Favorite things to do and collect; big bows, baking from scratch, reading, long walks (20000 steps), long bike rides (15 miles), weight lifting (12 pounds), collecting wild flowers.
Favorite season; a tie between fall and winter
Favorite holiday; thanksgiving
Favorite music genre; all
Favorite book genre; all
Favorite movie genre; all
Favorite tv genre; all
Favorite movies; Tinker Bell series, Ponyo, Totoro, Kiki’s Delivery Service, Howl’s Moving Castle, Spirited Away, Matilda, Kill Bill, National Tresure, Mr Magoriums Wonder Emporium, Elf, The Addams Family, Barbie Movies.
Favorite (non-anime) tv shows; Touch, Alcatraz, Sleepy Hollow, Charmed, I Dream Of Gennie, Supernatural, Bewitched, Ghost Adventurers, Paranormal Witness, The Addams Family, Face Off, Doctor Who, The Nanny, The Vampire Diaries, Bones, Medium, Sabrina the teenage witch.
Favorite animated shows; Steven Universe, Ben Ten (the original!), Teen Titans (the original!), Tutenstein, Growing up Creepy, Totally Spies, Martin Mystery, Avatar the Last Air Bender, The Legend Of Korra, Miraculous Ladybug, Chowder, Flapjack, Jimmy Neutron, Danny Phantom, The Mighty Bee, Popeye, The Fairy Odd Parents, Samurai Jack, The Power Puff Girls (the original!). Dc anything and everything.
Favorite Anime; One Punch Man, Sailor Moon (the original!), The Wise Man’s Grandson, Ascendence Of A Bookworm, Bed and Breakfast for Spirits, Kamisama Kiss, Hina Festival, One Piece, Noragami, The Ogre Bride, That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime, Doctor Stone, Maid-Sama, The Disasterous Life of Saiki K., The Magus Bride, Imouto Umaru-San. Cells at work, sleepy princess in the demon castle, welcome to demon school iruma-kun, the demon kings daughter is too nice, nanbaka.
What I love learning about; Mummies/Mummification/bog bodies/frozen bodies, Ancient China, Ancient Egypt, Aztec’s, fashion history from around the world, historical hair styles, historical makeup/ how the make up was made and what they used, historical recipes, how clothing was woven in ancient times, how dye and paint was made in ancient times.
Fears; a one track mind, vomiting, spiders, being left behind, losing grip of reality, being weak.
Dislikes; the word “mediocre,” being stepped on, forgotten.
You hummed softly as you brushed your hair in front of your vanity, setting the brush down once you were satisfied. For a long moment, you stared at your reflection, smoothing down the imaginary out of place hairs before skipping over to your wardrobe. A smile tugged at your lips, so wide your cheeks were beginning to ache. Caleb had called a few hours earlier to tell you he had planned a date for the two of you. Since then, you’d been tearing through your walk-in closet, trying on outfit after outfit. “Too simple… too flashy… trying too hard,” you muttered, sighing as you peeled off yet another dress and tossed it onto the growing pile of clothes littering the floor. In the middle of your fashion crisis, Alfred stepped into the room and took in the disaster. “Miss (Name), may I ask why your clothes are all over the floor?” You whipped around, clutching two dresses to your chest. “Alfred, which dress looks better?”
You turned around and held up two dresses for him to see. Alfred sighed softly before a small smile appeared on his face. You lifted the first one. “Miss, you look beautiful in everything.” “Alfred, not now—which one?” you whined before holding up the second dress instead. “Are you trying to impress someone?” “No…” You answered a little too quickly. He raised an eyebrow at you. “He’s just a friend,” you quickly deflected. After the last incident, Alfred had practically drilled you for the name of the person who left the “parting gift” on your neck, but eventually dropped it because of your stubborn and secretive nature like father like daughter. You didn’t want Alfred knowing you were going out with a boy. Honestly, you didn’t want anyone in your family to know. It wasn’t that you were embarrassed by Caleb. You just didn’t want people questioning your relationship, especially with how popular he was compared to you. “That (Outfit) looks beautiful,” Alfred finally said. You smiled brightly and turned toward the floor-length mirror, admiring your reflection. “I’m assuming you’ll be out late?” he asked. “Uh- yeah. I’ll be home before midnight.” “I believe you meant 9 PM sharp.” “No? I said—” “If there is nothing else, Miss, I will be in the kitchen.” You rolled your eyes lightheartedly as he calmly walked out of the room.
After changing into your outfit, you applied a layer of lipstick/lip gloss and grabbed your purse. Just as you reached the door, you paused and turned back toward your vanity, opening your jewelry box. Your eyes lingered on the pearl necklace inside as you debated whether to wear it. After a moment of thought, you sighed softly and clasped it around your neck. Carefully making your way down the stairs in your heels, you headed toward the front door, only to stop when you saw Jason walking in. He looked you up and down, a frown settling on his face. “Where’re you going?” You stared at him wide-eyed, caught off guard by the fact that he was even talking to you. “What?” “I’m asking where you’re going this late.” You sighed in annoyance and walked past him toward the door. “Does it matter?” you muttered bitterly. “(Name), Can you stop being a fucking brat for one second?!” Jason snapped, his glare hardening as he grabbed your wrist tightly. Your face scrunched up in pain. “Let go! What’s wrong with you?!”
