ABOUT ME
Hi my name is Maressa, but you can call me Mar. I mainly write for fun and to better my English skills, because English is not my first language. I love reading books, making art and I also love One Piece and HxH.
I want my blog to be a safe space for everyone, so I will not tolerate any kind of discrimination or disrespect here! Keep it friendly please! 💕
Here I will let all the stories/mini series I have written so far. I own all of those and this is my only profile and account. I do not permit my works to be translated or reposted in any other platform.
First of all I would like to thank everyone who reached out and waited for me, grandma finally got out of the hospital!! Tho she had to amputate one of her fingers, everything is well and she is in good health now! I would also like to thank you guys, right now we reach the mark of 1031 followers, it fills my heart with joy to see that so many people like my writing! Thank you for not giving up on me, love you guys 🫵🏻🫵🏻💕💕💕
Synopsis: You’re a witch known for making love potions. They're fake. The reviews are real. Your track record? Immaculate. Until a duke walks in, covered in blood, and demands you reverse the spell you cast on him.
You didn't cast anything.
He doesn't care.
And now you live in his mansion.
Love Potion or Love at First Sight?
"Are you sure this is it?"
"Yes yes! This is the love potion. Now pay up or leave because I have other customers to attend to!"
You groan at the woman hesitating in front of you, wasting your time.
You're an infamous witch known in the black market for selling all types of spells and potions for a hefty sum.
Your most popular item? The love potion.
Which is actually just… an aphrodisiac.
But after selling 170 potions? You've only ever received positive reviews. All from noblewomen, lovestruck and happy with the results.
What can you say? You've always known men to be lustful creatures, barren from emotions. After selling a 170 with zero bad reviews? Your ideology is proven correct.
"Are you sure it works?" the woman whispers.
"100% customer satisfaction guaranteed!"
She still looks nervous.
"And if it doesn't work, you can come back and I'll give double your money back as refund."
The woman nods, pays with a pouch of gold coins, then leaves.
Another positive review, you think to yourself confidently, already marking this as your 171st success.
…
You just didn’t expect your first bad review to appear right in front of your face.
The door slams open.
A man stands in your doorway. With black hair and red eyes; blood plastered across his face, clothes, and most importantly his sword.
"So," The bloody man starts, one hand going up to wipe some blood off his face. “You're the witch selling cheap love elixirs all over the market?”
You don’t answer, your hand sliding toward the defense charm under your counter instead.
Because this wasn’t just any man, this was the war-crazed duke feared by all of society.
"You better pay for this."
…Guess you'll be closing the shop for a while.
___________
And… you've been working at his mansion ever since.
Tasked with reversing whatever spell you supposedly casted on him. Despite all your protests, swearing up and down that you never did anything.
He doesn't believe you.
He won't believe you.
Because how else do you explain what he felt when he walked into your shop? That made his sword hand waver and his heart stutter, and his threats turn into something softer?
Obviously, you’ve cursed him. There was no need to investigate this any further, nor did he feel the need to tell you about all these symptoms.
So now you're stuck in a massive estate with a madman who thinks you cursed him, brewing antidote after antidote, watching nothing work.
You could only curse that woman, muttering bitter insults under your breath.
The one who bought the potion and slipped it to him. The one who left you with this mess and then promptly left this world, if the blood on his sword was any indication.
Damn her.
What the hell did she see in this man anyway?
Because here's the thing you're learning, piece by piece. The duke? He's not just some nobleman. He's the nobleman. The one everyone whispers about, who keeps a dungeon beneath the east wing and a graveyard in the west garden. (Allegedly.)
The madman of high society.
If only you'd known he was the target that woman was after, you would've never sold her that potion. Never agreed to the commission or opened your stupid mouth about the satisfaction guarantee!!
But you didn't know.
And now you're stuck with the aftermath…
___________
At first, the madman kept you confined to a workspace somewhere within the mansion.
Close enough to monitor. Far enough to ignore.
Then, he started calling for you more often. Checking on your progress. Standing just a little too close while you worked. Watching you with scrutinizing red eyes.
And then, he started sticking around you 24/7, following you from room to room like some clingy puppy who couldn't bear for you to leave his sight.
Even that wasn’t enough. At some point, you stopped being assigned a room at all.
Wherever he was… that became your workspace.
You’d turn around and he’d be there.
In the doorway. Behind you. Leaning against the wall like he’d been there the whole time.
Like he had nowhere else to be. Don’t dukes have better things to do? Go tend to your paperwork or something!!
Through it all, he's never kind. Still angry, demanding, and barking orders about reversing the damn spell.
But he never hurts you.
His threats are loud. And his hands are rough, just like his voice that could shatter glass.
But you've started to notice something.
He always stops. It’s all bark but no bite…
And it becomes a routine.
You work. He watches. You brew. He hovers. You try to leave. He blocks the door.
At some point, he has you working in his bedroom.
No, like, actually. He stooped to this level of stupidity, needing allowing you to stay in his chambers at night.
He's sleeping on the bed and you have to sit beside him. On the floor. With your books and your herbs and your constantly dying patience.
You don't know when this became normal.
You hate that it feels normal.
__________
Tonight, you try to get up.
His hand immediately shoots out to grab your wrist.
"Where do you think you're going?"
You don't flinch anymore. The first few times, you did. Now? You just sigh.
"I'm trying to study for a reverse spell. Or a cure. For you, remember?"
"Stay."
His voice is flat. Unreasonable. Like he's not even considering the possibility of you leaving.
"I can't work if I'm stuck by your side, Your Grace."
"Leave and I'll rip your throat out."
You've heard this before. It had you frozen and crying the first few times, but then you realized…
He never follows through.
Not with you.
"Your Grace," you say, calm as anything, "you can't do that. Who will reverse your spell if not the caster?"
His jaw tightens, though the grip on your wrist doesn't loosen.
But he knows you're right.
He's quiet for a long moment, thinking. And you can see the exact second he shifts tactics.
"Then I'll slit the throats of all the guards outside who allow you to leave this room."
"…I'm sat."
You sit back down on the floor. Head leaning against the bed where his hand lingers limbly. Sometimes brushing your hair unconsciously, like it was to make sure you were still there.
And you work on the spell in his chambers all night long. Barely getting a blink of sleep.
He, on the other hand?
Dead to the world.
The madman who threatened to rip your throat out twenty minutes ago is now curled up on his ridiculous silk sheets, snoring softly.
His face is slack and peaceful. Innocent in a way that makes you want to throw a pillow at his head.
You've noticed this before. The way his eyes get heavy when you're nearby, how his shoulders drop when you enter the room. And the way his threats get lazier the longer you stay.
At first, you thought it was the potion's side effects.
Now you're starting to think he just… can't sleep without you.
Which is not your problem. You didn't sign up to be a nobleman's sleeping charm. You're a witch. A busy one! One who is currently being held against her will in a mansion that smells too much like old money and fresh blood.
And yet… Here you are, watching him sleep.
Because if you move, he wakes up. And if he wakes up, he gets grumpy. And if he gets grumpy, he threatens to kill someone.
Usually the guards.
You've started to feel kind of bad for the guards.
"I hope you wake up with a stiff neck," you mutter, dipping your quill in ink. "I hope you stub your toes when you wake up. I hope your breakfast is cold and your tea is bitter and your horse steps on your foot."
His lips curl up softly. Like you're singing him a lullaby.
Your quill scratches to a halt.
"…I hope you dream about spiders," you try, weaker this time.
His smile deepens.
He doesn't wake up. He just… rests. Still peaceful and content. Like your curses are the sweetest words he's ever heard.
You stare at him.
Then you look down at your notes, page full of failed antidotes and useless counter-spells. A truth you’ve been avoiding for a while manifests to the surface of your mind once again.
Nothing is wrong with him.
The potion didn't work.
He's just like this.
You set down the quill to press your palms to your eyes.
And wonder, for the thousandth time, what in the hell you did to deserve this.
Maybe its time you suggest a psychiatrist.
___________
Little did both of you know.
The potion didn't work on him.
