#not everyone can be open with their identity and that’s okay

[natimiles]

Merry (First) Christmas! (Sylus x reader)

Summary: Sylus never really cared about Christmas. Until you decided to decorate his house.

Words: 1671

Tags: fluffy; romance; domestic; established relationship.

Notes: I wrote this as a Christmas gift for @valkyyriia, and I decided to share it here now. So, even if I didn’t name reader, I wrote this keeping her and her OC in mind ;)

Sylus never really cared about Christmas. Not that he disliked it, but it was just an ordinary day for him. Sometimes, people invited him to grand parties or auctions during the season, but that was about it. For that reason, he never bothered with decorating either. Why would he, anyway? He was the leader of a criminal organization in the N109 Zone, his house also served as his headquarters, and he was sure no one cared about such trivial things.

He hears giggles as he enters his house. That soft, joy-filled sound could only be yours. You’d told him earlier you’d stop by, and he’s glad you actually made it. A small smile tugs at his lips at the thought of seeing you, but it quickly shifts to a dumbfounded expression when he steps into the living room. Boxes filled with tinsel, balls, and ornaments are scattered across the floor — red and silver, curiously matching his house’s decor. A large tree stands in the corner, right beside the wall where his guns are displayed.

Luke and Kieran, who were supposed to be working elsewhere, are there with you, trying to help you untangle a string of lights. Mephisto is also there, perched on the couch next to you, and the sight of the crow wearing a tiny Santa hat is odd, to say the least. Sylus’ red eyes quickly scan the room again, and he huffs, realizing how effortlessly you manage to bend even his henchmen to your will.

“I see you’re making yourself at home, sweetie,” he says in a teasing tone, his deep voice resonating through the living room.

You look up, and your face lights up when you see him. You spread your arms wide as you reply in an excited voice, “Hey, Sylus! We’re decorating for Christmas!”

“I can see that,” he smiles at you for a second, then turns to the other men and the crow in the room, raising a questioning eyebrow at them. “And why are you here?”

“She needed help!” the twins reply as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Mephisto agrees with a “caw.”

Sylus appreciates when they keep you company or watch over you for him when he can’t, but he needs them to do their actual jobs. And, more importantly, he wants them gone so he can spend time alone with you. He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing just enough to send them a clear message. The twins catch on quickly, their shoulders slumping as they lower their hands and drop the string of lights onto the floor.

“We need to go,” Luke says, sounding dejected.

“We have work to do,” Kieran adds in the same tone.

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” you smile. “Thank you for your help, boys. I’ll make sure to add a little bonus to your gifts.”

This makes them perk up immediately, identical masked faces turning toward you at the same time. “Our gifts?”

“Yes. I bought gifts for everyone. I’ll place them under the tree so we can open them together on Christmas.”

“I see,” Kieran says, turning to his twin. “Well, we have to go now.”

“We have work to do, and we can’t disappoint Boss!” Luke adds.

Their tones are happier now, and the way they rush out of the room tells you that the idea of receiving gifts boosted their morale.

“You know they’re going to search your car and your things until they find the gifts, right?” Sylus comments, finally taking long strides into the room and stopping by your side.

“Yeah, I know.” You grab the string of lights and extend it to him to hold. “And you know you’ll be my decorating assistant now.”

“I know,” he repeats your answer, grabbing what you gave him and continuing the twins’ work of untangling the lights. “What inspired you to do... this?” His tone is genuinely curious, and you smile softly.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I just thought it’s not something you’re used to doing, and since I’m spending my first holidays here with you, I thought it’d be something nice to do together.”

“Oh, so your plan was to make me help you all along?”

“Maybe,” you smirk. “I know you don’t like to waste time with boring and useless things, but…”

“This isn’t boring or useless,” he says, reaching for your face and gently holding your chin to tilt it upward. “Nothing I do with you is, sweetie.”

“Smooth,” you mumble, fighting to keep your cheeks from blushing, but you know you’ve lost the battle when he chuckles at you. “Okay, now let’s put this on the tree.”

The two of you have good synchronicity when working together, and decorating the tree is no different. You coordinate where most of the decorations go and how to place them, and Sylus listens attentively to follow your instructions — his tall stature being a great help for reaching the higher parts.

You smile and laugh, humming and singing Christmas songs. Sylus absorbs everything, engraving every single sound that comes out of your lips into his memory. He’ll make sure to learn all of them so he can sing with you.

You spin around with the tinsel, even daring to throw one around his shoulders as a playful gesture, and his lips curve into a soft smile that he only shows you. Something inside him warms up, something only you can, something that makes him want to do anything as long as it makes you smile at him.

He takes the tinsel off his shoulders and throws it onto yours, but he tugs at the ends, pulling you closer to him. You blink at him, and he lets out a soft laugh through his nose. His large hand reaches for your face, holding you as the most precious treasure in all the universes (and you are!). Red eyes lock with yours for a moment, and he leans in, his breath tickling your face. Your eyes flutter shut instinctively, and he smiles at how trusting you’ve become with him before closing the gap between your lips. The kiss is gentle and sweet, and when you’re about to deepen it, you both hear a loud “caw.” You jolt away from him, completely forgetting that Mephisto was still in the room.

Sylus rolls his eyes, turning his gaze to the crow. “Get out already.”

Mephisto opens his wings wide and flies out of the room, letting out another “caw” on his way out.

“I… forgot he was still here,” you say sheepishly.

“That’s hardly a problem, but he’s gone now,” he says, his eyes returning to you. He reaches for the tinsel around you, pulling you back into his arms. “As we were saying…”

His lips are on yours again, and this time he doesn’t wait to deepen the kiss. His tongue explores your mouth, drawing sighs from you. You throw your arms around his broad shoulders, your hand finding the hair at the nape of his neck and tangling in it. He kisses you again and again, softly and demanding, passionate and possessive, until you’re breathless and barely able to stand because your legs feel like jelly.

“We need... to finish the decorations...” You somehow find the strength inside you to stop the kisses when you get a break to breathe.

“Are you sure, sweetie?” His voice is deeper, dripping with sensuality and not-so-hidden intentions — and he knows it.

“Yes,” you mumble. You swallow hard, shifting your gaze to avoid falling into temptation again.

“Alright.” He gives you one last peck before taking a step back. “We can continue this later,” he says with a sly smile, and you feel the anticipation coursing through your veins.

A little while later, you’re finally done. You’re on the couch, his arm draped over you as you rest your head on his chest, admiring your work. The lights illuminate the room in an almost magical way, and even though you did your best to make everything match the aesthetic of his house, it’s still funny to see a Christmas tree in the corner of the room.

“It’s not that bad,” he comments, tilting his head to the side for a better look.

“Yes, it looks good. It feels like… home,” you lift your head to look at him.

“It does.” Sylus turns to you, his fingers gently caressing your face before his lips press a sweet peck to your forehead. “We can always ask the chef for a feast if you want the whole Christmas experience.”

“We can?” Your eyes instantly light up, and his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners as he smiles softly at you.

“Of course, sweetie. Anything you want.” He kisses your cheek and pulls you back to lie on his chest.

Sylus stares at everything with eager eyes and a warm heart. You teach him so much, and you don’t even realize it.

You once taught him about music, how to wear accessories, and what it feels like to love someone.

Now, this is another thing you’re teaching him, and that he’ll remember for all his life.

You’re quietly enjoying a cup of hot chocolate in the living room with Sylus, still admiring your efforts while he cleans his gun, when the front door opens with a loud bang. You jump, startled by the sudden noise. Hurried footsteps echo in the hallway, and suddenly two identical figures appear in the doorway. Boxes that were once wrapped are now open in their hands, and they make no effort to hide it. Instead, they rush toward you in sync.

“Miss!” They open their arms, ready to give you a big hug. “Thank you!”

Their arms barely touch you before they’re yanked away. They groan as they land carelessly on the floor, the misty black and red energy dissipating.

Sylus doesn’t even look up, just keeps cleaning his gun as if nothing happened, and you can only roll your eyes with an amused grin on your lips.

Masterlists

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[aimseytv]

happy pride! here’s your prideful reminder that whether you’re out and proud or celebrating from inside the closet, you deserve the best pride month

[pandoratheprocrasticreator]

i think if you're annoyed that something is getting talked about too much compared to something else you think is more important, it's valid to examine why ppl are talking about the first thing. and maybe the reason ppl talk about the first thing IS bad. like there's an implicit (or even explicit!) bias that makes ppl feel that the first thing is more important when a discussion about the second thing would bring more value. but even if you come to a conclusion on that i don't think the solution is ever to. make ppl stop talking about the first thing? i think the solution is to talk about the second thing yourself and encourage others to do the same. ideas and discussions are not a limited resource. people can think about two things at the same time.

[drchucktingle]

What do you think of people who are therian, otherkin, and alterhuman? Or, perhaps, the ideas of alterhumanity as a whole?

this is a good question had to look up what some of these things were, so bear in mind my understanding is limited and fresh, HOWEVER this one seems pretty easy for me to speak on philosophically because it falls under a BASE philosophy that i have always had

as far as identity and body, my trot is that everyone has the right to do whatever they want with their body, which includes of course things like gender affirming ways (or even humanity affirming or unaffirming aways). that also includes ways in which you identify yourself.

some otherwise well meaning buckaroos get wrapped up in things like 'well i am okay with the standard pronouns but what about neo pronouns of buds who say they identify as non human or a dang tree.' i mean WE ALL KNOW there is the old scoundrel joke about attack helicopters and the thing is this: i genuinely, sincerely, without any reservations believe you can legitimately identify as a helicopter.

who am i to say you are not one? how do we even define what a HUMAN or UNHUMAN is in this swirling mix of matter and energy? is there even really a point where i end and you begin? there are OF COURSE standard answers to this that help us get through the day in a material way, but i feel like once you start talking PHILOSOPHY AND EXISTENCE and really ZOOM OUT then you are opening things up to a grander perception of this timeline, where things like 'what even IS my body?' become very abstract

in a world where all i REALLY know is that 'i think therefore i am' i am not really ready to start imposing strict definitions of these things on other people

what i personally care about is RESPECTING others and showing them kindness. so if someone is identifying in a way that is unusual (not in the sense of bad but in the sense of literally not usual) i will always just say 'okay that is very cool and exciting thank you for telling me'. i mean HECK, as a non dysphoric trans person i identify in a technically unusual way.

it is SO EASY to just 'yes and' other buckaroos expression of themselves. it is SO EASY to just 'yes and' love and exploration. so i fully support and am excited about and whole heartedly believe in any way that buds see themselves fitting into this timeline

[astropookie]

planets on your 1H and I’ll tell you somwthing about it

betty boop

mercury 1H: overthinking. always persuading people to do what they want. they’re not as many writers as I thought, they seem to be more attracted to careers where they have to communicate with others, like selling, etc.

moon 1H: pretty sensitive. can be a maniac with manipulative and “I always have what I want” issues. they want someone who’ll understand them 100% the way they want even though that’s not posible. they want to be seen. they can like animals a lot.

jupiter 1H: almost philosophers but not. they want to live in the moment but their thinking keeps them hypnotized. they could be drawn to learn and teach others but they have to have in mind that not everyone wants to be their student.

sun 1H: they’re always talking about what they want to do next, their next plan that’d please their desires and would help to create the person they want to become in the future. takes decisions before thinking about others. their attitude brings attention easily.

mars 1H: take a deep breath, you’d worship your goal as you want, just relax. really confident about your sex appeal. too much energy to contain in one body. realize your stamina in some kind of sport so you won’t yell at me. direct. intense? you know what you want and would do wathever to make it reality.

venus 1H: okay pillow princess -I’m joking😭-. there’s a lot of things you want to do but you want others to help you out. dependent. it’s all good until you have to confront the things you don’t like. stop living in your bubble.

uranus 1H: stop thinking you’re so unique and that the world needs people like you to keep spinning -that was me totally roasting myself-. it’s okay you can open up, people would still have different opinions about you and that’s okay, fuck them. what you’re determined to do doesn’t have to always end up as you want.

neptune 1H: yes, people like you. yes, people adore you but for what? for showing them a person you’re not just because their idea of you wasn’t yourself? also, go outside your head and look what kind of people surrounds you. there’s a conflict between finding your identity bc you weren’t showing how you truly felt all this time.

saturn 1H: just bc you had a trauma doesn’t mean it would repeat and that if it does it won’t traumatized you as before. it would be different, it doesn’t mean you’d feel better👅 just follow your advices. you’re too stubborn to be in tune with your emotions. you’re not gonna have control about everything.

pluto 1H: too paranoiac. they’re not following you pls stop 😭. they keep asking why and when and every question you’d imagine just because they don’t trust you. pretty attractive though, pretty mysterious. people want to k more and more about you bc you give them nothing. magnetic.

(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ/ᐠ - ˕ -マ.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ♡ ⋆ ˖ ݁ . ₍^⸝⸝> ·̫ <⸝⸝ ^₎ ༘⋆૮꒰ྀི⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝꒱ྀིა ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ૮₍˶ •. • ⑅₎ა

ꕤ Based on personal experience and I’ve analyzed in my surroundings.

ꕤ English is not my first language.

ꕤ I’m not a profesional astrologer.

Thank youu. baibaiii🫣🫶🏼💋

Do not copy. Please give me credits.

[jlheon]

౨ৎ — who ru ? (lhs)

pairing. situationship! lee heeseung x fem! reader synopsis. enha try to figure you out genre. fluff & est. relationship at end wc. 2069 notes. ft. enhypen library.

none of heeseung’s members knew your name. 

which was ironic since they saw you nearly every day off they had. usually passing by heeseung’s slightly ajar door and taking a double take after seeing a female figure, then realizing it's just you, and wondering if you were heeseung's girl-friend or girlfriend.

they had grown used to your presence in the almost six months of you constantly around their home. yet nobody could ever figure out your name and who you were. 

despite running into you in the dorms multiple times none of the six had ever muttered anything more than a mere ‘hi’ or ‘sorry’ while passing. 

they always saw you around the dorms at least two times a week. though never once did they recall seeing you enter or leave. their eldest never brought you up, feeding into the idea you were some imaginary person.

heeseung was good at everything, including sneaking you in and out.

all of them being scared to say anything to you. acting like your identity was classified when they could just ask heeseung or you who you were.

but of course, riki loved to make anything and everything into a competition. 

after betting with his hyungs’ on who could figure out your name first, he spotted you in the house, residing in heeseung’s lap while he did some work on his computer. face buried in his neck while he typed away. 

riki camped out in the bathroom, with the door open, pretending to be cleaning the mirror. scrubbing the same corner repeatedly for almost ten minutes, waiting for you to use the bathroom. surely you would need to get up soon.

when he concluded that he couldn’t clean the mirror forever, he picked up his toothbrush and brushed his teeth. 

after brushing his teeth for a solid three minutes his plan was finally set into action. 