He snapped out of his trance and immediately let go of you, guilt flashing across his face. His heart dropped into his stomach the moment he saw the venomous glare in your eyes. “I-I didn’t mean to…” Before he could finish explaining, you hurried out the front door. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Jason? Why are you just standing there?” Tim asked as he walked into the room. Jason rubbed a hand over his face. “Nothing… actually, do you know where Bruce is?”
Bruce stared at the large screen in front of him in the dreary Batcave, the harsh glow from the screen casting shadows across his tired face. His eyes stayed fixed on the photos from this week’s crime scenes as he sighed in exhaustion. The patterns frustrated him to no end, whoever was behind this had managed to slip away the limited amount of evidence didn’t help either, leaving almost nothing behind, and the inability to predict their next move was slowly driving him insane. Barbara wasn’t doing much better either. She hadn’t slept properly in days, endlessly clicking through files and footage while trying to piece together the breadcrumbs left behind. Suddenly, she paused, narrowing her eyes. “Hey, Bruce… you might want to see this.” She pulled up footage of you on the massive screen. Bruce’s expression twisted in confusion before hardening. “What are you trying to say, Barbara?” “Before you misunderstand,” she started carefully, “I’m saying maybe (Name) saw someone. From what we’ve gathered, three days ago the body was already—”
"Bruce!"
Jason stormed into the cave with Tim trailing behind him, confused and trying to calm him down. He slammed his fist onto the desk in front of Bruce. “I don’t have time for this, Jason,” Bruce said coldly without looking up. “Whatever the problem is, it can wait.” “I didn’t know (Name) was considered a problem now,” Jason shot back sarcastically. Bruce’s eyes snapped toward him sharply. “What now?” “Can’t you see what’s been happening? She’s been running around late at night with some boy!” he shouted. Tim stared at him like he had grown two heads. “Did you hit your head? There’s no way someone’s actually willing to be her boyfriend. She’s gloomy all the time, and the way she smiles is sometimes kind of creepy—” His laugh was abruptly cut off when Jason grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie. “Finish that sentence. I dare you.” Barbara quickly stepped in before things escalated further. “Look, Jason, (Name) is at the age where she’s going to start dating and meet other boys,” she said, “but I have to agree with Tim. There’s no way she’s secretly dating someone, or Damian would’ve mentioned it by now or one of us would’ve seen it by now.”
“I can confirm master Jason’s words, master Barbra.”
Alfred entered the cave with Damian beside him. “What’s going on here, Father?” Bruce sighed tiredly. “It’s nothing—” “Of course you’d say that,” Jason snapped. “You never gave two shits about (Name) before, did you?” Bruce’s expression darkened. “I am not having this conversation with you.” Jason let out a bitter laugh. “For all we know, that guy could be dangerous or using her.” Damian raised an eyebrow slightly. “Is this about the new transfer student?” “You know who Jason’s talking about?” Tim asked. Damian crossed his arms. “The new student has been suspiciously keeping an eye on (Name).” Bruce’s eyes narrowed instantly. “Define suspiciously.” Damian tilted his head slightly.
<9:07 PM>
"C-Caleb," you moaned against his mouth, your back against the brick wall. Caleb had left purple bruises on your shoulder and neck. His hand reached up and gently tilted your chin, bringing your face toward his. "God, you're so beautiful," he whispered calmly, gradually closing the distance between you two. His arm wrapped around your waist, while the other hiked up to his upper thigh. He pulled you closer to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue in. You tapped his shoulder, begging for some breathing room, which he reluctantly granted. He stared at your face, lipstick/lip gloss smudged across your delicate lips and a little on your cheeks, your hair disheveled, as were your clothes. You were almost terrified someone would identify you in such a scandalous predicament last thing you needed was to be on the headline of every new article and broadcast. Unfortunately Caleb couldn't care less whether anyone saw you; he could always get rid of them if it worried you so much, but right now his gaze was fixed solely on you. He thanked every being in the universe for sending the most ethereal women into his twisted, filthy hands.
You looked away shyly, but your gaze slowly drifted toward the back door of the restaurant, where the waitress had disappeared only moments ago. Your mood instantly soured as memories flashed through your mind of her shameless flirting with Caleb while acting like you didn’t even exist. The thought alone made your stomach twist. Part of you wanted to follow her outside into the alleyway, with the steak knife she had handed you earlier for your meal. You imagined stepping quietly behind her before driving the blade into her heart with her blood squirting out and covering your face and dress, imagining the horror on her face and the pain in her eyes before the light disappeared from them completely, sinking into darkness. But he’d stopped you before you could act on your impulse. Last thing he needed was for his date to be ruined by someone dying here, especially their server, you’d be the first to be questioned afterward, it was obvious you didn’t handle pressure well when your emotions took over. You tore your eyes away from the door. “Caleb, it’s getting late… Alfred will be mad if I’m any later,” you murmured, remembering Alfred’s strict curfew. “Now?” Caleb asked, giving you a pathetic puppy-eyed look. You glanced at him apologetically. With a soft sigh, he finally loosened his hold and gently set you down before carefully fixing your hair, his thumb brushing over your lips.
