it seems like people forget that isn't really apart of the batfam, like she has a mom? yes she's a bat, but not like how the rest of them are, especially considering her relationship with Bruce. And it kinda makes me upset because people will leave out Duke but keep Steph there in fanart of the batfam
(Ok, this is because someone said its weird to ship stephcass because they're like foster siblings because they're both apart of the batfam, and I strongly disagree)
A/N: Hii!! I hope you enjoy this :) No hard tw but mentions of a (kind of) toxic relatioship. Its been months I KNOW but oh well. Uhm...please leave comments, I always read them and they are greatly appreciated.
The cold wind hit you almost just as hard as his words
It scratches you sharply, leaving a trail of cruel loneliness on your body. There's no more warmth, there hasn't been in a while. Not since the left side of the bed went cold. Yet you only sleep on the right, despite no longer having a reason to. Despite your reason leaving you. But the fragments are still there, in the cracks of a mug that he liked, in the pile of empty monster cans that you keep in a box. It's lonely, it's embarrassing. You can feel the mockery coming from his old hoodie. It stays still on your floor, it hasn't been washed since the fight. The worst part was that Dick didn't leave loudly, boldly. It wasn’t the shouting or the tense silences–not even the slammed doors. No, it was the fact that it was smooth. It was almost perfect, like he’d practiced it all, like he practiced for days. Just waited until you were too exhausted to fight it.
You don’t try to find him, you don’t cling. The lesson has been learned, it doesn't need to be repeated. Looking back, was it wrong? Was it wrong to hold him to your heart? Was it wrong to be the shoulder he needed? Maybe you weren’t enough. Or maybe he was too much, only god knows. But you didn’t look for him, didn’t talk to him. So you haven't seen him since.
Until now.
It wasn’t dramatic, no rain, no raised voices and no accusatory fingers. If you had just left a second earlier, maybe you could have saved the tears. You’re coming out of the corner store, plastic bags filled with frozen foods and beer and sleep lingering in your eyes. He’s coming into the corner store, hoodie too big and the same tired look on his face. In all Tim glory. Even with the hood up his hair is messy, like he’s just woken up.
He freezes.
You freeze.
His eyes are wide, almost like he forgot you existed. That had to hurt more than the thrown around insults. You can practically hear the memories flash in his mind, and there's that awkward look of guilt. LIke it’s only just come to him how much he hurt you. Looking at him like that, trying to say something, it was undoing a wound you worked so hard to stitch shut. The way he shifts his weight and the way his mouth hangs open you pray that it isn’t an apology. But you know that it is–and you don’t want to hear it. Not because it wouldn’t matter, not because it wouldn’t change anything.
But because it would, it would matter. And honestly? You wouldn’t survive it. So instead of waiting for another crack in your heart, you grip the plastic bags like they're the only things keeping you sane and walk away. Your eyes are closed, they’re closed to keep the tears in. No crying, no final word, no looking back.
Your heartbeat rings in your ears, slowly being muffled by something that used to be innocent and immature love. There's a familiar ache beneath your ribs, something that you knew was creeping back soon.
A/N: Hi!! I should probably work on my WIPS, finish my ongoing series, or go through asks, but...wait!! I had this really cool concept and I had to write it down!! This is only an intro !!Tell me if you wanna see more of this shitty writing of mine :) P.S Reader (you) have Oneironauts
TW: Bullying, bad parenting, school, suggested suicide, suicidal thoughts etc
In a city where danger creeps at every second of the day, only getting louder as the sky gets darker, you found your escape. It was bloody fists, it wasn’t on the bustling streets or behind a locked door. It sure as hell wasn’t in the false comforts of your home, where words hit harder than any punch and the silences stretched on longer than looming shadows.
Your escape was somewhere no one could reach; it was a drift away from reality. Nothing felt better than closing your eyes and putting your head down, drowning out the noise of life. And when you did, it felt otherworldly.
This…power seemed to have been with you forever. Well, that was a lie. You’ve always been aware of your dreams, but others? No, that was different. Started because of something dumb and stupid, really. Something dumb and stupid that put you in a coma.
But you were past that- you barely even remembered it! Or maybe you just didn’t want to. It was easier to pretend it wasn’t important, to tell yourself it was in the past. After all, what was the point in dwelling on something that no one could change? You were here now, alive. And more importantly, you were past that. Mostly. The medical bills were covered by the Wayne Health Foundation because it was the cause of some villainous attack- was it?- so it’s not like you had your parents drowning in debt!
No. But god, did they remind you how little they cared- and would’ve cared- every day. They weren’t exactly the nurturing types, both two sides of one bad coin. They weren’t abusive; they’ve never hit you. Their venom was usually quieter, poisoning you with every dismissive shrug and drunken eye roll. It wasn’t like they purposely starved you, no. Instead, it was the way they argued over whose responsibility dinner was as they didn’t notice the fact that you hadn’t eaten since the day before.
Cutting silence would swallow your house just after glasses were shattered, cuts and bruises were formed, and voices were strained. And the weight of it, the weight of it all, sat on your shoulders, heavy and suffocating. So when you realised that sleep wasn’t just rest and that it was a break- why would you ever stay awake? Closing your eyes meant entering freeing spaces, stepping away from the constant headache you called home.
