Das doppelte Lottchen [neglected!trouble maker!reader x Batfam x gravity falls] 3
[NOTE: Yay! Part three is finished. Like I said, I'll try not to drag the story for too long, but well- Doesn't matter. Please remember that [Y/n] and [___] both stand for your name! Or the name you insert, whatever. I just decided to use the two different shortening so there won't be any confusion while reading! Enjoy the food <3] part 1, part 2
Gotham, Random alley, 12:00 pm:
Batman has no idea whats going on. No thats incorrect. He has a lot of ideas about whats going on, but the why has yet to be revealed.
This evening he found at least 20 different illuminati like symbols on the wall, except that it had a top hat. He had compared it to every single cult he knew. None showed up in his data bank.
"I found another." It was Damian's voice over the comn's. Today was a very rough day. First Tim and Damian had talked about the chance of [___] possibly being replaced and now they had to deal with troublemakers causing ruckus.
He sighed, once deeply. It was true, [___] had stopped acting the way they used to. No more angered calls from the headmaster, no more cigarettes.. he had assumed they had finally grown up.
But looking back on it, it was just wishful thinking.
No child changes that drastically. But a year ago life had gotten busy ans he had just been glad that this was taken from his shoulders. He didn't want to believe [y/n] replaced..
Same name, same eyes, same behavior, mostly. It was ridiculous to even question that anything changed.
And for the first time in a decade.. Batman is unfocused during patrol. Not that he can't do it, but he can't think about all the different symbols when there is a chance his child... got replaced?
"The two are being paranoid," he murmurs under his breath, standing up from the spot he stood in. But he can't focus. But he has to. He is Batman. There isn't any time for doubts.
He uses the grapling hook to jump down the building, the crisp, slightly spicy Gotham air is engulfing him as he lowers to the grown, cape bowling around him.
He stalks around, watching out foe criminals. But today's patrol isn't just for the sake of keeping himself busy. He didn't procrastinate missions. But this wasn't a mission, it was family.
He rounds a corner, freezing as he sees kids in yellow raincoat adorned with black top hats and a white eye in the middle spray a triangle onto the wall. Below it was a code. "Ipss Jpwoly zohss il aol uhtl ruvdu hss hjyvzz aol jvuapulua!"
A ceaser cipher.
"What are you two doing?" Batman asks, crossing his arms over his chest. The two figures freeze, before one turns around. He recognises the face of Kathy. One of the girls in Tim's class..
But more importantly one of the kids [___] had surrounded themselves with. The ones they had started to become a bad influence to. The other he didn't recognise. The boy had tanned skin, unusual for Gotham and its rare sun days.
"This is vandalism.. of a building-" Batman starts before looking around. A car was smashed next to them. "And this is destruction of property." He narrows his eyes. "You two are in serios trouble."
He found two culprits, but considering the fact that there's been a rise of those symbols all around Gotham they couldn't be the only ones. "What's that?" He asks, nodding at the triangle.
Kathy crosses her arms. "None of your business, Bat." She grumbles narrowing her eyes. "We are spreading our truth!"
"Through vandalism? Destruction? That's no way to spread a message." He points out, hoping to persuade them. These were kids after all, between the ages of 15-17. Too close to the age [___] is. 16.
Again the thought of them being replaced hits him like a punch to the gut. Its an emotional pain. He missed a birthday. One birthday.
And it hurt even more that he couldn't remember when the last time was he genuinely celebrated with them. For years, he realised, he's been too busy to pay attention. Only scolding them and after while he was too busy for even that.
"Why's Batman staring like that?" He hears Kathy whisper to the other guy, forcing him to snap back to reality.
"What is the truth you're trying to spread?" He asks, drawing their attention away from his odd behavior.
Kathy grins proudly, showing off the wye on her yellow coat. "The weird amagedon is coming! And our friend is the catalyst-" the boy next to her slaps a hand over her mouth, glaring daggers at Batman. "People that get it will get it."
Batman steps closer menacingly. A friend? Catalyst? Weird amagedon? That sounded like a cult in the making and heaven and he'll know Gotham had enough of that.
"No, you two will explain this to me right now-"
"What are you going to do? Hand us over to the police?" The boy snarls. "Beat us up?" Kathy throws in with a slight chuckle. "None of that matters, because once weird amagedon comes, the world will be turned upside down, inside out and left side right!"
Batman's eyes narrow again and his posture straightens. Usually this sort of behaviour came from drunk teens. But he had to rule it out due to the amount of symbols.
"Who is your leader?" He asks directly. They didn't look like they had any reason to keep it secret.
"Well our leader [___] of course!" Kathy scoffs and the name makes him take a double take. [___]..
"And Bill Cipher."
Next day, Gravity Falls, Mystery shack, 01:00 pm:
You look at Mabel who is staring up at you with the brightest grin you've ever seen on a 13 year old.
"GOTHAM? THAT MEANS YOU KNOW ALL VIGILANTES!" She squeals before bombarding you with question that all circle around who is hot, are they single and have you ever seen superman in person?
You cross your arms. "Believe me, you don't want to get in a situation where you have to meet a vigilante." You smirk. "But according to the gotham times, Nightwing is fangirl material."
You never understood why people fell head over heels for the vigilantes. Especially those of gotham. They gave you the same headache your siblings gave you. At least they didn't ignore people.
Mabel can't answer as she's dragged away by Branda and Candy. You had seen the two around once in a while. They liked hanging around the mystery shack similarly to Wendy's friends.
Dipper is more standoffish. As if he is waiting for you to leave so he can finally talk with his grunkles.
Too bad your shift didn't end until 6 pm.
You go right back to sorting the merchandise. Stan had gasped when he saw how the shelves looked, thanks to you. Mainly because you placed useless for sale stickers on the most expensive items to make them seem better prized than they where.
"So-" Dipper awkwardly asks and you flinch subtly, because when did that little guy move? "- did you notice anything weird around Gravity Falls yet?"
You turn to him after placing the snow globe you were holding neatly on the shelf.
"Ah, this and that. I mean the garden gnomes keep moving, you know?" You tease. Thanks to Bill you knew a bit about the town and it helped you act unsuspecting but also suspicious enough that people knew you were suspecting something.
Dipper's expression falters from waryness to subtle annoyance. "So the dwarves are back-"
You raise a brow. Time to play the new comer. "So.. there is a dwarf problem?" Dippers eyes widened in shock and he pulls his cap in his face.
"He had that last year too!" Bill scoffs into your ear and you have to fight a slight chuckle. Not because it was really funny, but rather because it was fun to see Bill act all angry and annoyed.
"Thats the guy that helped defeated your ass? What did he do? The hula?" You joke in your thoughts. "Shut up, gold key."
"What's so funny?" Dipper asks and you school your expressions to a smirk. "Ah, sorry. I just remembered that one of these dwarf or gnome's tripped over a stick. It looked pretty funny."
It was ridiculous how easy lying came to you. On another note perhaps it wasn't. When Bruce came to talk, it was rarely about nice things.
Not about your good grades.
Not about trophies..
No, you only hot his attention when shit hit the fan. You and Jack had team tagged against a group of guys that had targeted Kathy.
Bruce had to pick you up from the police station. You must have been 13 back then, around the time you stopped caring about what your father thought of you, or your behavior.
Jack was sitting next to you, bloody knuckles and his parents and Bruce Wayne where looking at you two as if you'd commited high treason.
Funny.
Because when Jack got bullied his parents didn't bat an eye.
"Who threw the first punch?"
You watched Jack's mom, her hand twitching at her side. Poor guy, if you didn't do anything he might get a beating. So you straighten your back.
"I did. I can't stand big guys ganging up on little girls." You answered lazy, lifting your hand to look at your nails. There was blood under them. "And you thing four eyes over there is capable of agression?" You scoff with a sinister laugh.
Jack's eyes furrow at the insult about to protest until you wink at him and he looks towards his mother who starts looking bored instead of angry.
You feel his relief, even if he can't express it right now.
Back in reality Dipper's eyes seem to sparkle. "You noticed?" Right, last year everyone had tried to avoid talking about how weird the town was.
There was an entire cult around forgetting.
Maybe they still had that gun. You'd love to forget some thi-
"Not with me in your mind, gold key." Bill hisses.. right touchy subject for little Bill.
"I mean its hard not to. There is just.. so much stuff." You put on your most nonchalant expression. "But it can't be weirder then Gotham."
Well more weirder was possible, more violent? Debatable, but that was no discussion for a kid. "Oh I bet it can." Dipper answers. "Are the pretty guys still raiding the trash can?" He asks.
This time you don't even have to lie. "Yeah.. I'm surprised, do these five.. six..? Live in the woods?"
Dipper shrugs, but over the course of the dialogue he seemed a lot more relaxed. Perhaps you started looking less like a threat and more like the average Joe. Which was preferable.
"Yeah." He answers, putting his hands in his pockets. "So.. any other weird sightings?"
You chuckle. "I'd love to, lil'guy. But I have a job to do and I don't want Soos to cut my wages." You joke and Dipper raises a brow.
"Soos wouldn't. He's a good person." It was adorable how protective he was. Reminded you off Damian when he tried to tell you off for smoking.
"Oh, I know. But I can't risk it. Running away from home isn't easy." You explain with a wink, grabbing the empty box about to head away.
"You.. ran away from home?" Dipper asks and you you shrug. "Nothing special. Hundreds of teens do so."
He crosses his arms. "Rarely do they admit to it."
"Well, i am not them, aren't I?" You huff, before heading away, where Dipper couldn't ask any questions.
Gravity Falls, Mystery shack, 01:25 pm:
The back of the store is dusty, but also the place you feel most comfortable in. Its.. charming how something so messy could remind you do much of home.
Not Wayne Manor of course. No, it reminded you off the circus, the way between shows things just get thrown around in order to switch as quick as possible.
It also reminded you off the warehouse your group stayed in. The dirty mattresses, the fugly plushies and the TV that only worked when someone held it upwards.
"[___]! [___]!" You hear someone cheer excitedly. Its Mabel again. You met her two hours ago and she already imprinted on you like a puppy. Perhaps it was the troublemaker aura.
"I need your opinion, how much glitter do I throw on this!" She holds out a grappling hook, brand new, probably a new gift.
"Enough to blind your nemesis." You answer with a nod and Mabel grins. "Only correct answer! I shall fetch myself some glitters.
You follow her back to the shop watching as she dissapears through a door, probably running through the shop to get into the house and get the glitter.
As you sit back down behind the counter Wendy walks through the door with all her lumberjack swag. She grins at you, leaning against the counter.
"So, you met the twins already, didn't you?"
You nod. "Yup. Seriosly time is running so fast. It seemed like just yesterday it was still a week until their arrival. You all got me excited and I didn't know them."
Wendy laughs, smacking the countertop once. "Yeah, yeah." She lets out a deep breath, before turning her attention back to you. "So.. are you coming to the welcome party?"
You roll your eyes. "No, I'm rotting in my apartment staring at the wall. Of course I'm coming. Gravity Falls has so little going on most of the time I actually don't have to worry about my social battery."
"Different from Gotham I guess?" Wendy asks and you nod. "Yup, I still had to attend Galas and all that shit despite-" you freeze mid sentence, watching as Wendy furrows her brows.
Damn it, you got too comfortable. Now you created a hole in your perfectly good story.
Wendy raises a brow. "Galas? So your parents must have been rich rich." She huffs and you consider it for a moment. No, this didn't ruin your story entirely.
"I mean, I guess? My parents where performative. Fallen house and all that shit. That the house collapsed is a different story." You answer and Wendy nods.
"So Galas where more important then you?"
You nod. "Yup."
"Dude, thats horrible." She huffs, before pasting your shoulder. "But you're here now."
You smile. "I'm here now."
Gotham, Wayne Manor, 02:00 pm:
Damian lets out a frustrated huff. Your room is normal, too normal.
He can't find anything that supports his theory, even your diaries are normal. But he wouldn't be Damian Wayne the heir if he wasn't throughout.
He starts inspecting the floorboards. Is one lighter? Is one slightly lifted?
His keen eye looks at every single unnatural change in the wood. And there it is. Its a small detail, once could thing it was supposed to be there but the wood was chipped off at the sides slightly.
The problem was he had to crawl under the desk to get to it. Pushing the chair aside he crouches down and opens the floor board.
Beneath it there is a pile of things that raise red flags.
For one a throw away phone, a tiny zip bag with white powder, another diary, and.. an I.D..
He picks the I.D up, its no longer in use of he can trust the numbers, but the face caught him of guard. "[___]?" He asks as he sees the picture.
But it isn't.
[Y/N] [Last Name] it reads. Weird, was that the last name they had before they got adopted by father?
But no, this isn't [___]. The look in that person's eyes is different. Completely different. And now that he considers it, the eyecolour doesn't match [___] entirely either.
"Strange." He mutters before reaching for the phone. It's prepaid and the lockscreen is a default one.
He swished upwards. Its a code. The hint is: "Book, my situation." Quite a lot of hints.
But none that give him a good idea about what the code could be. He looks around the room, after all he only has three tries before the phone goes into lock down.
For a moment he contemplating finding the code for the phone, but [Y/N] would be back any minute now and he didn't want the Doppelgänger to know he knew. So he grabs the diary instead.
Its not locked and when he opened the first page there isn't a stereotypical diary entry. No, there stands: "Guide to becoming [___] Wayne."
And its definitely written by [___].
He skips through the pages, it holds personal information and facts about every member of the family.
-- "Dick used to be pretty cool, but he isn't really around. He used to be an acrobat. Don't make any comments about a circus, okay?" --
-- "Everyone thought Jason is dead, but he wasn't? So I guess thats something. My family is weird, don't question it. So--"
-- "Barbara! Family friend, real cool, but she doesn't talk with me. So I guess not so cool? But you won't have to worry about her."---
He stops reading. That is a detailed guide to every single family member and your thoughts on them. But not enough, [___] wrote down every single one of their habits, neatly recorded over the years.
He furrows his brows. Why would they do that? Did they hate the family that much? He looks back at the other diaries. The ones he had only read over, before grabbing one.
The handwriting was messy as if the word where written with a shaking hand.
-- "Dear diary, you're the only one that listens. Probably because you're not a person and you're forced to but you do.
In school there was an attack today. I saw the bat vigilantes! Really cool, though I breathed in some of that gas thingy. I feel weird. No one has asked me how I am feeling yet. Not even father.
I am okay, the nice nurse said so. But sometimes breathing feels a little funny. I need to ask father if we can go to the doctor.. or maybe Alfred will drive me." ---
Damian blinked. There never had been any medical problems noted. Not within the batfamily. So they must be fine. Right?
The entry was four years ago. So they must have been twelve when that happened. He really needs to ask Tim about this.
Because of a strange gut feeling he decides to read on skipping through the pages. A few pages (days) later, he stops and his breath hitches.
-- "Turns out I do have side effects. I didn't go to an official doctor, since Alfred couldn't drive me. But Ronan recommended me one from crime alley. Something about poisoning and hallucinations. I was about to have another fit, but the cigarette stopped it. Something about nicotine or whatever."--
Damian freezes, his hand tightening on the page. He heard that some of the gas side effects got cancelled out by certain drugs. But nicotine? Well, most cigarettes where made out of the tobacco plant so perhaps that-?
