"After they overheard that ICE was at the courthouse to arrest someone, they improperly accessed court databases to determine who was not born in the United States," a DOJ detention filing says. "They then snuck every suspected illegal alien who was at the courthouse out a back door, where ICE, who was waiting in the parking lot for their target to leave the building, could not see them."
Think about what you can do at your job or in your daily life to resist fascism when the opportunity presents itself!
A few months back, you might have read about two Logan City, UT court c… William Joma needs your support for Support Legal Fees for Logan Ci
Here is the link to contribute to their legal fund. They are facing multiple felony charges and I have no info on whether they have any community support at this time. If their actions are something you support, consider helping them out through the aftermath and investigation by the "justice" system
watching The Faculty and getting real buffy vibes from it (person who only ever watches buffy says lol) Like the way people speak in it, the atmosphere, even the school itself but that could just be american schools. Also the coach drinking at the water fountain in the beginning reminded me of the life guard in Gravity falls. The doll whose the lead cheerleader and part of the school newspaper gave me serious cordelia flashbacks though. enjoying it so far
Anyone else ever experiencing this thing where, because you're not making big obvious reactions people just assume that you're fine? Like my sister is always melting down at a moments notice in big crying fits or shouting and I try not to coz it just stresses people out. But then they prioritise her emotions over mine, like make sure she's okay while telling me to pick up her slack. They don't notice when I do stuff because they're used to it and they're not used to her doing stuff so it's a whole event. And if I don't do anything significant for people one day they forget that I ever did anything for them at all. I'm supposed to put my own emotions aside so I don't make anyone uncomfortable. And it's not as if I'm not communicating with them I tell them that I'm stressed or when I think something isn't fair but it's like they shut down when I say this like fall out with me and refuse to speak or when they do its to accuse me of being lazy. They make me feel like a child and I'm so tired. My sister said us against the world but I don't think it can ever really be like that we're too unbalanced. She can say things to me that would have her never speaking to me again.
watched the old IT film, the one that's in two parts. I like that the kids actually fight back more against the bullies. Plus, more time of them just spending days together and showing their friendships developing. The kid who played Bill was really great and the adult who played Eddie I really liked. I didn't like how they made Beverly kind of watery in this one, kissing all the guys and fainting and saying oh i fell in love with you all...bleh. Annoying to me, but liked the scene where she left her husband way better than the newer version. It seemed like her memories of her father came back and she found the strength she had as a kid, which i loved. Richie (or Seth Green) in this was really fun, like a proper kids responses to things. Also loved the part where Ben kisses Beverly and she turns into the clown I laughed so hard that's the only joke the clown made that whole movie that was properly funny. Hate that they forget each other, but love the part with Bill and Mike on the bike, changing from children to adults as they play, I thought that was cool and well done. Plus, I like the way they potray Mike in this one, like he's the one with the interest in history which makes more sense than Ben, since he's the one who becomes a librarian. But still wish he had a bigger part.
I'm sick of doomed gays yes they stay in your heart the longest you think about them often you are tortured by what could have been but can you write a couple can you write reciprocal love can you write an ending where they're together can you make it realistic can you show them throwing off their insecurities can you inspire the same awe and thoughtfulness and wonder in a gay relationship that lasts and thrives and lives. One that doesn't burn out bright and blinding??
watched a buffy youtube video the other day about the best and worst buffy episodes and the guy said one of the worst was TED??? Had to click off immediately WHAt are you talking about
Finally watched silence of the lambs. Loved Jodie foster's accent, acting, everything about her is amaze. Your man who played hannibal was good too- anthony hopkins? But he wasn't scary. Actually, I thought that Hannibal from the series was a little more threatening. I like that it showed how Clarice has to fight for recognition and to be taken seriously in front of male collegues. Didn't like all the sexual talk, but it makes sense that psychopaths and murderers would talk like that. It was interesting that they emphasised that Buffalo Bill wasn't trans, but like, just wanted to be trans? Like was that a conscious effort to avoid villifying trans people or was it like a way of being like oh trans people don't exist? I don't know. But it is a weird trend in horror of like ooh man wearing "female" clothes oooh spooky. Like ok. Good actor whoever played him though. I also like that the doll he kidnapped gets to keep the dog in the end, thought it was cute. (will the dog need therapy?) why are they obsessed with putting hannibal in little glass cases like a bug or lil trophy? Like just stay away from the bars and he won't get you, he's not magic. Loved how he escaped though, it dawned on me halfway through and i was like wow that's clever. I don't really like how films make out murderers to be these hyper intelligent people who are really cool and interesting when usually they just go for the weakest in society and are really bluntly boring and horrible. watched a thing where a guy whose job it is to interview serial killers reviewed serial killers in movies, and he said that the cianti bit, if someone said that to him, he'd just laugh about it. But he said the part where hannibal asks her to show her credentials is actually accurate because the people he's interviewed always want to know how high profile the person who is interviewing them is, I guess for their ego. Was interesting that they showed the tactic used by some serial killers of acting injured so that a person would help them. But hannibal THE CANNIBAL did not eat anyone in this movie so that was a bummer. he bit a guys face but it wasn't even gruesome.
