wandaislife

[wandaislife]

Here's my cast of characters:

Lana- she/her lesbian, in between butch and femme, currently in a wlw relationship.

Rune- she/her lesbian, femme, currently in a wlw relationship.

Elyze- she/they, lesbian, feminine presenting, also in a wlw relationship.

Valeriya- she/her, lesbian, butch, in a wlw relationship.

Lyria- she/her, bisexual, gnc, not in a relationship.

Kasneya- she/her, abrosexual, masculine presenting, currently in a heterosexual relationship.

Nyx- they/them, aroace, gnc (obviously) not in a relationship.

Jason- he/him, bisexual, aromantic, masculine presenting, not in a relationship. 

Rowan- he/they, pansexual, gnc, currently in a heterosexual relationship.

Seeing descriptions of other people's ocs and how so few of them are lesbians makes me so sad. Especially when they have multiple bi/pan and gay mlm and aroace people but only like one or two lesbians. Granted, in a lot of these cases it only seems like there are less lesbians but really there are about the same amount as other sexualities, but I feel like most people don't tend to have a lot of lesbian ocs regardless unless they themselves are lesbians and that's really saddening. That's why most of my ocs are lesbians, although tbf I myself am a lesbian ahahaha. But still. 😢

[wandaislife]

its ok to have a preference. what ISNT ok is to call other people ugly because they don't conform to your preference.

wow butch dykes are ugly as hell

[wandaislife]

reddit probably isnt where you should go for information about any community, but ok.

So calling them out for blatant, out loud homophobia is being a terf.

Calling them out for sexism, and misogyny is being a terf.

Calling them out for bulling, and shaming gay men and women into having heterosexual sex (basically forcing conversion therapy concepts but with new buzz words) is being a terf. (no hate for folks that are comfy with that! Just stop trying to force it on the rest of us)

Just bringing any of this behavior up is being a terf. Defending cis homosexuals is being a terf. Defending women’s rights/saftey is being a terf.

Which is somehow worse than being misogynistic, threatening, homophobic and abusing the male privilege they are carrying into the female space.

Worse than physical assaults, r*pe threats, harassment (of which they seem to get cheered on for) it’s ok to punch, doxx or talk about killing/SA-ing terfs. Women that say don’t take our voices, dont speak over us, are the bad guys here?

I dont see myself as a terf, there are plenty of places I’m happy to share, just not all. I thought they were coming in as sisters and that just isn’t what it feels like any more. It really feels like bow down and shut up or else 🤷‍♀️

Sorry to vent. You really don’t have to post this lol. Just feeling defeated. I don’t want to bring any more heat down on you. Just needed to type it out in safe place with some anonymity, thx for being braver than me lol

There’s absolutely no need to apologise 💕 I completely understand your frustration!

This is why I firmly believe that “terf” is just a silencing tactic. Most people who use it don’t even understand that the full acronym: “trans exclusionary radical feminist” doesn’t apply to the vast majority of people they apply it to. Most people aren’t radical feminists. And most radical feminists are not trans exclusionary, just male exclusionary. So it’s basically just a term that means “non-believer”.

I’m sure that there are some trans identified males who are respectful, and do want to be allies and sisters to women. But at the same time…I think it’s disrespectful in itself for a man to believe he can ever be “sisters” with women. Imo a true respectful trans identified male would understand that he is a part of a class of men, not a class of women, and that while he might feel kinship with women, understand that women are not obligated to return that feeling.

I would encourage you to visit the subreddit r/MTF. It only took me a few minutes of scrolling through that forum to see that most trans identified males aren’t interested in being allies to women, and that most are just entitled males who expect us to bow down to their every demand. And when you start to add up all the things that can get you accused of being a “terf”, this only becomes more apparent. Especially things like the denial and hatred of homosexuality (just being a lesbian can get you called a “terf”), and the silencing of women’s concerns about misogyny.

[wandaislife]

today's reminders...

you are still a lesbian if you read straight fanfic.

you are still a lesbian if you were born a man.

you are still a lesbian if you are in a homophobic place & can't be out openly.

you are still a lesbian if you used to be a homophobe.

you are still a lesbian if you USED TO identify as bisexual or asexual.

you are still a lesbian if you can identify men as conventionally attractive.

you are still a lesbian if you've never dated a man.

you are still a lesbian if you've dated a man.

you are still a lesbian if you've never dated a woman.

the only thing that makes you "not a lesbian" is if you don't identify with the lesbian label. Remember: nobody but YOU can tell you what your sexual orientation is or isnt.

[wandaislife]

don't put words in my mouth

have any of these "feminists" (terfs) ever met a lesbian???? trust me: we don't care if you identify as a woman even if you were born a man. we don't care if you're nonbinary but also a lesbian. we don't care if you're still scared to transition but also want to be percieved as a female lesbian. we DO care, though, when you muffle our voices and then claim to be our spokesperson.

im not going to say that terfs arent real lesbians, because then i'd be just like the people who say that amab's arent lesbians either. however, i am going to say that you can't claim to accept lesbianism and then throw a pissy fit when a lesbian doesn't fit in your "what lesbians should be" box.

thank you for listening to my ted talk.