It never could have. Years of assassination attempts had made his body resistant to poisons, potions, drugs… Basically anything ingested.
The drink that woman slipped him? It passed through his system like water. Barely a flicker of discomfort, a vague pulling in his chest that he dismissed as irritation.
He came to your shop that day ready to kill the witch who made it.
Not because the potion had affected him. But because he was annoyed.
Someone had tried to enchant him. Someone had failed. And he wanted to make an example of the person responsible.
Until he saw you.
And something in his chest pulled again.
Not the potion, that was already gone.
Something else he didn’t have a name for.
He still doesn't have a name for it. He calls it a curse. A spell. Your fault.
…
It's not.
He was just love-struck at first sight.
And he's been falling harder and harder with each day that passes.
Deep in his sleep, one thought surfaces in his mind.
I would like to say that I might lay low for a while, I thought my grandma would recover soon, but now she had been admitted to the hospital again with a suspected stroke. I’m not sure when I’ll update again, I’m sorry!
summary: Your life collapses like a volleyball hitting the ground. With no one to help you, you must attempt to bounce back and keep fighting to win the set.
pairings: platonic!Batfam x gn!neglected!reader; Haikyu x reader
word count: 2.8K
cw: as always in these neglected fics, mother dies and life is awful! Tragic backstory ahead, so beware!!
a/n: yum a new series!! I’m sick as hell, genuinely dying, so it’s clearly the perfect time to take up a new series!! This is a Haikyu crossover because I freaking love Haikyu and this idea hit me in the middle of the night so yippee. Also, I began my internship (holy moly I’m an unpaid intern) and it is trying to murder me. Fuck bureaucracy. I hope you guys enjoy this lovely crossover, though!
Masterlist
The ball is something unattainable, yet in most dreams, you reach for it nonetheless, the tips of your fingers barely grazing the surface before gravity drags both of you back down. You always wake up in a cold sweat and grief on your tongue afterwords, the rubber of the ball a faint ghost of what was and never will be again. Innocence lost to time, mourning tainting the best of memories.
The great [Mother] [Last Name], rising lawyer and single mother of two – including yourself – died in an instant in a car crash. The driver hadn’t even been drunk, just distracted enough to slam into the driver’s side of your mother’s car while she had been driving back from work. An inevitable tragedy, or an unfortunate accident – it didn’t matter to you, your guardian was dead either way.
You moved in with your grandfather soon after.
Your older sister despised it; the isolated nature of nature of his home in the countryside – the bugs, the nature, the morning dew. However, you adored it, and most of all, you adored your grandpa. He taught you patience, routine, how to enjoy the silence. He gave you your love for volleyball – afternoons spent in the overgrown yard with his voice guiding you on how to properly manipulate the ball. Your grandpa taught you that the best things come from hard work and consistency, and that just because gravity applies its strength on you and the ball, it didn’t mean you had to let either fall.
With no deep relationship formed with your grandfather, your sister moved out soon enough. “Onto better things and back to civilization,” she had claimed, but you had grown fond of the slow nature of the countryside, of the cicadas, the warmth of the sun on the back of your neck and the weight of a volleyball in your hands. Everything was perfect – until your grandpa got sick.
For a while, your life consisted of a carefully crafted routine you had prepared to take care of your elderly grandfather. Tea in the morning before school, a calendar of medicine to take with the corresponding times, calls with medical specialists speaking in jargon you didn’t understand, alarms, reminders, tables covered with prescriptions and half-full pill bottles.
At first, your sister took up the responsibility of taking the calls, dropping the prescribed medication off at your grandfather’s house in the countryside. She would pay for it, in spite of her little fondness for his home – he was still your grandpa, still family, even if she tried to deny it. Then, she got busy, and it was back to grandpa and you.
Your life had become a cycle of confusing medical terms and bike rides to the pharmacy at the nearest town which was thirty minutes away. You were the sole caretaker of a sick man, no longer a child capable of claiming to be free of stress and responsibilities.
Therefore, it wasn’t out of the norm that your only respite became volleyball – the sport your grandfather had passed onto you. As his illness progressed, you also became stricter, harsher – not only on your teammates, but on yourself as well, and it wasn’t long before you began to be called “Monarch of the court” instead of your name.
You had become a legend amongst volleyball circles, a rumor of a kid flying to close to the sun, too ambitious for their own good. You ran your team like a dictatorship, a conductor of an orchestra, a general of an army, with a finger in too many pies. You could do anything, play any role – something you abused whenever your teammates weren’t on the level you expected, taking over their roles on the team until it was no longer seen as an attempt to help, but an attempt to show off or stifle, despite this not being your intention.
You pushed, hard enough to verge on burning out, because it was all you had left. Your grades were taking a collective fall in front of you, the first casualties of the war you were living in, and your friendships had simply been collateral damage in the background – tragic, but inevitable nonetheless. Whenever the doubt began to settle in your bones, you would simply tell yourself that you could keep going as long as nothing changed. The fight is never over until the final point.
Then one day, you came home to the scent of rot and the heavy weight of dread in your stomach. Your grandpa was dead, and once more you lacked a guardian, only this time it had been you behind the wheel, not some random driver. He was dead, in the home you had grown to love, where he taught you to live again when you had felt like the car crash had executed you that day as well. The match was over; you had nothing left.
Everything changed again.
The funeral was a quiet thing in the nearby town’s church, only your nearest neighbors, a kind, elderly couple who had taken care of you two summers ago when your grandfather was at the hospital, your sister and you present to witness him being lowered into the dirt. The priest gave a speech, something about heaven and eternal life and forgiveness, but that all faded to nought in face of a cemetery filled with corpses that had received the same, generic speech. You didn’t cry – how could you, when you had been taking care of the man three days prior? Perhaps it was your fault, it certainly felt like it, like you had been the one to forcibly stop his heart, but who even expected a thirteen-year-old to be good at taking care of a dying old man?
Nothing mattered anymore, because you were alone again with your sister back in her corporate cage and your remaining family buried six feet under.
You were taken in by Bruce Wayne a week after the funeral.
The blood tests and child services’ visits barely registered in your brain, your conscience fading into the background, life continuing around you like a movie. Maybe you had been buried along your family, and this was all an illusion you had made up to cope with death. You didn’t know, and none of it phased you either while your mind was drowning in molasses. Was this how your mother and grandfather’s thought felt in their last moments? Like they were watching the Earth spin from space?
You were pretty sure you spent a week in an emergency foster home, small glimpses of a concerned smile, pitying eyes and a honeyed voice sometimes sneaking past the barrier you had unconsciously built in your brain.
Then you were living with your biological father.
The change was brisk for you – you hadn’t even truly accepted the death of your grandfather nor your mother a few years back. Adaptation was nowhere on your mind when you were drowning in the murky waters of grief with no end in sight. How could you, when the floor had disappeared beneath you and with it every foundation for stability. When cognition eventually blessed you, you would wonder why your sister even wanted to move back to the hellhole that was a city, especially a big one.
So, like any cornered person, you fought back, protesting against any discomfort.
You snapped at people – anyone who was too close, who prodded too much. “Volatile” your siblings would whisper amongst themselves behind your back, sometimes even in your face, as if you were a wild animal instead of a child in mourning. You weren’t even violent or aggressive by nature, you didn’t know why you bit. All you wanted was normalcy in such an unsure time, habit in a world where everything was moving too quickly.
This treatment from your siblings wasn’t out of the norm for you – your sister had made her dislike for you clear as well. To you, siblings were people whom you were legally bound to, but had no real relationship with, just a prison that trapped you from the inside, inevitable responsibility.
What you didn’t expect, however, was the indifference from your father.
You had been able to tolerate years of your older sister’s coldness and distance, yes, but you had had wonderful guardians by your side. Your mother, who despite her busy workload, had always taken the time to brush your hair and tuck you into bed and read you bedtime stories. Your grandfather, who had been elderly and sick, had blessed you with volleyball – an outlet and coping mechanism in one, a gift.