“hi riki,” you knocked on the open door. “how long do you need to brush your teeth for?”

“howdoyouknowmyname-” he spit out the toothpaste in shock. 

“riki, i’m here all the time,” you replied. “and you’re also a famous idol.”

“oh yeah..” he wiped his face with a towel from the counter. “why don’t i know your name though.”

“you’ve never asked,” you shrugged your shoulders at the younger boy covered in toothpaste. “do you mind if i wash my face, i think you’ve brushed your teeth thoroughly enough.”

“yeah of course,” riki set his toothbrush back in its holder and moved towards the door.

“you missed a spot by the way,” pointing to your chin to show where the toothpaste was left on him, lightly shutting the door.

riki’s plan had failed. 

the next to try and talk to you was jake.

he was confident that he could get your name out if you. maybe he’d even be good enough to figure out if you were heeseung’s girlfriend or not.

it was the day after riki had run into you in the bathroom. since it was their break before the long comeback season jake knew that you would probably be sleeping over. giving him the perfect opportunity to ask heeseung and you if you both wanted to eat ramen with him.

once the time on his phone read 11:15 he knocked on heeseung’s door.

“come in,”

“hi,” jake opened the door. “i was wondering if you wanted ramen, her too..”

this was perfect. surely heeseung would call you by name when he asked if you were hungry. everyone would owe him dinner for the week.

you and heeseung were on his bed. you cuddled up into his side while you both watched tiktoks on his phone. 

“baby are you hungry?” heeseung leaned down next to your ear. 

baby was not your name. jake frowned.

“no i’m okay hee,” you mumbled. “you can go eat though.”

he kissed your forehead before getting up from his bed to follow jake to the kitchen. 

jake’s plan had also failed, but the fact heeseung had called you a pet name gave him some idea that you weren't just a friend.

the uprise of interactions with the members confused you. they went from running away from you and avoiding looking at you every time you were within six feet of them to constantly seeking you and heeseung out. though it relieved you in a way since you were convinced that heeseung had strictly told them to act as if you didn't exist in the months you had spent together.

you and heeseung were in fact not an item, even though you both wished you were. you've known him since his nerdy bowl cut days in middle school, you weren't close before but after running into you years later that changed.

you knew that he had become an idol, it was hard not to notice when you saw his face on ads. never listening to his group but being able to recognize him if you were asked.

one day when you were on shift, at your then job as a barista at a small place. you had recognized him as you took his order. you didn't want to sound like an obsessed fan if he didn't remember you, so you simply bit your tongue the entire time. he had decided to tip you for bringing him his drink, which made you even more on edge when he left a stray napkin on his table with his number.

after that incident it was clear he recognized you from school, which was more worrying than relieving as he started to show up to your work even more.

eventually, his visiting you at work was not ideal anymore as he stuck out like a sore thumb with how tall he was paired with the black mask and sunglasses he never dared to take off.

alas, he had asked you to hangout somewhere else. now you no longer worked at that cafe and spent all of your free time off from classes being snuck into a kpop boy-group dorm to hang out with a boy who acted like your boyfriend but wasn't. awesome!

after your first encounters with riki and jake everyone followed after.

jay came in to ask if you had any allergies because he was making some lunch, again heeseung addressed you as anything but your real name.

two days later sunoo had sat down next to you on the living room couch and offered you a face mask. you nodded and you guys spent an hour together as heeseung and jay were gone filming for a variety show. right as sunoo was finally confident you guys were casual enough to ask you for your name heeseung walked in.

you jumped up from the couch making your way over and throwing yourself at him. holding onto him like a koala when he picked you up. he greeted sunoo, and brought you all the way to his room. shutting the door behind him.

you didn’t even get the chance to thank sunoo for hanging out with you.

within the same hour jungwon had barged into heeseung’s room, the door banging against the wall. 

“jungwon what the hell!” heeseung scolded, though keeping his voice at a whisper. “don’t you know to knock?”

“this is me exercising my leader privileges,” jungwon crossed his arms and fixed his posture.

“you could have woken her up..” heeseung stroked your hair, as you laid passed out on his chest.

“woken who up?” jungwon said mischievously, heeseung had to say your name now. 

“don’t act dumb, you can literally see her sleeping.” heeseung deadpanned. 

you started to shuffle in your sleep, beginning to wake up. 

“hee?” you grumbled. 

“it’s nothing, baby,” he answered. “just go back to sleep.”

heeseung sent jungwon a glare, shooing him out of the room. so much privacy for having only single room.

right when you thought it was over, it was finally sunghoon’s turn to figure you out. he contemplated creating a list of names that you kind of looked like and just shouting them throughout the house until you answered to one.

but after hearing jungwon explain how heeseung looked like he was about to chase him out of the dorm onto the street after he woke you up, sunghoon decided against his original idea.

he was sat on his bed for almost an hour thinking about what he could do. 

he concluded he should just be straightforward and ask you already. why hadn’t anyone else just asked you?

he let out a horrendous evil laugh that sunoo had given him a weird look for as sunghoon thought about how his plan was foolproof. he was about to be picking dinner every night for everyone.

sunghoon created a list in his head from what he gathered from all the other boys' failed attempts :

knock LIGHTLY on the door

make sure he is not interrupting anything

ask you NOT heeseung

get that free dinner

he waited for everyone to get to their rooms after dinner to make his way to the eldest’s room. you surely couldn’t have possibly fallen asleep yet as the sun had only just set. using his right hand, he softly knocked on the door. heeseung opened the door enough to show you sitting at his desk. 

“hoon?” heeseung questioned.

“i have a question.” sunghoon said firmly, keeping his chin up high, making himself look cocky in the process.

“shoot,” heeseung replied dryly, yawning at the end of his sentence.

“not for you,” sunghoon recalled the list floating around in his head, he pointed at you. “for her.”

overhearing their exchange, you took your attention away from the game you were playing on heeseung’s computer and spun the chair towards sunghoon. heeseung had no choice but to move aside and let the boy in as you had already taken note of his presence. 

“what’s your name? oh, and are you heeseung’s girlfriend?” he smiled, fist-bumping himself in his head as he finally did what the others couldn’t.

“i’m ____,” you grinned, finally happy someone had asked you directly like you and heeseung were hoping for. “i don’t know about the girlfriend part though.”

“____ i swear i was just about to talk to you about that soon-”

“i’m kidding hee!” you giggled. “i don’t understand why it took you guys so long, i’m always here.”

“i don’t know either,” heeseung agreed.  

“yeah right. you strictly told us not to look at her the first time jake caught her inside the dorm,” jay said as he walked into the room. 

one by one the rest of the group filtered into the room. sunghoon gives a whole speech about how he is truly the smartest and the first thing he wants for dinner is steak. which was nothing different from the usual but he was happy that he got to decide. the whole group talked for a few hours in heeseung’s bedroom.

once heeseung saw you yawn he quickly got up and ushered all the guys to get out as you were tired. while he was busy forcing riki to leave you collapsed on his bed and waited for him to join you.

“so girlfriend huh?” you teased as he climbed into the empty spot next to you. 

he scratched the back of his head with a nervous laugh before turning off the lamp on his bedside table. when the lights were off and you could barely make out each other's faces in the dark he spoke up.

“can i be your boyfriend?” he asked, his voice dripping with gentleness. he snuck an arm under your head and pulled you towards his chest.

“i mean i guess so,” you joked, causing heeseung to tickle your sides. 

you squirmed in his grip trying to bite him until he finally gave it a rest. 

you tilted your head up towards his trying to find his lips to give him a short kiss. ultimately missing due to the darkness and kissing his chin instead. the both of you giggled. heeseung then used his free hand to trace around your face to find your lips, bringing his head down to finally connect your lips to his.

the last thing you remembered before drifting off was the sound of heeseung lulling you to sleep with a song he had been working on for their upcoming album.

[murmeloni]

Okay this one won't leave my brain, so...

Bruce and Martha becoming friends, having tea together and gossiping regularly.

It all started when Luthor shows an interest in a little farm in Smallville, Kansas. Bruce doesn't know what the man is trying to do or why but he knows he needs to keep on top of it so he decides to just fly there himself.

He arrives on the Kent farm just when Luthor is leaving, muttering furiously to himself and looking supremely pissed off. It immediately lifts his spirits. He jovially knocks on the door and keeps his smile even as the woman who opens the door frowns at him. Martha Kent, it has to be.

"Hello there", says Bruce, and Mrs Kent immediately cuts him off. "You can run right along, Mister. As I've told your friend, I'm not talking. I don't need or want your kind here."

"Ah, I think there's been a misunderstanding", answers Bruce, scratching his chin. "See, I'm only here to piss this 'friend' off. He's a real piece of work and I try to put a wrench into his plans whenever I can."

Martha snorts in amusement, studies him for a moment longer, and then she's opening the door fully. "Would you like some tea, Mr Wayne?"

Grinning, Bruce agrees, and somehow the outraged look Luthor gives him the next time they see each other isn't even as satisfying as the afternoon he spends with Martha. Somehow, it becomes a regular thing. They have tea, they gossip and they catch up.

Of course Clark eventually finds out about it and he is incredibly suspicious of this playboy billionaire flying out to Smallville to visit his Ma several times a month. 'Coincidentally', he starts to visit his Ma whenever Bruce is there, determined to find out what's going on, especially after Luthor had been sniffing around the farm. He quickly becomes enamored, something his Ma obviously doesn't miss. She starts to play matchmaker and soon after that, Clark and Bruce - who's been attracted to this gentle giant of a man since day one - start dating.

A few months down the line, the league reveals their identity and everyone is very confused (and mildly freaked-out) when Batman and Superman turn out to be the media's current favorite couple.

[wondersinwaynemanor]

let's pretend that this is the right timeline because what if Dick becomes Batman at the same time when Wally becomes The Flash?

let's also say that this is just like the Justice League animated series wherein the League members don't know each member's identities (except of course Bruce, he knows everybody).

how funny would it be if Dick and Wally are together and the rest of the League are confused because all of a sudden Batman and Flash are close like super close? i mean they have witnessed how Flash gets intimidated by Batman. now, that's not the case anymore.

during a meeting:

Hal, leaning to John during a League meeting, whispers: I'm not losing my mind, right?

John, whispers back: I think I know what you mean.

Hal: Why is Flash making heart eyes to Bats????

John: I know??? Flash doesn't even look him in the eyes before.

Hal: That's so odd, dude.

Batman glances at the two Green Lanterns which makes them shut up.

meanwhile, across the table, Martian Manhunter has a light smile on his lips and Superman covers his laugh with a cough.

-

at the cafeteria:

Ollie: Hey, Dinah. Have you noticed something unusual between Batman and Flash lately?

Dinah: It is quite unusual, huh? I was talking to Hawkgirl the other day and she said she saw Flash bridal carry Bats.

Ollie: What the actual fu-

Flash, approaches the couple's table with a big bowl of nachos on his hand: Hey, guys! Mind if I sit with you?

Ollie and Dinah give a knowing look at each other. a conversation they definitely will finish later.

-

during in an another planet mission:

Batman, after announcing everyone's partners for the mission:... And lastly, I will pair up with Flash in today's mission.

Flash grins widely, that has Arthur thinking his cheeks might be hurting after that.

Arthur: Yeah, yeah. At this point, we already know, Bats!

the Green Lanterns, along with Captain Marvel and Booster Gold, snicker at his comment.

Batman ignores Arthur's comment and the rest of the members scatter to their assigned locations.

Victor, who was paired with Arthur: Was gonna give that comment too.

Arthur: It's like they are inseparable all of a sudden.

Victor, shakes his head: Well, I have seen weirder things.

-

in the meeting hall:

Wonder Woman, pulls Batman in the corner of the room: Okay, that's enough. You are truly ignoring me. What is going on with you lately?

Batman: Did the rest of the League put you up to this?

Wonder Woman, has her hands on her hips: They didn't need to. So, tell me. And don't you ever lie to me, I can see right through you, Batman.

Batman, sighs: It's hard for me to explain. I can't-I can't tell you right now.

Wonder Woman: Hera! Now, Bru-Batman.

before Batman responses, the door of the meeting hall opens and in comes Robin with his katana. the conversations between the League members come to a stop as they stare at the young hero.

Robin, glances at everyone, before approaching Flash: I need help with an important matter.

Flash, smiles and ruffles Robin's hair, as if that's second nature: Of course, little dude.

Hal, stands up from his seat: THAT'S IT! Can somebody tell me what the hell is going on????

Ollie, stands up with him: Are we in another dimension that I don't know about?????

Dinah pulls Ollie down by his arm to make him sit again.

the rest of the League members start to converse against each other.

Superman, floats a bit from his seat: Why don't we all settle down? There's nothing to be alarmed about.

Robin, shakes his head: Tt. Absolute fools.

by the time Bruce and Barry are back:

-

Bruce, pinches the bridge of his nose: Chum, you could at least be discreet with Wally.

Dick: It's not my fault, B! I swear I was going to explain to Aunt Diana then Dami entered the room.

Damian: Tt. Don't blame me, Grayson. Why don't you lecture West on how to be more responsible? He left me on read when I asked help for my Science project.

Dick, sighs: And what about Timmy? He could have helped.

Damian: I don't want anything to do with Drake.

Bruce massages his temples as he feels a headache coming up.

-

Barry: Wally!!!!

Wally, zooms right in front of Barry: I couldn't help it, okay?? Dick is just irresistible.

Iris giggles as she prepares the table for dinner.

Barry, sighs: That's alright. I'll talk to Bats on how we can explain it to the team.