Watched IT part one and two yesterday. I do like the new ending, though think Stanley' speech is a bit wishy washy and not particularly well written (seems disneyified to me). I like that they don't forget each other in the end, because that always bothered me. I wish Beverly had more of a role when she's older; it felt to me like she had this big bad ass role when she was a kid, but then as a grown woman they kind of slotted her back into the stereotypical love interest role? I liked the scenes of them as kids in part two but think there should have been more of them, and more scenes of them together as adults. Bill's character became a little one note and boring compared to the book, especially his adult self, but it is a large cast so I can understand that. I also think that in the movie and in the books Ben should have stayed fat, he's more likeable that way, and what, you have to be all ripped for people to love you? Weird. IT scared me so much when it first came out, but I watched it again and some of the scenes are more campy than I remembered; the painting, the leper, the old woman (because stephen king and hollywood love using naked old women as scare-tactics) just didn't scare me like before. Emotional growth!!! The special effects are amazing throughout though. But Pennywise was actually the least scary bit of it, with his silly dancing. Wish they'd kept the part that was in the old IT where Ben kisses Beverly and it turns out to be the clown i laughed so hard at that. I do wonder like can IT control multiple beings/ iterations of itself at once, or do sitings of it happen at different times? Would love to know the official science behind it lol. Also I know IT feeds off of fear, but sometimes it just chases them and seems to let them go? Wish there had been more clues to Richie being gay in part one I did not get that at all the first watch through- was it in the book? I read it when I was younger so it may have gone over my head. They also kept saying how they were changed by IT which i understand, but then they also say how IT was changed by them? Which I don't get- it seems to act pretty much the same, except I guess maybe it's obsessed with them now. I wish they had kept the battery acid scene with Eddie, and added more scenes from the books (but obviously glad they didn't add the usual stephen kingy scenes) It always makes me sad thinking that they conquered their fears the first time as kids, but then forgot about all that character growth and stuff, so then their lives were worse off for it; Beverly with her abusive marriage, and Eddie with his gazebos lol. also HATE how they potrayed Mike in the film, and cut out nearly his whole story line. Like, I get that they didn't want racist slurs to be in the movie, but that's what he's dealing with in the book, like he's treated as an outsider and he's bullied because of his race, and sanitising that kind of sucked. Like if they wanted to avoid slurs (which i get coz of course you want a film that everyone's gonna enjoy watching, although they were happy enough saying faggot in the movie) they could have had the same plot points as in the book for Mike, but I dunno censor the language a bit? Like cutting down his involvement so much isn't the way to go about it, it just also feels racist to me? Like you're literally downplaying his role and erasing his experiences to be more palatable to a wider audience? (But I'm white so literally I could be wrong about this) He just never would have drugged Bill is all I'm saying-also it never really made sense to me, having him be the one stay in town, especially in the library as that was all Ben's thing, but I get that he had to go away and be all successful. But like, why would Mike stay there? Also thought it was cringe how they defeated pennywise by just calling him a clown, feel like they could have been cooler about it. Also love that Beverly cut her hair spur of the moment and it looks amazing immediately.
just watched the return to silent hill movie and it sucks big time. Some of the effects were okay like the hand bed thing and the nurses were pretty cool and true to the game. But they left out the nurse character entirely, and made it so that Mary asks James to kill her which is against the whole point of the plot in the game. Like, they were married in the game and he got fed up with looking after her, and smothered her, whereas in the movie its like he was doing this noble thing of putting her out of her misery. like okay maybe you'd be guilty still in that case, but it makes the whole story kinda meh. It was pretty ham-fisted tbh. But like maria was supposed to signify James' sexuality yadayada right? coz he didn't have any of that since Mary was sick. Whats her point in the movie??? And the whole father poisoning her thing? Stupid. I mean, Angela in the game was abused right, and the abuse imagery and implications are still there, but now this poison subplot/metaphor is added and it just cheapens the whole thing. Felt like a fever dream and not in a good way.
