||Pretty boy headcannons with wonderboy!reader and supersons||
Pretty boy!reader who literally used his sword once for a perfect eyeliner shape
Pretty boy!reader who is always called pretty boy by Damian when frustrated. Even Damian hates how he can’t insult the boy he tries to hate and insult on so hard.
Pretty boy!reader who has Jon always asking what eyeliner he uses. Jon just wants to know so he can try and surprise you with more small makeup products you look at.
Pretty boy!reader who dick calls the “future pretty boy of heroes.” Dick cries at night knowing his title will be taken. But he’s glad it’s you.
Pretty boy!reader tries to deny that he isn’t that pretty. But he literally is the most prettiest boy in metropolis and Gotham. And the superson trio
Pretty boy!reader who once got asked for a model agency when he was trying to save people from harm.
Pretty boy!reader who sometimes gets asked if he is a model. He has to say no to many times he can’t count.
Pretty boy!reader who actually model walks around his house, stopping when embarrassed when Jon walked in amused. Jon immediately calls Damian asking if any model agencies are open.
Pretty boy!reader who has long eyes lashes that even girls who admire him, hate him.
author's note: so it's been like 5 years since I've written, I'm finally out of the worst moments of my life and I'm happy to say I've rediscovered wanting to write again. Probably not gonna take requests and just write what I feel inspired to.
HEAVIILY inspired by Absolute Wonder Woman to write this.
I'm also a sucker for an Oxford comma, sorry in advance for OOCness
background: Reader is an Amazonian with roughly the same background as Absolute Wonder Woman. Damian and Jon have taken up their father's mantles while the Reader has taken up Wonder Woman's. The angst is real and yes Damian died. (Bruce is also dead in this universe and is why Damian picked up the mantle of Batman)
summary: Reader not having a great time with Damian's death decides to bring him back from Hell
CW: Angst, depression, blood and violence, F!Reader (only bc Amazon's are female, but I don't think I even mention reader's gender), probably bad Greek Myth knowledge, AU, pls be nice it's been a second since I've written, Damian is a damsel in distress??, I'm so tired I hope this came out fine
WC: 4.7k
Rain falls harshly from above as it starts to pour more harshly. Almost seemingly theatrically planned as the casket lowers into the ground. Silent tears cascade down your face along with the rain coming down as your hair gets drenched further.
As more bodies move to leave, you’re given apologies and reassuring touches. It doesn’t help the numbness as the casket is covered with dirt. Your eyes are unfocused, staring silently where he’s forever to lie.
You feel a stronger grip squeeze your shoulder. You don’t move. Just merely stare ahead, numbness seeping into your heart as a black void swallows your emotions and makes its home in your aching heart.
“He loved you,” you hear Jon’s voice. “He was our best friend, I don’t know…I don’t know how…” tears spill from his eyes as he breaks down, wearing. Your eyes finally move, and you pull him into your arms, hugging him.
“I know,” you whisper, clutching him more harshly. Your heart stings as you feel him cry into your shoulder. As you hold him closer, you whisper. “It wasn’t his time, but Thanatos still came for him. It is unfair.” You hold yourself back from falling apart like the man holding you. Your lips quiver as his sorrow bleeds through him into you.
You pull back as Jon’s sobs quiet down, and he pulls away from you. You hold his shoulder, giving them a gentle but firm reassuring squeeze. “This is not the end, Jon.”
Jon nods sadly as he takes your words as reassurance rather than fact, as the sky rumbles and darkens above you. “I know, but…” he bites his lip and shakes his head. “You know.”
You nod to him wordlessly. He whispers a goodbye before flying off into the rumbling clouds above. You don’t look up at where he flew off to; you just stand numbly looking at the freshly buried dirt in front of you.
Your soul feels numb. Your body reacts with tears, but your mind is numb. No words come to you. No prayer to whisper. No last words to give to him.
He wasn’t supposed to die. He gave his life up. He sacrificed himself before it was his time. Just like his father had. The two were more alike than Damian would’ve probably liked to admit.
You can’t even force a soft smile at the thought of him giving an irritated scowl at such a notion. It just makes the pit inside you widen. Your frown deepens as your fist clenches.
You can’t let this be the end. You won’t let it be the end. You’re going to get him back.
As your mind starts to spiral, you feel a presence step next to you. You don’t need to look over to know who it is. It’s your mentor. Her presence ever vibrant as she stares at the grave next to you.
“I won’t stop you,” she says. No hint of any emotion in her voice as she speaks numbly. “But do not be foolhardy in your endeavor. Something like this requires permissions and forgiveness from the gods. The imbalance this will bring will require a price or a bargain.”
You don’t move to respond. Your younger years, growing up in Hell along Circe, have taught you quite a bit about how all things come with a price. “I know,” I mumble to her. “But it wasn’t his time. It is as the sacrifice of Alcestis. They must understand.” Your brows furrow in frustration.
“The gods aren’t always kind. They can be cruel and unforgiving.” She reminds you, as she has done a thousand times, with the same tone of endearment in her voice. She understands as deeply as you do. The want to defy the gods and to find a way to bring back someone dear to you.
The silence stretches longer as you both stand next to each other, unmoving. As the rain keeps pattering against the ground and your clothes soak, you stand there in sorrowful silence as she stands next to you, as the grounding rock she has been since you’ve been able to come out of Hell.
“Come, we should return to Themyscira,” she doesn’t give room for a reply nor an argument. It’s more of a command, and as part of you wishes to stay grounded where you are forever, the other part knows you must leave and continue on. So you follow her wordlessly back home.
…
Weeks have passed. You have done nothing but either train or lie in bed. You’ve become more brutal when fighting your fellow sisters, and although you should feel shame for it, you feel nothing.
You look upon the shores of Themyscira, its crystal sand gleaming in the sunrise. The palm trees slightly rusting in the wind as the sound of waves softly crash against the beach, the water gleaming as brightly as the sand, and as you look upon the familiar, beautiful sight, it all feels dull. Lifeless.
The world has become duller. Shades of green around the island almost seem grey. The vibrant and bright fruits you’d snack on lost their appeal. The books you’ve been giddy to start have lost their allure. You’d pick up a book only to catch yourself re-reading the same paragraphs till you tire yourself from trying to focus, leaving you to lie back down to sleep. These days, it hadn’t seemed there was much need to leave your bed.
Your sisters have started to worry for you. Trying to communicate with you, pull you from your room to do activities. Each time you decline, not having the heart nor energy to do anything besides leave your room to train, and even then, you seem to be lacking, your mind always elsewhere.
As you’ve spent more and more time dwelling in your sorrowful thoughts, you can’t help the pang of hurt and yearning each time you think of him. You just want him back. It’s not fair that he was taken from you. It wasn’t his time.
Your eyes well with tears are you curl in on yourself once more. Repeating it as a mantra.
It wasn’t his time.
Your ragged breathing stops as you think back. Like Alcestis. The gods have been understanding once before. They have no reason to deny you of this.
…
You stand in front of the lake with Diana by your side.
“Are you certain this is a journey you’re willing to take?” Her voice laced with concern, “Hades might not let you return. You’ve been subjected to Hell before. I do not wish you to be taken from us again.”
“I’m certain. I will bring him back. I can’t leave him there,” you turn your voice steady and affirming. “The world needs him back, and I will stop at nothing to return him to me.”
“Oh, sweet child,” Diana sighs as she looks up, whispering a prayer up to Olympus. “I won’t stop you, even if I tried, I know I wouldn’t hold you for long,” a gentle maternal smile graces her lips as she places a kiss to your forehead and holds your face in her hands.
“Go as your heart commands, and may your path be true.
Let Hestia grant you warmth and clarity amidst the darkness.
Let Aphrodite guide your steps with love and compassion.
Let Artemis steel your heart and make you fearless.
Let Athena lend you wisdom and strategy to see your journey through.
And may Hecate guide your path through shadow.”
Diana steps back, pitch black hair reflecting the moon light as her eyes stare into yours. “Be careful.”
Nodding in return as you look towards Lake Lerna, the bottomless lake to the Underworld. The moon reflects off the still lake, rippling softly as a water spider skips by.
You take one last look back at Diana as she gives you a reassuring nod. Turning back, taking in a deep breath, and start stepping into the lake ahead of you. Each step submerges you further into the dark lake. Once you’re waist-deep, you pop open a vial from your satchel by your side before downing the contents. You suck in a deep breath and dive into the lake.
Staring down into the abyss below you you don’t let it stop you as you swim straight down till you're fully submerged in darkness, the elixir allowing you to continue farther and farther down. Deeper till you can’t even see your hands in front of you.
At this point, you can’t tell which way is up or down. You just keep swimming in the same direction you believe you’ve been swimming. Your lungs start to burn as your strokes become more desperate to reach the bottom. With each movement of your arms, your lungs strain for a breath and as you feel yourself about to give way, your hand reaches through into dry air and you fall through. Air rushes past you as your stomach drops, the sensation of falling enveloping you.
With a harsh thud you land, red clay sand floating up to make a dust cloud around you. As it dissipates, you brush off your skirt and stand up and look around you, only to spot the large white a stone archway leading to Hades’ halls.
No doubt his doing, that you conveniently landed here.
Arms flexing, you instinctively make your way inside the arches, seeming to grow in size as you approach. No guards are visible; the world is eerily quiet around you, as the only sound made is from your footsteps. Making your way inside with stone now beneath your feet, your boots tapping against the hard ground, the air shifts to feeling still and cooler as you see your breath in front of you mist oddly rising to your shins as you move forward.
“Halt!” an echoing voice commands. Behind a pillar comes forth one of Hades’ sentinels, a large, blue flamed form resembling a male figure with a staff, shield, and a helmet. “You have no business here, Amazon!” it bellows, sounding odd as it seems to speak in unison with several other voices that you don’t see the owners of.
