#insecure partner

[velvetgh0sts]

Reclaiming My Sparkle: Breaking Free from Obsession and Finding Myself Again 📝✨

It’s strange how you can lose yourself in someone else—how obsession and fixation creep in so quietly you barely notice until it’s too late.

I’ve been in that place.

I lived in that place.

And I’m finally clawing my way out.

⸻

The Illusion of “Us”

We thought we were in love—two people thrown together by chaos, childhood wounds, and trauma that mirrored each other. But in hindsight, I see it now: it wasn’t love. It was a hypersexualized fantasy, a trauma bond, a reflection of pain disguised as passion. We weren’t actually into each other—we were into the idea of each other. The fantasy we built in our heads because we were both so broken and desperate for connection, for a home, for safety.

I hate that I let myself get caught up in it. I hate that he became infatuated with my sparkle—the light I’ve worked so hard to protect. He told me once he was jealous I could articulate my thoughts so easily, that I was a great writer. It was as if he wanted to absorb my energy, my creativity, because he couldn’t find his own words. But that’s not my job. That’s not love. That’s codependency.

100 Things I Like & Dislike

One of the first steps I took in finding myself again was writing a list of 100 things I like and dislike. It was harder than I thought it would be. I realized how much of my life had been about us—or rather, about him. I’d lost touch with what I liked, what made me happy, what felt good to me.

That list became my blueprint for healing. It showed me what I’d been missing all along—myself.

Honesty and Boundaries

For so long, I was afraid to be honest. I didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to rock the boat, didn’t want to admit that I was suffocating under the weight of expectations, trauma, and guilt. But honesty is freedom. And the truth is, I’m learning that I was never meant to be his savior, his muse, his everything.

I used to be hyper-independent—the girl who did her own thing, who wasn’t glued to her phone, who crafted, wrote, podcasted, and created on her own terms. Somewhere along the line, I lost that version of myself. But I’m finding her again.

Boundaries aren’t selfish—they’re survival. They’re how I keep my sparkle safe.

Breaking the Cycle

This isn’t about blame or shaming anyone. It’s about breaking the cycle. It’s about acknowledging the patterns that kept me trapped:

• The obsession

• The fixation

• The fantasy

• The codependency

It’s about naming the feelings, even when they’re messy. It’s about being honest: I wasn’t in love with him. I was in love with the idea of what we could be, the peer pressures, the sneaking around, but never were. And that’s okay. It’s okay to let go of the fantasy and step into the reality, even when it’s painful.

⸻

Reclaiming My Life

I’m writing again. Soon, i will be creating again. I’m slowly rebuilding the habits that make me feel alive—podcasting, writing, creating, spending time with myself. I’m re-learning my likes, dislikes, my quirks, and my dreams.

I’m not fully healed yet, but I’m healing. I’m not fully whole yet, but I’m getting there.

And most importantly, I’m reclaiming my sparkle—one boundary, one honest moment, one creative spark at a time.

[presentmacandcheese]

bring you some peace

jason todd x gn reader

summary: you discover your boyfriend jason is the Red Hood, to his surprise and concern you're not upset in the slightest

or 5k on loving and appreciating your hardworking vigilante boyfriend

a/n: back at it again! This isn't exactly a sequel to softer than, but it's not not a sequel either. I picture it being the same reader, but this piece can absolutely still be read standalone! That said, go forth and please enjoy my second ever DC fic

also on my ao3!

A sigh pushed its way from his diaphragm as the mattress caught Jason’s fall. He ran a hand over his face and into his hair, taking another deep breath, thoughts of your relationship began to fill his mind.  

Things with you had been going well lately, too well, the anxiety in his brain was certain.

You were suspiciously patient and understanding, especially when he bailed last minute on plans. Sure, you’d meet him with a pout, but it’d disappear as quickly as it’d come and be replaced with a smile that must have been a trick of the light as it seemed... empathetic? Where was the upset? Shouldn’t you be fighting about him “not prioritizing you” enough? It’s what happened the last time he had a romantic partner. 

His partner had felt Jason wasn’t willing to put them over his work, which... He made what time he could for them, but there were lives at stake. He couldn’t be with them every second of every day like they attempted to demand, and they weren’t willing to compromise when the truth of his work remained hidden. 

His chest ached at the thought of losing you, knowing it would hurt significantly more than his last relationship. They were nice, mostly. But you. You meant more to him. You meant... everything. Something felt different lately, off in enough way that he felt it making home in his bones. 

Maybe he needed to come clean, maybe that was the honesty this relationship required. His heart raced as the thought settled, stomach churning. Would you still want him once you knew? Was he risking his safety, his family’s safety, your safety in vain? 

Jason mulled it over, knowing the other shoe may drop with this decision, but pleading with the universe that just this once it wouldn’t have to. Maybe he’d be allowed to have and keep something good. 

You knew your boyfriend was the Red Hood.  

Jason, bless his heart, had certainly been trying to keep it away from you. But the more time you spent around him, the more little details you were able to put together. 

At first, the nights he was unable to spend time together made sense. He told you he worked graveyard shift most nights and his behavior and absences backed that up. 

Until he started canceling at confusing moments with vague excuses. The timing of his walk outs beginning to raise a flag in your mind. 

“Work thing, gotta go.” When his phone buzzed as your heads had just hit the pillows. 

“My brother needs me.” Two minutes into the TV show you watched together weekly. 

“I have a thing to do.” When you were about to be that thing. 

Jason went out of his way to make it up to you, finding alternate times to see and spend time with you, leaving you far more curious than upset. 

