Ayoo Just To Preempt The Inevitable Dumb Takes We’re About To Start Seeing;

Imagine: Peter (your boyfriend) part 3

Peter doesn’t reconize you, but the two of you went to high school together and he broke your heart, now it’s your turn to break his...

At first you didn’t have a plan. You wanted to test him, see how he would react...

Recently he would come to your work place and wait either at a table, watching you work...

Or outside hiding in a dark alley with his hoodie on. He thought he was being sneaky but you knew he was there...

The first thing you did was ignore him in public. He would raise his hand wave and you would walk past him or simply not aknowledge him

When he was at the dinner you woukd ask TK to take care of his order. You could see how much it pissed him off...

This little game kept on going until he snaped (a little) and grabed your arm when you were passing by

His eyes litteraly begged for your attention, his cheeks lightly pink,

you didn’t know if the tears that were creeping in the corner of his eyes were of anger, sadness or desperation...

But you allowed him a conversation, after all ignoring him was starting to get boring...

You exchange phone numbers and at some point, maybe in he let something slip in his text or you just noticed the weird van who was always parked in front of your window...

You noticed he was REALLY stalking you... in a weird way it made things more exiting for you

You had to find ways to make him pay without him noticing and he was ALWAYS looking at you...

Him... looking at you... you

A part of you hated the fact that it took him years for him to look at you. If he had noticed you back in high school you...

Well it’s not what happen, he didn’t notice you, in fact he despised you and he broke your heart... never forget that

The two of you would start to text each other, you allowed yourself to be more flity with him just to tease him a bit.

Then in person you would act all innocent and clueless

When you knew he was watching you at your appartment you would put some kind of show for him,

wearing lighter clothes, staying at your windows more often...anything to drive him crazy

Sometime when you were especially bored you would plan a date night with one of your friends and made sure he was watching

One time you "accidently" called him and let him hear as you flirted with them

A part of you knew it was a dangerous game. He was stalking you after all. This guy was clearly unstable...

But the grunts of frustration he would make when you talk to him about how much you loved your friends...

The desperation in his eyes when you were flirting with someone else in front of him...

His eyes...

On you...

To make sure he didn't do anything too violent you would spend a specific amount of time with him each time you emotionally tortured him

A five minutes conversation each time you flirted with a custoner at work in front of him...

A "date" each time you would have date night with your friends...

Just enough to keep him hooked.

You thought everything was under control... but underestimated how much he loved you.

You were going back home after one of your "date" with TK. Maybe it was mean to your friend, knowing he had a little crush on you but you were clear that you saw him as a friend and that all the flirting was purely platonic. You forgot to mention that it also was to drive your stalker crazy. Like before you manage to "accidently" call him and let him hear you spend time with TK. He was probably watching you... you, just you, only you~

You'll be lying if you said you didn't enjoy his attention. Deep down you wished things were different, that you could love him fully... but...

You pretended to noticed that you had called him and and cealled him back.

"Hi Peter. I accidently called you again, haha. How you doing?" You only heard heavy breathing as a responce. "Peter? Are you... are you there?" You asked. You heard a low chuckle before he hang up The next thing you heard was footsteps of someone running toward you. Before you knew it a cloth was covering yoir mouth and your vision slowly started to fade.

"Goodnight darling~"

I just read that Penelope ruined lives when she simply saved Colin from a toxic marriage to a woman who apparently did not love him and wanted to trap him. Don't get me wrong, the whole storyline was very gray, Marina wanted to save herself and her baby, and certainly Penelope could have handled the situation differently but she had very little chance. Who would have believed her rather than Marina and Portia? Maybe only Eloise.

As for Eloise, she just panicked and acted impulsively to protect her friend and her identity from the Queen. Once again, who would have believed her? She is a wallflower. She is never considered by anyone. She is constantly bullied by the ton and her family. For this reason she created LW to have a voice and to mock the hypocrisies of people who constantly belittle her. If only Eloise had not been so focused on herself and watched her best friend, she would have found out the truth much sooner. Literally all their conversations are about Eloise and her family, Eloise was never interested enough in her friend's life.

Penelope has flaws but she is maybe the only character with a complex personality in that show.

She get so much hate just because she’s not “conventionally” attractive. She’s beautiful, though.

I’ve always wondered what the world looked like through his beautiful blue eyes.

I wonder what I look like through them.

I wonder what Schroeder thinks whenever he hears me coming. Does he secretly get excited behind that stoic expression of his or is he counting the seconds till I finally go home?

I hope it’s not the latter.

I rest my cheek against the piano, my gaze glued onto him as I watched him play. He was like magic—no, he had to be magic with the way he played the piano. The way his fingers tickled the ivory keys, the music that seems to capture one’s mind and soul.

Yeah, he’s got to be magic. I can’t imagine what else he would be.

We’re at school, he’s sat a few seats ahead of me, talking to Charlie Brown and my eyes just always seem to focus on him. Sometimes, I forget there’s the rest of the world when he’s right there.

I get up to talk to him but I stop in my tracks, my world stops spinning as I watch that stupid, pretty redhead walk up to him. How could she walk up to him when he’s mine? How could he look back at her and talk to her?

That’s my Schroeder.

I shouldn’t call her stupid. That’s not nice but I can’t help it. Why is she talking to him? I can tell she likes him and it scares me that I don’t know if he likes her back.