You bow politely, “I’m here to make a request, something from Hades, though I suppose he already knows this.”
The sentinel is silent, seemingly listening to commands whispered to him from seemingly nowhere.
“Enter,” two large doors appear behind it as it moves out of the way, and the doors creak open, slowly revealing a thrown room.
At the center of it sits a large figure also consumed by blue flame, the light around him flickering as he breathes. He seems bored, staring at you, one hand resting on the throne's armrest with a fist supporting his head as his legs are laid out lazily.
You approach without hesitation and kneel. “Sire, I've come to make a deal.” You keep your head angled down as you wait for him to acknowledge you.
“Yes, I’ve guessed that, princess,” venom dripping off each word as his eyes narrowed at you, glowing harshly. His eyes then move to one of the sentinel flame creatures, “Why did you not remove her weapons?”
“She had none, sire,” the flame being replied, looking downcast.
“Nearly everything she’s wearing is a weapon, you insolent fool. Disarm yourself, Amazon.” Hades orders eyebrows knitting together as he leans forward.
You begrudgingly remove your armor, each piece dropping onto the ground with loud echoing thuds.
“Better?” you ask, looking up at him unamused as you jut your hip out with your hand on your waist.
“Do you think I can’t smell an enchanted pouch? Do you think I’m stupid?” You practically feel the anger radiating off the god’s body as heat swells in the room. “Empty it.”
You sigh as you pull out Athena’s blade and your lassos, dropping them in front of you.
“Just what every growing girl needs,” Hades remarks dryly. “Now that that’s over and done with,” he leans forward, “What do you want?”
“I want Damian’s soul back. I’m here to bring him back.”
The hall rumbles as Hades laughs; he pretends to flick a tear out of his eye. “That’s precious,” he mocks before returning to being dead serious as his red crown floats above his head and shines bright with authority, “But that’s not how it works. You have nothing you could possibly bargain with your unusable items in front of you, hold little value to me.” He pauses, looking away as if in mock thoughtfulness, before looking back at you. “Your soul, however, that is of interest.” He practically purrs at the prospect of it.
You feel fury boil up inside you, whatever it takes. You’ll find a way out of hell, out of Hades’ grasp. You knew you'd have to pay a high price for him to come back, but you weren't leaving this place without him.
“How about this? It’s been a long while since I’ve had some real entertainment down here. I’ll let you have him if you win, just one battle.” His cocky smirk widens at you cunningly. “And I think you can assume what happens if you lose?”
Eyebrows furrow as you think to yourself, you knew you’d have to strike some form of deal against him, one battle doesn’t seem bad, but it depends on your opponent.
“You don’t even have to kill him, only subdue,” you look up at Hades sharply.
“What do you mean? Who is my opponent?”
Hades clicks his tongue and wags his finger, “Now where’s the fun in that? Just one fight against one opponent in the Arena of the Damned.”
“I won’t make a deal with you without knowing who I’m up against.”
“Then I suppose Damian can rot down here with the other sad souls,” Hades says as he mockingly makes a gesture to examine his fingernails in disinterest. Heart sinking at the thought your dread already creeping through your veins feeling the familiar suffocating feeling constrict your throat.
Silence falls down upon the hall as you begrudgingly know the only option you have is to take his deal. “Fine. I’ll take your deal.”
The feeling of dread now pools in the pit of your stomach as you see the wicked grin return on his face.
“Oh, don’t look so worried, you can use all your fun little trinkets,” he motions to your items lying around your feet, “it’ll make it more satisfying when you lose.”
…
The world shifts, and suddenly you’re dropped into an arena, the Arena of the Damned, more specifically. Hades has a sick joy in watching others maul each other to death; the arena is encircled by large blue flames, creating the perimeter, a dark contrast against the dark red hue of the sky.
You look down beneath you, seeing all your items as you, put your lassos back into your pouch and your armor placed back on. Leaving Athena's Blade out as you hold it loosely in one hand.
Your head snaps up as you hear a too joyous clapping, "It has been far too long since we've had an Amazon in our arena, don't you think, dear?" Hades seems all too giddy and confident as he speaks to Persephone, who sits by his side.
"You promised me a fight!" your voice booms as you point the blade at Hades. "Where's my opponent?"
"So impatient," he dismissively flaps his hand, "our audience isn't even here yet," he snaps his fingers, and your eyes widen.
Damian appears next to the god, bound in chains coated in blue flames, mouth covered as you hear muffled sounds come from behind his bindings, accompanied with that ever-familiar scowl on his eyebrows.
"Damian!" You shout, reaching out to him in disbelief as you let your blade move down.
"Ah, he's finally here, don't worry, I'll make right by our deal," the god is all too cocky in his remarks, making you seethe in anger. "Don't worry, seems my dear wife here has bet on you for this fight, how kind of her.” He motions to a unimpressed Persephone beside him. All you can do is grit your teeth at the mockery. Your nostrils flare as you try and compose yourself. Having a god taunt you as he dangles Damian in front of you like a carrot on a stick makes every part of you burn in hatred. You finally see him alive and breathing, not still and lifeless; as much as you want to relish in that thought, it's cut short as a flap of wings sounds behind you.
On instinct, you whirl around at the sound, both hands curling around your blade, holding it up defensively. Your heart drops at the sight in front of you.
"Thanatos," you say in disbelief. The personification of death stood before you. Your opponent for Damian's soul and the keeper of his soul as well; it's only befitting you suppose.
You can hear muffled yelling coming from behind you, and then you hear a loud thud as Hades grumbles at Damian, "Silence."
Although every instinct in you is screaming at you to turn around and aid him, your brain knows that if you move your eyes off the being in front of you, you'll die.
"Thanatos, I do not wish you harm, merely the return of Damian's soul. It was not his fate to die, you know this. He scarified himself willingly, balance will not be harmed if he returns." You try and plead with him. This is not a fine you're sure you can win. You now understand why Hades said all you needed to do was subdue him, as the being in front of you can't be killed.
"I apologize, child of the Amazon; however, you've made your bargain with Hades, so it is written." His wings flare out as he takes a step closer, spear in hand. Half his face reveals a skeleton underneath as a dark cloth is draped around his body, dark shadows following his form. Curling and winding around him as if it were sentient.
"I beg of you, Thanatos--"
"Oh, hush! Get on with it, Thanatos!" Hades interrupts dismissively and the blink of an eye literal death is upon you spear missing you by a hair.
The world seems to still as your senses zero in on the fight. Instincts and training washing over your body and tacking control. You duck as Thanatos comes flying at you spear in hand, rolling out of the way as you quickly block a blow from him.
Letting magic pour into the blade you yell as the blade grows twice it's size and slices through the air cutting Thanatos slightly. Though it has no effect on him as he feints left before his spear flies to the right jabbing into your shoulder.
You let out a yell, pain strikes through your body as you move back tearing the spear out blood oozing out, with a quick spell the bleeding slows, however your opponent gives you little chance for much else as you dodge again.
"Quit dodging!" Hades groans and let's out a whoop as your sword meets Thanatos' spear, clashing together loudly.
The fight keeps moving on as you either dodge or meet Thanatos' blows, however unlike you he doesn't seem to be exhaustible while your movements start to feel sluggish. As he jabs the spear again you quickly reach in and grab the Nemesis Lasso hooking it too his spear and yanking it forward, however Thanatos doesn't let go of his grip on the spear and flies towards you with it, a boost from a flap of his wings hurling him towards you.
Quickly gripping the sword you slash upwards cutting off his left hand as golden ichor pools on the ground as he curiously looks at his now amputated hand. You take this moment to catch your breath as you, then yell, "Goddess Athena aid your humble servant in striking true. Let the Athena Blade break upon it as waves cutting through stone!" gripping the blade with a new sense of vigor you charge at your opponent the blade once more growing in size and now glowing as you swipe to cut Thanatos in half. It cuts true, slicing him in half ichor once more splattering everywhere.
You stare in disbelief, then quickly turn to Hades, "I've done it, I defeated Thanatos, release him!" you voice booms through the arena.
Hades just gives you a bored expression back, "No you haven't" he points behind you and before you can process your body is flung across the space crashing down onto the ground a small crater forming around you as your breath is knocked out of you.
"What do you think, Bat? Want to wager?" Hades asks before letting out a chuckle, "Right, forgot I had you muzzled."
You have no time to think as Thanatos once again is coming towards you now fully recovered from his injuries. Your eyes widen as you grab the Nemesis Lasso hooking it around his foot making him stumble, buying you time to scramble to your feet, breathless.
Lasso still in hand you tug harshly with your strength making Thanatos fly through the air and slam back down on the far side of the arena away from you. You quickly locate your sword and throw it as if it's a spear straight into Thanatos' chest as you watch him try and get up, the sword striking true making him grunt and get pint to the ground.
With shaking breath you look up at Damian in worry before taking out the glowing green lasso. Damian's eyes widen and you can tell he's trying to yell at you to not do it. You quickly make work of wrapping it around your arm as you start to speak focus moving into the spell, "I am become Her. She who is terrible and tragic. Cursing and Cursed." Another loop around your arm tightens as the green glow brightens. "Forever entwined in injustice, a living hell. This mantle must I accept today, for a far greater god." You stop binding it as you see Thanatos start to slowly get up from the other end as you yank on the lasso.
You feel your vision start to fog over in green as you continue, "In hope and faith, that I will once again someday return to myself," you give Damian one last glance with a smile, "Please do not forget me...for now.." your speech slurs as you quickly turn your back to him scales forming on your body as your body sizzles and mist forms around you.