You huffed out a breath and wiped the ruined lipstick/lip gloss from your lips with the back of your hand before trying to fixing your hair. Your glare lingered on the empty space as you zoned out, thoughts spiraling in your head. Caleb watched you carefully from the corner of his eye. “Are you jealous?” he teased. You blinked twice. “Me? Jealous?”“You know, it’s okay if you are,” he teased softly, a small grin pulling at his lips. “Not that you have anything to worry about anyway. You’re the only person I look at like that.” Your frown deepened. “Im not jealous!” you snapped loudly. Caleb stepped back slightly, clearly caught off guard by your sudden outburst. “A-alright…” he tried to comfort you. Your chest heaved with every sharp breath, “Don’t patronize me! Not everything is about you!” The words spilled out from your mouth in one rushed breath. Caleb tried to calm you down, but you weren’t having it. “I’m going home first. Don’t you dare follow me.” He stood frozen in the alleyway, half shocked and half confused as he watched you storm off. Once you disappeared, he buried his face in his hand and let out a loud groan why did he even open his mouth.
You walked through the city on foot, not even bothering to call an Uber or wait for a bus. Caleb’s words kept replaying in your head, refusing to leave you alone. Are you jealous? Pfft. Was he out of his mind?! ofcourseyou’retotallynotjealous! You bit the inside of your cheek raw as you aimlessly wandered down the sidewalk, your handbag loosely hanging from your shoulder while your other hand carried your heels. Crowds of people brushed past you, hurrying toward their next destination, some sparing you brief glances before continuing on with their lives. After what felt like forever, you finally reached the manor. Over two and a half hours later than you were supposed to be home, you cursed Caleb inwardly for taking you somewhere so far from home. You dragged yourself through the massive front doors, the soles of your feet aching as your toes curled slightly against the soft carpet after hours of walking on harsh concrete. Slowly, you made your way toward the grand staircase, only to freeze when you noticed your father standing at the top.
He took in your slightly disheveled appearance, his gaze lingering on your smudged makeup and the heels dangling from your hand. “Do you understand how late it is right now?” “…” “Go to your room.” You rolled your eyes and muttered something under your breath as you walked past him. Once you reached your room, you tossed your heels onto the floor and stumbled toward your vanity, collapsing onto the cushioned stool with your head buried in your arms. A knock sounded against your door, but you stayed silent. Another knock followed before you heard a muffled, “I’m coming in!” Through the mirror, you watched Dick step into your room. You groaned quietly, inwardly rolling your eyes at the sight of him. “Do you need anything?” you sneered, already irritated from the night. Dick awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, clearly unsure of how to talk to you. After your mother died, he slowly distanced himself from you, throwing himself into being a vigilante at night and a police officer in Blüdhaven during the day. Everything between the two of you changed after that your once tight knitted bond shattered although he likes to think differ. After all, she had been like a second mother to him, too. Catching your glare through the vanity mirror, he awkwardly coughed into his fist.
“Hey… you okay?” “…” Your eyes followed him as he sat down on your bed, staring at your disheveled figure with concern. “You really shouldn’t be outside right now… You know, with the new murderer going around.” Your heartbeat quickened for a split second, and you instinctively looked at Dick through the vanity mirror, only to quickly look away the moment your eyes met his. But your expression softened as your thoughts drifted back to the fight with Caleb. Guilt twisted in your chest. You knew he had only been trying to protect you, yet you threw a tantrum instead. He was right. You were jealous. You hated when other girls flirted with him at school, hated that you couldn’t openly call him yours, hated the lingering fear that one day he might slip from your grasp and into someone else’s. “I’m fine…” You muttered quietly. “(Name), I’ve known you since the day you were born. I don’t wanna watch you end up like…” His voice trailed off. You let out a slow sigh, knowing exactly who he meant, but stayed silent. The room slowly fell into an uncomfortable silence, neither of you knowing how to continue the conversation.
A faint knock echoed against your door. “We need to talk. Now.” You already knew who it was and gave a small nod. Dick got up from your bed and stepped closer to Bruce, trying to mediate the situation. “Bruce, give her a break.” “She can speak for herself.” Heat crawled across your skin as your palms grew sweaty. “Why did you go out without informing me, (Name)?” “I told Alfred…” “And it seems he trusted you too much.” You blinked back your tears rapidly, desperately trying to stop them from falling. “I-I didn’t mean to come home so late… I just… walked home and—” “You walked home?!” Dick interrupted, staring at you in disbelief, while Bruce somehow looked even angrier, his expression turning cold. Realizing you had only made things worse, you immediately went quiet. “Do you understand how dangerous it is for you to walk home alone?” “...” “Answer me when I'm talking to you.” “…Yes.” “Then why did you do it?” Silence filled the room because even you didn’t have an answer. “As much as I want to defend you, (Name), Bruce is right,” Dick said quietly. You bit down harshly on your lip, trying to suppress the sob threatening to escape. “Another student was found dead while you were outside—”
‘they found Lizzy? but how...I thought Caleb got rid of her’
You whimpered softly, struggling to find your voice before finally breaking down into tears. “—That could’ve been you!” Bruce snapped. “From now on, you’re being homeschooled.” “Y-You can’t do that! Then I won’t be able to see him!” you cried out desperately. Bruce sighed in disappointment at your words he didn’t believe Jason or Damian but to hear it from you made it worse were you really going to throw your life away just to go on a date with some guy? With your high status you’d be the first person to taken as a hostage or get killed. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact you had made such a reckless decision, you were never like this before where is this behavior coming from? Did the boy corrupt your innocent mind— “YOU NEVER CARED ABOUT ME BEFORE!” Dick visibly flinched at your words. Deep down, he knew there was some truth behind them, but hearing them out loud felt like a knife being driven straight through his chest. Bruce didn’t look any better as he stood there, staring at his daughter sobbing in front of him.