[wandaislife]

PREACH

When people say "I don't want my child to be exposed to LGBTQ+ media because it will turn them gay" they actually mean "I don't want my child to be exposed to LGBTQ+ media because it might help them realize that they're gay".

[wandaislife]

read this

Friendly reminder: the perverts and the rapists aren’t hiding in the shadows. They live amongst us. They dine at our tables, they are “revolted” at what their friends do to us, and they don the mask of action to throw us off so that when they attack us, we are at fault.

No one is safe when we live in a world full of inhuman deception.

[wandaislife]

Batkids finding out that batmom was a model, a famous one

FASHION FASHION ( bruce wayne!)

summary: Your kids are bored and discover your secret past, and a somewhat strange secret from their father.

pairing: Bruce wayne x fem! model reader

note: the characters don't really stick to the personality they have, but I liked how it turned out so, sorry I'm not sorry

open request - dc masterlist

It all started as a harmless search.

The kids were bored. A night with no missions, no emergencies, no chaos. Just the rain pounding against the windows of Wayne Manor and an awkward silence that none of them wanted to fill with real questions. So when Dick suggested going up to the attic, they all agreed with childish enthusiasm.

"Alfred said not to go up," Tim muttered, holding the flashlight.

“Alfred says that about everything funny,” Jason replied, already perched on some crates.

"What are you looking for, exactly?" Damian asked, arms crossed. "Dirt?"

"Something interesting," Dick replied, with a mischievous smile as he opened a dusty old trunk. "And probably some of Bruce's dark secrets."

The others gravitated toward it like magnets. The boxes had no labels, but were sealed with a leather strap cracked by age. Tim carefully opened one, as if it were a fragile relic, and inside they found… papers, envelopes, folders, and something even more striking: old magazines.

"What the...?" Steph muttered, taking one of them.

It was a Vogue Paris cover. The issue featured a striking young woman with familiar eyes, shining with a power that pierced the page. She wore a dark dress, her hair pulled back, and her expression was one of absolute elegance.

Damian silently flipped through an album until he stopped on a particular page. His eyebrows furrowed. "What is this?" causing everyone to stop what they were doing.

It was from a different box. More personal, there were letters, printed articles, old photos. The most striking one was one of Bruce and Batman's wedding, both young, you younger than him, but he looked at you almost dazzled. And beneath the photo was a note in Alfred's handwriting: "You always had a soft spot for her, even before you met her. It was only a matter of time."

Everyone fell silent. Even Jason, who muttered, "What the hell?"

Tim cleared his throat, smoothing out the crumpled paper before beginning to read. The page had yellowed edges, as if it had been stored away for years. The title at the top was from an old celebrity magazine, one of those tabloids Bruce would now despise but had clearly, once upon a time, collected.

—“The tastes of Gotham’s heir: who is the model stealing young Wayne’s attention?” Tim read aloud.

The boys looked at each other, confused.

"Model?" Damian asked. "Who are they talking about?"

Tim looked down. His eyes widened at a photo. It was Batmom, young, walking down a runway in a scarlet evening gown, elegant, unstoppable. Beside her, another photo of Bruce, even younger, smiling as he got out of a car, with that rich boy smile that bore no resemblance to the man they knew now.

—“Sources claim that the Wayne heir has a fixation with the model of the moment. He's been seen on more than one occasion with magazines where she appears on the cover, and some insiders claim he has a photo of her in his office. Obsession or admiration? Time will tell if Gotham's most eligible bachelor will dare to approach the icon who has him fascinated.”

Jason let out an incredulous laugh. “Mom was Bruce’s celebrity crush!?”

"For God's sake, Mom was a model" Dick said, still surprised.

And there it was: a photo of Batmom walking the red carpet at Cannes. And another of Bruce, maybe twentyfour years old, leaving the company with a fashion magazine folded under his arm, and the magazine showed a close up of the cover showing your face.

“Oh. My. God,” Steph said.

—This is like... when someone marries their celebrity crush... Only he did it —said Tim

“Bruce was in love with Mom… before he met her,” Dick said, as if that reshaped his entire family history.

"That's cute…" Steph murmured as she looked through all the magazines.

"He seems more like a freak to me" Jason added, though he seemed secretly impressed.

Just then, the sound of soft, steady footsteps interrupted the silence. Alfred appeared in the attic entrance, his calm, unmistakable demeanor.

And as if fate had known it, Alfred's firm footsteps were heard ascending the attic stairs. "I knew curiosity would win" he said, without raising his voice too much. "Although I expected it to be a few years ago, all detectives were quite slow to see..."

"So you knew? That Mom was Bruce's teenage fantasy?"

Alfred raised an eyebrow, picking up a magazine from the floor with two fingers as if it were a crystal goblet. "I prefer the term 'admiration.' Although... yes, I knew it. I knew it from the first day he walked in with a copy of Harper's Bazaar under his arm, feigning interest in an article about Swiss watches."