No. He stood up, looking around before grabbing the diary and the guide. So what if the Doppelgänger now knew? There where more pressing matters to attend to. And if what he read was true [___] wasn't just being annoying when they broke all the rules.
teenwolf!reader who arrived a little before damian, after a freak accident where their mother had mysteriously died.
teenwolf!reader whos teeth had been sharper, scraping against forks and leaving marks on skin in playground fights
teenwolf!reader who has always been interested in the idea of the supernatural, watching theories on the internet as a kid as a guide for knowledge.
teenwolf!reader, who despite going to Gotham Academy, hangs around two teenagers they met on a whim, clinging to them for dear life for seemingly no reason.
teenwolf!reader who starts going to lacrosse games, after never mentioning interest in the sport before.
teenwolf!reader who starts collecting piles of books on lycanthropy at once, Alfred finding them missing from the library one day.
teenwolf!reader who skips out on family dinners to be in a dingy old jeep studying calculus.
teenwolf!reader who has been seeing a familar man standing just far enough away from them to appear inconspicuous.
teenwolf!reader who after months of barely being home, arrives with cuts and bruises to last a lifetime, and a headache that just wont go away.
teenwolf!reader who tried to warn their family of what they were when they were young, being dismissed and hearing a mumble, "what an imagination" at a louder volume.
teenwolf!reader who won't admit the full truth when pressured, claiming their wounds were inflicted by other teens they couldn't remember names of.
teenwolf!reader who tries sowing their clothes before throwing them in the laundry, Alfred finding and mending them fully, questioning how they always got ripped.
teenwolf!reader who has to eat softer foods for a few weeks, claiming their teeth were adjusting to retainers.
teenwolf!reader who's family knows they're hiding something, but they don't know what.
is this fandom still active..? i miss you teen wolf active era, revive!! pt. two? this isnt entirely proofread, and its highkey short.. mb..
Batfam x Fullmetal!Reader. A Fullmetal Alchemist au. Or where you try to bring back your mom. News Flash; it doesn't work out.
summary; the world wasn't perfect, but your mom made it seem like it was.
cw; character death, mentions of blood, loss of an arm and a leg, grammatical errors, etc.
In a perfect world, maybe, just maybe, everything would have worked out. But sadly, this was not a perfect world nor was it kind. At least, it wasn’t kind to you or your mother. Mostly, though, it wasn’t kind to your mother, probably because she tried to shield you from all the bad parts and that cost her. The price? Death.
Her death was sweet nor was it quiet. You wished you could redo the night over and over again. You two were in a rush to get home. The both of you finishing a late night movie at the theater with a promise that you didn’t have to go to school in the morning. It was misty outside, on the verge of raining but not quite – street lamps flickered and you and her were laughing, enjoying the night as she held your hand tightly. You both took a turn down a street that was familiar, routine, the quickest route to get home. However… something new blocked your path.
A robbery in its final stages. You recognized the store they were robbing from. An antique place owned by a nice elderly couple that you called grandma and gramps. You took a step back when you saw blood splatters on their clothes. The elderly couple always took time to prepare the shop the night before for the next day’s business. You even helped out once and awhile.
Before either of you could run the opposite direction, one of the robbers lunged for you. Your mother yanked you close to her before pushing you into an alley, “run!”
You didn’t need to be told twice as you ran, but when you rounded the corner of the alley onto a new street, a gunshot rang out behind you. When you looked back, your mom hadn’t followed. She had stayed behind.
When you heard a car skid across the wet pavement and peel out, you had ran back to the antique store, to where your mom laid on the ground. You knelt beside her, your small hands pushing against her, trying to get her to wake up. She wouldn’t move a single inch.
You thought you could bring her back. You really did. After the police arrived and took you in, you had wrestled against their hold and broke free. Instead of heading to the body bag, though, you ran home. Your mother, in your mind, was a genius in her craft. It was an old practice – something that the mages of this world usually laugh at, but to you it was amazing. Your mom even began to teach you it. Alchemy that is. And with the laws of equivalent exchange you really did believe you could bring her back. All you had to do was use something that was of equal value. At least, that was how you understood it.
What you didn’t understand was that human life was way more than the “ingredients” that made up a human being. Nothing went right that night. The death of your mom, what you thought would be a simple alchemic ritual to bring her back, or the police breaking the door down, along with the loss of your right arm and leg. You miscalculated everything. In a perfect world, though, it would have worked.
The next that you woke, you had hoped to be dead, laying in your mother’s arms in the afterlife, and laughing about the funny movie you saw that night. Instead, however, you were in a hospital bed. A fake arm and leg strapped to where your missing limbs were and a few nurses hovering over your face. They moved quickly around you. Helped you sit up. Answer questions when police came by. And, of course, eyed your missing arm and leg. Reports did say you still had both of them, so what the hell happened. You never explained it nor did you care to.
All that ran through your head was that you needed to try again. You could still bring your mom back if you tried something different.
But for now, even your young mind could understand that you needed rest. Though rest was a long way from you as Commissioner Gordon sat in front of you, a solemn look on his face. Adults with that look never had anything good to say. Your mother wore it a lot after she would finish up with the bills at the end of every month.
“Since,” his voice broke the hanging silence of room, “since your mother has died and she doesn’t have any living relatives, we decided to try and get into contact with your father.”
You didn’t say anything, just glared at him while mustering up any sass you could muster for an eleven year old.
“We actually already got a hold of him and he will be coming up here to the hospital to see you.”
He made no comment about your condition or tried to ask what happened to your arm or leg as you had already refused to say anything about it. So, he could only conclude that the previous reports were false. That the robbers had gotten a hold of you and … hurt you to such a degree, but even that wasn’t a good explanation. Gordon could only hope that you would shed light on the subject when you’re feeling up to talking. Though, he doubted that would be anytime soon.
Warnings: mentions of blood (not much), probably inconsistencies in the story (but that’s because I changed the direction of the story during my last post), cursing (like one at the end).
Note: yeah, story has some changes to it. Slightly but you can notice them if you squint, I think. Only changes I can really think of is where jujutsu high is located. At first I wanted it to be near Gotham, then I realized that was narrowing where the story took place. This is jjk x dc, not reader x batfam anymore. The original idea was scrapped so it’s not reader x batfam, so now I can actually expand on this. So probably no more Gotham for a while and most likely will be in Japan. There might also be a slight time skip to next chapter, although idk. Also, I have an idea for a side story involving [name] (yes you) so that she’s not around during the events of season 1 of jjk. For later plot points, jujutsu high (with the help of mechamaru) managed to remove the footage of [name] from the internet, the only surviving footage is the one Batman has.
☾⋆⁺₊───✧───₊⁺⋆☽
“[name] and toge should be done by now.” Gojo thought to himself. The monthly cleanup of curses for Gotham usually lasted around two to three hours. But that was when kusakabe was sent to deal with it. Now, with a new six eyes and limitless wielded emerging out of nowhere, the cleanup took around an hour now.
It should’ve been shorter, but [name] had surface level knowledge and control over the limitless technique, so it took longer to take care of the curses.
It didn’t matter though. Gojo was done with the clan elders. They shouldn’t try anything anytime soon as far as he’s aware. He would still keep an eye on them, he knew they wouldn’t give up that easily just because he told them to.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, causing gojo to sigh as he lazily pulled it up to his ear, answering the call.
“What?” He asked, rather annoyed.
“We’ve discovered the location of a special grade cursed tool. It’s a katana, but it’s being guarded by three special grade curses. I need you to retrieve it.” Yaga informed.
“Two of my students are across the country and somewhere in Gotham. I have to pick them up before a certain group of people get angry. And yknow that’s a whole ‘nother can you don’t want to open.”
“I’ll send kusakabe with mei mei’s brother to pick them up. I need you to complete this gojo, it’s urgent.”
“Whatever.” Gojo hung up, seconds later receiving a text with the location for the special grade cursed tool he was supposed to retrieve. Letting out another sigh, he clasped his hands together, warping to his destination.
— ✦ —
Kusakabe had arrived with ui ui in Gotham, losing the kid as soon as they’d arrived. The last thing he heard from ui ui was “let me know when you find them!” As he ran towards a cafe.
The older man scowled, running a hand down his face as he rolled his eyes and began walking deeper into the city. He had no idea where Toge or [name] could be. He didn’t have the six eyes, he wasn’t part of the weird six eye wielder club.
As he walked by a glass window that displayed TV’s, something caught his attention. There, on the screens, a news broadcast was being shown, only thing he could understand was that the docks were on fire, a mysterious dome had appeared out of nowhere, and that gothams vigilantes seemed to be fighting a meta human.
He groaned, throwing his head back in annoyance before he quickly began to run over there, pulling out his phone to alert ui ui of the ongoing situation so that the kid could prepare to teleport them out of there and back to jujutsu high.
Whatever was must’ve been bad enough if people could see the dome which he assumed was a domain. Which was why he was currently speeding on the streets of Gotham, not on a car—never on a car. He was running, cursed energy enhancement to get there faster.
The first thing he noticed were the cop cars blocking off access to the area. It didn’t matter to him though, what was more important was the massive dome he could now see. It was no mistaking the fact that it was a domain. And the sheer amount of cursed energy he was feeling.
Not even [name] would let out that amount, and she had a generous amount of cursed energy. Hell, not even okkotsu would let out that much, as sloppy as his control over it was.
Kusakabe took notice of ui ui standing behind the barricade created by the police. Kusakabe knew ui ui was waiting for the right moment to get them all out. Since he was support, there was nothing he could do there.
Cracks began to form on the barrier of the domain, slowly but surely beginning to cover the whole thing until it shattered. Kusakabe could hear the gasps from people around him, but that didn’t matter. He needed to confirm [name] and Toge were in the vicinity before he stepped in.
Sure enough, he noticed Toge running towards the barricade, blood coming from his mouth as he held onto his throat. Kusakabe moved forward, jumping over the barricade and ignoring the shouts behind him as he finally made it to Toge.
“How are you?” He asked, checking toge for any other injuries. There were a few scratches along his face along with some bruised, but nothing shoko couldn’t heal. Once Toge nodded in response, kusakabe asked him another question. “What about [name]? Where is she?”
As if to answer their question, the curse they’d been fighting began to fly into the air, flying towards gotham for some unknown reason.
Kusakabe didn’t waste a second, immediately pulling out his weapon and leaping onto the air to cut the curse down.
“Cursed technique amplification: maximum output, blue!”
A massive hole appeared in the curse, making it lose control of its flight and crash back into the ground. Kusakabe took the chance, having landed after not being able to slice the curse, he immediately took the opening [name] had created, slicing through the curse with ease.
The curse screeched, loud enough to shatter multiple windows nearby. Before it could heal itself, [name] appeared next to it with a gust of wind, hand aiming straight for its head.
“Blue.” The orb materialized inside the curses head, expanding and slowly sucking crushing the curse with its immense pull.
Not even dust came from the dead curse, having been swallowed as well by the blue [name] had used.
“You’re injured.” Kusakabe stated. “Let’s get you to shoko before anything else.” Ui ui and Toge rushed towards the two, wanting to get away from the reporters that were attempting to harass Toge into answering questions.
“Let’s go.” [name] mumbled. Ui ui nodded, teleporting the group back to jujutsu high and into shoko’s office to get checked out.
— ✦ —
Bruce was staring at the batcomputer intently, a clip of the fight playing on the screen. This was the first time they’d actually captured footage of a technique being used. Bruce had originally thought that after getting a recording, he’d be able to dissect it and understand it enough to create something similar to fight the curses in Gotham.
But no.
He’d been staring at the screen for hours and couldn’t tell how techniques worked. Everything had a gimmick—especially magic—that made it work, but he couldn’t find a single thing on this and it was starting to get frustrating.
The most he’d gotten was the clip of [name] yelling out something before the blue orb was sent forward to neutralize the curse. But that didn’t help much since she’d used it earlier without saying anything. So he assumed she needed to call out the technique, like a chant, if she wanted to use a stronger version of it.
“Bruce, you’ve been staring at that screen for hours—same frame as well.” Dick said, walking closer to him. There was a bandage around his forehead covering the wound he’d gotten during the fight. “Have you found anything?”
“No.” Bruce deadpanned.
“Maybe you should give it a rest. They did their part and left. Had that curse gotten to that level while they weren’t around—while she wasn’t around, we would’ve died Bruce.” Dicks eyes took in Bruce’s features, looking for any sign that he’d acknowledged that fact.
He didn’t see anything from the older man.
Dick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, at least just accept it. We need their help for now. We can’t fight curses on our own, not without their support, alright?”
“Why are you so hellbent on fighting them? They’re just trying to help.”
“Gothams balance can not be disturbed because meta humans want to step foot in here. It’s taken me too long to get Gotham to a manageable level. I can’t have meta human rogues running around because sorcerers want to enter and leave as they please.” Bruce began, standing up from his chair.
“Besides, we don’t have any information on them. What are their motives? Why are they doing what they do? How do their abilities work? All of these are essential questions that need to be answered. We already had enough problems with Satoru Gojo, I don’t need more by having a second version of him running around when we don’t have a clue on how to take out the first one if things go south.”
Dick stared at him. He couldn’t deny the logic behind that, but it seemed like a far reach. He remained quiet though, watching as Bruce left the batcave before releasing shaking his head at the situation.
— ✦ —
Gojo sneeze, making [name] turn her head to look at him. “You good? Are you sick?”
He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I’m fine, it’s probably utahime talking shit about me to shoko again.” His eyes never left the movie in front of them. From a row in front, an older man whipped around, glaring at the two and shushing them aggressively.
Gojo and [name] gave him a thumbs up, [name] offering an apologetic smile. The man grumbled something about “inconsiderate young people.” To himself as he turned back to the movie.
☾⋆⁺₊───✧───₊⁺⋆☽
An: wasn’t sure if to continue this or not. But I think this is a good place to end this. I’ll try to continue updating this somewhat sooner than taking months since I’m going to be done with school soon.
Side note: I’m still working on nobody’s daughter and business stuff. Not sure what to do with them right now, but I’ll figure it out over the summer :P
A bit more of a story format instead of the points
Lawyer Y/N
Previous • Part 3 - (In Progress)
They never really tell you about what comes after law school and your internships. It could just be assumed that you go straight into big case or start talking with big wig clients straight off the bat when you have no idea what you're doing in an office. You still have to trail after people to embarrassingly ask what you should be doing and it’s a lot of assuming things on your own for the time. Jobs are easy, the waiting is a bit more difficult. The key thing to an office building like yours, is to look busy and knowledgeable during in between time of assignments
You stretch your back up as you finish replying to an email to a potential client and an invitation to a webinar that you have to attend in a week. A bing from your email echoes, as you stare at the screen then to the side to the papers you have to read through, and to another pile to shred. It should be time for a break. 'Damn, is the office A/C on or something?' You feel a chill run through your back as you throw your coat on.
In the breakroom, a warm drink in hand as you stare into the liquid abyss, blinking one eye at a time. A hand appears in front of you, "Hey, heyyy (Y/N), you there?" Slow blinking once more, turning towards your coworker and friend.
"Mm yeah, I think so?"
"Didn't sleep so well last night, I think" You say trying to burn the feeling on the sides of your throat. Shit. Swollen lymph nodes.
"I think you might be getting sick (Y/N)," another coworker enters your field of vision from behind. 'Holy- where did she come from???' Judging by the freshly made green tea she had in her hand. Probably a while.
"I… think so. Ughh I don't want to get sick," you rubbed your temple.
"The season begins," your office friend grins into his cup and takes a step away from you.
"Kindly hush, don't jinx the office," delicate bangle bracelets chimed accusatorily at your friend. Oh damn, you might be sweating despite being cold. You sighed before taking one last scalding swig of your hot drink, and waved off the other two.
"I'm going to go fill out a leave form for tomorrow, and delegate some calls and documents today. Don't want to get you guys sick when you all have stuff to do." It was like you can feel your sinuses closing up in real time, but you have to get through today at least. There at least wasn't too much to worry about at the moment.