Wally, grins and sits down by the table: It was hard not to laugh at them. They were so confused.

Barry, chuckles: I'm sure Hal's expression was the funniest.

Wally, laughs: You have no idea, Uncle Barry.

[thisisntmyrightera]

Together - CHO HYUN-JU x Fem Reader Part 2

Summary: Reader is scammed and abandoned by her boyfriend, leaving her alone in South Korea to her fate, so in desperate search of a solution to return to her home country she decides to join the squid games to get money, within the game she meets a couple of people who become her friends and could possibly be something more.

Warning: Violence, homophobia mention of attempted rape and sexist language

Hours passed, one after another as groups of 5 people entered after passing the tests, time was exhausting, hearing gunshots in the distance and watching as the greedy people got upset every time the door opened again and again

I had already gone back and forth from my mattress to the steps, I sat down and lay down bored looking around feeling the irritation on my ankle more and more, the guard had tied it so tight that a red irritation had started to appear on my skin

Ouch - I said barely touching my ankle feeling the burning that was irritated even more by the friction of the fabric

Are you okay let me see - Hyun-Ju approached slowly sitting down a couple of steps below taking my foot carefully - did you twist your foot?

No, I'm fine - I looked at her embarrassed, trying to avoid her gaze, but her firm and large hand held my foot, looking at me - it's just a scratch, I think

Let me see - her touch went from firm to soft and delicate, slowly lifting the fabric of my pants, showing the red and irritated mark on my skin - I see, your skin is very sensitive, are you weak after all?

Hey, I'm not weak - her laugh made me laugh with her, pushing her a little while my leg rested on her knee - Hyun-Ju… can I ask you something?

Sure - her smile was still kind as she carefully folded my pants up, making sure the fabric didn't touch the irritated area again

Why are you here? Do you need the money for something? - Her face seemed to turn even paler than it already was, her smile blurred and her eyes looked at the floor in shame, as if she had asked the most embarrassing thing on the planet - If you don't want to tell me, I'll understand, excuse my intrusion

No… it's not that - she sighed slowly swallowing saliva and then looked at me with a look of embarrassment - my… my goal is to get to Thailand

Thailand? Do you need to go on vacation or something? - I smiled at her naively excited, thousands of times I had heard about that country but I still had not had the fortune to know it

No..- she smiled mocking a little at my foreign innocence - I…I need to go finish my transition you know..

Transition?..oh..I..understand Hyun-Ju sorry I shouldn't have asked you something so personal

Don't worry - she smiled a little moving her fingers nervously playing with the green fabric - it's just that…nobody is ever interested in my story and it's a little difficult for me to tell it

I understand…well..- I looked at her going down a couple of steps until I was sitting next to her looking at her attentively - if you want you can tell me, I would like to meet Hyun-Ju - She laughed with her eyes a little wet looking to the other side trying to hold her breath - do you work?

I worked… - she sighed again, this time deeper, dropping her shoulders - I was fired from my job when… well… I decided to tell everyone what I really am, they were ashamed of me and, they fired me

They are bastards, that is not right or even legal, what does your identity have to do with your ability, they are ignorant - I snorted angrily clenching my jaw - it must have been a dumb job after all, right? You must not have missed much

I was a soldier… - she looked at me, moving her legs nervously - a sergeant to be more exact, after they fired me my mother cried a lot and my father was ashamed, they don't talk to me anymore, my friends stopped talking to me and… - her voice broke off as her lips trembled - and everything became difficult and lonely

I understand, the people you trusted turned their backs on you - I looked at her feeling stupid, I shouldn't have forcing her to open her feelings like that, now I felt guilty for making her cry because of my silly curiosity - but… Hyun-Ju - I smiled a little taking her hand (which I could barely hold a couple of fingers of her big hand) I can be your friend, I would have loved to meet you somewhere else and be able to help you feel better about yourself, after all you haven't done anything wrong, being yourself makes you very brave

That's why I want to go to Thailand, I've heard that in that country there are the best doctors and the prettiest girls, I would love to be able to complete my transition and finally be what I want to be - her eyes showed a sparkle when she talked about it, her illusion overflowed through her pores

You don't have to go to Thailand to feel like that, for me you are already beautiful - my arms surrounded her as soon as the sobs began to come out of her chest and her hands covered her face saddened by crying, she was so fragile, my arms could barely surround her shoulders while her head rested on my shoulder sobbing and shaking - if you want to cry do it, people have been very cruel to you, but never cry out of shame, you have nothing to feel disappointed in yourself about.

This time, the shots didn't seem so dangerous and time passed without feeling it so slowly, she was a magical being that made me lose track of time

You are also very pretty, since I met you, I felt your bravery but also your heart, not everyone shows what they have inside and makes it look so valuable - her hands slowly wiped her tears taking care not to ruin her eyeliner and her diva bangs

It's not time to get sentimental - I laughed pushing her slowly while I got up adjusting my blouse going down a couple of steps - I'll go to the bathroom in the meantime

Do you want me to accompany you?

No, I'll be fine, wait for me here don't go anywhere - I laughed walking across the large space in the center of the beds feeling everyone's gazes.

They followed me and whispered, some laughed and others even said uncomfortable things waiting for me to react upset, they made the path very difficult to the door which was empty and as it was supposed, almost all the guards were in the yard even while the game continued.

The bathroom was big, with lots of cubicles and mirrors, almost uncomfortable to look at, like those endless and gloomy backgrounds, I could barely walk without tripping over to one of the toilets, sitting down uncomfortably listening to the door open once again, this time the footsteps of several people echoed in the almost empty place and a couple of laughs broke the silence and then a loud bang on my door made me jump scared, quickly pulling up my clothes

-I know you're in there, naughty girl, get out of there - the boys' laughter echoed off the walls, how could I have gotten into the wrong bathroom - get out you damn bitch - A loud bang again made me jump scared, unlocking the door with fear and opening it slowly

What did I tell you, the foreigner was here - the purple-haired boy laughed leaning on the bathroom door almost joining his face to mine - what are you doing here, cutie?

Nothing, I'm done - I looked at him, barely trying to get through quickly, scared, feeling a clumsy and strong hand pulling my hair

Come here bitch, I'm not done with you - this time his strength made me slam against one of the bathroom doors, making my back hurt - we know why whores like you come to our country, they come for sex and attention from us, don't they?

That's right, my friend - the long-haired man laughed, pressing his sweaty face against my cheek - she smells good, tell us, darling, what is such a pretty and sexy girl doing with that damn homosexual monster, huh?

She's not a monster, she's my friend - I looked at him, annoyed, tired of continuing to deal with men like him, but despite trying to get out of his hands, I couldn't - her name is Hyun-Ju, that's what they should call her

Oh, how cute, so you're a fucking weirdo like that effeminate? You like faggots, huh? - He laughed, hitting my cheek, making me scream in pain- You know my friend Nam-Gyu liked you as soon as he saw you, don't you like my friend? He's a real man

Leave me alone - I could barely speak when I felt his hand on my neck, pressing me against the door

Leave you? Honey, we're just getting started - the rapper laughed with his friend - do whatever you want to her Nam-Gyu, show her what it's like to be with a real man

My screams could barely be heard a couple of centimeters away, his firm hand on my neck and my crying didn't help much, feeling his disgusting hands running over my body, under my shirt and on the elastic of my pants made me feel even more of an idiot, this was all my fault

Shut your fucking mouth, you're distracting me - another blow again, this time on my lip leaving me stunned - hold her tight, she won't stop moving

I could feel the cold air on my thighs as they pulled down my pants and laughed talking disgusting and meaningless things, everything seemed to get even more dizzy, everything looked blurry until my body fell to the cold floor and again I could react, my tears wouldn't stop running down my face but I could notice the rapper and his friend lying on the floor, the latter Nam-Gyu wiping his bleeding nose

This will be the last time you approach her, is that clear? - Hyun-Ju hit him once more, slamming his head on the floor, leaving him unconscious - If you touch her again, I'll kill you, you fucking idiot, I'll kill you!

The purple haired boy ran hysterically almost tripping over his shoulder, not caring that his friend was on the floor, and I felt so humiliated, lying in a corner of the bathroom crying with a bleeding lip. If only I had listened to my parents from the beginning, I would have never come to this country and this wouldn't be happening. It was all my fault.

Calm down, sweetie, here I am - Hyun-Ju was much taller than those two men, her body was still strong and thick, but her presence was so calm and gave me so much peace that I couldn't feel intimidated by her.

Her hands, careful as always, held my pants, slowly lifting them up until they were in place, then they went to my face, checking my bruises and moving my hair out of my eyes so she could see every inch of my skin.

Sorry… - I looked at her embarrassed, feeling my tears running non-stop, I felt so humiliated and dirty that I couldn't think of anything else but that everything was my fault

You don't have to apologize, you didn't do anything wrong, no one will do anything bad to you anymore, I promise - her arms held me, she never asked me to stop crying or forced me to calm down, she just let me take it all out in her arms, rocking me slowly - let's go outside

But… - I looked at her with fear, shaking her head

Nothing bad will happen, I promise, as long as we're together I'll take care of you, okay? - I could feel my hair being brushed by her fingers slowly and carefully

Ok… - I sighed wiping my eyes with my sweater getting up slowly holding on to her arm so I wouldn't fall, luckily when we left the lights were almost off and most of the people who were already in their beds were getting ready to sleep, thank god without paying attention to us as we crossed the large space in the center

Let's go to bed, tomorrow will be a new day and we must be focused - her hands held my back slowly, making me go up the stairs carefully taking care not to trip - do you want me to help you with your shoes?

No.. - I looked at her embarrassed sitting on my bed taking off my sweater carefully while she stood rubbing her hands nervously

Okay, if you need anything, I'll be in my bed, just call me okay? -She smiled lightly at me, almost invisible because of the darkness of the place, but I could feel it, she made me feel those nice things

Hyun-Ju…-I held her hand quickly while she stopped almost tripping- can you… stay, I'm afraid to sleep alone

Do you want me to stay here? I can watch you if it makes you feel safer -she went back up a few steps sitting down carefully

You can sleep with me, we'll both rest and take care of each other- I could feel my cheeks erupting again while I held the blanket so she could come in with me

Are you sure? I don't want to bother you…

I'm sure, come - I smiled at her, barely feeling a pain in my lip, she just lay down carefully, her body almost taking up more than half of the bed but her presence was so calm that it made me feel like everything was perfect again

I didn't understand why I felt that way, safe and loved, with honesty and without being hurt

Thank you Hyun-Ju…thanks for saving me

Thanks to you, sweetheart, you saved me in a different way,

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

Thanks for reading, I'll be back soon! Tag List!

Part 3

@kuureii @sann1e @sunflowers-are-heaven @bridellashiper

[wonderjanga]

Totally Me

When Billy first joined the league, he made sure to not tell anyone about his identity. This went on for nearly five years until he eventually started feeling bad for the others. They always look so sad. Not that blames them. He knows their names, where they live, their jobs, he knows almost everything about them, yet they know nothing about Marvel. So, Billy decided to tell them some things about himself, only it’s not himself. He told them about his dad, or at least what he remembers. He can’t exactly tell them he’s a twelve year old radio show host who lives in an apartment with his sister and his friend. Can he?

Supes: *talking about Jon*

Hermes: “Alright, Batson. You can do this!” *hyping him up like a sports coach*

Marvel: “He sounds awesome. The way you talk about him reminds me of Billy.”

Supes: “Billy? Who’s that?”

Marvel: *smiles* “My son.”

Supes: *jaw drops*

Clark was so happy his friend finally opened up with something about his personal life. He was smiling the entire day. This information eventually got around to the others so they tried to see if they could find out more too.

GA: “So, Cap, are you finally gonna come one of my mixers?” (ref to a fanfic I can’t remember the name of) *bros digging for information to see if cap is in a relationship*

Achilles: “Come on, Billy, let’s go! You can do this!”

Marvel: “No, I have a wife.”

GA: “A wife? What do you mean you have a wife? I expected a girlfriend not a wife?”

Marvel: *slightly nervous because he thinks Green Arrow might not believe him* “Yeah, well, I have a wife, okay?”

GA: “How long have you guys been married?”

Marvel: “Uh…” *doesn’t even know* “Like since 19-”

GA: “19??”

Marvel: “Yeah, 1920 or 30 something.” *is pretty sure that’s correct*

GA: “You’ve been married to your wife for almost 100 years…?”

Marvel: “Uh… yeah. Now that I think about it, yeah.”

By the way, anything Billy tells these guys, goes straight into the rumor mill. Once he divulges a little piece of information it’ll take like an hour, and then everyone knows.

Bruce even got in on the action by grabbing a form and walking up to Marvel:

Batman: “Captain, on your registration papers you left your occupation blank. Could you fill it out?”

Marvel: “Ah, sure!” *fills it out*

Batman: “Thank you.” *walks away and rounds a corner, only to be met with Clark*

Supes: “So, what’s his job?” *is hoping that Marvel is a reporter because he and Marvel have yapped about reporting multiple times*

Batman: *looks at the form* “He’s an archaeologist.”

Supes: “Archaeologist?” *sounds a little dumbfounded* “Huh. That seems so Marvel-like, yet so un-Marvel-like at the same time.”

Also, Billy does actually like archaeology. It’s one of bro’s special interests. In fact, to see if Marvel was telling the truth, Bruce asked a little bit about archaeology and was met with an hour long rant about how amazing it was.

[sp0o0kylights]

Give meee: an Eddie who went into a small little bookshop on an Indie trip and stumbled across an in person fandom meeting. 

It's mostly Star Trek, and also mostly women, but the stories they have are nothing like Eddie's ever read. 

He's barely a teenager, and already protective of himself and his real identity--but everything he's ever wanted is written down, right here, on a little zine with Kirk and Spock doodled on the cover. 

They’re not--it’s not obvious, that they’re what he is, but the story itself is blatant and Eddie ends up being so obviously close to tears, he accidentally outs himself without ever saying a word. 

(He also ends up on the mailing list, then being sent home with several hand printed copies of all kinds of zines.) 

Eddie would remain on this list well past his third senior year in high school. 

Past bats, and Vecna and Steve fucking Harrington. 

