#a misunderstanding

[gardenerian]

They weren’t ROBBING the place you see. That was a misunderstanding. They were just moving out some furniture as a favor for his sister’s boyfriend’s dad. Who is NOT a creep who courts teenage boys. Somehow Mickey kissing him is a vital piece of the explanation that needs to be added. They couldn’t go to the emergency room because that’s EXPENSIVE and he didn’t want his sister’s boyfriend’s mom to get in TROUBLE for SHOOTING A TEENAGE BOY. Who was NOT ROBBING her as a FAVOR to his sister’s boyfriend’s dad. REALLY. It was a MISUNDERSTANDING. HE CAN EXPLAIN!

I KNEW IT! i knew there must have been a perfectly reasonable explanation for the ass wound in the kitchen! mickey kissing him is of course the most important piece of information here, he’s gotta sprinkle that detail in every other sentence. bc it’s vital to the overall explanation that makes total sense and is not at all related to crime. of COURSE not.

[i-talk-too-much]

A Misunderstanding (Part 2)

Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,272

Warnings: none, smut in later chapters

A/N: it's been *checks watch* way longer than I thought it would be. oops. also, I made a little oopsie in part 1, I originally wrote her final was in two days, but it was actually supposed to be in a week… so I have that changed now ahaha. Anyways

(Part 1)

Summary: You and Dick were childhood friends before you both drifted apart - him living with Bruce and you moving away. You are reunited after you move to Gotham and Nightwing saves you from a criminal.

————————–

Dick laid awake in his bed that night, the covers splayed around his legs. The thoughts swarming his mind about the earlier meeting kept him awake. Your face, your mannerisms, everything – nothing changed after sixteen years. 

No, that’s not true. You had changed. You were no longer the kid he knew back when he was in the circus. You grew up, just as he had. And the time in your apartment proved it.

He didn’t know what pushed him to visit you. To check on you, he said, but that was something he thought of in the moment, a simple excuse to talk to you more. 

He brought his hands to his face, palms against his eyes as he sighed into the still air.

He felt like an idiot. How could he have let the time go? Why did he not respond to your letter all those years ago? 

Actually, Dick knew why. He knew exactly why he dropped the letter into his drawer and forced himself to ignore it. But, it seemed so stupid in retrospect.

He shifted to lay on his side, hoping the change in position would allow him some much needed sleep. Instead, his eyes caught sight of his desk.

A thought formed in his mind and he sat up. 

He could write you a letter – a letter explaining what happened. Maybe he could ask to meet-up, if you were willing.

And with hope filling his chest, he left his messy bed and set to work.

——

You were stressed. Stressed out of your goddamn mind for the exam that was tomorrow. 

Honestly, you probably didn’t have to be as worried as you were – you had been putting your all into your classes. But, it never hurt to study more, to go to the library for a last-minute review.

Reaching the first floor of your apartment building, you passed by the long hallway of mailboxes.

You paused by the entrance, deciding on a whim to look in your own. It was long since due for a check-in, a pile of letters no doubt straining against the small compartment. Everything was digital nowadays, including your bills. Opening the small storage in the wall, you wondered what kind of mail you’d receive.

There was less than you imagined. Approximately six sat inside and you pulled them out, sorting through each, none grabbing your attention. That was, until the last letter came into view.

It was sleek – the envelope colored black with the flap on the back taped down by a dark blue sticker. It was charming. You read the white-inked ‘from’ address, the name almost making you drop everything you were holding. 

Dick Grayson.

“What the hell,” you slowly whispered into the empty hallway, your brows furrowing. You re-read it two more times, disbelieving the written name. 

How the hell did he get your address? And why was he sending you a letter now? It’s been sixteen years! He should’ve forgotten all about you at this point.

You thought he had, after not receiving a reply. A nostalgic ache settled in your chest, the familiarity of it making you shake your head, stuffing the black letter and the others into your bag. You didn’t have time for this, you needed to get to the library. 

The walk to the building was filled with thoughts about nothing but the letter. What could he have written? What would have made him send you a message, sixteen years after you sent yours? Did he only now receive the letter you sent? 

You scoffed at the last idea. 

You had more faith in the postal service than the fucking police, there’s no way it was only now delivered. Then, what could the reason be? It felt as if the envelope was burning a hole in your bag, you being acutely aware of it sitting inside, holding the answers to all your questions.

By the time you arrived at your destination, you had mentally gone through every possibility. Countless scenarios ran through your mind and none of them seemed to fit. 

This was bad – you needed to focus on studying. 

Finding a secluded area in the library – a table in the back – you plopped into a chair and pulled out your laptop, some papers and set to work. Every so often, your eyes traveled to your bag, the letter taunting you. It was after thirty minutes passed and all you managed to do was stare at a page thoughtlessly, that you finally decided to open it.

You gently took out the envelope and slowly peeled the blue sticker from the back. Lifting the flap, the page inside felt expensive. Sliding the paper out and unfolding it, your eyes scanned the words, absorbing the content inside.

To Y/N:

Hope you’re doing well. It’s been a long while since we've last seen each other, huh?

 …Mainly my fault, I admit. 

I did get your letter all those years ago, but I placed it in a cabinet and forgot. Life became busy, time sped by, and I never had the chance to look at what you sent me.

Until I began looking through old bins in storage and found yours inside.

I promise I never forgot about you. Not one day. I just never had…time.

I know it's been almost 16 years, and it might be a bit late for me to mend ties – but would you want to grab coffee sometime?

Here's my number if you–

You stopped reading, feeling an inexplicable wave of indignation course through your veins.

Were you that easy to brush aside? To forget? Surely, in sixteen years, there would have been at least a moment where he could've reached out to you.

And yet, here he was, sixteen years later with a half-assed explanation and a nonchalance that irritated you.