"That's beyond pathetic," Damian said, a little disappointed in his father.

Then Bruce's firm, heavy footsteps were heard on the wood of the staircase.

Everyone froze.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low but firm, seeing the chaos of magazines, clippings, and letters.

"So you had an obsession with Mom?" Tim shot back, not missing a beat.

"A whole collection of magazines?" Steph continued, holding one up. "Bruce, this is teen crush level."

"How did we not know this before?" Dick looked somewhere between fascinated and disappointed in himself.

Damian, still in his sour tone, crossed his arms. "I thought you were pathetic in other ways. This is new."

Bruce sighed, closing his eyes for a second. "Why were you rummaging through private things?"

"We were bored. It's Dick's fault," Jason said quickly.

"Alfred knew it," Steph accused, pointing to the butler, who had just calmly brought up a tray of teacups as if it were all part of the service.

Alfred didn't even flinch. "Of course I knew. Master Bruce had a poster of her hidden away. I discovered it once when I went to get the laundry."

"Alfred!" Bruce growled in disbelief.

"im sorry master Bruce"

"A poster?" Jason asked, raising his eyebrows with a mischievous grin. "I don't want to know what you were doing with that."

"Jason!" several people shouted at the same time, between laughs and groans.

"It was a different time" Bruce tried to defend himself, though he knew it was useless. "i didn't do anything. I had it because i admired her work. End of story."

"Sure, sure," Tim murmured. "The art. The talent. The... four foot ten legs."

"TIM!" they all shouted at once.

"So Mom was your celebrity crush?" Tim said, amused. "And you married her? That's legendary."

"It wasn't exactly like that," Bruce began, but broke off when your silhouette appeared in the doorway.

"What are you doing with my magazines?" you asked, a mixture of amusement and resignation.

The kids turned around as if they had been caught stealing.

“Investigating your hidden past” Jason said, waving a magazine like it was classified evidence.

"Confirming theories," Tim added, still holding a photo. "Like, Dad was completely in love with you before he even met you."

"And that he had a hidden poster," Damian added, his voice dry. "Disgusting."

"I didn't want to know that, by the way," Steph continued, raising a hand. "But now it's etched in my mind forever."

Bruce put a hand to his forehead, muttering something unintelligible.

"And you found this, Alfred?" you asked with a smile, looking at the butler, who was still holding an untouched cup of tea.

"I was just providing some historical context," Alfred replied, unperturbed. "And perhaps I remembered certain... details."

Bruce looked at you with a silent intensity. The same as always. As if he still couldn't believe that that woman from the magazines was standing in front of him, every day, in a bathrobe, drinking coffee and scolding her children for not setting the table.

"Come on. I'll show you something better than magazine clippings."

You led them downstairs to the main room. You opened a small, decorative-looking wooden box. From it, you took out an old flash drive. "I thought this would get lost over time," you said, plugging it into the TV.

You led them into the living room. You connected an old external hard drive to the TV screen. You didn't explain anything. You just pressed "play."

And there you were.

A young you. Walking down a runway in Milan. The camera followed you as if you were the only person in the world. Fashion shows, interviews, covers. The music, the flashes, the unstoppable aura. A version of you your kids had never seen.

Not as a mother, not as Bruce Wayne's wife. But as yourself. Strong, brilliant, and unforgettable.

[wandaislife]

── TRENCHES ༊*·˚

pairing: pirate!ellie williams & siren!reader

synopsis: love is a funny thing. it destroys. it aches. it holds you when you can't hold yourself. and that's exactly what ellie is to you; the love of your life. she's more home to you than the sea ever was, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

content: MDNI 18+ content, eventual smut, fluff, angst, gore(ish), swearing, enemies to lovers, yearning, slow burn, use of y/n, usage of alcohol, violence, sexism, speciesism, homophobia, implied kidnapping, men being horny and disgusting

word count: 3.2k

───────────────────────────────

EPILOGUE: "𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏"

THE PALACE WAS SILENT NOW — hollowed out like a shipwreck, gilded and crumbling, haunted by echoes and blood.

But not all ghosts were angry ones.

You stood barefoot on a velvet rug, the faint golden sheen of sunrise spilling through stained glass and across your skin. Your arms were wrapped around yourself, goosebumps raised against the cool morning air. A distant crash from another wing told you that somewhere — somewhere not too far — Ellie Williams was looting the place like the true pirate she was.

She burst into the royal wardrobe two minutes later, arms piled high with fabric. Silks, satins, velvets. Dresses so ridiculous they looked like they’d eaten three women whole.

“I’ve decided,” she declared, flopping half the pile onto a chaise. “If we’re going to flee the scene of a mass political murder, we might as well do it in style.”

You sniffed — not quite a laugh, but close. Your cheeks were still flushed and puffy, eyes rimmed red from the night before. You hadn’t spoken much since the throne room. But Ellie didn’t push. She just grinned at you in that sideways, defiant way of hers and held up a gown the colour of moonlight before stuffing the rest in a comically large sack.

“Try this one. Makes you look like vengeance incarnate.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I thought you hated mermaid clichés.”