It scares me that I don’t know much about him despite all my efforts.

I want to tell him not to talk to her, I want to push her out of the way and pull him into my arms and take him away but…

He would probably hate me if I do.

Instead, I take a step back and turn on my heel before walking out of the room.

As I walk away, I can feel my mind is playing tricks on me because I swear I can hear Schroeder calling out to me.

“Hey Lucy, wait up!”

I’ve always wondered what the world looked like through her bright brown eyes.

I wonder what I look like through them.

I never really understood the way Lucy stuck around, always coming by after class to listen to me play piano—sometimes, I don’t know if she’s really listening to me play with the way she looks at me.

What is going on through that head of hers? I wonder if she likes the songs I play, does she notice the kinds of songs I choose whenever she’s around? I wonder if she even cares for it at all.

I hope it’s not the latter.

My hands may be playing the piano, my gaze may be on the keys, but my mind was solely focused on her. I can’t help but to steal glances, my heart skipping a beat whenever I see her cheek pressed up against my piano and her eyes just watching me.

She’s got to be magic, there’s just no other way to explain what she does to me.

At school, she sits a few seats behind me. Something I consider a blessing and a curse because at least, if I can’t see her, I won’t get distracted too much. The problem is, she still plagues my mind even when she’s out of sight so there’s really no point.

Charlie Brown had just left, leaving me to sit down on my chair and finish writing a song when a girl walks up to me. She has red hair, that’s all I care to notice about her before she starts talking.

I try to keep up with what she’s saying to be polite but I couldn’t bring myself to care. If it were Lucy, I listen to all those stupid questions she asks me, questions that make no sense yet I so desperately try to understand them, to understand her.

A sigh falls from my lips as my gaze can’t help but to look for her and when it does, I notice this…look in her eyes before she turns around and leaves the classroom.

What was that? I’ve never seen her look at me like that before…I don’t like it.

I don’t bother excusing myself from the conversation as my legs quickly move to follow after her.

“Hey Lucy, wait up!”

So I know I haven't said much about the twins in the spouses friend group universe but that's mainly because I'm still on the fence whether or not I want them to be biologically Phillip's where he's coparenting with Marina or go down the show route where they are biologically George's and Phillip ends up taking them in. Or even just having Phillip be the fun uncle.

But like I'm imagining cute scenes where the friend group take the twins on little adventures with them. Like they used to get up to some shit before the twins were born and then after Phillip would strap them babies in a stretchy wrap and take them with him as his friends dragged all three out the door.

And Phillip trusts his kids with any of friends. They're all responsible and would not let anything happen to them. Uncle Michael shows them how to make cool (non alcoholic) drinks, Aunt Penelope tells the best stories, Uncle Simon gives the best presents. Aunt Sophie and Uncle Gareth gives them cool (completely temporary and child safe) tattoos, and lets them color in their tattoos. Aunt Kate and Aunt Lucy lets them see all kinds of animals at Kate's clinic, plus Newton can tire them out and they can tire out Newton.

I'm not sure. What do you guys think?

If I can't have you baby, no one else in this world can!

SYNOPSIS: The Batboys & Cass at their most unhinged, most protective, and most devoted. TAGS: FEMALE Reader! Fluff! Jealousy! Fake Marriage, Mild possessive behavior, Mild innuendo / suggestive banter, Mentions of weapons/violence + Older! Of-Age! Damian NOTE: Don’t take the content or characterizations too seriously! It’s literally just a goofy, for-fun fic :ppp AO3: yenwayne Ko-Fi: buy me a coffee!

જ⁀➴ RICHARD GRAYSON

“I hate these missions,” came Dick’s voice, petulant and immediate in your earpiece.

You didn’t pause. Instead, you stepped delicately around a marble column, your heels tapping rhythmically across the ballroom floor. Your dress shimmered with every movement, a slinky midnight blue number that hugged your form like it had been stitched by jealous gods. Your fingers grazed the low curve of your hip, pretending to adjust the fabric, when in reality you were activating the mic hidden beneath a faux diamond brooch.

“Nightwing,” you said calmly, smiling at a champagne server as they approached. You took a glass with a graceful nod, flipping your hair over your shoulder with casual elegance. “We’re at a gala. There are hors d'oeuvres and a string quartet. Try not to combust.”

“I am combusting,” he muttered, like he was personally being subjected to torture. “You’re pretending to be married to Barry Allen. That’s basically infidelity.”

“We fake-filed a fake tax return together like, five minutes ago,” you said dryly. “Relax.”

Dick huffed—huffed—and you could practically see him brooding on some rooftop, arms crossed like a bat-gargoyle. “I just think I, your actual husband, should be there.”

You let out a quiet sigh, walking toward the ornate staircase where Barry stood chatting up a senator. You could already see the knowing glint in his eye as he spotted you, lifting his glass like a man trying too hard to appear casual.

“Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath, smiling sweetly as you closed the distance. “You are literally in my ear. You’re more present than Barry is right now, and he's the one touching me.”

“What?!”

You glanced sideways at Barry. He shifted, his palm resting in the safe, polite territory of your lower back as he leaned in to whisper something to the senator. “Arm, Dick. It’s just an arm. We’re blending in. No need to send in the Batjet.”

“I swear to god if he tries the forehead kiss thing—”

You blinked. “What forehead kiss thing?”