He was funny if he thought you would cave so easily. To rush to send him a message, to call and hear his voice.

You ignored the slight clench of your heart. 

If he made you wait sixteen years, he'd have to accept waiting a little bit more. 

——

You didn’t know how you got through that exam, but you did. 

The moment your feet stepped onto the sidewalk outside your college building, you felt an imaginary weight lift off your shoulders. Taking a deep breath, the air inside your lungs almost felt cleaner. Almost.

With the results of that exam out of your hands now, all that was left was to enjoy the break and wait for the final grade. You had half the mind to go out to the club to celebrate, but the recent mugging still made your blood run cold.

Bing-watching a show with take-out it was, then. 

And two hours later, that was still the plan – until a certain hero dropped by your fire escape window and invited himself inside to lounge on your couch.

"Is this gonna be like – a thing?" You motioned ambiguously toward the situation with your hands. "You stopping by my apartment on your patrols?"

He shrugged and grinned, a cheeky smile reaching his eyes. "It can if you want it to be." 

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead opting to offer the man some of your food. “Want some? It just came, like, fifteen minutes ago.”

He smiled at the hand-out, taking the deliciously-filled plate with both hands and chowing down as he settled back into the cushioned seat. “Plus, I’m on break. The others can call if they need me,” he said, stuffing his mouth with a forkful of food. “So, what are we watching?” 

“Well,” you began. ”I’m watching a space documentary. You’re trespassing.”

Nightwing gasped dramatically, splaying a hand across his chest. “Me? Trespassing? I would never.”

You chortled, deciding right then that he’d always be permitted in your apartment – but you wouldn’t tell him that. Pressing play on the remote, you leaned back and copied his position against the couch.

While you were absorbed in the beautifully rendered scenes of the cosmos, you didn’t notice Nightwing glancing around your living room, taking in every little detail. His eyes landed on a certain black envelope sitting on a desk by the window.

“Damn, that’s insane!” You exclaimed, amazed by the facts shown on the screen. You leaned forward and placed your fork down with your finished plate on the coffee table. “Hey, do you think the stars–” you cut off, seeing his head turned toward the window. “Nightwing?”

He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment until he replied, “yeah? Sorry, what were you saying?”

You paused, observing his expression before responding softly. “Everything all right?”

“No, yeah, definitely. Just got distracted by something shiny, s’all.” He got up, taking his empty plate along with yours to the kitchen sink. “You know, that black envelope looks fancy. Looks like one of those wealthy Gala invitations.” 

“Huh?” Your eyes fitted over to your desk. “Ah, that? Nah, it’s just a letter from someone I knew.”

“Knew?” You heard the sound of running water and dishes clattering. What a gentleman. “Not a lover, then?”

“Pfft, no,” you laughed, taking a sip from your cup. “He’s a childhood friend I lost contact with. Somehow he found my address and sent a letter.” After a moment, you added, “and now that I think about it, it’s a little creepy.”

Forced laughter seemed to bubble from Nightwing’s lips, the sound reverberating through the small apartment.

“Can I ask who the sender is?” His voice held a light note to it. You raised a brow. 

“Why? Jealous?” You teased, almost wishing he was.

A bark of a laugh escaped his being as he replied. “Jealous? Yeah, sure, let’s call it that.” 

Deciding to satiate his curiosity, you answered truthfully. “If you really want to know, it’s from Dick Grayson.”

“Grayson, huh? Bruce Wanyne’s trust fund kid?” At your wordless confirmation, his lips upturned in a joking manner. 

“Tell you what, if he’s creepy,” Nightwing paused, placing his hands on his hips. “I’ll protect you from him.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your lips matched his own, humor thick in your voice. “And how are you going to do that?”

He crossed his arms. “With my fighting skills,” he answered defensively, then mumbled, “obviously.”

You chuckled at the pout on his lips. “Obviously.”

“In all seriousness though,” he moved around across the room and lifted the letter before continuing, “wouldn’t hurt to reach out to him, if you’re comfortable. Did you two part on bad terms?”

“I mean,” you paused, resting your cheek on your palm and mulled over the answer. “I don’t think so?”

Nightwing shrugged. “Then it’d probably be fine, right?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but something about his attention to the letter felt off. With the way he was acting, it seemed personal. You narrowed your eyes.

“You know,” you tilted your head. “With how determined you are, it’s almost like…” 

Nightwing’s head swirled toward you, waiting for you to finish your sentence.

“You’re friends with him, aren’t you?” 

His shoulders visibly sagged at your statement, the corner of his lip lifting. “Was it that obvious?” 

“Wait, so is that how he got my address? From you?” You stood up, slowly walking towards the man standing by the desk as you became lost in thought. “Was that why you were shocked when you saw my ID? Did Dick talk to you about me?” Hope filled your voice, the emotion speeding up your words.

Nightwing raised his hands, stopping you from crashing into his chest. “Slow your roll, Y/N. One question at a time.”

“Did you tell him my address,” you asked, crossing your arms and straightening your back. 

“I did,” he answered. No part of him appeared guilty, however. 

Your mouth tightened with displeasure. “Without my permission? Why?”

He brought his hand to the side of his head, scratching the space behind his ear. 

“I knew how much he wanted to see you again, so I thought it'd be fine.” After a moment of your unwavering stare, he quickly added, “and now that I see your reaction, I’m never going to do that again before asking you.”

You breathed out a laugh. “You say that like there’ll be others asking for my address.” 

Nightwing’s body relaxed at your softened expression. ”Knowing you for as long as I have, I’m sure there will be.”

You take a moment during the lull in conversation to walk toward the couch and sit on the armrest.

“What’s he like?” You brought your uncertain gaze to his. ”Do you think I should reply to him?” 