“I do,” she said, walking over and gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, “but I never said I hated you.”

"You did actually," you deadpanned. "On several occasions."

"Well, Joel always said love and hate were two sides of the same coin. Therefore, my point still stands."

The dress was absurd — layers of silk that shimmered like fish scales, a corset tight enough to force a gasp. Ellie laced it slowly, her fingers uncharacteristically gentle. She made a show of gasping dramatically at every detail, humming fake approval like a noblewoman’s maid.

“That neckline? Scandalous. We’re going to cause accidents in the street.”

You laughed, finally — a real sound, light and wavering, like a tide returning. Ellie smiled at it like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

She pulled an elaborate coat over her shoulders — a deep red velvet that made her freckles pop like stars across her face. Her tricorne hat didn’t match, but she could care less. Pirate first. Princess never.

“Alright,” she said, glancing around at the sheer luxury. “What else do we want? Royal soap? Diamond-encrusted chamber pot?”

You were quiet for a moment, watching her toss gloves and rings into her bag.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you murmured.

Ellie paused. “Doing what?”

“Trying to make me laugh.”

She turned to you, smile softening. “Well, yeah.”

Your mouth twitched. “Thank you.”

She closed the distance between you, cupping your cheek with one hand. “You survived hell. The least I can do is make you laugh like a fool while we rob the place.”

She kissed your forehead, then turned to the corner of the room — where something glittered.

A crown. The king’s, no doubt, left behind in the chaos.

Ellie picked it up and weighed it in her hands. “Well, well, Your Highness,” she said, voice thick with sarcasm. “Thank you for your generous donation to the Miller Retirement Fund.”

You gave her a look. “You’re not keeping that.”

“Oh, I’m not. I’m selling it.” She tossed it in with the dresses. “Twenty years of rum and freedom, courtesy of His Royal Deadness.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile. “And what will you buy me, O Retired Pirate Queen?”

Ellie looped her arm around your waist. “Whatever you want. Dresses. A ship. An island. A bed that doesn’t creak every time we breathe.”

You leaned into her, your head resting against her shoulder. She smelled like sea salt and ash, like memory and promise.

The palace was still burning behind you — a history undone. But the future, for the first time in years, felt unwritten. Soft around the edges. Cracked open like the horizon.

Ellie pressed a kiss to your temple and murmured, “Let’s get out of here.”

And this time, you didn’t run. You walked. Together. Draped in stolen silk, hearts still beating, priceless objects in a sack of future dreams.

───────────────────────────────

ONE MONTH LATER — GALVESTON, TEXAS

The morning smelled of salt and citrus.

Somewhere down the road, a baker was opening shop, the scent of warm bread drifting through wooden shutters that let the sea breeze in. Seagulls cried out like gossiping drunks. Sunlight spilled across the room, dappled and golden, playing across the faded quilt that half-covered the bed.

Ellie stirred slowly beneath the sheets, one arm curled around your waist like she’d never quite learned how to sleep without you there. Her nose was pressed to the crown of your head, breathing in strands of your hair as though it steadied her.

And you — you were still sleeping, chest rising in a quiet rhythm, cheek soft against the curve of her collarbone. Bare legs tangled with hers beneath the sheets. Fingers resting lightly on her ribs.

She could’ve sworn your breath synced with the waves.

Ellie didn’t move. Not right away.

Not when the sunlight crept higher. Not when the seagulls screamed louder. Not even when the loose shutters groaned in the wind. She just stayed there, still and grateful, holding you against her like something sacred.

It didn’t feel like a month had passed since Saint Barbara fell. Since the palace echoed with dying gasps and silver clattered on marble. Since Ellie had dragged you, shaking and silent, out of the blood-slicked throne room and into the night.

She didn’t regret it. Not for a second.

But it clung to you both. Lingered in your silences. Surfaced in the dark.

And still — somehow — you had found Galveston. A port where no one knew your names. A place full of fishermen, poets, and dockside drunks too tired to care who you kissed or where you came from.

The town had given you shelter. The sea had given you peace. And Ellie… Ellie had given you her heart, unspoken as it was.

She lifted her hand now, gently brushing her thumb across your cheek. You sighed at the touch, shifting slightly in your sleep — only to burrow closer, burying your face against the pirate’s chest with a sleepy hum.

Ellie smiled, lips barely moving. “Still clingy, huh?”

You didn’t respond. Just nuzzled closer, as if trying to hide in the heat of her.

The window rattled again, a breeze slipping past to stir the curtains and the edge of the worn map tacked up above the desk. It flapped gently — the map Ellie had bought two weeks ago, red thread pinned across possible routes, some leading east into the Caribbean, others into myth.

But not today. Not now.

Ellie’s focus returned to the weight of you against her chest, the steady beat of your heart against hers. She’d memorised it — the way you exhaled when you were almost waking, the twitch in your fingers before your eyes fluttered open. The little noises you made when her hand drifted down your back, slow and soft and wordless.

She could lie here forever.

And maybe, just maybe, she would.