“Get out, get out, get out—GET OUT!” you screamed out in one breath. “(Name), breathe. We can talk this out after you calm down a little, okay, pipsqueak?” Dick said cautiously. You gritted your teeth at the nickname. How dare he use that name after everything he’d done? That name didn’t belong to you anymore… no, it belonged to Damian now. A choked laugh escaped your throat as you grabbed the hand mirror from your vanity and swung it straight at Dick’s head in anger. The glass shattered on impact, pieces scattering across the floor while shards embedded themselves into his skin, blood immediately trickling down his face. Dick stumbled back slightly and touched the side of his head, staring at the blood coating his fingers in shock. Bruce eyes widened slightly in shock quickly moved toward him to make sure he was alright before turning toward you, but he didn’t yell or even react. Instead, he silently guided Dick out of your room. He didn't even bother to look at you before leaving your room with dick.
You let out a hollowed-out chuckle before it turned into hysterical laughter. You never felt so alive, that shock on his and Bruce's faces made you feel better in a sickly twisted way. If this was their reaction to something so small, you wondered how much worse it would be once you finally got rid of them for good. Bruce on the other hand who heard your psychotic laugh from the distance couldn't help but be reminded of the Joker, who has the same manic laughter echoing in his mind ever since he started terrorizing Gotham, a pit formed in his stomach but he didn’t know why there was nothing to worry about this was just a phase. While dick looked shocked that his baby sister would raise her hand against him of all people. Sure he could’ve predicted that any of his other siblings would be bold enough to harm him, especially Damian, who‘d covered him in stab wounds from his katana when they first met...but you? Why would you do that unprovoked...Sure, he hadn’t been there for you lately, but between being a vigilante and working in Blüdhaven, he convinced himself he was trying his best. At the end of the day, he was still your brother. Nausea twisted in his stomach as he hurried toward his room brushing off Bruce, leaving him standing alone. “Master Bruce, are you alright?” “…what am I doing wrong Alfred..what would she do in my place…”
A/N: OMG FINALLY I FINISHED THIS CHAPTER, be warned (Name might start to become more unhinged and unstable later on. I also want to thank everyone’s patience and support for this story, it really means a lot to me that people are enjoying my writing. Whenever I wanted to quit writing this story, I always remembered that some people are really looking forward to seeing the story progress, which gets me motivated.
A/N: Again, I will not have a set schedule, so I have ZERO idea when the next one is coming out since I didn’t even start writing it lol.
A/N: As always, please comment your thoughts and comments. I love love love reading them, it motivates me A LOT. Idk if some of you guys read my announcement post, but I’ve been hit with writer's block, and I’m slowly, but surely getting through it. I’m finding myself itching to write more and quickly finish this before moving on to a new story. I will absolutely not start a new project until I finish this one, so I won’t have any distractions or be overwhelmed with writing multiple things at the same time.
A/N: As for the face for Caleb, I'll leave that to your imagination. I won't go into too much detail, so I don't shatter the fantasy of whoever you're imagining, but I will be describing basic stuff.
A/N: Also, let me know what some of YOUR predictions for the future chapters are
A/N: like always I hope you guys have a wonderful time scrolling, and I hope to see you sooner or later!
Part 1 Tw- slight yandere behavior, hurt/comfort, mentions of past abuse, mention loss of limb
You’d never think you would ever feel the comfort of a bed again. Yet here you are sprawled upon one. Not daring to move in hopes that this isn’t a dream.
You can still feel the faint throbbing of your toes well what’s left of them anyways. It still hurts to walk hell it still hurts to do anything.
So all you can do is sit and wait, it’s not like you’re given much of an option to begin with.
You don’t know what changed his behavior. And honestly it would be better if you didn’t.
Anything beats going back to the cell you now call a basement.
You hear the faint thump of feet as it makes it ways towards the room.
The door creaks open like the person on the other side is afraid of disturbing you.
Ironic that now he’s being soft when all he did was relentlessly torture you for….well you don’t know how long you’ve been here.
Time is fickle when you are trapped in a cage.
You almost scoff at the thought but hold yourself back.
He makes himself approach the room albeit slowly. With what seems to be clothes in hand. Soft ones at that.
You’ve been wearing the same worn down, pissed stain clothes since you’ve arrived here.
And to say you feel relief is an understatement because at least you could rid of the truama those clothes provided.
You try but fail to sit up, limbs still numb from the lack of movement you were provided.
But it seems he takes the hint as he gently helps you sit up. God you almost forgot the feeling of a gentle touch.
You could almost cry, but you don’t. How can you when your tormentor is the one providing you with these fleeting feelings of comfort.
You don’t seem to notice the soft almost mirthful look in his eyes.
You stay seated up almost like a statue waiting for him to make the first move. To inflict the same pain he has inflicted upon you again and again…
But he doesn’t.
“Sweetheart…we need to get you out of these clothes okay?”
You faintly glance up suprised at the pet name. You would never have expected the day he would look at you with such a soft look that was only ever limited to his ‘darling’
Just the thought of it makes you sick again..you want to say something anything. To yell, cry and curse him out for all the hell he put you through just because you were friends with the person he claimed to love.
