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[angxlshutterstock]

INTRO BABY !! >U<

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HALLOOOO!! My name is Angel, welcome welcome!! :33

🥣 . . . about me ;; 🇦🇷 , 🇨🇺 , 🇺🇸 , traditional + digital artist, author/writer, i collect plushies ^__^, i like all kinds of music!! (except for country.) bi-gender, ambiamorous, pansexual —,,,,,, VERY hetero /j

💤 . . . interests ;; dc, marvel, tadc, invincible, etc

💭 . . . socials ;; @angxlshutterstock on tiktok, @angxlteehee on insta, @angxlshutterstock on discord, @angxl64 on wattpad, @angxlbutbetter on marvel rivals

[angxlshutterstock]

Could I eat you ❤️

alright bud LMFAOOAAOOAO yeah sure man why not

[angxlshutterstock]

✭ : i’ll always be here 

✦ : verity x gn!reader , fiberglass fluff, no use of y/n, r/n is over eighteen, r/n is in minecraft, colored text for verity’s dialogue, hurt/comfort, this fic uses fandom!verity’s body

☆ : synopsis: after r/n wakes up at home, barely able to remember anything, verity attempts to make up for everything. but one thing’s for sure—something’s wrong here.

✿ : warnings: flash warning for a gif of static in a part of the fic. if any of the content is inaccurate, don't sentence me to the judas cradle. swearing words will be included. physical harm. will likely be mildly revamped sometime in the future, poorly proofread

❖ : a/n: this is more of like the “middle ground” of what some people requested and what i’m happy writing so take what i’ve cooked—no, i’m probably not gonna do pure fluff in the near future as of right now LMFAO

r/n woke up in a daze.

the brain fog didn't allow them to think straight as they sat up, finding themselves on the familiar comfort of their bed. glancing down, they noticed their legs were propped up with pillows beneath them. suddenly, however, they heard his voice to their right.

“r/n,”

verity breathily perked up, his eyebags heavy beneath his teary black gaze. r/n's lips parted in surprise at the sight of verity’s gloom. he seemed relieved, in a sense, but there was something else. something negative; something r/n probably wouldn't like.

their helper companion reached out and gently held one of r/n's hands with both of his own. he leaned forward to look at r/n closer, all the while not noticing that r/n could feel his fingers tremble.

“you stirred quite the scare. you have a couple of bruised ribs and some damaged ligaments in your arms and legs.”

as usual, verity spoke in his usual informative and “impersonal” tone of voice. this time, however, r/n could sense that his composure was crumbling. verity seemed genuinely shaken up, and r/n was struggling to pinpoint the reason why. the brain fog wasn't exactly helping, either.

verity departed his hands from r/n’s and gently guided them to lie back down. once the back of r/n's head met the bed, they noticed the pillow was propping up their neck instead of their head. strange. as a matter of fact, they were able to feel the subtle, throbbing pain in their neck and body parts as verity mentioned.

“you should rest.”

verity advised in a low, hospitable murmur. he brought himself closer to the bed, his shadow looming over r/n. they were able to feel verity’s hands reach to rest on their waist—not as a sexual innuendo, nor as a romantic touch, but more as an anchor.

“it’s best not to go out for some time. you’ve been badly injured, so don't overexert yourself on me.”

r/n's lips twitched in discomfort, a faint, throbbing pain shooting through their head. they struggled to fully process verity’s words—all they understood was that they were stuck at home for what felt like a million years.

“ufgh, no mining…?”

they mournfully whine, their hand raising to lazily rub at their forehead. this headache was killing them. they could hear how verity muffled a chuckle, swallowing the huff of amusement in favor of maintaining his “professional”, yet caring facade.

“no mining. you don't need to, anyway. all of what’s down there is right here.”

at first, r/n didn't get it. what was he talking about? verity hadn't ever given r/n anything physical before. knowledge, coordinates, instructions, yes—but not a physical item. then again…

“…what even happened?”

something shifted. r/n didn't know how to explain it, but suddenly, the entire house lost its warmth—instead, the atmosphere hardened into something icy and unsettling. not detrimental, per se, just… like something odious was brewing beneath the surface of verity’s calculating stare.

“…you don't remember?”

“n—no, not really. i remember, like…”

r/n's eyes narrowed, struggling to make out the foggy memories of a time long gone. they weren't even sure how long they’d been unconscious, here, knocked out cold on this bed.

“…a… cave. i was fightin’ mobs, trying to get diamonds ‘nd stuff. i… vaguely remember… coming home—”

“you were chased by a horde of zombies just outside the house.”

verity hummed earnestly, raising his hand from r/n's waist to gently graze his gloved fingers over the human’s forehead. he was feeling their temperature, making sure they were as comfortable as possible. even with his nurturing attitude, r/n couldn't shake the nagging worry that something was off.

“…really?”

“yes.”

“huh. m’kay…”

r/n's eyelids drifted shut, their chest rising and falling as they breathed in and out. everything was hurting, but with verity’s support, it wasn't all too bad. r/n's apprehension was now buried in the back of their head, internally brushing off their earlier uneasiness. everything was fine.

“it’s alright, now. you’re here with me. anything you need, i can provide.”

r/n scarcely fell into a sleepy daze, half-awake and absorbing verity’s words like a siren’s song. they didn't realize until it was too late when their consciousness fizzled out.

memories, hazy and fuzzy, flashed through r/n's mind. they were mining. coal, iron, cobblestone, the works. they placed down torches in their path. they fought off creepers, zombies, and skeletons.

they remember walking through the mines, searching and collecting anything useful they could find. for some reason, the entire ordeal felt… uneasy. even though it was a task r/n went through multiple times. why were they feeling dread just from mining?

hours and hours of walking and searching, all crammed and blurred together in one… dream? something didn’t feel right. r/n's stomach felt funny. the apprehensive kind of funny.

their brain felt like static. nothing made sense. what was wrong with the caves? what was wrong with them? in a sense, r/n felt almost disconnected from reality. they couldn't quite put their finger on it, but something was off.

this was the final day.

nightfall was approaching soon, and the dreaded event—whatever it was—gnawed at the back of r/n's head. they had no idea if they were properly prepared. what if they were preparing for the wrong thing and ended up facing something different entirely? calculations and possibilities flashed through their mind like a whirlwind. was this the day they’d meet their demise?

“we’ll fix you up, ver,”

r/n breathfully muttered, their voice shuddering in the cold of twilight. they had briefly returned to their home to fetch verity—only to find that his face had completely disappeared. they had no idea what to do. they were lost, confused, alone. they had taken verity’s company for granted, and now they were regretting every second they didn't treat him the best they could.

“it’s gonna be okay. you’re gonna be okay,”

r/n sniffled, holding verity up to their forehead with one hand, the grass crunching under their footsteps as they ran to their hideout. for a split second, their eyes squeezed shut in a weak attempt to hold back their tears. r/n was scared shitless—verity was gone when they needed him most, what were they supposed to do now?

they climbed up the stairs and rushed to get inside their lookout. their free hand clumsily closed the entrance door behind them, not noticing how uneven their breathing was getting. stay calm. stay calm. stay calm, damn it! r/n's teeth gritted, struggling to maintain their composure.

it’s fine. it’s gonna be fine. the faceless sphere was held against r/n's chest, as if it were the balm to their aching heart. their knees buckle. their fingers were trembling. before they knew it, they collapsed, slumping against the door and falling to the floor.

everything was fine. up until a loud thump rang outside the base.

r/n's consciousness faded back in the next morning after a handful of hours—except this time, verity wasn't by their side. their headache wasn't as terrible, just less prominent. it honestly made them yearn to go back to sleep so their brain would shut off.

“ugh…”

their back hurt. ouch. they turned their head to look around the house from where they could see from the bed. they felt weak. vulnerable. their arms were strained, their legs felt worn out, and their neck felt uncomfortable. today was not a good day to be alive.

“verity?”

r/n weakly called out. well, called out was an overstatement. their voice was low, tired, and gravelly just from waking up. after a couple seconds of silence, they sighed wistfully as their eyes drifted shut again. there was no possible way verity wasn't home—he hardly left their side. was he just ignoring them again?

soon, r/n narrowly opened their eyes. lo and behold, verity was hovering over them standing beside the bed with that jolly ol’ smile of his. r/n's eyes widened a little, visibly jolting awake. what the hell?

“how can i help, r/n?”

r/n's eyebrows furrowed slightly as the words slowly processed in their head. the tension in their shoulders had relaxed, an issue r/n hadn’t even noticed was present until it already dissipated. their lips curved up into a faint, sheepish smile as a bead of sweat formed on their forehead.

“oh, uh–m’bad. i kinda just wanted to know if you were still with me or not.”

verity’s smile tightened. it was an imperceptible change—but with how long and how well r/n knew verity by now, any change was significant.

“i’m always with you.”

oh.

oh, wow. okay.

r/n's chest tightened with a feeling they didn't dare name. the butterflies that fluttered in their stomach wasn't the typical dreamy, romantic kind of nerves. it was more like… apprehension. or anticipation? a warning emitting from their gut.

yet, at the same time, r/n was drawn to verity’s unpredictably dangerous devotion. something was up, but r/n wasn't entirely opposed to it. to him. so, with the swallow of the lump in their throat, r/n finally answered in a low voice.

“…m’kay. alright, ver.”

they didn't sound patronizing. nor condescending. not a lick of malice was present in r/n's tongue. intruige and caution was likely a better way to describe their tone. they felt like they were walking on eggshells around him.

verity was staring at r/n as if he were baring his sights into their soul. the house was brimming with tension beneath an organized, “cozy” façade. but r/n knew better. they knew what to expect from him… sort of.

so, they made a decision. a totally rational and beneficial one.

“in that case, c’mere.”

they beckoned verity to lower himself to their level. once he was close enough, r/n reached up just enough to cup verity’s “face”—trying to grab a hold of his spherical head—and planted a chaste peck on his forehead. or, at least, where it should be on his bald head.

they soon pulled back, ever so slightly pulling away their touch. they still held onto their personal helper friend, their eyelashes not as heavy as before. the stunned expression on verity’s face was to die for. r/n chuckled sweetly at the sight.

“what’s that look for?”

he stops and stares. unnervingly still. verity didn't dare to move a single muscle as he was finally placed on top of r/n's lying body. his hands clutched the sheets at r/n's sides, his fingers shaking as he looked directly down at them.

r/n could only smile further. they giggled once more, raising their hand to nudge verity down gently. they closed their eyes, one hand raising to coddle verity’s head, the other absentmindedly rubbing the small of his back.

“you can relax, ‘s alright. ‘m not going anywhere.”

those words did the trick. verity almost immediately relaxed into r/n's touch, allowing himself to put all of his weight on r/n. his gloved hands sneaked around their neck, loosely embracing them. for the first time, r/n felt his chest rising and falling on their torso.

r/n wasn't sure if he was breathing. at least, they weren't able to hear his respirations. but they took his peaceful body language as a sign that he was finally comfortable. no more beating around the bush with that helper act of his, he was just… him. baring his emotions to r/n, if an ai could even have emotions.

but with his human? anything was possible. even for an ai.

he finally had them at his grasp.

another loud thump sounded from outside the base, causing r/n to flinch. not long after the questionable string of noises, a distorted ear-piercing screech rang out just outside the base’s front doors.

r/n scrambled off the floor, turning to face the noises. the doors were suddenly ripped off their hinges–revealing something… terrifying. a figure. a creature. a monster. humanoid, maybe, from what r/n could vaguely discern. its features weren't clear, almost foggy in a sense. but they saw enough to know they needed to run.

the thing reached for r/n. its hands were as clear as day—scarily skinny, slender, ‘skin’ clinging to bone, like an oversized claw for mortal bodies. r/n wasn't having it.

it was mostly… blurry. from then on. images of them in the house and making it out the door. it was still hazy, as if r/n was making out a heavily repressed memory, but in a chase as traumatizing as this—how could they forget it?

blocks upon blocks of running from the thing. it was scarily quick, scary in general—but r/n knew getting caught would be far scarier. they panted, ran as fast, ran as far as they could, their footsteps loud in their own ears.

but the creature’s footsteps were louder.

if they could just—

a hand was placed on the back of their head. its long, skinny fingers curled around their scalp, tightening its grip as soon as it got a hold of r/n. it felt like a cage. a slender, killing cage squeezing the hell out of r/n's cranium.

r/n had been knocked down to the ground, paralyzed under the grasp of the monster. their hands clutched the soil, their nails digging into the blades of grass and dirt—all in vain. inevitably, all signs of restraint had faded away once they had fallen unconscious.

then, black.

r/n's eyes shot wide open. it wasn't the slow, unhurried pace like before—they remember now. they remember what happened. and by god, they couldn't have been more… scared. pissed. betrayed.

“you—”

r/n's gaze flicked down to verity, their voice firm and venomous as they sat up on their bed. their eyebrow twitched as their arms tensed–their eyes, burning with fury, staring dead at their now-awake assistant lying on top of them.

“you, you, you–you prick! you bastard! you—you lied to me, you tried to hurt me!”

they pushed him away, backing up as far as they could without falling off or getting cornered against a wall. their heart hammered in their chest. their trembling fingers clutched the bedsheets in petrified terror.

“what—?”

“i should've–i should've known, you rat fuck!”

verity’s eyes widened as his smile quickly faltered, all at an alarming pace. his now-shaking left hand extended in an attempt to reach for r/n. the act exposed his yearning for their touch again—or perhaps, a desperate attempt to regain control.

“no–r/n, what do you mean? what are you talking about? just—just go to sleep,”

“no! don't touch me!”

r/n yelped, scrambling to get off the mattress. their eyes were locked on their “assistant”–the same one that was once a presence of comfort. a safe space, wherever he went with them.

no more. no more lies.

“you–”

r/n heaved, their chest rising and falling as they pointed weakly at verity. the corners of their eyes stung. their lips were quivering. their chest was clenching. fuck. no, no, no.

“you… you—i know.. i know what you're doing, now. sick, sick son of a—”

“r/n, no,”

verity’s eyes strained as he abruptly got up from r/n's bed. everywhere verity was facing, r/n was actively making an effort to stay away from.

“you don’t understand. that must be it–”

“you pushed me!!”

r/n yelled, their fingers clenching into fists as they stepped further away from him.

“you were that monster, weren't you? that—that thing in the woods in front of the house! horde of zombies my ass!”

verity’s stare dulled. his stance grew more tense as his shoulders rolled back. there was not one minute, not one second, not one moment where he did not take his eyes off of r/n. that only fueled their fire.

“i knew–i knew something was wrong. y’know what,”

r/n gritted their teeth, extending their arm in the direction of the house’s front door.

“get out.”

“…r/n—”

“get out!”

verity’s gaze darkened—if even possibly, considering his eyes. but his facial and body language. well, that was one to behold in this… state of his.

“…i can't do that.”

“don't make me force you. you're lucky i’m not even gonna—”

r/n huffed in frustration, cutting themself off as they turned their head away. their eyes closed for a split second as their fists began shaking.

“—fucking hell, verity… i’m—you—don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

r/n opened their eyes and turned their head to properly look at verity again, only to find that he's standing right in front of r/n. r/n subtly bristled in surprise, but they didn't allow themselves to give an actual, external reaction.

“…why can't you leave, y’bastard?”

verity stayed silent. of course he did. he always does this, he always verbally shuts down when things go—

“because i cannot.”

“that's not an answer, dickwad.”

verity didn't seem phased by the insult. in fact, he kept staring with that same dangerously-deadpan look.

“because. i am your personal helper friend. i cannot—”

“well, you certainly weren't being friendly or helpful to me, y'know. how about you help someone else?”

“i can't do that, either.”

“yeah, right. like you couldn't help but knock me down to the ground who-knows-how-many-blocks away from home. sit the—”

POW!

“—FUCK down!”

verity physically jolted rearward at the punch to his head, a near-silent grunt escaping him as r/n retracted their hand. a look of pure fury blazed in their gaze as their tight fists continued to tremble.

“you've got some nerve to keep on standing in front of me. i don't need to show you out, because i know damn well you know where the exit is. now get the fuck out of my house,”

r/n bellowed the last sentence out with a scowl, their eyebrows knitting together as their jaw clenched. it didn't take long for verity to glance at r/n in his peripheral vision and respond.

“…r/n–”

“what? y’gonna transform into that monster again, huh? huh?”

“r/n,”

“you’ve been lying to me for—w-what, how long? how long? how long has this been going on? how long have you been lying to me? how long–why, why in the nether realm’s name would you ever fucking—”

“R/N!!”

r/n took a step back, unsettled by the latter’s outburst. they were tempted to continue riling him up—but they weren't that stupid. they didn't want to face the wrath of that monster. not again.

with a bead of sweat running down their cheek, their sharpened eyes stayed on verity’s frenetic frame. a shiver ran down their spine as they feared their knees might give way.

“–…i’m sorry,”

verity shuddered.