Because in a world that had tried to bury you both — in salt, in sin, in secrets — you had clawed your way back up. Found each other in the ruin.

Ellie pressed a kiss to your hair, her voice barely a whisper.

“Still with me, songbird?”

This time, your breath hitched. Just a little. Then your lashes fluttered and you blinked up at her, dazed and lovely in the morning light.

You didn’t speak. Just smiled.

And Ellie, heart full and foolish, smiled right back.

You blinked the sleep from your eyes, staring at the ceiling where the shadows danced with the sway of the wind. You could still feel the ghost of the rope burns, the heaviness of the cage, the coppery taste of that song in your mouth. But those memories were distant now — blurred beneath layers of new mornings, soft touches, and the steadiness of Ellie’s presence.

“You’re staring,” Ellie muttered, her voice thick with sleep, lashes fluttering against her cheeks.

You smiled, voice rasping. “You’re warm.”

“‘M not a damn campfire,” she mumbled, pulling you closer anyway. Her lips brushed your hair. “But I’ll keep you warm. Always.”

The promise lived in her chest, where your ear rested. You heard it in the steady beat of her heart, a lighthouse’s call in the storm, guiding you home.

You tilted your face up, catching her gaze — those piercing green eyes, still sleepy but unguarded in the morning light. There had been a time when she looked at you with nothing but suspicion, barbed words and narrowed eyes. Now? Now, she looked at you like you were the sea itself.

“You’re staring,” you echoed, teasing.

She reached up, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear with a crooked grin. “Can you blame me?”

Your lips met for a breathless second, slow and unhurried, the kind of kiss that spoke in sighs instead of declarations. It was the kind of intimacy that asked for nothing and offered everything. When you finally pulled apart, you felt the laughter building in your throat.

“We should get up,” you murmured, not moving an inch.

Ellie groaned, flopping back into the pillows. “Ugh, responsibilities.”

“Breakfast.”

That got her.

The scent of rising dough wafted up from the kitchen, carried on a breeze through the house. It smelled like cinnamon and earth, warm yeast and a dash of smoke. The comfort of home, tangible and thick in the air.

Together, you climbed out of bed — your movements slower, a little hesitant, but filled with quiet affection. Ellie moved around you carefully, her hands brushing yours as she helped you slip into a soft cotton robe. She’d spent hours sewing the neckline with delicate shells she claimed matched your eyes.

You made your way downstairs, feet padding over the wooden floors. The house was small but filled with light, every corner warmed by the sea breeze and the stories you were learning to write together.

Joel stood by the stove, apron dusted with flour and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He turned as you entered, grinning around a wooden spoon clamped between his teeth.

“Well, look who finally crawled outta bed,” he drawled, setting down a tray of golden-brown rolls with pride. “And not a minute too soon.”

“Are those…peach turnovers?” Ellie sniffed the air like a pirate catching the scent of treasure.

“Sure are.” Joel winked. “Used the last of the orchard batch. Figured we deserved a treat.”

You blinked, startled. “You bake?”

Joel laughed, a deep, comforting sound. “Sweetheart, when you live at sea as long as I have, you either learn to bake or learn to eat rocks.”

Ellie nudged you with a smirk. “He’s not half bad, y’know. Thinks it makes up for all the brooding.”

Joel rolled his eyes, but affection glimmered in the lines of his weathered face. “You’ll be grateful when you’ve got a warm roll in your belly, kiddo. Go on, sit down before I change my mind.”

The three of you gathered around the rough wooden table, steam rising from mugs of fresh-brewed coffee and pastries piled high on chipped plates. The sea could be heard just outside the open windows, waves rolling onto the shore in a steady hush.

It had taken less than a day after the fall of Saint Barbara for Ellie to sell the king’s crown. The gem-encrusted monstrosity fetched more coin than either of you had seen in your lifetimes. Enough for a ship. Enough for a home. Enough to start again.

Ellie had used it to buy this house on the sand, with faded blue shutters and whitewashed stone, and to commission a sleek, fast ship she’d named The Lark, after the first bird you’d ever seen take flight. Joel had arrived two weeks later, summoned by letter and intuition.

“Looks like the two of you finally settled down,” he’d said when he first saw the house, eyebrows raised, mouth curled in a smirk.

“Shut up,” Ellie had muttered, ears red. But she hadn’t stopped smiling for hours.

Now, Joel sipped his coffee, glancing between you and Ellie as you tucked your feet under the chair and stole another piece of bread from Ellie’s plate. You were glowing, even with sleep in your eyes and scars still healing across your wrists.

“You planning to sail out soon?” Joel asked after a long pause.

Ellie exchanged a glance with you. “Maybe.”

You reached for her hand under the table. “We like it here.”

Joel gave a small nod. “Good. You deserve to rest.”

There was more to say — about the past, about the blood spilled in marble halls, about the weight of voices and choices — but none of it needed to be said now. The healing was in the silence, in the laughter between sips of coffee, in the way Ellie looked at you like the storm had passed and the sun had finally returned.