But all you could let out are silent pathetic tears.
Yeah that’s what you are pathetic
Pathetic enough not to stand up for yourself, not to fight back to do something anything. But all that fire was extenguished the first time he sliced off your finger.
You could still faintly remember the excruciating pain but all it was now is a faint memory.
A memory you would never like to revisit…
You don’t seem to take notice of a calloused palm wiping away the evident tears streaming down your face nor the guilty look the man harbors.
He wouldnt blame you if you hated him.
That’s the worst part of it all. And the evident scars still present from his insistent torture he subjected you to.
Guilt is a powerful thing, it can shape a persons perspective from the pure intensity of it all.
And all he sees right now is a child he deliberately hurt in the name of love.
He doesn’t even know if he still loves her. How could he when every time he converses with her all he can see is the pitiful image of you…
Maybe that’s why he’s so insistent on taking care of you, to bring some personal relief to himself so his mind will stop plaguing him with nightmares of your screams for help.
He feels bile in his throat just thinking about it. But no matter first he needs to get you out of your ragged clothes any into some new ones.
He doesn’t remember faintly why he bought some more childish ones but it was like it was in instinct.
He doesn’t know what he feels for you and he doesn’t want to ponder it. But he does know hes guilty of a lot of things.
You don’t seem to take notice or care when he lifts your shirt off of your malnourished body. Faint scars still present from the ‘punishments’ he inflicted on you.
But just as quickly he puts the pjmas shirt on you. The design consists of white bunnys with a faint light pink backdrop, with matching pants to go with it.
He carefully helps you stand up, allowing you to change your pants for yourself. Turning around to atleast respect your privacy, it’s the least he could do.
With that he helps you get back onto the bed, tucking you in like a father would a child.
And some twisted part of him relishes in the prospect of being your father.
He hasn’t felt this sort of warmth in so long, it’s not the type that’s all consuming but a faint pleasent type where he knows this is where he needs to be.
And so he sits there with you until you fall asleep combing his hands through your matted hair, noting that you’ll need a bath tomorrow.
Read the synopsis here first. Warnings: Yandere Themes, Batfamily x reader, Superfamily x reader, Death, Dark fic → read at your own discretion. Chapter One. Chapter two.
Before the incident, you were no one special.
Not in the tragic way people liked to romanticise afterwards, either.
You weren’t secretly important. There was no hidden inheritance waiting for you, no extraordinary talent buried beneath years of hardship, no destiny quietly lingering around the corner.
You were just another person trying to survive Gotham.
One of millions.
Your family sat somewhere awkwardly in the middle class for most of your childhood. Not poor enough for sympathy, but never comfortable enough to stop worrying about money either.
Your mother worked double shifts as a waitress downtown, feet swollen and patience thin by the time she came home each night. Your father worked construction when jobs were available, though half the time he seemed more interested in spending his paychecks into alcohol, cigarettes, and nights out with friends before they ever made it home.
They’d had you young. Too young.
At least, that was the excuse everyone always used.
Your grandmother used to defend them constantly when you were little.
“They’re trying,” she’d sigh whenever your mother forgot to pick you up from school again. “They’re still figuring things out.”
You believed her back then.
Children usually did.
By the time you turned ten, though, you’d started noticing things.
Noticing that your parents always somehow had money for cigarettes, drinks, nights out with friends. But argued whenever school supplies needed replacing. Noticing how your grandmother quietly covered expenses without complaint whenever they “fell short” again.
You noticed how often your father looked annoyed when you interrupted him. How your mother’s smiles became strained whenever conversations lasted too long.
Eventually, you stopped interrupting altogether. It was easier that way.
Your grandmother practically raised you herself after that.
She was the one who picked you up from school. The one who remembered birthdays. The one who stayed awake during fevers while your parents argued somewhere down the hall about money neither of them had.
You learned early on not to ask for much.
Gotham had a way of wearing people down until survival became the only thing they had energy left for.
Your grandmother’s apartment sat above an old laundromat in Crime Alley, though nobody really called it that anymore unless they were tourists, cops, or trying to sound dramatic on the news. To the people actually living there, it was just another neighbourhood trying not to collapse in on itself.
The building always smelled faintly like mildew and detergent. Old wallpaper peeling near the ceiling. Weak heating during winter. Pipes that rattled loudly enough to wake you at night whenever someone used the shower.
Half the lights in the hallway never worked properly. The elevator broke down at least twice a month. Sometimes gunshots echoed somewhere nearby late enough at night that your grandmother would quietly close the curtains without pausing the conversation.
Like it was normal.
Because it was.
Still, it felt more like home than anywhere else ever had.
She liked listening to the city.
You never understood why.
Gotham was loud in all the worst ways.
Sirens screaming through the streets at three in the morning. Arguments through paper-thin apartment walls. Televisions blasting news reports about murders, robberies, masked vigilantes tearing through the city again.
Growing up in Gotham meant learning very quickly which sounds were dangerous and which weren’t. Car backfires. Arguments. Sirens. Police helicopters. Screaming.
Eventually it all blended together into background noise.
As a child, you used to sit cross-legged on the living room floor watching those very news reports while your grandmother muttered complaints from the kitchen.
Batman, Superman, Robin, The Justice League, Arkham breakouts, bank robberies, another chemical attack downtown, another body found in the Narrows.