You closed your office door and sat down to pull up the previous email that you saw and print off the necessary documents. The office is trying to go paperless, but still insist on having physical copies to read through. Then preach about it at the next meeting about how even buying paper is a waste of funds, but wanting funding for ipads they won’t use and more in-person travelling conferences to Las Vegas, LA, and Metropolis. You sighed and stapled the papers in order,
"Just say you hate us,"
You finished up dealing with a case not too long ago that ended with putting the defendant, Black Mask, behind bars… well some sort of bars, it had to be better than nothing even if it was Arkham Asylum. You know that there could have been more done to protect the public safety and provide more justice to Roman Sionis' victims. You have a sneaking suspicion that the lawyer behind Black Mask's sentence is in his pocket as well. You have to handle him carefully, not out of fear of said lawyer, but what would happen to the rest of the cases and sentences that he had a part in. That piece of shit, now you have to comb back through his cases. Maybe you can hand it off in parts. Yeah, you can probably make it work. You have a list racking up already if you think about it. You'll make a formal complaint after gathering necessary evidence with something else, maybe even the "alleged" bribes and misconduct that got swept under the rug for the Black Mask case. This and that. You might need a list…
You sneezed loudly filling up your quiet office space. 'I can deal with this after I get better… now, should I take one day off or two… nah you know what, I can afford four days of sick leave.'
…Fuck, you hate this new human resources software, filling out Sick leave forms is a nightmare. Who even approved of this new district wide Clock-In system without properly beta-testing this and going through this thoroughly. Piece of fucking shit. IT, HR, and Payroll must be having an amazingly wonderful launch month… this is sarcasm. It's stupid, inefficient, and stupid, but, hey, what would you know you're not a bigwig.
You can feel a sneeze coming on, but it goes away. You curse.
—
There was a light drizzle happening behind your curtains, your blankets have never felt better, and the muffled sounds of cars honking and speeding coming from below. This could have made this a very good day off. However; you called it. You were sick, not even social media could give you that dopamine rush, the uncomfortable pain in your ears ruins it. No matter how much you've grown up and become accustomed to it.
You recall a cold, gentle hand pressing against your forehead once. You couldn't remember if it was Bruce or Alfred, but once you made a sound the hand left with a cold wet rag taking its place. Cold. Everything in that manor was so cold, so big, and so quiet. You vaguely recall getting up to call for someone, but no one was home. The tall, winding halls seemed to spin the more you ventured around in a thin blanket. The cold seeping in from your bare feet, chilling your legs and crawling up your back, freezing sweat. Why did everything in that house have to be cold? You need to get up, you need to eat. You need to get up.
Your bones ached, feeling clothes stick to your body as you got up and walking the cool floor of your apartment. Making way to the kitchen area, it felt a lot like back then; although, there were a lot less stairs now. You can't remember whether you had slippers or your bare feet back then, memories only brought coldness. Bringing out a pot to make a simple porridge, soup, ramen, canned, homemade, it didn't matter. The action was practiced, didn't need much thought. A method that you always had. You didn't want the noise, so no phone nor tv nor radio accompanied you, just silence and foggy memories that resembled thoughts.
The air was cold, as were the kitchen tiles. Only the gas stove fire underneath a boiling pot warmed you in a way that your blanket wasn't. It was quiet, in the kitchen, too quiet. You set aside a bowl of soup… or did you already have the soup in hand? You can't really remember anymore. It's been so long since you've been in that place. But you remember the feel of being an intruder in your own home.
You can hear Alfred lecturing Bruce in the walls echoing, you can't find where the echo is, but it's getting closer. Then you finally hear the sounds from the hall outside the other set of kitchen doors. The one that leads to Bruce's study, somewhere in the wing of the manor that you've never been allowed to enter. You don't remember the reason why you felt the need to hide in the pantry, but you were there.
"…you can't keep running from them, Master Bruce. They–"
"Alfred, I don't have time for this, please, just deal with the kid. I'll be back in a week after the situation is handled. You know that this is more important."
"Sir, they just want to see you. Even if it's just for a moment. I remember when you–"
"Alfred." Something about the dark tone in Bruce's voice made your fingers unconsciously clench at the bowl of hot soup in hand.
"This is something that can't be put off because the kid is playing being sick. I'll see them when I get back. End. of. discussion." The sound of dramatic flare of a long fabric strikes you as odder as an adult than when it happened in the moment. All you could feel was the heat in your ears and the burning in your hands… You can hear that there was a sigh, but the tapping of tailored shoes goes back in the same direction, back to the forbidden hall.
The soup isn't warm anymore.
The day passed in a blur. Sleep, headaches, medicine, and more sleep. You think you remember showering and brushing your teeth, but you could be mistaken.
You open your eyes to a brighter morning, well as bright as Gotham can get. Your throat still hurts to swallow, but at least you're not dead on your feet. The day passed much like the first except you at least have the energy to watch and read something. The lively noise from the TV becomes background noise as you remember. On your third sick day, you felt a little better and not like a hazardous bio-weapon. And your fourth day of being sick, you didn't even feel it. Feeling better after being sick and being away from work really makes you appreciate life and the small comforts afforded to you. Reflecting on cloudy days too… You wonder how Alfred is doing, is his back okay? Does his shoulder still hurt? Although you suppose he must be busy with all of his new wards. He always was a meticulous man. You mused, but notice that there's a feeling in your being. The feel… stings? Well, not stings, it doesn't hurt, but you know that it did, once. You're just aware of the feeling that this was once a person who was important to you, and now, isn't. It's both tragic and not. The feelings are conflicting and jumbled up into a pile that doesn't have any particular emotion to it. It just feels like nothing. It's nothing. It feels like nothing. But you can feel this nothingness so deeply, and you aren't entirely sure if you want it to keep feeling like nothing…
You stared into the empty space of your kitchen, and decided it's time to get some fresh air.
—
The bustling noise and the scent of coffee felt like a warm embrace from the streets of Gotham. You preferred the warmer touch of a local cafe, the rough layout, and the home-y decor. It's a "treat yourself" kind of day.
As you get to the front of the register, one of the baristas recognizes you.
"WOAH HEY! You're alive?!" she exclaims, while slightly covering her mouth
"Uhhh… yeah?" You look at her questioningly. How did she know that you were sick a couple of days ago? You haven't been to this cafe since you were in college and that one building collapsed with the Joker- … ohhhh. The dots connected.
"Oh. Yeah, that…" you shift side to side, well, time to ignore this conversation.
"Can I get a-"
Just before you could finish speaking, you see on a screen behind the register, your back being filmed very blurred from dust. A news story highlight for Gotham, and you were the subject. Aah crap. You glance back to the barista who is looking at you expectantly.
"Hello?? People have been looking for you? The whole neighborhood really, how have you been?!"
'Nooo, please, let's move away from this conversation,' you pleaded internally, shoulders dropping as you accepted your fate.
"Well I-"
"Raquel, what are you-" The barista, Raquel apparently, wasn't about to let you go now. She whips out her phone to rapidly start text people. Then she pulls up pictures and videos from a couple of years ago…
"This is the person who I told you about!! The one who saved those people from that collapsing building!" Your lips straightened as you could feel stares on the back of your neck.
"Dude, we've been looking for you everywhere, we- Oh!" Raquel the barista now notices the growing line behind you and her co-worker opening up the second register aggressively. Raquel looks at you conflicted, so you just sighed.
"I'll have a [drink order]... I have a bit of work to do, so I'll be in the corner seat," You vaguely gesture to a corner, and the barista brightens visibly. Her bright eyes and expectations kind of burns your soul.
"Okay, we'll have that drink right out to you-" you were interrupted by an impatient elderly gentleman behind you.
"Ok, their drink on me, I'll have-" The old guy must have gotten sick of waiting, but he surprises you. As you shuffle to the side after thanking the man, he comes back up to you. You straighten up as he takes a seat with you.
"You a lawyer?"
"Uhh yes, yes I am I work at a branch office of Hewitt & Associates firm"
"How much do you charge for consultation?" the man stares at his coffee intensely
"$250 per hour, but there's-" You can see his grip tighten ever so slightly around his cup
"But a, conversation; however, and on my day off, doesn't cost a thing," You take a sip as the elderly man meets your eye. He talks to you about his troubles and his concerns about a legal matter he wanted to take care of with a certain company. You explain to him in depth about the questions he has and what to ask his future legal representative, and recommend some good colleagues that run non-profits and low costing civil lawyers; as well as low to medium costing attorneys that you can stand to put a good word in for. And, as much as you dread it, a few Wayne funded programs would be a good start for the old man.
As you got lost in thought about what else you could recommend to the elder gentleman, you didn't notice the seats around you getting filled as some listened to you intently while others are just enjoying the lively atmosphere. Raquel, the barista, was recording for both her socials and the cafe's social media page.
"Cafe hero: FOUND!"
—
"Sooooo, a hero huh." Your coworker corners you at the office vending machine.
"What are you talking about?" You don't even glance at her as you are too busy trying to choose a snack. You kind of wish that there were more options, but again not your department.
"Oof, they don't know," Your other coworker started to scroll on his phone for something on one of his socials. Then tapped your shoulder to show you a certain cafe's social media page. You stare back at yourself for a moment. It's an edit from that day, a scary dust cloud filled window, the barista's hand shaking the camera then pivots to you carrying people into the cafe, your back disappearing into the dust and emerging again with more people, then it cuts to you watching the happy cafe scene, reading the caption; until it loops over again.
"Oh fuck," you can feel the dread in your chest, it gets even worst when you look at the number of views it had gotten since yesterday. It's in the 500k’s and growing. Wow, you need to disappear into the dirt forever.
"You're not going to disappear into the dirt,"
Since when can she hear your thoughts? Doesn't matter, the dirt calls.
"Wow, you need some serious social media training, like ASAP. You know my brother and sister can help with that," your coworker glanced at his phone to the comments and paused.
"... Are you one of Wayne's kids?" They both look at you, but you can definitely feel more eyes in the room.
"Fucking hell."
—
Damien stops scrolling on his phone for a moment to see a person who looks like his father at a glance. Damien's face pinches when he sees the word 'hero,' he takes pride in what he and his family does. Why does this random person get a title like their for carrying a couple of people. They do that almost on a weekly basis. He rolls his eyes internally. On a whim, he opens and looks at the comments. Two comments catches his attention. With this new information he gets up and starts walking to the kitchen where he knows Alfred to be.
Passing a large portrait, he pauses and glances up at his father and brothers looking down at him. A moment flickers.
He continues on his way to the kitchen, and as he swings the kitchen door open and feeling warm food being prepared with the utmost care washes over him. Alfred is sautéing something, and Damien stands beside him for a moment watching.
"Yes, young master Damien,"
"Who is (Y/N)?"
"... " Damien watches as Alfred looks lost in thought for a good minute before he notices the burning smell.
"Alfred, the pan"
"Ah," The vegetables had a bit of a char on them. Alfred and Damien look at the vegetables.
"I think a beef vegetables stew would be most appropriate," as Alfred grabs a red wine to deglaze the pan
"... agreed, but you still haven't answered my question."
"They're Master Bruce's first born, they left some time ago,"
"Why did they leave? Why are there no pictures of them anywhere? How comes I’ve never heard of them?”
"They're, a long story," Damien watches Alfred's back and walks to the kitchen island to sit in a tall chair, getting comfortable. Alfred feeling the expectant stare of Damien on his back. Alfred stares into the pot as he finished preparing the soup, and turn to grab some bread to toast.
" (Y/N) was the first, and I'm sorry to admit, but they were the first of everything for both Master Bruce and I,"
✵ synopsis: After your single trip to Tartarus, you’ve come back a different person, but not for the better. Everyone notices, but especially Percy as he becomes desperate for you to open up, hurt that you’re struggling in silence and knowing that keeping it inside is too close to tearing you apart.
✵ interest: percy jackson (HOO)
warnings: mentions/talk of:loss of appetite, trauma, depression, isolation.
MASTERLIST -> reqs open !!
Percy’s breath caught in his throat once he met your gaze. The warmth that once radiated from your eyes had vanished, replaced by a chilling emptiness that seemed to stretch on endlessly. Like a void so profound that it mirrored the darkness of Tartarus itself.
Seeing that endless abyss where your spark used to be, Percy felt dread settle in his chest, knowing that what you had faced was more than anyone should ever endure.
His eyes lingered on your cheekbones as they jutted sharply beneath your skin, casting shadows where there was once a healthy glow. He noticed how loose the collar of your shirt hung around your neck, the fabric draping over your frame like a shroud. As you shifted, the tattered edges of your sleeves fluttered, revealing glimpses of angry red scars given from where you once were.
The moment you returned, everyone noticed the slight tremor in your movements and the way your gaze darted around the room, as if searching for danger. Your fingers twitched at your sides, instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there, revealing the unease that still gripped you.
Percy's heart clenched, a dull ache spreading through his chest. He recognized the haunted look in your eyes, having seen it reflected in his own mirror countless times. Each flinch, each hesitant movement you made, sent a jolt of empathy through him.
Hours later, as you sat at the table surrounded by friends, you felt an intense isolation. The sounds of laughter and clinking utensils faded into a distant hum, leaving you feeling detached. Your fork hovered above your plate, trembling slightly before you set it down, the food remaining untouched.
When you abruptly stood, your chair scraping against the floor, a hush fell over the room. The best you could do was mumble a stupid excuse before leaving behind a group of concerned glances.
Later that night, Percy's footsteps echoed down the hallway as he approached your door. He raised his hand to knock but hesitated when he heard the muffled sounds of distress from within. Instead, he rapped out a familiar pattern on the door—three quick taps followed by two slow ones.
The door creaked open, revealing your disheveled form. Your hair stood on end, dark circles etched beneath your eyes. The room behind you was in disarray – blankets twisted on the floor, books scattered, and a sense of anxiety lingering in the air.
"Hey…" Percy’s voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes scanning your face and noticing how you hugged yourself tightly, as if trying to hold yourself together—or maybe you were just cold. Without a word, he slipped off his hoodie and handed it to you, offering a silent gesture of comfort and warmth.
You opened your mouth to speak, but no words emerged. Your gaze fell to the floor, and your shoulders hunched inward, as if trying to shrink away from the weight of your emotions.
Percy glanced past you, taking in the chaos of the room, before extending his hand toward you, careful not to touch. “Can I?” he asked softly, his gesture conveying a silent request as he held out the jacket, ready to cover you with it.
Y You nodded, a barely perceptible movement, and followed him as he draped his hoodie over you. The cool air that had once sent shivers down your arms now seemed to dull in its effect. Walking through the hall was a welcome change from the confinement of your room, offering a brief escape from the suffocating atmosphere.
Percy watched as you leaned against the ship's railing, your fingers gripping the weathered wood so tightly that your knuckles turned white. The moonlight bathed your face in a ghostly glow, casting shadows that accentuated the hollows beneath your cheekbones and the dark circles under your eyes.
It was a stark reminder of the weight you carried. The effort you put into keeping it all together only seemed to deepen the strain, revealing that your attempts to hold everything in were, in fact, making it all the harder to bear.
"Talk to me," he urged softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes searched yours with an intensity born from desperation, as if trying to bridge the distance between your pain and his understanding.
You didn’t move, your gaze fixed on the dark waters below. The gentle lapping of waves against the hull filled the silence between you.
Percy inched closer, the proximity allowing him to feel the tension radiating from your body without quite touching. "I'm here," he whispered, his gaze locked on you with unwavering focus. "Whatever you need, just tell me."