He leaned back against the desk and lifted his shoulders nonchalantly. “From my standpoint, I’d say go for it. If you decide he’s not worth it, just block him. No harm, no foul.”

He moved toward the window, opening it just enough to slip onto the fire escape before turning back and facing you.

“And if he was truly a dickhead, I’d tell you. In the end, though, it’s up to you. Your choice.”

——

That night, you kept turning the letter in your hands, rereading the last lines. 

Here’s my number if you want to give it a chance. Text or call, anytime. 

(xxx) xxx-xxxx

Your friend always,

Dick Grayson

Nightwing was right.

There’s no harm in catching up with an old friend. And if things go south, you could just block him and move on. You've moved on once before, you could do it again.

Contemplating it one last time, you steeled your resolve and saved his number into your phone before typing out a message.

————————–

Tagging: @bluebirdhangingonawheepingtree @hungryhungarian @escapism-r-us @xasement @zbeez-outlet @scrambled-eggs-y

[barnesafterglow]

a misunderstanding

summary: a misunderstanding and a revelation change the tide of your relationship with bucky

pairing: 40s!bucky x reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: this got mildly angsty and i didn't mean to, bucky is lowkey a fuckboy (or is he?), happy ending, steve as comedic relief

a/n: here is day 1 of my sweet summer writing challenge! i know it's a little early but also i took several extra requests so i figured i'd go ahead and get started :) prompt for this one is “it must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.”

main masterlist ─ challenge masterlist

i no longer have a taglist, but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary and turn on post notifications to get fic updates! 🤍

The crackling sound of the record player filled the small apartment, accompanied by your soft steps to the beat along the kitchen tile.

You continued stirring the pot on the stove, cutting it down to simmer when a knock sounded at your front door. You wiped your hands off on the apron tied around your waist and cut the knob down in the tinkering jazz as you passed it, stepping towards the door and pulling it open.

“Hey there, doll,” said the man on the other side. Not the one you were expecting.

“Where’s Steve?” you asked, trying your best not to sound annoyed. It would only fuel his ego.

Bucky Barnes was, in no uncertain terms, an insufferable blockhead. But it just so happened that you shared a best friend, and it remained in your best interest not to chuck him in the East River. For now.

“Got caught up with Mrs. Johnson. She wanted a new mural painted on the front window and we ran into her on our way here. He shouldn’t be too long.”

Which, in Steve terms, meant dinner would probably be cold before his perfectionist ass had painted the perfect picture of bread or milk or whatever other sale the Johnsons wanted to advertise this week. It also meant that you were stuck in Bucky’s presence for the evening, because Steve would hand him his ass if he left you alone after you had spent the afternoon cooking.

Not to mention that, even though it was supposed to just be Steve tonight, you had already made extras for the very likely possibility that Bucky tagged along. He didn’t seem to be aware of the animosity between the two of you, though you couldn’t ever forget the harsh words that had changed your attitude towards him forever.

It had been a couple years, you had just gotten off your shift at the bar on the corner and you were supposed to meet Steve and Bucky for a late dinner. You hadn’t been friends with them long, only a couple of months, but it had been long enough that you were surprised to see that Bucky didn’t have a girl hanging off his arm.

That’s usually how your meetups went - Steve looking happy to see you and Bucky focusing solely on the unlucky dame who would wind up with a broken heart the morning after. But that night was different, with no one but your two friends in sight as you shuffled down the street, pulling your ragged coat tighter around you as the New York winter picked up. Bucky’s back was facing you, so he didn’t see you approach, and you caught the tail end of his rant.

“-always fucking everything up! I don’t see why you even bother with her anymore.” He sounded angry, nothing like the usual laid back and charming James Barnes, and you knew without a doubt that he was talking about you.

Instead of interrupting their conversation, you brushed past them on the sidewalk, practically shouldering Bucky out of your way. He called after you, but you kept walking without a word. You didn’t see either of them again for a week, and by then you were resigned to act like it never happened. You never spoke of it again, even when Steve asked you over and over again what had happened between you and Bucky.

You figured neither one of them thought you were close enough to have overheard Bucky’s insult, and that’s why their thick heads couldn’t figure what might have changed that night.

“-any help?” You were brought back to the present by Bucky’s voice, right in front of your face, and you realized you had no idea what he had said.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you needed any help, doll. Can’t let my best girl do all the work herself.” He winked at you, and for the first time since that night, his casual flirting made you see red.

“It must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.” Though your face carried a sickeningly sweet smile, the sharp tone in your voice must have thrown Bucky off. You didn’t dwell on it, though, simply brushing past him into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he caught your wrist as he passed, and you wrenched it from his grasp. He took a step back, obviously feeling the anger that was radiating from you. “What’s wrong, doll?”

“As if you don’t know,” you snapped, inhibitions down enough that you were ready to lay your grievances bare. “But that’s right, I just fuck everything up anyways! How could I ever think that the great James Barnes might be the problem for once?”

“Fuck everything up? I don’t understand. I don’t think you fuck anything up, Y/N.” The sincerity of which he said your name gave you pause, and when you looked at him, he seemed genuinely confused. Your anger waned enough for you to explain that night, and how badly it had hurt your feelings.

“I was talking about Dot. That night, she had cornered Steve at the dance hall again, acting all sweet on him. Just like she had done every other night in the few weeks before. And then she left him high and dry, trying to make moves on me when I went out back for a smoke. I thought she was using him - which she was, by the way - and I wanted him to cut it out.

“He got mad at me when he walked out and she was trying to shove her hand in my pants. Thought I was jealous he was gettin’ attention or somethin’.”

You weren’t angry anymore, not after the bomb Bucky had just dropped. Instead you just felt numb, and stupid, to have spent so long holding a grudge for no reason.