"For now.." you croak out again as the scales overcome your body, "for now...I am become doom. I am Medusa," you let the hiss leave your lips as you glare at Thanatos in front of you, and none that see my face shall live." The power of the lass wholly overcomes you your sense of self lost memories overtaken by the creature you now embody.
Thanatos freezes as his body turns to stone. The arena succumbs to silence.
"Well didn't know you could do that," You hear Hades' voice from behind you, but before you can turn you feel a binding spell holding you in place, no doubt the god of Hell stopping you from turning them to stone.
"Deal's a deal I guess, though not sure how you and lover boy will make it out now that you're a snake," Hades chuckles. With a clap of his hands the bindings around Damian release, and as soon as he lands he strikes towards Hades who flicks his hand knocking him back, "don't be foolish mortal," Hades warns with a glare.
Damian spits back a growl, "turn her back!"
"Why would I do that?" the flames around the god flicker in amusement, "the deal was I release your soul, nothing about helping her out of her foolish and drastic decisions," Hades waves his arms dismissively.
"Good luck with her I don't think my binding spell will work for long," he laughs at Damian's inner turmoil as he looks at your now scaled back with snakes hissing around your head. He's in utter confusion of what he should do.
"She needs to be reminded of who she is," the kind voice of Persephone whispers to Damian.
"What?" Damian demands brows knitting together in confusion and frustration at the utter helpless situation he's in. Stuck in hell with two gods, while his beloved is turned into a mythical monster struggling against the bindings Hades has put on her.
"She has become something else, she needs someone to remind her of who she really is," Persephone repeats to him.
Damian's eyes widened as hope rushed through him. He runs towards you, your back still facing him he then tears his shirt to tie it over his eyes as he comes around in front of you.
"Now, why would you help him?" Hades pouts at his wife as he looks at the two.
"You've played your cruel games and had your fun, the girl has won the battle, let them have this," she tells him, tugging him away. Hades just scoffs as, in a blink of an eye, they disappear, blue flames surrounding the arena extinguish with them.
"(Y/N)," Damian whispers quietly, looking up to where he believes your eyes are. The snakes around your head hiss as they zero in on him. Your head turns to him, glowing eyes glaring, but you stop as he repeats your name. Something sounds so familiar about the way he says it. Makes your mind relax.
"I know you're in there, I'm not going to let you stay like this and let your stupid self-sacrifice separate us, that's my job," he yells up at you, and you feel another pang hit your head as you hold it in agony. The familiarity of that voice keeps your head pounding as it feels like scales are falling off of you.
"Stop it!" you cry out in pain, wanting whatever he was doing to you to stop.
"Like hell I will, you're not getting rid of me, this pathetic excuse of a mythical beast doesn't intimidate me," the voice bites back as your eyes fly open, meeting sharp green ones.
You blink slowly, "Damian?" you ask, confused as green mist starts to form around you, transforming you back to your original form.
"Who else?" he rolls his eyes, before you can even think, you wrap your arms around him, smiling with glee. You feel him wrap his arms around you as you fall into him.
"You're here," you say breathlessly, feeling his heat against you.
"Yes, I am," he mumbles against your hair. As a moment passes, you feel Damian stiffen slightly at the contact and hear him cough as he pulls back.
“Enjoying this reunion?” he murmurs, a slight redness brushing at the tips of his ears as he looks away from making eye contact with you. “Because we are still in Hell. I would prefer to leave before something else with a god complex notices.”
You pull back just enough to look at him, a small laugh escaping you. “You always know how to ruin a moment.”
“I saved you from eternal monstrosity,” he replies flatly. “You’re welcome."
You smile at his antics as he looks around you two, "Come on," he tugs at your sleeve, making to start picking up your dropped magical items and returning them to you. "Get us out of here. I refuse to spend another second in this place."
Smirking up at him playfully, you poke him teasingly, "Jon will be happy to see you back."
"On second thought, damnation sounds preferable," his tone is flat as a deadpan expression crosses his features.
You roll your eyes before readying a spell to bring you back to Earth, "I didn't do all of this just for you to stay here."
"I know," he mumbles under his breath, his voice coming out a bit too earnest.
As your spell completes and crackling tears open a portal, you stand up and motion for him to follow you. Before you can think, you feel him catch your wrist and pull you against him, capturing your lips in a kiss.
In your dazed state, you barely have the chance to kiss back before he pulls away. Your wide eyes meet his hungry ones before he straightens himself and pushes you towards the portal, "Stop delaying and go through."
"What I'm not--You--" before you can continue to protest, he pushes you through, following right behind.
Pairing | Clark Kent x Amazonian!Reader x Bruce Wayne
Summary | Being the cursed sister of Wonder Woman was something that you and Diana had tried to keep hidden, even from the JL. But it all comes to ahead when you have just a little bit too much wine during a party and suddenly Diana needs Clark and Bruce's help to wrangle you before destruction happens.
Words | 3.7k
tags | DD:DNE, the dove is very dead, maenad!reader, mentions of cannibalism, depictions of attempted cannibalism, graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of blood, choking, breath play, dominance kink, double penetration, rough sex, forced submission, hunting kink, cnc, use of "Darling", "pretty girl", "Kalos" (greek for handsome/beautiful), "mou storge" (Greek for my love, but in a familial way), "sweetheart"
Notes | I've noticed when it comes to fanfiction I'm way better at doing dialogue than description, but when writing I struggle with dialogue and am great at description. Which kinda sucks. Either way, this may be a bit OOC for Bruce and Clark, but in this situation they are entirely unprepared and have basically no idea what is going on, with only a faint idea of how to stop it.
Masterlist
Metropolis had the honor of hosting the annual Justice League Appreciation Gala this year. With Luthor in Blackgate, things had been relatively quiet in Metropolis, or rather, there hadn't been any world ending attacks in a while, so it had seemed like the appropriate location for the gala, something Metropolis had been more than happy to host.
The Natural History museum had volunteered for the job. As one of the only places in Metropolis with a ballroom big enough for the event, it seemed like destiny. With the ballroom decorated to the nines, the ballroom looked like something out of a romance novel. Ornate wood fixtures, crystal chandeliers, and velvet drapery sang like a siren song among the voices of the people dancing.
The scent of wine fluttered through your nose as you stepped into the room, your dress brushing the floor as Diana followed, her hand brushing your lower back, walking beside you, "Are you certain you should be here tonight, storge mou? You've been doing so well as of late."
"I can handle a glass of wine or two Diana. You needn't worry. My mind has been clear for months." You murmur, brown eyes flickering over the room, taking in the controlled chaos.
Diana didn't seem convinced, but she had to concede that you had managed to remain in control for months, "Very well sister, but you will let me know if you begin to feel off?"
"What's this about someone feeling off?" Bruce called, Clark following closely behind as the pair came up to greet you. The ballroom had been enchanted to make sure all secret identities remained secret, similarly to how Clark's hypno-glasses worked. Anyone who didn't know the identities of the various heroes in attendance would see only the mask concealing their features.
"Are you feeling alright?" Clark question, an aura of worry exuding him.
"I am well. Diana is a worry wart and believe I will drink too much wine and... make a fool of myself." You state carefully, catching sight of Diana's pointed look.
It wasn't your decision to keep your affliction a secret. Your mother and Diana, or rather, all of your Sisters on Themyscira had believed it was for the best if the secret did not leave the shores of Themyscira, so no one knew, beyond Diana, something that you and Diana had decided to keep that way unless it was required to be shared.
"What, can't handle your liquor?" Bruce teases. It was almost strange to see him that way. So different that the way he acted in the mask, but around Clark and Diana, without anyone else around, he relaxed and the different sides of him come together.
"Oh, Darling, it takes quite a lot to take me down."
"Then you should be fine."
"But," Clark cuts in, "maybe someone should monitor you if your worried about it?"
Diana had slipped away at some point during the conversation, squeezing your hip once more walking away, leaving you with the two men.
"You offering Kalós?" Bruce's lip quirked as red tinted the tips of Clark's ears when you stepped forward, looking up at the kryptonian.
"If you want me too." Clark cleared his throat before speaking, if only to hide the way his voice threatened to reveal his inner thoughts.
"That is up to you. I am quite capable of keeping track of my drinks." As if to make a point, you accepted a glass of champagne when one of the waitstaff moved past. Taking a sip, you could feel Bruce's eyes on you.
"Kay." Clark murmurs, his eyes flickering to Bruce for a moment before clearing his throat once more, "Shall we go further inside?"
"Lets."
*********************************
So maybe you lied when you said you were capable of keeping track of your drinks. One drink turned into two, two turned into five, and by the time Diana found you again, you were biting your lips, clutching the table and irises beginning to turn a tinted violet.
"How many glasses have you had?" Diana demanded, pulling your glass away, immediately handing it off to someone else as she forced your head up to read your eyes.
"I..." Licking your lips, you blink slowly, feeling your teeth begin to itch, "I lost count after... after five."
Realistically, it had been 3 hours since the two of you had arrived, so you were running on approximately 2 or more glasses per hour. More than most people would suggest when trying to watch yourself. But you had ended up locked in a conversation with a civilian who spent quite a bit of time rambling about their opinions on Team Wonder Woman, and drinking was the only thing that had made it bearable since you were unable to escape.
"By Zeus! Mou storge, you were supposed to be pacing yourself. Now look at you, your eyes have already begun to turn violet. We are going home. Now." Diana exclaimed, grabbing your arm with the intent of dragging you out of the ballroom.
You hissed at her, bearing your teeth as you caught her wrist, digging your nails into her skin as they began to lengthen, piercing her skin, making her curse, "Mou storge," She murmurs quietly, reaching for your hand, attempting to pry your fingers from her wrist, clenching her teeth as your fingers tightened in response.