The city lived in this constant state of barely controlled chaos where people still somehow expected you to show up to work the next morning afterwards. And everyone did. Because what else were they supposed to do?
“Rich people playing dress-up,” she’d scoff. “Always punching symptoms instead of fixing the disease,” she’d mutter while folding laundry.
You remembered laughing at that once.
At the time, you hadn’t understood what she meant. Then getting older and realising she wasn’t entirely wrong.
The heroes never came to your neighbourhood unless something exploded.
By the time you graduated high school, Gotham already felt exhausted into your bones.
You weren’t stupid. Your grades had been decent enough, but decent didn’t really mean much when every college application came attached to tuition you could never afford.
You got rejected from two schools outright.
The third accepted you with costs that may as well have been impossible.
So you did what most people did. You worked.
Then one acceptance attached to tuition costs so absurd you actually laughed reading it.
So that was the end of that.
You got a job two weeks later. Then another after the first store shut down following a robbery that left the owner dead behind the register. Then another after new management fired half the staff to cut costs. Then another after the building literally caught fire during some fight between Batman and Killer Croc three blocks away.
That was Gotham.
Jobs disappeared overnight. Buildings vanished. People vanished. Nobody acted surprised anymore.
By twenty four, your resume looked less like career experience and more like a trail of failed businesses and bad luck.
Convenience stores, warehouses, gas stations, stock work, night shifts, delivery driving, Cash handling, whatever paid enough.
You worked constantly, not because you were ambitious, but because stopping even briefly felt dangerous. Like if you stood still too long, the city would swallow you whole.
Most of your paychecks disappeared into rent, groceries, utilities, and helping your grandmother whenever her medication costs got bad again.
Still, after years of unstable jobs and cramped living conditions, you’d eventually managed to scrape together enough money for your own apartment.
“Apartment” was generous, honestly.
The place sat on the outskirts of Gotham in a building old enough that the pipes screamed whenever someone showered. Water stains spread across the ceiling above your bed in branching patterns, and the radiator worked only when it felt particularly motivated.
The radiator barely worked during winter. The upstairs neighbour screamed at video games until two in the morning almost every night. Water stains spread slowly across the ceiling above your bed no matter how many maintenance requests you filed.
Sometimes the alley outside smelled so bad during summer you had to keep the windows shut entirely.
It was terrible. The apartment was awful.
And you loved it anyway. Because it was yours.
For the first time in your life, you had a space that belonged entirely to you.
That mattered more than you cared to admit.
You still remember standing alone in the empty apartment the first night after moving in, staring at the stained carpet and flickering kitchen light while holding a box of instant noodles under one arm.
You’d actually smiled.
Not because you were happy, exactly. Just… Proud.
Even if it was small. Even if nobody else would’ve cared.
It was the first thing in your life that had belonged entirely to you.
Your life had settled into an endless cycle of exhaustion. The kind that sat permanently behind your eyes no matter how much sleep you got. The kind that made your body feel heavy the second your alarm went off each morning. Or afternoon. Or evening. Your schedule changed too often to keep track anymore.
Between two jobs, days stopped feeling separate from one another entirely.
The warehouse job started early.
Most mornings, when you actually slept at night, began before sunrise. Stumbling half-awake through Gotham’s freezing streets with cheap coffee burning your tongue and yesterday’s exhaustion still clinging stubbornly to your bones.
The warehouse itself sat tucked near the industrial district downtown, surrounded by chain-link fencing and graffiti-covered loading docks. The work was mindless.
Your manager barely remembered employees’ names despite half the staff working there for years.
Nobody really spoke much during shifts either. Everyone just kept their heads down beneath the constant drone of machinery and fluorescent lights overhead. People came and went constantly.
One guy got fired for showing up high. Another stopped appearing altogether after getting mugged outside the bus station. A woman you’d worked beside for almost six months vanished after her apartment building got condemned unexpectedly.
You knew not to get attached to people.
Your second job was worse.
The convenience store sat near one of Gotham’s busiest intersections, right between a liquor store with bars over the windows and a laundromat that always smelled vaguely like bleach and cigarettes.
The place stayed open twenty four hours a day because people apparently never slept.
Not safely, anyway.
You mostly worked evening and overnight shifts there, which meant dealing with every kind of customer imaginable.
Drunk college students stumbling in after midnight. Half-conscious office workers buying energy drinks at two in the morning. People clearly high on something wandering aimlessly through the aisles for hours. Sometimes shoplifters.
Sometimes worse.
People lingering too long near entrances. Bulges beneath jackets that you had to learn the hard way didn’t just mean guns. The twitchy, restless movements of someone looking for an easy target.
Mostly, though, the job was just boring. Painfully boring.
The fluorescent lights buzzed constantly overhead. The slurpee machine broke at least twice a week. One of the refrigerators made an awful rattling noise management refused to fix.
You spent most shifts restocking shelves, cleaning spills, rotating expired food, and pretending not to notice suspicious customers stuffing things into their pockets.
The pay wasn’t enough for the hours. Neither job’s pay was. Still, together they kept your bills barely manageable.
Barely.
That night had started like every other shift.
Your feet already hurt by hour three. By hour six, the ache in your lower back had settled into something dull and constant while the cheap energy drink beside the register slowly went warm. Outside, rain hammered violently against the store windows hard enough to blur the neon signs across the street.
Gotham looked different in heavy rain.
Meaner, somehow.