“He does this thing,” Dick said, his voice a little breathless with outrage, “where he smiles all slow and soft and tilts his head, and he leans in like he’s gonna whisper something but instead he does this little forehead press like he’s in a rom-com. I hate it. That’s how he seduced Iris that one time!”

You bit the inside of your cheek to suppress a laugh, shifting your weight subtly as you allowed Barry to guide you toward the center of the room. The music shifted into a softer waltz.

“Pretty sure they were already dating when that happened.”

“Not the point. I should be the one fake-forehead-kissing you at fancy galas.”

You stepped past an older couple slow-dancing near the fountain centerpiece and turned, giving Barry a small apologetic smile as you pretended to be distracted by something in your clutch.

“Would that make you feel better?” you whispered.

“Immeasurably.”

You were about to respond when you caught the faintest flicker of movement overhead. The security camera nearest you pivoted. Just slightly. Just enough.

Your smile vanished.

“Did you just hijack the camera feed to watch me?”

Silence.

“Dick.”

“…No?”

“Dick.”

“Camera’s just doing its job.”

“You are the camera.”

There was a beat of long, silent guilt on the line.

“It’s a security sweep,” he finally muttered, defensive. “Totally standard.”

You turned and stared directly up at the rotating lens, narrowing your eyes. “You’re pouting, aren’t you?”

“No,” he said, full pout in his voice.

You glared at the camera, already knowing the exact pout he was pulling behind the cowl. Barry chuckled beside you, still in his gala-husband role. You looped your arm through his and leaned in with a soft smile, playing along for the watching donors. Wealth glittered across the ballroom. Pearls, tuxedos, and dresses worth more than a small country’s GDP.

And then Dick dropped the line.

“You just had to wear that gown, didn’t you?”

Your eyebrows twitched.

“It’s a dress.”

“It’s a crime scene, actually.”

You nearly snorted champagne up your nose. “Are you okay? Do you need to go punch a mugger and walk it off?”

“You don’t understand,” he hissed. “There are at least six guys pretending not to stare at you right now. One of them dropped a canapé. I watched it happen. I’m seconds from pulling the fire alarm.”

You hummed in amusement and tilted your head, letting the chandelier light catch the sheen of your lashes.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

You swirled the champagne in your glass, then took a slow, knowing sip, the bubbles tickling your lips as you smirked. “Are you gonna rappel in through the ceiling and punch Barry in the face mid-waltz?”

He didn’t answer immediately. And that was the worst part.

“…Maybe.”

You laughed under your breath, drawing curious eyes from across the floor. “You are the most dramatic man I’ve ever married.”

“I’m the only man you’ve ever married!”

“For now,” you teased.

Dead. Air.

You could feel it through the silence. The precise moment Dick’s jaw clenched, the way his hands probably curled into fists on some high-rise ledge. You almost felt sorry for the next criminal who looked at him funny.

“Sweetheart,” he said finally, voice dropping into that dangerous purr he only used when he was 70% teasing and 30% ready to commit felony assault. “If Barry so much as breathes too close to you, I’m driving over there and disguising myself as a waiter just to strangle him with a linen napkin.”

You giggled again, covering it with the rim of your glass and a quick flutter of lashes.

“Relax. You’re still my real husband.”

“I should hope so. I signed that marriage license in blood.”

“You pricked your finger opening the envelope.”

“It still counts.”

જ⁀➴ JASON TODD

The dim light of the bookstore warmed the space, the faint scent of old paper mixing with the musky air of Gotham’s streets. It was the perfect Saturday afternoon. You and Jason had been to this little corner bookstore a few times, tucked away near the flat you shared, where no one bothered you, just the way you liked it.

Today, the place had a sale. And you were taking full advantage. Because, books.

You bent slightly, pulling another book off the shelf. Your fingers lingered on the spine, the title catching your eye, but your gaze drifted briefly to Jason beside you.

He was holding a stack of books you'd already picked up, his strong arms braced beneath the weight. His other hand was occupied, casually flipping through the pages of a suspense novel. His worn-out motorcycle helmet hung off his elbow, the strap digging into his skin like it always did when he wasn’t too concerned about making a spectacle of himself.

The sight of him in his usual attire, tight compression shirt, cargo pants, and those damn ratty boots, was almost enough to make you forget why you were even here. You couldn’t help it. Your husband, who exuded that rough, untamed charm that always made your heart skip a beat, even after everything.

You coughed, quickly pulling your focus back to the shelf, cheeks flushed. You weren’t here to ogle at him. You were here to buy books, to stock up for the upcoming winter nights in your cozy little flat.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance over at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he noticed the way you’d momentarily gotten lost in thought.

“You okay there, doll?” His voice was low, but that teasing drawl was there, practically sending your internal warning system into overload.

You snapped back to the shelf, cheeks now officially flushed. “Fine. Just… you know, checking out some new releases. That’s all.”

Jason took a step closer, his hand reaching out to adjust the stack of books he was holding, brushing against your side. You could feel his eyes on you, that damn teasing look in them. He knew.

"Uh-huh," he muttered, clearly amused.

You shot him a glare. “Stop being so obvious.” You grabbed a couple more books, pretending they were the most interesting thing in the store, while mentally trying to avoid imagining how good he looked in those pants.