"Sweetheart, let go of Diana." Clark ordered, remaining unflinching when your eyes snapped to him, the feeling of being hunted creeping down his spine.
"Explain." Bruce's voice was clipped and gruff, leaning into the security Batman provided in an unknown scenario.
"She is a maenad." Diana spit reluctantly, gritting her teeth in pain as Clark attempted to pry your hand from Diana, resulting in your rapidly sharpening claws slicing through her forearm, feeling them nudge bone.
"And that is?" Clark let out a noise of surprise as your other hand came up, catching his cheek before he could catch your wrist, the trio staring in shock as blood, albeit only a single drop, formed on his cheek from an already healing slice.
"Maenads are creatures from Ancient Greece. Women who were cursed by the god Dionysus to become frenzied beasts for their refusal to worship him. Drunk on wine and revelry, they feasted on the flesh of beasts, and the unfortunate man who stumbled into their bacchanals." Diana explained hurriedly, "My sister was cursed when we were young, we don't know why, or what she did to incur his wrath. When we were younger, she was in an almost never ending frenzy. As we have grown it has become controllable. But when she drinks too much..."
"We need to get her out of here before she hurts a civilian." Bruce snapped, watching you struggle in Clark's grip, fighting his hold, and Clark was visibly struggling, which was worrying in itself. "How do we end it."
Diana looked ashamed for a moment, licking her lips before speaking, "There are three ways, none are particularly favorable given the circumstances. We can wait it out, let her feast, or... how do I say this, let her fuck it out of her system?" The words felt wrong to say, but there was no other way to say it.
"And by feast you mean...?"
"Human flesh. If we were on Themyscira we could sate her with ambrosia and cattle, let her hunt until she calmed but we will never make it there in time."
"That is not an option." Bruce bit, sending a message to evacuate the ballroom. "Clark can you fly her somewhere secluded."
"Bruce, it is taking everything I have to keep her still right now, and her frenzy is still building. I'm not sure I can move her without losing a limb." Clark strained.
You had finally released Diana's arm, but the blood on your fingers was pulling you under faster than any of them would have liked. Bearing your fangs as you hissed at Clark, eyes flashing a rich violet and you struggled in his hold, trying to swipe at him once more.
"Then I guess we are left with option three."
Diana's head snapped to Bruce as he slipped off his suit jacket, draping on a nearby chair, "You can't possibly... you don't understand. She will hunt you, try and feast on your flesh at every moment unless she is subdued. She will not stop until all of the energy has been burned from her body. This is not a choice to be made lightly."
"We know that." Clark grunted, his arms trembling as you growled, growling back. "But she is our friend, and this our job, and it's not exactly like it's a hardship for us."
"We had... intended to ask her to join us in our retirement to the manor, but clearly that plan has been halted for now." Bruce fiddled with his cuff-links setting them on the table as he pushed up his sleeves.
Diana looked between the two of them once more before nodding softly, wrapping one of the cloth napkins around her wrist to halt the bleeding, "Very well. But I ask of you, please let know that you are safe when you have succeeded. This was never intended to become your burden to take."
"She is never a burden." Bruce murmurs, nodding at Diana's request. He watched Diana nod once, looking reluctant to leave you as she slipped out the doors, and not a minute later the metal emergency lock-down gates encircled the ballroom, leaving the three of you alone in the mostly empty room. "On my signal, let her go, and fly to the other end of the room."
"What are you planning?"
"We're going to let her hunt."
The moment Bruce was near one wall, he nodded to Clark and you were pushed away. You whipped around, eyes scanning with a snarl, taking note of both Clark and Bruce's new positions.
"Sweetheart," You hissed when Clark spoke, your eyes snapping to him, taking a step to move towards him until Bruce tossed his shirt towards you. "You need to calm down, we're gonna help you. We're gonna make you feel better."
Your eyes tracked the movement of the shirt as it was tossed, inhaling sharply as the source of Bruce's scent was split in two. Lunging towards the fabric, pulling it into your hands and bringing it to your nose as your eyes once again flashed a deep wine purple, snapping to Bruce's figured as your teeth began to itch once more.
Bruce's lips twitched into an amused smile as you began to track his figure, allowing his body to remain loose and fluid with his movements. He knew exactly where he stood in this moment, both of them understood that right now, whether you liked it or not, they were prey. So they were going to play prey until it was time to end it.
"Come on pretty girl, aren't you hungry?" Bruce cooed, letting his movements become swayed, watching as your eyes followed and body instinctively tracked. He grabbed a glass of wine off a nearby table, holding it out like an offering, "Aren't you thirsty?"
His shirt fell apart in tatters as your claws released them and you made a lunge towards him. You were fast, faster than he had originally anticipated based on his knowledge of Amazons, but he countered easily, keeping you within his sights as he slipped out of your reach.
"Sweetheart," Your head snapped around with a hiss, bearing your fangs as the chair beneath your fingertips shattered under your grip, "I'm right here, come and get me."
Clark hovered, just a few feet above the ground, his body tight. While Bruce chose to imitate a gazelle with his loose and agile movements, Clark imitated a peregrine falcon. Agile, and swift enough to out fly your attacks.
They were both counting on the fact that you were running on base instincts instead of rational hunting strategy. It was much easier to outrun a lone panther than an assassin.
Body coiling tight, you stumbled as your shoes caused you to slip, snarling, you kicked them off, sprinting towards Clark as he maneuvered out of the way, dodging your hands. Sliding into the wall, you used it to bounce off of, picking up speed, you lunged once more, claws digging into Clark's back as you knocked him out of the sky, sending the both of you tumbling to the ground.
"Shit!" Clark used the momentum to dislodge your claws long enough to switch your positions, slamming you into the group with more force than he would usually use, causing the lacquer flooring splintering beneath you.
As you lunged forward, Clark instinctively moved, back to avoid your claws, wincing as your fangs sank into the meat of his thigh, "Bruce!"
Your jaw seized as Bruce sank his thumbs into the corners of your mouth, hooking them under where your upper jaw met your lower jaw, his fingers sinking into the open space beneath your chin, keeping you from biting down, yanking your head back.
The force of Bruce's movements released your grip on Clark's thigh, blood filling your mouth causing you to moan, "Uh, Bruce? The wounds not closing."
"What?" Bruce's gaze snapped to the puncture wounds, where your fangs had pulled on the muscle, nearly tearing out a chunk of his femoral muscle. The wound wasn't closing the way it usually would, still gushing with tiny bursts of blood that had you leaning forward, trying to chase the taste. "There's probably something in her saliva that's keeping the wounds from closing. Something meant to keep injured prey weak so they are easier to kill."
"But look, she's calming down, at least a little bit." Clark spoke perhaps too soon, because the moment you swallowed the blood in your mouth, your eyes flashed once more, a deep red violet, and you lunged forward, ripping your mouth from Bruce's grip to throw yourself at Clark.
Claws digging into the space around the wound, locking your fingers in place, and biting down with the full intention of tearing Clark apart. Curses spilling from Clark's lips as you reared back, ripping out a chunk of his thigh, just barely missing the femoral artery, as Bruce caught your face once again.
Fingers forced their way into your mouth, holding it open as he fished out the piece of meat, "No! Spit it out."
You snarled as he jammed his fingers in the back of your throat, forcing you to recoil as your body instinctively gagged, though the smell of cooked flesh as Clark used his laser vision to cauterize the wound made your eyes flutter.
"Alright, I'm ending this, now, before she decides to take another chunk out me." Clark snapped, growing frustrated.
Dislodging your claws, the two maneuvered your body, all but slamming you into the ground once more as you struggled and thrashed, blood dripping down the sides of your mouth as you threw your head back, narrowly avoiding your fangs as you attempted to take another bite out of which ever one was closest.
"Shh, you're okay sweetheart, we're gonna take care of you." Bruce cooed, running his fingers through your hair, using it to pin your head to the floor and prevent another attempted bite.
A rough growl echoed from your throat, sounding vaguely feline, drowning out the sound of Clark's muttered apologies as he tore away the straps of your dress, tossing the fabric out of the way. His knee pinning your hips to the ground as you fought for purchase to gain stability.
Bruce caught your hands as your claws sharpened in retaliation for being pinned, forcing them to curl in on themselves to avoid being an issue as he pinned them against your lower back, "It's okay sweetheart. You can calm down now."
Clark shifted slightly, when the sound of a pained whimper, not unlike that of a wounded animal left your lips, giving you just enough room to throw Bruce off of you, whipping around to knock Clark back. Jumping to your feet with a snarl.
"Θα καταβροχθίσω τη σάρκα σου." Your voice was wild, echoing off the walls of the ballroom, and layering over itself in a way that spoke of divine power. One that explained the way your eyes seemed to now glow, not just appear violet.
"Darling," Bruce grit his teeth, pushing himself to his knees, taking in differences in your body language as you licked the blood from your claws, "She's not awake anymore, is she? What do you want with her? Why curse her?"
Tilting your head, your eyes flickered to him a moment before looking away, going back to your snack. Bruce shared a look with Clark, the two of them sharing a silent vow, before peeling the rest of their clothes off, leaving all three of you nude, blood the only thing coating your skin.
The duo began to circle you, drawing your gaze, following their movements. Tension began to build in your body, coiling tight as your body prepared for a fight, letting out a loud sound as the two lunged at you, catching your limbs as you swiped at them, and pinning them down so you were beneath them, wasting no time in sinking into you. A rough moan spilling from you, arching violently as they wasted no time in beginning to pound into you, dodging your fangs, and feeling the tension in your body begin to bleed out.
"That's it pretty girl," Bruce bit, holding back a groan as your warm walls enveloped him, gripping him tightly, as if your body refused to let him go. "I told you we'd take good care of you."