Flash forward to his first apartment.The tiny one he shares with Steve when they followed Nancy and Robin to college. 

Steve knows Eddie’s gay. 

Or rather, Steve has been told, but Eddie's still pretty clammed up about it. He's not yet where Robin is, ready to bemoan her loveless existence while draped over their crappy, thrifted couch.

He makes jokes and he flirts and he absolutely says things he shouldn't, but none of it is real. 

It's flash. Showmanship. 

It's the persona that yes, is him, but Eddie consciously built it. There’s nothing soft or gooey there, nothing anyone can use to hurt him. 

So when he comes home and sees that plain, padded envelope with the neatly printed label on the counter, torn wide open and flat without its contents?

 Eddie panics. 

His heart thunders in his chest, vision tunneling as adrenaline kicks through him. 

He wants to bolt-- should bolt--except ever since he almost died his brain no longer obeys him. 

Not when it comes to running, anyway. 

Instead it fights him to a standstill, freezing his feet right to the living room floor. 

The urge is still there. 

To run, and save face the cowards way. 

Vanish before Steve could get at a part of him that had once kept Eddie out of Wayne’s trailer for two days, until the old man had hunted him down and made him come home, huffing about how he’d love Eddie no matter what but he better never disappear like that again. 

(Which Eddie did anyway, and of everything that happened with Vecna, it’s that he regrets the most. The stories he heard of Wayne putting up posters. Squaring off with angry, too-righteous townies, and--)

A sniffle jerks him out of his thoughts. 

Eddie gasps, entirely unsure of when he stopped breathing. Stumbles back and turns, right in time for Steve to come out of his room and amble down their hallway. 

One hand rubs at his eyes, and the other is--the other has…

Eddie identifies the cheaply printed, stapled zine immediately. It's one he's wanted to read for a while now, solely because it features a story about Kirk and Spock being stuck in a cave together on a planet that has  bat-like, vicious animals on it. 

Kirk gets bitten after something goes wrong with the transporter and, look, it’s carthiatic okay!? Sue a guy for wanting to read a romance about a situation he identifies with! 

Steve looks up from the zine and startles. 

For a second his eyes go dark and flat, the same way Eddies and Robins and Nancy's and everyone's does when caught off guard. 

It's gone in a flash though, Steve visibly relaxing when he clocks that it's just Eddie. 

He keeps the zine pressed to his sweater clad chest,  and huffs out a laugh that's half forced and half pure relief.

“Fuck Eds, you scared me! I didn’t know you could be quiet.” 

“Uh huh.” Eddie manages, voice sounding totally and absolutely normal and not at all ten octaves higher than it usually is. 

They stare at each other for a second. Long enough that Steve's eyebrows crinkle in the middle, which is the first hint that he’s beginning to worry, and Eddie really cannot handle Steve being worried right now.  

“What's--” Eddie’s voice cracks and he coughs to recover. “what's that?” 

Steve frowns at him for a moment, until Eddie gestures at the zine in his hands. 

“Oh!”

Steve holds it up, as if to show it off. 

“It's a little book Robin got in the mail. It has a bunch of stories in it. They're normally boring as fuck but this one's from Star Trek.” 

Hearing the words ‘Star Trek’ out of Steve’s mouth shouldn’t be weird, not anymore, when Eddie and Dustin have been on a two man mission to nerdify Harrington as much as possible, but it still kicks like a mule to hear him say such things without any prompting. 

“You know what Star Trek is?”

“Eddie,” Steve tuts, tongue clicking in his mouth. “everyone knows what Star Trek is. It’s nerd shit, but like, old nerd shit. My grandparents used to watch it when I stayed over. This?” 

 He shakes the zine, so hard Eddie wants to snatch it away from him.

 “This isn't nerd shit. This is excellent.”

Steve gives the zine an appreciative glance and hell, maybe Eddie accidentally walked into another dimension. 

He’s been trying to get Steve to read more, rediscover the joys of books the public school system does its best to destroy, but until now Steve hasn’t really taken to it. 

Enjoys when Eddie reads aloud sometimes, and has started to bug Robin to do it for him too, but otherwise?

Eddie’s nerve seen him with anything that had the written word on it that wasn’t a cooking or car related magazine. 

“Honestly,” Steve’s saying, “I think Robs fucked up, this isn't her style at all. She’s gonna be pissed.” 

He eyes the thing appreciatively, like the gift it is. 

“I'm stealing it the second she figures that out.” He adds decisively. 

“You like it?” Eddie asks. 

“Mmm.” 

“Even though it's--it's got…Kirk…” 

Steve's frowning at him again. “What?” 

“It's queer man. It's really queer.” 

Steve peers at him, the crinkle back in his eyebrows. 

“I know. Wait, how do you--” 

And well. It’s now or never. 

“It's mine.” Eddie says in a rush.

“No it's not.” Steve scoffs, and okay, maybe this is a dream. Eddie pinched himself twice already, but perhaps a third time would wake him up?

(It does not.)

“it was even addressed to Robin. Well,” Steve has one hand on a hip now, his default position when arguing, “Robbie, but she goes by that sometimes.” 

Which Robin does, but not in the fucking mail.

Without a word, Eddie turns and goes for the envelope the zine came in. 

Steve follows, invading Eddie’s space to peer over his shoulder (and that’s Eddie’s fault too, that closeness, but he didn’t think it would be turned on him in a moment like this--) 

There's a sticker on the envelope’s label.

 It’s barely hanging on, half of it curled into the air.  Round and yellow, with little black lines, it becomes immediately obvious that one of Robin's smiley face stickers has migrated again. 

They're all over the apartment. Remnants of a phase she went through after she stole a roll of them from her and Steve’s job at a local toy store.

This one had clearly jumped ship from its original spot (likely on the ceiling somewhere), and was now firmly over the E in Eddie's name. 

‘Ddie’ still isn't exactly ‘Obbie’  but--

Steve leans around, snatching the envelope up and bringing it close to his face. 

Far too close, like he can't read it, eyes squinting as he examines the label--and suddenly Eddie knows exactly what happened. 

He laughs, an explosion of noise that's half hysterical and half disbelief. 

Steve looks at him. 

“What?” 

“Oh my God,” Eddie says, one finger jabbing in the air in the vague direction of Steve’s nose. “I told you you needed glasses!” 

“I do not!” Steve protests immediately, but his eyes are darting around the envelope. 

He’s scrambling to figure out what Eddie’s seeing, trying desperately to find a hole that can prove himself right. 

Eddie decides to help him, by plucking the smiley sticker off the envelope. 

“See?” He jeers, and shit okay, maybe his life isn’t over just yet. “It says Eddie, not Robbie!” 

“You guys have got to start using your government names for this shit.” Steve bitches, but it’s weak.

Eddie feels a grin coming on, and lets it overtake his face. 

“So...Kirk and Spock huh?” 

“They’re cute.” Steve defends instantly, before sighing his defeat and tossing the envelope on the table. 

The zine he keeps in his hands. 

Eddie crosses his arms and leans against their rickety table. “Even though they’re both guys?” 

“I thought we were past this!” Steve whines. “I went to a gay bar with Robin last weekend!” 

Which is news to Eddie. 

“You didn’t invite me?” He gasps, feigning hurt by putting a hand over his heart. 

Truthfully he still hasn’t fully recovered--is play acting himself, almost, but is rapidly coming around to the idea of Steve appreciating queer fanfiction. 

“We did!” Steve rolls his eyes so dramatically his whole head moves. “We absolutely did, You said,” 

Here Steve’s voice pitches into a mockery of Eddie’s  that he will not give him points for, even if it is a little hilarious, “Me? At some loser bar? Fuck no, I’ve got a campaign to write. Starbuck, don’t you have homework?” 

“I didn’t know that was a gay bar!” 

“You did! Robin told you!” 

“Okay well, I wasn’t listening!”  

“Clearly. I keep telling you we need a fucking--system or, I don’t know, a code word or something!”  

“Yeah well, when you wanna make us a safe word for conversations, big boy, you let me know.” 

They’re both laughing a little now, this argument veering into familiar territory, with Eddie not really listening and Steve mocking him for it later. (As well as vice versa, with startling regularity.) 

“You really like it though?”  Eddie says after the laughter winds down, gesturing to the zine still clutched in Steve’s hand. 

“Yeah.” Steve confirms, easy as he’s said anything else. Like this isn’t embarrassing, or almost worse than the time Wayne found Eddie’s porno mags and alphabetized them as a joke. 

“It's part of a mail tree. I’m supposed to send it on to the next person when I’m done with it. I make copies though,” Eddie rushes to add, because Steve is now clutching the little booklet to his chest in horror, as if Eddie was about to rip it out of his hands. “If you like I’ll show you my other ones?” 

Steve eases his grip, giving Eddie the little smile he makes that makes his stomach flip. 

“That’d be cool.” 

(Later, Steve pokes at Eddie’s thigh from where they’re both sprawled on Eddie’s bed, Steve having switched the new zine out for one of Eddie’s copies. “Are you going to laugh at me if I ask you to read some of these aloud?” 

“Only if you don’t laugh when I ask you to take me to that gay bar.” 

“Deal, but on the grounds you’re barred from making fun of my flirting attempts. Robin doing it was bad enough.” 

“Well you deserve it if you’re hitting on women at a gay bar, Stevie.” 

“I wasn't hitting on women you asshole.” Steve says and oh.

Oh.

Eddie feels the floor drop out from under him for the second time that day. 

At least this time it’s not fear that thunders through him, but possibility.) 

[solxamber]

This is a funny lil idea I just had but have you ever thought about rook and a reader that acts like his behavior is normal? Like, they know he's literally stalking them but is perfectly fine with it for some strange reason.

And when they finally do start dating, everyone is either

1. Convinced that he’s threatening your life

Or

2. Judging you like crazy because WHY

Totally Normal Romance || Rook Hunt

You've fallen hard for the hunter and you're dating! But when you tell your friends the good news, they immediately try staging interventions. Huh, I wonder why?

thank you for waiting! I loved the idea a lot and it became way longer than I expected but I hope you like it!

You’ve somehow managed to fall into a relationship with Rook, the Academy's resident “Hunter” and renowned tracker of students who can't even attempt to hide without him finding them.

Most people would be a little alarmed—okay, extremely alarmed—by Rook’s knack for showing up whenever you breathe a little too loud. But you? You’re weirdly, unapologetically chill about it.

The day starts as it usually does. Rook is outside your door bright and early, practically sparkling, ready to report how many steps you took in your sleep, how many breaths you exhaled, and what percentage of your dreams contained images of his dashing silhouette.

You nod, acting like he’s merely sharing the weather, and go about your morning. People are whispering in the hallways; they’ve noticed that the school’s “greatest hunter” is now your personal shadow.

Some think you're being held hostage in an unholy union. Others are convinced you’ve cracked under the pressure of Rook’s endless poetic monologues and have, in fact, lost your mind.

When the two of you officially start dating, the rumors take a delightful nosedive into the surreal. Rook is, naturally, over the moon, reciting sonnets about your “captivating acceptance of his pursuit.” Friends beg you to “see the red flags.”

You just smile as Rook emerges from behind a tree on your morning jog to hand you a flower he found “radiant with the essence of your aura.”

Intervention Attempt 1: Adeuce

You’re just sitting down to lunch when Ace and Deuce suddenly approach you with identical expressions of horror and determination, like they’ve somehow stumbled into a horror movie and taken it upon themselves to rescue the clueless protagonist. Ace, as usual, decides to take the lead.

“We need to talk. About... him.” He jerks a thumb toward Rook, who’s lurking—quite visibly—behind a tree, watching you with a delighted grin as if the entire world is his favorite reality TV show.

You shrug. “Rook’s just being his usual sweet self.”

Deuce’s mouth falls open. “That’s... sweet? The dude’s literally hiding in a tree to stare at you.”

You wave a hand. “He’s just thoughtful, you know? He knew I needed a pick-me-up yesterday, so he waited in my closet for two hours just to surprise me with a motivational haiku.”

Ace’s expression is somewhere between pity and disbelief. “You’re serious? That’s... sweet?”

“Uh-huh.” You pop a fry in your mouth, unfazed. “Honestly, it’s kind of nice to have someone that dedicated.”

Ace and Deuce share a silent, horrified look, one that clearly says, Our friend has lost it. Then, Ace leans in close. “You know, if he’s threatening you, you can blink twice or something. We can handle him.”

You burst into laughter, almost choking on your fry. “Guys, come on! Rook’s harmless. It’s just his way of showing affection.”

Behind the tree, Rook notices you laughing and beams even wider, waving with both hands like you’re his entire world. Ace sighs, looking like he’s just signed up for an impossible mission. Deuce’s brows knit together in concern, like he’s mentally preparing himself to guard you from the “danger” Rook apparently presents.

Intervention Attempt 2: Leona

Leona lounges on the couch as you walk into the room, looking way too relaxed—except for the sharp glint in his eye as he watches you. You know that look; it’s the we need to talk look, though Leona would sooner eat his tail than say it outright.

“You know that guy who keeps creeping around you?” he starts, his tone casual, as if he’s talking about the weather. “The hunter dude?”

“Oh, Rook? Yeah, he’s great!” you reply with a smile, clearly missing his hint.

Leona raises an eyebrow, looking faintly amused. “Great? The guy basically tracks your every move like a lion on a hunt. He’s probably memorized your breathing patterns by now.”

You laugh it off, waving a hand. “Leona, you make it sound creepy. Rook’s just… committed.”

Leona smirks, leaning back with a lazy yawn. “Committed to what, stalking you?”

You shrug. “It’s romantic in its own way! He writes poetry about me, makes sure I’m always safe... It’s kinda nice knowing someone’s always watching out for me.”

“Watching out for you,” Leona mutters, barely concealing a snicker. “Sure. Or just watching you.” He tilts his head, examining you as if you’re some rare species that’s suddenly shown up in the savanna. “You sure he hasn’t put a spell on you? You sound completely out of it.”

You smirk. “Leona, you’re just not used to people showing appreciation.”