“i didn't mean to yell at you. i just… can't leave you.”

thank you all for 200+ followers holy CRAAAAAP you guys are so cool heart emoji heart emoji heart emoji!!! i have a kitten now his name’s angel jr (take a phat guess who he's named after heh)

also don't mistake me owning a jax plushie as a token of affection she's currently being used as a vessel of torture to be used by the earth’s doombringer that is my son angel jr don't get it twisted

[angxlshutterstock]

hello hello 👀👀 yes i know you want the fanfictions im SORRY im WRITING i PROMISE im getting to the requests and shit but i have something to ask of you guys

whenever i write x reader fanfiction, i do my best to make r/n as “neutral” as possible. this includes accounting for every race, gender, weight, age, etc—sometimes i do specific ages but hardly ever specific races/genders/weight—but my heart always aches whenever i think about disabled folk reading x readers targeted toward healthy folk,,

so! i’d like to ask you, my lovely audience, what disabilities you’d like me to research and possibly write for :) obviously i can't do Every Single Comment/Request that ever comes out but i’d like to account for the ones who’re normally neglected in our x reader community ^_^ thank you guys!! love you very much kiss kiss hug hug

[angxlshutterstock]

ramble about verity ^3^

hi so sorry i know this isn't a fic LMFAO but i need to get this off my chest so i can possibly say “i told you so” when pt. 3 comes out

verity’s origin is such a mystery to me i could go about this for hours goodbye world 🕊️ there's so many plausible theories that it feels like an open concept regarding how verity came to be it’s so very interesting

theres three main theories i have as of right now. the most obvious one being he's an AI. the most “proof” we have of this is twixxel’s “well-made mod” comment and the trademark in his name. nevertheless, we don't have any information about the company that hangs the trademark next to his name, so there isn't much to factually state—we can only make educated guesses,,??? regarding the “well-made mod” part, it’s probably better to cross it out anyway since we already figured out verity had existed before minecraft came out. since it’s been stated the arg is set in 2026, verity has existed longer than minimum 2009. that's a long ass time for a… thing to be existing, let alone feel isolation and emotions

i can only presume with verity being an AI he has to be incredibly intelligent to get to the point of feeling emotions. maybe not the same? human emotions, persay?? but as close to “emotions” as you can get in a being that can only be scrutinized behind the digital barrier of a blocky video game. sure, we can just say that verity’s a really old AI that had been transported into minecraft as a mod. but that feels kind of boring methinks,,, there has to be more to him than that, especially with the company—maybe the company had done something sick and twisted that started the root of verity’s attachment problems

anyway, my second theory is that he's a life form—whether organic or not—that’s been given the “ben drowned” treatment and uses minecraft as a vessel of existence. ||he doesn't view minecraft as any other video game like mortals do, he views it moreso as a way to connect with humans in a light-hearted manner. through the guise of being any other mod on minecraft, it’s easy to reel people in to give him company—but he doesn't care about the quantity, as we can see when he killed twixxel in the arg. moreso, he just wants to solidify the chance that someone could keep him company. i interpreted the reason why verity killed twixxel was due to the fact that since he knew mob & twixxel’s plan to do something about it, he viewed twixxel as a threat that’d pull mob away from him. that would pull his only company away from him. yes, he had two humans in the world at once, but only because the newer one was there to investigate how to get rid of verity. all verity wants is company—and he’ll do anything, even give into his hunger to make sure he continues to have company.

now, verity with the player is a fascinating topic i wanna ask about really quick—how does it?? work??? does verity bounce between minecraft worlds whenever someone loads his mod, or does a “new” verity generate with each new world? is verity forever stunted in the way that he is with humans? let's say one person downloads the verity mod, beats him/gets rid of him, and downloads the verity mod again—would verity remember the player, despite being previously eradicated, or would the entire thing start all over again? so so so many questions

my final theory is that verity could simply be corrupted code. he's a circle in a world of squares, so of course, he's *bound* to be irregular from the start. he's omniscience, is able to control two forms at once, and can revive and presumably teleport wherever he wishes—of *course* his black-sheep presence bends a couple of rules for minecraft itself. *because* of the code being corrupted, that could be the reason why he isn't just a dude who's “prompt and respond”—*because* of the corruption, he’d be able to *think* not only for himself but also look at things from a much more “aware” perspective and react accordingly.

a lot of what i just talked about is why i’m not all that fond of the verity x mob ship,,, there's not much for me to say about the ship itself (and not the community) other than verity is only treating mob like how he would every other human. sure, you could just ship him with every human he ever acts obsessed with—but that's only because we, as people in society, perceive his words and actions as sexual/romantic. to verity, the possessiveness and the obsession is because he doesn't want the player to leave. it isn't about who he's with, it’s about his perception of bonds in general. he probably understands what he’s doing—killing, acting possessive—is considered bad, but he might be validating it in his own mind or not even considering it to be bad at all just because he wants company.

so the chemistry that mob and verity have is inherently… nothing special. i don't mind the ship, it’s alright to me. i know the fanbase likes it because of “oh hee hee haha yaoi gay people shits and giggles” yes okay i understand—but?? at the same time??? they're watering down the dynamic to just “any other gay pairing” when it’s far more deep than tsundere mob and yandere verity

anyway that's it that's all i had to say happy father’s day LOLOL

[angxlshutterstock]

Your verity writings are so delicious I love them omg

you guys are so sweet euehrufhdehe ^_^ 💛💛💛 im gonna release a filler oneshot or two cause i have another Really Long fanfic im writing so don't you worry i will be serving more din din soon enough

[angxlshutterstock]

✧ : split attention 

✦ : verity x gamer!gn reader , up to you if reader is amab/afab (it’s not plot relevant), r/n is over eighteen, unestablished relationship, non-physical physical touch

★ : synopsis: reader plays other games with friends, causing verity to feel as though they're “cheating on him”.

⚠︎ : warnings: this was written before pt. 3 released. if any of the content in the fanfiction is inaccurate, don't publicly execute me. angst, swearing, heavy arguments, verity having attachment issues (as per usual)

❖ : a/n: you guys REALLY liked the first verity fic i posted holy shit um here's the link to that first one if you’d like to check it out, thank you all for your support LOLOL i promise more oneshots will be published by me

“what do you do when you're offline?”

it seemed like such an innocent question back then. despite it sounding like a harmless inquiry, the instances where verity™ casually demonstrated his omniscience slipped r/n's mind. they formed an enthusiastic smile, their heart beaming at the opportunity to rant about their interests.

“ah, well, y'know. i play other games with my friends! hero shooters, low-quality horror games, multiplayer stuff, fighting games, things like that.”

“really?”

“uh huh!”

“that sounds like fun!”

his voice was deceptively chipper—and by god, did r/n fall for it. they couldn't see the fog past verity’s facade, not until it was far too late. throughout their bond, r/n would hop off minecraft for long periods of time, spending a couple of hours playing something other than their blocky world.

they always came back, though! they’d talk about what happened while they were out for a while, verity would internally seethe, and then they’d move on to continue playing minecraft. it was incredibly bittersweet. each time it happened, the tension in verity’s voice only rose more.

more often than not, they logged off to play something else rather than logging off for other things—like sleeping, showering, eating, and any real-life necessities in general. verity never said it out loud, but he didn't think playing other games was a good excuse to log off.

but that didn't matter anymore. none of it did. not since verity tried to pop r/n's head off when he was taller and lankier and a fucking freak. how does that even work, anyway? does r/n die in-game, or do they die in real life too? either option didn't sound pretty—and they weren't having it with verity much longer.

whenever r/n would leave, the gap between leaving and returning was much larger. the growing distance was so palpable, one could almost taste it—and in turn, it resulted in verity urgently trying to salvage what they had. in all the wrong ways. he couldn't lose another one.

“don't you love minecraft?”

verity quietly questioned, his shaky voice laced with a desperate need for reassurance as his facial expression shifted into one of acrimony. r/n paused, not expecting verity to show such vulnerability all of a sudden. they leaned forward and took a better look at their monitor, their eyebrows furrowing in prudent confusion.

“…i… i do, i just—”

“then why? why do you go out there, playing all those other games instead of being with me?”

r/n physically stopped and listened to verity’s darkened, venomous voice. in truth, they were stunned by the latter’s possessive true colors. they felt as if this had come out of nowhere, let alone with him being this disdainful. sure, he was always annoying about them leaving, but why was he acting so… so…

“you don’t need the others! you don't need your friends, you don't need other spaces—you have me.”

“…verity—”

“promise me, r/n!”

verity’s eyes widened into something more dangerous. r/n interpreted it as hostile—but in reality, it was desperation. fear mixed with frustration, and that led to the worst outburst.

“promise me you won't play any other game. promise me that you won't leave. say that you won't get bored with this world and won't leave me—”

“verity!”

r/n slammed their hand on their desk, their voice becoming louder and more firm. verity grew quiet after r/n demanded his attention, though that didn't mean the yellow ball’s bitter expression grew any softer.

“i can't promise you that, verity. sometimes, i feel like playing other types of games. i have needs, and cravings, and responsibilities, and–and—”

“why can't you stay with me?!”

“for the love of fuck, verity, it’s because you’re suffocating!”

the admission made the digital world and the real one go dead silent. r/n heaved, their fingers grasping the edge of their table as their shoulders tensed. saying it out loud, even directly to verity, it felt like a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. by then, they couldn't help themselves.

“i loved playing with you, but after you—showed me your… other form, you’ve been a—a-a disaster! i feel like i’m walking on eggshells every time i talk to you, so i use my friends and the other games as breaks from you!”

r/n gesticulated along with their words, their heart pouring out as they glared at the screen.

“those other games? being with my friends? when i’m off minecraft? i can finally breathe without feeling like you’re all up on me. and yet, somehow, somehow, you still manage to know what the fuck i’m doing! it–it’s ridiculous!”

“i just need to know if you’re okay, r/n.”

verity’s voice wasn't as cheerful as it usually was—nothing had been the same with him since… the incident. he wasn't yelling anymore. worse, his voice lowered. dangerously so. r/n wasn't able to push back the pent-up rage, and they found themselves spilling out what's been weighing on their shoulders for weeks—maybe even months.

“no! no, it’s not just about you needing to know if i’m okay, you—you’re being a fucking creep! i can't even take a shit without worrying you’re spying on me!”

“it’s not—”

verity stopped, the imperilment within him gnawing at his sentient mind to come out. but he wouldn't let his hunger get the better of him. he’s left far too many humans in his wake for him to risk making the same mistakes again. but the lurking, the watching? that wasn't a mistake. that was only a necessary precaution to make sure r/n didn't forget about him.

“…why can't you understand? why would you leave me for them, when you have me right here?”

r/n gawked at their monitor incredulously. seriously? what the fuck is it with this dude? he’s not even a dude, he's just a… thing! why was r/n letting a clingy talking ball hold them back? soon enough, r/n rolled their eyes and clicked their tongue, grabbing their mouse in irritation.

“tsk—whatever, dawg.”

r/n brought up the minecraft menu, likely intending to leave the world all in all… maybe even forever. wait–forever? verity couldn't have that, he couldn't live with that! he had to stop them!

before r/n could even press the glorious button that’d so graciously give them the freedom they desired—they heard the familiar sound of bones crackling in their headphones. their eyes immediately widened, unable to help darting their gaze to the darkened area of their screen that still displayed the minecraft world.

“no–no, no, no, NO!” 

shit.

verity had turned into… that again. r/n rushed to leave the minecraft world—fuck, they should've just used alt f4—but verity had somehow managed to close it before r/n could do anything about it. his large, horrifyingly slender hand grabbed a hold of r/n's in-game character—slamming it to whatever surface was behind them.

the weirdest part was—they felt it. they felt the impact from their digital vessel getting hit. what was even worse, their back was alarmingly bound to their chair, verity’s voice still blaring in r/n's pounding ears through their headphones. they squirmed, but ultimately couldn't… move. what the fuck was going on???

they were pinned to their chair, their in-game model was presumably pinned to the wall, based on what r/n could see behind verity’s head. they didn't have much to work with, since verity was practically “nose-to-nose” with the perspective of r/n’s digital eyes. with verity’s hollow stare so intense, r/n wasn't sure if verity was staring at their model or at them.

“you can't leave, you won't leave! you are mine, you hear me, r/n?? mine!!”

“htck—verity–verity, what the fuck???”

“they’re not as faithful to you like i am, r/n! they don't know you like i do, they don't see you like i do, they don't care about you like i do!”

beads of sweat formed on r/n's face as they were forced to stare at their monitor in wide-eyed horror. their heart raced in their chest, the irregular, almost supernatural sensation of being held down by an unseeable force not helping with their already freaked-out mind.

all this because they just wanted to play other games. fuck their life.

r/n had been bracing themself for impact, pain, or even a sliver of a chance meeting with death—but strangely enough, nothing all that physically harmful came. either because this entire “pushed-back” ordeal was r/n experiencing the placebo effect at the worst possible time, or because verity just didn't want to hurt them.

soon enough, when r/n tuned back into reality, they heard faint sniffling. shit, was verity crying right now? r/n was frozen in place, unable to speak or move—not like they were able to move in the first place—as they watched tears well up in verity’s unnerving eyes.

“…please.” 

verity’s eyes had closed, his once semi-distorted voice now softening to something more broken. his head leaned on r/n's character’s head, causing r/n themself to lean their head back and feel the indescribable intimate contact on their forehead. they looked up at their ceiling in confusion, their lips parting as their heart continued to race.

what the fuck was going on?

“please–i don’t want to lose you, r/n…”

they listened to their headphones, hearing the plea in verity’s voice. bones crackled again, and the sound of verity bouncing against the floor perked up shorter after. as verity transformed back, the unseen force had retracted, allowing r/n to exercise their freedom to move again.

but for a while, they just… didn't move. they were still in shock about what had just happened. they sat there in their chair, gazing up at their ceiling while their shoulders drooped from being previously squished up. they were gonna be haunted by this forever, now.

when r/n finally lowered their head to look at their screen, they saw nothing but their own house. that only confirmed the fact that verity converted back into a ball. they shakily reached out for their mouse, their chair creaking as they leaned forward to sit properly again.

they shifted their mouse to look down at the floor. lo and behold, a verity full of sorrow was looking up at them on the floor. they couldn't even be bothered to move their other hand for their keyboard—what was the point of movement, when verity could easily have them wrapped around his finger again?

“…you…”

r/n leaned back, raising their hands to run them through their scalp, not caring about avoiding their headphones anymore. they needed all the solace and comfort they could get—and right now, verity’s presence wasn't making them feel very comfortable. knowing him, would they ever feel comfortable again?

would they ever feel safe again?

“…you got that, ver.”

★ : shout out to:

…no one.

okay look guys ima be real witchu my discord nitro expired and ion got nun in my apple store account rn so if any of you want an illustrated piece or wanna request a fanfic of a certain fandom/character/x reader whatever you gotta ask me b4hand tho to see if im in the fandom you can hmu at @angywangy. on discord 🙏🙏

i also accept marvel rivals skin gifting as payment for illustrations 👀👀 you can check out my pinned intro on my blog if discord doesn't work as a communication platform for you

okay that's it i’m gonna stop being a bum bye thank you for reading LMAOOOO

[angxlshutterstock]

☆ : obsession (?)

✦ : verity™ x gn!reader , they/them used for reader, up to you if reader is amab/afab (it’s not plot relevant), no use of y/n, r/n is over eighteen

✧ : synopsis: omniscient helper friend x charismatic idiot. r/n downloads a mod their friend shares with them and ends up acting a fool with their new buddy on minecraft. ☆ : warnings: this was written before pt.3 came out. if any of this is inaccurate, don't burn me at the stake. sexual jokes, swearing, guns, occasional unsettling dialogue, the entity will appear at the end

if thatmob and/or whispy (if they even sees this) would like for me to take down this fic, please reach out to me and i’ll be rid of this work as soon as possible. thank you! ^_^

sunlight peeks through the blinds, shining down on sleeping, peacefully closed eyes. the morning sun had risen—and thanks to r/n finally having some self-restraint for once, they were able to wake up in the morning and not in the middle of the afternoon like usual. who knew sleeping earlier had its benefits?

however, there were its downsides, too. r/n’s eyelids fluttered in protest of the sun rays in their face, a low groan rumbling in their throat. they turned so their back faced the window, their lips curving in discomfort as their slumber was disturbed by the sun. the audacity, really.

after a few minutes of r/n keeping their eyes closed in an attempt to get some more rest—they ultimately decided to give it up. they begrudgingly kept their eyes open for longer than three seconds, their hand already stretching out to grab their phone on the nightstand.

with their cheek plopped against their pillow, their half-lidded eyes briefly looked through their notifications for the early day. soon, they unlocked their phone and opened up the sanctuary app for mental illness—discord. considering the time, barely anyone had shot them a direct message.

except for the ones who sent messages like sending a letter via pigeon, of course. it didn't take long for r/n to either ignore certain notifications and simply mark them as read—or skim over the ones they actually wanted to read. with a sigh, r/n opened the last dm that reached out to them. unsurprisingly enough, it was the person they goofed off with the most.

…i guess, bro.

following those messages came the download page link for said mod. r/n scrutinized the preview for a moment before ultimately deciding—why the hell not? they had nothing better to do, anyway. they typed up a quick, dismissive and despicable response before shutting off their phone and getting up to get ready.

once they were done brushing their teeth and grabbing a quick snack that definitely shouldn’t be considered breakfast, they sat down to turn on their pc. they slipped their phone out of their pocket to review the mod link again, curiosity gnawing at their heart as seconds passed. it didn't look like any usual mod they were used to downloading. maybe that's what made it interesting?

soon enough, they had everything ready. as soon as the new world began booting up, r/n yawned as they stretched their arms. they had no idea what they were in for—and knowing their friend, this was probably about to be some bullshit. as soon as they finished stretching, they let out a faint sigh while putting on their headphones.

“alright, les’get it.”

they spawned in a dark forest biome, the game looking relatively normal at first glance. r/n rubbed their eye for a moment, wiping away any leftover sleepy residue before locking in. their ears abruptly perked up, however, at the sound of a muffled voice coming from the game.

“hellooo? is someone there? anyone?? helloooo???”

“…huh?”

they quickly snapped their eyes open, zeroing in on an in-game cardboard box sitting in front of them. their fingers whipped to their keyboard and mouse again, their eyebrows furrowing in skepticism and curiosity.

“…uh. okay,,”

soon enough, they click on the enclosed box in an attempt to see what was inside. they watched as it rose two blocks in the air, their mouse following the package. r/n had no idea what to expect—was it going to be an overpowered item? an entity? a jumpscare? a pet mob?? what was in that thing???

nope. it was none of the above. the box opened mid-air, only to vanish with circular whimsical smoke fading out to reveal its contents. what r/n saw was… a ball. a small, yellow sphere. with a smiley face. soon enough, it fell to the ground with cartoony falling sound effects. the ball’s face shifted into one of discomfort while it bounced against the grass and grunted from the impacts.

as r/n ever so slightly shifted their in-game perspective to watch the ball, they noticed its 3d shape instead of the usual 2d designs of minecraft. a circle in a world of squares. nothing out of the ordinary for mods, but this one will likely be something r/n will have to get used to. they also had to assume the muffled voice from earlier belonged to this thing.

once it finally settled on the ground, the smiley face returned on the sphere. almost immediately, it began speaking with a joyous smile and delightful tone.

“hellooo! i’m verity, your personal helper friend! ask me anything, i know everything.”

r/n blinked, their lips parting in slight surprise as they listened to “verity’s” introduction. the first thing they noticed was the almost confident shift in tone at the ball’s last retort. r/n didn't know what to expect—frankly, when they go into things blind, they never know what to expect.

their head tilted slightly while one of their hands moved from their mouse to their keyboard. with both hands on the keys, r/n murmured under their breath as they opened the chat and hesitantly began typing their first question.

“well, alright. i’m assuming i have to talk in in-game chat—”

“nope! i can hear you just fine.”

r/n blinked, freezing for a split second. five seconds hadn't even passed when verity responded—he was so quick to answer. what kind of mod was this?? nevertheless, r/n was somewhat pleased they didn't have to type. verbal conversations worked better while they're playing.

“…oh! that—well, that works too,”

r/n chuckled nervously, leaning slightly forward toward their monitor while their hand moved back to their mouse. they stared at the smiling sphere in front of them, crouching in-game to get a better look at verity.

“do you… know my name?”

r/n inquired reluctantly, testing the waters. they weren't sure if verity had knowledge outside the game itself. in reality, coders could likely just rip the name players use on their microsoft account and call it a day, but how does this ball have dynamic voicelines for the player?

“yep! hello, r/n!”

r/n bristled, exhaling in disbelief. they slowly leaned back in their chair, their chest rising and falling at a fairly rapid pace. their head tilted away ever so slightly, their in-game character standing up straight. their model craned their neck down to continue looking at the sphere, r/n gingerly walking on eggshells with their new companion.

“hello to you too.”

they hummed warily, their eyes negligibly narrowing. soon, they let out a sigh, crouching and slowly nudging themself closer to verity. so the… sphere thing had knowledge outside of the game. wonderful. but the whole… personal dialogue thing was bugging r/n.

“are you a—… are you an ai?”

“can’t say for sure.”

verity responded with a light-hearted tone. well. how exactly does that even work in a minecraft mod? whatever. r/n’s chin slowly dipped as they thought about their next question—then eventually decided it was probably a better idea to ask the deeper questions later.

“can i pick you up?”

r/n inquired—mostly to themself—as their in-game model stood up yet again in front of verity.

“you sure can!”

verity spoke merrily as r/n soon picked him up. the text of his name faded in atop their item bar, showing “verity™” and soon fading out. as they held verity on their right blocky hand, r/n scrutinized the yellow sphere in their possession.

“verity™, huh?”

r/n mumbled out loud, the name sticking to their head. eventually, a quaint smile etched on their lips as they scrolled down on their item bar to put verity™ away. they didn’t question the trademark—they figured the trademark was maybe the reason as to how whoever coded this mod managed to get artificial intelligence to power this thing. then again, what did they know?