Clark shushed you softly as you continued to snarl, their thrusts pulling more and more animalistic sounds from you as your body slowly, oh so painfully slow, began to surrender to the pleasure they were pulling from you, feeding the frenzy within you, and calming it.
Your eyes began to flicker with the first orgasm they pulled from you. Moans ripping from your throat, bouncing off the walls, echoing in their ears as tremors fluttered through you.
"Hold her steady." Clark murmured, panting slightly from the exertion and blood loss. Bruce spared him a curious glance before Clark slipped out of you, causing you to whine momentarily. Sliding between your legs, Clark's gaze flickered up to the both of you, a small quirk of his lips, dipping his head between your thighs, causing a choked sound to fall from you both as Bruce's head fell back, feeling Clark's tongue run along the under side of his cock, teasing your clit.
"Fuck, Clark..." A broken whimper left Bruce's lips feeling Clark's hands sink into your hips, using his strength to continue working you hips, bouncing you up and down on Bruce's cock while his tongue continued to tease the both of you, working your second orgasm to the surface. "You're supposed to be f-focusing on her."
"I can multitask." Clark chirped, pressing a kiss on the vein running along up the side, suckling on your clit, making you squirm beneath his finger tips.
"Γλυκιά Αφροδίτη, θεϊκέ Βάκχε" Your eyes flickered again, blue starting to become more visible as violet began to make its departure, ancient Greek falling from your lips with each pull of rational thought making its way back to your mind.
"That's it pretty girl, keep talking for us." Bruce choked, his grip on you loosening as the fight bled from your body. Your skin pressing into his of your own volition, melding together in a mess of limbs, hips rolling feverishly.
"Fuck!" Your second orgasm brought the first English word of the night, eyes snapping open just a moment, blue dominating before they rolled back, your hand sliding down to thread your fingers in Clark's hair, bucking your hips against his mouth and rutting back to meet Bruce's thrusts. His own hips starting to stutter as his own orgasm approached rapidly.
Bruce only lasted a few more thrusts before, with the help of Clark's teasing tongue, he was spilling deep within you, Clark there to catch the drips that fell.
"I'm sorry." Your mind was a mess as the lingering ache of frenzy clung to the edges of your thoughts, tremors of overstimulation ravaging your body, tears pulling at the corners of your eyes as you buried your face in your hands, shame replacing arousal in a flood. "I'm so sorry."
The moment you spoke, it was like a switch flipped within Bruce's mind, his body stiffening just slightly, years of discipline severing the connection to his own pleasure still twinging his system, as his fingers moved through your hair, his focus entirely on you.
"Sweetheart," Clark murmured softly, pulling away, feeling the dynamic in the room change rapidly. "Sweetheart, look at me. Please look at me."
Sobs racked your body, shaking your head, though not fighting him as he gently reached for your hands, pulling them away from your face, your eyes not meeting his.
"Sweetheart, look at me." Clark cooed again, gently reaching for your face, turning it to meet his eye, "Hi, how are you feeling?"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Shh, no, none of that. I asked how you were feeling." He soothed, brushing the tears from your eyes, even as they continued to fall.
Bruce's arms wrapped around your shoulders, neither of you reacting when the movement caused him to adjust within you, showcasing the seriousness of the moment, "Darling, answer Clark."
"I'm sor-"
"How are you feeling?" Clark repeated, more firmly this time, gently, very gently pinching your cheek.
"It's-it's over." You choked, reaching up to cover your face once more but Clark stopped your hands.
"Good. What we are going to do, is we are going to sit here, for a few moments more, until it's all out of your system, and then we're going to go to Wayne Manor, and have a warm bath, and go to sleep in Bruce's big warm bed, and can talk about this in the morning. But for now, we aren't going to think about it anymore, okay?"
"I'm sor-"
"Okay?" He gently squeezed your hands, Bruce's own arms tightening around you, the pressure helping to regulate your system.
"O-okay."
"Good. Then no more tears."
_________________________________________
"Θα καταβροχθίσω τη σάρκα σου." -- I will devour your flesh.
content stephanie brown & linda denvers & wonder boy! reader, male! reader, ftm! reader, brief dysphoria / being misread, misgendering-adjacent language, discussion of being treated as temporary/as a replacement, magical emotional manipulation, minor injury/blood, brief combat, hurt/comfort, magical trials, greek mythology references, prometheus references, psyche seferences, ariadne references
masterlist
word count 5.9k
Stephanie Brown knew a thing or two about being temporary.
Temporary Robin. Temporary Batgirl, according to people who thought the cape came with a comment section. Temporary ally. Temporary problem.
Temporary girl in purple who kept showing up no matter how many times the universe tried to close the door in her face.
She had built a whole heroic identity out of being told no.
No, Spoiler was not serious. No, Stephanie Brown was not trained enough. No, she was not Robin material. No, she was not supposed to wear the bat. No, she was not supposed to come back.
And every time, Steph had smiled sweetly, put on a mask, and made it everyone else’s problem.
Which was why, when the haunted archive under Gotham University tried to erase her name from existence, her first response was mostly irritation.
“Oh, that is so rude,” she said.
The book floating in front of her did not respond.
It was enormous, bound in black leather and gold thread, hovering above a marble pedestal in the centre of a library that had absolutely not been beneath Gotham University ten minutes ago. The room stretched too far in every direction, shelf after shelf rising into darkness, stacked with books whose spines whispered when you looked away.
The ceiling looked like a night sky.
Not painted. Not open.
A sky made of ink and old paper, with stars that resembled punctuation marks.
You stood beside her, sword drawn, bronze bracers catching the eerie library-light. Your red cloak was torn from the earlier fight with the paper-hounds, and a shallow cut ran across your cheek.
On Steph’s other side, Linda Danvers hovered half an inch off the floor, fists glowing faintly with white-gold energy.
She stared at the book like it had personally insulted her and also maybe her entire bloodline.
Which, considering the evening so far, it probably had.
The three of you had come here because students had been disappearing from campus records.
Not physically, at first. That was the weird part.
Their dorm assignments vanished. Their class registrations disappeared. Their names fell out of group chats, yearbooks, transcripts. Friends remembered faces but not names. Professors remembered grading papers written by “someone.” Parents called the school asking why their child no longer existed in the system.
Then the students themselves began to fade.
Batman traced the disturbance to Gotham University’s old humanities building. Zatanna identified the magic as narrative-based. Diana recognised the gold-thread binding from an ancient Amazonian warning text about “archives that hunger.”
And because apparently the universe had a deeply petty sense of symbolism, the mission had landed with you, Stephanie Brown, and Linda Danvers.
Spoiler. Supergirl. Wonder Boy.
Three people who had all, at some point, been treated like footnotes in someone else’s legend.
The book opened itself. Pages flipped rapidly, faster and faster, until they stopped on a spread written in dark red ink.
Steph squinted. “Is that blood?”
“Probably,” Linda said.
Steph made a face. “Ew. People with cursed books are always doing too much.”
You stepped closer, lasso humming at your hip. “Careful.”
“Wow,” Steph said, voice bright and brittle. “It went straight for the personal folder.”
Linda’s eyes narrowed. “Close the book.”
“I agree,” you said.
You moved first.
Your lasso flashed gold, arcing toward the book.
The second it touched the pages, the archive screamed.
Not like a person.
Like paper tearing forever.
Shelves slammed shut. Books flew from the walls like startled birds. The floor cracked into glowing lines of text, and the room split into three corridors.
One purple. One red and blue. One gold.
Steph looked at them. “Okay, so I’m guessing we don’t get to pick the fun hallway.”
“No,” you said.
Linda exhaled. “It wants us separated.”
“Then we do not separate.”
The archive laughed. The sound came from every book at once.
ALL NAMES STAND ALONE IN THE END.
The floor vanished beneath your feet.
Steph fell through purple light.
The last thing she heard before the library swallowed her was you shouting her name.
That helped. A little.
Then she hit the ground hard enough to knock the air out of her lungs.
Steph rolled on instinct, came up on one knee, and immediately hated everything.
She was in the Batcave.
Not the real Batcave. The real Batcave smelled like damp stone, expensive tech, Alfred’s judgment, and at least one teenager making bad decisions in Kevlar.
This version was colder. Cleaner. Crueler. The glass cases stood in a long row. Old suits. Old mantles. Robin. Batgirl. Spoiler. Every costume she had ever worn displayed like evidence in a trial she had not been invited to attend.
Her Spoiler suit was first. Purple, bright, defiant, homemade in all the ways that mattered.
A plaque beneath it read: FAILED VIGILANTE.
Steph’s jaw tightened.
“Okay,” she said aloud. “Mean.”
The Robin suit came next.
Her Robin suit. Short-lived. Complicated. Still hers, no matter how many people tried to discuss it like a clerical error.
The plaque read: TEMPORARY ROBIN.
Steph swallowed.
Batgirl was next. Black. Purple. Yellow. A symbol she had worn with trembling pride and enormous attitude.
The plaque read: REPLACEMENT.
She stared at that one for a long time.
The cave lights flickered.
A voice came from behind her.
“You were never meant to keep any of them.”
Steph turned.
Batman stood in the shadows.
Not Bruce. Not really. The outline was right. The cowl. The cape. The white eyes. But there was nothing human in him. No exhaustion. No grief. No ridiculous inability to communicate like a normal person despite caring painfully much.
This Batman was only judgment.
Steph stood, brushing dust from her knees.
“You know,” she said, “if my subconscious is going to manifest Batman, it could at least manifest one who brought snacks.”
The false Batman did not react.
“You were a spoiler,” he said. “A warning sign. A mistake in another man’s plan.”
