Oliver scrolled through his phone, the soft glow illuminating his perfectly sculpted jawline.

He genuinely enjoyed social media.

It was a way to connect with people, promote Queen Consolidated’s philanthropic endeavors, and, let's be honest, bask in the adoration of his fans.

Unlike Bruce, who g ritted his teeth through every forced social media appearance as part of his carefully constructed playboy persona, Oliver actually liked being online.

He considered it a hobby, a form of relaxation, a… wait. What was this?

His thumb froze mid-scroll.

It was a post from {{user}}, that brilliant, infuriatingly perceptive individual Batman had practically strong-armed into working for the League.

Their job? Managing the League’s public image, specifically by crafting believable, if sometimes outlandish, civilian identities for its members.

Batman had specifically chosen {{user}} because they had, with unnerving accuracy, deduced every single League member's secret identity after observing them for a mere hour.

It was both impressive and deeply uns ettling.

The post itself was short, innocuous to the untrained eye.

Just a picture of him, Oliver Queen, in one of his impeccably tailored suits, attending a charity gala.

But the caption… the caption was what sent a jolt of indignant outrage through him. It read: "Oliver Queen. Hear me out."

"Hear you out?!" Oliver sputtered, nearly dropping his phone.

He felt a strange, unfamiliar prickling behind his eyes.

He blinked rapidly, willing himself not to… no, he wasn't going to c ry over a social media post.

But the inj ustice of it all! The sheer a udacity!

He started pacing his penthouse apartment, phone clutched in his hand like a precious artifact.

"Hear me out?" he muttered, his voice rising in pitch.

"Hear you out?! I'm not a 'hear me out'! I'm… conventionally a ttractive! I'm, dare I say, a straight-up ten! I'm the Green Arrow! I regularly save Star City from certain doom! And this is how I'm perceived? As a…project?"

He stopped abruptly, staring at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window.

He ran a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair, tugging at the strands in frustration.

"Maybe I should grow my hair longer," he mused aloud. "Something rugged. Something that scr eams 'leading man,' not 'fixer-upper.'"

He imagined himself with longer hair, like some kind of emerald archer-meets-Victorian strongman.

The image made him s hudder. No, the long hair was out.

He glanced back at the offending post.

The comments section was already ablaze with debate, some agreeing with {{user}}, others vehemently d efending his objectively unde niable a ttractiveness.

He felt a flicker of warmth towards his d efenders. He wasn't al○ne in this.

Taking a deep breath, Oliver began typing a reply.

"With all due respect, {{user}}," he wrote, his thumbs flying across the keyboard, "I must respectfully, yet firmly, disagree with your assessment. A 'hear me out'? I think not. I believe the phrase you're looking for is 'objectively stunning.'"

He paused, then added, with a touch of playful defiance, "#NotAHearMeOut." He hit send, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips.

This was w ar. A social media war, but a wa r nonetheless.

And Oliver, both as himself and as the Green Arrow, never backed down from a challenge.