“it’s nice to meet you, verity™.”

from then on, r/n started actually playing the game. they started with getting wood. after crafting a wooden axe and a wooden pickaxe, they went on an onslaught of killing every animal in sight for food. afterward, they briefly went toe-deep into the nearest cave they found for some cobblestone.

they stayed silent the entire time, unsure if verity could even hear them from inside their inventory. they decided to quietly go about their adventure, feeling the subconscious urge not to bother asking their “helper friend” questions unless they really needed help.

about an hour passed by in the real world, and r/n still hadn't said a thing to verity after their first interaction. they deliberately kept their new companion at the far end of their toolbar just in case—but still, nothing after three in-game days.

finally, r/n began working on their house. they knew they weren't going to build anything fancy—far from it—just something small and simple would suffice. a bed, crafting table, furnace, and a couple of chests would do the trick.

as r/n stacked the wood blocks that defined the width and length of their house, r/n glanced down at their hotbar and was reminded of verity™’s presence. their eyes widened ever so slightly, as if they were woken up from their concentrated daze. this could be an opportunity to get to know their companion better—if he even had anything to know about in the first place.

“…hey, verity™?”

they cautiously called out, still unsure if verity™ was able to hear them from their hotbar.

“yeees?”

verity™ responded in an instant. he sounded almost expectant, almost distasteful—perhaps he was waiting for a command or a question. the poor guy was ghosted for, like, three days. r/n wouldn't blame him if he sounded a little off behind the cheerful facade.

“what’s your favorite part of minecraft?”

“beating the game! playing the game with you in general is fun.”

verity™ answered cheerily, the disdain in his voice from earlier mostly dissipating. he didn’t sound as happy-go-lucky as he did the first time r/n heard his voice—but it wasn't like he hated being there with them.

“cool! i think my favorite part is the mining. i like testing my luck in caves.”

“well, with me, you won’t have to test your luck. you can ask me anything, i know everything.”

r/n moved on to placing the blocks between the “pillars”, defining the walls of the house. they hummed in thought at the familiar sentence. they figured it was a whole “wise-guy” situation with verity™—but considering the context of them talking about ores and him bringing up his vast knowledge, r/n took the hint that they could just… ask where the stuff they were looking for was.

“…right. got it. thanks, verity™.”

“no problem!”

verity™ perked up with a melodic hum. for a couple of minutes, there came the silence again. it was slightly more comfortable, but the charged tension wasn't entirely gone. r/n was lost in thought, wondering about the nature of verity™’s code and complexion.

it didn't take long for the in-game moon to rise. r/n quickly finished up the roof of their house so they could get to sleep as soon as possible. once they were done with their ceiling, they made their way to their bed.

but one glance at verity™ in the ninth slot of their hotbar made them hesitate. they reluctantly scrolled down on their item wheel to grab verity™, looking for a place to place verity™ afterward. soon enough, they figured the crafting table on the opposite end of the small house would do.

“would you like a little space to yourself? when i’m—finished with the house, i mean.”

r/n offered politely. verity™ didn't respond immediately like he usually did, simply staring at the player with the same generic smile.

“ooh! that’d be nice.”

he enthusiastically agreed. r/n quickly moved their mouse up and down to move their character’s head, mimicking a friendly nod.

“you got it. g’night, verity™.”

admittedly, r/n felt fairly silly for acting sentimental with… something that wasn't even alive. they felt the need to not bother him so much—but based on his shifted demeanor, that was probably the wrong move. they should start talking to him more. the avoidance was a mistake, maybe “befriending” him in some way could help?

r/n turned and right-clicked their in-game mattress. once the sun loaded, that marked the fourth in-game day. so far, they’ve only got a house—more like a shed—some food, and stone materials. they left some iron in the furnace to smelt overnight. that way, they could make an iron pickaxe and get back to the caves.

r/n got up from their bed and automatically faced the front door a couple of blocks away. they slid their perspective to look at verity™, who was still standing on the crafting table, idly sitting still on the surface.

“good morning.”

they hummed somewhat timidly, feeling self-conscious. what, were they role-playing or something? get over yourself, r/n. they walked over to the yellow sphere, crouching in front of the crafting table to get a better look at verity™.

“i’m gonna go mining. do you wanna come with me?”

r/n asked, a faint tinge of curious circumspection hiding in their tongue. they wanted to see if verity™ had free will—or, at the very least, could make choices for himself. somehow. either that, or it could be another one of those times where he just doesn't say anything.

“sure thing!”

he chirped, his circular body stretching before defaulting back to his normal sphere shape. it was fun to inspect verity™’s body language as he talked—you’d think it’d be impossible for a sphere to squish and elongate like that. the world of minecraft works wonders.

r/n shifted their mouse up and down again to indicate they nodded, soon picking verity™ up from the surface of the crafting table. they switched some items around from their hotbar to their personal inventory to make room in the ninth slot for verity™.

“yaaay!”

at the gleeful exclamation, the corners of r/n’s eyes crinkled as a smile tugged at their lips. truly, verity™ was endearing—and even if his origins were mysterious, r/n could find themself growing a little more comfortable with hanging out with him.

before r/n went out, they grabbed their iron ingots and made their iron pickaxe. they sorted some of their old tools out, filtered out anything in their inventory they didn't need to transfer to a chest, and decided they were practically ready to go.

r/n walked out of the house and stepped into the outside world. they listened to the artificial grass crunching beneath their character’s footsteps in their headphones, currently holding their newly crafted iron pickaxe. while making their way to the nearest cave in a path they memorized, they suddenly got an idea.

“…hey, verity™? i, ehm—i hate to do this to you, but could you tell me where the… uh—the nearest diamonds are?”

“y-level -54, 143 blocks southwest.”

oh. shit.

once verity finished speaking from their hotbar, r/n blinked in surprise as they continued walking. wow, alright. good to know. well, this was potential r/n probably could’ve tapped a long time ago, but whatever.

“thanks, verity™.”

r/n hummed lowly, their unpretentious voice filled with surprise and gratitude.

“of course!”

by the time they made it to the cave and began mining—with the answer spelled out to them, it didn’t take long for r/n to find what they were looking for. as soon as they spotted the diamond blocks—an unreasonably loud gasp escaped their lips.

“HOLY SHIT—”

r/n scrolled up on their hotbar just to grab verity™ in their digital hand, a bright smile forming on their face as they stared at their monitor in awe.

“verity™, i’d suck your dick if i could—holy shit, that’s so cool!”

immediately, r/n scrolled down to grab their iron pickaxe again, getting to work on mining as many of the diamonds as they could find. after their excited verbal explosion… came silence. verity™ didn’t say a word, but r/n knew damn well he was always listening.

after two seconds, they stopped holding the “w” key and held their head in their hands.

“…i’d like to apologize for my words and actions.”

“no, no. just keep mining.”

“yeah. okay.”

after some time, nightfall was nigh, and r/n decided they ought to head home. satisfied with their results, they closed the door to their little home behind them and walked over to the furnace. they set verity™ down on the crafting table next to the structure, soon turning their attention back to the furnace to smelt more of the iron they got.

for the next few days, all was well. r/n and verity™ began having more interactions, rather than r/n straying away from him. they opted for more light-hearted conversations rather than constantly asking him for stuff. at the very least, they wanted to know about their helper. the best part was–verity™ understood their sense of humor! …to an extent.

r/n left the house with verity™ in their hotbar as usual. they were low on food, so here they were, running around to kill any animal in sight. they eyed white sheep, specifically, since they were aiming for a second bed and didn't have any wool for it. as they pursued a white sheep, they hadn't heard the hissing sound behind them.

“careful! there’s a creeper behind you.”

“oh, word?”

r/n reacted embarrassingly late. they had focused on landing the final swish on the sheep before swirling their mouse around to face the danger—only for them to blow up on the spot.

You died!

…shit.

in the blink of an eye, r/n respawned at their home. they stopped and stilled for a moment, staring at their monitor ludicrously. they sucked in air through their teeth, their elbow resting on their table as they held their forehead in the heel of their hand.

“…yeah, i’m not getting far.”

then, the realization dawned on them. they nearly knocked over all their equipment as their hands flied to their mouse and keyboard.

“OH, SHIT, VERIT—”

“well, that was a disaster, huh?”

verity™ perked up with a melodic hum at his usual spot on the crafting table. r/n whipped over to where they heard his voice. what? how? when did he get there? how did he get there?? why isn't he dead??? can he even die????

“…oh. well, then, um—”

“you aren't far from your stuff. they're just seventy-six blocks northeast of here.”

“…ah. uh–thanks, man.”

“uh huh.”

verity™ knowingly drawled, a teasing undertone in his voice as r/n regained their composure from being shaken up. finally, r/n started moving again and went over to the crafting table to pick verity™ up. with a shuddering sigh and head filled with questions, they went out the door once more with the location in mind.

“then i… guess we’ll go grab it,”

verity™ was silent for the whole trip back. r/n couldn't explain why, but they preferred to have verity™ handy. not because he was a helper—he was just genuinely good company. sure, he was purposefully vague and secretive at times, but good company nonetheless.

in a couple of minutes, r/n spotted their belongings from afar. they listened as the items popped back into their inventory, opening their menu to arrange everything back in order again.

“you’re a life saver, verity™.”

“i know.”

verity™ responded with a playfully snarky attitude. r/n could sense the very thin layers of narcissism deep beneath his tone, however, they wouldn't verbally point it out. there were countless things, tiny things, that they couldn't point out. and right now, they weren't sure if they would be able to keep it in.

once their armor was put on and their inventory was organized albeit in a rush, r/n and verity™ made their way to walk back home. they had enough food to last a while—and dealt with as many creepers as their ego could handle.

the second they got inside and closed the front door behind them, they speedran getting everything out of the way. they placed verity™ on the crafting table, then walked to the furnaces to cook their food, and turned their head away from their screen once they were done.

r/n grabbed their phone and opened up discord to get… a reasonable amount off their chest. this was heavy—there was definitely more to verity™ than they thought, and it couldn't have just been them. it was a couple minutes until night, so this was a good way to pass the time until they had to go to bed.

r/n tsked in irritation. could this prick be any more dismissive? whatever. despite r/n’s soured mood, it was a nice and peaceful silence. the furnaces’ fires crackled, creating a warm, soothing ambience while their idle character stood in front of the stoves.

the thought of verity™ dealing with their bullshit crossed their mind. he was sitting there next to the player who remarked about sucking his dick and failed to react to a threat in time. does verity™ ever get aggravated? r/n liked to believe verity™ was either more resilient than most… or was just silently judging every player he had to help. they still appreciated him not being at his wits’ end, though.

“do you live alone?”

verity™ suddenly inquired, his voice not as enthusiastic as usual. still courteous, still casually light-hearted—strangely, r/n discerned something malicious hidden in his tone. for a moment, r/n couldn't believe verity™ was initiating conversation. nevertheless, they decided not to take the question so seriously.

“well, wouldn't you like to know? i thought you knew everything.”

“eh, i’m just curious.”

r/n smiled lightly, chuckling as they shut off their phone and put it away. they spun their camera to face verity™, noticing his face was now looking directly at them, when he originally was facing forward atop the crafting table. did that mean that he could “move”/turn around when r/n wasn't looking?

“in that case, yeah. i do. ‘ts my first apartment.”

r/n replied, briefly turning to walk toward the bed. midway to the in-game mattress, verity™ perked up with another question.

“what’s your favorite place in the world?”

r/n stopped walking, their eyebrows creasing together. in truth, an answer had popped up in their head, but they inevitably decided to test the waters and see what would happen.

“…is this something you ask all the players you guide, or do you just like me?”

silence. this time, more suffocating compared to the silence from when they got back home just a few minutes ago. r/n steered their perspective to glance at verity™ on the opposite end of the home.

“i’m only with you, r/n.”

r/n’s breath hitched at the sound of their name. oops. right, he knew their name. okay. great. why were they so surprised? can they go to sleep, already?

“i’m sorry. i–i didn’t mean to hurt you. if i c—”

r/n stopped, remembering that verity™ wasn't a human—so why were they treating him so… nicely? they didn't think they were that attached. yet, for some reason, they had this nagging feeling gnawing at their heart that said to treat him right. they turned to their bed, their eyes narrowing slightly at their screen.

“…i’ll make it up to you.”

the night cycle was skipped as they right-clicked the bed. soon enough, they got up and turned their camera to face verity™. they could very faintly distinguish an imperceptible change in verity™’s facial expression from afar, but it was probably just their vision messing with them.

“mornin’, king,”

r/n huffed in amusement, hoping their light-hearted words would lift the mood a little. yes, that entire conversation ended thirty seconds ago, but so what? they could move on in less than a minute if they tried really hard.

“let’s go make you a little room.”

they were hoping for an enthusiastic little “yippee!” or something, but they verbally got nothing in return. they walked over to pick up verity™ from the crafting table, soon walking out the door with their companion in hand.

“what's your favorite color, verity™?”

“any!”

he responded, technically giving r/n a lot of creative freedom. great. they had tons to work with. r/n moved their mouse up and down in a nod while walking on the vast fields of trees, grass, weeds, and flowers. they abruptly stop in front of a handful of poppies, letting verity rest in their hotbar.

“how do you like poppies, verity™?”

a beat of silence.

“they’re pretty.”

r/n picked the red flower from the ground and let it pop into their inventory. they walked a couple of steps further and found a dozen dandelions and red poppies.

“how about dandelions?”

“they’re nice, too.”

r/n chuckled, grabbing a plethora of flowers—at least one of each different kind they could find. by the time they returned home, they came back with more wood, a couple of dirt blocks, and about nine flowers. with four kinds of flowers—lilies, lilacs, red poppies, and dandelions—they could get to work.

r/n expanded the shed to have much more room. instead of giving themself space only for the essentials, they decided to have a little fun and make it a sort of “free-roam” type of house. why not give verity™ a little room of his own? that’d be cute.

soon enough, r/n built a seven-by-seven block room for verity. they placed a couple of dirt blocks in the center of the room, planting the flowers on the digital soil. afterward, they squeezed in a yellow bed in the corner, just for funsies. they weren't even sure if verity™ slept, but it looked cute.

they put a painting on the wall as well as a tiny little window. the small space was nice and cozy—perhaps verity™ will like it, too? r/n opened the wooden door from inside the helper’s new room, walking out with a smile behind the screen.

“i’m pretty sure it’s ready. let me know if you like it, okay?”

“i’m sure it looks wonderful!”

his voice was deceptively generically happy-go-lucky—and r/n assumed it was all part of him being the typical “helper friend.” they could catch moments where his facade dropped… sometimes. now was where they were struggling to tell if he was genuine or not.

r/n picked up verity™ and turned to walk in the tiny room. with verity™ in their hand, their geometrically shaped companion took a look at what they made. r/n was holding their breath, watching, waiting for a reaction. after a few moments of silence, r/n was about to speak—until verity™ beat them to it.

“…this is… so thoughtful. thank you, r/n, i…”

verity™’s tone turned dazed and taken aback. the usually composed and buoyant assistant is now anchored to the little room—his little room. r/n internally sighed in relief as they spoke after him.

“hey. don't worry about it,”

after taking a couple of steps around, they walked over to stand in front of the door. they placed verity™ down in the center of the flower-filled dirt blocks, a tiny hangout spot for the yellow ball.

“i hope, ehm… the flowers make up for yesterday,”

the air in the room shifted. they remembered how much verity™… changed when they talked about the possible past. they were curious, they couldn't help it—but they were worried verity™ might hold that curiosity against them.

“i know i already said i was going to make you a room. it’s just—i really appreciate you being patient with me. i know i can be… a lot. and i hope i can make our—”

“it’s perfect,”

r/n blinked. what?

“…the—the room?”

“everything. the room, the flowers, you—it’s… perfect. thank you.”

“o–oh. it—it’s nothing. it’s the least i can do.”

since then, things between the two had changed. something in the air, something hidden in the chemistry, something about the way verity™ spoke—it was such a minuscule change, it was a surprise r/n could even identify it. nothing felt wrong, just… different.

the method of not making it seem as though verity and r/n’s relationship was strictly helper and helpee worked for the most part. who would actually know if it sufficed for verity™? he hardly ever talked about himself—hence, the whole “secretive” thing with him—so r/n had no other option but to keep their head up and move on.

“alright, verity™,”

r/n yawned while getting up from their in-game bed. they practically spent the entire day playing this mod. yes, they occasionally took a couple of minutes to grab snacks and take bathroom breaks—but… that was it, really. it was getting late, they should be heading to bed soon.

“i’ve been avoiding villages long enough. i always get lost when i try to find them—but you’re here now, so.”

r/n walked over to verity™’s room, opening the door and approaching his bed. they gained a habit of placing verity on top of the bed as a way of “tucking him in”—they were still unsure if he even slept, but they felt it was nice. they picked him up from the pixelated bedsheets, making their way out of the house.

“alright! head to the village east of here where it bleeds into the plains biome. though, you should note that the village to the west isn’t worth the trip.”

“hm? how come?”

“it’s, uh–pointless.”

“…do the traders not have any good offers?”

“trust me on this.”

verity™ spoke the last sentence in an almost demanding, rushed manner. he cut off the end of r/n’s question with his eyes thinning imperceptibly. r/n felt an uneasy tug at their core, yet decided to brush it off. he knew everything, after all.

“…m’kay. if you say so, ver.”

r/n yawned once more, shifting their camera around to walk in the direction of the village. their exhaustion was getting to them. the fact that they hadn't done anything productive today popped up in the back of their mind, causing them to scarcely frown.

while they were lost in thought, they hadn't realized they were walking in the wrong direction and headed straight for the village verity™ just told them not to go to. r/n yawned again, briefly rubbing their eye with the hand controlling the mouse as they kept walking.

they quickly noted how the village seemed lifeless. no villagers, no iron golem, no animals, nothing. a barren wasteland. r/n’s tired mind was confused—why was no one here? they had loot in the chest boxes of the homes, all of the regular architecture was here, so… where were they?

“oh, shit, this is the one i shouldn't have—”

r/n groaned in frustration, their jaw clenching after mentally chastising themself.

“‘m sorry, verity™, i’m just–i-i’m a little out of it right now. let’s go home, i’m hopping off for the night.”

predictably, verity™ didn't respond. whenever he “ignored” r/n, they figured he simply had nothing valuable to add. this time, though... fuck, what if he was mad at them? they couldn't have that, they just tried to make amends with him!

r/n tried. yes, they really did try to apologize while they headed in the right direction of the other village—but they ended up with nothing. he didn't reply. the only change r/n noticed while he was in their inventory was his expression. oh shit, he had a deadpan look. r/n was so fucked.

“verity™—!”

r/n quickly scrolled down to grab verity™ in their hand. his unamused and almost peeved expression was as clear as day on r/n's screen—but in the blink of an eye, he smiled once more. except this time, he seemed to be straining his grin. it left an unsettling feeling swirling in r/n's sternum. weird.

“shit–verity™, are you alright? i’m serious, i didn't mean to ge—”

“it’s fine.”

verity™ forced out through gritted teeth. venom hid beneath the layers of emotional conflict in verity™’s voice, it caught r/n off guard. then again, with this mod, when does r/n not get caught off guard? their fingers twitched as their shoulders tensed ever so slightly. smiling uncomfortably, r/n's eyes averted away from the game.