Steph’s hands curled.
“You were Robin because you forced yourself into the role.”
“You were Batgirl because the city was desperate.”
“You were always an interruption.”
“Always temporary.”
“Always almost.”
Steph smiled. It felt like broken glass.
“Okay,” she said. “First of all, rude. Second of all, ‘almost’ is kind of my brand. Third—”
The floor beneath her shifted.
Her mouth snapped shut.
The cases changed. Now each one held a different version of Batgirl.
Barbara. Cass. Herself.
The false Batman turned toward the line of suits.
“Barbara was legacy,” he said. “Cassandra was purpose. You were noise.”
That one hit. Steph hated that it hit. She loved Babs. She loved Cass. Loved them in complicated, sharp-edged, fiercely loyal ways. Their existence did not make hers smaller.
She knew that.
She knew that.
But knowing something was not the same as never aching.
The false Batman stepped closer. “You wore symbols others defined better.”
Steph’s throat tightened.
“No,” she said.
But the word was quieter than she wanted.
The cave darkened. The cases rose higher, towering over her.
Spoiler. Robin. Batgirl.
Failed. Temporary. Replacement.
Steph backed up one step. Then another.
Her heel hit the edge of a platform.
The false Batman’s shadow stretched toward her.
“Remove the costume,” he said. “Let the story correct itself.”
Something gold flashed through the dark.
A lasso wrapped around Steph’s wrist.
Her head snapped toward it.
The golden rope stretched into a crack in the air. On the other side, she saw you, blurred by magic, standing in a corridor of gold light, one hand gripping the lasso like a lifeline.
“Stephanie!” you shouted.
The false Batman turned sharply.
The cave shook. Steph’s breath caught.
You looked furious.
Not battle-furious. Worse. Protective. Ancient. Like some Themysciran statue had come to life specifically to fistfight narrative invalidation.
“Do not listen to it,” you said.
Steph laughed, and it came out embarrassingly close to a sob. “I usually don’t listen to Batman anyway.”
“That is because you are wise.”
“Debatable.”
The false Batman’s voice boomed through the cave. “She was not chosen.”
You stepped through the tear in the air.
The lasso glowed around Steph’s wrist, connecting you both.
“No,” you said.
The word rang bright.
Steph stared at you.
You stood between her and the false Batman, sword drawn, cape torn, cheek bleeding, looking every inch the kind of hero people wrote songs about.
And then you said, “She chose herself.”
Steph’s heart did something deeply inconvenient.
The false Batman loomed. “Choice is not legitimacy.”
You laughed once. “That is exactly what someone terrified of free will would say.”
Steph blinked.
Then, despite everything, she whispered, “Drag him.”
You did not look back, but she heard the smile in your voice. “Gladly.”
The false Batman raised a hand. The cases shattered. Glass flew outward, but each shard stopped midair, reflecting a different memory.
Steph being told to go home. Steph being fired. Steph being underestimated. Steph reaching for a mantle and feeling it pulled away.
Steph dying. Steph coming back.
Steph breathing.
Steph surviving.
Steph surviving.
Steph surviving.
The false Batman spoke again. “She was temporary.”
The lasso tightened around Steph’s wrist.
You looked back at her. Your expression softened.
“She was recurrent,” you said.
Steph’s breath hitched.
You turned fully toward her now, ignoring the monster in the cape.
“Do you know what that means?” you asked.
Steph tried for a joke. “That I’m a rash?”
“Stephanie.”
She swallowed.
Your voice softened. “Temporary means ending. Recurrent means returning.”
Oh.
Oh, that was mean. That was so mean in the exact way kindness could be mean when it got under all the armour.
Steph looked away.
You stepped closer.
“Spoiler returned,” you said. “Robin ended, but you did not. Batgirl was worn by others before and after you, but when you wore it, the symbol did not become less. It became more.”
The false Batman hissed.
You ignored him.
“You were not noise,” you said. “You were warning. You were refusal. You were the girl at the locked door, saying, I know I was not invited. I am coming in anyway.”
Steph’s eyes burned.
The lasso glowed warmer around her wrist.
“And perhaps,” you continued, voice gaining power, “perhaps that is why this place fears you.”
The false Batman stepped back.
Steph blinked at him.
The cases flickered.
“Fears me?” she repeated.
You smiled then. Small. Sharp. “Of course. Archives hate revisions.”
Steph barked a laugh.
The false Batman shuddered like the sound hurt him.
Steph straightened. Her chest still ached. The words still stung. Failed, temporary, replacement. She would probably hear them again in other voices. In comment sections. In mission reports. In the ugly little room in her head that never learned to shut up.
But you were right. She had returned. Again and again and again. And if the archive hated revisions, Stephanie Brown was about to become a whole new edition.
She grinned at the false Batman. “Hey, Bats.”
He stilled.
Steph lifted her chin. “I was Spoiler because I ruined my dad’s plans.”
The cave trembled.
“I was Robin because I put on the cape and did the work.”
The Robin case cracked.
“I was Batgirl because I earned the symbol one bruise, one joke, one very questionable rooftop landing at a time.”
The Batgirl case shattered into purple light.
Steph stepped forward.
“And I’m Stephanie Brown,” she said, “because nobody gets to edit me out.”
The false Batman split down the centre like torn paper.
Purple light burst through the cave. For one second, Steph saw all her suits not as accusations but as proof.
Then the false cave collapsed.
She stumbled forward. You caught her.
The real archive corridor snapped back into place around you both. Purple light faded into gold. The lasso slid from her wrist.
Steph immediately wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “If you tell anyone I got emotional over metaphor Batman, I’ll deny it.”
You smiled gently. “I would never betray you.”
“Good.”
“Though I may tell Cassandra.”
“Cruel. Evil. Amazonian menace.”
Your smile widened.
Then the corridor shook.
A scream echoed from somewhere beyond the shelves.
Linda.
Steph straightened. You did too.
No more jokes.
The two of you ran.
Linda Danvers had been called many things.
Girl. Angel. Monster. Supergirl.
Not Kara. Not enough. Too much.
She had learned that names could be gifts, but they could also be knives people handed you by the blade and then acted surprised when you bled.
The archive knew that. Of course it did. It had built her a cathedral out of mirrors.
Every wall reflected her differently.
Linda as a teenage girl with frightened eyes. Linda with Matrix’s face. Linda wearing the Supergirl crest. Linda with wings of flame.
Linda falling. Linda glowing. Linda erased.
Above the mirrored altar, in letters of burning white, were the words:
WHO ARE YOU WHEN THE SYMBOL LEAVES?
Linda hovered in the centre of the cathedral, fists clenched, trying not to look at any reflection for too long.
The problem with mirrors was that sometimes all of them were true.
“Supergirl,” one reflection whispered.
“Linda,” said another.
“Matrix.”
“Earth-born angel.”
“Impostor.”
“Replacement.”
“Not the real one.”
Linda’s eyes flashed.
“Shut up,” she said.
The mirrors smiled.
Every version of her smiled differently. One wore Kara’s crest like a crown she had stolen. One had no face. One had wings made of paper.
The reflections spoke together.
“You carried a name that belonged to someone else.”
Linda breathed through her nose.
“You were never the first.”
“Never the last.”
“Never the one people meant.”
“When they say Supergirl, they do not see you.”
The worst part was not that it was a lie. The worst part was that it was almost true.
Linda loved Kara. That made it harder. It was easier to resent someone who had wronged you. Harder to ache beneath the shadow of someone good. Kara deserved the symbol. Kara deserved the love. Kara deserved to be remembered as Supergirl in every bright, clean, iconic way.
And Linda? Linda was complicated. Her story was messier. Stranger. Harder to summarise on a lunchbox.
Merged lives. Lost selves. Redemption arcs with jagged teeth. Power that had felt holy and horrifying depending on the day.
She had been Supergirl. She knew that.
Most days.
The mirror directly in front of her changed.
Now it showed Kara. Blonde. Bright. Powerful. Beloved.
The reflection tilted its head.
“You wore my name,” it said.
Linda’s stomach twisted. “You’re not Kara.”
“No,” the reflection said. “But everyone wishes I were.”
Linda dropped to the floor.
The cathedral bells rang. There had not been bells before.
The reflections stepped out of the mirrors.
Versions of Linda surrounded her in a circle: every identity she had worn, every self she had shed, every name that had fit until it didn’t.
Supergirl stepped forward.
“Give it back,” she said.
Linda’s jaw clenched. “No.”
“You do not need it anymore.”
“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t mine.”
“Was it?”
The question echoed.
Linda’s breath caught.
Was it? The crest had been hers. The battles had been hers. The mistakes, the sacrifices, the impossible days where she got up anyway—that was hers. But symbols were cruel sometimes. They outlived the people inside them. They moved on. They got reassigned. They became cleaner in memory than they ever were in use.
Maybe that was good. Maybe it was unbearable.
The cathedral doors burst open.
Gold and purple light flooded the aisle.
Linda turned. Steph stood in the doorway with a batarang in one hand and mascara slightly smudged in a way she would absolutely deny later. You stood beside her, sword drawn, lasso glowing.
“Oh,” Steph said, taking in the army of Lindas. “Creepy identity crisis cathedral. Been there.”
Linda tried to smile. It didn’t work.
The Supergirl reflection turned toward you. “This is not your story.”
You walked forward anyway.
“No,” you said. “But she is my friend.”
Linda’s throat tightened.
Steph spun the batarang in her fingers. “And I’m nosy.”
The reflection’s eyes burned white.
“Linda Danvers wore what was not hers.”
Steph made an offended sound. “Okay, hypocritical book church, we are not doing this.”
The reflections whispered.
“Not the first.”
“Not the real one.”
“Temporary.”