The curiosity increased when you noticed the influx of injuries he’d have after a night of cancelled plans. The dots didn’t begin to consciously connect until Jason had walked out on your movie night early, a murmured “work errand, sorry.” Leaving his lips as he parted. 

You were more concerned than anything, he’d been wanting to watch Pride & Prejudice with you for weeks after you’d read the book together; a re-read for him and a first for you, only to leave half an hour in? 

Your thoughts roamed as you snuggled into the hoodie, he’d purchased solely for you to steal, burrowing into the blankets on your couch and settling in for the new plan of a night to yourself. You wondered what errand could be so important to need urgent tending to. Maybe you’d ask Jason later, maybe you’d finally get your curiosities quenched. 

You’d just gotten comfortable, pulling out a project you’d been working on for fun and throwing the news on in the background when a story caught your attention. 

“Red Hood takes mustard gun to the face. Fresh off an Arkham Asylum breakout this evening, Condiment King stood off against Crime Alley’s very own Red Hood. It seems to have been Condiment King’s lucky day as he managed a hit on the rehabilitated crime lord, launching mustard directly at the so called “eyes” of his helmet. That’s bound to leave one hot dog of a bruise if you ask me.” 

You rolled your eyes as you processed the pun, it felt in poor taste given how much worse the situation could have been, especially if Red Hood had been without his helmet. The idea made you frown. You’d found yourself with a soft spot towards the vigilantes of Gotham for years, but along the way Red Hood had become your favorite. 

You admired what he stood for, the protection he offered women and children, the way he was willing to offer it no matter the cost. The other vigilantes seemed more black and white, you respected that Red Hood appeared to often understand the world was gray.  

You zoned back into the TV, focusing again on the reporter’s words. 

“Witnesses reported Nightwing ketching up to the scene shortly after, promptly taking down Condiment King and assuring he won’t be able to a salt anyone again anytime soon.” 

You groaned, turning channels so you wouldn’t have to listen anymore to the attempts at making crime more lighthearted. 

The night passed rather calmly for you, but the same could not be said of the streets. Checking social media and news sites revealed the Arkham breakout was much larger than merely Condiment King. 

And as you realized multiple heavy hitters were loose, you sent out a quiet prayer to whoever was listening that your city and its protectors would remain safe. 

Jason needed to see you.  

Adrenaline left his body wired, hands trembling and breaths labored. The night had been harsh to them all. Rogues left and right hellbent on freedom and destruction. Every Bat had taken far more hits than preferred throughout the night, but they prevailed without serious injury. Somehow luck was on their side with a swift recapture. 

That didn’t mean he wasn’t frazzled.  

Going from a peaceful night in; snuggling his sweetheart, to getting two black eyes from fuckin’ Condiment King of all people was bound to leave a man off-kilter. Especially when the ante of it all was only upped from there. A night’s full of adrenaline catching up to him as the morning latened. 

Exhaustion ran bone deep, his knocks on your door muddled as if his blood had turned to molasses. The rush that got him through being patched up and taking a shower drained from his body and left Jason half asleep on your doorstep.  

He leaned against the frame, eyes blinking slowly as he heard the lock click before the door opened. 

“Baby?” There it was, confused voice still dripping gentle honey as your eyes met his. 

He was fading fast, Jason knew he’d be unconscious in minutes, but that was okay. He had proof that you were safe, and that was all he needed. 

You took Jason’s arm, guiding him inside and towards your bed. You’d seen him tired plenty of times, but never quite like this. This was exhaustion. His movements slow like you were trudging through quicksand, every step heavy as though the second you stopped moving, he’d begin to sink. 

It was worrisome. Clearly, his job was burning him out or something worse. You’d noticed the redness under his eyes, the way they were swelling in what would surely become two black eyes. What happened to him last night? 

Oh god. 

As you moved the blankets on your bed to open a space for him, your mind was stuck on an awful thought. What if he’d been caught in the Arkham attacks? 

Pushing Jason into place on your mattress was more than easy, once the opening was created a soft wind could’ve blown him down. He collapsed into the plushness, face immediately buried in your pillow and body going lax. It would’ve made you chuckle if you weren’t so worried. 

You removed his shoes before covering him with the blankets, tucking the sides in to secure him. Sitting beside him on the bed’s edge, you lifted a hand to run through his hair, delicately untangling any small knots and lightly scratching his scalp. 

A shaky breath left your lips, watery eyes locked on where Jason’s chest rose and fell. You could see he’d had a night, but he’d survived that night. He was here. he was safe. You just needed to get your anxiety to catch up with reality. 

You watched him sleep for half an hour before your body regulated, your heartrate lowering and allowing your mind to clear now that the fear was dissipating.  

Your fingers finally left his hair, trailing down to lightly caress over the side of his face that’d emerged from the pillow. Hovering over the swelling under his eye your brain whispered what happened, Jay?  

Did someone hit you? Why? How?  

A nugget of information from the previous night floated to the foreground. There was someone you knew had gotten hit in the eyes last night. 

Red Hood. 

Your hand slowly retreated, lowering to a stilted rest on his shoulder. It. It was absurd, wasn’t it? 

Except.  

You grabbed your phone from the nightstand nearest you, opening the internet and searching ‘Red Hood.’ Your hand left Jason’s body as you frantically searched at length, looking for evidence. The builds were damn near the same, Red Hood seemed only the slightest bulkier, your guess was an armor-padded suit. Articles highlighting injuries he’d received in the recent past aligned with nights he’d rushed away from you. 

And the most damning. A picture someone had managed to get of him without his helmet. 

He still wore a mask, but even in a far and grainy picture you’d recognize the love of your life’s face anywhere. 