From beneath the table, a snout nudged against Ellie’s bare ankle, followed by a pair of large, pleading eyes that could rival a stormy sky in drama. A second later, the dog gave a half-hearted woof, more complaint than command.

“Pearl,” Ellie warned, trying to sound stern but failing utterly. “We talked about this.”

Pearl — a scruffy cream-coloured mutt with one floppy ear and a tail that wagged like a wind vane on the high seas — sat down with all the exaggerated patience of a saint. Her eyes locked on the peach turnover cradled between Joel’s calloused fingers, and her mouth opened in a hopeful pant.

“She’s doing the thing again,” Joel said, amused, holding the pastry higher. “That guilt-tripping siren stare.”

You nearly choked on your tea laughing.

“She learned from the best,” Ellie said, smirking as she nudged your knee under the table. “You remember the first time she tried that with you?”

You did. How could you forget?

The memory swam up, warm and bright.

It had been just days after escaping Saint Barbara. You were still sore and aching, your voice hoarse from the throne room and your mind brittle like thin glass. You hadn’t spoken much, hadn’t eaten much either. You’d sat curled up on the edge of the cot in Joel’s cabin, still convinced that the world could collapse at any moment.

And then the door had opened.

You’d expected Ellie, her boots loud against the deck boards. But instead, a blur of fur launched into the room and made straight for you, tail wagging so fast it could’ve summoned wind. A wet nose pressed to your cheek before you could react.

You’d screamed. Or at least tried to. It came out more like a strangled yelp as you scrambled back, slamming against the wall.

Ellie had rushed in after, swearing under her breath. “Shit—shit, I forgot Joel picked up a stray in port.”

You had stared at the creature — panting, tail wagging, paws far too big for its legs — and gasped, “What is that?”

“That,” Ellie had said, barely containing her laugh, “is a dog.”

The concept was foreign to you. The sea had no such animals. In siren legend, land creatures were slow and clumsy, walking on four legs and smelling like dust. But this one… this one had eyes that looked at you like it knew something, like it cared. No bloodlust. No fear. Just the eager, unshakable belief that you were its person.

You hadn’t wanted to touch it at first. But the dog had curled up beside your bed anyway, guarding your silence without question. That night, you’d whispered, “Pearl,” without knowing why.

Maybe it was because of her pale coat, soft like sea-foam. Maybe it was the way her eyes shimmered with layers, like light through water. Or maybe it was because, like the ocean’s hidden treasure, she’d appeared in your darkest hour.

You’d named her Pearl. And she hadn’t left your side since.

Back in the kitchen, you broke off a piece of bread and leaned down to offer it.

“Just one bite,” you whispered.

Pearl didn’t hesitate. She licked it from your fingers and let out a pleased huff before circling your chair and plopping down beside your feet, clearly satisfied.

Joel pretended to scoff. “She’s spoiled rotten, that one.”

“She’s perfect,” you said, scratching her behind the ears. “She’s my first friend who didn’t need words to understand me.”

Ellie watched you, that familiar softness blooming behind her eyes.

“She understood from the second she met you,” she said. “Same way I did.”

You turned to her with a smile, lips brushing the rim of your mug. “You were more stubborn.”

“Still am,” Ellie admitted, “but I get there eventually.”

Pearl thumped her tail, bumping the table leg, and you all laughed.

The warmth of the morning continued — not just in the coffee or the pastries or the sun rising over the Gulf, but in the way it settled between you. Like sea glass smoothed by time, every sharp edge made gentle.

Outside, the waves rolled. And inside, the silence that followed was not empty, but full. Full of healing. Full of second chances. Full of dog hair and warm bread and Ellie’s hand brushing against yours beneath the table.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, Pearl snored loudly at your feet, completely at peace.

Later, you stood barefoot on the porch, watching the sea stretch out toward the horizon. The sky was streaked with pink and gold, and the breeze toyed with your hair.

Ellie came up behind you, arms looping around your waist as she pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder.

“Thinking again?” she murmured.

“Always.”

Her chin settled on your shoulder. “Say it.”

You hesitated. Then, “I never thought I’d have this. You. A home.”

She squeezed you gently. “You always deserved it.”

You turned in her arms, eyes shining. “Even after—”

“Especially after.”

And that was the end of it. Not the story, but the fear. Not the beginning, but a promise.

Ellie cupped your cheek, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. “The sea gave you to me. I’ll never stop thanking it.”

You smiled, resting your forehead against hers. "Even when I'm a monster from the trenches?"

"Especially when you're a monster from the trenches. Those claws of yours? Absolutely terrifying. But when they're digging into my back as I f—?"

You shut her up by pressing your lips against hers. Somewhere behind, Joel cursed as the oven smoked and birds scattered from the rooftop. Pearl ran after them. The world spun on.

You were safe. You were home.

And love — messy, mortal, magnificent — had finally found its place on both land and sea.