Leona narrows his eyes, amusement flickering in his gaze. “You keep saying stuff like that, herbivore, and I’m gonna assume you’ve completely lost it.” He yawns and flops back onto the couch, muttering under his breath, “That crazy hunter and his weird haikus…”

You walk away, oblivious, and Leona just shakes his head with a smirk, quietly wondering if he’ll end up having to pry Rook off of you someday.

Intervention Attempt 3: Riddle

Riddle stares at you over his teacup, his brows knit with concern as you talk about your latest “date” with Rook. You've barely started describing his newest poetic declaration when Riddle sets his cup down, looking thoroughly alarmed.

“I… don’t understand,” he interrupts. “Did you say he was waiting in the shadows outside your dorm window at midnight? And he… recited sonnets?”

You nod, completely unbothered. “Oh, yes! And he was so sweet about it. He even had a rose between his teeth, Riddle. He really went all out.”

Riddle’s expression looks like he’s been hit with cold water. “And you… didn’t feel unsafe?”

“Why would I?” you laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s Rook. He’s just being his passionate self.”

Riddle’s face hardens, and he stands up, clutching his teacup with barely contained fury. “This is unacceptable! You must report this immediately—stalking is a severe issue! You don’t have to tolerate this treatment, no matter how he frames it!”

You blink, surprised. “Riddle, it’s really okay. He’s not stalking me; he’s just… really attentive.”

Riddle’s lips thin, and he looks at you with pity, as if you're just too naive to understand the danger you’re in. “It’s worse than I thought,” he mutters, eyes blazing. “He’s… he’s manipulating you into thinking this is acceptable!”

Riddle finally sighs, shaking his head. “If you’re too afraid to tell him off, I’ll do it for you. As a dorm leader, it’s my duty to protect students in my care.”

“Riddle, I appreciate it, but I don’t need protection,” you insist, patting him on the shoulder. “Rook is harmless.”

Riddle huffs, looking like he’s already planning out the verbal lashing he’s going to deliver to Rook the next time he sees him. “You’ll see,” he says. “When you realize the danger, remember I warned you.”

You just smile, and he glances at you like you’re a sheep walking happily into a lion’s den.

Intervention Attempt 4: Malleus (And Lilia?)

When Malleus summons you to Diasomnia for what he calls an “urgent matter,” you’re intrigued. However, when you arrive, his expression is downright grave. The flickering candlelight gives his face an eerie glow as he looks at you, his usually calm demeanor laced with worry.

He leans in close, and his eyes narrow. “I understand you… spend much time with Rook,” he says, voice almost a whisper.

“Uh, yeah? We’re dating,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Malleus blinks, clearly taken aback, as if he was expecting an entirely different answer. “So you willingly… permit him to lurk in the shadows around you?”

“Well, yes, he’s got that whole poetic ‘silent protector’ thing going on.” You shrug, but Malleus doesn’t look any less alarmed.

“I see,” Malleus says, more to himself than to you. “So he’s already gained control over you.” He sighs, looking deeply concerned. “Fear not. I will protect you from him.”

Before you can respond, Lilia, who’s been silently watching with a smirk, bursts into laughter.

“Oh, Malleus, you’re taking this far too seriously,” he cackles, clapping a hand on Malleus’s shoulder. “Rook isn’t dangerous—well, unless you count bad poetry as a weapon.”

Malleus doesn’t look convinced. “You find this funny?” he asks, frowning.

“Of course I do!” Lilia grins, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. “They’re dating, Malleus. Rook doesn’t even know how to scare a fly when it comes to them.”

Malleus turns back to you, still worried. “Are you… certain you’re safe?”

You nod, but the look of pity in his eyes says he’s clearly unconvinced, as if he thinks you’re only defending Rook out of fear. Meanwhile, Lilia gives you a wink and a mischievous grin, enjoying the absurdity of the whole situation.

Intervention Attempt 5: Azul

You’re strolling past the Mostro Lounge, hoping to grab some food, when Azul intercepts you, looking unusually serious. He gestures for you to follow him into a private corner, glancing around as if he's worried someone might overhear.

“I understand you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Rook,” he says, his tone grave, though there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s already calculating something.

You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah, we’re dating.”

Azul’s expression shifts to something between shock and pity, as if he’s just heard you’ve taken up with the Grim Reaper himself. “Dating? So… you’re aware he’s stalking you?”

You shrug. “He’s not stalking—he’s just keeping an eye out. Very vigilant, actually.”

Azul’s face darkens. “Right… vigilant.” He clears his throat. “In that case, allow me to offer the services of Floyd and Jade for your… protection.”

You blink. “Protection?”

“Yes. For a reasonable price, of course,” he says with a smooth smile, back to his usual self. “Consider it a sort of… insurance in case this arrangement with Rook takes a… dramatic turn.”

He leans forward, lowering his voice. “Imagine if you had two skilled guards who could tail him as closely as he tails you.”

Before you can respond, Floyd appears out of nowhere, draping an arm over your shoulder and grinning. “We could totally scare him, too. Make him feel like he’s the one being hunted!”

Jade nods from behind him, his smile too sharp to be comforting. “Yes, we’re more than happy to shadow Rook if you’d like.”

You stare at the twins, whose predatory smiles seem to stretch further the longer they look at you. “Guys, I appreciate the offer, but Rook’s fine. I’m not being held captive.”

Azul raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t push, instead sighing in that dramatic way of his. “Very well. The offer stands should you need it. Just remember: one word, and we’re at your service.”

As you walk away, you catch a quiet exchange between the twins.

“Do you think we’d even get the chance to tail him, Jade?”

“Hmm… I’d say it’s more likely he’d follow us, Floyd.”

You shake your head, amused. Only Azul would find a way to capitalize on your love life.

Intervention(?) Attempt 6: Vil

You’re backstage in Pomefiore, helping Vil with his costume adjustments for his latest role when he pauses, hands on his hips, giving you a long, evaluative look.

“So… you and Rook?” he finally says, an eyebrow raised with an almost resigned air.

“Yeah.” You grin, shrugging. “I mean, he’s… intense, but it works.”

Vil sighs, pressing two fingers to his temple as if that would ward off the headache he’s certain to get from this conversation. “You realize that most people would find his behavior concerning, right?”

You wave him off. “He’s harmless. Just… expressive.”

He gives a soft, humorless laugh, as though he’s not sure if you’re just that naive or that confident. “You’re both completely mad, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you say, leaning back with a shrug. “But I like it that way.”

Vil sighs again, and there’s a glimmer of a smile, even if it’s hidden behind a look of sheer exasperation. “Well, at least he won’t make you look bad. He’ll be too busy swooning in the background to do anything truly reckless.” He adjusts your collar with an air of finality, giving you a nod. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

And with that, he returns to his preparations, mumbling something under his breath about how only you could take Rook’s intensity as a “feature” rather than a “warning sign.” But you catch the faint smile on his face as he walks away, leaving you feeling oddly reassured.

Final Intervention: Idia

Idia’s “intervention” is the sort of spectacle that would probably have your other friends dial emergency numbers if they walked in. He's got his laptop perched on a stack of comics, his tablet propped up, and an honest-to-Seven laser pointer he’s brandishing like it’s going to physically ward off any poor life choices.

He points at his first diagram, titled in neon-green font: "Why Your Boyfriend Should Not Be Tracking Your Every Move Like a Supervillain”. It's complete with cartoonish red arrows and diagrams that could pass for an undergrad thesis on questionable behavior.

Rook’s sitting beside you, nodding along with a strangely approving look, as if Idia's crude drawings are just part of the "unrefined genius" he'd expect from mere mortals.

When Idia clicks to his next slide—a very intense pie chart on “Reasons You’re Definitely in Danger"—you shrug. “Look, Idia, everyone’s got their quirks, right? He leaves poetry scrolls for me; you send messages only through encrypted text channels with six layers of memes as the header.”

Idia stares at you, blinking, and drops his laser pointer. It rolls pathetically across the floor, and he looks like he’s two seconds away from fainting. “Th-This isn’t the same! I don’t leave my IP address in your flowerbeds!”

Rook, thrilled, interjects. “Ah, but would you not feel a poetic stirring in your heart if you did, monsieur? Every new line I compose is a love letter to the chase!”

Idia sways. You’re genuinely worried he might black out.

Life, as it turns out, continues with a healthy dose of Rook’s “love language,” which to everyone else looks like the dictionary definition of a security risk.

Yet, you find yourself smiling every time he swoops in with that glittering look in his eyes, poetry scrolls under his arm and a thousand strange ideas.

And even if everyone around you is either looking into exorcisms or planning escape routes, for you, it’s just another day of living your best life.

Masterlist

[blackbirdsblackberries]

I HATE THE NEW HERO

Pt 4: No luck today

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 (You're here) - Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10

Engineering is probably one of your good subjects - mainly due to the grades you get and the equipment you get to create for your second life.

That being said, your luck isn't very high right now because just as you enter the classroom you're called up to the office. Over the loud speaker. In front of everyone.

This is your last straw. You're going to actually break down and cry.

Taking a deep breath you head to the office and stand in front of the receptionist.

"Uh, hi.. I was called up?" You state to the distracted receptionist. "Huh? Okay. Go into the principal's room I guess." She waves you off dismissively and you hold back a retort.

You make your way to the room and knock on the door. It opens with the principal on the other side. "Ah, There you are. I was worried you wouldn't show! Please, have a seat." He opens the door wide enough for you to get in.

You enter and your eyes fall onto a boy with spiky black hair and tanned skin. His back is to you. Next to him is a taller, more bulkier man in a pressed suit.

Your stomach lurches, feeling ill all of a sudden. Your senses go off and you fight the urge to run away. You can't tell who these people are but something isn't right.

Slowly you make your way to a third chair that was placed at the desk. You glance at the two males and have to swallow the bile - it was none other than Damian al Ghul-Wayne and Bruce Wayne. Your eyes immediately snap forward and you clench your fists slightly.

There's no doubt Tim had said something horrid about you to them, maybe he snitched on the fights you two had, whatever it was now you're in deep shit.

You try to get a read on them but it was near impossible, they were both stoic. It didn't help that you refuse to look at the two. The principal sits down at his desk and crosses his arms.

"So, I have been made aware of some things that you have done recently, (Reader). According to numerous anonymous reports you have cyber bullied someone, picked fights, had plans to build dangerous weapons and had hit animals... Listen, you're a good kid but with what I have here I might have to expel you."

Fuck. You can't get expelled your parents would throw you out or something! You can't! You didn't hit animals! The most you hit was a fly! Dangerous weapons? There's nothing like that at all, besides the plans for you superhero weapons. Those aren't dangerous though. You cyber bullied your vigilante persona to make it more realistic! You never pick fights - you don't want to risk hurting someone with your increased strength!

Though, something makes you freeze. If you were called here for that then why are the two Wayne's here?

You think the principal is a telepath because he speaks up.

"You're very lucky Bruce Wayne and his son are kind enough to vouch for you though they said they wanted a favor in return." Oh. Manipulation. You scrunch your eyebrows, they probably reported me alongside Tim. They're doing this so they can hold it above my head and make me complacent or subservient to them.

Maybe it'd be best if Aranea faked their death. Started a new identity or something... You probably wouldn't go through with it but it's a nice thought.

Well, you don't have much of a choice. You can still silently make your hate known towards the vigilante and it's not worth losing a scholarship over. Especially with parents like yours.

"... Fine... Thank you for this offer, Mr Wayne and Mr al Ghul-Wayne" you mutter. God it's shameful, you want to crawl into your skin and die. Was it worth putting your dignity on the line? You're not too sure. What you're sure of though is that you will get to eat tonight. If your family has the money...

Bruce nods his head in affirmation and puts on his Brucie smile, one that even you struggle to see past. "Of course, what kind of person would I be if I would overhear something so tragic and not do anything about it. We can go over the favor later." He states. You hold back a grimace though you're sure everyone can see the effort.

You don't know what to respond with, humiliated enough by this clear manipulation. You just give him a double thumbs up. Damian stares at you weirdly and the principal raises a brow. Bruce however chuckles, though it's forced.

The principal ushers you out of his office and tells you to wait out the front with the receptionist for Bruce and Damian while they chat some more with the principal himself.

After waiting for a bit the door opens and the two males walk down the hallway to where you are. Damian scowls and glares at you while Bruce looks to you blankly, detached.

You stand and awkwardly rub your hands on your uniform. Something they clearly don't miss as their eyes snap to the motion.

"uh, thank you for this opportunity... What's the favor?" You managed to work up the courage to speak without stuttering like a madman. Something you believed you should get a pat on the back for because the two guys were terrifying.

"The favor is simple really," Bruce starts his Brucie personality back in play "Stop speaking badly of Aranea and don't pick fights with my ward, Tim. Easy right?" You nod. You expected this. Honestly you should be a detective or something you think to yourself.

Nah, that's Batman's job.

You pick up your bag and head to the door, Bruce however had moved while you had seemingly zoned out while in thought and was standing in front of the door while talking to the receptionist and in your haste to leave you bumped into his side.

He automatically puts his arm on your shoulder to steady you and your mind connects the dots.

Bruce has the same build as Batman. Batman seemingly adores Aranea, or at least you think so, he's hard to read - like Bruce (for both being hard to read and adoring Aranea to a weird point). Same amount of kids. Plus Batman had to be rich if he could have a plane and a new looking suit after gruesome nights.

God, how did you not see this before...

Amidst your freaky reality check you fail to notice Bruce trying to get your attention until he snaps in your face - like how your dad does. You hate that.

Your head shoots up and you take a couple steps back while muttering an apology while Bruce stands there with a raised brow, confused while Damian looks at you with disdain as if you soiled a good outfit.

Feeling humiliated and terrified you quickly move around the two men and out of the door. You're in deep shit now... Even something as simple as secretly knowing the identities of the vigilantes that watch over Gotham is a death wish.

This is going to be the worst day of school, so, you decide to leave. You go to the sick bay and get a slip to leave school and you do.

You run home as fast as possible and get to your room. Your mother is out cold in her room with some man she met from the bar so you shouldn't have to worry about her.

You take a couple deep breaths and contemplate on what to do now that you left school, you could catch up on assignments, you could take a nap, or you could go on patrol...

It's daytime and you're pretty sure Signal will be patrolling today, you like Signal, he's a chill guy. Now though, now you don't really want to be near any of the vigilantes.