Jason Todd was the Red Hood. 

You locked your phone, not wanting to stare at the image anymore and turned your gaze to Jason. You expected fear to roll in, knowledge fresh of some of the brutality he’d committed, but the longer you looked at Jason the more your shock calmed. 

He was a hero. A statement you figured he’d argue, but that’s how you’d felt about Red Hood for ages. Sure, his methods were unorthodox especially when he first debuted in Gotham, but he’d been trying to better the city every step of his way. He stood up for the underdogs, for Park Row and everyone in it that were constantly overlooked.  

You knew firsthand how much it needed that. Park Row, Crime Alley had been your home for a spell of time. The first ten years of your life had been spent struggling there. At your youngest and most vulnerable, you learned that life wasn’t always fair. Life wouldn’t always give people what they deserved, not when the cards were stacked against them. 

Park Row needed help, it needed a protector. It needed someone who would stand up and fight for and in it, that never seemed up Batman’s alley. 

But Red Hood? Red Hood was doing what needed to be done. Jason was doing what needed to be done. 

Heavens, he must be so tired, so unappreciated. Even if his methods seem to have calmed since the start, reports on him still labeled him as more violent than the rest of the Bats, treated him as more of a threat and a borderline villain at times. Like he was a ticking time-bomb. 

A frown twisted your mouth, disappointment setting in that others couldn’t see how wonderful your vigilante was. The shift to determination was easy, you’d just have to show him how appreciated he was. 

Jason woke up in darkness, disorienting him until his eyes adjusted to the surroundings. The weight of the comforter on him as familiar as the plushness of the pillow, your scent wrapped around him more fully than the blankets. 

He turned his head to the walls, pictures and posters of the things you love adorning them. A soft smile graced his lips, he was in your room, he was okay, he was safe. His eyes trailed along to the window, wanting to peek out and gauge the time of day. He was met with confusion as he saw a blanket pinned to the wall over it, blocking out most all the light. 

Jason lingered on the detail only a moment more before he sat up. He was in your room, where were you? He stretched as he stood, making his way out of the dark room and further into your apartment. The soft tones of you singing led him easily to you in the kitchen. 

“Good evening, sleepyhead.” You greeted over your shoulder, hands in the sink as you washed dishes, your tone was playful, but there was a glint in your eye he couldn’t quite place. 

“It’s evening?” His eyes flitted to the clock on the microwave, just after 6 pm. “Wasn’t sure with the makeshift blackout curtain.” He raised a brow. 

You looked away, but Jason came closer, spotting the blush on your cheeks. 

“I just wanted to make sure you were able to rest properly; my curtains didn’t make it dark enough.”  

The words came out sweet and simple. An easy care in them that had Jason’s cheeks reddening too. Your thoughtfulness never failed to make him flustered, knocking him giddy and disbelieving of what he’d done to deserve you.    

“Dinner will be done soon, too.” Jason recognized an out when he saw one, you were giving him the room not to reply directly to being taken care of, he appreciated it. 

He stepped closer, arms wrapping around your waist and leaning his head onto your shoulder.  

“Thank you.” It was weighted with everything he could be grateful for. When you let him in this morning and put him to bed, when you chose to care for him instead of making him feel like shit for leaving you, you cooking for him now and continuing to be kind. 

“Anything for you.” As you settled back into him, leaning your weight on him, Jason had no idea how deep that promise would run. 

It’d been a month since you’d discovered Jason’s secret. A month of showing him extra kindness, understanding, and appreciation. You were content to wait to talk about his vigilantism with him until he was comfortable sharing with you. You were letting your actions speak louder than your words anyhow.  

Making sure to give him praise on his character whenever he was around. 

“You have such a beautiful heart, Jay.” Said with a sincerity that threatened tears in the right moment. 

“Your mind is incredible, you’re so intelligent.” Said with an awe that spoke of true wonder. 

“You’re such a good man, Jason.” A promise, a vow of the truth the statement held for you. 

Making sure to care for him through blankets draped over him in his vulnerable states, enveloping him in the softness the outside world never would.  

Making sure to keep him well fed, showing your love through recipes passed down and long since mastered by your family. 

The final action that spoke of your empathy though was one utilized when Jason wasn’t around. You were helping cover for him. Disappearances made around your friends were easy for you to excuse. When he gave you an apologetic kiss and uttered to the group an “it’s work, I’m sorry,” you’d follow up with “he has a highly demanding job, I’m so impressed by how much of himself he gives.” Your confidence and understanding kept people’s opinions of him high, your appreciation seeping into the roots of their minds the more you spoke tenderly of him; to help people see him as you saw him. 

All in all, it’d been a great month of loving your boyfriend. 

Jason was going to burst. Anxiety filling him to the seams as he came to terms with what he’d need to do. He had to confront your relationship problems. Trying to figure out when all this good would be ripped away was eating at him like termites in the wooden home of his brain. 

All the praise, the home cooked meals, the soft blankets and somehow even softer greetings. The gentleness of your touch, like you thought he deserved to be held as something delicate. It was all too good to be true.  

Something had to be wrong. This was the calm before some sort of storm. Overcompensation for how badly you wished to break up, maybe. Jason couldn’t fathom another explanation for why you’d be treating him like this. Like something precious. 

The cruelty of whatever joke this was had self-doubt eating him alive. Itching beneath his skin and clawing its way out of him. 

“What’s wrong with us?” Jason blurted one night, watching you make a pot pie crust from scratch, you’d been prepping dinner for at least an hour and a half while he simmered and stewed with anxiety. His eyes were locked on your hands, covered in flour and dough as you pressed the crust into your desired shape. 