A shuddering breath escaped you, your shoulders trembling with the effort of holding yourself together. When you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper. "Every time I close my eyes…” you looked up to his green eyes piercing your own, his expression gave you the confidence to continue, even if your voice came out shaken. “I'm back there."
Percy's heart clenched. He knew all too well about the nightmares, but couldn’t imagine what plagued your mind every time you tried to rest. Thing things he could imagine you’ve seen...
You turned to face him, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I don’t know how to do it. How to keep going."
Percy swallowed hard, searching for the right words. "One day at a time," he said finally. He had his share of what you were experiencing. "Even if it’s one hour at a time, it’s still progress. And especially remember you’re not alone."
You felt a tear slide down your cheek. Without thinking, Percy reached out and gently wiped it away with his thumb. He felt you tense up for a second, until you leaned into his touch, craving the warmth and comfort of human contact.
"I'm so tired," you whispered, your voice cracking.
Percy nodded, his expression softening with the kind of understanding that came from knowing deep pain. "I get it," he said, his voice steady but gentle. "I know you’re exhausted.
He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "But you’re here. You made it out, and that’s huge. It might not feel like it now, but things will get better. I promise you, they will. You’re stronger than you think, and this—everything you’re going through right now—this is just part of the healing. I know it’s tough, but you’re not alone. I’m here with you, every step of the way.”
You didn't respond, but you didn't pull away. Together, you stood in silence, watching the stars reflect on the dark water. The night was cold, but Percy's presence beside you offered a small warmth, a tiny spark of hope in the darkness that had become your world in so little time.
As the first light of dawn began to paint the sky, you felt something shift inside you. It wasn't happiness, not yet. But for the first time since your return, you felt a flicker of possibility. Maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to yourself.
a funny concept idea for a batfamily AU where reader, Bruce's eldest adopted son finds out about Damian before their father does and stole Bruce's role of being a father figure instead.
cw: OOC!!! the reader is referred to by you/your/yours pronouns but also occasionally y/n as well. some cuss words here and there.
a/n: writing this was an emotional rollercoaster because I started this out chill as fuck then I was hit with intense love that I have for Damian as a character, but I think you can see that if you read this since it's pretty damn obvious.. gulps
tag: @vampire-oc-lover
PART (1/2) — reader's past
PART (2/2) — meeting Damian (you're here)
You stood still, completely frozen, arms stretched out as you held the little, small.. fat little human in your hands by the armpits like a cat. Holy shit, he is so small. You could literally hold him up with one hand, realistically.
"He is so small???"
"He is small."
Another voice replied from the corner of the room—Talia al Ghul, the very mother of the baby you're holding. You glanced at her for only a few seconds before turning your gaze back to the baby, your eyes still wild with shock.
"How old?"
"He is three years old."
"He's the youngest person ever!!!"
"No, he is not."
Talia groaned, putting her forehead in her hand, obviously regretting letting her son meet his eldest brother this early on.
How did this even happen? Well, let's roll a few hours back...
"How the fuck did you get here?!?"
"I... walked?"
"We're in the fucking Himalayas!"
"...Yeah?"
"You're from fucking America, that's what!!????"
Okay, enough flashbacks. I think that conversation with a random assassin explained enough.
In short, you tracked those fuckers down as payback for messing up shit in your city, then just appeared at one of their hundred bases. How? Like you've said, you walked. Across the world, in one night? Uh... You have your own ways. A magician never reveals his secrets.
Fights happened, blah blah blah— you don't care. Both sides, you and them, just came to the conclusion several hours after grueling, nonstop battles to just ceasefire and fucking talk, because despite sending men after men, you are just not going down.
Batman raised a fucking monster for a first son, and even Ra's al Ghul has to acknowledge that. What kind of man could walk off almost getting decapitated, and not go mad after being dunked into the Lazarus Pit several times, if not a monster?
How did Ra's know that? Let's not. Question it...
He was the one who "tested" out those things himself
Y/n, of course, like the little shit he is, messed around with the League during the ceasefire. What do you expect a man who isn't considerate of other people's safety, including his own, to do? Do things that are considerate of other people's safety, including his own? FUCK no.
He blasted through the base of the League at the speed of a jet, determined to see every nook and cranny of it, until he got to one particular room that he got blocked off by Talia like a mother bear with her cub. You, of course, stepped back, surprised, with both of your hands up like a thief caught red-handed. Talia was adamant on not letting him in, but y/n begged and whined (as best as a man who sounds like he lives off of pure black coffee can do), until Talia softened—softened???—and sighed in defeat.
You were giddy at first. What could be this thing that Talia is trying to hide from him— A CHILD???
Which leads back to this moment, where you're holding up the baby boy in your hands like he's Simba, except he's facing you. In all his fat baby cheeks, innocent brown eyes, and... Holy shit, he got Bruce's bat-brows, that is so fucking funny—
"He's my.. Little brother?"
Your voice—once a deep and rumbling thing, naturally soothing yet commanding—is quiet and shaky, almost like you're in disbelief. This fragile, small boy in your arms... Is your baby brother? Someone who's already got his life planned out for him, with shoes too big for him to fill at his age?
"Yes."
Talia's answer was stiff, as if even she herself wanted to say otherwise, knowing the implications. She is a mother, and despite knowing she couldn't be the best mother ever, she is still a mother, and the most basic thing that she could wish for her blood son is for him to live a happy life.
But that's not possible, is it?
"Can I visit him every month?"
"..If you're willing to come here yourself."
"...Make that weekly. Or— or daily, actually—"
"Let's not."
And that's how it started. You couldn't resist visiting your baby brother every other week, sometimes twice or thrice weekly.
Damian, you learned was his name, was thoroughly confused by you at first. Why is there a... random, homeless-looking man (you'd cry if you heard this from him) sitting in his room? His three-year-old brain doesn't know, but if his mother allowed you near him, then he can trust you, right?
Damian looked like he fucking hated your guts at first, his face scrunching like he's smelling shit every time you pick him up. Your inherent sociopathic tendencies did make you want to bash the baby's skull in at first, but then you'd be reminded that he's literally your baby, and then you'd be on the verge of crying and throwing up as you treated him as gently as possible as an apology for even thinking of hurting him.
For a long while, he was just okay with you. Warming up to you takes time, but you're willing to wait for your baby brother.
Then Damian started to get attached. Like, really attached.
Simply tolerating you holding him turns into needing you to hold him. Like, his face would scrunch up like he's being squished when you let go. This makes training difficult—"he's three years old!! What do you mean by training??!?"—because he wants to be in your vicinity, all day and night. He'd be overly productive when you're around, and would start wailing if you have to leave.
Like, really. You don't even know he shifted gears so much from low-key hating you to this, but your heart melts every time Damian freezes up when you have to put him down and temporarily leave the room, like a baby penguin in the cold, freezing winter, fearing that its parents wouldn't be able to find them when they come back.
Talia is so, so goddamn tired of the first few times Damian cried when you had to leave— and you really wanted to stay, but you still have a city to protect, and Bruce would bash you in the head if he catches you lacking.
The first time Damian screamed your name down the hallway, a shrieking "Y/n!!!", he almost gave you a heart attack and killed you right then and there. Because on one hand, you're so fucking happy, but on the other hand, it sounded like he was screaming for help, and you wanted to kill yourself at the thought of something bad happening to him.
From then on, Damian shifted from calling you by name to calling you by title as a big brother— "Big bro", "Big brother", and "Gege" are something you expected to hear daily. He couldn't really speak Arabic fluently yet, since it's quite a bit of a tongue-twister for a three-year-old, but maybe he will call you "al'akh al'akbar" when he's five or older.
By the ripe age of eight or nine, Damian looked like a miniature version of his mother—commanding, strict, sharp-tongued.
But he's also still your baby. Despite the League's teachings that are drilled into his head—emotions are weak, and no weaknesses are allowed as the heir to the throne—he's still your baby.
He's still very much your baby in the way he perks up like a cat catching the scent of its favourite human when you come to visit.
He's still very much your baby in the way he naturally seeks out your presence, your warmth, and your attention after everything. After a grueling training session, after a draining mission, after his blade took another life.
He's still very much your baby in the way he curled up against you every time you stay the night, as if soaking up your warmth would be enough to erase the guilt he feels for staining his sword with another person's blood.
He's so different from you. Is that why you feel so protective of him? That pathetic feeling of empathy, of guilt for killing, of passion for the living, of respect for the dead. You can never relate; you can never experience the true feeling of being human. You're the pathetic one.
And he's still very much your baby in the way his bright, green eyes gleamed at the sight of you.
Green?
Right... They used to be brown—a soft, warm shade of deep, dark brown. How many times has your baby been dunked in the Lazarus Pit after yet again almost stepping past death's door? He hasn't even hit puberty yet.
You.. guess you two could relate because of it. Damian has been dipped into the pit several times because, for far too many times, he has almost died. You've been thrown into the sickening shade of green liquid because the gods think that it's funny to fuck with you.
You acknowledge that it's not normal, but it is normal to you, and Damian, being a kid in his impressionable age, learned from you that it's nothing weird.
Wow, you are really a bad influence.
When he was almost ten years of age, Damian started calling you "dad"— or other variations of it.
"Father" is the most common, but on rare occasions, you'd hear him call you "Baba" as well.
It makes your heart burst with various unfamiliar emotions, but you couldn't help but laugh when thinking about it as well, because damn, how are you going to tell Bruce when he finds out?
Nonetheless, you didn't get to think about it much because when Damian was ten, Bruce found out about him. Talia dropped her son off at the front step of Bruce's manor, and it's just...
Okay, everything was absurd.
It was a change for Damian. A change too fast than he would've liked. Like you, he struggled with the "no killing" rule, not because he wants to kill, but because that is all he's ever known. His value has been built on how efficiently he could "take down" enemies, and suddenly, it just doesn't matter anymore.
Damian was a gentle soul, contrary to everyone's beliefs. He doesn't like killing; he sheds tears for every life he takes, but what do you expect a kid to do when you strip away the only thing they knew of?
Life for Damian was a mess for a while, but you were the stability he needed throughout all of this.
To say the family was surprised by the demon brat who raised his sword and sneered at everyone clinging to their eldest brother like he was the only good thing in this family was the biggest understatement of the century.
And things get even weirder when they hear Damian saying that Y/n was his father and that Bruce was not. Just what other secrets is their eldest brother keeping from them?
pairings: platonic!batfam x snufkin!male!reader
summary: Damian decides to learn more about (name) by doing what younger brothers do best: following him around
tags: damian is the centre of the story bc he's funny like that, reader sleeps in a tent even if he has a perfectly good room in the manor, reader is Bruce's bio son, also Tim and reader are close, damian doesn't understand reader's whimsy
part one | part three
Damian decided that the easiest way to prove that there's something wrong with his brother was by watching him go about his day. Each morning he would stand by the window that showed (name)'s tent with binoculars pressed to his face, watching his brother leave the tent and walk into the manor.
He would follow (name) the entire day, skipping his training in the name of proving his superiority. Damian quickly learnt that his brother's days were filled with a lot of meaningless activities. At least in his opinion. Especially during (name)'s 'adventures' with Tim, which mostly happened in forgotten by Alfred parts of the manor's gardens.
But Damian persisted, and each day would end with him back at the window, making sure (name) went straight back to the tent.
Tim brought it to everyone's attention once, but everyone seemed to brush it off when (name) simply shrugged when asked if it bothers him.
(Name) had been back in the manor for about a week when Dick stopped by with Wally. The three of them managed to drag Tim away from some sort of case, and all of them disappeared into the city for hours, only returning long after dark. The first few hours Damian used to catch up on the activities he neglected. Done with his activities and his brothers nowhere to be found, Damian opted to lounge for a while, indulging in a book he picked up. But when the dinner came and went and the three still didn't return, Damian perched himself on top of the staircase to wait for their return.
When the front door to the manor finally opened, less than an hour before patrol, Tim and (name) rushed through the halls, straight to the back of the manor, without noticing Damian. Dick didn't run along with them and instead turned towards where Damian was sitting.
"You should really give him a chance, Damian," Dick suggested, walking up the stairs. "You could learn a lot from him."
Dick disappeared upstairs, leaving Damian with his own thoughts.
Learn things? From (name)?
Damian scoffed at Richard's ridiculous idea.
Dick must've mentioned it to (name) as well since a day or so later Damian found himself in front of his brother as he was following him.
"Would you like to join me?" (Name) suggested, his hands fiddling with random strands of grass he had. "Instead of just following me"
Damian ends up agreeing. It could provide proof of his superiority over (name).
"Great! "We will go on an adventure!" (Name) exclaimed, and Damian could only roll his eyes.
The youngest Wayne quickly learns that (name)'s form of adventuring was to observe the critters that live in the gardens or dig in the dirt from time to time to find bugs. And when he wasn't doing either of those things, (name) would lie on the grass and play his harmonica while soaking in the sun.
The carelessness of his older brother annoyed Damian. How could he just lay there and play his stupid instrument when he and his father go out every night fighting for peaceful Gotham?
Damian brought it up to his father after the 'adventure' (name) took him on. He tried arguing that his brother's behaviour is not normal and that Bruce should stop enabling him.
"Damian, your brother is a bit different, and there's nothing wrong with that." Father brushed Damian off, not even looking up from the newspaper in his hands. "There's no point in trying to change him if he's not bringing harm to himself or anyone."
"Yes, there is something wrong with that!" Damian argued, storming off. "And I will prove that!"
And if he can't prove it while (name) is at the manor, Damian will simply wait for winter and expose what his brother is doing when Gotham gets covered in snow.
Summary: a simple tall phantom like person, all blacked out with glowing purple eyes like a vigilante. No one, not even the smartest team of bats can figure out who could be helping around Gotham
Info: y/n isn’t mention as a name. Only they/them pronouns but this is gender neutral so there are male reader and female reader tags. Idc. Reader is most likely 17. 
Genre: story
Wc: 1,673
In the shadowy alleys of Gotham, a mysterious figure lurked—tall, slender, cloaked in darkness, with piercing purple eyes that seemed to glow eerily in the night. The figure hovered over a frightened man, who cowered, trembling at the sight of what many whispered about as the 'Black Devil.' But why fear someone who appears to mean no harm?
With a gentle purr, the shadowy being reached out a hand, trying to appear kind and inviting, softly echoing a simple, “Hello.”
Startled, the man jumped back and slapped the offered hand away, panic-stricken. "Get away!" he shouted, convinced the creature's intentions were anything but friendly.
Panicked, the man bolted into the darkness, screams echoing into the cloudy, ominous sky. The dark figure sighed softly, then dissolved into the night, disappearing into Gotham’s shadows.
☆
It’s a new day, late morning. In the cozy kitchen, Tim sipped his coffee, brewed by Alfred. His mind drifted to articles he'd been reading about a strange creature—the one with the haunting purple eyes—known around Gotham as the “Purple Devil.” Cloaked in darkness, with a shadowed hood covering its features, the mysterious entity continues to stir whispers and wonder among the city’s residents.
People can tell it’s a little slim with slightly broad shoulders. It's tall and croaks like a dying person waiting to make someone suffer.
Geez, even Tim got a shiver from how this newspaper deceived this new thing around Gotham.
“Drake.”
Tim jumped as he realized he was too focused on the article, turning around to see his little brother Damian with his natural angry resting face. “What?” Tim questions as he sets the paper down to see Damian only sit upon the bar stool beside him.
“Are you still reading that blasphemy about the 'purple devil'?” Damian quizzed the older teenager who seemed not to have gotten a lot of sleep due to a few nights of patrolling.
“What? No… no. Not at all.” Tim says nervously, bunching the paper up and getting up quickly.
Damian scrunched his face as he followed Tim to the living room where the other two oldest were.
