the books Jason was gifted from her, but it was a start—one that he hoped would lead her further along the path of change.

Harley trying (and failing) to make amends with Nightwing

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