You decide to check your phone to see what area Signal is patrolling, it comes up in the GC, Westside Gotham at the Midtown area.

Okay. You can do East Park Side then. It's not your favorite area but at least you won't be confronted with one of the vigilantes so soon. Plus, the park is nice.

You suit up and head out. East Park side wasn't far away from you due to the lack of money your family has you are stuck in downtown.

You spend a majority of your time on patrol, helping people and just hanging around. Soon, much to your surprise, you get a call from Batman.

"Aranea. What are you doing patrolling without your comm on and without informing us?" He sounds as serious as ever, usually you'd roll your eyes but right now you're struck with fear. His voice holds maliciousness and anger deep under it. The very same way that Bruce Wayne had spoken to you. You don't want to admit it but knowing the identities of these heroes makes it more suffocating to be around them.

It also meant you had to be much more careful around them.

"Uh... I was bored at home so I went out on patrol?" You respond, trying to keep the energy in your voice, even if it felt like you were going to explode.

"That doesn't answer my question." He responds, you're sure he's picked up on the fakeness of your cheerfulness. "Right! Ha! Forgot about that. I didn't wanna disturb you all! Plussssss, Signal is patrolling so it's all good!" You laugh it off.

Batman isn't laughing. When does he ever?

"That's no reason to not inform us or at the very least turn on your comm. What if something happened to you? What if you died? You aren't invincible. You'll die in that stupid suit if you don't work with us!" You wince slightly. Fuck him. Does he really think you need him and the others to survive? Not to mention him calling your suit stupid, sure it's not perfect but stupid is just overkill. He only even thinks it's stupid because it isn't made with his money!

You honestly couldn't find the effort to continue talking to him, so with your faux cheerfulness you decide to end the call. "I get it. I'll know better next time! Bye bye!"

Sometimes you wish you were old enough to drink.

[mewtwoandme]

I was hoping this would all blow over, but since it's continuing to happen, now with people attacking other artists of the commewnity. I'm putting out my two fucking cents! Cause this whole art/character theft and pointing fingers, who stole what from who bullshit it driving me up the fucking wall!!

Long story short, it started with me and one other blog whose name I won't mention publicly. Despite the horrible light they tried to paint me in, I don't want anyone going to this person and ganging up on them. This person had some serious bitterness towards more "popular" artists and claimed that I've made characters similar to theirs and once used a pose they apparently used before (which was a very common pose, considering it was a reference from the game version of mega Y). Since then, they had desperately tried to conjure up evidence, narrowing down to the most miniscule detail how I've been stealing from them when I hadn't even known their blog existed until I was forcefully thrown into that unnecessary drama with the unhinged call-out posts they've made. With this being said, I'd like to point out that they never came to me or addressed this concern with me in the first place. They had every opportunity to privately DM me if they had suspected I was "stealing," but no, simply because they already made up their mind that I was a thief, that was a good enough reason to lack common fucking sense and decency, making what should have been a private issue public, going on to villainize and dehumanize me. And apparently, it hasn't stopped with me either, cause recently I've been seeing other artists in the community having to deal with this where people are being white knights on high horses, pointing fingers on how one artist's mewtwo looks "the same" if not "totally identical" as another artist's mewtwo. I refuse to believe it's a coincidence. But what makes me disgusted is that since TC's post, apparently it's had the opposite effect on some people and they're hopping on this blame bandwagon like it's some damn media trend!!!

This is NOT okay! Nothing about this kind of behavior is funny! It's upsetting to all of us. We dont need you causing problems where there isn't any, thinking you're doing us a favor! The majority of us are adults for gods sake! We are old enough where we don't need other people coming to us being tattle tails saying this person did this and that. That's what little children do! If you suspect any form of theft, I think I speak for ALL creators in this commewnity that we'd prefer you DM us privately saying something like "Hey, I think this person is copying you, might wanna look into it." And if possible, provide a link to the art in question, for which we would kindly thank you for making us aware and we'll handle it ourselves from there. Just a brief, yet SIMPLE interaction...that's all we ask!!! Don't even come at me with "Well, it's scary attempting to talk to an artist that's well known." Or dare I say ~pOpUlAr~ If you claim that taking the first step to send me a quick DM makes you nervous, yet you have no problem making public call outs in posts or asks, belittling and degrading what could actually be innocent artists doing nothing wrong, literally leaving yourself open to all kinds of comments and opinions from all kinds of people....I'm sorry but your anxiety isn't as bad as you say it is then, if being rude and ignorant in a public post/ask is easier for you. If you come to us, shaming someone else who 9/10 probably isn't doing anything wrong, thinking you'll be in our good graces for doing so, sorry, you're not going to be told, "Good job!" with a pat on the back and given a lollipop! You're just being an asshole.

Quick reality check for everyone who's made it this far before I end this train wreck of a rant:

People can have similar ideas that coincide with one another! There's only so much you can do when a whole community is focused around drawing the same character! We mainly draw mewtwos and mews, you're bound to find a plethora of similar colors, patterns, and designs because of it! Creativity only goes so far when trying to stay true to a character and not stray too far. It's not a crime to take inspiration from other artists' characters, we actually encourage this! It makes us feel good that you liked something we've done and you want to incorporate it into your own designs! It makes us happy that we inspired you! The line is crossed when someone does a literal copy/paste of a character down to the exact detail, and they call it their own original creation. That my friends is what stealing actually is!

[marysfics]

Shifting Glances

Week after week, you see her in the waiting room.

Angst, Trauma, EMDR, Comfort, Fluff

Note: In this story, you'll find references to EMDR therapy. I’ve undergone EMDR therapy myself for several years, and while it has been challenging, it has also brought me relief. It's important to note that EMDR can be a unique experience for everyone. The way it's depicted here reflects my personal journey. If your experience with EMDR is different, that's completely okay. Feel free to share your thoughts, but let's all remember to approach these discussions with kindness and respect for one another's experiences.

The clinic smells of antiseptic and lavender-scented air freshener, a juxtaposition that somehow fails to be comforting. You’ve gotten used to it by now, the muted tones of the waiting room, the low hum of the fluorescent lights, and the way the receptionists’ voices hover just above a whisper. It’s always the same, except for her.

You glance up from your seat near the corner, fingers nervously playing with the hem of your shirt. She’s there again, across the room—her presence nearly impossible to ignore. She’s sitting with her head tilted down, long blonde hair cascading over her shoulder, a face mostly hidden under the bill of a cap. Still, you know. You’ve learned to spot the details by now. She’s always wearing loose sports gear, her left knee often taped in some fashion, crutches sometimes leaning against her seat.

You’re not a sports person, so at first, she was just another face, another person passing through the clinic, but then she became something more—a mystery. You’ve stolen more than a few glances during the weeks you’ve sat waiting for your turn. The routine was nearly identical: you both arrived at the same time each week, a brief flicker of acknowledgment between your eyes before you both looked away, as though there was something too dangerous in holding that gaze for too long.

Today is no different, except something feels heavier. There’s a quiet ache in your chest that refuses to leave. EMDR therapy—Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing—it’s exhausting, and today, it feels impossible.

You know you’ll be going through the usual: being asked to relive memories, to feel things you’ve spent years suppressing, and to heal what’s been fractured inside of you. It’s tiring and it leaves you feeling hollow at times, especially when you leave. The vulnerability in those sessions never fails to drain you, and you always wonder if it’s helping or just opening old wounds.

You steal another glance at her, curiosity buzzing beneath the weight of everything else. She has that same air of exhaustion, though you assume hers comes from something more physical. You don’t know her, not really. Just a face, a woman who happens to sit in the same room as you once a week.

But today, you notice something else. Her fingers fidget more than usual, her eyes flickering between her phone screen and the door. Anxiety. She’s nervous too.

The nurse calls your name, interrupting your thoughts. You stand, giving her one last glance, but this time, you don’t look away as quickly as you usually do. To your surprise, her gaze meets yours for the first time in weeks—really meets it. There’s something in her expression, something you can’t quite name. Maybe recognition. Maybe sympathy.

Your feet feel heavier than usual as you walk to the nurse, but there’s a buzzing under your skin now. Her eyes linger on you even as you turn your back, a weight you feel but don’t dare acknowledge. The conversation between the nurse and your therapist is distant, your mind still locked in that fleeting moment of connection.

Why did she look at you like that?

The door closes softly behind you, and you sit down on the familiar couch in your therapist’s office. The room is softly lit, the same as every week, but today it feels different. Or maybe you feel different. Your mind is already racing, though not about the usual memories that drag you under.

“Ready to start?” your therapist asks, her voice calm, grounding you slightly.

You nod, but your mind keeps tugging back to the waiting room, to her—what’s-her-name—sitting there with those tired eyes that somehow looked straight into you. It’s not like it was the first time you’d stolen a glance. But it is the first time she looked back.

The session moves forward in a blur. The rhythmic back-and-forth of your therapist’s fingers in front of your eyes, the instructions to focus on your memories, to feel them without being overwhelmed by them. But today, it’s harder. Harder to concentrate. Harder to dive into the past when your present is hanging on the thread of something unspoken in that waiting room.

Why did she look at me?

The therapist’s voice blends into the background as your eyes follow her hand back and forth, back and forth—trying to focus, trying to do what you’re supposed to. But the room feels wrong today. Usually, this process grounds you, pulls you deep into the recesses of your mind, where old wounds wait to be confronted. But today, your mind is somewhere else entirely.

More specifically, on her.

You’ve spent weeks perfecting the art of pretending she doesn’t exist. A stolen glance here, a quick look away there. She’s always been on the periphery, a quiet presence you’ve never acknowledged out loud. It’s become part of your routine—pretending not to notice her, letting her fade into the background like the murmur of the clinic around you.

But today, she didn’t stay in the background. Today, she noticed you. She looked at you. Not the polite, disinterested glances you’re used to exchanging with strangers in waiting rooms, but something else. Something charged.

Why did she look at me like that?

The therapist’s voice cuts through your thoughts, soft but firm. “Stay with me. What do you feel right now?”

What do you feel?

You swallow, trying to push the image of her from your mind, but it doesn’t budge. Her eyes—the way they held yours for just a second longer than necessary, how something flickered in them before she quickly looked away. Recognition? Or maybe something else? Sympathy? Sadness?

“Um, I feel… I don’t know,” you admit, shaking your head slightly, trying to focus. You’re supposed to be processing your pain, your own tangled memories, but your brain is stubbornly clinging to the way her fingers fidgeted in her lap, the way her leg bounced with impatience. The way her shoulders seemed to carry an invisible weight, just like yours.

Your therapist doesn’t push, though her eyes study you carefully. She shifts in her seat, slowly moving her hand back and forth again, drawing your focus back.

“Stay present,” she repeats gently, and you try. You really do. You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in slowly, trying to feel something other than the strange energy still buzzing under your skin.

But as soon as you open your eyes again, your mind is back in the waiting room. You can almost see her sitting there now, shoulders hunched, the corner of her lip pulled between her teeth as she stared at her phone, looking anxious—maybe even upset. Was it something on the screen that bothered her? Or was it the reason she’s here at all? The knee she cradled with unconscious care, as though even sitting still caused her discomfort?

You don’t know her story. You barely even know her name. But you can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more under the surface, something that runs deeper than just an injury or a tired glance. Something that mirrors your own pain in a way that feels unsettlingly familiar.

“Can we take a break?” you ask suddenly, your voice sounding too loud in the quiet room.

The therapist pauses, her hand still mid-movement. She lowers it slowly and nods. “Of course. Do you want to talk about what’s on your mind?”

You hesitate. Talking about what’s on your mind usually means revisiting the same memories you’ve been unpacking for months. Trauma that you’ve carried with you like a second skin, the kind that weighs you down and makes you feel like you’re suffocating in your own body. That’s what therapy is supposed to be for—that pain.

But right now, it’s not the past tugging at your mind. It’s the now. The girl sitting across from you every week, the unspoken weight of her presence lingering in your thoughts like a slow burn.

“I… I’m just distracted,” you say, your voice quieter now, unsure.

Your therapist doesn’t press, just nods in understanding. “That’s okay. Sometimes our minds drift when we’re processing a lot. We can pick up whenever you’re ready.”

You nod, grateful for the reprieve, but your mind keeps spinning. The session feels heavier today. Usually, the weight is familiar—the kind of weight you’re used to carrying alone. But now there’s something—or someone—else filling your head, making it hard to sort through your usual patterns.

Why did she look at me like that?

You replay the moment in your mind again, trying to decode it. You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything, that you’re overanalyzing a simple glance. People look at each other all the time. She probably doesn’t even remember it now, back to whatever’s pulling at her in her own life. But still… the way her eyes lingered.

Your thoughts tumble into a messy loop of frustration and curiosity. Did she feel something too? Or was it all in your head? She’s a stranger. Just a face you’ve seen in passing. You don’t know her, not really. But somehow, that one glance has you questioning everything.

The therapist’s voice breaks through again, softer this time. “Do you want to try and continue?”

You nod, even though your mind is still miles away from where it should be. As the therapist raises her hand again, beginning the familiar motions in front of your eyes, you take a deep breath, hoping this time you can focus.

But even as your gaze follows the movement of her hand, your mind drifts back to the waiting room, back to those tired eyes and the way they seemed to see something in you. Something you’re not sure you want to face.

And for the first time in weeks, it’s not your own memories that are haunting you.

As the session drags on, the rhythm of your therapist’s hand becomes background noise to the thoughts that swirl relentlessly in your head. You try to bring yourself back to the task at hand, back to the healing process you’re supposed to be focused on, but you feel adrift, untethered.

Her eyes won’t leave your mind. That flicker of something—connection, maybe—that felt so intense in that brief glance. You can still feel it, like a pulse that’s not entirely your own.

It feels ridiculous, honestly. This isn’t supposed to happen. You’re here to heal, to peel back the layers of yourself and work through the wreckage inside your mind. You’re here to process your trauma, not to get caught up in the orbit of a stranger who happens to sit across from you once a week. A stranger you don’t even know by name.

Still, the thought of her consumes you.

Why did she look at me like that?