Bruce Wayne didn’t hold your mother’s softness, nor did he share your grandfather’s warmth. The man didn’t even greet you when you walked through his doors the first time, didn’t even take fifteen minutes to introduce himself and show you to your room.
‘Perhaps I had been spoiled’ you tried to reason, ignoring the pang of hurt. Ignoring a child didn’t seem like something the great Bruce Wayne would do – you had read enough newspaper articles and gossip columns to know that he loved his children, at least in public. And you wondered whether he possibly needed some time to adapt to you as well – you would also be uncomfortable if it was suddenly revealed that you had a hidden relative. Or perhaps he was only kind in public.
It was nighttime the first time you met your father, two days after your arrival in this luxurious prison.
He came into your room dressed in a suit, the first button undone and his tie loose, though despite the air of aloofness, his polished shoes, cared for hands and ironed pants. Sure, the man calling himself the manor’s butler could have done it as he had attempted to do for you since you crash landed there, but your dad seemed too taken care of for it to be purely external.
However, your analysis faded into the background of your mind when you embraced the man suddenly. His sudden tenseness, a sort of fight or flight that was forcibly relaxed quickly after it appeared, didn’t go unnoticed. It made your heart sink to your stomach, but you wouldn’t let that hinder you. He had not been in your life, but he was now. Bruce Wayne was no mom, no grandpa, but he could be your dad if he let himself.
He patted you awkwardly on the back before parting, your arms fell beside you like lead “Hello, [Name].” Your name sounded clumsy on his tongue, as if he barely found it in the back of his mind and was still doubtful if his guess was correct. You swallowed, taking a step back – perhaps he was not tactile and you had made him uncomfortable? You would have to ask the butler later.
Though you didn’t get to ruminate on it for long, “I wanted to speak to you about something,” he began, and already you didn’t like where the conversation was heading. It reminded you of when your teachers would separate you from your peers to try to breach uncomfortable discussions with feigned softness. You frowned, hands instinctively moving to fold behind your back like a scolded child. His eyes followed your movements; you shrunk under his gaze.
“Your siblings have told me you haven’t been the most open with them since your arrival.” He finally said, and the words landed like a guillotine, a knife in the back. You straightened, frown deepening “I’ve treated them normally. Am I supposed to treat them in a different way?” You asked hesitantly, he pursed his lips in disapproval, the first expressed emotion, “You’re cold to them. They have brought up how you answer shortly and avoid spending time with them even when invited.”
The words spilled out like the first drops of blood dripping from the initial wound he had just inflicted, “They haven’t though. Invited me. And it’s not as if we can be friends.” You answer innocently enough – your sister had never been your friend and most likely never would be. Siblings didn’t exist for that purpose. And you thought you were being better than her by simply ignoring them and not being hostile, though perhaps there were some unsaid sibling rules you didn’t know of. You would have to ask the butler of those as well.
He seemed to tense, expression that of a teacher dealing with a particularly hard and insolent student, and it felt weird to have it directed at you, especially from a guardian. “That is certainly not the attitude to take with your siblings. There is no valid reason to treat any of my children badly, [Name]. They are busy, and they are doing their best. Your siblings have had particularly hard lives – have gone through experiences you could never imagine. You should at least put in the effort to be friendly with them.”
You flinched, his words hitting harder than any stray volleyball could. “But-” You started, but his rising hand in a stopping motion cut you short. The words caught in your throat so suddenly, it felt like they were going to spill out your eyes, your nose, your ears. For the first time in your life, you felt like a plant cut too short, a fruit eaten too soon. How were you supposed to say that you had no clue how to act around other people? That you had gone through something hard as well? Your new siblings at least had your father’s support, as you had had with your previous guardians, and apparently each other’s. You had nothing. A half sister cities away, new siblings that looked at you with dismay, a butler who kept you at a professional distance and a father that already had a bad impression of you.
Dread filled your lungs, a newfound panic founded on the possibility of no longer having anyone on your side. Were you supposed to spend the rest of your life like this? Was this the punishment fate had set for failing to keep your grandpa alive?
You tried to search for the fear that made you snap whenever these strangers would get too close, a wall to push up in a last attempt to keep yourself safe. But Bruce Wayne’s eyes were deadly – you had no chance against his disdain, no hope against his prejudice. It just then settled that for the first time in your life, and perhaps for the rest of it, you were truly and fully alone.
After the realization, the rest of the conversation flew by – when asked gently by Alfred later, you couldn’t even recall what had been said afterwards, just that the world had gone a bit more silent. Eventually, you ended up in your room, stomach rolling after the measly meal you probably ate. You wish you could have enjoyed it more, especially since you had been sustaining your grandpa and yourself these past few months, and while he fortunately didn’t have to suffer through your novice abilities since he had a set diet that was easy to prepare, your meals didn’t have that same luck.
You laid in bed, holding the volleyball you had taken from home close. You hadn’t hugged your plushies since your grandpa got sick – only little kids still slept with plushies – but you needed the comfort of something familiar. The volleyball didn’t smell like your grandpa – it barely even smelt like the backyard anymore, the scent of the dirt and grassy terrain slowly fading. Soon, one wouldn’t be able to differentiate it from a random used volleyball. Soon, maybe you wouldn’t be able to differentiate it either.
You attempted reminiscing on playing volleyball in the backyard, your grandpa’s kind voice guiding you through sets and practices, but you couldn’t make it through the grief that had tainted these memories; all you could remember was a desolate funeral and a casket holding a man who was no longer there.
You sank further into the bed, burying your face into the pillow – not yours, this wasn’t your lumpy pillow that smelled like the detergent your mother had used, nor was it the floppy pillow you had back at your grandpa’s place that he had probably owned since he was a kid himself. The silk pillowcase felt cold against your face; not comforting in the slightest. In that moment, you would’ve given anything for a hug. Even a squeeze of your shoulder by your big sister – anything to keep the creeping loneliness away.
But you were alone in a manor with people tied to you legally who wanted nothing to do with you. You would not find an ounce of warmth aimed towards you, much less right that instant. Nobody was going to rub your back until your guard went down enough that the grief didn’t contaminate your sleep; nobody was going to console you. You were alone.
A few miles away on the outskirts of Gotham, a volleyball team prepares emotionally for the new season after a devastating loss.
This is for all my interns who don’t get paid enough... If you’ve been done wrong, this is your fic so turn it up!!!
Anyways, I’ve been living the life of an unpaid intern – yes, this is end of chapter note is music references galore, but I’m exploited and tired so let me have this. Sorry for the big sadness, I’m in a big sadness mood. You might have noticed the similarities to Kageyama’s backstory! That was my main inspiration, but he will still be a character here! Once I’m a bit happier, I’ll get the actual part of the plot out – the plan is to have more of a slice of life/found family with the Haikyu cast, but for now we get misery. However, my birthday's on Saturday, so I'm excited about that.
Oooh I also finally read the Poppy War. It was genuinely one of the most impactful books I’ve ever read so I’m back in my reading era.
I hope you’ll like this new fic! I’ve been working on it since I started my internship, but I am in fact on the verge of burnout so it’s taken me longer than I would’ve liked. For updates, I unfortunately think that it will take a long time (sigh), so I hope you can hang on!
pairings: platonic yandere!batfam x neglected!sorcerer!male!reader (ft. satoru gojo x reader)
summary: Your father let out a sigh of relief when he heard the news of you getting enrolled in the same religious school as your mother. He wasn't in a place to be your father, not when the city called him. Not when Dick needed a parent more than you. And there was something about you that scared Bruce just a bit. He just didn't expect for you to return to the manor years later looking like you went through hell and back. But Bruce and his kids don't have the time to unpack what happened to you in Japan. The city once again is put first. But then why are they sad when you return back to Japan following a man in a blindfold? And why does every fibre of their beings so badly wishes that you would follow behind them instead?
tags: jjk spoilers; past suguru x reader mentioned, but not really; emotional neglect; reader has an aura that batfam doesn't know how to deal with (it's his curse energy); typical jjk & dc violence; death and murder; assassins; attempts at kidnapping; zenin clan mentioned; satoru dgaf about giving his clan an heir and goes after reader anyway; reader uses shikigami; mentions of zenin clan's treatment of women; unrequited love; manipulation
taglist: closed. more spots will open after act one.
act one, part one| masterlist | act one, part three
Yaga relied on the details of the mission earlier that morning. Mei Mei and Utahime Iori had entered the building where a curse had resided and contact with them had been lost ever since. It has now been two days and you and your classmates were going to oversee their mission.