───────────────────────────────

taglist: @jazzyxox @rhian88 @boricuasirena25 @sleepingwasp @hyperbabes @vangoes @iluvelliewilliamsasf @jester-loverre @ellieslittleslutt @mariesmagix @morticeras @l0veylace @angelicalovesgirls @ellsbigshoes @azxteria @eriiwaiii2 @oneinameliann @alyaserrax comment to be added!!

a/n: so. it's over🧍idk how to feel rn tbh. this series is my baby, it's the 1st thing i've ever written on tumblr and i couldn't be more grateful for all of you who have supported it.

@valeisaslut was the reason i even started writing again in the first place. before trenches, i was locked in a serious writer block for years that i never thought i'd overcome. but because of her, i have the most amazing supporters and mutuals now. EVERYONE SAY TY VAL!! <333

tysm to everyone who's taken the time to read my work, it means the absolute world to me. and to my lovely readers and moots who've supported me since day one (you know who you are), i can't thank you enough!! 😭🫶🫶🫶 i hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as i did writing it, you're so amazing and gorgeous and sexy and ilysm <3333

[wandaislife]

"You're so pretty."

Jason slurred. He just got back from patrol with multiple injuries, and you were patching him up. You were surprised he showed up to the Batcave at all, really. He was always the type who wanted to "tough it out." You hid a smile while saying,

"You have a concussion."

Jason winced when you ran your fingers through his hair. You frowned when you got his blood on your hands. You had thought you managed to get the blood mostly cleaned up, and his helmet was spotless. You called out,

"Alfre—mmh!"

Jason shut you up with a kiss. It wasn't thought out in the slightest, and he knows he'll regret it when his concussion goes away, but thinking hurts with the painkillers barely helping, and he wants to kiss you before potentially dying again.

Jason took your hand in his and slurred,

"Will you go on a date with me, pipsqueak?"

You blinked at the bleeding man. What do you even say to that? You were stunned. You watched Jason carefully. He looked serious, but can he really be serious when he has head trauma? Is it the blood loss talking? You gave him a half smile and said,

"When you're healed, Romeo."

Maybe he'll remember this. Maybe he won't. Either way, you agreed and you stand by your decision. He gave you a half-grin, his eyes clouded by pain and heavy.

He toyed with your hand like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. He played with your fingers and examined them like they were precious jewellery, comparing them to his own scarred and rough hands.

You really were pretty in his eyes. Gorgeous, even. He loved your eyerolls and sarcastic smiles. He loved that you smirk when you think of something particularly clever to respond back to his sass. He loved the way you laughed at his witty comebacks and how you snicker at his dramatic sentences. He appreciated the way you hold him when he feels like he's falling apart. You were a beautiful person in his eyes.

Call him corny, but he wants to wake up next to you. He wants to hear your sleepy groans when your alarm goes off in the morning. He wants to be the one to replace your cuddle pillow. Yes, you do have a cuddle pillow. Yes, it's a specific pillow in every house you crash at and most rooms you enter. No, you aren't aware of your cuddle pillows. He's likely the only one who has ever noticed that you cuddle a very specific pillow every time you are distracted and near one.

He stared at you as you packed a bullet wound in his thigh. Your quiet concentration gave him time to admire you. You were snarky with him at times, but you always came back to him to apologise, and he'd always laugh and rub the top of your head with his knuckles like you were a little kid.

He grabbed your hand and slurred,

"I love you."

He proceeded to promptly pass out while you stewed in silence. Maybe it was the painkillers barrelling through him, or maybe it was something more, but you'll only find out when he wakes up.

You had finished patching him up, but you wanted to sit with him longer. You looked him over with a smile and lovingly ran one of your hands along his bullet free arm before claiming his hand in yours and giving it a slight squeeze.

He was beautiful, too, in your opinion. You love him, scars and all. You loved how unapologetically himself that he can be.

He happily swings an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side when he has come up with a terrible idea and wants you to join for when things inevitably go wrong. You always call him an idiot, but join him regardless because someone has to save him from himself.

You adore that he loves to complain about his day because you feel a part of his heart. He doesn't complain to just anyone. He doesn't like to share his problems because he feels he can shoulder them himself when it's obvious he can't. You became his go-to person for his issues, and you are incredibly grateful he lets you in so easily.

You cherished the little moments when Jason allows you to trace his scars and murmur that he's a constellation and just as beautiful as one. He jokingly asked if he can be Orion's Belt because he doesn't know what to say to something so heart-warming, and you laughed because you knew if you didn't, he would have fallen apart and you wanted to make sure he stays held together.

Jason stirred awake when he felt the painkillers wear off, but you managed to coax him back to sleep. He murmured,

"I love you."

He was asleep before you could respond, and you were thankful for that because you had no idea how to respond. You don't think he'll remember any of this when he wakes up, but you certainly will. His eyes were so sincere before they closed. He's serious. You're sure of it. Jason doesn't joke about relationship related topics. The person becomes his everything when he dates them, and he makes sure everybody knows as much.

Alfred had walked in to witness the scene unfold and purposefully waited for Jason to pass out before revealing himself, holding medical supplies to restock the medical kit you used on him. How smooth, Jason. After months of contemplating and struggling to figure out the best way to ask you out, all the plans went out the window due to a little concussion and a lot of bullet wounds.