“I thought you really liked Dot, though, why wouldn’t you have taken your chance anyways?” It seemed like the most trivial thing in the world to ask, yet it was what your brain chose to focus on.

“Well besides the fact that tried to get to me by using my best friend, I’ve had my eye on one dame for a while now.” You tried not to let your heart constrict at the thought, and you tried to remember a girl he had talked about since then that may have caught his eye. But you couldn’t remember a single one in the years since that night.

You figured he had grown tired of your sarcastic comments about his promiscuous behavior, and kept the girls away from you, but maybe you were wrong. Maybe there hadn’t been any since then. You didn’t want to let yourself entertain the idea, so you threw out a random name.

“No, not Beth,” he responded. “It’s you, Y/N. I’ve been holdin’ out for ya, and I get now that I really hurt you, but I’ll keep holdin’ out until you kick me to the curb.”

You didn’t let your mind make any decisions as you lurched toward him, instead letting your heart take the lead. Because up until that winter night, you had been pining for Bucky just like every other girl in a 50 block radius, but you kept it to yourself, knowing his dating habits - or lack thereof - and your friendship with him and Steve both was more important to you.

You could have never let yourself hope he might feel the same, that he might want you beyond a single night. But that hope was reignited as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him and slotting his mouth against yours.

The two of you were so lost in each other, so lost in the moment that had unknowingly been building for years, that you didn’t hear the knock at the door, or the creak of the hinges as it opened. It wasn’t until a heavy thud sounded against the floorboards that your sprung apart, both turning to see Steve, shocked, in the doorway.

“I’m thirty minutes late for dinner, and this is what I miss?”

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[theblackestofsuns]

"A Misunderstanding"

Human Diastrophism (2007)

Gilbert Hernandez

Fantagraphics Books

[rei-the-head-shaker]

✨SCREAMING AND CRYING AND THROWING UP!✨

[honorhearted]

“🌸“ (From "Miss Englsh" aka Peggy Carter against her will - even if they've never interacted)

Send me  “🌸“  for my muse’s reaction to yours giving them a V.alentine’s bouquet! / @timeguardians

Although Ben had every reason to be skeptical, the moment he'd received word that an English ambassador wished to speak under a flag of truce, he'd been encouraged to go see what they wished to say.

And with leery suspicion, he had...and now found himself standing face-to-face with a woman. Of bloody course the damned ambassador would send someone else in his stead. But why this woman? Surely, there was someone better-suited to address their tactical affairs?

Frustrated, Ben steeled his shoulders and said, "I apologize for your time being wasted, madam -- the ambassador's intentions were unfair to both you and myself, and I hope he has at least provided a feasible excuse for his absence."

The woman lifted a bouquet of flowers then -- a peace offering? -- and puzzled, Ben awkwardly took the posies before nodding to her in bewilderment. "I, uh...thank you," he stammered. "But as I was saying, I imagine you've traveled a long way for this excursion, so if you are in need of refreshment, you are more than welcome to accompany me back to camp -- still under our flag of truce, of course -- for a quick rest. I apologize for your time being so heedlessly commandeered."

[bl-bam-beyond]

BL- BOYS' LOVE: A LOOK BACK/REWATCH

Series: KIETA HATSUKOI/VANISHING, MY FIRST LOVE/ MY LOVE MIX UP (2021, JAPAN)

Two Good Guys. Two Nice Guys. Both Presumably Straight. We have the overly animated Aoki (SHUNSUKE MICHIEDA) and the overly analytical Ida (REN MEGURO)

A quiz. A borrowed eraser. A misunderstanding & then another misunderstanding leads to a beautiful love story between to great people that happened to be men.

Does gender really matter when you have sincere feelings for another human being? Of course not

[ao3feed-larry]

A Misunderstanding

by SpencerReidCentric

Words: 2748, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: One Direction (Band)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Zayn Malik, Lottie Tomlinson

Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Additional Tags: One Shot, Fluff and Smut, Mild Smut, Misunderstandings, Love Confessions, Alternate Universe - High School, One Direction One Shot, OH NO HARRY, lol

via AO3 works tagged 'Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson' https://ift.tt/I57iZMx

[chloeworships]

Let them go boo. God didn’t make you so you could be unappreciated. He wants you to experience real love and real friendships.

God loves you even when others do not.

PS. Anyone would be BLESSED to have such a thoughtful friend like you. You’re so sweet and kind and have a heart of GOLD. You’re God’s Daughter 👧🏾👧🏼

💐🥲

When I begin accepting friend applications again, make sure you apply 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

A blessing is coming. Wait for it ✨ In the mean time, pray to remove the spirit of rejection from your life. There are tons of prayers on YouTube if you need help.

It is time to say “NO” to anyone that doesn’t treat you like God’s Princess 👑 (or Prince). Enough is enough babes.

Now that I see the name Abigail here, Abigail had a greedy and cold hearted husband whom God replaced with David.

Abigail became David’s THIRD wife and the most intelligent of them all. David appreciated her for helping him avoid making a grave mistake that would have caused him to sin against God. He was so grateful for her wisdom that he asked her to marry him once she became a widow.

God rewarded her. This is what he will do for you.

Read 1 Samuel 25 for this beautiful account of David, Abigail and her miserable Husband. It’s one of my favourite 🥰

[africanmorning]

[oobbbear]

Please understand that when I say I grab you, I don’t mean grabbing your face or arm thats rude and creepy please don’t do that to anyone

When I say I grab you I’m saying it like I’m grabbing you like a potato. It’s my way of saying hey I appreciate and respect you let’s be friends

[i-talk-too-much]

A Misunderstanding (Part 1)

Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,945

Warnings: almost sexual assault, smut in later chapters, attempted robbery

A/N: this was requested! there will either be more than two parts, or just another part. only time will tell. hopefully y’all enjoy!