The question hammers in your brain, louder now that you’ve allowed yourself to acknowledge it. There’s a strange comfort in the idea that maybe she sees something in you, too. That maybe the weight she carries isn’t so different from your own. You’ve been drowning in your own pain for so long—what would it feel like to share that with someone who understands? To find recognition in someone else’s eyes?

Or is that just you, projecting?

Focus. You need to focus.

You force yourself to sit up a little straighter, your hands gripping the edge of the chair as your therapist’s voice drifts back into your awareness. You know she’s watching you carefully, noting the way you’ve been distant, distracted, ever since you walked into the room. You haven’t been present today, haven’t really felt anything but the odd, lingering sensation of her—the woman with the tired eyes and the worn knee brace.

You wonder what she’s here for, what injury brought her to this clinic. You’ve pieced together the clues over the weeks—her knee, the way she sometimes leans on crutches, the soft wince she tries to hide when she stands up. Maybe she’s an athlete, or used to be. You’ve caught glimpses of logos on her clothing that hint at something sports-related, but it’s not your world. You wouldn’t know.

Yet despite not knowing, you feel it—the heaviness in her, the same way you feel it in yourself. There’s something unspoken, something you’ve both been avoiding in your stolen glances.

The therapist’s hand passes in front of your eyes again, and you try to refocus. You try to reach for the memories she’s guiding you toward, the ones you’re supposed to be reprocessing. But the memories feel hazy today, like they’re distant and out of reach. Usually, they’re so vivid—too vivid. But now, they’re dulled by the present, by the way your mind is pulling you somewhere else entirely.

“Let’s take another pause,” your therapist suggests, her voice patient but concerned.

You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, nodding gratefully. The tension in your body eases just slightly, but your mind is still racing.

“I think…” you begin, your voice hesitant. “I’m just not all here today.”

Your therapist waits, giving you space to elaborate. You know she’s used to this. Distraction is common during these sessions, but you’ve never felt this kind of restlessness before. This kind of… preoccupation.

“There’s… someone,” you admit finally, the words slipping out before you’ve had time to really think them through. “In the waiting room. I keep getting distracted thinking about her.”

Your therapist tilts her head, curious but not judgmental. “Someone in the waiting room?”

You nod, feeling a little foolish now that you’ve said it out loud. “Yeah. I don’t even know her name, but we’re always there at the same time. We’ve never talked, but today… today she looked at me differently.”

Your therapist stays quiet, letting you find your words. Her patience helps, but it also makes you feel exposed, like you’re admitting to something fragile and uncertain.

“And it just—it’s been stuck in my head,” you continue, your voice quieter now, as if saying it louder might make it too real. “I don’t know why it’s affecting me so much. It’s just… I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You’re not sure what you want from this confession. Reassurance, maybe? Validation? Someone to tell you that you’re not losing your mind over a brief glance from a stranger?

Your therapist’s expression softens, but she doesn’t immediately dive into analysis. Instead, she asks, “What do you think it is about her that’s sticking with you? Is there something familiar, something that reminds you of yourself?”

The question lingers in the air between you, and you feel your chest tighten. It’s not something you’ve allowed yourself to fully consider. The way she looks at you. The way she seems just as weighed down by something invisible. The recognition, maybe, of pain.

“I don’t know,” you say, but the words don’t feel entirely true. “Maybe.”

Your therapist nods thoughtfully, but doesn’t press further. “It’s normal to connect with others in ways that might surprise us, especially when we’re going through difficult things ourselves. If she reminds you of something—of yourself, of a feeling—it’s okay to acknowledge that.”

You nod, but your mind is still racing. What is it that you see in her? Is it really just a reflection of your own pain, or is there something more? Something in the way she carries herself, the way her eyes met yours like she was trying to say something she couldn’t put into words.

“Do you want to explore that more?” your therapist asks gently. “Or would you rather focus on something else for now?”

You hesitate, feeling torn. Part of you wants to dig into it, to figure out why this woman has such a hold on your thoughts. But another part of you feels scared—scared of what you might find if you look too closely.

“I’m not sure,” you admit quietly. “I guess… I’m not sure if I’m ready to.”

Your therapist nods again, understanding. “That’s okay. We can take it at your pace. But if you want to talk about it more, we can always come back to it.”

You feel a strange mixture of relief and apprehension. Talking about her—about that glance, that moment—feels like opening a door you’re not sure you want to walk through. But at the same time, you know that you’ll think about it for the rest of the day. Maybe for longer than that.

As the session winds down, your mind is still preoccupied, but there’s a little more clarity now. Maybe it’s not just the glance itself that’s bothering you. Maybe it’s what that glance represents—the possibility that someone else sees you in a way you’re not used to being seen. That someone else might be carrying their own weight, just as heavy as yours.

And as you step out of the therapist’s office, back into the familiar waiting room, your eyes instinctively search for her. For the woman who has somehow taken up so much space in your mind.

But now, her seat is empty.

And suddenly, the room feels a little colder without her presence.

The week drags on in a strange, heavy haze. Every day, your mind keeps drifting back to her—back to that brief, fleeting glance that’s somehow managed to burrow deep under your skin. It’s ridiculous, you tell yourself. You’re overthinking it, turning something meaningless into something monumental. You’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, hiding yourself behind carefully constructed walls, and now, one moment with a stranger has you spiraling into obsession.

You try to shake it off. You try to focus on work, on your routine, on anything but her. But it’s like a splinter in your mind. No matter how much you push it away, it’s always there, just under the surface. You catch yourself replaying the moment over and over again—the way her tired eyes locked with yours, the faintest flicker of recognition passing between you. Did she feel it too? Or are you imagining it?

On Wednesday, you find yourself walking past the clinic—deliberately, even though you don’t have an appointment. You glance through the glass door, half-expecting to see her sitting there, leg bouncing nervously, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket. But the waiting room is empty, and the sight of it leaves you with a strange hollowness in your chest.

What if she doesn’t come back?

The thought gnaws at you. It’s irrational, but the possibility that you might never see her again—that this inexplicable connection could vanish as quickly as it appeared—makes you feel like something important has slipped through your fingers. Something you didn’t even realize you were missing.

Get it together. You need to move on.

But by Friday, the restlessness is back in full force. You find yourself lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering. Wondering if she’s thinking about you too. Wondering if she felt the same pull, the same strange energy lingering between you.

Maybe you’ll never know. Maybe it’s better not to know.

But as the next week rolls around, you feel a nervous anticipation building in your chest. Your next appointment is coming up, and the thought of seeing her again—of what might happen this time—has your mind racing in a way that feels almost… dangerous.

What if she’s there?

What if she’s not?

The questions twist and turn inside you, and by the time your appointment day arrives, you’re practically buzzing with a nervous energy you can’t quite contain. You tell yourself it’s stupid, that you’re being irrational. You’re supposed to be focusing on your healing, not obsessing over some stranger you’ve never even spoken to. But the truth is, you haven’t felt this alive in a long time.

When you walk into the clinic, your eyes immediately sweep the waiting room. For a moment, the space feels empty, cold. But then, there she is—sitting in the same spot as always, her knee braced, her posture tense. She’s staring at her phone again, her fingers tapping the screen, but you notice the way her leg bounces restlessly. There’s a tension in her shoulders, a tightness in the way she’s holding herself, like the weight she’s carrying is a little heavier today.

You pause just inside the door, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. You weren’t prepared for this, not really. Seeing her again feels like stepping into a current you can’t control. You want to look away, to keep pretending she’s just another person passing through your life. But instead, you find your gaze lingering on her, the same way it did last week.

And then, just like before, she looks up.

This time, there’s no hesitation in her gaze. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the room falls away. The world outside fades, and all you can feel is the intensity of her stare, the weight of something unspoken passing between you. It’s like you’re both suspended in the same moment, tethered by something invisible and undeniable.

You freeze, unsure of what to do. Should you smile? Look away? Say something? But before you can make a decision, she shifts in her seat, straightening up slightly, her gaze flickering with something you can’t quite read. There’s recognition there, yes, but also something deeper. Something like understanding. Or maybe even… curiosity?

Your throat feels tight, your pulse quickening. You don’t know what to do with this feeling, this connection that seems to be growing stronger with every second you hold her gaze.

And then, she does something you didn’t expect.

She nods.

It’s subtle, just a small dip of her head, but it feels like a monumental shift. Like she’s acknowledging you—not just as a stranger, but as someone… more. Someone she’s noticed, someone she’s maybe been thinking about too.

Your breath catches in your throat, and before you can stop yourself, you find yourself nodding back. It feels awkward, stilted, but it’s the only thing you can think to do in the moment. It’s not much, but it’s something. A bridge, maybe. A connection.

You take a seat across from her, your body tense with nervous energy. You can feel her presence, like a subtle pull in the air between you. Neither of you speaks, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. It’s charged, filled with all the things you’re not saying, all the questions you’re not asking.

The door to your therapist’s office opens, and her familiar voice calls your name. You stand up, feeling a strange reluctance to leave the waiting room, to leave her behind. But as you turn to head toward the office, you steal one last glance at her.

She’s still watching you.

And for the first time in weeks, you don’t look away.

The session that follows is one of the hardest you’ve had in a long time. The therapist guides you through your memories with a gentle persistence, pushing you to confront parts of your past that you’ve been carefully avoiding. Today, it’s not just the weight of your own pain that feels unbearable—it’s the weight of everything you’ve been holding back for so long.

Your memories of childhood are raw, jagged, and unsettling. You find yourself reliving moments of fear and isolation, the sting of harsh words, the bruises you tried to hide. The sessions are usually a mix of distant recollections and present-day reflections, but today, the past crashes into you with a force that makes it hard to breathe. Your mother’s anger, her frustration, her harsh words—they’re all too close, too real. It’s like the boundaries between then and now have dissolved, leaving you exposed and trembling.

When the session ends, you barely manage to pull yourself together. Your eyes are red, streaked with tears, and your face feels hot and heavy with emotion. You nod to your therapist, a wordless acknowledgment of the work you’ve done. You need air—space to breathe and let the turmoil inside you settle.

You stumble out of the office, the hallway seeming longer than usual. You make your way to the clinic’s entrance, your steps unsteady, your mind still tangled in the remnants of painful memories. The cool air hits your face, and you stop just outside the door, letting it wash over you. It feels like a fleeting reprieve from the storm raging inside.

And then, you see her.

She’s standing there, just outside the door, her back to you. You recognize her immediately—Alexia. She’s wrapped in a coat, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. You can see her shoulders trembling slightly, and as you watch, she turns and looks at you. Her eyes are red and swollen, tears still glistening on her cheeks.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence between you is heavy, filled with unspoken understanding. You can see the same rawness in her face that you feel in your own. It’s as if both of you are caught in the aftermath of a storm, trying to find a way to navigate the wreckage.

Alexia takes a step toward you, her gaze meeting yours with a vulnerability that makes your heart ache. “I didn’t expect to see you,” she says softly, her voice wavering. There’s a tremor in her tone, like she’s struggling to keep herself composed.

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. The sight of her—so open, so unguarded—strikes a chord deep within you. It’s not just about the glance you shared or the way you’ve been obsessing over her. It’s something deeper, something you’ve been grappling with in your own way.

“I…” you start, but the words fail you. Instead, you take a tentative step toward her, the distance between you shrinking as you both stand in the cold air, the weight of your shared pain hanging in the space around you.

Alexia looks down, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been coming here for a while. I didn’t think anyone noticed.” She pauses, her eyes meeting yours again, filled with a mix of sadness and curiosity. “You looked at me today like you understood something. I felt the same way.”

Her words hit you hard, echoing the thoughts that have been circling your mind all week. It’s as if she’s voicing the unspoken connection you both felt—the shared weight, the recognition of each other’s pain.

“I didn’t mean to stare,” you finally say, your voice rough from the emotions you’ve been grappling with. “I just… I saw something in you. I don’t know what it was, but it felt familiar.”

Alexia nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. “It’s strange,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “I’ve felt like I was carrying this alone. And then you came in, and for some reason, it felt like… like maybe someone else understood.”

The shared understanding between you deepens, and you feel a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you’re not as alone as you’ve felt. The connection you’ve both sensed, the unspoken recognition—it’s not just in your head. It’s real, and it’s giving you both a moment of connection that you’ve been craving.

Without thinking, you reach out, offering her a small, hesitant smile. “If you want to talk… or if you just need someone to be here,” you offer, your voice steadying despite the tears still lingering in your eyes.

Alexia’s gaze softens, and she nods. “I’d like that,” she says quietly. “I think I’d like that a lot.”

Part 2

[rambling-at-midnight]

Pros and Cons of Midnight Snacks (Part 3; final part)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Civilian!Reader

Summary: Just minutes after discovering his secret identity, it’s time for you and Jason to clear the air about how the two of you actually met.

Word count: 3.4k

Your heart is racing a hundred miles a minute when you make it back to your apartment. And not just because of the five sets of stairs you have to walk up, although that's pretty bad.

You make sure that your roommate isn't home, then usher your cat out of your bedroom and open the window. You sit on the edge of your bed, nerves twisting in your stomach.

No, you can't stay still.

Also, your cat's scratching at the door, furious that he's been locked away.

You decide to wait in the living room instead.

His approach is soundless. You don’t hear him come through the window, or when he opens your bedroom door, but your cat meows happily and you turn around to see your six-foot-two lying boyfriend looming in your apartment.

“Is your roommate here?” he growls through the mask. Your cat yowls at his feet, wondering why Jason—the Red Hood—hasn’t begun to lavish him with attention yet.

“No, so you can take that off.”

You’re a little pleased with yourself for figuring out his identity so quickly. Unfortunately, you’re much less pleased with him for messing with you. You’re not mad that he didn’t tell you his vigilante identity; you’ve known each other about a month, which is nothing in the grand span of a lifetime. You’re not a pessimist, but you are realistic, and you’re not sure if your relationship is going to work out yet after a week and a half of dating. Any disgruntled ex-girlfriend could reveal his secret identity to the press—not that you’re that type of person.

No, it’s smart to be cautious with his identity.

So wearing a costume that displays one of his most unique features isn’t the brightest.

Also, now that you think about it, Jason wandered into the library the day after the Red Hood walked you home.