The moment passed, and you made your way to the counter. But, of course, Jason insisted on carrying all the books for you, despite them weighing next to nothing. Which, really, wasn’t a huge shock. The man could bench press a car if he felt like it.

The cashier, a young guy in his twenties, greeted you with a friendly smile as he began scanning your newest babies.

“Oh, you read The Cruel Prince?” the cashier suddenly asked, lifting the book from your pile with excitement. “I’ve been dying to meet someone else who loves it.”

You couldn’t help but grin, excited to talk about one of your favorites. “Yes! It’s amazing. I love Jude as a character. She’s so strong, and the plot twists? Wild.”

The cashier, clearly eager to engage, leaned in slightly, his elbows resting casually on the counter. “I know, right? I just finished The Wicked King,” he said with a boyish laugh.

“I’m almost done with The Queen of Nothing now.” His eyes flicked up, lingering a moment too long on your face. “You into high fantasy like this, or was it just a one-time thing? ‘Cause if you’re looking for recs… I’ve got a few I think you’d really love.”

You smiled, delighted by the conversation. “Oh, I’m always open to fantasy suggestions. I love character-driven stuff with sharp worldbuilding.”

Completely absorbed, you missed the way the cashier’s eyes dipped briefly down your frame before flicking back up to meet yours. "Lucky for me, you stopped by today.”

Jason, who had been standing just behind you, tensed. Subtly, he stepped closer, the warmth of his body brushing your back as he shifted the weight of the books in his arms. His free hand settled on your waist, low and firm.

It was casual, at least outwardly, but there was nothing casual about the way his fingers flexed slightly against your coat.

The cashier, oblivious or ignoring the shift in energy, handed you the receipt, gaze still lingering. “Seriously, though. A doll like you geeking out over The Cruel Prince? That’s rare. Real rare. Kinda makes a guy believe in fate.”

Jason’s voice cut through the moment, cold enough to make the air around you drop a few degrees. “Yeah,” he said, eyes locked onto the cashier’s now, unreadable but intense. “She’s one of a kind.”

The cashier blinked, clearly feeling the shift, but tried to laugh it off. “Right, of course. I’ll, uh, finish ringing this up.”

Jason didn’t move, didn’t blink. “You do that.”

A moment later, the books were bagged, and the cashier’s enthusiasm had visibly dimmed. He offered a half-hearted smile, handing you the bag. “Enjoy your books.”

Jason took it before you could, his hand brushing against yours as he did. “We will.”

You followed Jason out of the store, blinking at the sudden rush of cold Gotham air. You were about to say something when you caught the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes stayed forward.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Jealous?”

He scoffed, but didn’t deny it. “Nah. Just making sure it’s clear. You’re mine.”

You slipped your arm through his. “Always.”

જ⁀➴ TIM DRAKE

“Hi, Timmy Junior,” you crooned, crouching low to the penthouse floor with a dramatic sweep of your coat as it slipped from your shoulders. Your fingers found the cat’s chin, scritching gently beneath the plush fur.

The feline let out a noise of pure bliss, an undignified grrrrrr-rup purr as he leaned his entire ridiculous body weight into your hand.

“You’re so spoiled,” you whispered like a secret, ruffling his ears. “Where’s your dad, huh? Inventing new molecules? Hacking the Pentagon again?”

You padded deeper into the apartment, your heels left by the door, your coat sliding neatly onto the rack with one smooth toss. The air inside was warm and low-lit, cast in that signature honey-gold glow Tim always adjusted for you when you worked late at the hospital. Cozy, inviting. The kind of lighting that lured you toward rest like gravity.

Your gaze landed on him instantly. Folded up on the couch in a soft Gotham U hoodie and well-worn sweatpants, socked feet tucked beneath him, glowing laptop balanced on his knees.

The blue light framed his face like a crime scene photograph. His fingers flew across the keys, precise, fast, controlled. His brow furrowed, and his jaw clenched just slightly, like whatever he was typing deserved war.

You didn’t say a word.

Instead, you launched yourself forward like a sleepy jungle cat and collapsed into his lap, head-first, limbs folding as you burrowed in like you belonged there. Because you did.

Tim paused, but only for a second. Then one arm wrapped around your waist, locking you into place as his other hand resumed its furious typing like your sudden weight had simply activated some comforting subroutine. Like muscle memory. Like ritual.

“You’re late,” he murmured, finally meeting your eyes with that gentle, tired smile you’d always been weak for.

“Code blue,” you mumbled, curling tighter into his hoodie. “And two separate idiots who thought knife fights belonged in the ER lobby.”

He hummed low and familiar. “Gotham.”

You exhaled slowly, melting into him. The scent of him wrapped around you—green tea, clean soap, and ozone, like he hadn’t moved from this couch in hours. The safest smell in the world.

But something… tugged.

You felt it now. His body didn’t soften the way it usually did when you came home. His hold was there, but too controlled. The tension in his shoulders hadn’t gone away. He hadn’t kissed your forehead.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong?”

Tim’s lips parted like he wanted to deny it, but instead, he let out a breath that deflated his whole chest. “It’s nothing,” he said, almost too fast. “Just… internet drama. Dumb stuff.”

“About work?” you asked, brows raising.

“No,” he said after a beat, tone shifting. “About us.”

You stilled.

Tim blinked at you, then sighed. “You did an interview with Vicky Vale today?”