“I mean we’re a little strange as people, but I wouldn’t say anything otherwise.” Your lighthearted tone, still focused on the diligent work at your hands, did nothing to ease his worries. 

“No. What’s wrong?”  

The plea in his voice had you turning to look at him. His eyes were swimming with desperation; a broken shine to them that made you frown in concern. 

“Jay? What’s this about? I don’t think anything’s wrong, but I don’t believe you’d ask unless you thought there was.” Your hands were rinsed and wiped on a dish towel as you stepped closer to him and there it was again, that empathetic lilt to your being that made him feel so undeserving. 

The anxiety in his skin bubbled, a cauldron overflowing and exceeding containment, spilling over until no more was left inside. Every ounce of fear and worry splashed around him, rolling out in waves. 

“I don’t deserve this.” Rushed words, a harsh admission in light of your softness. 

“What do you mean?” Jason took a step back as you took one closer, he couldn’t let you touch him right now. Not when you’d slip in his mess and get swept away by the current, never to be seen again. You paused before moving back half a step, Jason found himself simultaneously weighed down by guilt and able to breathe easier. 

“I don’t... This is all too nice. You are too nice. All this care and consideration, it’s wasted on me. Why are you being so fucking good to me?” His hand flew into his hair, tugging at the strands as he tried to let the pain ground him enough to suck in a deep breath. 

“Jay, baby. You deserve all the good the world has to offer.” 

“I DON’T! How can that possibly be true? The things I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt. You don’t know. That’s how you can be so fucking kind to me, because you don’t know what I’m hiding.” 

You nodded, seemingly undeterred by the panic Jason knew he was getting lost in. 

“Okay. So, tell me? I bet you I can still find kindness to give no matter what secrets may unfold.” 

That gave him pause. If anyone could look past what he’d done, it probably would be you. Hell, his family had forgiven and accepted him, and you hadn’t been through an eighth of the shit he put them through.  

“I’m. I’ve hurt people. I’ve done some ugly things, some I’m not proud of and worse, some that I am. Are you sure you want to know?” He needed to hear you choose this, choose him, his truth. 

“Tell me. Please.” It sounded more reassuring than afraid. 

“I’m the Red Hood.” As the words left Jason’s lips, he looked down to the floor. He couldn’t face the look in your eyes yet, the horror that he might find in them. The disappointment as you realized your boyfriend was a murderer. 

“Thank you for telling me.” That... didn’t sound horrified? It was almost... daresay, proud? 

Jason hesitantly lifted his gaze to your form, watching you turn back around, fingers dancing as they always did when you considered the next step in your cooking, a soothing hum befalling your lips. 

“That’s it?” That couldn’t possibly be the only reaction you had. He was expecting tears and anger and distrust. Even the worst case, being kicked out and never spoken to again, losing you entirely in the wake of this revelation. 

You faced him again and Jason stilled as he saw the peaceful look on your face, posture relaxed and no less welcoming than it’d been before. With the light hitting just right, there was an air of relief as well. It was as though nothing had changed. As though this information... wasn’t... new... 

Oh. 

“You knew.” Not a question, a fact. 

He watched as a guilty smile graced your lips, your legs shuffling where you stood and a breath of nervous laughter left your mouth. 

“Maybe a little.” The admission felt both damning and relieving. 

“I- What? How?” 

“Maybe we sit down for this one? I get the feeling your emotions are awfully overwhelming right now.” You started to walk to the living room, making grabby hands behind you to get him to follow. Jason’s lips upturned at the cute habit, steps aligning with yours as he geared up for this conversation. 

You placed yourself on one end of the couch, giving Jason the option of space if he still needed. He sat further than when he joined you for comfort, but within arm’s reach which was progress from the kitchen. You took a deep breath and began to explain. 

“Okay, so it was about a month ago, when you got injured by the mustard gun. You came over the morning after, exhausted and worried about me, which just had me worrying about you, so I got to more thinking than usual, and it started to connect.” 

“The way you frequently disappear at night and leave our plans, the injuries you end up with and the lack of explanation you tend to have for them. I thought for a minute that you were being abused at work. I suppose I wasn’t exactly wrong.” The laugh that left your lips came with a disbelieving head shake. 

“I started looking deeper into the vigilantes of Gotham, well, just Red Hood. He was the only one I needed to look at that morning. Once I had pictures, it was all too easy to recognize the man I love. I could recognize you anywhere. I could recognize you by touch alone, by smell; I would know you blind, by the way your breaths came, and your feet struck the earth. I would know you in death, at the end of the world.” 

You watched Jason’s eyes light up, some of his anxiety melting away at the familiar quote from a book you knew he favored despite the tears it’d brought you both.  

“You don’t have a problem with that though? My identity? The crimes I commit, the lives I’ve taken, the families I’ve destroyed.” His voice trailed off at the end, quieter as shame clouded his gaze. Beneath it there was a desperation that screamed of a little boy’s fear. A young one’s need to be accepted with open arms and loved unconditionally. 

“Jason, my love. You’re a hero. You have done more to save this city than I’m sure anyone gives you credit for. I don’t have a single problem with what you do nor what you’ve done to look out for our city, our home. You’ve been cleaning up in the ways you felt were needed. How could I fault you for that?” Your eyes locked with his, hands coming up to cup his face and reaffirm how genuine your words were. 

“I love you. I love what you stand for. I appreciate you. I appreciate everything you do, everything you are, and everything you will ever be.” You promised.   

For a moment, Jason sat frozen, looking at you as though his whole world view was changing before his eyes. Given his earlier insecurities, it very well may have been. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that you knew?” A whispered curiosity uttered after moments of silence. 