(Part 2)

Summary: You and Dick were childhood friends before you both drifted apart - him living with Bruce and you moving away. You are reunited after you move to Gotham and Nightwing saves you from a criminal.

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

16 Years Ago

You sat on the benches, jittering on the edge of your seat as you watched your friend, Dick, swing on the trapeze with the net set below him. You were always in awe when you watched him. The way he jumped and spun in the air made your eyes shimmer – his actions making him look free. The grin on his face expressed the joy and satisfaction he felt and you knew then that he belonged here, flying through the air. He was part of The Flying Graysons after all.

When Dick was finished practicing, he jumped off the ledge, landing atop the safety net. A giggle escaped his mouth when his body gently rocked up and down as the net settled. He always liked jumping into the net when he was done.

You bolted up and ran to him, wanting to help him out and praise him on the newest trick he learned. As he moved across the net, his hand found yours, holding onto it as he jumped down. Your hands remained intertwined as he stood next to you and you two began walking to the benches where Dick's water bottle and towel sat.

"Dickie, that was amazing!" You chattered excitedly. "The way you spun in the air was just…” Your sentence ended with a dreamy sigh, the hand holding his swinging energetically back and forth. He matched your energy and swung your hand with the same force.

"Thanks, I've been practicing that for weeks!" His face was almost animated – his cheeks a rosy pink and his eyes bright and lively. His smile was infectious – as it always was – and a smile quirked your lips involuntarily.

"I can't wait to see the show," you said, grinning. "I got tickets and everything! I'm going to come as early as I can to get the best seats." You remembered last year when you came late and had to sit in the back, too far to see Dick's face clearly. You pouted the entire time and he had to give you a hug after the show to cheer you up. 

A laugh bubbled on his lips at your words. 

"Yeah, you don't want to be stuck by the wall again, huh?" He dropped your hand once you reached the benches to pick up his bottle and took a big gulp, grateful for the cool liquid running down his throat. 

You picked up the towel and wiped his face once he put down the bottle. He closed his eyes and let you do so, moving his head to give you better access to his neck. You spoke. 

"Do you know what city you're going to next?" You weren't too curious, but you wanted to keep talking to fill the air. The acute awareness that he was leaving soon made your heart lurch. 

He always visited your city every year and stayed at most for two weeks. You had met him two years ago when your family took you to watch Haley's circus act after your incessant pleading. When your family stayed after the show to meet The Flying Graysons, you and Dick hit it off immediately – with the two of you being the same age. You hung out every day after that before he had to leave for the next city. Now, you visited him each day when he was in your area, cherishing every moment you spent together.

"I think it's Gotham City," he replied, a light note in his voice. "I've never been there before so I'm excited."

The anticipation he felt was clear, his hands curled into fists from the excitement as he brought them up to pump the air. You smiled a little at his enthusiasm but the feeling of sadness dampened the intensity of it. Your face visibly fell as the feeling became stronger. It was a few days before he had to leave. The circus typically left soon after the show was over.

Dick's grin quickly vanished when he noticed your expression, his hands immediately lowering and unfurling at his sides.

"What's wrong?" He asked, the worry evident in his tone. You didn't meet his eyes, your arms wrapped around yourself.

"I don't want you to leave already." Your words were quiet. Heat rose to your cheeks at having exposed your innermost thoughts. 

Dick surged forward and threw his arms around you, making you step back at the force of it. Your arms moved to circle around him, holding him tightly.

"I'll come back, Y/N. Don't worry," he said firmly. "I'll send you lots of postcards like I always do! I'll even add more pictures so you don't forget what I look like."

The last sentence made you giggle.

"I'll never forget what you look like, Dickie." You buried your face into his neck but pushed away from him when you felt his sweat touch your face. "Ewwww!"

Dick burst into laughter, doubling over when he saw the look of pure disgust on your features. You scrubbed at your face with your arms and huffed with embarrassment. 

"Sorry, sorry," he laughed, wiping away tears, and reached out to hold your hand, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. "I’m really gonna miss you."

Your cheeks heated once more and your fingers tightened around his own.

"I'll miss you a lot, too," you breathed out. "Promise me that you'll be okay. I don't want you falling and breaking your head." You accompanied your words with a furrow of your brows, trying to appear as stern as a nine-year-old could. 

"I promise," he drawled out, like a child listening to their parent repeat the same rule over and over again. At that, you grinned, satisfied with his response and tugged at his hand to follow you.

"Come on! I want to say bye to your parents before I go." You rushed to the back rooms with Dick in tow, him gaining speed and moving to pull you instead. 

Shortly after bidding the three of them farewell, you ran off home before your family would scold you for staying out too long. That night, you dreamt of a large open field, running after Dick while the two of you laughed joyfully.

Three days later, you watched Dick and his parents swing from one side of the center stage to the other. Their graceful jumps and twirls were always a wonder to behold. The gasps and the amazement from the audience made your heart swell – pride filled all of your being. When the entire show was over, you ran to Dick and swept him in a tight hug. A bad feeling was rushing over you, but you chalked it up to him having to leave, and nothing more. 

Had you known what was going to happen, you would’ve prolonged your time together – at least a little bit – and hugged his parents. They were always kind to you and gifted you candy when you visited their son. Instead, you left with little more than a goodbye and made your way home, already wishing the year passed quickly.

A few days after the circus crew packed up the tent and all their materials, Dick left your city, beginning his travel to Gotham. Not even a week had passed and your family unexpectedly told you the news that you will all move to another city in less than a week – where the pay was better. 

You started tearing up. You didn’t want to leave the place where you grew up or any of your friends. Your family comforted you. They told you that you’d easily make new friends – you had a bright and kind personality that made you get along effortlessly with others. 