You blinked again, slower this time. “…Yesh,” you mumbled into his neck. “She was a nightmare in heels, but Bruce said something something ‘positive press,’ ‘curated coverage,’ PR speak, blah blah—”

“Right,” Tim cut in, nodding slowly. Too slowly. “And in that very public interview, broadcast to half of Gotham… you said Nightwing was your favorite vigilante.”

Silence.

You shifted.

“I stand by my words.”

He gasped in faux betrayal and grabbed your hand, holding it up like a piece of evidence. The diamond on your engagement ring caught the light dramatically.

“This is a literal rock,” he said, dead serious. “A shiny, cut-from-the-mountain, six-years-of-our-life-together rock. And that,” he gestured vaguely in the air, “is slander.”

You bit back a grin as he continued, spiraling.

“…Treason, even,” Tim added dramatically, eyes wide with mock hurt. “I should call Bruce. Or the League. Or Alfred. Someone’s has got to arrest you.”

You covered your mouth to stop the laugh threatening to bubble out. “You’re going to tattle on me to Alfred?”

“Damn right I am. He likes me best. He’ll understand.” He pointed a finger accusingly. “And you—you—are officially banned from Titans reruns, YouTube edits, and any content where Nightwing is in leather and doing that thing with his sticks.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “What thing with his sticks?”

Tim looked personally wounded. “You know what thing. The twirly thing! The one with the hip pivot.”

You smirked, throwing your arms around him like a blanket. “Hm. But you're still my favorite fiancé.”

He scowled into your hair. “Not good enough. I want it in writing. Signed affidavit. Notarized.”

“Fine,” you deadpanned. “I, under oath, declare Timothy Jackson Drake to have the second-best butt in Gotham.”

Tim pulled back sharply. “Second?!”

“Best fiancé,” you corrected with a squeal, kicking as he launched a tickle assault. “Best fiancé! Tim! Stop! I swear to—!”

He kept going, merciless and grinning, until you both dissolved into laughter and flailing limbs on the couch. Tim finally flopped beside you, chest heaving, arms still tangled around you.

You were still breathless, clutching your stomach, when he murmured:

“…Still should’ve been first-best butt.”

You reached over and kissed his nose. “You’re number one in my heart.”

“And in Alfred’s rankings.”

“Exactly.”

જ⁀➴ DAMIAN WAYNE

The wind bit at your exposed skin, Gotham’s chill cutting through every crack in your suit, making you shiver despite your best efforts to hide it. You tried to pull the oversized cape tighter around your shoulders, Damian’s cape, and flicked it dramatically, hoping for a bit of extra warmth. It made you feel a little ridiculous, but god, it was warm.

You glanced sideways at Damian, the stone wall of a man beside you, not even acknowledging the cold as he stared down at the street below, his jaw set and his posture as rigid as a statue.

You raised an eyebrow. “You know, I’m freezing my ass off in your oversized cape, and you’re standing there like a stone wall, making me look like a damsel in distress.”

Damian flicked a glance at you, his lips barely twitching into a smirk. "You do look ridiculous."

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the cape again. It really did swallow you whole. You felt like an overgrown child in a giant’s cloak.

"Well, at least I’m warm," you muttered, "unlike some people."

“Tt. I’m fine, beloved,” he said, but there was a little something extra when he said beloved.

Something warm. Something intense. And despite the cold, your heart did a little leap.

Sexy stone statue, you grumbled to yourself. You were so not above it.

The night air crackled with tension for a moment before Damian broke the silence. “Something’s off. Stay close.”

You straightened, your body on high alert, instinctively leaning closer to him. You followed his gaze toward the flickering lights…A bank alarm.

The unmistakable shriek of Gotham’s most wanted sound—bank robbery.

“Trouble,” you said, giddy with the thrill.

“Indeed,” Damian replied, voice low and dangerous. Before you could respond, he vanished into the night, melting into the shadows.

“Show-off,” you muttered, launching a web and following him across the rooftops.

You landed beside him, crouched above a black van outside the bank. Thugs were unloading duffle bags—money and cologne, Gotham’s finest.

“Someone’s making a withdrawal,” you whispered.

“Then let’s make sure they don’t get too comfortable,” Damian muttered. With a single flick of his wrist, a Batarang flew out, slicing through the air and knocking one of the thieves out.

“Smooth,” you swooned, eyes wide with admiration. “Hey, this might be the best date night we’ve had all month.”

“Tch. I prefer less… crowded dates,” Damian shot back, already taking down another guy with a fluid motion that made it look effortless.

Fast. Precise. Unfairly hot.

You couldn’t help but grin, heart racing as you jumped into the action, doing a flip over one of the thieves to disarm him mid-air. You were all set to land on your feet, ready to keep up the momentum, when suddenly, a shadow slammed into you from nowhere.

The impact knocked the wind from your lungs, sending you crashing into the rooftop with a grunt.

Damian’s head snapped your way, eyes dark, hand flying to his blade. Ready to kill.

"Wait!" you said, breathless, as you pushed yourself up and caught sight of the person on top of you.

"Black Cat?" you breathed, disbelief flooding your chest.

She grinned down at you, that too-familiar cocky smile spreading across her face.

"Hey, Spider," she said, pressing a hand down on your shoulders, keeping you pinned, her fingers firm and possessive. "Long time no swing. You look… deliciously out of breath."