When you were away in your head, or other people's heads, it was a space where nothing, no one, could touch you. Dreams didn’t ignore you. Dreams didn’t hurt you. Dreams didn’t judge you.
So when night fell, you took little trips into other people's heads. Seeing what their sick little heads come up with, but no one fills you with more wonder than his dreams. Oh, how you wished he’d sleep more often or slept more at night. He did sleep a lot. Just not at night.
Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. God, did he have the most elaborate dreams; even when sleeping, he was meticulous. His mind was so vivid and raw that you craved more of it. He was one of the first minds you visited, and he was your favourite. So much so that you actually talked to him when he was dreaming, one of three people you interacted with in your weird, alien-like state. It doesn’t really effect you in day-to-day life…until it does.
A/N: Part three was posted back in January. Where did all the time go? Sorry, pookies!! Part four is here, and updates will be a bit more regular (hopefully)! Remember, my inbox is open. Share your opinions and requests!! I hope you guys enjoy this one. The calm before the storm. Also I'm not sure how hospitals work in america, I'm british so like...
PART 1 -> PART 2 -> PART 3 -> PART 3.5
TW: Substance abuse, abuse, alcoholism, relapse, self-harm, neglect etc
𐙚"Nothing about the way that you were treated ever seemed especially alarming 'til now"
-Harry Styles𐙚
You didn't stay long at the hospital; you never liked them. The same sterile cleanliness that brought others comfort-caused you to feel uneasy. It was almost like the shine of every surface was judging you.
Damian, ever the protective brother, had been visiting the maximum number of hours. One time, the nurses almost had to drag him out. The thought almost makes you smile; he does care. You wonder what excuse he's telling Bruce, but only for a second. You didn't like thinking about your father that much
Sitting at the edge of the bed, you watched him hold onto your bag. You wanted to give him a smile, just to reassure him, but you couldn't.
You had already lied enough, and he had made it clear how much he hated your lies. Just as you were about to get up, your phone vibrated in your hands. It was the first time someone called you first; it caused your jaw to clench.
Your palms now feel sweaty. Why was Alfred calling? You should answer. You should answer. He had been the only one that was sending you constant messages, of course you should pick up.
With a shaky breath, you answer the call. In your best 'I'm doing amazing as always' voice, you said hello. Even if you could feel a lump start to form in your throat, it was believable.
"Ah, hello, Miss. I know it's rather early, but it's been a while since I've heard your voice."
His words were so soft, and now you want to cry again. Because you didn't deserve to be spoken to like this; you didn't deserve the gentleness. The lump in your throat was starting to sting as you tried to form an answer.
"Yeah...sorry about the sudden leave-"
"It's alright, Miss. I'm sure you had your reasons."
The way he cut you off, something seemed wrong. There was a long silence followed after, your eyes were starting to sting now. Looking at Damian, who was already glaring at you, you just waited for Alfred to say something, but he didn't.
He waited for your voice, waited for your words. It didn't make sense to you, did he know? No. He couldn't. You trusted Damian.
"I...did. I just had to take some time to clear my head." Your words quieter than what you wanted.
"I thought so, but may ask where?"
"...excuse me?"
You didn't mean to sound as nervous as you did, but what did he mean by that? Maybe you were just being paranoid, and maybe you shouldn't have answered his call, but it felt so weird. Usually he would believe everything you said.
"I went over to your apartment to drop off some food, but you weren't there. It seemed empty, and cold."
"Ah."
You couldn't say more; there was a pit forming in your stomach. It was foolish, but you ended the call abruptly. Your phone landed on the springy mattress while your hands held your face.
It was only for a moment; your hands ran through your hair as you got up and offered Damian a smile. You hoped that it looked real, and you hoped all of your energy looked real.
"Thanks for the help, bud." You say, picking up your phone again, the mere action making your palms sweaty. It vibrated again, a notification. You swallowed thickly, pushing everything down.
You breathed a sigh of relief as you saw that it was only Roy. God, did you need him right now
Roy: Hey Im here now :)
Roy: meeting me in the car park?
Damian watched as your whole demeanour changed just because of two messages. Your shoulders aren't as tense, and your face softens. How could you just do that? Why weren't you angry?
He sure as hell was. He gripped your bag tighter, looking down at his feet nervously. Of course, he hadn't told anyone yet- how would he? But it's been hard keeping it in. Especially since no one seems to care.
"Her apartment's empty? So what? It wouldn't be the first time."
You breathed in the not so fresh air, it was still better than that room. You felt like you were going to go crazy if your were surrounded by those white walls any longer.
You walked around the car park, looking for that familiar number plate. It had been a while since you'd seen Roy, your recent conversations have purely been behind a screen.
"Who is picking us up?" Damian asked, trying to look at your phone.
"Oh it's just Roy."
"...Harper?" He repeated with something a bit too close to disdain.
"Yeah, Roy. Why do you sound like that? Why do you look like that?"
You asked, referring to the face Damian now put on. It almost made you laugh. Your family had mixed opinions on Roy.