“Replacement.”
Steph flinched at that last word.
You noticed. Linda noticed.
Then you stepped between them and the reflections.
Your shoulders were squared, but your voice was soft when you spoke. “Do you know the myth of Psyche?”
Steph whispered, “Is now the time?”
“Yes,” you said.
Linda stared at you, half-laughing despite herself.
You continued, because apparently nothing—not haunted books, not identity cathedrals, not emotional devastation—could stop an Amazon boy from weaponising a mythological reference when he sensed an opening.
“Psyche was so beautiful that people compared her to Aphrodite,” you said. “Then she was punished for being mistaken for a goddess. She was given impossible tasks. Sorted seeds. Fetched golden wool. Crossed into the Underworld.”
The reflections stilled.
Your lasso pulsed.
“Everyone remembers Psyche as beloved of Eros,” you said. “But before that, she was a girl made to suffer because others could not decide whether she was mortal, divine, threat, or a prize.”
Linda’s breathing slowed.
You looked at her.
“She became immortal not because she was born flawless,” you said. “But because she endured every trial meant to prove she was unworthy.”
Steph’s eyes shone.
Linda looked away.
The Supergirl reflection sneered. “Pretty story.”
“True one,” you said.
Linda swallowed. “You don’t get it.”
Your expression shifted.
Not hurt.
Attention.
Linda hated that. Hated how careful you were with other people’s pain. Hated how easy it made it to tell the truth.
“I don’t always know which parts of me are mine,” she said.
The mirrors trembled.
Steph lowered her batarang.
Linda wrapped her arms around herself. “There were times I felt like a person. Times I felt like a vessel. Times I felt like a symbol wearing a girl-shaped body. And everyone wants a clean version. Kara is clean. Clark is clean. Even when they’re messy, the story knows where to put them.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know where to put me.”
The cathedral went silent.
That was when Steph moved.
Not fast. Not dramatic. She just walked over and stood beside Linda.
“Yeah,” Steph said quietly. “That part sucks.”
Linda gave her a wet, startled laugh. “That’s your wisdom?”
“I mean, I could say something poetic, but that’s his thing.” Steph nodded toward you. “I mostly do spite and emotional honesty with questionable timing.”
You smiled faintly.
Steph looked at Linda.
“I know it’s not the same,” she said. “But I know what it’s like when people treat your time in a symbol like it only counts if it was permanent.”
Linda looked at her.
Steph shrugged, but her voice was soft.
“Like if someone else wore it before you and someone else wears it after you, then you were just… filler.” Her mouth twisted. “A weird little transition issue. A temporary patch in the canon.”
Linda whispered, “Yeah.”
Steph’s smile was small and sad.
“But we were there,” she said. “We did the work. We saved people. We messed up. We got back up. That counts.”
The reflections dimmed.
Linda stared at Steph like she had handed her a rope over a cliff.
You stepped closer.
“And you,” you said, “are not made less real because your story is difficult to summarise.”
Linda’s eyes filled.
The Supergirl reflection hissed, “She carried a borrowed name.”
You looked at it sharply. “All names are borrowed until someone lives in them.”
The cathedral shook.
Steph pointed at the reflection. “Yeah. Put that in your haunted bibliography.”
Linda laughed, and it came out broken but real.
You turned back to her.
“I know what it is to wear a symbol people think they understand before they understand you,” you said.
Linda’s gaze softened.
Your hand moved to the eagle on your chest.
“When people see this, they expect womanhood to follow. Diana. The Amazons. Sisters. Daughters. Princesses. A mythology built around women’s strength.” Your voice wavered. “And I love that. I love them. I love the women who raised me. But sometimes people look at me and try to make me fit the version of the symbol they already know.”
Steph looked at you.
The cathedral light reflected in her eyes.
You swallowed.
“It is hard,” you admitted, “to be loved by a legacy and still feel like you have to explain why you belong to it.”
Linda’s face crumpled.
Steph’s hand found yours.
She did not make a joke. That was how you knew she was taking it very seriously.
Linda reached for your other hand.
For a moment, the three of you stood in the centre of the mirror cathedral, hand in hand beneath the judgment of every name that had ever tried to become a cage.
The Supergirl reflection took one step back.
Linda looked at it.
Then she looked at all the other versions of herself.
“I was Supergirl,” she said.
The mirrors cracked.
“I was Linda.”
More cracks.
“I was changed. I was merged. I was lost. I was found. I was holy and messy and angry and scared and brave.”
The cathedral bells rang again, but this time the sound was distant.
Linda lifted her chin.
“You don’t get to make me choose one version so the archive can shelve me correctly.”
Light burst from her hands.
The mirrors shattered.
Not violently.
Joyfully. Like a thousand windows opening at once. The reflections dissolved into white-gold sparks, swirling around Linda before sinking into her skin.
The cathedral vanished. The three of you stood back in the main archive. The black book hovered above its pedestal, pages thrashing wildly.
Steph squinted. “Did the cursed book just call us unstable canon?”
Linda wiped at her eyes. “I think so.”
Steph cracked her knuckles. “That is the nerdiest insult I’ve ever received.”
You stepped forward, lasso in hand.
The archive shelves leaned inward. Thousands of books opened. Names poured from their pages.
Student names. Hero names. Forgotten names. Misfiled names. Names crossed out. Names rewritten. Names smudged until only the first letter remained.
The missing students appeared between the shelves, pale and translucent, reaching silently toward the book.
Linda’s expression hardened. “That’s enough.”
The book’s pages flipped faster.
ALL STORIES REQUIRE ORDER. ALL SYMBOLS REQUIRE SUCCESSION. ALL NAMES REQUIRE AUTHORITY.
Steph raised her batarang. “Counterpoint: no.”
She threw.
The batarang struck the pedestal, cracking the marble.
Linda blasted the shelves behind the book with white-gold light, freeing several ghostly names from the pages. You cast the lasso around the book itself and pulled.
The archive screamed again.
This time, the sound had fear in it.
The book yanked back, dragging you forward. Your boots skidded across the floor.
Steph grabbed your waist from behind.
“Linda!” she shouted.
Linda flew upward and slammed both hands onto the book’s cover.
The magic surged.
All three of you were pulled into the pages. For one impossible second, you saw every story the archive had tried to control.
Students erased because they were inconvenient to old magic. Heroes renamed by people who loved categories more than truth.
Girls called replacements. Boys called contradictions. Children called mistakes.
People turned into footnotes because the page had no room for them.
Rage filled you.
Not wild.
Clear.
The kind Diana had taught you to honour.
You wrapped both hands around the lasso and spoke in a voice that filled the archive.
“No story belongs to the shelf more than the soul inside it.”
Gold light erupted from the rope.
Steph shouted, “Names are not yours to keep!”
Purple light flared from her batarang, catching the cracked pedestal.
Linda’s eyes blazed white. “And symbols are not yours to police.”
The book split open.
Pages flew everywhere.
The archive collapsed into a storm of paper and light.
Names poured free. The missing students became solid all at once, gasping, crying, collapsing into each other’s arms.
The library shrank violently around you.
Shelves folded inward. Stars fell from the ink ceiling like punctuation marks shaken loose from the sky.
You grabbed Steph’s hand. Steph grabbed Linda’s.
Linda grabbed two unconscious students by the backs of their jackets.
“Exit?” Steph shouted.
The room tilted.
You looked around, lasso humming, searching for truth beneath the chaos.
There. A door made of ordinary wood. Ugly. Modern. Gotham University-issued. A little scratched. Probably smelled like dust and bad coffee on the other side.
“Left!” you shouted.
Linda flew. Steph ran. You pulled the lasso around three more students and dragged them with you as the archive screamed one final time.
The three of you burst through the door and landed in a heap in the basement of the humanities building.
Real basement. Real concrete. Real flickering fluorescent lights. Real smell of mildew and old textbooks.
Steph lay on her back, staring at the ceiling.
“Okay,” she said. “I officially hate libraries.”
You groaned from somewhere beneath Linda’s cape. “You do not mean that.”
“I mean haunted libraries.”
“Reasonable.”
Linda sat up slowly, hair a mess, eyes still glowing faintly. “Everyone alive?”
From around the basement, students groaned, cried, and answered in various levels of panic.
Steph lifted one thumb. “Alive. Emotionally attacked. Personally offended.”
You pushed yourself upright and immediately regretted it.
Your ribs ached. Your cheek stung. Your throat felt raw from speaking truth at a cursed book, which was apparently a physical activity.
Linda noticed. “You’re hurt.”
“So are you,” you said.
Steph sat up. “So am I, by the way. Since we’re doing the team injury roll call.”
Linda looked at her. “You have a paper cut.”
“It’s from a cursed book. That’s basically a stab wound.”
You smiled despite yourself.
The basement door opened above the stairs. Campus security shouted something.
Steph looked at you both. “So, we staying to explain the ancient sentient archive situation or…?”
Linda’s expression went dry. “Absolutely not.”
“Great consensus.”
The three of you helped the students up, got them moving toward the stairs, and gave the security guards just enough information to make them extremely confused but functional.
By the time the police and emergency services arrived, the three of you were on the roof of the humanities building, sitting under a cloudy Gotham sky.
Nobody spoke for a while.
Steph had her knees drawn up, chin resting on them. Linda sat beside her, cape wrapped around her shoulders. You leaned against a gargoyle that looked deeply displeased with all of you.
Finally, Steph said, “So that was a lot.”
Linda laughed softly. “Yeah.”
“You ever notice how magic never attacks you with, like, mildly inconvenient insecurities?” Steph asked. “It’s always the big emotional thesis stuff. Very rude. Where’s the curse that makes me worry about my parking tickets?”
You looked at her. “Do you have parking tickets?”