Your brain short-circuited. "Holy shit. What are you doing in Gotham?"

Before she could answer, a shadow dropped hard beside you. Damian. Radiating absolute fury in a tight, concentrated glare.

“Get. Off.”

Two words. Ice-cold.

Black Cat didn’t flinch. In fact, her grin widened.

"Ooooh," she said, drawing out the syllable like she’d just tasted something expensive. “You must be new. You gotta get in line, cutie. Spider’s got fans, you know.”

“I am not a fan,” Damian snapped. “I am her partner.”

You sat up. “Aw.”

Damian flushed.

“In combat,” he added stiffly.

You winced. “Less aw.”

Black Cat howled. “Oh, this is so much better than I hoped. You got yourself a territorial one, huh?” She leaned in close to Damian, eyes twinkling. “Tell me, do you bite?”

“I don’t bite,” Damian said coldly.

“Oh?” she said with a smirk. “Shame.”

“I maim.”

“Well, you’re no fun,” Black Cat tsked, her hips swaying as she walked forward with that signature, cat-like confidence. “Relax, Bird Boy. Just saying hi to my favorite Spider.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Guys! Seriously? We are not doing this right now. We’re literally in the middle of a robbery!”

Black Cat flipped her hair over her shoulder, unfazed. “Handled it already, sweetheart. I snagged the bank’s security drive, webbed the goons to their getaway van, and took care of the heavy lifting before I jumped you. You’re welcome.”

“…You webbed—my web fluid?!” you gawked.

“Borrowed,” Black Cat said airily. “Don’t be stingy.”

“I made that with bio-polymers and blood, you kleptomaniac bat-licking menace—”

“Oh, please,” she rolled her eyes. “I'm sure you can make another one of your web knick-knacks.”

Damian’s eyes flashed. “Those cartridges are proprietary.”

“Pro‑pri‑e‑tar‑y!” you echoed, stabbing a finger at her. “He means off-limits, you thieving furball!”

Black Cat rolled her shoulders, utterly unbothered. “I’ll return them. Hm… rented at a fair rate, of course. Maybe half a million an ounce?”

Damian growled low in his throat. “You—I'll—”

“Okay, okay, enough. Look. I’ll put them back before breakfast tomorrow, deal?” Black Cat offered, waggling her fingers like this was a brunch invitation and not felony-level theft.

You opened your mouth to protest because you absolutely did not agree to that, but it was too late. With a mock curtsy and a wicked glint in her eye, she vanished into the shadows, her laughter echoing like a warning shot.

You turned back to Damian, who stood tense, blade still in hand, every muscle in his jaw working overtime.

“I should have let her fall off the building,” he muttered.

You snorted. “You would never.”

“I could have accidentally loosened her grip.” He sheathed his sword with more force than necessary. “No one touches you like that. No one pins you but me.”

Your brows shot up. “So you do want to pin me—”

“Strategically,” he snapped.

“Strategically?" you purred, arms wrapping round his shoulders. "That’s what we’re calling rooftop makeouts now?”

“I—Tt—focus.” But Damian's hands settled at your waist anyway, traitorously warm. “We need to debrief. Secure the scene. Call in the GCPD. Recheck the vault—”

“Oh, Dames…”

જ⁀➴ CASSANDRA CAIN

You were no better than a man.

You were definitely not supposed to be staring. Or, at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself as you tried to focus on the workout in front of you. But there was no way you could ignore Cassandra right now.

She was… perfect.

Her form was flawless as she moved through her calisthenics routine. Push-ups, pull-ups, even backflips! Nothing seemed to faze her. And here you were, struggling not to turn into a puddle of goo on the gym floor.

It wasn’t fair, honestly. How was one person allowed to be so hot? You were supposed to be stretching, but instead, you were completely fixated on your girlfriend, who was now hanging effortlessly from the pull-up bar.

She wasn’t even breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, you were sitting here pretending to stretch, but your eyes couldn’t stop following her every move. How could you not? She was making calisthenics look like some kind of sexy ballet, and you were feeling some type of way about it.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you barely heard the guy who suddenly sidled up to you. You looked up, confused, to see him standing a little too close.

"Hey, uh…" He cleared his throat, clearly trying to sound casual. "I noticed you were watching your friend there… I could totally show you how to lift weights, you know. Maybe even you."

You blinked at him, trying to suppress a laugh. Your brain was still stuck on your friend? Was that supposed to be his pick-up line?

“Uh… really?” you said, raising an eyebrow as you glanced back at Cassandra, still breezing through her workout like she was in some kind of fitness commercial. You could barely keep your mouth from hanging open.

"Yeah!" He puffed out his chest like he was some kind of Greek god. "I can handle lifting your body weight, no problem."

You blinked again. "Oh??"

"Yeah," he said with a cocky grin. "I can totally do it."

You crossed your arms, trying not to burst into laughter. “Okay, then. Show me.”

The guy dropped to his knees in front of you and looked up, ready to lift you. You tried to brace yourself, but honestly, you weren’t sure what was going to happen. This was either going to be impressive or a disaster, and you were pretty sure it was going to be the latter.

He grunted. Nothing.

You raised an eyebrow, watching as he struggled. His face was turning red, sweat starting to drip from his forehead, and—yeah, this was as bad as you expected. He couldn’t even get you an inch off the floor.