[wandaislife]

SORRY U HAD A BAD DAY </3 heres some random doodles of jason and his menace to cheer you up !!

(I love when authors give jason a little gremlin for a s/o)

NO BECAUSE THIS HEALED ME 😭 the little doodles??? blanket beast behavior is canon and you captured it perfectly??? you didn't have to feed me like this but you DID 😩 you get me and you get him and that means everything, bestie 🥹🖤 thank you!!! 🫶🏻

[wandaislife]

[wandaislife]

Batboys x alien!reader

⸻

Scenario: “You’re an Alien, But They’re Falling for You Anyway”

You crash-landed on Earth during a low-stakes invasion and never left. You’re trying to understand human customs and hide your powers.

⸻

Jason Todd x Alien!Reader

• He’s suspicious at first. “What do you mean you don’t have blood?”

• Accidentally falls for you after you save a kitten using telekinesis and then ask if it’s “a young Earth predator.”

• Loves how unbothered you are by danger. “That guy had a grenade.” “Yes. I ate it.”

• You don’t understand flirting, so he keeps trying increasingly obvious moves until you finally ask, “Are you trying to initiate mating rituals?”

• Sweet Moment: You ask what “love” means to humans, and he just… freezes. “That’s a loaded question, space princess.”

⸻

Dick Grayson x Alien!Reader

• Thinks it’s awesome you’re an alien. “Can you fly? Do you glow in the dark? Can you talk to trees?”

• Teaches you how to dance and says things like, “Just follow my lead — Earth style.”

• You mimic him for fun, but accidentally do a perfect impression of him mid-mission. He loses it.

• Constantly curious about your world. “Do you have art? Do you have pizza? Do you have me there?”

• Sweet Moment: One day, you shape-shift into his form to understand his “human perspective” — and he sees it not as mockery, but trust. “You’re trying to understand me the way I want to understand you.”

⸻

Tim Drake x Alien!Reader

• Realized you weren’t human after you accidentally turned invisible in the middle of a stakeout. You just said, “Oops.”

• Becomes obsessed (lovingly) with figuring out how your biology works. He makes you do science with him in the lab like it’s a date.

• You speak a language that sounds like hummingbird static, and he learns to understand the tone shifts.

• Extremely flustered when you tell him humans are “visually inefficient” and that he is “especially pleasing in shape.”

• Sweet Moment: He makes you a communicator that automatically translates your real thoughts into English — because he wants to know the real you, not just the version you think humans want.

⸻

Bruce Wayne x Alien!Reader

• 100% stoic mode activated. Doesn’t flinch when you say you’re from another galaxy. Just says, “You bleed green. Got it.”

• Makes you go through twelve training tests before trusting you. You pass them all in minutes.

• You confuse idioms constantly. “Killing two birds with one scone?” He just stares. “Close enough.”

• Deep talks about humanity that end with him awkwardly patting your shoulder. You patted back once and accidentally dislocated his arm.

• Sweet Moment: You save Damian and nearly die doing it. When you wake up, he’s at your side. “I’ve seen a thousand kinds of strength… yours is the rare kind.”

⸻

Damian Wayne x Alien!Reader

• At first: ”Tt. Extraterrestrial filth.”

• Then: You stab a guy with your tail to save him — and suddenly you are “adequate.”

• You don’t understand sarcasm. He says something mean and you take it literally. The guilt ruins him for three days.

• You ask him to teach you “Earth courtship.” He writes a 12-page manual and pretends it was Alfred’s idea.

• Sweet Moment: You show him a flower from your home planet that only blooms when someone is truly trusted. You grow one in your palm just for him.

⸻

[wandaislife]

ethel cain being cannibalized by her shitty bf 🤝 me looking at mom remembering i’m a lesbian and she’s lesbophobic

[wandaislife]

Spoken like someone who definitely isn't a sexist and definitely doesn't have weird ideas about women who don't cater to their every need.

Genuinely what is wrong with you. Why do you hate lesbians so much. What about "lesbian" to you is inherently man hating, transphobic, aphobic, biphobic? Is it the fact that we don't fuck men? Did that hurt your feelings? Die in a pit.

Never tell me again that the queer community doesn't harbor and encourage violent lesbophobia

[wandaislife]

On this fine day, at 8:37 AM, I walked outside to the front of my school and saw that they replaced the Canadian flag, the flag of our country, with a Pride flag. I have never felt happier. I have never laughed so hard in my life. This is in not a complaint, I just think it's very funny that they replaced the Canadian flag with a Pride flag for no apparent reason. They have their priorities figured out.

[wandaislife]

WARNING: BLOCK THIS USER (tw: aphobia, transphobia, r-slur uncensored)

I don’t usually make posts like this and I know some other ppl have talked about this guy but just a warning that you should just block iron-lion-of-zion, do not engage, don’t feed the troll. He seems to be a troll mainly but posts a lot of transphobic and aphobic stuff. He’s also a Zionist if that wasn’t clear. Came across a reblog of his on the asexual tag and it caught me off guard a bit. Anyway, just wanted to get the word out.