“I was waiting until you were ready. It wasn’t my secret to force out of you. I figured you’d share eventually, and until then I just wanted to care for you. I wanted someone to show you some damn appreciation, and I was more than content with that being me. That’s why I’ve been doing more for you, because you deserve it with all the hard work you do to clean this city up and keep her safe.” Your thumb stroked over his cheekbone, your touch matching the ease of your words. 

Your head tilted slightly; lips downturned as you continued to speak. “I’m sorry my behavior left you so uneasy, it was never my intent for my compassion to scare you.”  

In the seconds of quiet after, your heart rate picked up, this was going to be it huh? The moment when yet another partner confessed you were “too much.” That your affections were overbearing, your intensity frightening and something they weren’t willing to match. That it’d be better if this ended. 

You’d accept Jason’s will if it were the case. You’d let your heart be sliced open, bleeding out from every cut so long as it would make him happy.  

You moved to pull your hands from his face, feeling as though your permission was already being revoked. He caught them with his own, holding them sweetly. 

“It wasn’t that it scared me. You could never scare me. It was that... It felt far too good to be true. I have a hard time believing that good things can happen to me without being ripped away.” Jason’s admission made your heart ache, longing for him to receive only the best from the world and to know that he deserved it. 

“Jay...” He released hold of you to briefly put one hand up, asking you silently to wait a moment before speaking. When you kept quiet, he returned to his full hold on you. The light grip reassuring and soothing while you anticipated his next words. 

“Sweetheart, you are the best thing that has happened to me in this and any lifetime. I am terrified of losing you, that’s what I’m scared of. I don’t want you to be ripped away like so many things I’ve tried to love before, and I don’t want you to leave. I fear that I would not survive a world where I no longer had you in my life. That’s where my panic came from, that’s why I was afraid to reveal my identity. I didn’t want to lose you.” Vulnerable eyes turned down to look at your combined hands. The feeling of his thumbs soothing over your skin providing as much assurance as his words. 

You waited a handful of extra breaths to see if he had more to say, but it seemed no further words were making themselves known. 

“You are the love of all my lives, Jason Todd. I’ll be here for as long as you let me.”  

“That could be a long time, ya know?” 

“I’m counting on it.” 

Snuggled against Jason’s chest on the couch, dinner long since forgotten, a thought came to mind. 

“So, you’re the Red Hood.”  

“We’ve covered that, yes.” 

You gave him a light nudge with your shoulder. “Hush.”  

A brief chuckle before his lips pressed atop your head. 

“So, you’re Red Hood. I know you work closely with the rest of the Bats, and you wouldn’t work closely with people you didn’t trust, not on this. You only trust a handful of people beyond me, and I know I’m not a vigilante. Since you’re all Gotham based, they must be around here too. The only people in the state that you trust are your family. Ergo, the rest of the Bats are the other Waynes, no?”  

“And they call Batman the “world’s greatest detective.” 

“Holy crap, that means they call Bruce that. Brucie Wayne the greatest detective. Oh my god.” You sat up, turning to face him with excitement. 

“Hang on, I didn’t confirm your theory.” 

“You didn’t deny it either!” Your finger pointed in his face, Jason leaning in to nip at it and making you both laugh. 

“Don’t distract me! I’m totally right!”  

“No comment.” 

You leaned over to reach for your phone on the coffee table, Jason gripping your free arm to keep you from toppling over in your excitement. You smiled appreciatively at him before doing an image search on Gotham’s vigilantes. Looking closely at the pictures with what you knew only solidified your belief that much further. 

“Would you... want to meet them?” 

Your gaze snapped from the phone to look at Jason’s face, a nervous smile graced his lips, and his eye contact wavered as he waited for you to process. 

“You want me to meet the Bats?” A light test of the waters, dipping your toe in. 

“I want you to meet my family.” A hand taking yours, pulling you further in with a promise of security. 

“Same thing.” A grin born of playfulness and safety.  

“I’d love nothing more, Jay.” Left your lips whispered, excitement so encapsulating that it need be forced into something serene lest it overtake your entire being. Jason nodded, like he understood how deeply you were feeling before pulling you into a kiss. The unspoken words the kiss provided promised that he did, in fact, understand.  

And the deeper the kiss found itself, the more it felt like an oath he always would. 

[torchlitinthedesert]

There’s something very strange about Paul’s usual “how John and I started writing” narrative. Here’s how he likes to describe it:

Me and John knowing each other, the fact that both of us independently had already started to write little songs... I said to him, “What’s your hobby?” I said, “I like songwriting,” and he said, “Oh, so do I.” You know, no one I’d ever met had ever said that as a reply. And we said, “Well, why don’t you play me yours and I’ll play you mine.” GQ, 2020

It’s my impression that this is now in the rotation of Paul Stories - I think he says it in McCartney 3,2,1, and in other interviews. Is it true? The earliest accounts contradict it:

“Paul’s first public performance, as a member of the Quarrymen, was at a dance… later on, after the dance, he played a couple of tunes to John he had written himself. Since he’d started playing the guitar, he had tried to make up a few of his own little tunes. The first tune he played to John that evening was called ‘I Lost My Little Girl’. Not to be outdone, John immediately started making up his own tunes.”

Hunter Davies, The Beatles, 1968

“‘I learned a lot from Paul. He taught me quite a lot of guitar really. He knew more about how to play than I did and he showed me a lot of chords. I’d been playing the guitar like a banjo so I had to learn it again. I didn’t write much material early on, less than Paul, because he was quite competent on guitar. I started to write after Paul did a song he’d written.’”