“Need help with that?” you asked, barely able to hold back the giggle bubbling up.

“No—no, I’ve got it!” he snapped, lifting harder, but the effort only made him wobble like a newborn giraffe.

"Maybe next time, huh?" you said with a sigh, holding back your amusement.

Then, just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, Cassandra appeared. You didn’t even see her coming. One second, the guy was still struggling with the whole “lifting you” thing, and the next, Cassandra was casually stepping between the two of you. She looked at him like he was a bug she couldn’t be bothered with, then lifted you effortlessly with one hand.

You froze.

One hand.

The guy’s face drained of color as Cassandra set you down like you were a stuffed animal she was tossing back on the shelf. She didn’t even glance at him as she flicked her hair back, returning to her workout like nothing happened.

Meanwhile, the guy? He was just standing there. Shocked. Maybe a little bit scared. His mouth was moving, but no words came out.

Could not have imagined a more embarrassing moment for him…

Turning to Cassandra, your grin only widened. “Baby… you just broke his soul.”

Cassandra didn’t even glance your way. She simply raised an eyebrow, then shot you a small smile as she signed, He should have known better.

As you were about to respond, the guy finally seemed to snap out of his daze. He stammered something about ‘his form’ and ‘next time’ before practically sprinting off, likely rethinking every choice he’d made that led him to this moment.

You chuckled under your breath, eyes flicking back to Cassandra. “Well, looks like you just ruined his chances of ever lifting a girl again.”

Cassandra shrugged, clearly unfazed, and went back to her pull-up bar. Not my problem.

As she started packing her things, she shot you a sly smirk. Let’s go home. I’ll give you a workout of your own.

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile pulling at your lips. “That… sounds promising.”

And just like that, the gym, the only thing on your mind now was what your workout would look like tonight.

Goopyness... This was very fun to write!

My requests are open! Please...Uwu

the arcane fandom can argue about literally anything, but the one thing we all agree on is that ekko, the boy savior, is the most unproblematic character ever, and that we all absolutely love him. while everyone else is caught up in gay tragedy of all kinds, my boy ekko is just over here trying to fix his damn tree

The fact that Ekko went back in time god knows how many times again and again to get jinx to not kill herself only to end up losing her again makes me INSANE

I'm convinced some of you need to go rewatch the Powerpuff Girls movie, there's a reason they're on sight with Mojo Jojo.

I would be too if my first ever interaction was someone using me, my naivety to the world, after being created at most two weeks ago, my desperation to fix things, and be loved to help build his volcano lab and complete his plan to enslave a town on a promise of that love. And he still lives in that lab as a constant reminder! And he won't stop trying to destroy the damn town! I would've lost my shit at my grown age, so I don't blame the five year olds not being chill either.

I love the idea of the posh and wealthy Bridgerton siblings falling for their spouses in the spouse friend group au. Penelope and Simon constantly have to translate. They have a running competition about whose Bridgerton is the poshest. Eloise is offended at first until Philip points out that for his birthday she bought him first edition versions of some of his favorite books.

Eloise: Well I certainly wasn't going to give you a 2nd or 3rd edition! (shudders).

Philip: Just for that remark, you get another point.

OR

Sophie (staring at the ring Benedict is proposing to her with): I can not wear that thing.

Benedict: I told Anthony that I should have gone up a carat size!

Sophie: Ben, I'm pretty sure they could see that rock from SPACE! There is no way in hell I can wear that on my finger while working.

Benedict: Oh then that's no problem! I can reserve the store for us tonight to pick out a proper one! (turns around to call the jeweler).

Sophie proceeds to add two points to his score.

OR

Penelope (opening Colin's fridge): Colin, why do you have four kinds of cheese in your fridge?

Colin: I know it's sad but the store was out of the good Brie and Wensleydale so I'm a bit short today.

Penelope: I'm adding a point for every cheese in your fridge plus the two you mentioned.

This ask reminds me of @newtonsheffield lavender haze au, which I highly recommend.

I'm going to be completely honest I haven't thought that far into their relationships or the au in general, but I love the thought of the spouses only group chat just keeping score of whose Bridgerton does the most rich people posh shit. Anthony is currently in the lead. Daphne has the lowest score only because Simon won't add points for certain things because he has done some of those things. The others have to call red cards on him sometimes and then give Simon points. The Bridgertons never know their actual scores because their lovers will sometimes add points without telling them.

I have thought about how the two groups officially run paths.

I am also going to slightly redact one of my statements from my previous post. Michael and Francesca are friendly with one another. They were distantly acquainted at best when she was dating his cousin but when they got engaged and John later became sick, they bonded into a friendship. He doesn't know the rest of them though.

Lady Danbury throws a charity ball, and the boys have to go since they are the heads of their families. They beg and bribe to bring the girls as plus ones because going alone is just asking for matchmaking mamas to throw their daughters at them. The girls finally agree when Simon reveals that it's a masquerade ball so their faces will be covered.

Well guess who was also at the charity ball.

The group kind of splits off once they're at the party. Gareth and Lucy go raid the desert table before Lady Danbury pulls them to the side.

Standing next to Lady Danbury is a middle-aged woman with two others, her children most likely.

"Gareth, Lucy, this is Lady Violet Bridgerton and her children Gregory and Hyacinth," Lady Danbury introduced.