“That is between me and the city of Gotham.”
Linda smiled. Then the smile faded.
“I didn’t know you felt that way,” she said to Steph.
Steph looked over.
Linda’s voice was careful. “About Batgirl. Robin. Being temporary.”
Steph shrugged too quickly. “It’s fine.”
You said her name.
She groaned. “Do not emotionally perceive me. I’m fragile.”
“You are not fragile,” you said.
“I am a delicate flower.”
Linda raised an eyebrow. “You kicked a paper monster in the throat.”
“It deserved it.”
You smiled, then softened. “Stephanie.”
She sighed, long and theatrical, but her shoulders drooped.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s stupid.”
“It is not,” Linda said.
Steph picked at a loose thread on her glove.
“I know I matter. Like, logically. I know Spoiler matters. I know being Robin mattered even if it was a hot mess, and I know Batgirl mattered. I know Babs and Cass love me. I know.” She swallowed. “But sometimes it feels like other people get to be chapters and I get to be a weird sticky note.”
Linda’s face softened.
You shifted closer.
Steph kept looking at her glove.
“I’m not the first anything. I’m not the best anything. I’m not the chosen anything. I’m just stubborn.”
“That is not just,” you said.
Steph’s mouth trembled.
She looked at you.
You held her gaze.
“Stubbornness is sacred.”
A laugh burst out of her, wet and surprised. “That is such a Wonder Boy thing to say.”
“It is true.”
Linda nodded. “It is.”
Steph looked between you both, eyes bright.
“Rude,” she whispered. “Supportive and rude.”
Linda reached over and bumped her shoulder against Steph’s.
Steph leaned back.
Just a little.
Then Linda said, “I get it.”
Steph’s expression gentled.
Linda looked out over Gotham.
“I know I was Supergirl,” she said. “I know that. But sometimes talking about it feels like showing people a photograph from a dream. Like I have proof, but not the kind they want.”
Her cape shifted in the wind.
“And there’s always someone else who fits the name better in people’s heads.”
You listened.
The city below murmured: traffic, sirens, distant laughter, a dog barking at absolutely nothing.
Linda’s voice lowered.
“I used to think that meant I had to either cling to it or let it go completely. Like if I wasn’t Supergirl forever, then maybe I never really was.”
Steph reached for her hand.
Linda let her take it.
You thought of all the names you had held like hot coals.
The name you had been given before you had language for why it hurt.
The name you chose.
Wonder Boy.
Son.
Brother.
Amazon.
Words that did not always sit easily together in other people’s mouths, but lived fiercely in yours.
“I think,” you said, “some names are not houses.”
They both looked at you.
You searched for the right shape of the truth.
“They are roads,” you said. “We walk them. They change us. We leave footprints. Then perhaps we continue elsewhere.” You looked at Linda. “Leaving does not mean you were never there.”
Linda’s eyes shone.
Steph was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, “You really do talk like a museum plaque.”
You sighed.
Linda laughed.
Steph grinned, but it softened.
“A good museum plaque,” she added.
“High praise,” Linda said.
“The highest.”
You bowed your head slightly. “I am honoured.”
Steph bumped your knee with hers.
“And you?” she asked.
You looked at her.
She gave you a pointed look.
“Yeah, don’t think we forgot the evil book made you talk about Symbol Feelings too.”
Linda nodded. “You don’t have to, but…”
You exhaled.
The rooftop wind was cold against the cut on your cheek.
Below, Gotham did what Gotham always did: survived itself loudly.
“I feel like a road too sometimes,” you admitted. “Not a house.”
Steph and Linda listened.
“I know who I am,” you said. “I am not confused about that. But knowing does not stop the world from being clumsy with me.” Your hand rested over the eagle on your chest. “Wonder Woman’s legacy is so tied to womanhood. To Amazons, sisters, daughters, queens. And I love that. I would never diminish it.”
Your voice thinned.
“But I am not a woman. I was never going to become one correctly, because I was never one at all.”
Steph’s fingers curled around Linda’s.
You looked down at the rooftop gravel.
“Diana made room for me. Themyscira made room for me. That is a gift I can never repay.” You swallowed. “But sometimes I wonder if I am a room added onto a house everyone else already understood. Loved, yes. Wanted, yes. But still an addition.”
Linda’s face changed.
Steph whispered, “Oh.”
You laughed quietly. “That sounds self-pitying.”
“No,” Steph said immediately. “It sounds… yeah. It sounds like the thing.”
You looked at her.
She shrugged, helpless but sincere.
“The thing where people love you but the story still doesn’t know where to put you.”
Your breath caught.
Linda reached over with her free hand and took yours.
“You are not an addition,” she said.
You looked at her.
Her voice was steady.
“You are proof the house was alive enough to grow.”
That one hurt.
Beautifully.
Steph nodded fiercely. “Yeah. Also, for the record, anyone who has a problem with Wonder Boy can fight me in a Denny’s parking lot.”
You blinked.
Linda nodded solemnly. “I’d pay to see that.”
You laughed, wiping at your eyes before tears could fully betray you.
Steph pointed. “No crying. If you cry, I cry, and then Linda cries, and then this gargoyle judges us.”
“The gargoyle already judges us,” Linda said.
You looked at the stone creature. “It is Gotham. Of course it does.”
Steph leaned into your side.
Linda leaned into your other.
For a while, the three of you sat that way beneath the grey sky, shoulder to shoulder, a small line of warmth on the cold roof.
A spoiler.
A supergirl.
A wonder boy.
Three names the archive had tried to file as temporary, borrowed, unstable.
But you were still here.
There was something holy in that.
Not clean. Not easy. Not carved in marble.
More like graffiti on a locked door.
Messy.
Bright.
Undeniable.
Eventually, Steph said, “So. Fire thieves.”
Linda tilted her head. “What?”
Steph gestured between the three of you. “That’s us.”
You smiled slowly. “Prometheus?”
“Yeah. We stole fire from the narrative gods or whatever.” Steph waved a hand. “Very mythic. Very hot. Extremely brandable.”
Linda laughed. “You want team branding after a cursed archive almost ate our identities?”
“I cope through aesthetics.”
You nodded. “Valid.”
Steph beamed. “See? Wonder Boy gets it.”
Linda looked at you, amused. “Do you?”
“I was raised around ceremonial armour and symbolic weapons,” you said. “I deeply understand coping through aesthetics.”
Steph snapped her fingers. “Exactly.”
Linda shook her head, but she was smiling.
The clouds broke slightly above Gotham.
A thin line of sunlight touched the roof, catching on Linda’s cape, Steph’s blonde hair, your bronze bracers.
For one brief second, all three of you looked gilded.
Not by permission.
Not by inheritance.
By survival.
Steph stood first and offered both hands down.
“All right, fire thieves. Let’s go get waffles.”
Linda blinked. “Waffles?”
“Yes. Identity crises require carbs.”
You took her hand. “That is medically sound.”
“It is emotionally sound,” Steph said. “Which is basically the same but with syrup.”
Linda accepted Steph’s other hand and stood.
The three of you moved toward the fire escape together.
Before descending, you looked back at the rooftop, at the gargoyle, at the city, at the thin sunlight stubbornly refusing to vanish.
You thought of Prometheus stealing flame.
Ariadne holding thread. Psyche sorting impossible seeds. Every myth where someone was tested not because they were weak, but because the world could not understand what they might become.
Steph bumped your shoulder. “You good?”
You looked at her, then at Linda.
No, you thought. Not always. Maybe not even most days.
But clearer. Held. Named correctly by people who knew what it cost to keep a name.
You smiled. “I am hungry.”
Steph grinned. “That’s the spirit.”
Linda laughed and stepped off the roof, floating gently down toward the alley.
Steph followed the fire escape.
You swung after them on a line of gold.
Behind you, Gotham University’s haunted archive was gone. Or defeated. Or sulking. Whatever cursed books did after getting roasted by three emotionally compromised legacy heroes with excellent outfits.
ik it is very overrated but ive been wanting to make/see a Amazonian!reader x damian or jon or maybe even jason etc
i have no idea if to do it or ask someone 😭 (that will hopefully answer bc ur the only blog that answers me somehow
—🦈
I don't hate the idea! I think, famously, Diana is one of the only Amazons coming and going from the island, so it stands to reason that her child would be the one to do the same.
Maybe Diana's child has a blessing from the gods that makes their skill(s) useful for a League mission, so they get to leave Themyscira for the first time and they're very overwhelmed with all the new sights and smells and sounds and people and buildings and money and —
So they need a friend to guide them around and help them learn the ropes. I think a speedster would be really cute for that, if it doesn't bother you, Sharky? Would Wally or Bart be cool?
Hi there, hun! May I have some headcanons for Ares (BoZ) having a amazon wife? She's a complete badass, muscular and slightly taller than he is, but she’s also a sweetheart with who she likes/loves? Hera would love her, nobody changes my mind
I just see him as loving having a wife taller than him, especially if she's powerful - kinda like Raiden and Thrud from SNV/ROR
Awww! Ares does love his powerful women
A/N - So traditional Hellenism had Ares as the father of the Amazons, but for the sake of HC’s here, neither are related
It’s a true match made in the heavens for the god of war and his warrior love
She can best him in a duel but also weave eloquent poetry to speak sweetly and softly to him.
Apollo and Hermes, though they give him grief, are fiercely loyal and supportive of their brother’s love
Hera, despite her cool resigned exterior, offers the slightest bit of support for her eldest. At least he has the option and luxury of being happy in his union(s).
Bandaging each other up is a ✨love language ✨
So is sword training
Gifts are not necessary but Ares has gifted you a dagger - not too elaborate but not useless as well. Carved with runes and markings that ensure your protection