“Why lie, Drake? I’m also curious about this 'purple devil'.”
Damian kept pushing it as Tim tried to drown him out.
“Lalalala! I can’t hear you!”
“Oh, you certainly can hear, Drake!”
Dick and Jason stared at their younger brothers who seemed to have this weird fixation on this new thing around the city.
Sure they were curious too, but they didn’t want to show it.
I mean, they were all trained to handle emotions during situations. But clearly, Tim and Damian showed that freely in the home they lived in.
But they were certainly wondering,
Who is this purple devil?
☆
The purple devil is certainly behind a building standing as their tall frame ate a meaty burger. They can stand the daytime. But the sun makes their powers to teleport wonky, needing to be in the shade or a dark place.
So behind the building is nice enough. The nice people named Alex and Steve had given the teenager a burger.
That’s how they found it. The creature looked up seeing a trio of teenagers looking their age minding their business giggling.
A human life.
Something the creature envies and wants.
The image of living in a nice house, having friends. Having to live in fear of being different.
Having a nice human life.
That’s what they want.
But how?
How could they when they look like this?
The creature lifted its cloak to see purple markings, like scattered deformed freckles.
Their eyes are purple and glowing.
Their mouth looks jagged when opened.
Looking with a purple tongue, sharp teeth.
And no human words other than “hello, wassup” etc.
None to have a normal human conversation.
Nothing to even win in this life.
Other than the feeling to help others.
The creature dropped the cloak sleeve down as they finished their meal and teleported off. Leaving purple pixel trailing behind.
☆
It’s another night, their legs swinging off the edge of a roof as their hood is off. Their face looked corrupted with those “freckles” they had along with those demonic purple eyes people have been calling them.
A small sad croak echoed from the creature’s lips as they watched the moon shine brightly and beautifully.
Silence.
Beautiful silence.
CRASH!
A big glass breaking sound was heard as a robbery was being made across the street from a bodega. The two robbers went in.
The teenager creature scrunched their eyes before putting their hood back on and teleporting with particles close behind.
“Give us anything you have!” One of them yelled at the cashier who shook in fear and anger.
“Why me?! I can’t give you anything I worked hard to put food on my family’s table—” the cashier was cut off when a shot was made. Making the cashier flinch and immediately go to empty the register.
“There we go. Good girl.” The man said, making the girl cashier hold back a gag as the other robber started to steal lottery tickets and also gift cards along with food.
“Man, I didn’t know they had the Hot Cheetos in here.” Robber number two had spoken.
“Man shut up and get the stuff!” Robber number one had demanded, grabbing the cash from the cashier who just looked nervous.
After the whole scolding, the robbers were about to leave til they looked at the cashier who shifted a bit.
“Oh no no no. Don’t even think about pressing that button.”
“It’s too late! I already did and they’re coming to arrest you fiens!” She yelled at the two who looked at each other.
“Aw shucks.” The robber holding a bag of money sighed as he pointed his firearm at the girl.
“Looks like you have to die.” He says brutally.
As his finger was on the trigger, the lights flickered off.
“What the! I can’t see you, Chris!”
“Wh-it’s cause I’m black isn’t it!?”
The robbers argued as the cashier hid behind the counter, covering her mouth as a weird static noise started to echo.
The robbers stopped arguing to turn and look down the hall where the bathroom would be.
There stood the creature with the heavy cloak around its body.
Purple eyes. Slanted with anger, as their tall frame seemed to intimidate the two men. A simple head tilt with a loud croak was all it took for one to feel fear.
The one holding the hot Cheetos looked like he was ready to pee his pants. “Omg, it’s the purple devil!!” He shrilled, hiding behind the other one.
“Chris, get your coward ass from me!” He scowled as he pushed Chris ahead.
Chris seemed to accidentally make eye contact with the creature, making their jaw unhinged. A loud static sound seemed to echo in his head.
That’s all the man heard as he started to scream. A brutal scream as the creature gripped the shoulders of the man.
That’s when the other robber seemed to finally fire at the creature. But the creature teleported away.
Leaving Chris to drop to the floor, twitching. His eyes were dull, and his words made no sense.
Bullet shells on the ground, the other robber clicked his tongue nervously. The robber didn’t care for his companion, only for the money as he turned around only to bump into the creature's chest.
The robber slowly glanced up to see piercing purple eyes stare back into his man's eyes. Immediately static overtook the man’s mind as he dropped to his knees and gripped his head.
Dropping the bag of money and the firearm.
It must’ve been minutes after the chaos as the lady behind the counter peeks to see both the men looking brain dumb, drooling, and tied up next to each other. The lady glances her eyes to see the stack of cash, nice and simple with a note that says.
“Get better security and don’t be alone.”
The lady smiled, “Maybe the 'purple devil', is a purple angel.” She says softly as she puts the money back into the register.
☆
The creature was at least five blocks in before a batarang strikes down by the floor by the purple-eyed creature. A shocked croak echoed as four males dropped down.
The creature looked at them in curiosity and alertness.
Tim looked fascinated at how tall the ‘purple devil' was. Damian was on high guard, watching every single move. Jason looked chill, but he was on high guard just like Damian.
And there’s the last one. Dick smiled with a friendly aura.
“Hey, pal! We just saw what you did in there, and honestly, that was nice how you helped that young lady.”
'Nightwing, RedHood, Red Robin, and Robin…. Am I in trouble!!? Oh no!' The creature overthought as Nightwing moved forward. The creature moved back with a sharp croak.
Damian and Jason immediately flinched towards their weapons until Dick put his hand out.
“Relax guys. They’re not gonna hurt us or run—”
“They’re running,” Damian says bluntly as he points at the cloaked creature who cries out a croak.
'IM TOO YOUNG AND INNOCENT FOR AKHARM PRISON!' They screamed in their head as it was quite obvious the four males were on their tail.
Seemed like Nightwing was hot on their track as he did an aerial cartwheel in front of the creature who seemed not to stop running. Nightwing sweatdropped a bit as he expected the creature to stop.
But no.
The creature ran forward, making Nightwing close his eyes this time only to feel nothing but a whoosh of wind.
He opens his eyes to see purple pixel particles in the air as he looks around shocked.
Just like his brothers who came up to him.
“Whoa,” Tim says as he watches the purple particles fade away into the night. Damian and the others by his side as Jason pulled out his phone to take a picture before Dick had slapped the arm down.
freedom is not minding what happens | short drabble, angst, batfam and gn!batsib, wc415
part one - suffering is wanting things to be different.
"—already too late."
Bruce asked you, through Alfred, to meet him in his office. Dick probably snitched on you, and you couldn't help but internally roll your eyes. Now, because of Dick, you've been listening to Bruce's monologue for ten minutes. Stupid golden boy and his stupid saviour complex.
"So for that, I am deeply sorry for the way I treated you while under my care and how neglectful I was."
But the closure doesn’t feel as liberating as your therapist described it to be. This—whatever this even is anymore—feels dull and old. Not a sigh of relief, or a weight off your shoulders, not even a butterfly in your chest. There's... nothing, and you can't help but feel a bit disappointed.
“I accept your apology, Bruce." And it's the truth.
Because at this point of your life, there isn't anything else to do besides accept.
Declining Bruce's apology would prove that you are no better than he is—a person who disregarded the words of another. Declining your supposed father's sorrowful regret would mean that he won—and that definitely leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.
More than twenty years of parental absence, and it takes an outburst at his youngest son's birthday—one that he didn't even witness—for him to address you.
Bruce looks as though he has more to say, but your pager goes off, rhythmic beeps cutting through the tension of the awkward atmosphere. (Bruce wonders why he never asked why you went into medicine.)
“I have to go.”
You turn to leave. You're swift, already turning the doorknob and light from the hallway escapes through the little open crack of the door—
Bruce calls your name.
It sounds terribly foreign, for both him and you. His mouth was unfamiliar with forming the syllables that made your name, the vowels and consonants not sitting quite right.
You hold in an exasperated sigh and stop in your tracks to turn back to glance at him.
He looks unsure, like he didn't expect to say your name either.
“If… if you ever need me—” He stammers.
You're not going to fall for whatever trap this is—this false sense of safety and openness that stems from guilt and wanting to fix whatever scraps are left. This— This—
There's nothing to fix. Nothing left.
“I don’t need you, Bruce. I haven’t in a long time.”
You finally leave, the door clicking shut in your wake.
(Bruce also wonders if you realise how much you look like him.)
a/n: sometimes, apologies are made to keep the peace, rather than for reconciliation (said from experience). in batsib's case, they believed bruce was doing the former, rather than the latter. there will not be any more parts xx
suffering is wanting things to be different | short drabble, angst, batfam and gn!batsib, wc359.
a/n: inspired by that one scene from the tv series 'the good place'! (s3ep6)
"Why can't you just accept that Bruce is trying his hardest to be a father to Damian?" Dick gives you a pointed look after the aforementioned duo leaves the sitting room.
Bruce had an extra birthday present for Damian and wanted a moment to themselves, just the two of them. According to Dick, you made a face and he felt the need to address it.
But the way Dick said "father" set something in your heart ablaze—something indescribable, something that makes it seize when you try to name it.
And you just can't hold it in anymore.
"Because I wanted that dad."
The world stops and the room is quiet.
The buzzing in your mind is gone, replaced by a gentle chime.
What do you gain from this? Knowing your siblings, they're probably going to forget about this whole thing by tomorrow. Cast you aside like all the other times you tried to make a connection out of nothing. On the other hand, what do you have left to lose?
You're scared shitless and your hands will not stop shaking—but somehow, there's newfound air in your lungs.
"I wanted the dad that would acknowledge me, instead of brushing off my existence to work on a case."
Late nights, knocking at his office door, asking for help on homework. A gruff voice of rejection and dismissal. Eating breakfast and dinner alone. Missed birthdays and award ceremonies.
The world is getting blurry and warmth is tricking down your cheeks. Are you crying?
"Why did all of you get that dad?"
Zoo trips. Ice cream after school. Reading stories aloud in bed. Inside jokes.
You, in your bedroom, hearing it happen. You, in the background, watching it unfold.
"If Bruce Wayne was always capable of loving and caring for his children, then he was always capable of acting like a dad. But I—"
You can tell they're all looking at you now. Really looking, this time. But you aren't. No. You're looking at the wall of pictures at the far end of the room.
There's none of you. There never has been.
"...I just wasn't worth being a parent for."
a/n: my life has been a complete shit-show ever since the start of this year so apologies for the delay in works, have this drabble while you wait!
mark x reader …….with the devoted and eternally loyal dynamic of Odysseus and Penelope hc/drabble
its so in character for him I swear. The people yearn for homophrosyne mark and reader
Mark X Reader: Odysseus/Penelope Dynamic
okay I KNOW this was requested like almost a calendar year ago WAY before season 4 came out but shut up I can do what I want-
(fair warning this did NOT come out as homophrosyne-coded as I wanted it too.... but I got finals so it's getting marked as done)
SPOILERS FOR S4 AHEAD!!
Mark had told you before he left to go fight his space war
He'd held your face in his large, impossibly powerful, unfairly labored hands when he broke the news
"I'm going with my dad and some aliens to go save the planet, and a lot of other people, but I could be gone for a long time. Like, a long long time. More than a few months. I don't..." he looked away, his expression hardening "I don't know how long, really."
You'd responded as supportively as you could, wrapping your incredibly un-powerful arms around him, burying your face in his chest
"Just come back, okay? I'll be waiting for you."
It had been months. More than last time. More than any other time. Just like he'd told you it would be.
Every morning you rolled out of bed to see the photo strips of you and Mark from your local mall, making silly faces and kissing
He was still in his burger mart uniform.
What a nerd, you rolled your eyes, before tearing up, and dismissing the memory entirely in favor of a productive morning
You tried not to dwell too much on him, he'd come home as soon as possible.
Even if you wanted him to abandon ship and come back to you, it's not as if you had any way of reaching him.
This thought soured your morning despite best efforts, as you gloomily looked into your cereal- gone soggy while you were missing him- like most things in your life
College sucked, unanimously
People knew your boyfriend had dropped out, they didn't know he was Invincible, they didn't even know he was gone
When any of your friends asked about your alleged boyfriend, you'd just say he was studying abroad with family, or something to that effect
In the first few months, people got the idea, and it wasn't so hard.
But you started to get romantic attention from all the wrong people
and it was getting pretty hard to put up with
It wasn't harassment or anything, luckily, every person you'd rejected had taken in well, but it was a long line
Sometimes it seemed like it never ended
You'd ditched fancy hair and fashionable outfits about two months ago, it's not like you had anyone to dress up for anymore
You maintained yourself, and that was about it
but that didn't stop the long line of suitors from asking if "You want to get coffee and go over the notes for Art History?" or if you'd like to "Go skating at the plaza with me?"
It didn't help that you were nearing graduation, and your sweet parents were pushing for you to bring a boy home
"Y/n.... when are you going to bring someone to a holiday? I hate seeing you so lonely, dear." Your mom had cooed as you sat somberly on the floor on Christmas morning
The gift you'd gotten Mark in June was sitting in your closet, and it would be for who knew how long
They wanted the best for you, but it felt impossible to even humor anyone else
You didn't want anyone else
You wanted your boyfriend, the man you'd loved since you were seventeen.
More than anything you wanted him alive
just to know he was alive
anything
Time keeps passing,
and you keep lying around,
it all comes to a head when your best friend invites you to her older sister's wedding.
You sit in an audience of people and watch your best friend's sister-- a girl you went to high school with-- get married.
And you don't even have a date
or a date for expected arrival
and the night is long with other dateless guests asking if they can get you a drink, steal you for a dance, etc
steal you???
They all think they can steal you, you think to yourself bitterly as you drink your alcohol of choice
It's been almost a year since you'd seen Mark
Almost a year
Not a year, you remind yourself, pushing your head up to finish your final projects for Uni
taptaptap
You lazily swivel your head to look out the window
You didn't have a groundfloor dorm, so were your next door neighbors messing with you orr....
Then you saw him
"MARK!!"
You try to open your window, to little avail
"Stupid-fucking-suicide proof chain-" you struggle, before giving up on the idea and running full speed to your staircase, dashing down three flights of stairs and busting out of the double doorway to the outside,
barrelling straight into the arms of your boyfriend, hovering above the ground waiting for you with a big smile
You heaved for air between sobs as you clutched him tight, moving with him as he let his soles hit the ground
"I got you, i'm home" He whispered, cradling your head in his hands, his arms fully enveloping you
You cried like a baby for longer than you thought you could, and when you finally had no more tears you cry, you kissed him.
It was desperate, and it was harsh, and it was everything you'd been aching for since this time LAST YEAR
he held you like your skin was paper, like you might fall apart if he held you too tight
that was okay with you, you'd just hold him even tighter
"I hope you didn't miss me too much," he muttered sheepishly
Synopsis: The virus that took millions was gone, the empire's glorious days were gone, the claws of the disease running through his veins were gone, his father was gone among the corpses before his eyes...but the memories he had with you were not gone.
!!Words Count 1,9k!!
!!Warnings: Entirely flashback-based and centered on angst, reader gg, gender is not specified. Angst isn't really my thing,I'm just good at imagining scenarios!!
That familiar bottle. When Nolan saw that damned familiar liquid, he stepped back as if he would be attacked the moment he took another step forward. His gaze shattered with horror, disbelief and helplessness. His brows, like his eyes curled upward in pain. It couldn't be real, this wasn"t it. But his heart, aware of the truth, reflected that pain in his voice as well, "What?..what is that?*
Unaware of the terrible fracture he was living through, that voice introduced the curse he knew all too well down to his veins. "The Scourge Virus."