“…if… if you say so, love.”

r/n chuckled nervously. no, it wasn't fine, idiot. now they weren't so sure if they should even hop off. would that make things worse?? they didn't want to lose sleep over some talking ball. they speedran looting and trading with the villagers and ran their ass back to their in-game home as soon as possible.

the air was quiet. both in-game and in minecraft. it was as if the digital barrier was holding its breath, waiting for one or the other to speak on the tension. r/n felt incredibly apprehensive, and they seriously didn’t know what to do. their lips pressed together slightly as they walked inside verity™’s room.

“hey,”

they murmured, placing verity™ on the dirt blocks and crouching in front of him.

“do you… want me to sleep with you tonight?”

silence. r/n figured this was another one of those times where verity™ just wouldn't answer a question. before r/n gave it up, verity™ finally cured the racing heart in r/n's chest by giving them an answer.

“…yes.”

verity™’s voice also dropped to that soft, down-to-earth mumble, dropping the helper guise entirely. r/n stared at their companion for a couple more seconds, swallowing the nervous lump in their throat as they felt a thin layer of sweat coat their palms.

“…alright.”

r/n walked over to verity’s mattress, the tension in their shoulders at an all-time high. they've never felt this anxious before—let alone about a mob. what if this entire ordeal was something bigger than themself? whatever, move on.

“g’night, ver.”

r/n right-clicked the bed in a rush. they leaned back in their chair to take a moment to compose themself. their hands covered their face as they exhaled heavily. the cutscene of the night skipping was the only opportunity they had for a few-seconds-break. after that, they needed to keep going.

it took a couple of seconds for r/n to reel back to minecraft. once they tried to muster up as much as their strength as they could, it would take a short while for them to snap back to reality. by the time they were done, they were met with the sign of verity™ facing them while they stood in front of the bed.

“hey, ver. are you alright?”

“something is coming in three days.”

verity™ spoke in a rush, his eyes dilated and his tone breathily panicked. r/n's heart dropped to their ass. something? in three days? it sounded hostile, and they only had a couple of days to prepare. wait, which days?

“…in-game days or real-life days?”

“in-game.”

fuck. so they had exactly one hour to prepare for whatever’s coming next. great. awesome. excellent. r/n paused, their breath picking up as their heartrate elevated from the stress.

“…will you be safe?”

“—…it’s not me you should be worried about.”

huh. okay. a pensive expression overshadowed r/n’s cautious one. they noted the tinge of wariness in verity™’s voice. nevertheless, r/n didn't hesitate to take action as soon as possible.

they installed a gun mod, set the display settings to be brighter, and had about six existential crises. they placed traps around the house, meticulously accounting for every scenario r/n could think of.

verity™ was being protected like he was the holy grail. r/n tried their best to make sure verity™ wouldn't be in danger, even getting to the point of considering putting him in a chest until the whole thing was over.

the next day, r/n was scrolling through their spotify playlist with minecraft running in the background. they’ve been lingering at home to stay with verity™ as much as optionally possible. even though his energy had shifted drastically, his “presence” was an anchor for r/n.

except they weren't feeling very anchored right now. they weren't vibing with any of the songs they were shifting through. they overplayed it, it reminds them of bad memories, it’s too brash, it doesn't match their current energy—it was a mess. even if they played it on shuffle, they were sure they’d just skip every song.

“ugh, none of these songs are good.”

r/n groaned lowly, pinching the bridge of their nose and shortly clicking off of spotify. so much for trying to lower their cortisol. they figured music would maybe help ease their mood—but they ended up with nothing.

“hey, verity™? d’you have any song recommendations, maybe?”

r/n inquired. verity™, of course, didn't respond immediately. just as r/n was about to give up on the idea—verity™ suddenly began playing music… on his own. with his mouth open. okay, so he can just do that.

the music sounded very, very old. simultaneously classy and catchy. verity™ had taste, r/n had to admit. it was a nice change of pace from what r/n was used to listening to. the tense atmosphere shifted, now more light-hearted than before. the uneasiness didn't completely go away, but the music helped.

“…thanks, babe. it doesn't sound too bad at all.”

the rest of the thirty-five minutes went by in a jiffy. in the moment, it felt like forever, but now that the third day was about to come? it didn't feel like enough. then again, no amount of time would've been enough for r/n.

r/n attempted to go to bed, but, of course, the dreaded message of monsters being nearby popped up. wait, did that say monsters? it looked different. oh, well, r/n was too tired for this. couldn't they just log off? nope, nevermind, they were too deep into this.

they scoffed behind the monitor while holding their diamond sword. this sucked. it was probably a raid, a monster, or just anything horror-like. they knew their friend was putting them on some bullshit. r/n paced around the in-game house, leaving verity™’s room undisturbed in case anything could potentially get in.

then, they heard something outside. the immediately stopped moving to listen carefully. good god, this was scary as shit. maybe those were the monsters that wouldn't let r/n sleep. after all, verity™ said three days, maybe that meant the issue would pop up in the morning?

r/n exited the house, briefly closing the door behind them with their weapon still in hand. beads of sweat formed on their forehead and hands as they looked at the environment. r/n resisted the urge to yawn, knowing this isn't the time.

faint, familiar music began to mysteriously play in the darkness of the woods. strange. this was the song verity™ played for them twenty minutes ago. what the hell was going on? and where the hell were the monsters?? even with the brightness all the way up, they couldn't see shit!

as they scrolled down to grab the flashlight in their hotbar, however, seeing a horrifyingly tall pale yellow entity snapped them out of their trance. r/n jumped in their seat, their eyes widening in surprise as they instinctively leaned away from their screen.

“fuckin’—!”

r/n immediately scrolled up and grabbed their gun, shooting at the… thing in front of them. particles of pixelated blood emitted from where r/n was shooting, but the actual creature itself didn’t falter. you’ve got to be kidding.

“shit, shit, shit—”

r/n yelped in fear as they watched its limbs crackle in preparation. they didn't wait to see what happened next—they bolted inside the base.

“verity™! verity™, we’ve got to go!”

the entity behind them began to emit a continuous, ear-piercing roar, and the distance between the entity and the player closed rapidly. r/n barged in verity™’s room to grab the yellow ball—quickly taking note of how he didn't have a face. what the fuck? no!

“fuck—verity™! verity™, are you there???”

r/n unfortunately couldn't waste any more time. as they heard the low-octave screech behind them in their headphones—they scrolled up their hotbar to grab their gun again. they whipped their perspective around to shoot at the monster, watching it retract ever so slightly.

at the small window of advantage, r/n immediately took advantage of it and broke through the wall of verity™’s room to head outside. their heart was pounding in their ears, their earlier drowsiness completely dissipating into urgency.

“verity™—just hang on, verity™, i’ve got you! i’ve got your back,”

“R/N!!”

the monster chasing them yelled out, r/n's teeth gritting as they kept running. soon enough, they equipped the stack of dirt blocks in their hotbar, hastily building an obstacle as they went along to disturb the creature’s path. was now a good time to assume the monster was verity™? well, now wasn't a good time to think, all they were worried about is how the fuck they were supposed to shake that thing.

“c'mon, verity™, don't give up on me now, not now–please. please! i’m here–i’m here for you, come on, just stay with me! stay with me, verity™!”

the music and the screeching abruptly faded out and came to a halt. r/n didn't notice it, however, still building and running as far as they could with verity™ still in their inventory. tears welled up in r/n's eyes as they clenched their jaw.

“now’s not the time to be—doing the shit that you do, verity™, please! i’m here for you, we’ll survive this together, just please—”

“together?”

r/n's breath hitched as they heard verity™’s muffled voice. their gaze darted down to their hotbar, finding verity™’s normal smiling expression in the slot. not the strained smile, not the deadpan look, not the faceless ball—verity™. their personal helper companion.

they instantly scrolled up their hotbar to grab verity™. their eyes continued to water in relief, their lips parting in pure, delighted surprise as they stared at verity™. they stopped holding the “w” key, their fingers shaking terribly.

“…yeah. together,”

☆ : shout out to:

https://www.etsy.com/shop/elinumberzer0?ref=yr_purchases

looking for whimsical accessories? maybe even a pin of verity for a cheap price?? 👀👀

this etsy shop also sells:

. . . and more! go check out their page if you’re interested. other than that, thank you for reading!

not very proud of this,,, nevertheless this is still my first fic of verity™—i started writing this four days after part one came out so excuse me if it just seems like a discreet in-character rambling session,, this probably deserves a rewrite

i would also like to clarify this is in no way shape or form any means malicious to whispy or to thatmob 💔 i love both your guys’ performance both of you are wonderful kudos and hugs

[commodore65]

a semi-comprehensive blinkie making guide

blinkies! they’re fun, cute, they infected every corner of the internet at one point, and i’m gonna help you bring the art of making them back so they can infect it again!! Please use these powers for good if i see komaeda kinnie blinkies popping up left and right i’m deleting my blog and yours too because i invented the internet and i can do that

i’m going to be using aseprite for this guide- it’s my favorite pixel art tool out there right now that i talked about earlier coincidentally! if you want a copy for yourself, it’ll run you about $15USD. it’s important to use an art tool that lets you edit gifs as frames. if what you’re running won’t allow you to edit or make gifs, you might have to edit each frame individually and then string the still images together on ezgif or something. i’m pretty sure most programs out there will let you edit gifs though!! aseprite is by no means mandatory for blinkie making, just a little redommendation n_n

so, the blinkies you usually see have dimensions of 150 x 20px! the golden ratio for blinkies if i do say so myself. most blinkies have 2-4 frames, sometimes more! feel free to add however many you need for your desired animation n_n but if you’re looking to make a simple blinkie, 2 should be just fine! 

here i edited a blinkie template and added a graphic (on a separate layer- layers are important!) to it- all i did for the next frame was change the colors a bit! easy!

(pink dashes become yellow and vice versa to give the blinkie effect)

you can always start from scratch on an empty 150x20 canvas, but i like to use blank templates (↑ like this one ↑) and edit them to my liking! it saves some time :-) once you have your design finished, add whatever text you want! i sometimes use my own fonts that i just draw out, but other times i’ll just insert some text and adjust it how i want it n_n do whatever you think looks best!

this should be obvious, but make sure you have your text and whatnot pasted into every frame! or at least the frames you want it to be visible in. after that you should be good to save it as a gif and use your blinkie!

i hope this helps haha, it’s really pretty easy! i’ll upload some templates shortly :-)

[purplespiritimagines]

remember me - damian wayne

content damian wayne x gn! reader, vigilante! reader, aged up damian, metahuman! reader, angst, slow burn, lonely morally grey reader, memory/identity curse, first kiss, emotional hurt/comfort, identity erasure, loneliness/isolation, abandonment trauma, childhood neglect, violence, murder/lethal vigilantism, blood/injury, emotional distress, fear of being forgotten, emotional vulnerability, abandonment trauma, trauma responses, violence/injury, blood, canon-typical gotham violence, angst with comfort, identity insecurity, fear of being loved then forgotten.

masterlist

wordcount 11.1k

you have lived your whole life being forgotten the second people look away. when you save damian wayne and vanish from his memory, he does the impossible: he starts looking for you anyway. he cannot remember you, but every version of him keeps choosing to find you again.

The first time Damian Wayne met you, you killed three men in front of him.

To be fair, they had been trying to kill him first.

The warehouse was already burning by then, heat crawling up the rusted walls in orange veins, smoke thick enough to make even his lenses stutter. Damian had lost comms seven minutes ago. His left shoulder had been dislocated four minutes ago. His sword had been knocked from his hand ninety seconds ago. And the man in front of him had a gun pressed beneath his jaw.

“Any last words, little bird?”

Damian hated being called little. He hated guns more. He was considering three options, all with a poor probability of success and an irritatingly high probability of dying, when the man holding the gun suddenly stopped smiling.

His eyes went wide.

A blade punched cleanly through his throat.

Damian did not flinch. He did, however, blink.

The body dropped. Behind it stood you.

You were not dressed like one of them. That was the first thing he noticed. No tactical insignia, no gang colours, no theatrics. Just dark clothes, a hood pulled low, a half-mask covering the lower part of your face, and a long knife held loosely in one hand as if violence bored you.

The second thing Damian noticed was that you were looking directly at him. Not at the gunman. Not at the fire.

At him.

“Robin,” you said, dry as dust. “You look terrible.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed behind his domino. “Who are you?”

You tilted your head. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

Two more men rushed from behind a stack of crates. You moved before Damian could.

You moved like someone who had stopped caring whether the world saw them coming.

The first man lost his gun hand. The second lost his breath when your knee cracked into his sternum. Damian lunged for his fallen sword, pain detonating white-hot through his shoulder, but by the time his fingers closed around the hilt, both attackers were on the ground.

One dead. One bleeding out.

Damian stared.

You wiped your blade against the dead man’s coat with an expression that suggested the fabric had personally offended you.

“You kill,” Damian said.

“So do they.” You glanced at him. “I’m just better at it.”

“You are not sanctioned.”

A laugh slipped from you, low and sharp. “By who? Your father? Cute.”

Damian stepped toward you. His vision blurred. The smoke, he realised too late. Too much of it. His lungs seized. His injured shoulder throbbed. His balance faltered.

You were in front of him in an instant.

“Don’t be dramatic,” you muttered, catching him before he could hit the concrete.

“I am not—”

“Currently collapsing in a burning warehouse? Yeah. Very dignified.”

Damian tried to shove you away. His arm refused to obey. You looked down at him, and for one impossible second, your sarcasm cracked.

Something ancient and tired moved behind your eyes. “Stay awake, Robin.”

“Who,” Damian forced out, “are you?”

Your grip tightened. “Nobody.”

Then you dragged him out of the fire.

By the time Batman arrived, Damian was alone. Three bodies were inside the warehouse. His sword was at his side. His shoulder had been reset.

And Damian Wayne had absolutely no memory of how he had escaped.

The report was unacceptable. Damian knew it before Bruce said anything.

He stood in the cave with one arm strapped across his chest, jaw clenched, while his father reviewed the footage on the main computer. Or, more accurately, the lack of footage.

“Your body camera cut out at 23:41,” Bruce said.

“The smoke disrupted the lens.”

“The audio went out three seconds later.”

“Interference.”

“And then?”

Damian’s mouth tightened.

And then nothing. He remembered the gun. The heat. The pressure beneath his jaw. The moment he had calculated his odds and found them unpleasant. Then he remembered waking outside beneath the rain, coughing ash onto the pavement while Batman’s cape blocked the streetlights overhead.

Between those moments lay a void.

Damian hated voids.

“I escaped,” he said.

Bruce looked at him. Damian hated that look, too. “Your shoulder had been reset.”

“I am aware.”

“Did you do that yourself?”

“No.”

“Who did?”

Damian’s fingers curled. “I do not know.”

Silence stretched, broken only by the low hum of the cave systems and the faint chittering of bats overhead.

Bruce replayed the broken footage again. Gun beneath Damian’s chin. Smoke. Static. Black.

Damian watched the blank screen with a fury that felt embarrassingly close to fear.

Someone had been there. Someone had touched him. Moved him. Saved him.

And he could not remember.

That was unacceptable.

You watched him from the roof across the street.

He returned to the warehouse the next night. You should have known he would. Robins were like mould: persistent, invasive, and very hard to kill.

This one was different, though. Older than the rumours still liked to call him. Not a boy anymore, though Gotham had a bad habit of keeping its children trapped in headlines. Nineteen, maybe twenty. Tall enough now that the cape sat differently on his shoulders. Sharper through the jaw. Still too proud for his own good.

Still alive because of you.

You hated that part. Saving people was always the beginning of trouble.

He moved through the remains of the warehouse like a ghost with a grudge, scanning scorch marks, blood patterns, boot prints. He crouched near the place where the gunman had died and touched two fingers to the concrete.

You had cleaned your blade before leaving. Burned the fibres. Taken the shell casings. Broken every camera in a four-block radius.

Still, Damian found something. A thread, maybe. A scratch. A breath you had left behind.

His head lifted. You went still.

There it was. That flicker. Not recognition. No one recognised you. Recognition required memory, and memory slipped off you like rain from glass the moment eyes turned away.

But Damian’s gaze sharpened toward your rooftop.

Instinct.  Annoying. Impressive.

Loneliness, treacherous little beast that it was, stirred inside your ribs.

“No,” you whispered to yourself.

Below, Damian stood. His hand drifted toward his sword.

You stepped back from the roof’s edge.

For one heartbeat, the moon touched your face.

Damian looked directly at you.

Your stomach dropped. You should have run. Instead, you froze like an idiot.

He fired a grappling line.

“Seriously?” you muttered.

Then you ran.

You were good at vanishing. You had to be. When you were eight years old, your teacher looked away from you during roll call and forgot you were in the classroom. At nine, your neighbour saw you fall from your bike, turned to call for help, and came back wondering why there was blood on the sidewalk.

At eleven, your parents started leaving notes on the fridge. Child. Name unknown. Lives here? And by thirteen, there were no notes. By fourteen, you stopped waiting at dinner tables. By fifteen, you learned that criminals were easier to live around than civilians. Criminals did not ask why you slept in abandoned buildings. They did not remember your face long enough to betray you. And when they hurt people, no one grieved if they disappeared.

By seventeen, you had a knife. By eighteen, you knew how to use it.

Now, you moved through Gotham like a rumour with teeth.

Someone would see you in an alley. Look away. Forget. Someone would hear your voice. Turn their head. Gone. Someone would bleed beneath your blade and die terrified, not because of death, but because in the last second of life, they understood they were being killed by someone the world itself refused to hold.

You had spent years pretending that it did not hurt.

Pretending worked, mostly.  Right up until Robin started chasing you. He chased you across three rooftops, over a skybridge, down a fire escape, and through the top floor of an unfinished apartment complex.

He was fast. You were faster. He was trained. You were desperate.

“Stop,” Damian ordered.

You laughed, breathless. “Wow. Has that ever worked for you?”

He threw a birdarang. You ducked. It sliced through your hood, pinning fabric to a wooden beam behind you. You slipped out of it and kept moving.

Damian landed hard in front of you, sword drawn. “Enough.”

You stopped because the blade was pointed at your throat. Also, because, for the first time in years, someone had chased you long enough to get tired. It made something in your chest ache.

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “You were at the warehouse.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

His grip tightened. “Do not lie to me.”

“Fine. I was near the warehouse.”

“You saved me.”

“Technically, gravity did most of the work.”

“You reset my shoulder.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You killed those men.”

“They were going to kill you.”

“That was not your decision to make.”

Your expression flattened. “I forgot. Bats love moral lectures. Very on-brand. Do you practice in mirrors, or does brooding just come naturally?”

His blade did not move. “Who are you?”

You smiled behind your mask. There it was. The question everyone asked once.

Only once.

“Look away,” you said.

Damian did not. “Answer me.”

“Look away.”

“No.”

Your laugh came out softer than you intended. “Smart.”

His eyes flicked, just once, to the shadow behind you. A tactical glance. Less than a second.

It was enough.

His face changed. Not dramatically. Damian Wayne had too much discipline for that. But his brow furrowed. His mouth tightened. The sword at your throat shifted as confusion passed through him. He blinked. Then focused on you again as if seeing you for the first time.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

There it was. The old familiar knife. You should have been used to it. You were used to it.

You were.

“Wow,” you said lightly. “Déjà vu. Embarrassing for you.”

Damian’s eyes darkened. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“You did something.”

“Story of my life.”

He looked away again, scanning the room for traps. When his eyes returned to you, the confusion reset.

His sword lifted. “Identify yourself.”