You, for one, adored him. He was a lot different from the loud, opinionated party boy you knew; he changed. He changed just the right amount to raise a beautiful little kid. Plus he was probably the only one that cared about your sobriety.
You tap your foot against the cold concrete, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet space. Your eyes flicker from your phone to Damian, whose expression is unreadable. The air feels almost suffocating again, thin, as if it’s pressing against your chest. You glance back at your phone, pretending to check for messages, but all you can think about is the way his eyes won't meet yours.
The cold wind stings your face, each gust reminding you of the chill that has settled between you two. It wasn't fair, you hated that you just expected him to be normal after all of this. But obviously he wouldn't be, what did you expect? The moment stretches, the silence so thick it’s uncomfortable—like you’re both waiting for something to break but neither of you knows what to say. Thank fully you eyes meet a different green pair, they're softer.
They've got an odd look of sadness in them, you're just happy He's here.
Roy, he's finally in Gotham. It feels like forever, and sadly he's here because you fucked up. Royally fucked up.
So...what if Bruce Wayne had a sister? I remember doing something like this on my old account, but I love the idea so much. And if she was older than him, even if it was by a few years, she would've definitely parentified herself.
Wanting to shadow her precious baby brother from Gotham's cruelness, we all know how that worked out. Whether she was adopted or not, it works either way.
TW: Dark themes.
Bruce Wayne's sister.
You hated being known as only his sister, even though you were there first. The only time they used your name in headlines was to mock you or to exaggerate a mistake you made.
That was before the tragedy; after...well, it still didn't paint you in a pretty light.
After losing your parents, Bruce became more hostile, and you became more docile. When he would close his fists in rage, you would open your arms with tenderness. When he opened his mouth with sorrow, you opened yours with comfort.
His grief manifested into hostility; the sweet baby boy you once knew was gone. It was replaced with someone who wanted to hurt and cause pain. It was replaced with someone you wanted to, no had to, protect. Who cared about your tears? Alfred had lost his dearest friends, and Bruce had lost his Mom and Dad.
You grew up too fast; it made you a perfect target for the cameras. Constantly avoiding the flashes until you couldn't. Until they trapped you, until they caught you. But hey, at least it wasn't Bruce. Right? I mean...sometimes the attention wasn't that bad. was.
Sure, the praise was mainly unwanted, but it was innocent. A little girl who shines just like her parents did despite the loss.
Sadly, soon, the praise would morph into something darker, seeping into your head and clawing at it constantly. It clawed at your body as well, leaving a trail of disgust burnt onto her body. At least it was her and not Bruce; he could never know.
He could never know about any of it. Not about how you would sometimes sneak into your parents' room; you hated that there was no longer warmth in it. He couldn't know how you would steal Mom's perfume and Dad's cologne, spraying it on the silk pillows and just lay on their bed. Silently sobbing to yourself as you cursed herself for not remembering their voices properly.
You hated yourself, and you hated how Bruce would wake you up in the middle of the night just to sleep in your bed.
But not really; you couldn't hate your baby brother. Sure, he was turning ten soon, but he still clung on to you like he was still four. You didn't blame him for their deaths; how could you? How could you not?
It was Gotham's cruelness, the same cruelness that kept you up at nights. The visions and night terrors were too much, but it was probably worse for Bruce.
Bruce Wayne's sister, the same one that didn't shed a single tear at her parents funeral.
Bruce Wayne's sister, the only girl that doesn't cry when visiting her parents grave.
You held it in, held it all in. The only steady person in a sea of grief and anger. It was the best thing you could do, you thought. Until you felt trembling hands tug at your dress. A shaky voice calling you, accusing you of being heartless.
He was just a baby. You weren't heartless; you just couldn't allow it to be broken again.
Even if it did get broken, constantly at school. Bruce Wayne's sister, so timid compared to her brother. You couldn't fight back; you knew you couldn't. Even if all you wanted to do was push them against the road concrete and watch their noses go flat against it. It'll go away; you hoped it would go away.
But it didn't. It was hell, it was hell until you embraced it.
I will add more, just had to get this out there
I had a few more things I wanted to add, should I do a part 2
Sure.
NO PLEASE NO!!
You suggest a scenario with this concept (please :D)
u know what? i'm always gonna describe reader as being smaller than jason because, unlike the other characters with decided, specifically agreed-upon heights, he's just ambiguously large. so you can imagine whatever you want. you want him 6'0? great, he's 6'0. you're a tall girlie? perfect, he's 6'2. you're 6'2? bam! he's 6'6 now. you can do whatever you want guys. the world is your oyster.
WHAT IF THE KID HE PICKS UP IS A META, MAYBE LIKE LAURA KINNEY/ X-23 even better to piss bruce off cus the no metas and in a way thsi kid has also died
I LIKE THE WAY YOU THINK
This makes sense to me, like if they had some sort of power/enhanced ability they couldn't quiet control. Bonus points if the powers are draining/harmful because then you have room for angst >:)
The kid being dead also would add another layer to their relationship. I don't know how'd I'd do it, maybe dead inside?
vaporwave
stormborns
turnnoffyourmind
gracieabrams
gamechangershow