The sheer lack of emotion in that voice made something inside Nolan break even further. He moved closer to the virus behind the protective glass, that horror on his face…that fracture—he didn' even care about his reflection in the glass. Not now. Not after seeing this damned thing again after so many centuries. He wanted to steady his breathing, to find a logical explanation in his mind but no—he couldn't contain himself. "But improved…how?" How had that virus, the one that took everything from him in ways he couldn't even begin to imagine, advanced this far…
Instead of the fragility in his voice reflecting onto his body, the anger tightening his body held him rigid. "How do you have this?" His words carried nothing but the promise of a great disaster. His body was stretched tight, like a thread about to snap.
And despite all of that, that bastard behind him remained so calm, so at ease. Those damned words spilling from his mouth…"Because I was the one who created it." He lunged as if he could grab the man by the throat in a single motion and choke those cursed words back into his mouth. "You…" As he tightened his grip around his throat as if he wanted to tear him apart, the words still slipped from his lips, unwilling to believe. Yet that voice sharp with pain broke toward the end.
"You…" the younger version of those same hands had also wrapped around that pale neck, meant to finish it. But… "Do you know…what you did?" His eyes began to vein over as if they carried every layer of pain. Did he know what he had made him do… "How many suffered and died." What he had made you do…what he had put you through…
How could he ever forget the sensation of that blood bursting from his hand onto his face. For the rest of his life, it made him feel dirty, those stained spots he could never forget no matter how much he scrubbed.
He still clearly remembers the cold shower he took right after he was stained by your blood…
With ragged breaths as if he were drowning, he dragged that oxygen into his lungs and under the cold water his muscles moved with a slowness that lagged behind time. His left hand went to his right bicep, trying to scrape the crimson liquid running with the water off his body. As his hands scrubbed the same spot over and over, they moved upward. His hand settled on his shoulders then his neck. With dull shrunken eyes he watched the pink water flowing around his bare feet. That shade the same color as the lips you had before the disease ever touched you. As if it had taken you with it, it slipped away down the drains.
Nolan choked on the breath he took, his body tensing as if struck hard, his back collapsing even further. He tightened his fingers around his neck. Just like he did to you, he squeezed his own throat. To die…
He only wanted to die. As he cut off his own breath, leaving marks on his neck, he tightened his grip even more. He should break it. No—he should choke in the most painful way, he didn't deserve a quick death. With his trembling face, beginning to bruise, he kept mercilessly strangling himself under the water. It had to end, it had to end, but…his parted lips trembled from the lack of air.
As his face twisted with helplessness, his eyes quickly filled and overflowed. But…he didn’t want to forget how you turned against the cold wind blinking your lashes, how every strand of your hair was brushed by nature. With the last oxygen reaching his brain that moment flashed, and when he saw those soft eyes again meeting his with a calm yet deeply affected gaze, he let out a harsh gasp, tearing his hand from his throat as he collapsed to the ground.
"It's quite a beautiful planet isn't it, Nolan?" Just like you were never aware of your own beauty, you were praising something else again. That warm voice faintly remembered from his past, made it feel as if it was truly soothing his trembling back right now. "Y/n…" the words that slipped from his lips as he cried felt just as vivid as the your name he had once taken so carelessly that day.
"Y/n," he narrowed his eyes slightly against the sun brushing his face as he walked toward the hill, "we came here to conquer, not to admire." those bluetoned eyes of his were shining more than usual. But it couldn't be said whether it was because of the sun or the dreamlike view in front of him.
With that sigh that always stirred a strange ache inside him, you tilted your head slightly your lips flattening as you looked at the sulk on his face. The same experiences, close ages, similar moments and yet the same odd differences. Nolan still remembered, in the most jarring way that he had felt things he wasn't supposed to feel. That day had felt like the end of his life; he didn't know what to do with those feelings inside him…but now.
"Still we can give them a chance to bow down." With those words a warm smile formed on your face, outshining the sun hitting from behind you. "Really?"
"Really."
He would do anything to keep these feelings alive. He always told himself that. In every moment his eyes met yours, he made that promise to himself. He would protect, not destroy; he would let live, not kill; and…
"I love you…" The way you looked into his eyes waiting for an answer, was a memory he was unfortunately beginning to forget. He would love. He had even forgotten those eyes he was supposed to love until the very end. He was a complete disappointment. What color were your eyes? Did they rival the rich brown of the lands from your first mission, or the green of nature that seemed to leave a kiss everywhere it touched? Perhaps…were your eyes ever similar at all? What those shades reminded him of was hard to put into words. How could the mind be so treacherous.
Those hands drenched in blood every time after you…the way he looked at his palms with regret and helplessness with Mark's words. The same shade again…the same warmth. No, they weren't the same. The warmth that spread across your face when he held you was softer. It was full of tenderness, like your eyes. Those eyes that carried that same gentleness, the ones he could never get enough of kissing your eyelids…
18…someone had step that age again. The son who carried him back to a love he thought he could never feel again. His son. My first son. The son you had dreamed of, the one you never got to have. But he never came. You were 18 too—how could he forget the way you stepped into adulthood? But you never moved on to the next. "What's 17 more years? I can always start again.." Yet…what was 17 years, really? Those 17 years were everything to him. He had carried you through those 17 years. Every single day. Every heartbeat, every breath he stole from your lips. As he looked down at Mark beneath him his fists tightened and his heart grew heavier.
"What will you have after 500 years, Mark?!" The words he spat out in anger were tearing open the wound in his own heart that had begun to fade into oblivion.
After all those years, all that time and you were still 18. And he…
He was at numbers he no longer even bothered to count. Numbers…millions dead, countless bodies he had left to the void. They were all just numbers. Just as his eyes softened at the sight of his father's corpse, they turned just as cold when they shifted to you the one holding his father. You had stood against that virus with him, clinging tightly to his hand among all that was lost. And he…he had added the hand holding him to that pile of numbers as well.
Every time he opened his eyes, the gentle gaze that once greeted him yours had been replaced by Debbie, sleeping peacefully. He loved her too. But could he even say that to you…if he loved Debbie, then what were you? His eyes fall with his thoughts.
What were you really. "A distraction. Don't let it defeat you, soldier." with Grand Regent's words, he finally moved from where he had been frozen. Leaving behind the expectations fixed on him he walked forward. You had always been a distraction—he repeated it to himself with every step he took. If only he had left it at that. If only he hadn't said it out loud. If only…he hadn't seen your eyes, growing within that pure heartbreak on your face.
You were a traitor. And the end of traitors was always the same,you were no exception. As his hand gripped your throat, squeezing your flesh mercilessly, he watched your struggle with anger. He was trying to giving you the most painless death he could, why were you resisting? Wasn't the pain and disappointment you caused him enough? "Filthy dog. I should have gotten rid of you from the beginning." you looked at him with eyes swelling from lack of air. It was the unfamiliarity in those eyes that had stopped him from doing what he should have done from the very start.
Never. You were the one who reached out a hand that had never been offered to him. Again with the sun behind you, there was a worried expression on your face. Back then when he was still child, he could never have imagined that this feeling would exist anywhere outside his own inner world. His eyes widened in shock, parting just like his lips. And ironically, the hand he should have made kneel and then killed, was being offered to him by a Viltrumite without a moment of hesitation. "You did your best," as you extended your free hand even further, "we can continue later, what do you say?" He should have killed you, should have taken the opportunity and erased your mistake the way they had been taught. And yet, as he swallowed with difficulty those thoughts moved down his throat—never to come back up again.
He hesitantly met your hand with his. It was warm. Like blood but reassuring. "Mhm…agreed." You pulled him up sharply. And he snapped your neck just as sharply. As your headless body drifted in the void of space, your bruised darkened face moved in the opposite direction. That face he never remembered again…it didn't even haunt his nightmares anymore. You were simply gone. As if you had chosen to punish him along with life itself.
He ended, believing you were the traitor who created the virus, while you left thinking those horrible words were true. Completely. Believing he no longer loved you. If only both of you had known the truth.
Synopsis: There are so many Viltrumites, they never end but those who leave...never come back.
!!Warnings & A.n: Genderneutral reader, just a little sad and full of angst? or just a melancholic piece idk, flashbacks and Mark getting beaten up. Nolan is a complete bastard, violence, harsh words, Nolan's mother, the reader is considered defective as a Viltrumite but the reason they've been allowed to survive this long is because they're strong!!
"Oh come on Nolan, look at this!" He shot an exhausted glance at the meaningless chain-like object you were excitedly waving in your hand. They were remnants of a civilization you had just completely wiped out. Or rather, that he had wiped out. Not you. As always, you hadn't done a damn thing. The only thing you did was pretend to fight as best as you could while avoiding killing anyone. And Nolan had watched all of it, down to the very second, with those ice-cold eyes of his.
The planet you stood on was now completely silent, covered in smoke. The smell of blood lingered everywhere—just like Nolan's hand gripping your collar with brutal force. He yanked you right up to his face, his nose wrinkling in clear irritation. "Stop avoiding your orders. If you keep this up I'll break your legs, do you hear me?"
Still holding the chain, you instinctively grabbed his wrist with both hands. "Whoa calm down, man. I didn't step outside the mission. I fought our enemies-" He let out a sharp, almost mocking breath through his nose. "Fought?"
He shoved you harshly, watching you stagger back. "You didn't kill a single one." Those ice-reflecting eyes shifted down to your hands. Your spotless hands. "Not a single trace of blood."
For a moment, you didn’t know what to say, your lips nearly pressing together before a response came to mind. "Yeah but you-"
As the massive spaceship merged with the others and set course for the homeworld, Nolan found you without difficulty. You were leaning against the cages of the newly captured species—those they had taken to enslave—watching them with curiosity as they shrank back into the furthest corners, burying themselves in darkness out of fear, you didn't even care. You ignored the one glaring at you harshly with his arms crossed. As always, his tone carried that same authority.
Before you could finish, Nolan flicked his hand through the air in one swift motion, completely shaking off the blood. The splattered remains landed straight onto your clean uniform. He turned his back on you and walked away without a care. You let out a quiet sigh, looking down at the blood staining your uniform. You were about to close your eyes and clench your fist around it when the chain in your hand caught your attention again. And then—that crooked grin spread across your face. Your mind, however, was already moving faster than that.
Catching up to Nolan as he flew toward the ship, you planted your feet on his back and smacked his ass with the chain in your hand. "Faster, old man." That was it, even if you didn't live past this moment, it would've been worth it. Despite you being on top of him, Nolan twisted his body mid-air, trying to grab your leg but you were quicker. With everything you had, you shot forward at full speed and made it to the ship. He was so done with you…
"You need to get your behavior in order. You're about to become an adult, yet you're still continuing your same stupidity." He waited for you to turn, to at least show you were listening—or to respond. He got neither. "I'm talking to you, Y/n!" With a sharpness that matched his hardened brows, he grabbed your shoulder and turned you toward him.
When your tired, indifferent gaze met his, it only made him angrier. His other hand came up to grip your other shoulder.
"Damn it, for once just listen to me!" You broke eye contact, looking off to the side and he followed your movement, tilting his head to force himself back into your line of sight. "Stop acting like I want what's bad for you."
Finally you looked him straight in the eyes—mirroring his anger. You shoved his arms away, breaking free from his grip. "Oh so you definitely want what’s best for me, right? Ah great Nolan—of course I should listen to you and crush everything I get my hands on like trash under my feet!" You pointed at him accusingly.
"Stop pretending you care about what's good for me, Nolan! All you want is for me to become an emotionless bastard like you—" Before you could finish, he suddenly grabbed your finger harshly, twisting your wrist and drove a punch straight into your stomach. Your back slammed hard against the metal bars of the cage, and the creature inside shrank even further in fear. The space filled with the terrified whimpers and cries of the prisoners trapped in the cages. Clutching your stomach, you tried to straighten up, Nolan slammed your hand hard against the metal beside you. You forced yourself to stand upright, meeting his furious gaze with one of your own. "Watch what you say, or I'll break your limbs and leave you on the next planet."
When you arrived on the planet, the two of you didn't speak again. In a society like this, constantly interacting wasn't the norm anyway. Still it felt strange. You were usually the one who sought Nolan out, clinging tightly to that sibling bond no one else cared about. Especially for Nolan, it was strange. After finishing the lesson he gave to the children, he didn't leave. He stayed—waiting, holding onto the hope of the future. It had been almost a week and a half like this. Not once had you appeared on his radar. "Did I push too far…" The thought slipped out, laced with regret. His eyes scanned every person flying overhead with sharp focus, hoping one of them might be you. He lingered there until the end of the day, afraid that you might come and he'd somehow miss it. But just like the days before—you didn't come.
"I hate you…" Nolan's brows furrowed even deeper—not out of anger, but because those words actually hurt him. "You're free to do that," he said, finally letting go and stepping away from you.
"After all, you're the only one who cares about things like that." He threw the words over his shoulder as he walked off.
Not wanting to just end the night by going straight to bed, he decided to wander around—and maybe, just maybe this would end up being the best decision Nolan had ever made in his life.
It all started when he heard a pained voice in the distance. There was no doubt—it was yours, it couldn't be anyone else's. Without thinking he moved toward the sound. The moment he saw the man on top of you, strangling you as if trying to crush your consciousness, he threw a punch that could've cracked his skull without hesitation. He sent the man flying away with him, not giving him even a chance to resist before landing another blow. That familiar anger, the one that surfaced every time he resorted to violence—had already taken over his face.
A short distance away, as Nolan reduced the man into nothing but a battered mess you tried to steady your breathing. You had been so sure you were going to die…running into someone who shared the same dark state of mind as you hadn't led to anything good. You drew in a deep breath, looking up at the sky filled with dark stars. As you exhaled, you turned your head slightly and watched Nolan, still unleashing his rage onto the man.
It felt…strange.
Watching that anger exist—not because of you, but for you…was something you weren't used to. The way Nolan's anger surfaced like this for you—and how he didn't hesitate for a second before unleashing it on that man…or maybe the source of his anger was something else entirely. Maybe this moment was just an excuse, an opportunity for him to vent it out. Pushing yourself up on your elbows, you grimaced as your throat—most likely badly crushed—ached sharply. It felt like his hands were still on you, like you could almost picture where and how the bruises had already formed. As you stood, you staggered for a brief second before dragging your feet toward Nolan. When you finally saw him clearly—his once spotless clothes and that familiar, anger-filled face—you were met with nothing but blood covering him. You looked at the man he was still punching. Most likely already dead, yet his body still twitched with spasms. The face you thought you’d see in your final moments…was now nothing more than a mangled mess of flesh.
Unrecognizable.
"Nolan stop." Despite the pain in your throat, your words came out—but fell on deaf ears. You immediately grabbed his shoulder and forcefully turned toward you. "Nolan that's enough." your voice sounded hoarse, awful—you fought not to grimace at the sound of it yourself.
He stared at you as if you were something caught on the radar of a massive enemy ship. For a moment, you expected him to attack you too—to eliminate you, the one he had always despised, the one he called a failure. But instead…all you got were his eyes—the kind that showed Nolan had finally calmed down. Nolan glanced around as if trying to assess the situation. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and when he opened them again, he was already standing. He gave you a short look. "Follow me." Even though the sharpness in his gaze had faded, it still lingered in his voice—and you didn't want to make your unusually calm, blood-covered brother repeat himself. As Nolan shot off into the air with a sudden burst, you followed after him not even sparing a glance at what you left behind.