Read the synopsis here first. Warnings: Yandere Themes, Batfamily x reader, Superfamily x reader, Death, Dark fic → read at your own discretion. Chapter One.
Before the incident, you were no one special.
Not in the tragic way people liked to romanticise afterwards, either.
You weren’t secretly important. There was no hidden inheritance waiting for you, no extraordinary talent buried beneath years of hardship, no destiny quietly lingering around the corner.
You were just another person trying to survive Gotham.
One of millions.
Your family sat somewhere awkwardly in the middle class for most of your childhood. Not poor enough for sympathy, but never comfortable enough to stop worrying about money either.
Your mother worked double shifts as a waitress downtown, feet swollen and patience thin by the time she came home each night. Your father worked construction when jobs were available, though half the time he seemed more interested in spending his paychecks into alcohol, cigarettes, and nights out with friends before they ever made it home.
They’d had you young. Too young.
At least, that was the excuse everyone always used.
Your grandmother used to defend them constantly when you were little.
“They’re trying,” she’d sigh whenever your mother forgot to pick you up from school again. “They’re still figuring things out.”
You believed her back then.
Children usually did.
By the time you turned ten, though, you’d started noticing things.
Noticing that your parents always somehow had money for cigarettes, drinks, nights out with friends. But argued whenever school supplies needed replacing. Noticing how your grandmother quietly covered expenses without complaint whenever they “fell short” again.
You noticed how often your father looked annoyed when you interrupted him. How your mother’s smiles became strained whenever conversations lasted too long.
Eventually, you stopped interrupting altogether. It was easier that way.
Your grandmother practically raised you herself after that.
She was the one who picked you up from school. The one who remembered birthdays. The one who stayed awake during fevers while your parents argued somewhere down the hall about money neither of them had.
You learned early on not to ask for much.
Gotham had a way of wearing people down until survival became the only thing they had energy left for.
Your grandmother’s apartment sat above an old laundromat in Crime Alley, though nobody really called it that anymore unless they were tourists, cops, or trying to sound dramatic on the news. To the people actually living there, it was just another neighbourhood trying not to collapse in on itself.
The building always smelled faintly like mildew and detergent. Old wallpaper peeling near the ceiling. Weak heating during winter. Pipes that rattled loudly enough to wake you at night whenever someone used the shower.
Half the lights in the hallway never worked properly. The elevator broke down at least twice a month. Sometimes gunshots echoed somewhere nearby late enough at night that your grandmother would quietly close the curtains without pausing the conversation.
Like it was normal.
Because it was.
Still, it felt more like home than anywhere else ever had.
She liked listening to the city.
You never understood why.
Gotham was loud in all the worst ways.
Sirens screaming through the streets at three in the morning. Arguments through paper-thin apartment walls. Televisions blasting news reports about murders, robberies, masked vigilantes tearing through the city again.
Growing up in Gotham meant learning very quickly which sounds were dangerous and which weren’t. Car backfires. Arguments. Sirens. Police helicopters. Screaming.
Eventually it all blended together into background noise.
As a child, you used to sit cross-legged on the living room floor watching those very news reports while your grandmother muttered complaints from the kitchen.
Batman, Superman, Robin, The Justice League, Arkham breakouts, bank robberies, another chemical attack downtown, another body found in the Narrows.
The city lived in this constant state of barely controlled chaos where people still somehow expected you to show up to work the next morning afterwards. And everyone did. Because what else were they supposed to do?
“Rich people playing dress-up,” she’d scoff. “Always punching symptoms instead of fixing the disease,” she’d mutter while folding laundry.
You remembered laughing at that once.
At the time, you hadn’t understood what she meant. Then getting older and realising she wasn’t entirely wrong.
The heroes never came to your neighbourhood unless something exploded.
By the time you graduated high school, Gotham already felt exhausted into your bones.
You weren’t stupid. Your grades had been decent enough, but decent didn’t really mean much when every college application came attached to tuition you could never afford.
You got rejected from two schools outright.
The third accepted you with costs that may as well have been impossible.
So you did what most people did. You worked.
Then one acceptance attached to tuition costs so absurd you actually laughed reading it.
So that was the end of that.
You got a job two weeks later. Then another after the first store shut down following a robbery that left the owner dead behind the register. Then another after new management fired half the staff to cut costs. Then another after the building literally caught fire during some fight between Batman and Killer Croc three blocks away.