John Lennon to Ray Connolly, unpublished interview, 1970*

"He used to write songs before I even started writing songs."

John Lennon, St Regis interview, 1971

*[The Connolly quote is weaker as a source, because was published after John’s death (and he quotes it slightly differently: “I started to write after Paul did a song he’d written” is in Connolly’s John biography, but not in the version in his collected Beatle journalism). But it fits with the other accounts.]

Still, Paul’s version might have some truth in it. Mark Lewisohn cites a couple of 1971 interviews where John remembers trying to write a calypso song, tapping into a brief craze of spring 1957. I don’t know if he finished it, or told anyone about it. None of the Quarrymen mention it, while Pete Shotton told Bob Spitz that John was “floored” when Paul first played him one of his own songs. But the calypso story does make “so do I” seem more possible.

It’s still surprising that Paul wants to frame it this way. He’d be justified in pointing out that songwriting was his innovation, something he brought to the band. By any measure, he’s the one who started it: when he met John, he’d already written the melody of When I'm 64, plus Suicide and I Lost My Little Girl. And he was always prolific. As John told David Sheff, talking about I’ll Follow The Sun, “he had a lot of stuff”, “written almost before the Beatles, I think.” He was the one pushing to do their own material, whether that’s talking it up to music promoters or suggesting In Spite of All The Danger at their first amateur recording session. (To me, that suggests that Lennon-McCartney was established later than they tended to admit. In Spite of All The Danger, recorded in 1958, has George as cowriter; if Paul had written anything with John, I bet that's what he'd have suggested they record. And if John on his own had written something that was ready to record, they’d definitely have picked that. )

In the 1950s, writing your own material was groundbreaking: it’s part of the huge cultural shift into the 1960s. There were hundreds of skiffle/rock’n’roll bands in Liverpool, but it’s genuinely possible that Paul was the only songwriter among them. Why isn’t that the story he wants to tell?

When Paul started defending his legacy in the late 1980s, he was fighting against specific distortions. First, that he was the middle-of-the-road conservative one - which is why he lays out his avant garde credentials. So you’d think he’d want to remind everybody that he wrote songs first. But second, he’s up against the idea that he and John didn’t love each other, that they didn’t write together, that Lennon-McCartney was a myth. Paul is a rock star, with an ego to match; he’s not given to downplaying himself. But he wants the partnership more than he wants precedence, even more than he wants credit for innovation.

And he always did. Remember the story about John sharing half his chocolate bar? Paul joined the band, and shared half his songs.

He didn’t need to: he was already writing alone. If he wanted help, George was more musically accomplished, and would have been a more logical choice for a songwriting partner. But it's John whose attention and praise Paul needed, John who had the authority to say they’d play Paul’s songs, John who needed to feel like the most important person in the band. Becoming Lennon-McCartney formalises all of that. And Paul is still true to it.

Across decades, Paul has been consistent about promoting their partnership as a partnership, regardless of who did what. (This isn’t true of John, who by the late 1960s was eager to break down who wrote which song, which lyric, which middle eight.) After working with George Martin on the string arrangement for Yesterday, Paul signed the score: “"Yesterday" by Paul McCartney John Lennon George Martin Esq and Mozart.” Even as a joke, you don’t separate Lennon and McCartney. Ken Mansfield asked Paul why songs were “Lennon-McCartney” when John hadn’t been there for the writing process:

And Paul said: “John and I are so close to each other, we’ve been through so much together, we understand each other so much, our relationship is so deep, that when we’re songwriting,” he said, “even if I’m 6,000 miles away, I can be working on something and I can hear John over my shoulder going, ‘No, no, no, that’s not gonna work; why don’t we do this?’ Or ‘Hey, I like this.’” He said, “So, in essence, to me, we’re songwriting together even if we’re not together.”

Ken was asking about Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da, not realising that John was there for that one: they worked on it in India. But rather than giving a practical answer, Paul chooses to frame the partnership as a profound connection. (Of course there are other times Paul insists on or overstates his contribution, or gets petty about who did what. He’s human, and he’s an egomaniac. But always, always within the framework that this was a partnership.)

Fundamentally, he’s loyal to Lennon-McCartney. “So do I” matters more to him than going first. It might not be literally true, but it's the emotional truth that he needs.

[aventurineswife]

hello!! im not sure if you do poly but can i request a poly avenday x reader where reader is considered beautiful by others but is often told to dress and do makeup differently to be “more beautiful”? basically the reader experiences a pressure to conform and the judgement makes them nervous if poly is not possible then it can be separate

Perfectly Imperfect

Summary: After receiving unsolicited comments about how you should change your appearance to be "more beautiful," you struggle with feelings of self-doubt and pressure to conform. Seeking comfort in the shared space you have with Sunday and Aventurine, you open up about your insecurities. Sunday reassures you with quiet wisdom, while Aventurine offers his usual mix of charm and sincerity, reminding you that beauty isn’t about meeting others’ expectations. Together, they help you see that you are already enough, just as you are.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader x Sunday, Polyamory, Comfort & Reassurance, Self-Acceptance, Soft Moments, Established Relationship, Protective Partners, Beauty Standards & Insecurity.

Warnings: Mentions of beauty standards and pressure to conform, Insecurity & self-doubt themes, Mild emotional distress (resolved with comfort).

A/N: dw I do poly reqs too! I always wanted to write for these two together but I had no idea what to write for... 🧍‍♀️

The room was bathed in a soft, golden light, diffused by curtains that swayed gently with the rhythm of an artificial breeze. It was their shared space—an unspoken sanctuary where the weight of the outside world lessened, if only by degrees.