It didn't take long to realize you had arrived at the infirmary. Landing after Nolan, you stepped inside. Like most of the time, it was silent and empty—the Viltrumite mentality had clearly conquered this place too, without a single word. "Sit." at the clear command, you sat down on the stretcher, watching as Nolan found a roll of bandages on the counter. As he grabbed a pair of scissors from a drawer and approached you, you reached out your hand. "I can do it-" You were cut off sharply.
"Shut up, you're annoying. And stop talking with that awful voice." Instead of asking you to lift your head, he tapped your forehead with the back of his hand,forcing your head back. You let out a small grunt at the impact,how rough. As he began wrapping the bandage around your throat, your eyes stayed fixed on his face.
Nolan…your brother was treating you kindly? Well in a way...you guessed it could be called that.
You bit down on your lips, lost in your own thoughts and averted your gaze. Nolan, sensing your eyes drifting away, turned his toward you. As always, you kept getting hurt. You were incompetent. And definitely stupid—he was certain that your stupidity was exactly what had gotten you into that situation.
As he looked at the ruined body lying on the ground, his eyes blinked rapidly, as if trying to erase the memories. His bloodshot gaze shifted to his son. To Mark. His son, barely breathing. "Why won't you try to understand me…"
He was stupid too. Just like you. And as if history was nothing but repetition, he had done to his own son the very things he had once witnessed being done to you. The tear rolling down his son's cheek—followed by those words that stabbed straight into his heart—dug up the wounds of the past. "I still have you…"
"…brother." You tried to push yourself up from the ground, struggling to find strength in your knees but he didn't move. He simply stood there hands clasped behind his back, watching. Watching as, before you could even fully rise, a kick was driven into your face sending you crashing back down. You deserved it, you deserved it—he repeated it to himself, just as your mother had while she beat you mercilessly. He watched in silence—your ragged breaths, and your mother stomping you over and over again, as if she could erase you from existence that way.
Your mother was ruthless—both you and Nolan knew that. Even though you had different fathers, you were both subjected to her hatred. More than anything in this life, it felt like she hated you. Neither you nor Nolan had reached adulthood yet,thankfully. Still between the two of you, he was the one who got beaten the most. While Nolan faced your mother every single time—his mind and body rejecting even the idea of running away in disgust, you ran. You ran from everything, flying faster than both your parents combined. Of course, with those mocking remarks of yours. You always told him, "That's the fun part."
His gaze dropped to the bloodied molar that had bounced and landed near his feet. It shouldn't have affected him. It would grow back no matter what. So why did it feel like this could kill you—why were those awful feelings inside him growing like that? He clenched his hands tighter. The unease made it hard for him to even breathe through his nose. He shouldn't be worried—even if you died. If you died…then you didn't deserve life in the first place.
"You disgust me! I hate you,everything about you. How did I ever give birth to such a disgrace?!" your mother spat out nothing but venom as she leaned over you, punching your face over and over in the same spot. You, on the other hand, were on the verge of blacking out. You had already stopped trying to block the blows coming at you.
Being in this state right now…was his fault. You had made a mistake—and he had gone and told your mother. Maybe you'd learn your lesson, maybe you'd receive a proper punishment…because if it had been anyone else you went to, they would've taken your head off immediately for being a traitor. He had thought this was the right decision for you. What a mistake. As he told mother everything, he watched far too late to change anything—the way her nose wrinkled in disgust, the way her brows furrowed with pure hatred. The realization came with a crushing tension, settling in too late.
You were fucked. And there wasn't even his own father to stop your mother. Your father didn't even care about your existence. The only person you had ever been close to in this life was Nolan—and he was the one who had put you in this situation. There was no one to save you from your mother's wrath. As the sound of your blood and flesh being crushed continued to fill the air, his eyes searched around desperately—hoping, just hoping to see his father. But there was no one.
He squeezed his eyes shut as his regret kept growing. His head tilted slightly to the side, as if that small movement could silence the horrific sounds reaching his ears. When he opened his eyes again, he didn't even look at Mark—he shot up into the sky, disappearing in an instant. Just to hide the tears welling in his eyes like a secret. As he flew into solitude, the blood on his hands sublimated away from the sheer speed of breaking through the atmosphere.
Just like how your mother, once her rage subsided, left without a single word—Nolan still didn't move to come to you. Even though his eyes reflected a mess of emotions, his body remained rigid. You didn't even try to look at his stiff, soldier-like stance. Your face was unrecognizable anyway—and yet as if there was still something pushing you forward, you forced yourself to stand up.
He expected you to look at him, to say something, to cry. None of it happened. There wasn't a single tear in your eyes—not like his, not like Mark's. Your gaze stayed low, as if your eyelids were still closed, fixed on the ground. Even when you stood up, you didn't spare Nolan a single glance. Not even out of disappointment. No. Without showing anything at all, you suddenly shot up into the sky and left.
And he didn't even try to follow you. He just stood there…and watched you go.
Just like Nolan was doing now. He had lived for thousands of years with the regret of that day. He searched for you everywhere with that regret—but he never found you. And now, once again he was leaving the world with nothing but that same regret. Just like how you had left your homeworld that day. He wondered…were you still alive or had you fallen victim to that virus—the one that became the end of your kind, the one that ravaged your planet?
He never understood the belief in gods on earth,but one day he still sat down and prayed—to whoever might be listening. Hoping, just hoping… that you had never caught that virus. Even so, the pain inside him never faded. The agony of never being able to see you again ran through his veins with every breath, tightening around his heart. When he was struck by the Scourge Virus and left bedridden, the only thing he could think about…was you.
His one and only sibling—the one he would never have again.
This doesn't concern me but you should absolutely go show your siblings some love. Unfortunately we don't realize the value of what we have until a moment comes.
Synopsis: There are so many Viltrumites, they never end but those who leave...never come back.
!!Warnings & A.n: Genderneutral reader, just a little sad and full of angst? or just a melancholic piece idk, flashbacks and Mark getting beaten up. Nolan is a complete bastard, violence, harsh words, Nolan's mother, the reader is considered defective as a Viltrumite but the reason they've been allowed to survive this long is because they're strong!!
"Oh come on Nolan, look at this!" He shot an exhausted glance at the meaningless chain-like object you were excitedly waving in your hand. They were remnants of a civilization you had just completely wiped out. Or rather, that he had wiped out. Not you. As always, you hadn't done a damn thing. The only thing you did was pretend to fight as best as you could while avoiding killing anyone. And Nolan had watched all of it, down to the very second, with those ice-cold eyes of his.
The planet you stood on was now completely silent, covered in smoke. The smell of blood lingered everywhere—just like Nolan's hand gripping your collar with brutal force. He yanked you right up to his face, his nose wrinkling in clear irritation. "Stop avoiding your orders. If you keep this up I'll break your legs, do you hear me?"
Still holding the chain, you instinctively grabbed his wrist with both hands. "Whoa calm down, man. I didn't step outside the mission. I fought our enemies-" He let out a sharp, almost mocking breath through his nose. "Fought?"
He shoved you harshly, watching you stagger back. "You didn't kill a single one." Those ice-reflecting eyes shifted down to your hands. Your spotless hands. "Not a single trace of blood."
For a moment, you didn’t know what to say, your lips nearly pressing together before a response came to mind. "Yeah but you-"
As the massive spaceship merged with the others and set course for the homeworld, Nolan found you without difficulty. You were leaning against the cages of the newly captured species—those they had taken to enslave—watching them with curiosity as they shrank back into the furthest corners, burying themselves in darkness out of fear, you didn't even care. You ignored the one glaring at you harshly with his arms crossed. As always, his tone carried that same authority.
Before you could finish, Nolan flicked his hand through the air in one swift motion, completely shaking off the blood. The splattered remains landed straight onto your clean uniform. He turned his back on you and walked away without a care. You let out a quiet sigh, looking down at the blood staining your uniform. You were about to close your eyes and clench your fist around it when the chain in your hand caught your attention again. And then—that crooked grin spread across your face. Your mind, however, was already moving faster than that.
Catching up to Nolan as he flew toward the ship, you planted your feet on his back and smacked his ass with the chain in your hand. "Faster, old man." That was it, even if you didn't live past this moment, it would've been worth it. Despite you being on top of him, Nolan twisted his body mid-air, trying to grab your leg but you were quicker. With everything you had, you shot forward at full speed and made it to the ship. He was so done with you…
"You need to get your behavior in order. You're about to become an adult, yet you're still continuing your same stupidity." He waited for you to turn, to at least show you were listening—or to respond. He got neither. "I'm talking to you, Y/n!" With a sharpness that matched his hardened brows, he grabbed your shoulder and turned you toward him.
When your tired, indifferent gaze met his, it only made him angrier. His other hand came up to grip your other shoulder.
"Damn it, for once just listen to me!" You broke eye contact, looking off to the side and he followed your movement, tilting his head to force himself back into your line of sight. "Stop acting like I want what's bad for you."
Finally you looked him straight in the eyes—mirroring his anger. You shoved his arms away, breaking free from his grip. "Oh so you definitely want what’s best for me, right? Ah great Nolan—of course I should listen to you and crush everything I get my hands on like trash under my feet!" You pointed at him accusingly.
"Stop pretending you care about what's good for me, Nolan! All you want is for me to become an emotionless bastard like you—" Before you could finish, he suddenly grabbed your finger harshly, twisting your wrist and drove a punch straight into your stomach. Your back slammed hard against the metal bars of the cage, and the creature inside shrank even further in fear. The space filled with the terrified whimpers and cries of the prisoners trapped in the cages. Clutching your stomach, you tried to straighten up, Nolan slammed your hand hard against the metal beside you. You forced yourself to stand upright, meeting his furious gaze with one of your own. "Watch what you say, or I'll break your limbs and leave you on the next planet."
When you arrived on the planet, the two of you didn't speak again. In a society like this, constantly interacting wasn't the norm anyway. Still it felt strange. You were usually the one who sought Nolan out, clinging tightly to that sibling bond no one else cared about. Especially for Nolan, it was strange. After finishing the lesson he gave to the children, he didn't leave. He stayed—waiting, holding onto the hope of the future. It had been almost a week and a half like this. Not once had you appeared on his radar. "Did I push too far…" The thought slipped out, laced with regret. His eyes scanned every person flying overhead with sharp focus, hoping one of them might be you. He lingered there until the end of the day, afraid that you might come and he'd somehow miss it. But just like the days before—you didn't come.
"I hate you…" Nolan's brows furrowed even deeper—not out of anger, but because those words actually hurt him. "You're free to do that," he said, finally letting go and stepping away from you.
"After all, you're the only one who cares about things like that." He threw the words over his shoulder as he walked off.
Not wanting to just end the night by going straight to bed, he decided to wander around—and maybe, just maybe this would end up being the best decision Nolan had ever made in his life.
It all started when he heard a pained voice in the distance. There was no doubt—it was yours, it couldn't be anyone else's. Without thinking he moved toward the sound. The moment he saw the man on top of you, strangling you as if trying to crush your consciousness, he threw a punch that could've cracked his skull without hesitation. He sent the man flying away with him, not giving him even a chance to resist before landing another blow. That familiar anger, the one that surfaced every time he resorted to violence—had already taken over his face.
A short distance away, as Nolan reduced the man into nothing but a battered mess you tried to steady your breathing. You had been so sure you were going to die…running into someone who shared the same dark state of mind as you hadn't led to anything good. You drew in a deep breath, looking up at the sky filled with dark stars. As you exhaled, you turned your head slightly and watched Nolan, still unleashing his rage onto the man.
It felt…strange.
Watching that anger exist—not because of you, but for you…was something you weren't used to. The way Nolan's anger surfaced like this for you—and how he didn't hesitate for a second before unleashing it on that man…or maybe the source of his anger was something else entirely. Maybe this moment was just an excuse, an opportunity for him to vent it out. Pushing yourself up on your elbows, you grimaced as your throat—most likely badly crushed—ached sharply. It felt like his hands were still on you, like you could almost picture where and how the bruises had already formed. As you stood, you staggered for a brief second before dragging your feet toward Nolan. When you finally saw him clearly—his once spotless clothes and that familiar, anger-filled face—you were met with nothing but blood covering him. You looked at the man he was still punching. Most likely already dead, yet his body still twitched with spasms. The face you thought you’d see in your final moments…was now nothing more than a mangled mess of flesh.
Unrecognizable.
"Nolan stop." Despite the pain in your throat, your words came out—but fell on deaf ears. You immediately grabbed his shoulder and forcefully turned toward you. "Nolan that's enough." your voice sounded hoarse, awful—you fought not to grimace at the sound of it yourself.
He stared at you as if you were something caught on the radar of a massive enemy ship. For a moment, you expected him to attack you too—to eliminate you, the one he had always despised, the one he called a failure. But instead…all you got were his eyes—the kind that showed Nolan had finally calmed down. Nolan glanced around as if trying to assess the situation. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and when he opened them again, he was already standing. He gave you a short look. "Follow me." Even though the sharpness in his gaze had faded, it still lingered in his voice—and you didn't want to make your unusually calm, blood-covered brother repeat himself. As Nolan shot off into the air with a sudden burst, you followed after him not even sparing a glance at what you left behind.
It didn't take long to realize you had arrived at the infirmary. Landing after Nolan, you stepped inside. Like most of the time, it was silent and empty—the Viltrumite mentality had clearly conquered this place too, without a single word. "Sit." at the clear command, you sat down on the stretcher, watching as Nolan found a roll of bandages on the counter. As he grabbed a pair of scissors from a drawer and approached you, you reached out your hand. "I can do it-" You were cut off sharply.
"Shut up, you're annoying. And stop talking with that awful voice." Instead of asking you to lift your head, he tapped your forehead with the back of his hand,forcing your head back. You let out a small grunt at the impact,how rough. As he began wrapping the bandage around your throat, your eyes stayed fixed on his face.
Nolan…your brother was treating you kindly? Well in a way...you guessed it could be called that.
You bit down on your lips, lost in your own thoughts and averted your gaze. Nolan, sensing your eyes drifting away, turned his toward you. As always, you kept getting hurt. You were incompetent. And definitely stupid—he was certain that your stupidity was exactly what had gotten you into that situation.
As he looked at the ruined body lying on the ground, his eyes blinked rapidly, as if trying to erase the memories. His bloodshot gaze shifted to his son. To Mark. His son, barely breathing. "Why won't you try to understand me…"
He was stupid too. Just like you. And as if history was nothing but repetition, he had done to his own son the very things he had once witnessed being done to you. The tear rolling down his son's cheek—followed by those words that stabbed straight into his heart—dug up the wounds of the past. "I still have you…"
"…brother." You tried to push yourself up from the ground, struggling to find strength in your knees but he didn't move. He simply stood there hands clasped behind his back, watching. Watching as, before you could even fully rise, a kick was driven into your face sending you crashing back down. You deserved it, you deserved it—he repeated it to himself, just as your mother had while she beat you mercilessly. He watched in silence—your ragged breaths, and your mother stomping you over and over again, as if she could erase you from existence that way.
Your mother was ruthless—both you and Nolan knew that. Even though you had different fathers, you were both subjected to her hatred. More than anything in this life, it felt like she hated you. Neither you nor Nolan had reached adulthood yet,thankfully. Still between the two of you, he was the one who got beaten the most. While Nolan faced your mother every single time—his mind and body rejecting even the idea of running away in disgust, you ran. You ran from everything, flying faster than both your parents combined. Of course, with those mocking remarks of yours. You always told him, "That's the fun part."
His gaze dropped to the bloodied molar that had bounced and landed near his feet. It shouldn't have affected him. It would grow back no matter what. So why did it feel like this could kill you—why were those awful feelings inside him growing like that? He clenched his hands tighter. The unease made it hard for him to even breathe through his nose. He shouldn't be worried—even if you died. If you died…then you didn't deserve life in the first place.