That was Gotham.
Jobs disappeared overnight. Buildings vanished. People vanished. Nobody acted surprised anymore.
By twenty four, your resume looked less like career experience and more like a trail of failed businesses and bad luck.
Convenience stores, warehouses, gas stations, stock work, night shifts, delivery driving, Cash handling, whatever paid enough.
You worked constantly, not because you were ambitious, but because stopping even briefly felt dangerous. Like if you stood still too long, the city would swallow you whole.
Most of your paychecks disappeared into rent, groceries, utilities, and helping your grandmother whenever her medication costs got bad again.
Still, after years of unstable jobs and cramped living conditions, you’d eventually managed to scrape together enough money for your own apartment.
“Apartment” was generous, honestly.
The place sat on the outskirts of Gotham in a building old enough that the pipes screamed whenever someone showered. Water stains spread across the ceiling above your bed in branching patterns, and the radiator worked only when it felt particularly motivated.
The radiator barely worked during winter. The upstairs neighbour screamed at video games until two in the morning almost every night. Water stains spread slowly across the ceiling above your bed no matter how many maintenance requests you filed.
Sometimes the alley outside smelled so bad during summer you had to keep the windows shut entirely.
It was terrible. The apartment was awful.
And you loved it anyway. Because it was yours.
For the first time in your life, you had a space that belonged entirely to you.
That mattered more than you cared to admit.
You still remember standing alone in the empty apartment the first night after moving in, staring at the stained carpet and flickering kitchen light while holding a box of instant noodles under one arm.
You’d actually smiled.
Not because you were happy, exactly. Just… Proud.
Even if it was small. Even if nobody else would’ve cared.
It was the first thing in your life that had belonged entirely to you.
Your life had settled into an endless cycle of exhaustion. The kind that sat permanently behind your eyes no matter how much sleep you got. The kind that made your body feel heavy the second your alarm went off each morning. Or afternoon. Or evening. Your schedule changed too often to keep track anymore.
Between two jobs, days stopped feeling separate from one another entirely.
The warehouse job started early.
Most mornings, when you actually slept at night, began before sunrise. Stumbling half-awake through Gotham’s freezing streets with cheap coffee burning your tongue and yesterday’s exhaustion still clinging stubbornly to your bones.
The warehouse itself sat tucked near the industrial district downtown, surrounded by chain-link fencing and graffiti-covered loading docks. The work was mindless.
Your manager barely remembered employees’ names despite half the staff working there for years.
Nobody really spoke much during shifts either. Everyone just kept their heads down beneath the constant drone of machinery and fluorescent lights overhead. People came and went constantly.
One guy got fired for showing up high. Another stopped appearing altogether after getting mugged outside the bus station. A woman you’d worked beside for almost six months vanished after her apartment building got condemned unexpectedly.
You knew not to get attached to people.
Your second job was worse.
The convenience store sat near one of Gotham’s busiest intersections, right between a liquor store with bars over the windows and a laundromat that always smelled vaguely like bleach and cigarettes.
The place stayed open twenty four hours a day because people apparently never slept.
Not safely, anyway.
You mostly worked evening and overnight shifts there, which meant dealing with every kind of customer imaginable.
Drunk college students stumbling in after midnight. Half-conscious office workers buying energy drinks at two in the morning. People clearly high on something wandering aimlessly through the aisles for hours. Sometimes shoplifters.
Sometimes worse.
People lingering too long near entrances. Bulges beneath jackets that you had to learn the hard way didn’t just mean guns. The twitchy, restless movements of someone looking for an easy target.
Mostly, though, the job was just boring. Painfully boring.
The fluorescent lights buzzed constantly overhead. The slurpee machine broke at least twice a week. One of the refrigerators made an awful rattling noise management refused to fix.
You spent most shifts restocking shelves, cleaning spills, rotating expired food, and pretending not to notice suspicious customers stuffing things into their pockets.
The pay wasn’t enough for the hours. Neither job’s pay was. Still, together they kept your bills barely manageable.
Barely.
That night had started like every other shift.
Your feet already hurt by hour three. By hour six, the ache in your lower back had settled into something dull and constant while the cheap energy drink beside the register slowly went warm. Outside, rain hammered violently against the store windows hard enough to blur the neon signs across the street.
Gotham looked different in heavy rain.
Meaner, somehow.
The streets became slick mirrors of distorted lights and moving shadows while pedestrians hurried past with their heads down like the city itself might reach out and grab them if they slowed too long.