The four of you rushed to the street, forgetting about your assigned supervisor. Geto and Gojo use their curse techniques to get to the mansion first, while you and Shoko were forced to run towards the curse's den.
You made to the sight just as Satoru used his power to break the illusion the curse had created and let the walls fall.
"I'm here to save you, Utahime," you heard Gojo mocking the girl and had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. "You're crying?"
"No, I'm not crying! Be more polite," Utahime reprimanded him.
"If I was crying, would you console me?" Mei teased, walking up towards Satoru. "I'd like that."
"But you wouldn't cry, Mei," Gojo insisted, turning to face the woman. "You're strong."
"Gojo, listen to me! I don't need your help!" Utahime yelled, cleaning her clothes from any dust, ready to prove her point.
Utahime made a step towards Satoru, when the curse shot out from behind her. Before she could react, another curse, one that belonged to Suguru, wrapped its mouth around the one she was sent to illuminate. You could hear Suguru instructing his curse to not eat it as he needed to absorb it.
"Satoru, it's not nice to pick on the weak, you know," Geto mocked after absorbing the curse.
"Yeah, but what kind of idiot picks on the strong?" Gojo scoffed, fixing his sunglasses.
Before either of your classmates can annoy Utahime further, you and Shoko step closer so she can see you.
"Utahime! Are you okay?" Shoko asked, slouching over to see inside the crater where the mansion used to stand.
"Ignore the idiots, they're fighting over whose ego is bigger again," you laughed, waving towards Iori.
"Shoko! (Name)!" Utahime yelled out.
"We were so worried about you," Shoko stressed, walking towards the Utahime.
"You were nowhere to be seen! It's been two days," you added, following behind Shoko.
The two of you don't make it far as Utahime runs up to the two of you to pull you close.
"Please, don't turn out like those two," Utahime begged, squinting her eyes as she looked at Gojo and Geto.
"We're not trash like they are," Shoko bantered while you scoffed.
"Don't let yourself turn out like Utahime," Gojo sneered to Geto.
Utahime was about to snap back at Gojo, when Mei Mei walked up to her group. She asked about the veil the four of you that were sent over to help were supposed to put around the perimeter of the mansion. All of you froze at the mention of the veil, the realisation of what forgetting it meant hitting you.
'Next up, yesterday's large explosion rocked Schizuoka Prefecture in Hamamatsu City...' The reporter's voice as you and your classmates sat on your heals in front of Yaga. His expression was tense, and you knew the punishment he'd be about to give out wouldn't be a pleasant one.
"You were supposed to oversee that mission," Yaga sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. "You also left your assistant supervisor behind and to top it all off, you forgot about the veil."
Yaga demanded to know who was the culprit behind it all and everyone pointed towards Satoru without a second thought. Gojo tried talking Yaga out of hunting down the culprit, but your teacher was immune to his begging.
The group had moved to the gym, where Suguru bounced around a basketball, occasionally throwing it towards the hoop. Satoru, instead, kept complaining about the need to hide from the non-sorcerers when they aren't even able to see curses. You and Shock only partially listened to him, more interested in messing around with Gojo’s glasses.
Geto tried explaining the reason why sorcerers use veils and why it is important to protect the weak.
You and Shoko could sense both of your classmates' arguments getting more heated. She returned the glasses to Gojo, swiftly slipping them on the bridge of his nose.
"Smoke break!" Shoko announced, grabbing your sleeve to drag you out of the gym.
Walking to yours and Shoko's usual spot, the two of you miss Yaga walking towards the gym.
Later, you find out that Suguru and Satoru had been assigned to handle the Star Plasma Vessel and bring her to Tengen.
"Be careful," you wished, catching Suguru’s eyes.
"I'll be back before you know it," Suguru promised, winking as the grin stretched across his lips.
"And where's my 'be careful'?" Satoru questioned, wiggling his brows at you.
"Oh, now you're worried about surviving?" you scoffed, shaking your head.
"Yeah, what happened to being the strongest?" Suguru laughed, giving your arm a quick squeeze.
When both of them leave, Shoko jumps on you to tease you about your interaction with Suguru. You knew she had an ongoing bet with Haibara about where your relationship would go. At first, you called the bet ridiculous, you and Suguru were nothing more than friends. Now, you shoved her off, trying to ignore the way your heart began to beat faster.
With Satoru and Suguru away handling the Star Plasma Vessel, you and Shoko end up with the first years of training. Neither of the two contacted either of you, save for one selfie Gojo sent with an unconscious man in the background.
Training alongside the first years filled you both with pride and anxiety. Watching them improve gives you hope for the future of jujutsu society. Thoughts of them being the future of society filled you with worry just as much as it made you proud. A selfish part of you wished neither them nor you and your classmates had the right to protect the non-sorcerers. You knew it wasn't fair, it wasn't their fault that they couldn't use curse techniques to fight curses most of them weren't even able to see.
And so, you kept your thoughts to yourself, giving the words of encouragement and a shoulder to lean on when needed.
While Satoru and Suguru kept the vessel safe, you, and the other students were sent out on more missions. A lot of them were out of your grade range, forcing the teachers to group their students to defeat curses Gojo and Geto would be able to exorcise by themselves.
Because of that 'the two of you will be joining the first years' quickly changed to 'Shoko will be joining the first years while you'll be lucky to sleep in your dorm'.
The fatigue that came with using your curse energy to such amounts didn't go unnoticed by Shoko. She tried to convince you to speak up about it to Yaga before you would get hurt, but no matter what Shoko said, you kept refusing.
It felt selfish. Even if there were other sorcerers who could handle some of the missions you went sent on. You couldn't allow yourself to rest. Not when Satoru and Suguru were out there risking their lives to keep the Star Plasma Vessel alive.
Shoko had to stop herself from telling you 'I told you so' when they brought your half-conscious body into the affair. She heard the sorcerer that was with you tell Yaga about the curse you were sent after catching both of you off guard as she worked on your injuries.
It was only until you were healed up and strong enough to sit up on your own, that you found out about Nanami and Haibara being sent to Okinawa to help your classmates. When you questioned why them and not you, bringing up your concerns about it not being a mission suitable for first years, Yaga scoffed and shook his head.
"They didn't try to work themselves to death, (name)" Yaga sighed, staring at you with disappointment in his eyes. "Ieiri told me you refused to speak up about not feeling well."
You tried arguing with your teacher, but he raised his hand to keep you quiet.
"Use the time you gain to reply to that butler of yours," Yaga ordered, stepping away from your bed. "I noticed the letters from him pulling up on your desk and I don't want another surprise visit from him."
Reading the letters from Alfred, you couldn't help but feel annoyed. There were only three of them, the last one dating back to a few days ago. Alfred had long ago given up on using the traditional way of exchanging letters and now bluntly used Bruce's resources to cut down on delivery time.
The first two were rather typical letters Alfred would send. He spent most of them telling you how much he and his family missed you and news about each family member. Only at the end did he leave a few questions about your well-being and your life and school.
The last letter stood out. You assumed Alfred had to be in one of his moods when writing it. Almost the entire thing focused on how badly he wished you were with your family in Gotham. How he wished you were there with him when he redecorated your room. That he couldn't wait for you to bring the things from your dorm back to your room at the manor. Instead of ending with a few questions for you, Alfred doubted if you belonged at your school. He questioned if you're able to handle being so far away.
Alfred ended the letter with: 'but don't worry, you will always belong here in Gotham, right next to me and your family'.