It wasn’t until all your stuff was loaded into the car and you sat in the backseat, that you remembered Dick didn’t know you were moving. He had no way of knowing your new address and you couldn’t send him a letter – you didn’t know if they arrived at Gotham yet, or what address Haley’s Circus accepted letters from. You resigned yourself to the belief that Dick would one day visit your new city and the both of you would reunite. 

Of course, that never happened.

Dick’s parents were caught in a brutal accident while performing in Gotham, leading to Bruce Wayne taking him in as his ward. You cried when you heard the news – memories of his kind and loving parents made your chest hurt. You could only imagine how painful it was for him – they were his parents, after all.

Two months after the horrific tragedy, you gathered the courage to send him a letter. In it, you wrote all about how much you wanted to hold him, help him get through this. That you wanted to be by his side and show him he’s not alone. You added your address so he could send a message back and you eagerly waited, hoping to get the chance to see him one day.

Only, he never replied.

——

Present Day

You rushed home from Gotham University, making sure to the best of your abilities that you weren’t being followed by anyone suspicious. It was already past 10 o’clock at night, so you were being careful – Gotham was infamous for its ‘lively’ nightlife, after all. 

You had lost track of time in the library, studying for the final that was next week. If you passed this exam, you would be one step closer to receiving your graduate degree. You worked tirelessly for it. Having a part-time job to help pay for the tuition meant having less time for your classes, but you made do. At least the rent was cheap.

You decided to cut through an empty alleyway. Up ahead was your apartment building so you felt that the shortcut was worth it. The silent figure creeping up behind you, however, made you realize otherwise.

 You felt the cold blade of the knife at your neck before the sound of the person’s harsh voice. 

“Give me all your money, lady.” 

Your breath hitched, cold sweat beginning to drip down your back. You swallowed, feeling the knife shift from the movement.

“Okay,” you said, your voice shaky. “My wallet’s in m-my bag, so give me a second.”

“Hurry up.”

At that, your fingers moved to dig into your bag, your panic making you fumble more than you would’ve liked. More than he liked.

“Fucking hell, hurry up!”

You flinched at the bellow of his voice, the shake of your body growing more intense. Finally, you found your wallet and quickly held it out to the side of you for him to take. He roughly snatched it out of your hands and the knife shifted off your neck. His hands moved to open the wallet to check the contents, giving you the chance to rush forward and escape.

“Hey!” He yelled out. He quickly caught up to you and yanked on your hand to pull you backwards – the force so strong that it sent you tumbling onto the ground, your bag’s contents littering across the concrete. You yelped at the pain that spread through your hands and bottom. “Since when did I say you were free to go?”

He stood above you now, his looming figure more terrifying now that you were facing him. The cruel coldness was almost radiating off his being. An apathetic expression on his face was faintly visible in the dimly lit alleyway. 

“I-I gave you all my money! I don’t have anything else!” 

His lips curled up as his tongue jutted out to wet them – a disgusting grin that expressed just what he wanted of you. “You sure? I know something else you could give me.”

Your eyes widened and your breaths came out unevenly. This couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t–

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. A yell was almost bubbling in the back of your throat – you needed to scream out, get someone’s attention. Anyone’s attention. 

But before you could, the man standing in front of you was slammed into the wall – a pained ‘oof’ leaving his throat. The force of the collision was strong enough to knock him out, as was evident from his body remaining motionless on the floor. You didn’t dare move.

A man in a black and blue spandex suit crouched above him, checking his pulse, before he turned to you. You noticed the blue symbol on his chest, faintly registering it to belong to one of the vigilantes that worked with Batman. You stayed quiet, wanting to see what he would do next.

“Are you alright?” His voice was gentle and firm – fitting of a hero. You let out the breath you were holding and allowed yourself to move.

“No,” you replied honestly, your voice barely above a whisper. You attempted to stand up, but your legs couldn’t hold your weight with how much they trembled. You lurched to the side and your savior rushed forward, holding you up so you didn’t collapse onto the floor. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem.” He steadied you and let go once he was sure that you wouldn’t be meeting the ground anytime soon. His gaze dropped down and you followed, noticing all the stuff that splayed from your bag. 

You shot back down to the floor, hurriedly trying to gather all your things so you could finally escape the narrow alleyway. He knelt by you as well, moving to assist you. His fingers landed on your wallet and the fallen ID next to it, picking it up and reading the printed name.

“Y/N L/N?”

Your eyes moved away from your bag and to his face. His eyes were already on you, seemingly searching your features. “Yes?”

“Oh, uh,” he faltered, looking away. “That’s a nice name.” His voice sounded tense. 

Your brows furrowed. “Thank…you?” 

With that, he placed your ID into your wallet and handed it to you, your fingers brushing ever-so-slightly.

“Let me walk you home.” His voice almost sounded eager, but that couldn’t be right. Maybe he offered that for every person he saved?

“No, it’s okay,” you politely declined, adjusting your bag then pointing. “My apartment is right over there.”

He glanced in that direction but refocused his attention on you. Something in the way his body rigidly stood made it seem like he didn’t want to leave you be. Yet, he resignedly moved to the side.

“Right. I’ll let you be on your way, then,” he said, his voice adopting a casual tone. You made to walk past but stopped before leaving, turning towards him.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” You looked up at him, a small smile forming on your lips. “Thank you for saving me. If it wasn’t for you, he would’ve…” Your voice trailed off, the implication obvious from the previous situation. “Just, thank you.”

“Of course.” The corners of his lips tugged upwards, dimples forming on his cheeks. You returned with a grateful nod of your head, turning away and walking the short distance to your building. All the while, feeling his stare simmer on your back. 

Once inside your apartment, you dropped your bag onto the kitchen table, allowing the gravity of what almost transpired to wash over you.