The clock above the cigarette display read 11:52 PM.
Eight more minutes.
Then you could go home, shower, maybe sleep four hours if you were lucky, and drag yourself back to the warehouse by morning.
You were reorganizing one of the drink coolers when the cashier called your name from the front counter.
“Can you grab more cigarettes from the back?”
You shut the refrigerator door with a sigh. “Yeah.”
The storage room behind the counter was cramped and dimly lit, stacked floor-to-ceiling with boxes of inventory management never organized properly. Dust coated nearly every surface despite repeated cleaning attempts, and one of the ceiling lights flickered badly enough that half the room remained trapped in shadow.
You crouched beside one of the shelves, digging through cardboard boxes for cigarette cartons while absently trying to remember whether you’d paid your electricity bill already. Probably.
Hopefully.
Your phone buzzed faintly in your pocket. A reminder alarm. You ignored it.
The sound of laughter drifted faintly from the front of the store. A customer arguing over lottery tickets. The steady hum of refrigerators. Rain slamming against the windows outside.
Normal.
Everything felt painfully normal.
Then the front windows exploded inward.
The crash was deafening.
Glass shattered across the floor in a violent spray as screaming erupted instantly from the front registers.
Your entire body locked up.
For one stunned second, you genuinely thought a car had crashed into the building.
Then the gunshots started.
The sound cracked through the store so violently your ears rang immediately afterward.
Someone screamed. Terrified.
You froze beside the shelves as heavy footsteps stormed through the store outside.
“EVERYBODY ON THE FUCKING GROUND!” Another gunshot. Closer this time.
Your pulse slammed violently against your ribs. Instinct finally kicked in.
You stumbled upright too quickly, nearly knocking over a stack of boxes before rushing toward the storage room doorway. The second you looked out into the store, your stomach dropped.
Six women. Masked. Armed.
One stood near the destroyed front entrance holding an assault rifle while shattered glass glittered across the floor around her boots. Another had vaulted over the counter already, shoving the cashier roughly toward the ground while emptying registers into a duffel bag.
Customers were screaming. Crying. Trying not to move.
One of the women fired another shot directly into the ceiling.
Dust and debris rained downward instantly. “GET DOWN!”
Your knees hit the floor before you consciously decided to move.
Cold tiles dug painfully into your skin through your uniform pants as your hands instinctively lifted slightly away from your body where they could be seen.
Your heart was beating so hard it physically hurt.
Around you, the store dissolved into chaos.
One customer sobbed openly near the candy aisle. Someone else whispered prayers beneath their breath. A display rack had been knocked sideways during the panic, chips and drinks scattered everywhere across the floor.
The women moved through the store quickly. Efficiently. Like they’d done this before. “Phones in the bags.”
“Wallets too.” Another reminded.
“Don’t fucking look at us.”
One customer tried arguing. You didn’t even see which woman hit him. Just the crack of a gunstock against bone and the sudden silence afterward.
Nobody spoke again.
Nobody was stupid enough to play hero.
You kept your eyes lowered toward the floor, breathing shallowly through the overwhelming smell of rainwater, gunpowder, and adrenaline thickening the air around you.
Heavy boots stopped directly in front of you.
Your stomach twisted violently.
“Get up.” A hand grabbed the back of your jacket roughly before you could react.
You stumbled upright immediately, pulse roaring loudly in your ears as cold metal jammed hard against your ribs.
Gun.
The woman shoved you forward toward the counter. “Open the registers.”
Your hands shook immediately.
The other customers and employees remained huddled on the floor behind you while the women barked orders over each other, duffel bags steadily filling with cash, cigarettes, medication, and whatever expensive items they could grab quickly enough.
One woman stood guard near the shattered entrance with her rifle raised casually toward the hostages.
Another paced between aisles like she was waiting for someone to try something stupid.
Rainwater and broken glass covered most of the floor now, crunching loudly beneath boots as the women moved throughout the store.
You swallowed hard, forcing your hands to cooperate as you reached for the register keys.
The gun dug harder into your side. “Hurry the fuck up.”
“I’m trying,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.
The woman immediately grabbed the back of your neck hard enough to make you stumble.
“Don’t get smart.”
Your pulse pounded violently in your throat. “Sorry.”
The register popped open with a sharp ding.
The woman beside you immediately started shoving handfuls of cash into a duffel bag while another forced the cashier toward the second register nearby.
“Him too.”
A different gun pressed against the cashier’s head this time. The poor guy looked barely conscious with fear.