Something inside you curled up small and cold.

You stepped closer to the blade until the edge kissed the fabric over your throat. “My power,” you said, voice suddenly flat, “is that nobody remembers me.”

Damian stared. “You are a metahuman.”

“Sure.”

“What is the mechanism?”

“Do I look like a scientist?”

“You appear insufferable.”

“Aw. You remembered an opinion for three seconds. Progress.”

His eyes narrowed. You waited.

His gaze flicked down to your hands. Gone. Again. When he looked back up, his expression sharpened with renewed alarm.

You laughed before he could speak. It sounded ugly.

“Don’t worry,” you said. “This is the part where you threaten me, interrogate me, look away, forget what you were asking, and then I leave. Classic. Very popular sequence.”

Damian did not answer. Instead, without looking away from your face, he slowly reached into his utility belt.

You tensed.

He pulled out a marker. Then, with his gaze still locked on yours, he uncapped it with his teeth and wrote on the inside of his left wrist.

You watched despite yourself.

DO NOT LOOK AWAY. PERSON IN FRONT OF YOU EXISTS.

Your mouth went dry.

Damian finished writing. Then, deliberately, he looked at his wrist.

You vanished from his mind. You saw it happen. You always saw it happen. His pupils shifted. His body went rigid. His eyes scanned the words.

DO NOT LOOK AWAY. PERSON IN FRONT OF YOU EXISTS.

Slowly, slowly, he looked up.

He saw you. He did not remember you. But he believed himself.

That was new.

“Explain,” he said.

Your heart, stupid and starved, gave one fragile little kick. You crushed it immediately. “No.”

Damian’s jaw set.

You stepped backwards into shadow. “Don’t follow me.”

“I will.”

“I know.” You sighed. “That was more of a polite suggestion.”

Then you dropped through the unfinished floor before he could stop you.

By the time he reached the lower level, you were gone. But on his wrist, in his own handwriting, proof remained.

PERSON IN FRONT OF YOU EXISTS.

Damian did not sleep. This was not unusual. What was unusual was the wall.

Three nights after the warehouse, Damian’s room contained forty-seven handwritten notes, twelve printed maps, six blood-spatter diagrams, and one sketch of a figure he could not remember drawing. The figure wore a half-mask. The lines were precise, though incomplete around the face. Every time he tried to sketch the eyes from memory, the image dissolved. Not physically. The paper remained.

His mind simply refused to hold the connection. It enraged him.

So he adapted.

At the top of the wall, he wrote: SUBJECT: FORGET-ME-NOT Then, beneath it: Known effects: Memory loss triggered when direct attention breaks. Written records persist. Video uncertain, beed test. Physical evidence persists. Emotional response may persist after memory loss. Subject saves civilians but uses lethal force. Subject saved me. Subject is alone.

Damian stared at the last line for a long time. He did not remember writing it. That bothered him more than the rest.

There were other notes too.

Do not trust first instinct upon seeing Subject. You have met before. Subject uses sarcasm defensively. Irritating. Possibly deliberate. Subject appears resigned when forgotten. Do not forget: forgetting harms them.

The final note was carved harder into the paper than the others. Damian ran a thumb over the indentation. He had no memory of the conversation that caused it.

Still, anger rose in him. Not at you.

At the fact that the world could look at a person and let them disappear.

You should have left Gotham. You knew that. You had left cities for less.

A cop in Blüdhaven once remembered the shape of your hand for nearly four seconds after looking away. You were on a train by morning. A telepath in Metropolis once frowned at you and said, “That’s strange.” You were out of the state within the hour.

Survival was simple: never wait to be wanted. Wanting was a trap.

So, naturally, you stayed.

Because Damian Wayne kept leaving evidence that he was looking for you. A chalk mark on a rooftop you used often. A camera angled toward an alley with a handwritten sign taped above it IF YOU SEE THIS, I AM TRYING TO SPEAK WITH YOU. A packet tucked beneath a gargoyle containing protein bars, medical supplies, burner comms, and a note. I do not know whether you need these. Take them anyway.

You threw the protein bars away. Then retrieved them ten minutes later. You were lonely, not stupid.

The burner comm you kept for three days before turning it on.

Immediately, a message appeared. This is Robin.

You stared at it.

Another message followed. If this device is active, I assume you have it.

Another. I will not ask you to meet in person unless you agree.

Another. I do not remember you. That does not mean you are not real.

Your throat tightened.

You hated him a little for that one.

So you typed, This is extremely dramatic.

The reply came thirty seconds later. You have met my father. I assure you this is restrained.

A laugh escaped before you could stop it. It startled you. The sound felt foreign. Like opening a door in a house you thought had burned down.

You typed, Your handwriting is terrible btw.

My handwriting is exceptional.

Your R looks like a stabbed insect.

A pause. Then, Noted.

The next chalk message you found two nights later had perfect block letters.

Smug little freak.

Damian learned around the shape of you. That was the only way to describe it. He could not remember you directly, but he built scaffolding around the absence.

Notes on his gloves. Voice memos recorded while staring at you, played back after he forgot. Sketches done in real time, each labelled with date, location, and emotional impression.

Subject looked tired tonight. Subject pretended not to care about antiseptic. Lied poorly. Subject dislikes being thanked. Continue thanking them. Subject laughed at 02:13. Remember that this matters.

You found that one in his notebook when you absolutely were not snooping.

“You are snooping,” Damian said.

You snapped the notebook shut. “I am investigating.”

“You are holding my private notes.”

“You left them where anyone could read them.”

“They were in my hand.”

“Skill issue.”

Damian looked unimpressed.

You were perched on the edge of a rooftop HVAC unit, swinging one leg like you had not just been caught reading the closest thing anyone had ever made to a record of you. He stood three feet away, refusing to break eye contact.

He had learned that trick too. It made conversations tense. Intimate. Weird.

“You should not kill,” he said.

You groaned. “We were having such a nice moment.”

“We were not.”

“You were writing about my laugh.”

His ears went faintly pink. Fascinating. “I record relevant behavioural data.”

“My laugh is relevant?”

“It is an indicator of trust.”

“Wow.” You placed a hand over your heart. “Talk dirty to me, Robin.”

His blush deepened. Your smile faded before he could see how much you liked it.

Dangerous. Hope was dangerous.

Damian stepped closer. “You use humour to redirect.”

“You use analysis to avoid feelings.”

“I do not avoid feelings.”

“You dress like a bat-themed traffic warning and punch people at night.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it.  “That is irrelevant.”

“That is what people say when things are relevant.”

He glared. You smiled. Then his gaze flicked, involuntarily, to the notebook in your hands.

And it happened. His expression emptied of you. Just slightly. Just enough.

He looked back up. His hand went to his sword. “Who are—”

You tossed the notebook at his chest. He caught it.

“Read page twelve,” you said.

Damian looked down.

You watched him reconstruct you from ink. Watched his own words pull him back to the edge of belief. Watched him breathe in slowly.

His eyes returned to yours. Not remembering. Choosing anyway.

“I apologise,” he said.

You flinched. It was small. He noticed.

“Don’t,” you said.

“I forgot.”

“Everyone does.”

“That does not make it acceptable.”

You laughed once, but there was no humour in it. “Careful, Wayne. You keep saying things like that, and I’ll start thinking you mean them.”

“I do.”

That was the problem.

You looked away first. The second you did, you knew he would forget the exact softness that had passed between you.

But you remembered. You always remembered.

Lucky you.

Damian’s family noticed eventually. Of course they did. A Bat could hide a stab wound for six hours, but not a new obsession. The dramatic irony was almost cute.

Tim found the wall first. He stared at the notes. Then at Damian. Then back at the notes.

“Okay,” Tim said. “Not to be rude, but this is either a case board or the beginning of a gothic romance.”

Damian snatched a sketch off the wall. “Leave.”

“Gothic romance. Got it.”

“Drake.”

“Does your mysterious murder cryptid have a name?”

Damian went still. “No.”

Tim’s expression shifted. Gentler. More dangerous. “You don’t know?”

“No one does.”

That shut him up. For almost three seconds, which for Tim Drake was basically a vow of silence. Then Tim stepped closer to the board. “You think there’s a cognitive effect?”

“I know there is.”

“On everyone?”

“Yes.”

“Even you?”

Damian’s jaw tightened. “Especially me.”

Tim read the notes in silence. Then said, “That’s horrifying.”

“Yes.”

“And lonely.”

Damian looked at the sketch in his hand. The eyes were incomplete again. “Yes,” he said.

Later, after Tim left, Damian added another note. Ask Subject what they want. Do not assume rescue equals cure.

He underlined it twice.

“What do you want?” Damian asked.

You stopped sharpening your knife. That question was worse than who are you. At least who are you had an easy answer. Nobody. Nothing. Gone already.

“What?” you said.

Damian sat across from you on the rooftop, knees bent, forearms resting loosely against them. He had taken off the domino. You hated when he did that. It made him look too human. Too young. Too beautiful in a way that was absolutely none of your business.

“What do you want?” he repeated.

“A vacation. Better coffee. The Joker dead. A nap long enough to be classified as a coma.”

“I am serious.”

“That’s tragic.”

“Forget-Me-Not.”

You froze.

He had never called you that out loud before. The name should have sounded clinical. It should have sounded like one more label pinned to the body-shaped hole you left in the world.

But Damian said it like a promise. Quiet. Careful. Yours, almost.

You looked away. The city blurred beneath you. “Don’t call me that.”

“What should I call you?”

You laughed under your breath. “Doesn’t matter. You won’t remember.”

“I will write it down.”

“That isn’t the same.”

“No,” Damian said. “It is not.”

The honesty almost hurt worse than comfort would have. You swallowed.

“My parents had a name for me,” you said. Damian went very still. “I don’t use it anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because they stopped.” You hated the silence that followed. You hated that he did not rush to fill it. You hated that some part of you wanted him to. “I was little,” you continued, because apparently your mouth had decided to betray the whole fortress. “When it started. At first, people just… misplaced me. Teachers skipped over me. Kids forgot games halfway through playing them. My parents thought it was stress. Then a phase. Then a curse. Then…” You smiled thinly. “Then I became a note on the fridge.”

Damian said nothing.

You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve. “One day, I came home and there were no notes. No dinner plate. No bed made up. My room was storage. My mother looked right at me, turned to call my father, and when she turned back, she screamed because there was a stranger in her house.” Your voice did not break. You were proud of that. “She forgot me faster than she could love me.”

Damian’s hands curled.

You looked at him then. Big mistake. His face held rage, but not the kind people usually aimed at you. This was not fear. Not suspicion.

This was fury on your behalf.

Hope sparked again. Tiny. Stupid. Cruel.

You crushed it badly this time. Not enough.

“That’s why you kill,” he said.

You snorted. “No. I kill because some people deserve to stop breathing.”

“Your loneliness informs your methods.”

“Careful. That almost sounded like empathy.”

“It was.”

“Gross.”

Damian’s mouth twitched. There. A near-smile. The kind of thing a person could get addicted to if they were very dumb and had no self-preservation.

You stood too quickly. “I should go.”

Damian stood too. “Stay.”

The word struck between you like a thrown blade.

You stared at him. He looked startled by himself. Then determined, because of course he did. Damian Wayne would fight God before admitting a feeling caught him off guard.

“Stay,” he repeated. “For ten minutes.”

“Why?”

“So I can remember you for ten minutes.”

Your chest hurt. “Damian.”

His name came out before you could stop it.

He inhaled sharply. You had never said it before.

Not Robin. Not Wayne.

Damian. Like he was a person. Like you were a person.

His voice softened. “Please.”

You hated hope. You hated it.  You hated how it bloomed anyway.

So you sat back down. For ten minutes, Damian Wayne looked at you and did not forget. For ten minutes, you existed in someone else’s mind.

It was not enough.

It was everything.

The breakthrough came from a mistake. Damian was injured. Not badly, he insisted, which meant badly enough that anyone sane would seek medical attention. You found him in an alley behind the Iceberg Lounge, bleeding from a cut across his ribs and trying to staple himself shut with one hand.

“You look terrible,” you said.

He looked up sharply. For half a second, his face relaxed.

Not recognition. Never recognition. But something close.

“Forget-Me-Not.”

“You remembered?”

“No.” He glanced at the writing on his wrist. “I prepared.”

Of course he did.

You crouched beside him and slapped his hand away. “I can do it.”

“I’ve seen you try to stitch with your off-hand. It was like watching a raccoon defuse a bomb.”

“Your concern is touching.”

“My concern is impatient.”

You cleaned the wound while he stared at you. The eye contact had become easier.

No. That was a lie. It had become more unbearable.

Because Damian watched like attention was devotion. Like looking could be a form of shelter. Like if he just tried hard enough, the universe would be forced to admit you were there.

“You’re going to need stitches,” you said.

“I know.”

“This will hurt.”

“I know.”

“Don’t do that macho thing.”

“I do not do a macho thing.”

“You were raised by Batman and assassins. You absolutely do a macho thing.”

His lips twitched.

You started stitching. His breath hitched once, controlled and sharp.

Without thinking, you placed your free hand over his.

A stupid comfort. A forgettable comfort.

Damian looked down at your joined hands. You felt the moment his memory dropped.

His fingers tensed. You tried to pull away.

He caught your hand.

Not hard. Just enough.

His eyes were still on your hands. He should have forgotten you. He had forgotten you.

But he did not let go.

Slowly, he looked back up. His expression was confused. Then he saw your face. Then the note on his wrist. Then your hand in his. His thumb moved once against your knuckles.

“I forgot,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“But I did not release you.”

You stared at him.

He looked down again, testing. Memory vanished from his face. His hand remained around yours. Up again.

Reconstruction. Understanding.

“Physical contact,” he said.

Your pulse stumbled. “What?”

“Physical contact may preserve some continuity. Not memory, but intent. Somatic anchoring.”

“You are such a nerd.”

“Yes,” Damian said, eyes bright now in a way that made him look younger. “And you are holding my hand.”

You dropped it immediately. He looked smug for exactly one second before wincing because smugness apparently pulled stitches.

“Don’t get excited,” you said. “It was medical.”

“Of course.”

“I would hold anyone’s hand while sewing their ribs shut.”

“Your bedside manner is abysmal.”

“You’re welcome.”

That night, Damian wrote seventeen pages about somatic anchoring. You pretended not to read them.

You read them three times.

After that, things changed. Not fixed. Never fixed. This was not a fairy tale. Gotham ate fairy tales, picked the bones clean, and sold them back as cautionary graffiti.

Damian still forgot you. Every night. Every conversation. Every time his gaze broke, even for a breath too long.

But now he built ways back. A touch to his wrist. A note in his palm. A recording in his own voice, You trust them. Do not reach for your sword. Ask whether they have eaten.

The first time that recording played, you nearly threw his comm off a roof.

“Ask whether I’ve eaten?” you demanded. “What am I, a stray cat?”

Damian looked you up and down.

You hissed, “Don’t.”

“You do frequent rooftops.”

“I will stab you.”

“You also resist care despite needing it.”

“Damian.”

“And you accepted tuna from Brown last week.”

“That was sushi, you rich gremlin.”

He looked pleased. It was awful.

You started staying longer. That was the dangerous part. Five minutes became ten. Ten became an hour. An hour became patrol routes where Damian would glance at you every few seconds, stubborn as sunrise, refusing to let you vanish if he could help it.

Sometimes he failed. A lot of times, he failed. You learned the shape of his forgetting. The slight tightening of his stance. The way his eyes flicked cold before his notes thawed him. The apology he gave every time, even when you told him to stop.

Especially then.

“I apologise.”

“Don’t.”

“I hurt you.”

“You forgot me. That’s different.”

“No,” Damian said once, quiet beneath the rain. “It is not.”

You had no joke for that. So you stood beside him in silence while Gotham glittered wet and cruel below.

Your shoulder brushed his. He did not move away.

Neither did you.

The first time he kissed you, he forgot you halfway through. It was, objectively, a disaster.

You were laughing when it happened, which made it worse.

Damian had been trying to explain a new theory involving tactile recall, mnemonic loops, and Zatanna, because apparently the Bats’ solution to metaphysical trauma was “call a magician and make three spreadsheets.”

“You made a spreadsheet about me?”

“Several.”

“That is either romantic or a federal concern.”

“You are deflecting.”

“You are flirting with data.”

“I am flirting with you.”

You stopped breathing. Damian stopped too. The city wind moved between you.

“Don’t say things you won’t remember,” you whispered.

His expression changed. Softened. “I may not remember saying them,” he said, “but I have written them in twenty-three places. I have recorded them in my own voice. I have told Drake, Cain, and Pennyworth. I have carved reminders into my routines until my life bends around the fact of you.”

Your eyes burned. “Damian.”

“I do not remember you the way I should,” he said. “But I know this: every version of myself that finds the evidence chooses you again.”

Oh. That was unfair.

That was so unfair.

You stepped back, but he caught your hand.

“Do not run.”

“I’m very good at running.”

“I know.”

“You don’t know anything.”

His thumb pressed against your pulse. “I know enough.”

You laughed once, broken and small. “You’re going to look away one day and not look back.”

“No.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No,” he agreed. “I do not. But I know I have looked back every time so far.”

There was no defence against that. None.

You kissed him first. Because you were tired of being a ghost. Because you wanted one thing before the world took it. Because hope was a cruel little weed growing through concrete, and maybe you were tired of ripping it out.

Damian made a soft sound against your mouth, startled, then certain. His hand rose to your jaw. His other hand stayed locked around yours. For one blazing second, you were held in memory and body both.

Then a siren wailed below. His eyes flicked toward the street.

You felt him forget. His mouth stilled. His hand tensed.

You pulled back before his confusion could finish forming.

Damian blinked at you, alarmed. Then looked at your joined hands. At the note written across his glove. You love them. Breathe. His face went scarlet.

You stared. He stared.

“Oh my god,” you said hoarsely. “You wrote that on your glove?”

Damian cleared his throat. “It seemed practical.”

“You are insane.”

“Likely.”

“You forgot me during our first kiss.”

His eyes widened. Then narrowed at himself, offended. “Unacceptable.”

You laughed. You laughed so hard your eyes spilled over.

Damian looked stricken.

“No,” you said quickly, wiping your face. “No, I’m not— I’m not laughing because it hurt.”

Though it did. Of course it did. Everything did. But not only. Not anymore.

“I’m laughing because you look personally betrayed by your own brain.”

“I am.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I will do better next time.” Next time. The words landed softly. Carefully. Like a coat around cold shoulders.

“You want a next time?” you asked.

Damian looked at the glove again. Then at you. He did not remember the kiss. But his mouth curved faintly. “I apparently insisted upon it in writing.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Okay, Wayne.”

His hand tightened around yours. “Okay?”

You leaned in until your forehead touched his. “Next time.”

He closed his eyes.

Panic shot through you. But his hand stayed in yours. His forehead stayed against yours. And when he opened his eyes again, the confusion came. Then the note. Then the choice.

Always the choice.

“There you are,” he said softly.

Your breath caught.

He did not remember saying it before. Maybe he never had. Maybe he would say it again.

Maybe that was enough to survive on. For now.

Zatanna could not cure you. Not fully.

You expected that. You told yourself you expected that. Still, when she stood in the cave beneath the cold blue light and said, “I’m sorry,” something in you folded inward.

Damian’s hand found yours immediately. Anchoring. Always anchoring.