So you’re not exactly worried, but you are a bit cautious. You’ve seen that Netflix show You, where that perfectly charming man kills every woman he’s in a relationship with. If it came down to that, you wouldn’t be able to beat Jason in a fight.

Also, you don’t want to fight in front of the cat.

With a click and a hiss, the mask—more a muzzle—comes off, and there appears your handsome boyfriend, a little disheveled and sweaty from the five-story climb to your window after stowing his bike. He’s still beautiful, and it’s such a shame. He could have been the one, had he not stalked and lied to you.

You think.

You’re going to find out.

Jason’s eyes dart to your dominant hand, which is hidden behind your back with your trusty pepper spray ready to go at the slightest sign of aggression. “I take it I’m in trouble,” he says, light, almost joking, and bends to pick your cat up. The little bastard squirms every time you do that, but he settles right down in Jason's arms and gets to purring.

“Jason—” You start, then falter, because you don’t actually know his last name. Or his middle. “Jason,” you say again through gritted teeth, trying to make it as menacing as possible. “I think we have something to talk about, don’t you?”

“Y/N,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, I am the Red Hood. I couldn’t tell you bec—”

“I don’t give a shit that you’re the Red Hood,” you interrupt.

Jason’s mouth clicks shut. He gives you an odd look.

“Well, that you didn’t tell me,” you amend. “We’ve known each other a month. It would be pretty pathetic if you couldn’t keep the secret that long. Everyone in the city would know by now.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “So what are you mad about, exactly?”

“That I was right!” You exclaim. “You were stalking me! I thought you just liked coffee and reading, but you were following me the whole time. You even offered to beat yourself up. What else about you is a lie?”

“Okay, whoa,” he says, holding his hand up, and if you weren’t mad before, you’re getting there now. He has no right for you to motion to calm down. “Okay, I’ll admit it. I guess I kind of did start this all out by following you.”

Your hands fall limply to your sides. Now that he’s admitted it, all the wind is out of your sails. You’ve never been so disappointed to be right. Secretly, you were hoping he would write it all off as a freak coincidence so thoroughly that you’d have no choice to believe it, all the way up until he strangled you. “Okay,” you say calmly. You hear your own voice, but it’s from very far away. “Are you going to hurt me now?”

“What?” He looks aghast at the very thought. “No, no, I won’t—why would I—No.” He’s so firm in the reply, so utterly certain, that your grip loosens on the pepper spray. He might be a really good liar… or he might be telling the truth. “No, Y/N, I really like you, which is why I asked you out, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t hurt you anyway because you’re my friend. And you’re a good person. The Red Hood punishes criminals; he’s not some crazy serial killer.”

“I mean, you kind of are,” you mumble. You’ve seen the statistics. He ruled through fear for several years. But, like he’d said earlier, he’s reformed himself. He still kills people, though, but you find that it doesn’t bother you as much as it should.

“I am not—” Jason stresses, looking you right in the eyes— “the kind of man that hits women.”

There’s a story there, in the way he says it, but it’s not the time to ask. You’re not sure that your fledging relationship is ready for it, either, but you’re still curious. You’re also curious about why he killed so many people when he started out. You’re curious about everything about him. You think you could listen to him talk for hours about himself and you still would only touch the surface of everything that makes up Jason.

“Okay,” you say. His eyes track your hand as you set the pepper spray down on the counter.

He repeats it like a question. You’re a little surprised, too, but— “Jason, I wouldn’t have agreed to be your girlfriend if I wasn’t sure that you’re a good person. But I need you to tell me about how we met.”

“You mean the robbery?” He looks confused. “That really was just a coincidence. I heard that something was going down and stopped by. I had no idea who you were before that night, I swear.”

“Okay. So why did you follow me to the library?”

“Oh.” Jason coughs. “Yeah. Okay, well, the first day, I actually was following you.”

You slap the counter with an open palm, triumphant. Your cat hisses at the sound. "I knew it!"

"Wait, wait, just hear me out. I was following you to make sure that you didn't die of blood loss. Or sepsis. Or gangrene. Or—"

"So you were stalking me... because you cared?"

"It's how my family shows love," he shrugs.

Your eyes widen. Because you hadn't considered it, but if he's a Bat—and he is, judging by the red shape on his chest—then his family is the Batclan. "Oh, my God. Batman is your dad."

Jason folds his arms over his chest like he's self-conscious about the symbol. "Yeah, and I've got the weird attachment style to show for it."

"Wait," you blurt out. "The brother you were supposed to meet in the coffee shop—were you supposed to meet Red Robin?"

"Um..."

You can't believe you were almost in the same place as the actual Red Robin. "Wow. Is his civilian identity as cool as his superhero one?"

"Please don't tell me you're a Red Robin fan," Jason says, his voice pained. "We might actually need to break up."

"Do you think I could meet him sometime?" you whisper.

"He's a huge loser," Jason tells you. "He's short and scrawny and actually pretty ugly beneath the mask. He looks like a troll. Also, I think he watches Andrew Tate videos and moderates Reddit forums in his free time. You really don't want to meet him."

You can't stop grinning. "There's no need to be jealous, Jason. Red Robin's way too young for me, but I think it's cool that he uses his brain to fight crime."

"What, and I don't?" he scoffs.

"Okay." You hold up a hand, determined to get the conversation back on track. "So you wanted to make sure that I wasn't actively dying. Why'd you keep coming back?"

"Well, then I thought you might be a supervillain," he said casually, like that's a normal thing to spring on someone.

You just gape at him.

"You treated a gunshot wound like it was nothing!" he defended himself shrilly. "Most civilians would be a little more concerned about an open wound in their side."

"I'm a medical student. Doctors make the worst patients."

"Yeah, well, Gotham has a pretty bad track record of doctors becoming supervillains, so excuse me for trying to curb a new one before she had the chance to turn."

You cross your arms. "What did you think would happen, Jason? I'd accidentally take a dip in Gotham River and the bacteria in there would travel from my side to my brain and make me go crazy?"

"I mean, yeah. That's pretty much exactly what happened with Harley Quinn."

Well, shit. He's got you there.

"Okay, well then why approach me at the coffee shop?"

Jason raises his eyebrow. "You were the only one there and I had a spare coffee. Am I not allowed to do nice things?"

"It was right after I told the Red Hood that I thought I was getting stalked. Did you do that on purpose?" you accuse.

"No, I swear. I didn't even know that you liked that place. Red Robin mentioned liking it.” Oh, my God, you and Red Robin like the same coffee shop. “I just… kept showing up after I saw you there the first time." He must be scratching your cat too hard, because he wiggles out of Jason's arms and runs over to his food bowl, looking at you pleadingly like he's been starving for a hundred years, even though your roommate texted you earlier saying that he'd already fed him. "I was planning on disappearing from your life and telling you as Hood that I'd, I don't know, threatened the dude or whatever, but..."

"But what?"

He shrugs. "You're pretty, Y/N. You're smart. And you were funny when I talked to you as Hood. Is it a crime for me to want to make a friend?"

"Just a friend?" You squint at him.

"Yeah. Just a friend." Jason tousles his hair again, and this time you let yourself admire the way the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms flex at the motion. "Believe it or not, I've never been in a relationship before. This wasn't what I was expecting—I never expected anything—but I'm happy. You're happy... aren't you?" He's pleading now, and it tugs on your heartstrings.

You sigh, but take a step closer to him. "Yes, I'm happy, Jason." It's definitely not the most conventional way to start a relationship, and most other people would be running for the hills by now, but this is Gotham. You moved here and stayed here because you fit in with the crazy. "I just need you to tell me one thing." Step. "One honest thing."

"Of course," he says immediately. Big green eyes pleading for you to bridge the gap between your bodies, to forgive him.

"What's your last name? I can't date someone whose last name I don't know."

For some reason, he grimaces. "Uh... my full name is Jason... Peter... Todd." His voice gets quieter with every word, until you're straining to hear his surname.

That rings familiar with something in your memory. You frown. "Jason Todd... not like Jason Todd Memorial Library?" Usually with memorials, the person they're named after is dead, but Jason's real and in front of you. Also, wasn't Jason Todd the kid that Bruce Wayne adopted several years ago?

The corners of Jason's lips turn down. "Yeah, I wasn't thrilled with your choice of study locations at first. But it is quieter than my apartment. B adopted too many fuckin' kids, and they always find my place, even when I move—"

"Does Red Robin hang out at your apartment a lot?" you ask, just to see him scowl.

"No, he's never there, and I'm going to dropkick him off a roof the next time I see him unless you stop talking about him."

"Okay," you say. You're close enough now to put a hand on his forearm, so you do. "I'll stop talking." You have to get on your tiptoes and pull the back of his head a bit, but you kiss him, and somehow it's even better than the first time.

Jason's lips are a little dry, but not chapped, soft and pillowy. He blinks when you rest back on your heels, looking dazed like someone hit him over the head with a frying pan. "Am I forgiven now?"

"Mmm..." You pretend to think it over. His hands snake around your back and pull you flush against him, stomach to stomach. "I think so," you say through a gasp, which might be embarrassing if he didn't bend to kiss you before the words had fully left your lips.

You kiss for a little while after that, shivering when his hands slip beneath your jacket. Not quite up your shirt, but getting there. He's got huge hands, and he grips your waist firmly, using his thumbs to gently rub at your hipbones as he pulls you even closer. That small contact, so gentle yet also a little greedy, heats your body from the inside like an inferno.

You're starting to bend backwards now, and the hand on the back of his neck is less there to pull him down and more there to keep you up. Are you lightheaded? You might be. You breathe in through your nose, but it doesn't help.

Jason may be inexperienced, according to his own testimony, but he doesn't kiss like it. He kisses with his whole body. He keeps leaning forward, moving his lips against yours with the single-minded intensity that took you by pleasant surprise the first time you kissed. Soft but firm, pressing against you, in a way that makes you think he'd really like to crowd you against a wall and cage you in. Not that you want to escape.

When you're bent over, you take Jason's chin in your hand and slowly push his head back. He resists at first, eyes fluttering as he chases after your lips, but you're about to fall over, so you murmur, "What's the plan here, babe?"

"No plan," he says, voice low and gravely in a way you've never heard before. Jason looks at you from beneath his long lashes. A heat flashes in his eyes. Something flutters in your stomach, bigger than butterflies. Maybe birds? Maybe robins.

And then you feel his hands on the bare skin of your back when they slip beneath the hem of your shirt. You gasp and jerk away on instinct because his hands are so warm, so calloused, but he's got a good grip on you; you're not falling anytime soon.

Then your entire world shifts as Jason yanks you upright, at the same time pulling the hem of your jacket and shirt up enough so he can see your wound.

"Oh, my God," you groan, embarrassed and a little amused. "You little pervert, were you doing all that to distract me?"

"No." Jason's voice is still gravely. He looks at your hip, then stares at your mouth like he's making a decision. He kisses you again, a firm press, and nips at your bottom lip before he leans back to squint at the scar. "Is it still bruised?"

"Yes," you sigh, covering your eyes. You're embarrassed for reasons you can't quite explain. Maybe because he's pulling your shirt up and you're not quite as firm everywhere as he is. You're pretty sure champion bodybuilders aren't as firm as he is. "It's gotten much better, though. See? No infections or anything like that."

He measures the scar against his hand: it's about two fingers wide, and one finger long. It scabbed over a while ago, and now that the scab's gone, it's just a shiny pink patch of skin.

"You could have stitched it anyway," he sighs.

"I don't care." You grab him by the chin and force him to meet your eyes. "I don't care about scars. Mine or yours. Most of the time, they're sexy. And apart from me, you're the only one seeing it." His hands clench your waist at the words, then loosen. He sends you an apologetic look. You continue, "So as long as you don't mind it, then nobody does."

"I wish it had never happened to you," he sighs.

"Well, it did. But it wasn't your fault and we can't change the past."

Jason's still mulling over your words when you start to work at his belt. He makes a choked noise and grabs your hands. Doesn't push them away, just holds them still right where they are. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I showed you mine." You grin up at him. "It's only fair that you show me yours."

He snorts. "You don't trust your own handiwork?"

"It's a follow-up appointment," you say. "To make sure everything's healing normally. Now take off your shirt, Mr. Todd. This veterinarian's apartment does, after all, moonlight as a strip club."

He undoes his belt buckle with one hand, and you have to make sure that your mouth isn't open. That was probably the hottest thing you've ever seen in your life. "You ready?" he grins, cocky in the way he only gets when he's flirting with you. "One look at me and you'll forget all about Red Robin. Forever."

"God, don't bring up your little brother while we're making out," you groan.

"Good to know that you plan on kissing me some more tonight," he says casually. Then he peels off the skintight gray shirt, and every thought wipes from your mind.

His muscles have muscles. And, somehow, despite your apartment's shitty lighting, he's glowing. His pants sit low on his hips like he's a model or something.

How has no one ever dated him before? He's actually perfect.

The longer you stare without saying anything, the more uncomfortable he looks. Finally he says, "I know I've got a lotta scars," his native Gotham accent bleeding through a little, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. He's warm and firm and soft, just like you thought he would be.

"My God," you whisper. "You're beautiful."

Jason goes beet red.

"And the one I stitched is healing up nicely," you continue, tracing your fingers lightly over the slightly raised line.

His whole body shudders. He swallows almost violently, eyes clenched tight like they're in pain. Then they fly open, and you gasp, because they're glowing green. Not metaphorically glowing. Like, actually glowing.

Jason kisses you again like he's trying to herd you. You don't know where's all right for you to touch, so you cup his face with both your hands and pour everything that he gives you right back at him. Warmth, affection, something bright that you can't name.

Then you lean back. Your lips disconnect with an audible pop.

"Hang on. Is Bruce Wayne Batman?"

Jason's chin drops down to his chest. He groans, deep, and you pretend that warmth doesn't pool in your stomach at the sound. Voice thready, he says, "You know, talking about my dad really kills the mood."

"Oh, my God, he is." You pump your fist in the air. "I'm two for two. Who's the world's greatest detective now, Batsy?"

"If I kiss you again, will you shut up about Batman?" Jason asks.

You grin. "I don't know. Maybe you'll have to find out."

He does.

And you do.

You've decided that the Red Hood is your favorite superhero, anyway.

~~

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