The rooftops of Gotham had always been a battlefield, but lately they felt like something else entirely — a stage where two shadows danced around each other in a game neither wanted to end. You had been Selina Kyle’s protégé for years, trained in the art of the steal, the graceful leap, the quiet confidence that came with knowing you could slip through any lock and leave no trace behind. Where Selina was all sleek elegance and playful seduction, you were quieter, sharper, a shadow with a purpose. You stole not just for the thrill, but for the people who needed it more than the wealthy elite who hoarded their treasures in glass cases. Selina approved. She called you her favorite little cat, the one who reminded her of herself before the world had taught her to smile while she clawed back what was taken.
Jason Todd, the Red Hood, had been a problem from the moment he appeared on the scene.
He was everything you weren’t supposed to want: brutal, unrelenting, a storm wrapped in red and black leather who left broken bones and fear in his wake. He protected the streets in his own violent way, but he didn’t play by the same rules as the Batfamily. He didn’t pull punches. He didn’t hesitate. And he especially didn’t tolerate thieves who thought they could operate in his territory, even if their intentions were noble.
The first time your paths crossed, you were lifting a diamond necklace from a corrupt businessman’s penthouse — the kind of man who funded weapons that ended up on the streets Jason tried to clean. You’d been silent, efficient, already halfway out the window when the Red Hood dropped in like a thunderclap.
“Nice try, kitten,” he’d growled, voice distorted through the helmet. “But this city’s got enough stray cats causing trouble.”
You’d fought then — a blur of acrobatics and precision against his raw power. You were faster, slipping through his grasp like smoke. He was stronger, relentless, refusing to let you disappear into the night. In the end, you’d escaped with the necklace, but not before he’d left a bruise on your ribs and a strange, electric tension in the air between you.
From that night on, it became a chase.
You’d plan a heist. He’d show up. You’d tease him with a smirk and a clever escape. He’d growl threats and pursue you across rooftops, the city lights blurring beneath you both. Sometimes you won. Sometimes he did. But neither of you ever really tried to end it.
It was almost like a game.
A dangerous, addictive game.
The night everything changed started like any other.
You were on the roof of an old art gallery in the Diamond District, the wind whipping through your sleek black suit as you disabled the security system with a few careful flicks of your tools. The target was a stolen artifact — a ancient cat statue that belonged in a museum, not the private collection of a mob boss. Selina had tipped you off. You were almost done when the familiar weight of his presence settled behind you.
“Stealing again, kitten?” Jason’s voice was low, rough, like gravel under boots. “Thought we talked about this.”
You didn’t turn around immediately. Instead, you finished securing the statue in your bag, a small smile playing on your lips. “We did. You talked. I listened. Then I decided I didn’t care.”
You spun then, leaping gracefully to the next rooftop. He followed without hesitation, the chase beginning like it always did — exhilarating, heart-pounding, a dance of shadows and sparks. You were faster on your feet, slipping through narrow alleys and across fire escapes. He was relentless, cutting you off with calculated jumps, forcing you to improvise.
But tonight, something felt different.
The rain started halfway through the chase, slicking the rooftops and making every leap a little more dangerous. You landed hard on a wet ledge, slipping slightly, and Jason was there in an instant — catching your arm before you could fall, pulling you against his chest with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs.
For a moment, you were pressed together, rain pouring down around you, his helmet inches from your face. You could feel the heat of him through the armor, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his grip on your arm was firm but not bruising.
“You’re going to get yourself killed one day,” he growled, voice distorted but still unmistakably his. “And I’m not going to be there to catch you every time.”
You looked up at the blank black domino mask, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the chase. “Then maybe you should stop chasing me.”
He didn’t let go. His hand slid from your arm to your waist, holding you there on the ledge as the rain soaked through both your suits. The city lights blurred below, the world narrowing to just the two of you — enemies, rivals, something neither of you had named yet.
“I can’t,” he said, voice quieter now. “I’ve tried. You’re under my skin, kitten. And I don’t know what to do about it.”
The tension snapped.
You kissed him first — impulsive, desperate, the rain mixing with the taste of him as your hands fisted in the front of his jacket. He froze for half a second, then kissed you back like he’d been starving for it, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other pressed into your lower back, pulling you flush against him. The kiss was messy, urgent, full of all the frustration and want that had been building for months.
When you finally broke apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against your own, white eyes through the mask unreadable.
“I shouldn’t want this,” he said, voice rough. “You’re everything I’m supposed to stop. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop chasing you. Can’t stop wanting you.”
You smiled, small and breathless, fingers tracing the edge of his helmet. “Then don’t stop.”
He kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, like he was savoring every second. The rain kept falling, but neither of you cared. In that moment, on a rain-slicked rooftop in the middle of Gotham, the line between enemy and something more finally blurred beyond recognition.
And for the first time in years, Jason Todd felt like he wasn’t alone in the dark.
The days after that rooftop kiss were a strange, beautiful chaos.