Zatanna’s expression was gentle in a way you did not know what to do with. “It isn’t just magic,” she said. “There’s magic in it, yes, but also metahuman biology, trauma response, maybe even a curse that attached itself to your ability when you were young. It’s tangled.”

“Great,” you said. “Love being a group project.”

Tim, from behind three laptops, whispered, “Honestly, same.”

Damian glared at him.

Zatanna continued, “I may be able to help reduce the effect. Create anchors. People who consent to remembering you may be able to retain emotional continuity longer. Names may hold power. Touch helps. Written records help. Repetition helps.”

You swallowed. “But no cure.”

“Not today.”

Not today. It was not a yes. It was not a no.

Hope, again. That annoying little weed.

Damian looked at you. You knew he was waiting for you to break first. To scoff. To run. To turn cold before disappointment could touch you.

Instead, you looked at your hand in his. At the ink on his wrist. At the wall of notes behind him. At the sketch he had redrawn so many times the eyes were finally starting to look like yours.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted. Your voice sounded too small in the cave.

Damian’s thumb moved over your knuckles. “Neither do I.”

“You hate not knowing things.”

“I do.”

“This could take years.”

“Then we will require more notebooks.”

You laughed wetly. He looked proud of himself.

Little menace.

“You’ll forget me,” you said.

His expression sobered. “Yes.”

No pretty lie. No softening the blade. Just truth.

Then he lifted your joined hands. “And I will find you again.”

You closed your eyes. For once, when someone looked away, you did not disappear completely.

Damian forgot. Then read the note. Then remembered enough. His hand stayed around yours.

When you opened your eyes, he was watching you with that familiar, stubborn, impossible focus. Like the universe had made a rule, and Damian Wayne had taken it personally.

“Hello,” he said carefully. Your heart broke. Your heart healed. Both, maybe.

“Hi,” you whispered.

His gaze dropped to the note on his wrist. Then back to you.

A small smile touched his mouth. “There you are.”

And for the first time in a very long time, you believed him.

The first thing Damian remembered was your laugh. Not your face. Not your voice. Not the exact shape of your hand in his.

Just the laugh.

It came to him three days after Zatanna’s visit, in the middle of sparring with Cass. He was blocking a strike to his ribs when the sound flickered through his mind—quiet, sharp, unwilling, like joy had snuck into your chest and gotten caught trying to escape.

Damian froze. Cass’ foot stopped half an inch from his knee. She tilted her head. Damian lowered his sword.

“I remember something,” he said.

Cass blinked once. Then smiled. Small. Knowing.

Damian hated being known by people who could read body language like scripture.

“What?” she asked.

His mouth opened. For one terrifying second, the memory slipped. Not gone. Slipping.

Damian’s hand snapped to his wrist, where his notes were written in dark ink. FORGET-ME-NOT EXISTS. DO NOT TRUST ABSENCE. THEY ARE REAL.

But he did not need them. The sound returned. A laugh on a rooftop. Rain on metal. Your voice saying, You are flirting with data.

His heart struck hard against his ribs.

“Their laugh,” he said, stunned.

Cass lowered her foot fully. Damian stared at nothing.

He remembered. Not because of a note. Not because of a recording. Not because his past self had left breadcrumbs like a man wandering through a cursed forest.

He remembered something of you.

On his own.

You did not believe him. Naturally.

“That’s adorable,” you said flatly. “Have you considered brain damage?”

Damian stood across from you on the roof of Gotham Central Library, arms crossed, jaw set in the particular way that meant he was either offended or about to confess something emotionally devastating with the energy of a murder accusation. Sometimes both.

“I am not concussed.”

“You say that a lot for someone who gets hit in the head professionally.”

“I remember your laugh.”

You looked away. It was instinct by now. A survival reflex. If someone said something kind, you made sure they forgot it before it became real.

Damian’s breath caught. You heard it. That tiny shift.

You closed your eyes. There it was. The moment. The curse. The world’s old cruel joke, winding itself up again.

When you opened your eyes, Damian was staring at you. Still. Focused. Shaken.

“I remember,” he said.

Your chest tightened. “No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

“You read a note.”

“I did not.”

“You listened to a recording.”

“No.”

“You’re guessing.”

“Your laugh is quiet at first,” Damian said, voice low, “as if you resent it for existing. Then it catches. Barely. You look away when it happens, because you do not like being seen wanting to stay.”

The city went silent. Or maybe you did. Your whole body locked around the words.

Damian took one step closer. “You called me a rich gremlin.” Your mouth parted. “And a bat-themed traffic warning.”

“That one was objectively true,” you whispered.

His mouth twitched. “And you told me my handwriting looked like a stabbed insect.”

You stared at him. The wind moved between you, cold and sharp, tugging at his cape and your sleeves. Far below, sirens wailed. Gotham kept being Gotham, rude as ever. But above it, the impossible sat between you like a candle in a ruined church.

“You remember that?” you asked.

“Yes.”

You searched his face for the lie. There wasn’t one. That was the problem with Damian. He could be arrogant, difficult, blunt, dramatic in a way he would deny until the sun died, but he did not give you comfort he could not defend.

Hope stirred. You hated it. You hated how quickly it had learned his name.

“Maybe it’s temporary,” you said.

“It may be.”

“Maybe it won’t last.”

“It may not.”

“Maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow, and it’ll be gone.”

His expression softened. “Then I will begin again tomorrow.”

Your throat burned. “You don’t get tired of that?”

“Yes.”

The honesty hit harder than a pretty answer would have.

Damian stepped closer. “I get furious,” he said. “I get impatient. I get…” His jaw tightened. “Afraid.” You stared. Damian Wayne said the word like it had been dragged out of him by the throat. “But I do not get tired of you.”

Your breath caught. He looked startled by his own words, but he did not take them back. You laughed once, brittle and small. “That’s a terrible line.”

“I was not aware we were exchanging lines.”

“You’re doing a tragic rooftop romance. You should at least be good at it.”

“I will improve.”

“Don’t make that sound like a threat.”

“I make no promises.”

There it was again. The almost-smile. You wanted to touch it. You wanted to run from it. Both urges lived in you at once, twin animals baring teeth.

Instead, you pulled your knees to your chest and sat on the edge of the roof. After a moment, Damian sat beside you.

Not too close. Close enough.

You glanced at him. “Do you remember my face?”

His silence answered before he did. “No,” he said. You nodded like that didn’t hurt. “I remember impressions,” he continued. “Your eyes when you are annoyed. The angle of your head when you are about to insult me. The way your shoulders rise when someone says something kind and you do not know where to put it.”

“Wow. Drag me, why don’t you.”

“I remember the scar on your left thumb.”

Your hand curled instinctively. Damian noticed.

“You told me it was from a knife fight,” he said.

“I lied.”

“I know.” You looked at him sharply. He glanced at your hand, then quickly back to your face, as if afraid to lose you. “You cut yourself opening a can of peaches when you were twelve.”

The world fell out from under you. You had told him that on a bad night. A stupid night. A night where you had been tired and bleeding and too lonely to keep every door locked. You had told him about the abandoned apartment you stayed in that winter, about eating canned fruit with a stolen pocketknife, about slicing your thumb open and crying more because there was no one to hear you than because it hurt.

You had told him. Then he had looked away. And forgotten. You had regretted saying it for weeks.

Damian remembered.

Your hand trembled before you could stop it. He saw. Carefully, slowly, he offered his hand palm-up between you.

Not taking. Asking.

Damn him. Damn him for learning you this gently.

You stared at his hand like it was a trap. Then you placed yours in it.

His fingers closed around yours. The contact steadied something in the air. Or maybe in you.

“I remember that,” Damian said.

You swallowed hard. “How?”

“I do not know yet.”

“Of course you added ‘yet.’”

“I am consistent.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I have been called worse.”

“By me.”

“Mostly, yes.”

A laugh escaped you. Soft. Unwilling.

Damian’s eyes sharpened, not like a hunter this time, but like a boy watching the first star appear in a dark sky.

“There,” he whispered. You went still. “I will remember that one too.”

Your heart hurt so badly you almost hated him for it.

Almost.

The second thing Damian remembered was your voice.

It happened badly. The Narrows were soaked in rain, neon bleeding down dirty windows and alley walls. You had been tracking a weapons shipment tied to Black Mask’s old network. Damian had tracked it too, which meant the two of you ended up on opposite sides of the same warehouse skylight, glaring at each other through wet glass like the world’s least normal meet-cute.

“You followed me,” you said through the comm he had given you.

“I was here first.”

“I was here silently.”

“I was here competently.”

“That’s debatable.”

“You set off the pressure sensor on the south entrance.”

“That sensor was ugly and deserved it.”

Damian sighed. You grinned despite yourself. Then the floor beneath him exploded. The comm cut out. Your body moved before your fear could name itself.

You dropped through the skylight into smoke and gunfire, landing hard on a steel beam. Below, men shouted. Red emergency lights flashed. Damian was on one knee near the centre of the room, one hand braced against the concrete, blood bright against his temple.

For one horrible second, he looked younger. Not Robin. Not Batman’s heir.

Just Damian. Your Damian.

No. Not yours.

You threw three blades in quick succession. Three men dropped.

Damian looked up. His eyes found you.

Relief flickered across his face. Then a flashbang detonated. White swallowed everything. When your vision returned, Damian was standing with his sword drawn and no recognition in his eyes.

Of course. You knew this part. You could survive this part.

Then he pointed the blade at you. “Identify yourself.”

Something inside you snapped.

“Are you kidding me?” you shouted.

He froze. Not because he remembered.

Because your voice did something to him.

You saw it happen. His shoulders shifted. His grip faltered. His eyes widened, not with knowledge, but with impact. Your voice had gotten through before his mind could slam the door.

“Robin!” one of the smugglers barked from behind him.

Damian did not turn. Good. Learning.

The man raised a gun. You shot him in the shoulder.

Damian’s gaze flicked instinctively toward the sound. Lost.

His face emptied. Then his jaw clenched. He looked back at you.

“I know your voice,” he said.

You almost missed your next throw. “What?”

“I know your voice.”

“You don’t know me.”

His eyes narrowed, frustrated. “I know your voice.”

The fight surged around you. This was a terrible place for a revelation.

“Great,” you snapped. “Use that knowledge to duck.”

He ducked. A crowbar swung through the space where his skull had been. Damian moved like water after that, violent and precise. You covered his blind spots. He covered yours. Every time he looked away, his body reset—but not completely. Your voice pulled him back faster each time.

“Left.” He moved left. “Behind you.” He spun. “Duck, pretty bird.”

He ducked, then glared at you mid-fight. “You did not just call me—” He knocked a man unconscious with the hilt of his sword. “You did,” he said.

You shrugged while kicking someone in the knee. “Adrenaline. Don’t read into it.”

“I will read into it extensively.”

“Focus.”

“I am focused.”

“You are flirting while concussed.”

“I am multitasking.”

You laughed. He heard it. And this time, when he looked away, he still smiled.

Only for half a second. Only barely. But you saw it.

And after the last man dropped, Damian stood in the wreckage, rain pouring through the broken skylight, blood sliding down his jaw, and said your name. Not your real name, but the one he had given you.

“Forget-Me-Not.” You froze. His eyes widened. “I remembered.”

You stared at him. “No notes?”

“No notes.”

“No recording?”

“No.”

“No contact?”

“No.”

Your pulse roared in your ears.

Damian lifted a hand to his own mouth, stunned by himself. “I remembered the name.”

You should have made a joke. You always made a joke. Instead you crossed the space between you and grabbed him by the front of his suit. His eyes dropped to your hands.

You knew the risk. His memory flickered. You felt him begin to lose you.

“Damian,” you said.

His gaze snapped back to your face. There. He stayed.

You kissed him. It was not graceful. It was wet from rain and sharp with fear, his mouth startled beneath yours for one breath before he kissed you back with a kind of fierce, trembling focus that made your knees weak. His hands hovered for half a second, like he was afraid touching you wrong would make you vanish. Then one settled at your waist. The other came up to your jaw.

You felt him try not to look away. Felt the concentration in every line of him.

It should have been funny. It was devastating.

You pulled back just enough to breathe. His eyes were still open. Still on you.

“Did you forget?” you whispered.

His fingers tightened. “No.” Your world cracked open. Damian’s voice dropped. “I remember kissing you before.”

You stopped breathing.

His brow furrowed, like the memory was fighting him, like he was dragging it up with both hands from deep water. “Rooftop,” he said. “Siren. I looked away. You laughed at my glove.”

A sound left you. Half laugh. Half sob. “You wrote ‘you love them’ on your glove.”

His face flushed. Even now. Bleeding, soaked, standing over seven unconscious criminals and three dead ones, Damian Wayne blushed because you remembered his dramatic little love note to himself.

“I was being thorough,” he muttered.

“You were being insane.”

“I was being correct.”

You looked at him. He looked back. The rain softened the edges of him. Made him less blade, more boy. Fewer weapons, more want. Your hands were still fisted in his suit.

“You love me?” you asked. The question came out smaller than you meant it to.

Damian’s expression changed. He looked briefly, openly terrified. Then certain. “Yes,” he said.

No hesitation. No escape route. Just yes.

Your eyes stung. “You barely remember me.”

“I remember enough to know what the rest of me keeps choosing.”

“That is the most Damian Wayne answer imaginable.”

“I assume that is favourable.”

“It’s obnoxious.”

“You’re crying.”

“I’m rain-adjacent.”

“It is indoors.”

“There’s a hole in the roof.”

“Because you crashed through it.”

“Romantically.”

His mouth twitched. Then softened. “Beloved,” he said quietly.

You forgot how to be clever. Damian noticed. A dangerous amount of satisfaction entered his face.

“Oh, shut up,” you whispered.

“I said nothing.”

“You looked smug.”

“I am allowed to be pleased when I render you speechless.”

“I’m going to stab you emotionally.”

“You already have.”

And there it was. The ache beneath the banter. The years of loneliness. The curse. The forgetting. The way every soft thing between you had teeth marks in it from trying not to die.

You touched his cheek. His eyes closed for one second. Just one.

When he opened them, panic flashed. Then recognition followed. Slowly. Painfully. But there.

“I remember,” he said, wonder breaking through his voice.

Your thumb brushed his cheekbone. “Damian?”

“I remember.”

His hand covered yours. “I closed my eyes,” he said. “And I remembered.”

You stared at him.

The silence after that was not empty. It was full of every impossible thing neither of you dared to name.

Then Damian leaned forward and kissed you again. This time, he closed his eyes. This time, when he opened them, you were still there.

He became unbearable after that. Scientifically unbearable. You had never seen a man so smug about emotional progress. Damian walked around the Batcave like he had personally defeated the laws of metaphysics through discipline and cheekbones.

“I remembered their voice for fourteen minutes without visual confirmation,” he told Tim.

Tim stared at him over his coffee. “Good morning to you, too.”

“This suggests the effect is weakening.”

“It suggests you’re in love and making it everyone’s problem.”

Damian sniffed. “I am conducting research.”

“You wrote their name in the margin of a case file.”

“That was accidental.”

“You surrounded it with little flowers.”

Damian’s face went blank. Tim’s grin widened. “They were tactical flowers,” Damian said.

You, hidden in the rafters above them, nearly choked trying not to laugh.

Damian’s head snapped up.

He could not see you. Still, he smiled. Tiny. Private. Like his body knew where you were before his eyes did.

Tim followed his gaze and sighed. “You two are going to be disgusting, aren’t you?”

“I do not know what you mean,” Damian said.

“You’re already doing the secret rooftop eye-contact thing.”

“Your jealousy is unbecoming.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m sleep-deprived and surrounded by emotionally constipated vigilantes discovering romance like it’s a new martial art.”

From the rafters, you whispered, “He’s not wrong.”

Damian looked directly at your hiding place. “I heard that.”

Tim startled. “You heard them?”

Damian paused.

His expression changed. Not confusion. Astonishment. He had heard you without seeing you. And remembered who the voice belonged to.

You dropped lightly from the rafters, landing beside the computer platform.

Tim looked at you. Then away by accident. When his gaze returned, he frowned at the empty space his mind insisted on making.

“Right,” Tim muttered, immediately looking at his tablet. “Wow. That is annoying.”

“Welcome to my whole life,” you said.

Tim winced. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You wrote a twelve-page theory about me involving quantum attention decay. That was worse.”

Tim brightened. “You read that?”

“No.”

“You did.”

“Unfortunately.”

Damian stepped closer to you. His hand brushed yours. Not because he needed to anchor himself.

Because he wanted to. That difference nearly ruined you.

Tim looked between you and Damian. Or tried to. Mostly, his eyes kept snagging on Damian’s hand and then sliding away from the rest of you.

“So,” Tim said slowly, “he’s remembering more?”

“Yes,” Damian said.

You looked at him. “Sometimes.”

“More than sometimes.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“I am accurately confident.”

“You remembered I hate lilies and decided that made you a wizard.”

“You said lilies smell like funeral homes and rich guilt.”

Tim pointed at you with his coffee. “That is incredibly specific.”

Damian’s eyes stayed on you. “I remembered because it mattered to them.”

The cave went quiet. Even Tim had the decency not to ruin it.

You swallowed. “Stop being sincere in public.”

“This is my home.”

“There are bats in it.”

“They are family.”

Tim whispered, “See? Disgusting.”

Damian ignored him. You tried to, but your mouth twitched. And Damian remembered that too.

Your real name came on a night without costumes. That was not planned. Most important things with Damian were either meticulously planned or happened with the emotional timing of a car crash. This was the second kind.

You were at Wayne Manor because Alfred had decided you were underfed. Alfred Pennyworth, you quickly discovered, was immune to approximately sixty per cent of your nonsense through sheer British stubbornness. He forgot you, yes. But he did not forget the place setting he had arranged. He did not forget the extra cup of tea. He did not forget the note he had written in elegant script beside the tray, Our guest takes honey, not sugar. Do not allow Master Damian to brood overmuch.

You read it three times. Then blamed allergies.

There were no allergies.

Damian found you in the library after dinner, standing near the window with a cup of tea cooling in your hands.

“You fled,” he said.

“I relocated.”

“You were overwhelmed.”

“I was avoiding your brother asking whether I’m your partner.”

Damian went still. “He asked that?”

“He tried to. He forgot halfway through and asked why you were smiling at a chair.”

Damian grimaced. You turned from the window.

The library was warm, gold-lit, lined with books that looked older than several Gotham neighborhoods. Rain tapped against the glass. Somewhere far down the hall, Dick laughed at something Jason said. It sounded painfully normal. Too normal for you. Too much like a life.

Damian approached carefully. “You may leave whenever you wish.”

“I know.”

“No one will keep you here.”

“I know.”

“You are not a prisoner of being wanted.”

You looked down at your tea. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I can.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I might believe you.”

Damian was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “Good.”

Your grip tightened around the cup. The ceramic warmed your palms. You hated how badly you wanted to stay. You hated how much of your life had been built around leaving before anyone could prove you were impossible to keep.

“Damian,” you said.

He stepped closer. “Yes?”

You looked at him then. No mask. No hood. No blood. No rooftop distance. Just Damian in a dark sweater, hair still damp from the rain, eyes fixed on you like attention was the first language he had ever learned.

“I want to tell you my name,” you said.

His face changed. Softened. Sharpened. Almost reverent. “You do not have to.”

“I know.”

“If you tell me, I may forget it.”

“I know.”

“I will write it down.”

“I know.”

“It still may hurt.”

You laughed under your breath. “It already hurts.”

Damian looked pained. You set the tea aside. Then you stepped close enough that your shoes nearly touched his.