The streets became slick mirrors of distorted lights and moving shadows while pedestrians hurried past with their heads down like the city itself might reach out and grab them if they slowed too long.
The clock above the cigarette display read 11:52 PM.
Eight more minutes.
Then you could go home, shower, maybe sleep four hours if you were lucky, and drag yourself back to the warehouse by morning.
You were reorganizing one of the drink coolers when the cashier called your name from the front counter.
“Can you grab more cigarettes from the back?”
You shut the refrigerator door with a sigh. “Yeah.”
The storage room behind the counter was cramped and dimly lit, stacked floor-to-ceiling with boxes of inventory management never organized properly. Dust coated nearly every surface despite repeated cleaning attempts, and one of the ceiling lights flickered badly enough that half the room remained trapped in shadow.
You crouched beside one of the shelves, digging through cardboard boxes for cigarette cartons while absently trying to remember whether you’d paid your electricity bill already. Probably.
Hopefully.
Your phone buzzed faintly in your pocket. A reminder alarm. You ignored it.
The sound of laughter drifted faintly from the front of the store. A customer arguing over lottery tickets. The steady hum of refrigerators. Rain slamming against the windows outside.
Normal.
Everything felt painfully normal.
Then the front windows exploded inward.
The crash was deafening.
Glass shattered across the floor in a violent spray as screaming erupted instantly from the front registers.
Your entire body locked up.
For one stunned second, you genuinely thought a car had crashed into the building.
Then the gunshots started.
The sound cracked through the store so violently your ears rang immediately afterward.
Someone screamed. Terrified.
You froze beside the shelves as heavy footsteps stormed through the store outside.
“EVERYBODY ON THE FUCKING GROUND!” Another gunshot. Closer this time.
Your pulse slammed violently against your ribs. Instinct finally kicked in.
You stumbled upright too quickly, nearly knocking over a stack of boxes before rushing toward the storage room doorway. The second you looked out into the store, your stomach dropped.
Six women. Masked. Armed.
One stood near the destroyed front entrance holding an assault rifle while shattered glass glittered across the floor around her boots. Another had vaulted over the counter already, shoving the cashier roughly toward the ground while emptying registers into a duffel bag.
Customers were screaming. Crying. Trying not to move.
One of the women fired another shot directly into the ceiling.
Dust and debris rained downward instantly. “GET DOWN!”
Your knees hit the floor before you consciously decided to move.
Cold tiles dug painfully into your skin through your uniform pants as your hands instinctively lifted slightly away from your body where they could be seen.
Your heart was beating so hard it physically hurt.
Around you, the store dissolved into chaos.
One customer sobbed openly near the candy aisle. Someone else whispered prayers beneath their breath. A display rack had been knocked sideways during the panic, chips and drinks scattered everywhere across the floor.
The women moved through the store quickly. Efficiently. Like they’d done this before. “Phones in the bags.”
“Wallets too.” Another reminded.
“Don’t fucking look at us.”
One customer tried arguing. You didn’t even see which woman hit him. Just the crack of a gunstock against bone and the sudden silence afterward.
Nobody spoke again.
Nobody was stupid enough to play hero.
You kept your eyes lowered toward the floor, breathing shallowly through the overwhelming smell of rainwater, gunpowder, and adrenaline thickening the air around you.
Heavy boots stopped directly in front of you.
Your stomach twisted violently.
“Get up.” A hand grabbed the back of your jacket roughly before you could react.
You stumbled upright immediately, pulse roaring loudly in your ears as cold metal jammed hard against your ribs.
Gun.
The woman shoved you forward toward the counter. “Open the registers.”
Your hands shook immediately.
The other customers and employees remained huddled on the floor behind you while the women barked orders over each other, duffel bags steadily filling with cash, cigarettes, medication, and whatever expensive items they could grab quickly enough.
One woman stood guard near the shattered entrance with her rifle raised casually toward the hostages.
Another paced between aisles like she was waiting for someone to try something stupid.
Rainwater and broken glass covered most of the floor now, crunching loudly beneath boots as the women moved throughout the store.
You swallowed hard, forcing your hands to cooperate as you reached for the register keys.
The gun dug harder into your side. “Hurry the fuck up.”
“I’m trying,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.
The woman immediately grabbed the back of your neck hard enough to make you stumble.
“Don’t get smart.”
Your pulse pounded violently in your throat. “Sorry.”
The register popped open with a sharp ding.
The woman beside you immediately started shoving handfuls of cash into a duffel bag while another forced the cashier toward the second register nearby.
“Him too.”
A different gun pressed against the cashier’s head this time. The poor guy looked barely conscious with fear.
You looked away.
One of them vaulted over the counter while another shouted from somewhere near the aisles. “Safe’s in the back.”
Your stomach dropped instantly. Of course they knew about the safe. Someone had probably tipped them off beforehand.
The woman beside you shoved the barrel against your spine this time. “Move.”
You stumbled forward immediately.
The cashier was dragged alongside you toward the storage room, nearly tripping over shattered glass in the process. Behind you, customers whimpered quietly while another warning shot suddenly echoed through the store ceiling.
Dust rained downward.
Nobody screamed this time.
The fear had settled too deeply for that now.
The storage room suddenly felt even smaller than before.
Claustrophobic.
The flickering overhead light buzzed faintly while the women crowded around the safe bolted into the concrete wall behind stacked inventory boxes.
“Open it.”