You rolled your eyes as you read the last line. You took out paper and pen to reply to the butler. You furiously scribbled down words onto the paper, telling Alfred that you would always belong among your classmates. You reminded him that, unlike Bruce and his kids, none of them ever feared you. You ended it by warning him about questioning where he belongs might force you to cut him off.
Just as you put the pen down, the door to your dorm opened, revealing a scared Haibara. With his voice shaking, he told you that Suguru was with Shoko. Your underclassman barely managed to finish the sentence when you were already out of your dorm. You ran straight to the infirmary with your ears ringing. You always considered Gojo and Geto as untouchable, undefeatable. You couldn't imagine what went wrong in the mission that left Suguru needing help.
You pushed the door open just as Shoko was finishing with the healing process. You stayed near the doorway, giving her the space to finish in peace.
Suguru didn't stay in the infirmary long after Shoko finished. Her hands barely left his torso when he was out of the affair. Without a second thought, you started following behind him. You didn't know where Satoru was, and you refused to let Suguru go after the person that attacked him alone.
"No," Suguru ordered, stopping right in front of you suddenly. "Stay in school, (name)"
"Let me—" you tried to argue, but Suguru turned and grabbed your face with his palm.
"I can't risk you dying, (name)" Suguru confessed, caressing your cheek. "Stay within the barrier, please."
You nodded, nuzzling your face into his hand. The contact didn't last long, and soon you were forced to stay in place watching Suguru leave.
You wanted to move, to ignore his words and run after him.
But you couldn't. Despite your heart aching for you to do so, your brain rationalising why you should.
Suguru wanted you to stay alive. To stay within the barrier.
Pairings: Platonic! Batfam x Law Student Batsis Reader, Wally West x Law Student Batsis Reader
Synopsys: The forgotten daughter of the Wayne family quietly builds a future of her own after years of being overlooked, forcing the Batfamily to confront just how little they truly know about her.
Word Count: 1.4k
Notes: Okayyy im making a fic series! lemme know if yall like this and i will continue itt! Ive seen like one or two wally x neglected batsis fics but I wanted to do one aswellll. Obvi the ages have been either aged up or down to align with the fic and yeahhh. Hope you enjoy reading!
Ever since you were young, you knew something was wrong with your family. You were the blood daughter of the notorious billionaire playboy, Bruce Wayne, after all.
From the outside, everything looked perfect.
The Wayne family was admired across Gotham. Every gala photo showed smiling faces. Every newspaper article praised Bruce's generosity. Every interview painted the Waynes as a close-knit family that had overcome tragedy together.
People loved the story.
They loved Bruce Wayne and his children.
They loved Dick Grayson, Bruce's golden son. They admired Jason Todd's resilience. They respected Tim Drake's intelligence. They adored Damian Wayne, the youngest heir. Even the family friends seemed to have a place in the carefully crafted picture.
Everyone fit somewhere.
Everyone except you.
You weren't sure when you first noticed it.
Maybe it was when you were six and came running into Bruce's office with a drawing you'd spent hours making, only for him to promise he'd look at it later…
Later never came.
Maybe it was when you were ten and sat through an entire family dinner without anyone asking how your day had been. Or maybe it was when you realized that every member of the family could list everyone else's favorite food, favorite movie, and favorite color!—
…but nobody could answer those questions about you.
At first, you told yourself it wasn't intentional.. hell you even asked Alfred if they loved you!
He sighs, "Young Master, I'm sure they love you." he threads his fingers through your hair, "But you must undertsand, they have.. certain circumstances.." And you got that point, you swore you did.
Bruce is always busy.
Dick lived in another city.
Jason was always coming and going.
Tim practically lived on coffee and three hours of sleep.
Damian barely tolerated most people.
Everyone had something important happening.
Something more important.
You became good at understanding. Too good. So subsequently in due time, you gave up.
You stopped interrupting conversations.
Stopped asking for help.
Stopped sharing things you were excited about.
It was easier that way.
Less disappointing.
Over time, people stopped expecting to hear from you.
The manor was loud most days. You heard your brothers' voices echoing through the halls. Damian and Jason having arguments over breakfast. Someone was always training, complaining, or stealing food from the kitchen.
Yet somehow, you'd never felt more alone.
You lie alone, in your room. Staring at the accomplishments you oh- so truly desired to share. Just for one singular second for someone. Someone. To give you the recognition you wished for. Your eyes panned across the room. Gymnastic awards, science awards, leadership awards, writing and advocacy— Hell you even took some drama performances! All these accomplishments, only to be overshadowed and overlooked by the ones who deemed to love you most.
You stare softly at your desk which had an envelope you had opened moments prior, it read
Date: July 20th 20XX
Dear Miss (Name) Wayne,
It is with great pleasure that we offer you admission to Gotham Law Academy for the upcoming academic year.
After careful review of your application, academic records, personal statement, and recommendations, the Admissions Committee was impressed by your outstanding achievements, dedication to your studies, and strong potential to excel within the legal profession.
Your exceptional academic performance, critical thinking skills, and commitment to justice distinguished you among a highly competitive pool of applicants. We are confident that you will make valuable contributions to our academic community and uphold the standards of excellence that Gotham Law Academy represents.
As a student of Gotham Law Academy, you will have access to rigorous coursework, experienced faculty, internship opportunities, and a network of legal professionals dedicated to preparing the next generation of advocates, attorneys, and leaders.
To secure your place in the incoming class, please submit your Enrollment Confirmation Form by [August 19th 20XX].
On behalf of the faculty, staff, and administration, we congratulate you on this remarkable achievement. We look forward to welcoming you to Gotham Law Academy and supporting your future success.
Congratulations, Miss Wayne.
Sincerely,
Dean Victoria Hayes
Dean of Admissions
Gotham Law Academy
"Justice begins with those willing to pursue it."
You hum, "Well, atleast there's one thing I can be excited about." You roll on your bed with a groan. Knock knock. "Yes?" You answered,
You sat at the dining table one evening, absently pushing food around your plate while the others talked.
Dinner at Wayne Manor was loud.
It always was.
Dick was halfway through some story about Blüdhaven, waving his fork around as he talked.
"I'm serious," he said. "This guy thought hiding in a dumpster was a genius escape plan."
Jason snorted.
"Was it?"
"No."
"Then why are you telling the story?" Jason raised a brow, "Because he stayed in there for three hours." Dick grinned.
Tim nearly choked on his drink.
Damian looked disgusted.
Bruce rubbed his temple.
The conversation continued around the table while you sat quietly at your usual spot.
A few months ago, you would've tried to join in.
Maybe told a story of your own.
Maybe mentioned something interesting that happened during your day.
Maybe brought up the fact that you'd been accepted into Gotham Law Academy.
Now?
You couldn't find it in yourself to care.
As you finished your food and ready to head upstairs you get interrupted,
"(Name)," It was Bruce, steady eyes gazing at you as if expecting something. All eyes turn to you , what the fuck? You think as you muster up a reply, "What?" You stare back, head titling ever so slightly to the side. Bruce clears his throat, "Where are you going?" He replies coolly. The soft rain pattering by the glass windows. You blinked, "To my room?"
The answer came out more like a question.
Bruce frowned slightly. "As soon as dinner ends?" A beat of silence followed only the sounds of rain could be heard. You looked around the table.
Dick looked confused.
Tim had finally put his phone down.
Damian was staring like you murdered his family.
Jason looked like he was waiting for a punchline.
You honestly didn't know what they wanted from you.
"Yeah," you answered. Bruce grumbled, "...Why?" what the hell is going on. "What do you mean, why?" You asked.
Bruce exchanged a glance with Dick.
It was subtle.
The kind of look people shared when they thought something was off. You almost laughed. Now they noticed? After years?
You put up a polite smile, "I usually go to my room after dinner."
"No, you don't," Tim said automatically. You looked at him. Tim looked back.
Then his expression shifted.
Slowly.
Because he realized he had no idea whether that statement was true or not. The silence stretched. You sigh and folded your arms. "Actually, I do."
Nobody responded.
Because nobody knew.
Not a single one of them.
Jason leaned back in his chair. "Since when?" He asked, raising a hand.