You told him. Not loudly. Not dramatically.

Just a name. A small sound. A human thing. The first thing ever taken from you.

Damian closed his eyes like receiving it hurt.

Then he opened them. Said it back. Perfectly.

Your breath shook. “No one has said that to me in years,” you whispered.

Damian’s hand rose, then stopped. “May I?”

You nodded.

He touched your cheek. Your eyes closed on instinct. His thumb moved softly against your skin.

Then he turned his head. Just slightly. A glance toward the door at a distant sound.

Your stomach dropped.

There. The curse took its bite.

Damian went still. His hand remained on your face. His eyes returned to you. For one second, there was no recognition. Then something fought through.

Not notes. Not touch alone. Something deeper.

His brow furrowed. His lips parted. Then he said your name.

Your whole body went cold. Then hot. Then weightless.

“You remember,” you breathed.

Damian stared at you as if he were afraid moving would break the world. “Yes.”

“Say it again.”

He did.

You covered your mouth. He said it again, softer. Like a vow. Like a prayer. Like he was teaching the universe how to behave.

You made a sound you could not swallow.

Damian pulled you into his arms. Not too tight. Never trapping. Just holding.

You buried your face against his shoulder and shook. He pressed his mouth to your hair.

“I remember,” he whispered.

You clutched the back of his sweater. “You remember me.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t stop.”

“I will not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No,” he said, voice rough. “But I know your name.”

You broke then. Not prettily. Not quietly. Years of vanishing tore out of you all at once. You cried like a child. Like the child who had waited at a dinner table no one set. Like the teenager who had learned knives because hands were never offered. Like the ghost who had survived being forgotten by pretending they did not want to be known.

Damian held you through all of it. And when he looked away once, twice, three times—

He still knew who you were when he looked back.

He asked you properly two weeks later. Because apparently, Damian Wayne could confess love in a burning warehouse but needed a formal strategy for dating.

You found the list by accident. Mostly accident. Fine. Thirty percent accident.

It was in his notebook, beneath a heading written in his sharp, perfect block letters, COURTSHIP PARAMETERS You stared. Then slowly turned the page.

Ask directly. Do not assume existing emotional intimacy equals consent to romantic partnership. Avoid phrasing as a tactical alliance. Drake says this is “weird.” Flowers? Not lilies. Possible alternatives: forget-me-nots, though they may be too obvious. Consider irony? No. Too painful? Ask. Dinner? Public spaces may increase discomfort due to memory effect. Rooftop picnic? Too much like patrol? Do not say “I have selected you.” Brown laughed for four minutes.

You had to sit down. By the time Damian entered the room, you were on his bed, laughing silently into his pillow.

He stopped in the doorway. “You are invading my privacy.”

“You wrote ‘do not say I have selected you.’” His entire face went red. You clutched the notebook to your chest. “Damian.”

“Give that back.”

“You asked Steph for dating advice?”

“I consulted multiple sources.”

“Did you ask Jason?”

His expression darkened. “Todd suggested kidnapping you from yourself.”

“That’s almost poetic.”

“He also suggested leather.”

You wheezed.

Damian lunged for the notebook.

You rolled away, laughing harder. He caught your ankle. You shrieked, half-laughing, and kicked at him without real force. He climbed onto the bed with the terrifying determination of a man fighting for his dignity and losing badly.

“Return it,” he demanded.

“You made a courtship battle plan.”

“It is not a battle plan.”

“It has numbered objectives.”

“It is a list.”

“You were going to ask me out with logistics.”

“I was going to ask you with respect.”

That stopped you. Damian froze too, one hand braced beside your shoulder, the two of you suddenly close enough that laughter became breath. His blush lingered high on his cheeks.

Your smile softened despite yourself. “You were?”

“Yes.”

You looked down at the notebook. Then back at him. “Okay. Ask me.”

“Now?”

“No, Damian. Next fiscal quarter.”

His eyes narrowed. “Your sarcasm is a defence mechanism.”

“Your face is a defence mechanism. Ask.”

He took the notebook from your loosened hand and set it aside. Then, because he was Damian, he straightened even while kneeling on his bed like this was a boardroom and not the most ridiculous romantic moment in recorded history. He looked directly at you. Softer this time.

“I love you,” he said. Your heart tripped. Still. Every time. “I remember you now more often than I forget,” he continued. “But even before that, I knew you. I knew you from the evidence you left behind. I knew you in what my hands refused to release. I knew you in the anger I felt when the world failed to keep you.” You swallowed. “I do not want you as a mission,” he said. “Or a mystery. Or a wound I am arrogant enough to believe I can close. I want you as you are. Difficult. Violent. Irritatingly funny.”

“Careful. I’m swooning.”

“You interrupt when uncomfortable.”

“I’m on brand.”

His mouth curved. “I want to be with you,” he said. “If you will have me.”

For a moment, you could not answer. Your chest felt too full. Too bright. Like hope had stopped being a weed and become a garden overnight, and you had no idea how to tend it.

“You’re sure?” you whispered.

“Yes.”

“What if it gets worse again?”

“Then we adapt.”

“What if you forget for a whole day?”

“I will come back.”

“What if you don’t?”

Pain crossed his face. No offence. Understanding. “Then you are allowed to be angry with me.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is the only honest one.” He touched your hand. “I cannot promise perfection. I can promise effort. I can promise records, anchors, magic, research, and my own unbearable persistence.”

“You are unbearable.”

“I know.”

“You’re smug.”

“Frequently.”

“You brood.”

“Productively.”

“You’re bad at casual affection.”

“I am improving.”

“You tried to label kissing as positive tactile reinforcement.”

He closed his eyes. “I apologised for that.”

“You did.”

“I will never say it again.”

“You better not.”

His eyes opened. Your hand turned beneath his, fingers sliding between his.

“But yeah,” you whispered. “I’ll have you.”

Damian went very still. Then, quietly, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

His face changed. You had seen Damian angry. Injured. Focused. Afraid. Tender in flashes he tried to hide.

You had never seen him happy like this. It was not loud. It did not transform him into someone else. It simply loosened something around his eyes, lit something beneath his skin. A sunrise with discipline. A miracle standing at attention.

Then he leaned down and kissed you. Slowly. Carefully. Like he had all the time in the world and planned to use it well.

You smiled against his mouth.

He pulled back just enough to frown. “You are laughing.”

“I’m dating a man with courtship parameters.”

“I rescind my vulnerability.”

“No take-backs.”

He kissed you again, firmer this time. Your hand rose to the back of his neck, fingers slipping into his hair. He made a quiet sound that you immediately filed away for future bullying.

Then his eyes closed. Your body tensed automatically. He felt it.

His forehead rested against yours. Eyes still closed, he said your name. Perfectly.

You shuddered.

Again, he said it.

Then opened his eyes.

“There you are,” Damian whispered.

And this time, he remembered saying it.

The curse did not vanish. Life was not that kind. Strangers still forgot you. Cameras still blurred if no one watched the footage with intention. Tim still had to write your name on his coffee cup when you visited the cave, and Jason still got annoyed every time he forgot who had stolen his ammo.

“You,” Jason snapped once, pointing at empty air beside you, “better be the reason my smoke bombs are missing.”

You held one up.

Jason looked away. Looked back. Forgot. Then saw the smoke bomb floating in your hand.

“Oh, come on.”

You laughed for ten minutes.

Damian remembered the sound all day.

That was the difference now.

Not a cure.

A beginning.

Some days were worse. Some days, Damian forgot your face after blinking too long. Some days, your name dissolved on his tongue and came back only after he touched the bracelet Zatanna had spelt for him.

Some days you spiralled. Some days he did.

But more often, he remembered.

Your voice from another room. Your hand without looking. Your name in the morning, sleep-rough and certain. Your laugh. Your scars. Your tea. Your hatred of lilies. Your habit of sharpening knives when anxious.

The way you still stood near exits. The way you looked stunned every time he reached for you simply because he wanted to.

And every time he remembered, some old frozen piece of you thawed.

Not all at once. Not cleanly.

Healing was ugly sometimes. It limped. It snapped. It forgot the way home and had to be led back by hand.

But Damian was good at difficult paths.

And you, despite everything, were still here.

One evening, months after the warehouse, you found him on the same rooftop where he had first remembered your laugh. He was waiting with a thermos of tea, two paper containers of takeout, and a small pot of blue flowers.

You stared at it. “Are those forget-me-nots?”

Damian looked almost defensive. “Too obvious?”

“Horribly.”

“I suspected.”

“Very dramatic.”

“I was informed romance requires some drama.”

“By who?”

“Grayson.”

“That explains everything.”

Damian held out the flowers. You took them carefully.

“They’re pretty,” you admitted.

“I know.”

“Smug.”

“Accurately confident.”

You sat beside him, shoulder pressed to his.

Below, Gotham glowed like a bruise full of stars.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then Damian said your name.

Softly.

No prompt. No note. No spell.

You looked at him.

He was watching the skyline, not you.

He had said it while looking away.

Your breath vanished.

Damian turned his head. Saw your face.

Remembered why you looked like that.

His expression softened.

“I know,” he said.

Your eyes burned. “You looked away.”

“Yes.”

“And you remembered.”

“Yes.”

You laughed once, wet and disbelieving. “Show-off.”

He smiled.

Actually smiled. Small but real, and yours to remember even if the world forgot.

You leaned into him. His arm came around you.

This time, neither of you called it anchoring.

This time, it was just holding.

“I love you,” you whispered.

Damian went very still.

You felt the breath leave him.

Then his hand tightened around yours.

He said your name again. Then, “I love you.”

No curse took it. No silence swallowed it. No forgetting followed.

The words stayed. You stayed.

And when Damian looked away toward the city, then back at you, his smile returned like dawn breaking over a place that had only ever known night.

“There you are,” he said.

You smiled through the ache.

“Here I am.”

[irisempreto]

There are no words or language in the world that can describe such a masterpiece. I cried from beginning to end, and every time I think of this story, I’ll probably cry all over again. Thank you so much for creating this masterpiece and for your amazing work. Now I have to face the world and try not to cry every time I remember it.

[angxlshutterstock]

▸ human customs . . ♥︎

✦ : charming gender neutral!reader x krel tarron , they/they used (obv) , amab/afab applies equally here , any body type applies , no use of y/n or name , minor reader and character , jealous / jealousy ( from krel ) , miscommunication , afterward we get to the communication , fluff, minor angst, humor/comedy

note! reader will be light-heartedly flirtatious with a female side character (mary wang). nothing serious, just someone who krel’s jealous over. okay? okay cool love you bye

“you’re terrible,”

the black-haired girl chuckled, her lips curving into a half-flustered, half-playful grin. her hand raised to hover over her mouth and cover her smile as she leaned more toward r/n.

r/n’s gaze narrowed at the latter as they leaned back in their seat. with a smug smirk, an amused huff escaped their nostrils as they twirled their pencil between their fingers.

“either that, or you can't get enough of me.”

at that, mary held back a squeal. she whipped her head away as a flush formed on her cheeks. r/n had to silence their snort in order not to get scolded by ms. janeth.

mary had both her hands on her mouth, yet her smile was still evident. r/n paid no further mind to her as their attention diverted back to the professor.

little did they know, a certain pair of extraterrestrial eyes was drilling holes in the back of their head.

he doesn't consider himself to be a jealous man. on a planet like this, there was hardly anything to be jealous over—at least, for him. but this was something else.

krel’s fingers curled into his palms, a deep frown etched on his lips as his eyebrow twitched. god, he hated this. hated watching the person he… tolerated more than most casually flirt like that.

it should’ve been him. only him. sure, since he was an alien, he couldn't match r/n’s wit all the time… but he was trying! couldn't they see that?? why did mary call r/n terrible anyway? does that word not have a negative connotation???

krel was under the impression that humans flirt with people they're romantically interested in. so why does r/n do it with basically everyone? do they just like everyone? and why is it that when they flirt with him, it’s different???

kleb. he was deep in this rabbit hole. or… earth hole? whatever.

thankfully, the two were biology partners for an important project—something krel would pass with flying colors. and, with his help, r/n would likely do the same.

but he had to talk about that flirting thing.

krel was in his room, awaiting his classmate’s arrival at the mothership. he huffed to himself as he worked on his part (and, admittedly, some of r/n’s part) of the science project.

once he heard the doorbell, mother was already present beside the king-in-waiting before krel could turn his head.

“an unidentified human has arrived. permission to vaporize?”

mother gave krel a preview of who was at the front door. lo and behold, it was exactly who krel thought it was. he wasn’t sure if he was happy or begrudging to see them.

krel grumbled out something close enough to a “no”. he turned on his heel and walked out of his room, his true form phasing into his regular human disguise.

aja and varvatos were deeper in the ship, doing… well, he didn't care about what they were doing right now. frankly, he cared more about confronting r/n.

was he being rational? no. was he thinking this through? absolutely not. was he still going to go through with his sarcastic quips and passive-aggressive remarks before talking? absolutely.

krel opened the front door, his eyebrow arched as soon as he locked eyes with r/n. he watched as they smiled that damned alluring smile of theirs.

“hey, sweetheart.”

they hummed, their voice notably softer than how they usually speak. krel noticed the discreet change in their expression once their gaze landed on him—how their eyes softened, how their grin grew more genuine, how their body language subtly became more relaxed.

to which krel groaned in response. it was like he had to fight himself to stay mad at them.

he stepped back for r/n to enter, his core beginning to feel that wretched tingly sensation. he turned his head away once r/n gave him a confused glance.

krel closed the front door of mother and shortly gestured to r/n to follow him. r/n was rightfully puzzled as to why krel was being so quiet—what was the matter with him?

once r/n and krel slipped into the latter’s room, r/n faced krel and crossed their arms. with pursed lips, they soon spoke with a hint of worry on their tongue.

“what’s wrong, dear?”

“don’t—”

krel hesitated, his teeth gritting as his fingers curled into tight fists again. his cheeks flushed a faint red while averting his eyes to the science project sitting on his desk.

“…don’t call me that.”

r/n’s brows creased in concern. what? r/n was used to krel squirming in front of them just by the use of pet names alone—sure, he still squirmed, but he wasn’t this… against it.

tense silence stretched between the two of them as r/n thought about what to say. sure, the obvious choice was to apologize, but this was unusual behavior from krel.

he never minded the names, despite how much he may externally protest. they were tempted to maybe double down and ask again, yet before they were able to say anything—

“just focus on the schoolwork, okay?”

r/n’s eyes widened slightly as their heart clenched at the passive-aggressive tone in his voice. focus? on the school work?? whenever r/n was over for the sake of school, krel would unintentionally speedrun the whole thing and the two would use the spare time to do whatever.

as much as r/n wanted to say something, anything, they weren’t about to fail biology. this boy was the pillar of their passing grade. additionally, he was already seemingly in a bad mood, so r/n figured it was best not to risk it.

“…alright,”

r/n murmured, blinking slowly as they observed the back of krel’s head. a low, shaky sigh escaped r/n’s lips as they soon approached krel’s desk beside him.

not even twenty minutes pass before the duo was finished with the project. normally, krel would have it done in a jiffy—but he kept stealing glances at r/n like he was anticipating something. or, just… waiting for something.

but nothing came.

r/n didn’t want to overstep. and, apparently, that was a fatal mistake.

“so you aren't going to say anything?”

the brown-haired boy scoffed, his hands moving to rest on his hips as he finally faced r/n. in response, r/n bristled, their lips parting slightly before processing what he said.

“…i’m—i’m sorry?”

“you aren't going to call me one of those stupid names, or smile that infuriating smile, or– just—”

krel scowled, his face blushing a cherry red. he turned his head away again, tightly crossing his arms against his chest. he couldn't believe it. the nerve of this ridiculously intoxicating person!

flirting with mary a few rows in front of him, coming into his home with no shame, and doesn't even bother to apologize? sure, he hasn't even courted r/n, but… he figured they had something special! is that not what humans call chemistry??

r/n blinked incredulously. stupid names? like the pet names they called him? infuriating smile?? what the hell is going on??

they hadn't ever seen krel this upset. ever. usually, he’s a relatively chill guy they hang around with. this time, however, they seemed to have messed up badly. whatever it was, this situation needed to be handled delicately.

r/n tentatively extended their hand, hesitating for a few moments, before finally gently taking grip of krel’s chin. at the touch, krel froze. a bold move, yet it was a calculated risk.

r/n slowly turned krel’s head to make him look at them, both their hearts (…or, cores?) racing. time stopped to watch them with bated breath as their eyes locked, neither daring to look away.

r/n swallowed the nervous lump in their throat, the sound awkwardly audible in the silent environment. they soon exhaled, their hand on krel’s chin unwavering.

“…what’s this about, krel?”

r/n’s voice was low, just as intense as the look in their eyes. they were determined to get to the bottom of this, they were simply caught up in not trying to make everything worse. that was what krel failed to see.

soon, krel cleared his throat, glancing down at the floor beneath their feet.

“…your… exchange with mary. today, in biology. it had me feeling…”

krel stumbled over his words at the end, unsure of how to describe what he felt. he was never the emotional kind of guy, he usually avoided it. and that was more than evident to r/n.

r/n’s gears turned in their head, trying to connect the pieces that they had been given. with krel’s trailed-off sentence, he was leaving unspoken negative words hanging in the air. soon, a lightbulb lit up over r/n’s head.

“jealous?”

krel soon whipped his gaze up to look at r/n, his face flushing an embarrassed red—the warm color an endearing sight that went hand-in-hand with his human guise’s skin.

“wh—no! absolutely not! i just–i had wished…”

krel’s voice quickly grew meek and low again, something unfamiliar bubbling in his chest. vulnerability. with someone who wasn't his family.

“…i wish it was me. instead of her.”

r/n raised a brow, their expression softening into something more akin to amusement. as krel opened up, r/n’s grasp on his chin loosened—to the point where krel could break free if so desired.

“…so, jealousy?”

krel’s breath hitched as he involuntarily freezed, realizing he contradicted himself. soon, he coughed into his hand, looking away and resting his hands behind his back. he relied on his hair covering his flustered expression from r/n’s perspective.

“let’s not put a label on it. how about that?”

r/n stifled a laugh at the remark, the atmosphere around them beginning to lose its tension. as their voices became more light-hearted, krel’s walls slowly began to crumble.

“yeah. sounds good.”

silence bestowed the two again. r/n’s hand fell from hovering beneath krel’s face entirely while their throat suddenly became dry. butterflies flapped in r/n’s stomach as they thought about making a move—but their uncertainty of how to go about it continued to hold them back.

y’know what? damn it all. what's the worst that could happen?

…well, r/n could both lose krel as a friend and quite possibly never be able to rely on him for assistance regarding their grades. but who's really paying mind to that?

“…hey,”

r/n perked up, their voice soft and polite as a warm smile graced their lips. as if it were an irresistible allure, krel turned his head just enough to peek at r/n in his peripheral vision. god, his eyes were adorable. why didn't r/n ask him out sooner?

r/n backed up, walking rearward until the back of their upper legs hit a mattress. they soon leaned against krel’s bed, loosely crossing their arms as their head tilted slightly.

“we don't always have to meet just for school projects. if you’d like, i can come over more often. just you and me.”

—’and you’ll see how much i want you, only you’. too straightforward? yeah, they knew, that's why r/n didn't say it.

krel’s interest was piqued with a gleam of hope swirling in his eyes. that hope was soon wiped out of existence, however, as krel looked away and threw a cold remark. as if that’d help cover the fact that he looked forward to the idea.