You were almost sexually assaulted. If it wasn't for Nightwing swooping in and rendering the man unconscious, he would've forced you to do disgusting things. Your body shuddered at the thought. 

The relief that accompanied the dread in your being made you aware of the pain that coursed through you. Your hands stung from harshly scraping against the concrete floor when you were knocked over. You checked them, seeing dried and fresh blood seeping out of your wounds. This wasn't going to be fun, you thought.

You were right – sitting at the table with your first aid kit and painfully cleaning the bloody mess made you curse outward, almost yelling everytime the hydrogen peroxide touched your skin. After countless minutes of painstaking cleaning, your hands were bandaged and free from any risk of an infection. 

You yawned, glancing at the clock. 11:53 PM. Your day tomorrow was already shaping up to be hell. 

——

For the next few days, you had the unsettling feeling that you were being watched. 

After the incident with the mugger, you made sure to not stay out past sundown, but even so, you repeatedly felt eyes on you. Your gaze constantly darted to your surroundings, checking rooftops and alleyways. You were sure you looked insane, but with the resulting paranoia, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

It was four days later that you saw Nightwing again. You were sitting on your couch, working on an assignment when a knock sounded through the living room. Your brows furrowed. It didn’t seem like it came from your front door. 

The knock sounded again. This time, you realized it came from your window. Your body tensed, irrationally thinking it was that mugger from the other night. You slowly creeped your way to the window, pushing the curtains away and peering outside. You yelped and almost stumbled when you saw the face peering back.

Nightwing. What was he doing here? And how did he know which window was yours?

His lips were moving. Open the window, he mouthed. You scrambled to do so, lifting the window with great force.

“What are you doing here?” You couldn’t keep the bewilderment from your voice. The man was crouched on your fire escape, one hand resting on the railing. 

He hesitated, seemingly at a loss for words. Finally, he cleared his throat and opened his mouth, remembering what it was he came here for.

“I came to check up on you, make sure you were okay.” His tone was even, no hint of his inner thoughts. Your face was still scrunched in confusion. 

“Well,” you responded. “I’m doing perfectly fine. Besides my messed up hands, anyway.” He glanced when you displayed them, splaying your fingers to show the damage. “They’re not too bad now, though.”

You saw the twitch of his brow at the sight of your wounds. 

"You didn't tell me you were injured," he said, voice low.

You shrugged. “Didn't realize 'til I got home." 

His mouth tightened slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. You were shocked to realize you were staring at his lips so much to even notice.

“Can I take a look at your hands? To make sure that they’re healing okay.” His hand gestures conveyed that he wanted to do so inside your apartment, where the lighting was much better.

Analyzing his facial expression for a moment, you recognized the obvious signs of concern. You thought it over, thinking that if he wanted to hurt you he would’ve done so already. That idea sent you nodding before you even realized, opening your mouth to accept his request. “Okay.”

You stepped aside and he pushed open the window further, allowing himself to crawl through. His feet softly thudded against your wooden floors. He hummed appreciatively as he surveyed your apartment. “Nice place. Cozy.”

You snorted. “Thanks, I made sure to make it look nice. Just for you,” you joked, the sarcasm thick in your voice. “Do you want to sit on the couch?”

He moved to the couch instead of answering, taking a seat on one end and looking at you expectedly – so you did the same. When you settled into the spot next to him, he took your hand gently and lifted it palms up. His fingers deftly undid the bandage that wrapped around it and his eyes expertly analyzed the wound. While he was occupied, you took that moment to observe his features. 

His hair was dark, nearly black. The wavy strands looked silky and you almost wanted to glide your other hand through them. From his hair, your eyes traveled to his face. The mask that adorned it left his nose and mouth free, allowing you to admire the shape of his lips. They didn’t look dry, a trait that made you quirk your head internally. You thought the cold air blowing on them constantly would’ve dried them out. 

A gentle poke on your palm pulled your attention away from his face. His finger traced the edges of the wound, the sensation making you want to scratch at it. What was he doing? 

Your question still wasn’t answered when he looked up, your eyes locking. He gazed at you silently and you continued your previous observation, this time with his face now towards you. His jawline was sharp, the shape attractively masculine. 

You couldn’t put a finger on it, but there was something about him that made you feel like you knew him already. The way he carried himself, the way he spoke – it all felt familiar. Like it was on the tip of your tongue. Before you could voice your thoughts, he spoke.

“It looks good. No sign of an infection.” His tone was quiet, calm. He skillfully rewrapped your palm and you took your hand back, now feeling awkward in the silence that ensued. You wanted to ask him if you met him before, but every time you opened your mouth, you couldn’t figure out how to word it properly and ended up shutting your mouth. Finally, you decided to just ask him outright.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Your words were accompanied by the quirk of your brow and tilting yourself closer to him. He shifted in his seat, slightly angling his body away from you, seemingly surprised by the question. 

“What makes you say that?” He sounded casual, purposefully relaxing his body to portray an air of calm. It bothered you that you could read him so easily. You shouldn’t be able to read him so easily. 

“I don’t know – there’s just something about you. It’s like I met you before.” 

The corner of his mouth lifted, an almost cocky smile gracing his face. But it felt wrong. “Maybe you’ve just seen my face on the papers. I am a superhero, you know.”

You pursed your lips into a hard line, unimpressed by his pseudo arrogance. 

“That. That right there.” You pointed your finger at him. “I can tell you’re faking that.” A snort left his lips and you scoffed, realizing where his mind went. “You know what I mean.”

He lifted his hands up in mock-resignation and stood up, pacing towards the window. “And I stand by what I said. Maybe you’ve just seen my face one too many times on the internet.” He turned towards you. “And now that you've seen me in person, it feels like you’ve met me before,” he said, shrugging.

You didn’t agree with his logic, but you didn’t want to keep discussing it if he was so eager to avoid the question. You got up from the couch and made your way over to the window, lifting it up for the man in front of you.