You shrugged.
"A while."
"A while being...?" Dick asked.
"A couple years, maybe."
The dining room fell silent. You almost felt bad for them.
Almost.
The looks on their faces suggested they genuinely hadn't noticed.
Bruce set his fork down. "You spend that much time alone?" There was something strange in his voice.
Concern.
Confusion.
Maybe guilt.
You couldn't tell. And maybe you weren't interested enough to find out.
"I guess."
"You guess?" Damian repeated harshly.
You glanced at him. "Does it matter? I've spent 18 years in this house doing the same things without anyone noticing." The sentence wasn't hostile.
It wasn't angry.
If anything, it was tired.
That seemed to hit harder.
Because suddenly nobody had anything to say.
You pushed your chair back. "I have things to do."
Bruce straightened.
"What things?"
You paused.
For a second.
Just a second.
Then you remembered the acceptance letter sitting upstairs in your room. The enrollment forms. The plan of becoming a lawyer. The future you were quietly building by yourself.
The future none of them knew existed.
A small smile tugged at your lips.
"Just planning some things."
Dick frowned, "What things?"
You grabbed your plate and placed it in the sink, "Nothing important."
The words slipped out before you could stop them. The irony wasn't lost on anyone. Not when every accomplishment, every award, every achievement in your life had become something "Not important."
Not important enough to ask about.
Not important enough to notice.
Not important enough to remember.
The smile disappeared. "Goodnight."
This time, nobody stopped you.
You walked out of the dining room. The door clicked shut behind you. And for the first time in years, the conversation didn't immediately start back up.
Because downstairs, for the first time, the Wayne family was left with a realization they didn't quite know what to do with.
bruce finding out that jason is still a crybaby 🥹 jason act tough but if you push him a bit more in a personal arguments he'd start spilling fat tears down his cheeks and now you have an armful of sad boy in your arms. bruce forgot this fact every single time they fight.
happy father's day to bruce who needs to navigate through the many many emotions of his kids 😭 this is what you get for adopting a gaggle of children
How vast is the universe? For all his lengthy time being a hero, Bruce had thought about it a lot. You see, his best friend and hero alike are an alien and Diana, who despite not being an alien, have powers beyond human comprehension. With all that being said, one thing Bruce had never thought he would see was a very nervous Clark, standing at the batcave entrance. His friend's eyes darted between the other vigilantes, occasionally greeting them.
“Youve been standing there for thirty seconds…”- Bruce said with his eyes still glued at the monitor.- “Either tell me what’s wrong or sit down for a bit.”
Clark didn't answer immediately, making Bruce finally glance over. The man stood motionless, fingers tight in a fist, the look on Clark's face made Bruce set the keyboard aside.
“What happened?”
“I found something during the investigation.”- The man said, coming closer to Batman.
“About the anomaly in Metropolis?”
Clark nodded, his eyes reaching for everywhere instead of his friend.
“And?”- Bruce pressed, and a long silence followed.
“Bruce…”- Clark began.- “How much blood have you lost through the years?”
“More than I'd like.”- Bruce frowned.- “Why?”
“Have any samples ever gone missing?”
“Get to the point.”- Bruce replied, now giving his full attention to the other man. His children perked up at the conversation. Clark swallowed.
“I found two individuals.”
“Criminals?”
“No.”
“Experiments?”
“Not exactly.”
The hesitation was unlike Clark. Bruce could almost hear him choosing every word.
“Clark.”- Bruce called, his voice stern, not exactly satisfied with the back and forth. - "Be straightforward.”
Clark exhaled, there was no returning point now.
“Children, Bruce. Twins to be exact, a boy and a girl.”
The cave became silent. Tim darted his eyes through his siblings and Damian frowned. Bruce stared at Clark now, afraid of what was being said in the underlines.
“Children…”
“They appear to be around twelve years old.”
“And why are you telling me this?”
“Their DNA matches with yours, Bruce.”
For a second nothing happened, then Bruce laughed. A short, humorless sound.
“Impossible.”
“I checked three times.”
“Then the results are wrong.”
“They arent.”
The back and forth of words let the batcave atmosphere dull, the rest of them barely holding a breath. Bruce rose from his chair.
“I 've never…”
“I know.”- Clark interrupted, the certainty in his voice made Bruce stop.- “I know you haven't.”
“Then explain it.”- Bruce's jaw tightened.
“They aren't humans, B.”- Super looked at him with an understanding face, the info from now on would be too much and he needed his friend to stay calm.- “They are children of Vaelith, Bruce. They are known as the red haired warriors, exclusively fighting with monsters. You know, we fought extraterrestrial beings before, but this… This is different, B. The real threat never gets to the Earth and it is because of their kind.”
Bruce sat down again, his hands crossing, he could feel the stirring of unease. Clark folded his arms on his chest before continuing, the gesture seemed to ground him a bit.
“The reason I asked about your blood is because the Vaelith kind doesn't reproduce like humans, they're made by blood.”
“Red haired you say…”- Bruce’s voice came calm, though he was visibly distressed.- “I remember a red haired woman in one of the charity galas we made, which was specific for raising funds for Gotham's hospital.”
Bruce brought his hand to his hair, pushing it and later pinching the bridge of his nose. Tim nodded, somehow also remembering the woman, the other children seemed yet to fall from shock.
“Where are they?”- Clark should have expected the answer, yet he couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his spine.
“Bruce…”- He started and paused, fingers fidgeting in an unusually anxious state.- "I've seen gods, B.”
He paused again. This time his eyes fixed on Bruce.
“Ive fought beings older than planets.”- Clark’s voice became quiet.- “Yet… These children scare me, B.”
The realization settled quiet and heavy between them. Dangerous. Deadly dangerous.
“Where are they?”- Bruce asked again and the truth lay on Clark's chest. Bruce would go down on this, no matter the outcome.
No shock. No denial. No panic. Just the first question Batman would ask. Location, Threat assessment, mission parameters. He wasn't being Bruce right now.
“They’re hiding.”
“Do you think they would attack if we came to them?”- The question hung heavy on Clark's mind.
“I mean… They're not hostile.”- He said, scratching the back of his head.
“But?”- Batman asked, stepping towards the batcomputer.
“Well… In the best scenario we can have a calm talk before sending them back. In the worst, we die.”
“Send them back?”- Bruce asked, looking at Clark before staring at the screen for several moments.
“Theyre dangerous, B.”
“And they are mine.”- It wasn't a question. Clark nodded, unease.
“As far as every test can determine.”- He said, but he still looked at Bruce with the silent understanding that the twins would not stay.
The conversation ended there, but that was still too much to be said by both of them. Right now, Bruce's priority was to find and judge the children by himself, and despite the sting in his heart, he would have to do that was Batman and not as a father.
“Prepare the plane, we're going to Metropolis.”
At this point, Clark didn't do anything to stop the encounter, as both Bruce and his children seemed determined to go until the end of it. He could only hope that this would not be the end of everything he fought to protect.
In the plane, the atmosphere seemed a bit easier to deal with. Clark stood at Bruce's side, looking through the sight outside. For the last few weeks, rain has been plaguing the city's skies.
“It's him.”- He said softly, watching as Bruce expression remained unreadable.- “The boy altered the weather across three states. I don't know if he is upset or if this is a way to show that they knew I was watching them.”
Bruce hummed in response, digesting the information slowly.
“And the girl?”- Dick asked. Him, Damian and Tim had followed in case anything happened.
“I don't know. She doesn't act, but she is not less strong.”
Soon the convo died down, as the plane reached the outskirts of Metropolis. The place is filled with trees. making it almost inaccessible for normal people. In the middle of it, a building makes its appearance, looking clearly abandoned. The structure stood alone among miles of empty wilderness.
Bruce scanned it from the ridge above. No defense. No weapons. No visible power source. The combination of things made him trust it even less.
“They know we're here.”- Clark exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding.
“They won't attack?”- Damian asked, his eyes never leaving the building.
“They don't see us as threats. Their gaze has no bloodlust, it's just… heavy.”