You looked away.
One of them vaulted over the counter while another shouted from somewhere near the aisles. “Safe’s in the back.”
Your stomach dropped instantly. Of course they knew about the safe. Someone had probably tipped them off beforehand.
The woman beside you shoved the barrel against your spine this time. “Move.”
You stumbled forward immediately.
The cashier was dragged alongside you toward the storage room, nearly tripping over shattered glass in the process. Behind you, customers whimpered quietly while another warning shot suddenly echoed through the store ceiling.
Dust rained downward.
Nobody screamed this time.
The fear had settled too deeply for that now.
The storage room suddenly felt even smaller than before.
Claustrophobic.
The flickering overhead light buzzed faintly while the women crowded around the safe bolted into the concrete wall behind stacked inventory boxes.
“Open it.”
Your throat felt dry. “I-I don’t have the code.”
That wasn’t entirely true. Only managers technically had access, but employees were taught the emergency code in case of late-night robberies. Which now felt horribly ironic.
The woman tilted her head slightly. Then cocked the gun.
Your stomach twisted violently.
“Open it.”
Beside you, the cashier looked moments away from passing out entirely.
Your hands fumbled badly against the keypad.
Wrong number.
The woman behind you grabbed your shoulder painfully hard. “Hurry up!”
Your vision blurred slightly. You couldn’t think properly with the gun pressed against your back.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Your fingers shook harder as you entered the code again.
This time the safe clicked open.
The women immediately surged forward.
“Holy shit—”
Stacks of cash disappeared into bags almost instantly while one of the robbers laughed sharply beneath her mask.
Your knees felt weak with adrenaline.
This was bad. This was really bad.
Nobody robbed stores this close to the central city unless they were desperate or stupid.
And desperate people were dangerous.
One of the women suddenly grabbed your arm. Hard. “You’re coming with me.”
Your heart nearly stopped. “What?”
The gun pressed against your temple before you could react. Cold metal against skin. Every muscle in your body locked instantly.
“You heard me.”
The cashier beside you made a weak noise like he wanted to object before another robber snapped toward him immediately. “Eyes down.” He obeyed instantly. So did you.
The woman dragged you back toward the front of the store with the weapon still pressed tightly against your head, using you like a shield while the others continued emptying the safe behind you.
Your breathing had turned shallow. Too fast.
The entire store looked wrecked now. Glass covered the floor. Shelves had been knocked sideways. Products littered nearly every aisle. Somewhere near the entrance, one of the customers was crying quietly into their hands.
The rain outside had worsened, thunder rumbling faintly overhead while police sirens echoed somewhere far enough away to still be useless.
The woman holding you cursed under her breath suddenly.
A pair of headlights swept briefly across the shattered storefront outside. The lights flickered.
One of the robbers near the entrance straightened immediately.
“Did you hear-” The front doors burst inward.
Everything happened at once.
A dark blur slammed violently into the woman near the entrance hard enough to send her crashing into a shelf. Another figure dropped from somewhere above while a third came crashing through the side fire exit almost simultaneously.
Shouting erupted instantly.
The woman holding you jerked the gun harder against your temple. “Fuck! Move.”
You barely managed half a step before the front lights blew out entirely.
The store plunged into darkness.
Somebody screamed.
One of the robbers hit the floor hard enough to crack against the tiles. Another shape moved through the darkness near the entrance, striking fast enough that you only caught flashes of black and blue between the confusion.
The women started shouting. Gunshots erupted instantly. The sound was deafening in the enclosed store.
Your captor spun sharply, dragging you backward against her chest as chaos tore through the aisles around you. Shelves crashed violently somewhere nearby while customers scrambled further beneath counters and displays.
You couldn’t see properly. Only movement. The loud noise. Shouting.
Then the emergency lights kicked in. Dim red lighting flooded the store. And suddenly you could see them.
Nightwing moved first. Fast enough that it barely looked human.
One of the robbers swung toward him with her weapon raised only for him to twist sideways, baton slamming against her wrist before she could fire. The gun skidded across the floor as she crumpled hard against a shelf.
Near the registers, Red Hood ripped another woman’s weapon clean out of her hands before shoving her violently into the counter.
Red Robin was already restraining someone else near the entrance.
Robin was heading directly toward you.
The woman behind you panicked. You felt it immediately in the way her grip tightened painfully against your shoulder. “Don’t fucking move!” The gun pressed harder against your head.
Robin didn’t stop. For one brief second, everything slowed.