You sat on the edge of the low couch, fingers absently twisting a ribbon between them. The words from earlier still lingered in your mind, like ink smudged across a pristine page.

"You’d be stunning if you just changed your style a little."

"Try wearing your hair differently. More refined."

"Why don’t you enhance what’s already there?"

It wasn’t the first time someone had made suggestions about your appearance, as if beauty were an equation to be solved rather than an essence to be lived. But today, the weight of it settled deeper, making you shrink inward, your confidence thinning at the edges.

Sunday noticed first. He always did.

Seated beside you, his coat draped over his lap, he turned his gaze to yours. His wings, usually still in moments of quiet, fluttered just slightly—a subtle giveaway of his concern.

“You are quiet today.” His voice was gentle, the kind of softness that coaxed secrets from the hesitant.

You hesitated, but before you could speak, a familiar figure entered the space with all the ease of someone who owned it.

Aventurine.

Dressed in his usual finery, he carried himself with the effortless confidence of a man who dictated his own rules of beauty and charm. His eyes flicked over you in an instant, keen and knowing.

“What’s got you looking so pensive, sweetheart?” he asked, slipping onto the armrest of the couch with a practiced grace. His hat tilted slightly as he leaned in, his voice teasing but not unkind.

You exhaled, your fingers tightening around the ribbon. “People keep telling me how I should look. What I should change to be… better.”

Aventurine let out a dramatic sigh, throwing one arm over his knee. “Ah, the ever-persistent critics of personal style. Miserable lot, aren’t they?”

Sunday tilted his head, the symbols on his halo glinting faintly as he considered your words. “You feel as though you must conform,” he murmured, his voice thoughtful.

You nodded. “It’s not that I don’t like dressing up or experimenting… but when people say it like that, it feels like I’m not enough as I am.”

Aventurine clicked his tongue, reaching out to tilt your chin with two fingers, his touch light but firm. “Listen to me, darling. People will always have opinions. They’ll want you in a box they understand. But where’s the fun in that?” His smirk softened at the edges. “You’re already a masterpiece. Why let them scribble on the canvas?”

Sunday’s hand, gloved and warm, settled over yours. His gaze held something deeper—something like sorrow, as if he understood the feeling all too well. “Do not mistake their expectations for truth,” he said, fingers lacing with yours in quiet reassurance. “Beauty is not compliance. It is presence. And you are already… radiant.”

You swallowed, their words settling into the cracks of your insecurities, filling them with something steadier. Something like warmth.

Aventurine grinned, ever the opportunist. “You know, if you really wanted to change something, we could make it a game. I bet I could style you in a way that would leave those critics speechless.” He leaned closer, voice lower now, more sincere. “But only if you wanted it. Not for them. Never for them.”

Sunday sighed, though the amusement in his eyes was clear. “I should have expected as much from you.”

Aventurine only winked. “I take pride in my work.”

You laughed, the tension in your shoulders finally easing. Here, in this space, with them, you weren’t a project to be refined or a painting to be corrected. You were simply you.

And that was enough.

[erinwantstowrite]

Peter introducing batfamily to avengers: this my (bio) dad with his ginger partner and this is his huge dysfunctional family

Peter introducing the Avengers: this my (foster) dad with his ginger partner and this is his huge dysfunctional family

maybe the real reason dick and tony hate each other is that they're so similar

[summer-oil]

i can’t really explain this properly but suguru is a “you’re mine, and i’m yours” kinda guy while satoru is just “i’m yours”….. do u get what i’m saying.

[paintedplum7]

Fuck my stupid baka life I’m already drawing precanon yaoi

[cozybells]

what if they were meaner and also were in love

[fafodill]

How would Sneep fare if his partner is a VERY attractive person who dressed impeccably and gets a lot of attention due to their stellar good looks?

He'd feel exceptionally unworthy and wait for them to come to their senses and leave him. Or for someone better looking and overall better than him to swoop in and leave with them. Because that's what's gonna happen, right? RIGHT??

He'd be super insecure, honestly.

He'd only believe it after they stay with him for a long time. And still he'd be like '?????'

[buffonias]

Your dialysis machine is all set up in the bedroom, so... Oh, how romantic.

[seiwas]

omg sel for iwa day, what about steadiness? also i particularly like how reassured iwa makes me feel! like even if i'm having not-so-nice thoughts about myself he'll pull me out of it, and i'll be there for him when he feels unsure!

birdie hello!! sorry this is so late, but thank you for celebrating iwa day with me!! 🥺 i think steadiness is such a fitting word for hajime 🥺 it embodies him completely!!

steadiness

today isn't different from any other day of the week; you go to work, come back home, and settle things around the house. at some point of the night, while hajime is taking over the kitchen, you do your best to dedicate whatever time you can to finish some coursework.

but the accumulation of everything lately has just been too much―a visit from your soon-to-be in-laws, uncertainties regarding your career path, and just the overall adjustment of moving into a new city during this new phase of life. it's a lot, and though today may be just like another regular day of the week, you find yourself overcompensating.

"hajime, we have to deep clean the kitchen," you mumble walking past him, carrying the pile of laundry you'd just gotten from the dryer. "and the food," your eyes widen as your eyes rush to the fridge, "we need to get rid of all the bad stuff and stock up."

you barely give hajime a moment to respond when you're already listing off the next thing, "i took the week off so we can spend time with your parents. i was thinking we could bring them out on tuesday and treat your mom for her birthday on thursday, there's this healthy place a few blocks away that just opened the other week. i can make a reservation if you're up for it."

hajime watches you move across the apartment, somehow managing to fold laundry while tidying up the space. you'd just gotten home thirty minutes ago, and as far as he knows, you have a half-finished essay open on your desktop due in a few days (along with many other tabs for wedding planning, furniture stores, insurance plans, and investment advice).

as far as hajime's concerned, something must be up for you to be acting this way.