Dick and his siblings decided to wait on the plane, leaving Clark and Bruce to deal with the children. Together they approached, steps slow and careful. The door was already open. Inside, sunlight poured through massive windows. No signs of a laboratory and no signs of captivity. Just a home.
Bruce stopped on track, his eyes laying on the two figures standing at the far end of the room. A boy and a girl, twins. The girl's bright red hair cascaded until the back of her knee, while the boy, with the same color, looked nearly identical to her except for his shorter hair.
Everything was foreign to Bruce, except the eyes. Unmistakable and identical to his.
Neither of them appeared frightened, nor surprised. As if they were waiting for him. The girl tilted her head, almost like an animal catching a familiar scent. And in the blink of Bruce's eyes, the boy stood behind him, his height reaching the man's waist. Both Clark and the others froze.
The boy inhaled slowly, and Bruce frowned seeing the strange look on the boy's face, who now was staring back at his sister. It was a flickering of emotions.
Wonder, then recognition, then… longing.
They began to speak, soft vowels mixed with sharp consonants. The language sounds almost musical. If he wasn't paying attention, Bruce would have missed the moment the girls approached him, her steps making no sound.
“Kai tharyn.”
The worlds filled Bruce's ears, his heart beating fast with an emotion he couldn't quite name, it felt like his heart was being pulled by a string. It felt familiar, as if finding something he didn't know he had lost.
“What does that mean?”- Bruce asked, coming down to one knee and looking closely at her face. Holding back the urge to touch the girl's face.
“Father… She called you father.”
Paying close attention to both men, she held her chin looking at her brother, who nodded before continuing.
“Nor ael. Nor tharyn. Velour kai vae.”
Despite the new round of foreign language, this time Bruce could understand perfectly.
“We know your soul. We know our blood. Finally finding home.”
That when Bruce knew, despite coming here to investigate, he could never turn his back on then. He raised both his arms, one hand reaching for each of the twins, touching their faces. The girl laid further on his hand, smiling a bit and the boy hugged Bruce's forearm, both actions making Bruce feel the odd string in his heart again.
The girl stepped once more towards Bruce, close enough to know. No doubt, no uncertainty. The scent was there. The same scent carried in every cell of their bodies. The same blood.
She smiled at it, small. hopeful. She was about to say something to her twin when she noticed him looking behind their fathers back, Diana approached with calmness, but her face showed a slight concern.
“Earth is gonna get attacked.”- She said to Bruce and Clark.- "They're already here.”
“Out of nowhere?”- Bruce got up, hiding both twins behind his legs.
Diana shared a look with Clark, the action setting Bruce off. Taking the somewhat harmonious atmosphere to a gloomy one.
“The children act like a beacon for whatever it is outside, their power emits a signal across space. Not intentional, just by existing.”- Diana answered.- “Earth isn't in danger because of what the twins might do, but because of who is coming for them.”
“You knew it.”- Bruce looked at Clark, his friend carrying a somber expression.- “That's why you want to send them away.”
Clark nodded, his eyes heavy. Opening his mouth to answer Bruce, Clark suddenly stopped, his head snapping back.
“They're here.”- He said already getting out of the house.
“The others are already in place.”- Diana said, taking out her sword.
The alien warships darkened the city sky. Hundred of them. Enough to challenge entire worlds. Superman, now hovered above the house and in the other extremity of the city, Green lantern stood ready. The twins watched silently, as if already knowing what would happen.
“Child…”- Diana called the twins.- “You both are loved by the universe. You know what that means, right?”
“Diana!”- Bruce barked, the thought of the children he barely met taking part in the fight was enough to make him angry.
“They will not reach here.”- Maltheon said, his hand closed on Bruce's wrist, glancing up at him.- “Caelia won’t let it.”
Bruce and Diana watched as the girl stepped forward, her hair being swept by the wind, who seemed to move circling her body. The sky, which had been clear all day despite the amount of warships, suddenly turned into a dancing of dark raging clouds. Caelia looked up, eyes bored at the sight.
“Kai ryth.”
The air became heavy. Every hero felt it, like a pressure sipping into their bones. It seemed like the atmosphere on its own was holding its breath. It wasn't just her voice, it was a bunch of different ones. It was ancient. It was dangerous. Thunders exploded across the horizon and the warships shook. Their engines flickering one by one, then all at once. The stars above seemed to dim, the universe listening to the words of their beloved child.
Caelia raised her small hand. Not threatening. Merciful.
“Leave.”
All of them heard the little girl's voice, despite the command not being for them, their heart shook the same. The fleet vanished from every sensor. No explosion. No retreat. simply gone. As if reality had just corrected a mistake. Superman descended slowly, not sure of what his eyes had witnessed.
Bruce at the empty sky and then at the two beings who had dismissed an invasion with only words, the heavy realization of what he was dealing with finally setting in his chest.
“Father.”- The twins called him unison, blue glassy eyes looking back at him and words heavily accented.
He didn't know what he was dealing with, but he knew it could wait for a while. Even more if the eyes looking back at him could be protected.
How vast is the universe? For all his lengthy time being a hero, Bruce had thought about it a lot. You see, his best friend and hero alike are an alien and Diana, who despite not being an alien, have powers beyond human comprehension. With all that being said, one thing Bruce had never thought he would see was a very nervous Clark, standing at the batcave entrance. His friend's eyes darted between the other vigilantes, occasionally greeting them.
“Youve been standing there for thirty seconds…”- Bruce said with his eyes still glued at the monitor.- “Either tell me what’s wrong or sit down for a bit.”
Clark didn't answer immediately, making Bruce finally glance over. The man stood motionless, fingers tight in a fist, the look on Clark's face made Bruce set the keyboard aside.
“What happened?”
“I found something during the investigation.”- The man said, coming closer to Batman.
“About the anomaly in Metropolis?”
Clark nodded, his eyes reaching for everywhere instead of his friend.
“And?”- Bruce pressed, and a long silence followed.
“Bruce…”- Clark began.- “How much blood have you lost through the years?”
“More than I'd like.”- Bruce frowned.- “Why?”
“Have any samples ever gone missing?”
“Get to the point.”- Bruce replied, now giving his full attention to the other man. His children perked up at the conversation. Clark swallowed.
“I found two individuals.”
“Criminals?”
“No.”
“Experiments?”
“Not exactly.”
The hesitation was unlike Clark. Bruce could almost hear him choosing every word.
“Clark.”- Bruce called, his voice stern, not exactly satisfied with the back and forth. - "Be straightforward.”
Clark exhaled, there was no returning point now.
“Children, Bruce. Twins to be exact, a boy and a girl.”
The cave became silent. Tim darted his eyes through his siblings and Damian frowned. Bruce stared at Clark now, afraid of what was being said in the underlines.
“Children…”
“They appear to be around twelve years old.”
“And why are you telling me this?”
“Their DNA matches with yours, Bruce.”
For a second nothing happened, then Bruce laughed. A short, humorless sound.
“Impossible.”
“I checked three times.”
“Then the results are wrong.”
“They arent.”
The back and forth of words let the batcave atmosphere dull, the rest of them barely holding a breath. Bruce rose from his chair.
“I 've never…”
“I know.”- Clark interrupted, the certainty in his voice made Bruce stop.- “I know you haven't.”
“Then explain it.”- Bruce's jaw tightened.
“They aren't humans, B.”- Super looked at him with an understanding face, the info from now on would be too much and he needed his friend to stay calm.- “They are children of Vaelith, Bruce. They are known as the red haired warriors, exclusively fighting with monsters. You know, we fought extraterrestrial beings before, but this… This is different, B. The real threat never gets to the Earth and it is because of their kind.”
Bruce sat down again, his hands crossing, he could feel the stirring of unease. Clark folded his arms on his chest before continuing, the gesture seemed to ground him a bit.
“The reason I asked about your blood is because the Vaelith kind doesn't reproduce like humans, they're made by blood.”