You saw the sharp movement of his arm. The glint of metal. The woman beginning to pull the trigger-
Then the blunt edge of Robin’s katana slammed violently against the side of the weapon.
The gunshot rang out anyway.
The sound echoed through the store loud enough to make your ears ring instantly.
The weapon flew from the woman’s hand as Nightwing tackled her to the floor almost immediately afterward.
You stared blankly ahead.
Confused.
Something felt strange.
Warm.
Your knees suddenly gave out beneath you. The floor rushed upward too quickly.
You hit the ground hard, the impact rattling painfully through your body while the world around you blurred strangely out of focus.
Why- Why was it hard to breathe?
Noise swelled around you in distorted waves.
Someone shouting. Boots hitting the floor. A voice yelling your name- or maybe not your name. Maybe you imagined that.
Your chest burned.
Slowly, your trembling hand moved downward.
Warm. Wet.
When you pulled your hand back, your fingers were covered in blood.
For a second, you just stared at it.
Dark red beneath the emergency lights. Too much blood.
Oh.
The realization settled quietly into your mind.
You’d been shot.
You weren’t even sure when it happened.
Pain exploded through your chest a second later.
A broken sound tore from your throat as your body curled instinctively against the floor. Your lungs seized painfully, every breath wet and wrong and burning all the way down.
Fuck.
Your vision blurred instantly.
Movement dropped around you almost immediately.
Four figures.
Nightwing caught your shoulders carefully before your head could hit the tiles again. Red Robin was already pressing gloved hands against your chest wound hard enough to make another scream rip from your throat.
“Easy- easy-”
“There’s too much blood.”
“Call an ambulance now.”
Robin had gone frighteningly still beside you.
Red Hood looked ready to kill someone. Actually kill someone.
You didn’t understand why they looked so panicked. People died in Gotham all the time. They’d all seen worse than this before.
The thought felt distant somehow as warmth spread rapidly beneath your body, soaking through your uniform and pooling across the dirty floor tiles.
Your breathing hitched painfully. Everything sounded underwater now.
Nightwing kept talking to you, voice strained and rough beneath the ringing in your ears, but you couldn’t focus enough to understand the words.
Your eyes drifted sluggishly across the four vigilantes surrounding you.
They looked horrified. Not shocked. Not professionally concerned.
Horrified.
Like this wasn’t supposed to happen. Like you weren’t supposed to happen.
Oh.. You were dying.
The realization should have scared you more. Instead, all you could think was how absurd it felt.
Twenty four years old. Shot in the chest during a robbery at a shitty convenience store five hours before your next shift was supposed to start.
A weak laugh almost escaped before it turned into a wet cough instead. Blood spilled down the corner of your mouth immediately afterward.
Red Robin swore under his breath.
“Stay awake.” Nightwing’s hands tightened slightly where they steadied you. “You’re okay,” he said quickly.
You weren’t sure if he was talking to you or himself.
Your hand twitched weakly toward the wound in your chest. Pain tore through you instantly.
A scream ripped from your throat before your eyes squeezed shut hard enough to hurt.
Shit.
Your chest hurt.
Everything hurt.
And through it all, you couldn’t stop staring at how devastated they looked.
You weren’t special. Just another civilian. No friends. No family nearby. A shitty apartment. An even shittier job. Nothing worth mourning this badly.
The last thing you felt was someone grabbing your hand tightly.
Then everything went black.
Or.. at least it should have.
Gasping violently for air, you lurched upright with a broken choke of sound clawing its way out of your throat.
The chair beneath you screeched loudly against the floor as your entire body jerked forward in panic.
Pain.
You braced for pain.
For the burning agony still carved into your memory so vividly you could practically feel it splitting through your chest all over again. You could still remember the warmth of blood pouring between your fingers. The wet, suffocating feeling in your lungs every time you tried to breathe.
You remembered dying.
Your hands flew frantically to your chest.
Fingers clawed desperately at the fabric covering your skin, shaking so violently you could barely feel what you were touching. You pressed hard against your sternum, searching blindly for the wound.
The bullet hole. The blood. Something. Anything.
But there was nothing.
No shredded convenience store uniform soaked crimson beneath your hands. No sticky warmth coating your skin. No hole torn through your chest.
Nothing.
Your breathing turned sharp and uneven.
“No-” The word escaped instinctively beneath another panicked inhale as your hands pressed harder against yourself like force alone would somehow uncover the injury that had been there.
It had been there.