The group talked for a little while, mainly about the four in university and how their studies were going. Lucy didn't miss though how Gregory kept sneaking looks at her.

At one point Gregory whispered something to Hyacinth who only smirked at her brother and held out her hand. Gregory rolled his eyes before placing some money into the outstretched hand. Hyacinth counted it before nodding.

"Gareth I do love this next song coming on. Come dance with me." Without waiting for answer Hyacinth dragged Gareth off.

Violet only smiled and nodded. "Oh yes the next dance is so much fun. Lucy you must join in."

"Oh, I don't know the steps," Lucy said. Gareth how dare you leave her alone with his matchmaking grandma.

Lady Danbury taps her cane to the floor. "Nonsense! Gregory can lead you can't you boy?"

Gregory nods, holding out his arm for her to take. "Of course. Shall we?"

Phillip pulls Penelope off to go see what plants are around the conservatory.

"Look at all these plants Pen!" Phillip sounded like a kid in a candy shop. He excitedly pointed to some Penelope roses. "Here's your flower!"

Penelope giggled. "You know Pip I think you take the term wallflower to a whole new level."

"Hush Pen."

As Phillip continued to show her all the different plants, Penelope couldn't help but feel like someone was staring at her. Which was weird, she was never noticed at these things growing up. Discreetly Penelope began to look around and oh no. Here she thought she be unrecognizable now. The last thing she needs is for a scene to happen and her mother find out she's here.

Penelope grips Phillip's arm gaining his full attention.

"Pen?"

"I think I've been found out."

Phillip fully turns, blocking most of Penelope's small frame out of sight. "Your mother?"

"No, the Bridgertons." Penelope gestures.

Phillip follows and sees a young woman Penelope's age and a man about Michael's age. "Which ones are they?"

"Colin and Eloise."

Phillip looked back down. "Weren't you close with them?"

"You know after that huge fight with Mama I basically ghosted everyone, I knew from high society including them. If they find out I'm here now they'll make a scene. There is no sublte bone in either of their bodies, in the whole family."

Phillip begins to tug Penelope along again. "Well, I guess we'll keep moving.

Michael and Sophie head off to dance.

During one of the dances you are supposed to switch off partners. Sophie finds herself practically swept away with how quick her new dance partner switched her from Michael.

"I apologize," he said. "Francesca wanted some time to talk to Michael."

Oh, Sophie knew of Francesca. She was engaged to Michael's cousin when he passed. During that time period when Michael wasn't with one of them, he was with her.

Sophie looked over her shoulder. None of Micahel's usual flintiness was there as he whispered something to Francesca.

"I say those are some lovely tattoos you have."

Sophie turns back towards her new dance partner bewildered. Did he seriously say lovely and tattoos in the same sentence?

"Who are you?" Sophie asked.

"Benedict Bridgerton," the man said.

Benedict. Sophie's knows that name too. He was in some of Penelope childhood stories. "The nudist?"

Meanwhile Simon and Kate kind of take it all in from the side lines.

"I see why you wanted all of us to come along," Kate joked as she watched all the older women look on in disappointment from seeing her next to Simon. "They look absolutely visous."

"They most certainly are," Simon said, his eyes still on the crowd.

Kate was about to say something else when a voice cuts her off.

"Basset!"

Simon turns towards the voice, the first smile he had all evening lighting up his face. "Bridgerton!"

A man the same age as Simon rushes forward and the two embrace. Behind him is one of the most elegant looking young ladies Kate has ever seen.

Bridgerton. Kate has heard that name before, but where? Maybe a story from one of the others? Bridgerton, Bridgerton, Bridgerton. Oh. "Bridgerton? As in the eight siblings who all share one brain cell?"

Neteyam was probably never going to be the olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya. I know this is treated basically as canon in the fandom, but we have no evidence whatsoever – neither in the movies or other sources – that he was the olo'eyktan-in-training. His desire of becoming a great warrior and the pressure he felt did not come from the fact that he was the next chief, but from the fact that he was the firstborn son of Toruk Makto and a legendary warrior in his clan.

On the other hand, in the Visual Dictionary Kiri is explicitly described as wearing garb that resemble that of a tsakarem. It’s a very specific detail to include, and to me it indicates that she was meant to succeed her mother as tsakarem after Mo'at had passed the role of tsahìk on to Neytiri.

We also know from Mo'at/Silwanin/Neytiri that, at least in the Omatikaya clan, the role of the tsahìk seems to be hereditary. The tsahìk and olo'eyktan usually become a mated pair (like it also would have been with Jake and Neytiri in the future had they not moved to the Metkayina before she could succeed Mo'at), so it makes only sense to assume that Kiri was going to become tsahìk and lead the Omatikaya alongside her future mate, but that Neteyam was never destined for that role to begin with.

I think we can also assume a similar thing for the Metkayina. In the Visual Dictionary, Tsireya is said to be the tskarem, but with Ao'nung it’s not suggested that he will be the next chief.

I could be wrong, of course, this is only speculation and traditions can change. We have also seen in AFoP that there are different dynamics between olo'eyktan and tsahìk in different clans, like Nesim and Minang who are sisters and Ka'nat and Etuwa who are father and daughter (although she did inherit the role from her mother).

Anyway this was just a reflection on a really popular headcanon that is treated like actual canon by the fandom, very much like many others “facts” that were actually just completely made up by the fans or have no actual proof in canon.