You still stole. He still chased. But the chases ended differently now - with stolen kisses in alleyways, with his hands on your waist as he pressed you against brick walls, with whispered confessions between breaths.
He started showing up at your apartment after patrols, helmet off, armour scuffed, looking at you like you were the only real thing in his world. You’d patch him up, fingers gentle on his scars, and he’d pull you into his lap, kissing you like he couldn’t get enough.
One night, after a particularly long chase that ended with both of you laughing on a rooftop, he held you close, arms wrapped around your waist as the city lights twinkled below.
“I don’t know what this is,” he admitted quietly. “But I don’t want it to stop. You make the night feel less heavy. Make me feel like I’m more than just the Red Hood.”
You leaned back against his chest, smiling. “You are. You’re Jason. My Jason. The one who chases me across rooftops and kisses me like the world might end tomorrow. And I don’t want it to stop either.”
He turned you in his arms, kissing you slow and deep, hands sliding under your suit to trace warm paths along your skin. The touch was possessive but gentle, full of all the want he didn’t know how to put into words.
When he pulled back, forehead against yours, he whispered, “Stay with me tonight. Not for the chase. Just… stay.”
You nodded, kissing him once more. “I’m not going anywhere.”
In the quiet dark of his apartment, with Jason’s arms around you and his heartbeat steady under your ear, the rivalry that had defined you both finally felt like the beginning of something better.
Something that felt a lot like home.
a/n: I think I peaked at this.. I’m feeling kinda down about my writing atm arghh I miss people’s sweet reblogs
so prefacing this with the fact that I know that the fun is sorta taken out of this by me translating, but not everyone will have the energy to look it up themselves, so I figured I'd help out.
Morse code: AEEEEE FELL DOWN AND TROKE MY PENIT TODAY YEOWCE OUCH YOUCH!!!! SENT FROM MY TELEGRAPH
Text: The cafe is run by vampires, free coffee and baked goods in exchange for one pint a month. The owner is even kind enough to tell us when our blood tastes wrong, medically or magically cursed.
if you vote me for president i vow to make everything the ocean again. no more land only ocean. this will solve all of our problems and replace them with new, far more interesting problems
the most disorienting thing thats ever happened to me was when a linguistics major stopped in the middle of our conversation, looked me in the eye, and said, "you have a very interesting vernacular. were you on tumblr in 2014?" and i had to just stand there and process that one for a good ten seconds
#i was in a car with a linguist i had never met before the car trip and like half an hour in he looked at me#after i finished describing a geology thing that was happening out the window and asked if i'd ever spent much time on tumblr#the fuckor of it all#and then we spent six more hours driving#it sure does leave linguistic markers! i'm not sure i'm good with it (tags via @thoughtsformtheuniverse)
Oh! @meret118 see above comment! The use of the word "enjoyers" instead of "users" or "bloggers" -> You left a comment a while back asking, "Does this just mean vocabulary words? Other than blorbo and sweet cinnamon roll etc, I can't think of what a Tumblr accent would be." I almost never see anyone use the word "enjoyer" anywhere outside of tumblr, but I see it on tumblr fairly frequently.
Another one is the verb "perceive" i.e. "don't perceive me" "I am perceiving" "I am being percieved." That's something that feels very specific to tumblr parlance.
There's the thing where people on tumblr have an emotional reaction to something and instead of, or in addition to telling you how they feel about it using emotion words, they will narrate a fictional action in the present progressive tense. "I am gnawing at the bars of my enclosure "I am kissing you on the mouth" "you are going into the soup" "you are getting all of the awards"
I once saw someone use that response format in ... I think it was a restaurant review, or a doordash review, or something like that. It was very unexpected seeing it outside of a tumblr post.
There are a lot of other tumblr linguistic quirks I can't currently remember off the top of my head, but I'll instantly recognize them if I see/hear them outside of tumblr. It's always a bit startling to see them out of context.
when I was in university one of my modules was about internet slang and for our grades project we had to compile and analyse a small database of 100 words used by a specific community of our choice. I chose tumblr and that's how I stumbled across Gretchen McCulloch's research and discovered that yes not only did tumblr have its own vernacular and syntax (as @lierdumoa demonstrates), it was at the time a crucible of slang and memes probably unrivalled by any other part of the internet. and it's stayed that way! even the very title is McCulloch's book because internet is an example of this specific phraseology.
sadly my project is lost due to the website being wiped from the university database after graduation and my then laptop having a major hardware failure. backup your backups people! but the crux of the entire module was that the internet is full of communities using language not only as jargon for specific purpose but also to signal membership in said community. I even wrote a bit about non capitalisation and punctuation useage as a visual cue on tumblr and how including information in the reblog body or the tags indicated different levels of importance or intimacy of thought
I am holding the side of your face and looking deep in your eyes and telling you that love is stored in the syntax, and that we are rotating words together all at once as we all nod at their new and baffling meanings. if the devils sacrament be tumblr then the devils gospel is our collective voice. thanks for coming to my tedtalk
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