“If you say so,” you mumble. He climbed through and turned back around once he was fully on the fire escape. 

“Goodnight, Y/N. Try not to stay out so late again, alright?” He didn’t wait for a response before he shot out his grappling hook and lept off, swinging into the city.

“Goodnight,” you whispered into the chilled air. You shut the window before going back to your discarded laptop. The assignment that was due this week seemed so miniscule when superheroes existed. You sunk back into the couch and resumed what you were doing before Nightwing arrived. Your head fell backwards when your mind couldn’t focus, only thoughts of him filling your brain. This was going to be a long night.

[bastardlybonkers]

i feel like not enough ppl are factoring in the cultural clash between laios and shuro and the many micro agressions shuro faced while being in their group. literally the name 'shuro' in itself is one

his name is toshiro 😭 lets also not forget that he has his own communication issues, in the opposite way that laios does- thats literally a factor in their argument, that his envy for laios's ability to express himself sincerely manifested as part of his distaste for him.

ig all this to say like, was their fight heart wrenching, especially when reading laios as autistic? absolutely. anybody whos ever been in laios's position knows how much it hurts to realize someone you thought was your friend doesnt actually like having you around, especially when they didnt tell you and you had no way of knowing due to not understanding their cues. but im begging yall to step back and see the nuance of this situation cause im gonna be real a lot of you are kinda just brushing over it acting like everything is toshiros fault and that hes a terrible person when in reality hes an average guy who really, really clashed with laios and it led to a very long misunderstanding due to their supremely opposite methods of communication. even laios and toshiro, after letting everything out in their fight, were able to come to an understanding and start a foundation for an actual friendship built on better communication

ok yknow what Edit: i shouldve made it even more explicit at the end of this post, i hadnt thought i would need to since i started the post with this, but i think a few too many people are missing my point so i just wanna clarify. i shouldnt have said 'really clashed' and left it at that because yeah they did, but it wasnt just their opposite methods of communication, it is also very much that toshiro was experiencing microaggressions via laios. it may have been unintentional on laios's part, but it still happened and wore him down, made it harder for him to communicate on top of both the more subtle social cues that he was raised with and his own communication difficulties. i also want to say that the fandom reaction to toshiro and the complete ignorance of this point is also racist tbh or at the very least ignorant. i understand that the anime did not cover this panel, and neither did the manga, as this was an omake, but im gonna be real with you guys. there are enough context clues within the story to clue you into this. if you didnt pick up on it thats ok, but i think this is a good lesson in picking up subtext in the stories that youre watching and/or reading. kui shouldnt have to explicitly say 'by the way laios was racist to toshiro' for this point to be understood, and at the very least, when the author portrays a character in a sympathetic light (as kui clearly does) it should make you question Why they are doing so and what makes them sympathetic, rather than youre immediate and only reaction to be 'well i hated what this guy did/said so i hate them and they suck'. idk exactly how to finish this, just. idk. question your biases and gut reactions to things you see in media and stories, and think about whether or not theres subtext that youre missing.

[ridaine]

A serious misunderstanding took place, but they're getting married now so it all worked out?

[dclovesdanny]

DcxDp prompt

Teen dad Danny Fenton moving into Crime Alley and getting a reputation for helping. Street kids willing to babysit Ellie and Dan while he’s job hunting can spend the night, have a meal, get cash, whichever they choose. Sec workers who do Ellie’s hair/nails/babysit some nights also get the same benefits. He will treat anyone with injuries for the low price of showing Ellie and Dan their guns/taking them to the observatory/getting him job opportunities.

All of the people in Crime Alley know the single meta dad with two kids, who has helped half the alley at least. Everyone is also aware of how Ellie calls her other parent ‘The Bastard’, and how bad their nightmares are, the ones they have to call Danny for(A few of his repeat guests have seen the scars and burns on his arms. Some of the older street kids recognize that hunted look he gets when people touch him when he doesn’t know they are there. Some of the sec workers notice how protective he is of his kids, and the younger workers. No matter who they are, they all notice how Dan gets quiet and angry when asked about his ‘other dad’. They all have sworn never to let those kids go back to the other dad, Danny included. They are a part of Crime Alley now, and they protect their own)

Danny doesn’t realize how far his reputation goes/how much everyone trusts him until two of his regulars bring in an injured Red Hood, promising him whatever he wants in exchange for him helping their boss.

[honorhearted]

@timeguardians | continued from (x)

Ben's brow creased, his eyes appraising her skeptically. "Perhaps nothing in quite such vivid detail, but yes," he allowed. "When I am told I must make an effort, I expect the same to be done for me in return."

“And you are quite sure that I am not the ambassador selected for this mission?”

Ben grinned at that, a soft chuckle rumbling low in his throat. But once it became evident that this woman was not joking, his smile wiped clean and he straightened, looking her over with growing bafflement. "Of course I'm sure," he replied. "Tactical plans are not fit for a woman, nor is the fairer s.ex welcome to discuss strategy. It just isn't done."

Her request for tea brought a raised eyebrow, though not one borne of ill will. "We have liberty tea," Ben offered, "though I'll be the first to admit it's godawful...unless you have an affinity for boiled water and sweet goldenrod, of course. We only include raspberry if it's on hand."

When she accepted the offer of coffee, he nodded and turned to lead her farther into camp. "Can you at least share with me your name?" he asked. "If you truly are the ambassador, would I not have already heard it?"

“My time is only wasted if you refuse to yield favorable results.”

He snorted at that, resisting an eyeroll. God, she sounded just like Anna... What was with the fairer s.ex and believing they knew how to better handle his job?

"Likewise, madam," Ben muttered. "But then, I suppose that depends entirely upon what you're proposing."