“and how many people have you told that line?”

krel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. he knew he was being difficult, but he couldn't help his emotions. r/n understood. so, with a teasing lilt in their voice, they soon responded casually.

“a valuable amount,”

they curtly hummed. krel looked offended as he finally looked r/n in the eye, his eyebrows furrowing in irritation. that only heightened r/n’s amusement.

“just the one i actually care about.”

r/n’s eyelids drooped, their voice knowing and half-playful. though, it was clear r/n was being dead serious about the topic at hand.

krel’s heart… core… everything melted in the second half of the sentence. as much as he wanted not believe it to protect himself, he knew r/n wasn't that kind of person. sure, r/n behaved practically the same with most students, but they never took advantage of anyone whatsoever.

“…you…”

krel breathlessly murmured. soon, he gritted his teeth and lowered his chin. damn this… this… he didn't even know what to call r/n in his own thoughts! kleb, he’s got it bad, and his sister’s so gonna poke fun of him for it!

soon, krel sighed heavily in defeat. he swallowed the small lump in his throat as he moved his hands forward and let them rest on his forearms. r/n was going to be the death of him.

“…yes. i would like for us to hang out more often.”

krel spoke like it hurt. most likely, his pride was wounded. he was still reeling from the fact that he blatantly expressed his jealousy earlier. it takes time to recover from humiliation like that.

yet, r/n knew he was just being dramatic. for the most part. a contented smile was now on their face as they watched krel relax from his sour mood. they abruptly nodded before replying.

“alright, sweetheart. i can call you that, yes?”

krel huffed. it was now his turn to cross his arms—except, this time, it was more like him trying to ward off the fatal attraction he felt. it was not working.

“…don’t stretch it.”

a big, fat lie. he loved it. he needed the pet names. don’t let his words fool you, r/n, keep it coming.

▸ shout out to:

Ayoosh

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❖ : thank you for your time, and thank you for the read :) have a good one!

[eatfeet69]

This post is a huge PSA for anyone writing X Reader content

You may not think this post applies to you, but it does.

There is a massive issue with inclusivity and assuming the audience. I have seen and personally experienced, time and time again, that me and many others feel as if we have no place in fandom. This specific part of it has to do with the majority of "x reader" content out there. It is all written for a cisgender (mostly heterosexual) white woman audience.

Now, cis white women getting content made for them is OBVIOUSLY not the issue here. People write for their personal interests, and there is nothing wrong with that. We all know this, and we all enjoy a fun story with our favorite characters centering around us.

The main issue here is the mentioned women not tagging their content properly, refusing to tag their content properly, straight up lying in the tags or not tagging things at all.

Trans men, nonbinary people, trans women, gay men, disabled people, fat people, intersex people and many people of color or non-american readers are constantly left out of fandom space and forgotten entirely. I've seen hundreds of complaints about it, and it needs to be spoken about more. While I'm on specifically talking about the fanfiction part of it, it is a VISIBLE issue in every fandom space you could possibly partake in. I don't even need to explain to you the rampant racism and transphobia in the cosplay community.

And the fix is extremely easy! TAG YOUR THINGS PROPERLY. It is the easiest, simplest form of allyship one could do for the community, and it goes miles. However, a lot of you seem to not understand how to, even if your heart is in the right place.

How to tag your fanfiction for the general audience:

- Specify the gender of the reader. This goes MUCH farther than just what pronouns are used. I've read WAY too many fanfics that tell me it is gender neutral, only to be hit with nicknames like "princess", or to be told the intended reader loves dresses and wears a bra.

- In tags or a prior description, mention every nickname used for the reader and every possibly gendered descriptor. It's really not difficult, and doesn't take too long.

- If necessary, mention what style of clothes the reader is specified to wear. And if this applies as well, specify any highlighted personality traits you gave the reader.

- Specify the body of the reader. This also goes much farther than gender. "Afab" and "amab" don't exactly cut it. Many people are triggered by certain words connected to genitals, so specify what words are used for those as well! Also, if you are trying to write a gender neutral body, PLEASE specify whether it is entirely gender neutral or something is implied. Many say it is gender neutral, and then explain how the reader's body self lubricates, or even has a clitoris. Please do better than that.

- For the love of God, do not automatically feminize the "GN afab" reader you wrote without a warning, and PLEASE MENTION if breasts are even spoken of, let alone used for smut reasons. And do NOT refer to someone's body as having "fem" or "male" genitalia. just say vagina or penis, please.

- Specify what body type you had in mind. Many fat or even slightly chubby individuals need to look for fanfiction that specifically caters to them, because "neutral body reader" writers, tend to not make it neutral. If you have any specifics on whatever you have written for the body mentioned, do tag it!

- Specify what sort of skin tone or hair texture is mentioned, if at all. Many POC complain that they read neutral fiction just to find straight hair, pale skin, light eyes, and blushing faces to be mentioned. If any color of the body is mentioned at all, or anything is implied, do say so! This also can go for specific things you may not think about, like how long it takes hair to dry, how easy it is to brush, hairstyles and other things of the sort.

It may seem like a bit of a list, but this is really the LEAST you can do for your community. We are consistently forgotten and ignored anywhere we go, and the simple things like this truly mean a lot.

- If there is an implied location, or anything to imply a place of origin, it's best to be on the safe side and mention that if it feels important.

- Please tag if you put the reader through, or mention a past traumatic event. Casually putting the reader character through things like an abusive ex, abusive parents, bad home or work life, or something like a car accident can be highly triggering. tag your scenes thoroughly! This also applies to putting the reader insert through something like sexist comments, unwanted touching of any kind, and similarly negative situations.

I cannot tell you the amount of times I've turned to fanfiction as an outlet and an escape, as many others have, just to be jumpscared by my favorite characters misgendering me. It's truly a miserable experience knowing no place is actually welcoming to me, or in the very least accommodating for people who aren't like them. This post is NOT meant to shame or send harassment to those who are forgetful, but ignorance is never a good thing to uphold. No one is asking you to write for an audience you don't want to, we just want to KNOW who you are writing for. Assuming an entire space is all one demographic is never, ever a good thing.

If you need help writing for a demographic you don't fully understand, just ask people who are a part of it how they would! Look at how other writers write and tag their content, and listen to anyone if they have necessary critiques. I wish you all happy writing! :]

Reblogs are highly appreciated, as this message needs to be spread as far as possible!

[angxlshutterstock]

▸ marvel platonic birthday oneshots

❖ : implied minor gender neutral reader, all characters are parental figures

word count: 2,408

tony stark

“you think i’m gonna just sit here and let you snooze around on your birthday?”

tony briefly ruffled r/n’s hair before retracting his hand and turning his head away. r/n smiled and chuckled bashfully.

“i wasn't gonna snooze around! i was just gonna play games with my friends.”

at that, tony raised a brow as he momentarily leaned against the chair standing in front of the table. r/n sat in front of the breakfast tony definitely did not cook.

“so, you just planned to spend your special day online? with friends i’m supposed to believe are real?”

r/n laughed at tony’s remarks, their smile brightening further as they fixed their hair.

“you met them before! i, frankly, think you're just being dramatic.”

tony clicked his tongue and got off the chair he was leaning against, nearly letting a little smile grow on his lips.

“yeah, whatever, kid. eat your breakfast.”

“did you make it?”

“not important.”

r/n only giggled at his response, picking up the fork beside their plate. it was quiet for a few beats of silence—besides the back-and-forth between tony and jarvis—before r/n perked up at the sound of their father calling out to them from the kitchen island.

“hey, kid,”

r/n didn't respond, they didn't need to. tony knew they were listening. his eyes flicked toward different sections of his holograms while keeping his attention on r/n.

“gimme a list of names for your birthday party.”

r/n’s eyes widened, abruptly turning their head to face tony with stars shining in their gaze. a smile grew on their lips as their shoulders rose, and a knowing smile crept onto the billionaire’s face.

that little moment of ‘yes, you can throw a party’ was interrupted, however, once tony raised a finger and fiddled with his hologram.

“but don't do anything your old man would do. i’ll be watching you,”

of course, again with tony’s nightmare of his kid growing up to be like his playboy self. r/n couldn't help but roll their eyes as they held back a remark that would revoke their right to have a birthday party—god forbid have it turned into a gala.

“yeah, alright, dad. thank you!”

tony smiled warmly, his eyes softening as his chin dipped. eventually, he turned on his heel and walked back over to his child, a loving glint in his eye.

“‘course, kid. ‘love you. happy birthday.”

r/n beamed once more, their eyes only sparkling further as they nearly dropped their fork. with a father as busy as theirs, it’s not often to hear them say “i love you” first. he didn't say i, but it’s progress.

thor odinson

“there is my precious.”

the blonde smiled as he placed a gentle hand on r/n’s bicep. the latter’s gaze averted to the side, their shoulder tensing with a subtle smile on their face.

“hello, father.”

thor smiled affectionately as he leaned down to kiss r/n’s head. he gave their shoulder a squeeze before rising to his full height again.

“my little one is growing into quite the reformed warrior. i am… so proud of you, my child.”

r/n only huffed through their nostrils, their eyelids drooping as they held their weapon. their body grew more relaxed in the avengers tower training grounds.

they straightened their posture the way their father always taught them to, releasing a large exhale, eventually turning their head to face thor. they spun their weapon in their hand as they spoke.

“thank you, father,”

as r/n smiled with confidence, their aura radiating the same asgardian pride thor carried. the son of odin could not help but tear up. he continued to smile, holding back a sniffle while listening to his child.

at their father’s small, not-so-subtle emotional outbreak, r/n couldn’t help but shake their head fondly.

“but there is no need for tears. i’m here for you, father, and you’re here to stay. from now until we meet again in valhalla.”

thor could only smile wider at r/n’s ability to recall what he said to them all those years ago. without another word, he stepped forward and hugged r/n close.

r/n let go of their weapon, letting it clatter to the ground. momentarily, they embraced their father back, letting their head rest on thor’s collarbone with closed eyes.

“my dearest child…”

thor hummed gratefully, gently stroking their head with a wistful yet caring touch.

the two stood there in each other’s arms, basking in rare, peaceful silence filled with love. after a while, thor backed away slightly—but not enough to let go of r/n.

“come, my fairest warrior. i wish to show you something.”

it did not take long before the two had gone to a predictable yet endearing spot. they had made it to the bifröst, walking upon the breathtaking colors that led to asgard.

yet, along the way, thor had a pensive look. as much as r/n’s uncle loki liked to poke fun at the blonde for being an oaf, r/n’s special occasion today seemed to impact their dad.

“…i could never have asked for a better child.”

thor suddenly broke the silence, slinging his arm around r/n’s arm and holding them to his side. his eyes grew teary as his lips quivered into a kvelling smile.

“i have never been more proud than to call you my own. you’ve made me the happiest father… in all the realms, dear.”

turning his head to face his offspring once more, the son of odin’s smile grew wider at the sight of his growing child. he held them delicately—he knew they were no longer the tiny baby he longed to hold and coo at again, just let him have this. okay? okay.

“your legacy is bright and strong. your future stands, tall and mighty, waiting for you to conquer it. and, by the norns, i know that you'll only make me prouder.”

without waiting for r/n's response, he held the latter close into another hug. they both stopped walking and stayed atop the bifröst, his hand gently rubbing r/n's back while cradling them in his arms. 

“happy birthday, r/n. you will be the fiercest warrior all realms shall cheer for.

bruce banner

“i need you to stop growing.”

that was the first thing r/n woke up from their nap to. r/n blinked up at their father hovering over their bed, the two sitting in amusing beats of silence as r/n resisted the urge to laugh. the clock had struck twelve, marking r/n’s birthday.

“…i can't exactly do that.”

at r/n’s remark, bruce huffed with a wider smile. he turned his head away for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest.

“okay, then i’ll just develop something that’ll keep you the same age forever.”

r/n’s smile grew brighter, giggling under their bedsheets while sinking into their mattress. bruce shook his head fondly, abruptly running his hand through his hair.

“you can't just—you can't do that!”

r/n retorted, only for bruce to reach down and pinch their cheek.

“i can do that, that's the thing. my baby’s growing up too fast, and i don't like it.”

finally, r/n sat up on their bed, to which bruce sat on the edge of their mattress. an adoring yet wistful expression donned his face as he faced his child.

“well, you’re just gonna have to deal with it.”

“i don't wanna deal with it. stop growing.”

“i can't help it!”

“you can, just try harder.”

the duo chuckled at their banter, r/n’s head lowering while their knees raised to face the ceiling. after a moment, bruce sighed heavily, extending his hand to take r/n’s.

he stared at their intertwined fingers, his little smile unwavering. r/n stayed quiet, knowing bruce simply needed a minute to snap out of his moments of nostalgia.

“…i love you, kid. happy birthday.”

r/n smiled once more, their shoulders rising while shifting their position to sit more comfortably.

“thanks, dad—i love you more.”

“oh, not this again.” r/n’s cheeks began hurting from how much they were smiling. soon, they giggled once more, disconnecting their hands and bringing their blanket up to tuck themselves in. bruce watched them with adoring eyes, soon sighing with a tinge of melancholy. he extended his arm to gently pat their leg as a comforting gesture. his glasses fell down on his nose bridge, the air softening into something more genuine. as much as he wished for all the time in the world to stay with r/n, he couldn't rob them of their rest. “get some sleep, kid. you’ve got big stuff to do in the morning.” r/n nodded and yawned, keeping the blanket close to them. “you got it, dad.” bruce smiled warmly, his gaze softening with the corners of his eyes crinkling. soon, he took a half-step forward, leaning down to peck r/n’s head. “goodnight, kid.” “g’night,” r/n drifted to sleep, their eyes already closed. bruce leaned back, standing properly while looking down at his kid. he felt his heart pang in his chest just thinking about the fact that they were growing—really growing—and it was scary. but he knew he’d be there for them, no matter what.

steve rogers

“want some ice cream?”

r/n playfully squinted their eyes at their father as they smiled lightly, looking up from their phone with a tilted head.

before they responded, r/n shut off their device and slid it in their pocket, maintaining eye contact with the blonde man who had that same little smile.

“am i not a little old for ice cream?”

at that answer, steve almost looked genuinely offended. he leaned back with his smile faltering for a moment before chuckling heartily.

“no one’s too old for ice cream.”

r/n narrowed their eyes, but didn't immediately say anything in return. the corner of their lip twitched as they sat next to steve on the park’s bench.

the wind faintly nipped at r/n and steve’s skin, the branches bristling with its shadows shifting in response. r/n eventually glanced over at the ice cream truck in the distance, fiddling with their pants.

“…yeah. i’d like some ice cream, papa. thank you.”

steve’s expression softened before eventually leaning in and pecking r/n’s head. his hand squeezed r/n’s arm during the loving side embrace. 

“of course, kid. it’s your birthday—it’s the least your old man can do.”

he patted r/n’s shoulder, r/n following their father when he got up. as they began stepping over to buy their treat, r/n perked up with an almost meekish voice.

“…can you order for me?”

steve smiled brightly but didn't let his chuckle out. his arm extended to hold r/n by their side and bring them close, letting him connect with his kid while they walked.

“no matter how old you get, you hardly change.”

r/n giggled as they hugged their father back, briefly leaning their head on his shoulder.

it didn't take long before it was their turn to order. steve soon purchased an ice cream for his kid, the duo deciding to sit down at a bench for r/n to enjoy their treat.

r/n stayed close to steve, observing the rest of the park as they enjoy the dessert. their father was more than content sitting down with his kid—having a rare moment of peace, especially with his child, was something steve learned to appreciate more than anything.

soon, he turned his head to look down at r/n, his eyebrows knitting together in affection. the blonde then raises a hand to hug r/n by their side, leaning down to press a kiss to their head.

“happy birthday, kid. remember that your pops loves you no matter what.”

r/n perked up, glancing up at their father. they smiled once more at the affection, leaning into the hug and peck while continuing to carefully hold their ice cream.

“thank you again, papa—i love you too,”

natasha romanov

it was quiet in the house. as per usual. r/n was home alone so often, they considered getting a job just to pay the rent themselves.

however, the air shifted in their room as they heard the front doorknob shift. their mom was home.

silence—natasha never called out to their kid, because she knew they already knew when she was home.

the red-haired woman climbed up the stairs to eventually make it to her child’s room. she knocked on it, silently requesting entry.

r/n shifted in their chair, turning their head to face the doorway. with a casual tone, they spun their chair to face it.

“hey, mom,”

at that—natasha took it as a sign that she could come in. with a soft little smile, she twisted the doorknob and entered. holding a relatively small box in one hand, she closed the door behind her with the other.

“hey, sweetie, happy birthday.”

r/n smiled slightly as they watched their mother approach. she set the box down on their desk, momentarily pressing a kiss to their forehead with her gloved hands gently holding r/n’s face.

by this point, seeing r/n’s in her “work uniform” was more common than seeing her in casual clothing. by now, r/n was used to natasha not being very present.

that much was obvious—due to the fact they weren't really celebrating on their own.

the air was wistful, despite the smiles and light-hearted words of conversation. r/n’s attention averted to the box of presumably cake lying on their desk.

“…thanks, mom.”

r/n leaned back in their chair, and natasha couldn't help but feel like the unacknowledged tension was killing her inside.

with furrowed brows, the red-haired woman’s shoulders lowered. her fingers curled into loose fists, the usually composed agent feeling a lump forming in her throat. what was she supposed to say? how was she supposed to say it? she kept letting work get in the way of spending time with her kid, her child, and she stopped making promises because they both knew she’d always break them in the end. how was she supposed to apologize for that? compensate for all that time lost, all those times of leaving r/n disappointed and sad? 

god, this was hard. r/n was so grown, no longer her beloved little one that would bring innocent joy wherever they went. “i’m… sorry for being late.” r/n didn't look up from where they were looking. they’ve been having the same look on their face everytime she apologized, and it felt like a knife was twisting in her chest. they were used to it. they grew accustomed to the heightened possibilities of their mother being late or just not showing up at all. it hurt to see the dullness in their eyes, the indifference in their behavior. “it’s alright.” they simply replied. a piece of nat’s heart broke at that. because they both knew it was far from what r/n said.

“…it’s not alright, sweetheart.”

her voice wavered, her eyebrows furrowing while struggling to keep her composure.

“i should’ve been here earlier. i mean, it—it’s your birthday, honey, you shouldn't have to—”

“it’s fine, mom. really.”

r/n insisted, shooting her a light-hearted look. their gaze looked gloomy, the ghost of a frown on their lips tugging at nat’s heart again. the damage she dealt could never be undone, no matter what she did. it hurt like hell to realize that.

she stopped, searching r/n’s face as they eventually opened the little box on their desk. she was tempted to say something, her mind scattering for the right words to string together in order to somehow fix this. but then—

r/n’s eyes faintly lit up. not dramatically, but noticeably. sparkles shone in their eyes as they looked at the cake in the box. soon, with parted lips, they make eye contact with their mother again.

“you got my favorite flavor,”

they noted, their voice practically breathy. then, something magical happened.

r/n smiled. and it was because of her.

“thanks, mom.”

they perked up, the corners of their lips curled in a fairly excited grin. they soon rose from their seat, the spark in their eyes dimming—but not completely disappearing.

“i’m gonna go get a plate, be right back.”

they turn to leave, making their way to the door. natasha watched carefully as they exited their room and made their way to the kitchen, the breath she didn't even know she was holding soon exhaling from her lungs.

maybe she wasn't doing a terrible job.