“Red haired you say…”- Bruce’s voice came calm, though he was visibly distressed.- “I remember a red haired woman in one of the charity galas we made, which was specific for raising funds for Gotham's hospital.”
Bruce brought his hand to his hair, pushing it and later pinching the bridge of his nose. Tim nodded, somehow also remembering the woman, the other children seemed yet to fall from shock.
“Where are they?”- Clark should have expected the answer, yet he couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his spine.
“Bruce…”- He started and paused, fingers fidgeting in an unusually anxious state.- "I've seen gods, B.”
He paused again. This time his eyes fixed on Bruce.
“Ive fought beings older than planets.”- Clark’s voice became quiet.- “Yet… These children scare me, B.”
The realization settled quiet and heavy between them. Dangerous. Deadly dangerous.
“Where are they?”- Bruce asked again and the truth lay on Clark's chest. Bruce would go down on this, no matter the outcome.
No shock. No denial. No panic. Just the first question Batman would ask. Location, Threat assessment, mission parameters. He wasn't being Bruce right now.
“They’re hiding.”
“Do you think they would attack if we came to them?”- The question hung heavy on Clark's mind.
“I mean… They're not hostile.”- He said, scratching the back of his head.
“But?”- Batman asked, stepping towards the batcomputer.
“Well… In the best scenario we can have a calm talk before sending them back. In the worst, we die.”
“Send them back?”- Bruce asked, looking at Clark before staring at the screen for several moments.
“Theyre dangerous, B.”
“And they are mine.”- It wasn't a question. Clark nodded, unease.
“As far as every test can determine.”- He said, but he still looked at Bruce with the silent understanding that the twins would not stay.
The conversation ended there, but that was still too much to be said by both of them. Right now, Bruce's priority was to find and judge the children by himself, and despite the sting in his heart, he would have to do that was Batman and not as a father.
“Prepare the plane, we're going to Metropolis.”
At this point, Clark didn't do anything to stop the encounter, as both Bruce and his children seemed determined to go until the end of it. He could only hope that this would not be the end of everything he fought to protect.
In the plane, the atmosphere seemed a bit easier to deal with. Clark stood at Bruce's side, looking through the sight outside. For the last few weeks, rain has been plaguing the city's skies.
“It's him.”- He said softly, watching as Bruce expression remained unreadable.- “The boy altered the weather across three states. I don't know if he is upset or if this is a way to show that they knew I was watching them.”
Bruce hummed in response, digesting the information slowly.
“And the girl?”- Dick asked. Him, Damian and Tim had followed in case anything happened.
“I don't know. She doesn't act, but she is not less strong.”
Soon the convo died down, as the plane reached the outskirts of Metropolis. The place is filled with trees. making it almost inaccessible for normal people. In the middle of it, a building makes its appearance, looking clearly abandoned. The structure stood alone among miles of empty wilderness.
Bruce scanned it from the ridge above. No defense. No weapons. No visible power source. The combination of things made him trust it even less.
“They know we're here.”- Clark exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding.
“They won't attack?”- Damian asked, his eyes never leaving the building.
“They don't see us as threats. Their gaze has no bloodlust, it's just… heavy.”
Dick and his siblings decided to wait on the plane, leaving Clark and Bruce to deal with the children. Together they approached, steps slow and careful. The door was already open. Inside, sunlight poured through massive windows. No signs of a laboratory and no signs of captivity. Just a home.
Bruce stopped on track, his eyes laying on the two figures standing at the far end of the room. A boy and a girl, twins. The girl's bright red hair cascaded until the back of her knee, while the boy, with the same color, looked nearly identical to her except for his shorter hair.
Everything was foreign to Bruce, except the eyes. Unmistakable and identical to his.
Neither of them appeared frightened, nor surprised. As if they were waiting for him. The girl tilted her head, almost like an animal catching a familiar scent. And in the blink of Bruce's eyes, the boy stood behind him, his height reaching the man's waist. Both Clark and the others froze.
The boy inhaled slowly, and Bruce frowned seeing the strange look on the boy's face, who now was staring back at his sister. It was a flickering of emotions.
Wonder, then recognition, then… longing.
They began to speak, soft vowels mixed with sharp consonants. The language sounds almost musical. If he wasn't paying attention, Bruce would have missed the moment the girls approached him, her steps making no sound.
“Kai tharyn.”
The worlds filled Bruce's ears, his heart beating fast with an emotion he couldn't quite name, it felt like his heart was being pulled by a string. It felt familiar, as if finding something he didn't know he had lost.
“What does that mean?”- Bruce asked, coming down to one knee and looking closely at her face. Holding back the urge to touch the girl's face.
“Father… She called you father.”
Paying close attention to both men, she held her chin looking at her brother, who nodded before continuing.
“Nor ael. Nor tharyn. Velour kai vae.”
Despite the new round of foreign language, this time Bruce could understand perfectly.
“We know your soul. We know our blood. Finally finding home.”
That when Bruce knew, despite coming here to investigate, he could never turn his back on then. He raised both his arms, one hand reaching for each of the twins, touching their faces. The girl laid further on his hand, smiling a bit and the boy hugged Bruce's forearm, both actions making Bruce feel the odd string in his heart again.
The girl stepped once more towards Bruce, close enough to know. No doubt, no uncertainty. The scent was there. The same scent carried in every cell of their bodies. The same blood.
She smiled at it, small. hopeful. She was about to say something to her twin when she noticed him looking behind their fathers back, Diana approached with calmness, but her face showed a slight concern.
“Earth is gonna get attacked.”- She said to Bruce and Clark.- "They're already here.”
“Out of nowhere?”- Bruce got up, hiding both twins behind his legs.
Diana shared a look with Clark, the action setting Bruce off. Taking the somewhat harmonious atmosphere to a gloomy one.
“The children act like a beacon for whatever it is outside, their power emits a signal across space. Not intentional, just by existing.”- Diana answered.- “Earth isn't in danger because of what the twins might do, but because of who is coming for them.”
“You knew it.”- Bruce looked at Clark, his friend carrying a somber expression.- “That's why you want to send them away.”
Clark nodded, his eyes heavy. Opening his mouth to answer Bruce, Clark suddenly stopped, his head snapping back.
“They're here.”- He said already getting out of the house.
“The others are already in place.”- Diana said, taking out her sword.
The alien warships darkened the city sky. Hundred of them. Enough to challenge entire worlds. Superman, now hovered above the house and in the other extremity of the city, Green lantern stood ready. The twins watched silently, as if already knowing what would happen.
“Child…”- Diana called the twins.- “You both are loved by the universe. You know what that means, right?”
“Diana!”- Bruce barked, the thought of the children he barely met taking part in the fight was enough to make him angry.
“They will not reach here.”- Maltheon said, his hand closed on Bruce's wrist, glancing up at him.- “Caelia won’t let it.”
Bruce and Diana watched as the girl stepped forward, her hair being swept by the wind, who seemed to move circling her body. The sky, which had been clear all day despite the amount of warships, suddenly turned into a dancing of dark raging clouds. Caelia looked up, eyes bored at the sight.
“Kai ryth.”
The air became heavy. Every hero felt it, like a pressure sipping into their bones. It seemed like the atmosphere on its own was holding its breath. It wasn't just her voice, it was a bunch of different ones. It was ancient. It was dangerous. Thunders exploded across the horizon and the warships shook. Their engines flickering one by one, then all at once. The stars above seemed to dim, the universe listening to the words of their beloved child.
Caelia raised her small hand. Not threatening. Merciful.
“Leave.”
All of them heard the little girl's voice, despite the command not being for them, their heart shook the same. The fleet vanished from every sensor. No explosion. No retreat. simply gone. As if reality had just corrected a mistake. Superman descended slowly, not sure of what his eyes had witnessed.
Bruce at the empty sky and then at the two beings who had dismissed an invasion with only words, the heavy realization of what he was dealing with finally setting in his chest.
“Father.”- The twins called him unison, blue glassy eyes looking back at him and words heavily accented.
He didn't know what he was dealing with, but he knew it could wait for a while. Even more if the eyes looking back at him could be protected.