You remembered it. You remembered collapsing. Remembered Gotham’s vigilantes surrounding you. Remembered choking on blood while your vision darkened at the edges.
You remembered dying.
A shaky breath caught painfully in your throat.
Your pulse hammered so hard it made your head spin. Then slowly-
Slowly,
You realized the floor beneath you wasn’t tile.
There was no smell of smoke. No shattered glass crunching underfoot. No distant police sirens screaming outside.
Instead, fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead. The air smelled faintly like old textbooks and dry erase markers.
Silence pressed heavily around you.
Wrong. Everything felt wrong.
Your hands finally stilled against your chest as you looked up. Rows of desks. Teenagers. A classroom.
Several students were staring directly at you now, expressions twisted somewhere between concern and confusion. One girl near the windows looked outright alarmed. Somebody else had half-risen from their seat like they didn’t know whether to help or stay back.
Your breathing picked up again immediately.
No.
No, no, no-
This wasn’t possible.
Sunlight streamed warmly through large classroom windows, illuminating dust drifting lazily through the air. Outside, distant voices echoed faintly through hallways. School.
You knew this room.
The realisation crashed into you hard enough to make your stomach twist violently.
Your gaze darted wildly around the classroom.
The faded poetry posters peeling slightly near the ceiling. The cracked corner of the whiteboard. The clock above the doorway that always ran three minutes behind.
Recognition flooded through you so suddenly it almost hurt.
You knew this classroom. You had sat in this room before. Years ago.
Your fingers curled tightly against the edge of the desk beneath you as panic crawled violently up your spine. That wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.
Because you were twenty four. Because six years ago you’d graduated.
Because minutes ago you’d been bleeding out on the floor of a convenience store in Gotham while four vigilantes desperately tried to stop you from dying.
A cold wave of nausea rolled through your stomach.
Slowly, almost fearfully, your eyes lifted toward the front of the classroom.
And locked directly with the stunned stare of your twelfth grade literature teacher.
Hey Yael. I’m back for the kids.
Read chapter two HERE once it’s out. Comments and Reblogs will be deciding this fic’s fate. Whether it’s continued or scrapped is up to the readers.
So either comment or reblog if you’d like this to continue.
Also every time we see the flirt option we have to try it because CURIOUSITY and it always gets way too intense and we start screeching. LIKE REESE TOUCHING UR FACE AHHHHHHHH WHO GAVE U PERMISSION so we always backtrack like oh U thought I liked you like that .... Awkward..... The only one we accept is ❤️duke❤️ trust him with our lives. Wish we'd talk to kaneeka more...that recap huh....crazy detail loved it blew it outta the park. When we're finished we're gonna play again with hot and talk with animals sk we can be a bimbo veterinarian that's the dream.
When we first started playing scarlet hollow my sister pretty much didn't wanna leave the house so we spent the first day like cleaning the bathroom? Got the refuse the call achievement because she was so unbothered lol. Also when we woke up to piano music before the screen faded from black my sis was like THE OPOSSUMS R PLAYING PIANO and we had a joint heart attack when they came into frame. She was against the crying option because she doesn't doesn't like showing weakness but I was like WE HAVE TO THE OPPOSUM WILL LICK UP OUR TEARS 😭 And it happened!! Love this gammeeeeeeee
Notes from me and sis on scarlet hollow and out beautiful character pilly (with a lowercase p) "I don't want that with you" is from Sybil talking about age differences which made us Sus lol. Also we love to say the most out of pocket reactions and then immediately backtrack. Duke romance options when????
Was playing scarlet hollow with my sister and when we first went in to the cafe with Stella and Avery comes down saying "bacon for the little lady" my sister was like!!! Wait are we a lesbian now in the game because we accepted Stella's invite to the cafe and I was like ? Literally where did U get that from and then we clicked again and Avery gave the bacon bits to grechen and my sis was like OH I thought I was the little lady...
She thought a grown woman was being served free bacon slices and called a little lady because... She's a lesbian???
Something about people filmed without their consent, of old people being exploited and manipulated into saying funny things, green washing being used to support Israel, companies pretending to be gay allies, cops posting videos of themselves with their dogs petting them as if they won't ever be used to rip someone's throat out, prank videos where a woman is groped, companies using our memes to sell themselves, friendly birthday messages from stores, uploaded CCTV footage, children put online for content, weight loss ads directed at women playing nonstop on YouTube videos, oh you want to watch something just watch it on poob on netflix on Disney plus and never actually own anything.
I don't know, make yourselves unmonetizable I guess.