"You disgust me! I hate you,everything about you. How did I ever give birth to such a disgrace?!" your mother spat out nothing but venom as she leaned over you, punching your face over and over in the same spot. You, on the other hand, were on the verge of blacking out. You had already stopped trying to block the blows coming at you.
Being in this state right now…was his fault. You had made a mistake—and he had gone and told your mother. Maybe you'd learn your lesson, maybe you'd receive a proper punishment…because if it had been anyone else you went to, they would've taken your head off immediately for being a traitor. He had thought this was the right decision for you. What a mistake. As he told mother everything, he watched far too late to change anything—the way her nose wrinkled in disgust, the way her brows furrowed with pure hatred. The realization came with a crushing tension, settling in too late.
You were fucked. And there wasn't even his own father to stop your mother. Your father didn't even care about your existence. The only person you had ever been close to in this life was Nolan—and he was the one who had put you in this situation. There was no one to save you from your mother's wrath. As the sound of your blood and flesh being crushed continued to fill the air, his eyes searched around desperately—hoping, just hoping to see his father. But there was no one.
He squeezed his eyes shut as his regret kept growing. His head tilted slightly to the side, as if that small movement could silence the horrific sounds reaching his ears. When he opened his eyes again, he didn't even look at Mark—he shot up into the sky, disappearing in an instant. Just to hide the tears welling in his eyes like a secret. As he flew into solitude, the blood on his hands sublimated away from the sheer speed of breaking through the atmosphere.
Just like how your mother, once her rage subsided, left without a single word—Nolan still didn't move to come to you. Even though his eyes reflected a mess of emotions, his body remained rigid. You didn't even try to look at his stiff, soldier-like stance. Your face was unrecognizable anyway—and yet as if there was still something pushing you forward, you forced yourself to stand up.
He expected you to look at him, to say something, to cry. None of it happened. There wasn't a single tear in your eyes—not like his, not like Mark's. Your gaze stayed low, as if your eyelids were still closed, fixed on the ground. Even when you stood up, you didn't spare Nolan a single glance. Not even out of disappointment. No. Without showing anything at all, you suddenly shot up into the sky and left.
And he didn't even try to follow you. He just stood there…and watched you go.
Just like Nolan was doing now. He had lived for thousands of years with the regret of that day. He searched for you everywhere with that regret—but he never found you. And now, once again he was leaving the world with nothing but that same regret. Just like how you had left your homeworld that day. He wondered…were you still alive or had you fallen victim to that virus—the one that became the end of your kind, the one that ravaged your planet?
He never understood the belief in gods on earth,but one day he still sat down and prayed—to whoever might be listening. Hoping, just hoping… that you had never caught that virus. Even so, the pain inside him never faded. The agony of never being able to see you again ran through his veins with every breath, tightening around his heart. When he was struck by the Scourge Virus and left bedridden, the only thing he could think about…was you.
His one and only sibling—the one he would never have again.
This doesn't concern me but you should absolutely go show your siblings some love. Unfortunately we don't realize the value of what we have until a moment comes.
authors note: Just something short I wanted to write. It's not really a fanfic, but more of a self insert of how I would appropriately react with some events in Twilight. Hope you enjoy!
synopsis: You don't have a filter, which is a good thing (yeah, fuck whoever disagrees) which means that you make your dislike for Bella Swan apparent. It's not because she's mean, quite the opposite, but because you find her survival instincts to be nonexistent.
You had been with the Cullens long enough to know one thing: your family was full of liars. Not malicious ones, just polite ones. Polite to a fault. Polite in the “let’s pretend we’re not all thinking the same thing” way.
Esme smiled through everything. Carlisle rationalized everything. Alice saw everything and said nothing. Emmett laughed everything off. Jasper avoided everything. Rosalie judged everything silently. But you? You said it out loud. So when Bella Swan moved down from Arizona, smelling like the world’s most tempting air freshener and staring at your family like you were her personal Netflix show, you did the only reasonable thing.
You stared back.
Hard.
Unblinking.
Like a cat who just realized the laser pointer might actually be alive.
Across the cafeteria, Bella froze, eyes widening as if she hadn’t expected you to notice the staring, which was insane because she’d been doing it for several days now. Edward elbowed you sharply under the table. “Stop that.”
“She started it.” You said, but gave Edward the pleasure of looking away and slouching deeper in your chair. “And why is she even staring at us? Do humans not know that eye contact means aggression? Or is this a regional problem? Maybe Arizona doesn’t have basic survival instincts.”
“(Y/N).” Edward hissed.
“I’m genuinely asking.”
Rosalie sighed like your existence personally offended her. “She’s curious, (Y/N). Humans get curious.”
“Curious about what? We sit here. We look pretty. We mind our undead business. It’s not like we’re juggling axes or sacrificing goats.”
“Alice suggested the axes once, remember?” Emmett said. “Carlisle said no.”
“And the goats?”
“Also no.”
“Tragic.”
Edward rubbed his temples. “Can everyone please behave? She’s not a threat.”
“Oh, I know she’s not a threat,” you said, stabbing at your boxed apple juice with unnecessary force. “She’s a walking liability. A hazard on legs. She radiates ‘about to trip and break something expensive’ energy.”
“She’s clumsy.” Jasper admitted diplomatically.
“Clumsy? Bro, clumsy is bumping into a chair. Bella looks like gravity filed a restraining order against her and it’s retaliating.”
Emmett choked on a laugh. Jasper pressed his lips together so hard they almost disappeared. Alice was openly beaming now, her chin propped in her hand like she was watching her favorite sitcom. Rosalie, for once, did not immediately scold you. She simply gave a slow, unimpressed blink that meant she agreed but refused to compliment you for it.
Bella's eyes drifted up again: straight to your table, straight to Edward, and then (unfortunately) straight to you. When your eyes met, you raised your brows, silently mouthing, "What are you looking at?" She jerked so hard that the cartoon of milk nearly spilled on the table.
Edward kicked your shin under the table. “Stop terrorizing her.”
You glared at him. “I’m not terrorizing her. I’m observing.”
“You’re glaring.”
“That was a neutral expression.”
“For a vampire about to commit a felony.” Rosalie supplied. You rolled your eyes and reached for your fork. Edward snatched it out of your hand instantly.
“What are you—?"
He hissed under his breath, “Your face looks like you’re about to throw it at her.”
You blinked, and paused to considered it. “Okay, fair. But give it back.”
“No. You don't need to frighten her anymore than you have.”
“I wasn't scaring her,” you said, though no one at the table believed you. “If anything, I’m preparing her. This is enrichment. Like zoo training.”
TIME SKIP
When Edward came home that afternoon, his expression was the exact mix of disgust and existential dread you usually associate with Rosalie encountering a crowded mall. He barely got through the door before you spoke. “What crawled up your ass and died?”
Edward dropped his bag with unnecessary dramatics. “I had Biology with her.”
You recoiled. “Oh my god. And, let me guess, she sat next to you?”
“Yes.”
You slapped a hand over your chest. “A tragedy. A violation. You poor thing.” Edward glared. You shrugged. "No actually, I get it. She smells like dessert to you, right? And instead of avoiding you like a human with basic survival instincts she's like, ‘Oh gee, let me sit beside the immortal bloodsucker and try to befriend him.’ That’s a choice. A stupid one.”
Edward groaned. “It took everything in me not to jump across the table and suck her dry."
You raised a brow. “So this is the part where you decide to stay away from her, right?” Edward didn’t answer. You slapped a hand over your eyes. “Oh no. You’re already obsessed, aren’t you?”
And obsessed he was.
Painfully. Horrifyingly. Criminally.
Two days later, he unknowingly let it slip—and by slip, you mean he confessed it like a man who had forgotten what shame was—that he’d been watching Bella sleep from inside her room like a total creep. It happened during another dramatic Edward Entry, where he appeared at the top of the stairs with that look. That haunted, dreamy, lovesick, vaguely murderous look.
“I’ve discovered something.” he murmured, descending the stairs like a gothic chandelier falling in slow motion.
“A personality?” He ignored you. That was mistake number one.
“She talks in her sleep.” Edward said, voice low and weirdly soft.
You blinked once. Twice. “…Excuse me?”
Edward paused, eyebrows lifting in mild confusion. “Bella. She—”
“—talks in her sleep,” you finished for him. “Yes. Yes, you just said that. My question is: how you know this?”
Emmett’s eyebrows shot up. Jasper straightened in his seat like someone had plugged him into an electrical socket. Rosalie turned her head slowly—very slowly—to glare at Edward, because although she disliked Bella with a passion, she wasn’t about to let her brother be a full blown psycho. Her eyes narrowed into lethal slits.
“Edward. Tell me you’re joking.”
He stiffened. “I—”
“No,” Rosalie snapped, cutting him off like a guillotine. “Don’t. Whatever you say next is going to make me want to hit you, and Carlisle will get mad when I break your jaw.”
Emmett raised a hand helpfully. “I can hold him down.”
Rosalie didn’t even look at him. “He wouldn’t fight back. He’d probably cry about it.”
Jasper’s voice was cautious, like he was approaching a wild animal. “Edward, please tell us how you discovered this?”
Hesitation.
A bad sign.
A very bad sign.
You leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Edward, where were you standing when she was sleep talking?”
“I wasn’t standing.” he said defensively.
Rosalie looked a heartbeat away from physical violence. “Okay, so you were sitting. Where? On a tree branch? Outside her window like a feral owl?"
He winced. “The rocking chair in her room.”
The room exploded.
Rosalie made a strangled, murderous noise. Jasper froze as if preparing emotionally for Edward’s funeral. Emmett dropped the remote and whispered, “Oh my god. You ARE a creep.” And you stood up so fast your chair skidded backward.
“EDWARD ANTHONY MASEN CULLEN!”
“Don’t use my full name—”
“You sat,” you repeated, stabbing each word into the air like a knife. “In the dark. In the corner. In a rocking chair. Watching a human girl as she slept like some sort of pale, sparkly sleep paralysis demon?"
Edward winced. “When you say it like that—”
“How ELSE am I supposed to say it?” you barked. “You violated every privacy law ever created! Even the unwritten ones! Humans don’t even LIKE when their pets stare at them while they sleep.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Oh my god,” Rosalie cut in, looking genuinely appalled. “I didn't think you could become even more of a loser than you were."
It was at that moment that Esme entered the room cheerfully, but then froze, noticing the tension. “What’s going on?”
You pointed at Edward with the dramatic fury of a soap opera character. “Oh, it's nothing. Just that your perfect golden boy here has been breaking into Bella Swan’s bedroom and WATCHING HER SLEEP!”
Esme blinked. Then blinked again. “Oh dear...”
Carlisle followed behind her, eyebrows rising. “Edward?”
Edward threw his hands up. “I was making sure she was safe!”
You gaped at him. “SAFE FROM WHAT, EDWARD?! NIGHTMARES? PILLOWS? HER OWN BREATHING?!”
Emmett nodded vigorously. “Bro, imagine waking up and seeing YOU in the corner. I’d yeet myself out the window.”
Jasper nodded. “So would I.”
Edward glared at all of you. “None of you understand—”
“OH TRUST ME,” you barked, “we understand PERFECTLY. You have lost your goddamn mind.”
Rosalie stepped closer, voice low. “If Bella finds out about this, she is going to pass out so fast she’ll crack her skull on her nightstand. And then YOU’LL have to explain to Charlie Swan why his daughter died of fright.”
Emmett held up a finger. “Which would be hilarious—”
Rosalie snapped, “Emmett!”
“—but bad.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Edward, listen carefully. Humans don’t LIKE being watched while unconscious. They tend to—oh, I don’t know—call the police!”
“That’s ridiculous.” Edward scoffed.
“Oh?” you asked sweetly. “And what would YOU do if a stranger sat in YOUR room at night?”
“I would know.” He said smugly.
“Yes,” you said dryly, “because you’re a vampire. Bella is a CHIHUAHUA with the durability of a breadstick.”
“Oh! Well EXCUSE ME,” you said dramatically. “Three encounters. That changes everything. Let’s book the wedding.”
Emmett raised a hand. “Dibs on best man.”
Rosalie hissed. “We are not planning a wedding for the girl he’s currently stalking.”
“I'm not—"
“STALKING!”
ANOTHER TIME SKIP
Edward really lived up to his creep status. Not even a week after stalking the poor girl, he took her into the woods and confirmed that yes, he sparkled like a disco ball in direct sunlight, yes, he was a vampire, and yes, the rest of his family were too. You nearly sprinted into the woods to find the largest tree trunk available, solely to beat him with it.
Rule #1 (if there was a handbook): DO NOT REVEAL YOUR STATUS TO HUMANS.
And what did Edward do? He broke it. Crushed it. Set it on fire. Ran it over with his stupid Volvo. And then? Then he had the audacity—the pure nerve—to invite the girl to your home. Your safe place. The one place you guys didn't need to hide. You met them in the kitchen alongside the rest of your family who were busy making Italiano.
Edward practically glowed with smugness. “So, this is Bella.”
You stared at her.
She stared back.
You blinked slowly, once, twice, like a warning system rebooting. “…Why is she here?”
Esme gasped softly. “(Y/N)!”
Bella flushed, shrinking in on herself. “I—I didn’t mean to intrude—”
“You’re not intruding.” Edward reassured her, giving Bella a soft smile like he hadn't done anything wrong.
You pointed a stiff, accusing finger at him. “Oh, she absolutely is intruding. What happened to subtlety? What happened to discretion? What happened to keeping our kind a secret?”
Bella blinked nervously. “I apologize if me knowing brought you guys any problems—”
You barked a laugh.
Not a cute laugh.
A deranged older sibling losing their patience laugh.
“Oh, sweetheart, you didn’t bring us any problems. He did.”
Edward’s jaw tightened. “(Y/N)—”
“No, no, do not ‘(Y/N)’ me,” you snapped, stepping forward. “Do you have any idea how many decades—DECADES—we’ve spent keeping a low profile? Do you know how many times I’ve had to dodge nosy humans, animal control, conspiracy theorists, and that one lady who swore Emmett was Bigfoot?”
Emmett yelled from behind the kitchen counter, “SHE TOOK A PICTURE OF ME EATING A GRANOLA BAR—WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?!”
You waved a dismissive hand. “Case in point.”
Bella’s eyes widened. “I—I didn’t know—”
“Of course you didn’t know,” you said. “And you shouldn’t have known anything. About any of us. Because Edward was supposed to handle this like a responsible adult. Instead, he took you to the forest like a dramatically depressed anime character and told you everything.”
Edward hissed, “It wasn’t like that—”
“Oh?” you said. “Did you or did you not ‘say it, out loud’ her into a supernatural TED Talk?” Edward opened his mouth. You didn’t let him finish. “Exactly, you dramatically confessed eternal damnation in a mossy forest like the world’s biggest theatre kid.”
At that moment, you heard the sound of a glass breaking and Jasper's slight cursing. You didn't need to be in the same room to know he looked like a man trying to balance a thousand knifes on his head while walking a tightrope over a pit of Bella-scented lava.
“Okay,” you muttered. “Time for intervention number twelve of the week.” You turned your back on the couple and stepped into the main living room where Jasper stood at the top of the staircase.
"Come on, bro." You said, grabbing him by the wrist and nudging him towards the back hallway where the exit was. "Let’s go take a long walk where no gremlins are messing with you."
Jasper gritted his teeth. “Thank you.”
Edward called out, annoyed, “We’re in the middle of a discussion—!”
You flipped him off without looking back. “Yeah? Well I’m in the middle of keeping your girlfriend alive. You’re welcome.”
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