"babe," he interrupts your mumbling of the mental checklist you've seemingly created.

"what?" you pause, eyebrows scrunched and a frown forming on your face. you certainly don't mean to sound like that, hajime knows. you've just been carrying too much.

he gives you a small smile, gracious as he continues scrubbing the pans in the sink, "leave it to me."

there are a thousand chores lined up to prepare for the arrival of his parents, and even more things to discuss when it comes to wedding and furniture decisions. hajime knows you've taken all of this to heart―that you've taken it upon yourself, just like with everything you do, to bear the responsibility of delivering nothing short of the best. hajime knows your insecurities, knows you feel the need to take on that responsibility because it's the only way you can make up for things out of your control; how you think you can prove that you're worthy of him being yours.

on most days―actually, all days―hajime finds that all he wants is for you to feel rest.

"but―" you start.

"i got it," he smiles at you reassuringly, firmly, "promise."

and while he knows it'll be hard for you to relinquish all control over all the plans you've conjured, when he sees your shoulders drop just that tiny bit, he thinks that loving you is what he was made for.

[velvetgh0sts]

The Flame I Keep Relighting

All I want is to be loved without begging.

To be seen — not just watched, but understood.

Most days, I feel 4% out of 10. Like a loading screen stuck buffering,

waiting for someone to notice the glitch… but no one ever really does.

Being with an insecure partner is like holding a mirror that only reflects cracks.

My father, before he passed, told me:

“Never be with an insecure man.

Don’t let him break you.”

I am so sorry I failed you, Dad.

;

I should’ve listened.

I should’ve known.

But how did I let one swoon me?

He had no job.

Semi-homeless.

A wanderer between his parents’ house and his sister’s couch.

Entangled in the wreckage of his own past,

hurting the women he once called “his” —

and now hurting me in the same script,

just a different face in his ongoing rerun.

His family has heard this story before.

“We’ve seen this before.”

“We’ve heard it all.”

And now I hear the saddest words of all:

“It’s okay to move on.”

“Run.”

Hope…

That’s the most seductive addiction of all.

I don’t want money or a mansion —

just reassurance that you’ll be there.

But when I ask for closeness, you pull away.

When I ask for warmth, you throw cold words.

When I want to be held,

you label me needy —

as if asking for love is something to be ashamed of.

Why is it so hard to say:

“I’ll be there.”

Why must everything be a fight before bed,

as if peace only belongs to the daylight,

and night is for sabotage?

I love you.

I care for you.

I really do.

But I’m starting to see that my love

— no matter how full, how selfless, how patient —

can’t fix a man who refuses to hold his own mirror.

You don’t need saving.

But I’ve been bleeding trying to be your bandaid.

Why do I waste time on someone I can’t see a real future with,

except when night falls,

and everything is temporarily quiet?

But even then — even then —

it’s fragile.

I want to sleep peacefully in your arms

without being made to feel guilty for needing touch.

I want to remember that one night we did,

and it felt safe.

But you ruined even that —

sabotaged the memory.

Sabotaged us.

Sabotaged your happiness and mine, like it’s a habit.

I’m tired.

Not just emotionally.

Physically.

Spiritually.

I wake up with headaches and go to bed with heartaches.

I’ve lost so much of myself trying to hold us both up.

Time I could have spent healing.

Growing.

Building the life I know I’m meant to live.

Still — I’d be lying if I said I’ve only lost.

Because I also laughed with you.

Felt seen.

Unmasked.

Maybe for the first time.

I don’t understand why love shows up in such confusing clothes.

Is it a test?

Is he my test?

Because relationships will test you —

but what if the lesson is to walk away from the test altogether?

Am I waiting on a version of him that doesn’t exist,

or just hasn’t emerged yet?

And if I’m still lighting the flame

only for him to blow it out every time…

then maybe he’s not just dulling his sparkle.

Maybe he’s taking mine, too.

And that?

That’s the part that breaks me.

Because I didn’t come here to be dimmed.

I came here to burn bright.

To love loud.

To be held fully — not just when it’s convenient,

but when it’s hard,

when I’m scared,

when I say, “Please don’t let go.”

[shouts-into-the-void]

I don't know if I can properly articulate the deep disgust I have for how "ace/aro people can still have sex and/or relationships" and "asexual/aromantic means little-to-no attraction" have been co-opted by non-aspecs in order to dismiss and ignore those identities, not even just in cases to justify shipping characters.

[menlove]

constantly torn between visceral annoyance at the "hehe I'm married to a man but I'd leave him for a woman in a heartbeat it's SOOOO unfortunate that I like men" jokes and extreme pity. and the thing is right it really depends on the person bc some of these women are trapped in loveless marriages where the man sucks and they're tortured by their own comphet and fear but like 90% of the time they're as healthy as any straight relationship Can be, she is in fact happy as a fucking clam, and if she divorced him tomorrow she would cry and scream at the Thought of touching pussy. it's so often a Quirky Joke to emphasize that's she's soooo not like the other wives she's ✨queer✨. the millennial version of I hate my husband/wife jokes.

[camellcat]

first xander brought her back with human breath and determination... then willow with supernatural power and love.... smth smth two halves to keep their third in balance from drifting too far into either side and losing herself.....

[thefallenangel2008]

When people make Fiddauthor fanart and Fidds is kissing Ford's hands, like-