Your throat felt dry. “I-I don’t have the code.”
That wasn’t entirely true. Only managers technically had access, but employees were taught the emergency code in case of late-night robberies. Which now felt horribly ironic.
The woman tilted her head slightly. Then cocked the gun.
Your stomach twisted violently.
“Open it.”
Beside you, the cashier looked moments away from passing out entirely.
Your hands fumbled badly against the keypad.
Wrong number.
The woman behind you grabbed your shoulder painfully hard. “Hurry up!”
Your vision blurred slightly. You couldn’t think properly with the gun pressed against your back.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Your fingers shook harder as you entered the code again.
This time the safe clicked open.
The women immediately surged forward.
“Holy shit—”
Stacks of cash disappeared into bags almost instantly while one of the robbers laughed sharply beneath her mask.
Your knees felt weak with adrenaline.
This was bad. This was really bad.
Nobody robbed stores this close to the central city unless they were desperate or stupid.
And desperate people were dangerous.
One of the women suddenly grabbed your arm. Hard. “You’re coming with me.”
Your heart nearly stopped. “What?”
The gun pressed against your temple before you could react. Cold metal against skin. Every muscle in your body locked instantly.
“You heard me.”
The cashier beside you made a weak noise like he wanted to object before another robber snapped toward him immediately. “Eyes down.” He obeyed instantly. So did you.
The woman dragged you back toward the front of the store with the weapon still pressed tightly against your head, using you like a shield while the others continued emptying the safe behind you.
Your breathing had turned shallow. Too fast.
The entire store looked wrecked now. Glass covered the floor. Shelves had been knocked sideways. Products littered nearly every aisle. Somewhere near the entrance, one of the customers was crying quietly into their hands.
The rain outside had worsened, thunder rumbling faintly overhead while police sirens echoed somewhere far enough away to still be useless.
The woman holding you cursed under her breath suddenly.
A pair of headlights swept briefly across the shattered storefront outside. The lights flickered.
One of the robbers near the entrance straightened immediately.
“Did you hear-” The front doors burst inward.
Everything happened at once.
A dark blur slammed violently into the woman near the entrance hard enough to send her crashing into a shelf. Another figure dropped from somewhere above while a third came crashing through the side fire exit almost simultaneously.
Shouting erupted instantly.
The woman holding you jerked the gun harder against your temple. “Fuck! Move.”
You barely managed half a step before the front lights blew out entirely.
The store plunged into darkness.
Somebody screamed.
One of the robbers hit the floor hard enough to crack against the tiles. Another shape moved through the darkness near the entrance, striking fast enough that you only caught flashes of black and blue between the confusion.
The women started shouting. Gunshots erupted instantly. The sound was deafening in the enclosed store.
Your captor spun sharply, dragging you backward against her chest as chaos tore through the aisles around you. Shelves crashed violently somewhere nearby while customers scrambled further beneath counters and displays.
You couldn’t see properly. Only movement. The loud noise. Shouting.
Then the emergency lights kicked in. Dim red lighting flooded the store. And suddenly you could see them.
Nightwing moved first. Fast enough that it barely looked human.
One of the robbers swung toward him with her weapon raised only for him to twist sideways, baton slamming against her wrist before she could fire. The gun skidded across the floor as she crumpled hard against a shelf.
Near the registers, Red Hood ripped another woman’s weapon clean out of her hands before shoving her violently into the counter.
Red Robin was already restraining someone else near the entrance.
Robin was heading directly toward you.
The woman behind you panicked. You felt it immediately in the way her grip tightened painfully against your shoulder. “Don’t fucking move!” The gun pressed harder against your head.
Robin didn’t stop. For one brief second, everything slowed.
You saw the sharp movement of his arm. The glint of metal. The woman beginning to pull the trigger-
Then the blunt edge of Robin’s katana slammed violently against the side of the weapon.
The gunshot rang out anyway.
The sound echoed through the store loud enough to make your ears ring instantly.
The weapon flew from the woman’s hand as Nightwing tackled her to the floor almost immediately afterward.
You stared blankly ahead.
Confused.
Something felt strange.
Warm.
Your knees suddenly gave out beneath you. The floor rushed upward too quickly.
You hit the ground hard, the impact rattling painfully through your body while the world around you blurred strangely out of focus.
Why- Why was it hard to breathe?
Noise swelled around you in distorted waves.
Someone shouting. Boots hitting the floor. A voice yelling your name- or maybe not your name. Maybe you imagined that.
Your chest burned.
Slowly, your trembling hand moved downward.
Warm. Wet.
When you pulled your hand back, your fingers were covered in blood.
For a second, you just stared at it.
Dark red beneath the emergency lights. Too much blood.
Oh.
The realization settled quietly into your mind.
You’d been shot.
You weren’t even sure when it happened.
Pain exploded through your chest a second later.
A broken sound tore from your throat as your body curled instinctively against the floor. Your lungs seized painfully, every breath wet and wrong and burning all the way down.
Fuck.
Your vision blurred instantly.
Movement dropped around you almost immediately.
Four figures.
Nightwing caught your shoulders carefully before your head could hit the tiles again. Red Robin was already pressing gloved hands against your chest wound hard enough to make another scream rip from your throat.
“Easy- easy-”
“There’s too much blood.”
“Call an ambulance now.”
Robin had gone frighteningly still beside you.
Red Hood looked ready to kill someone. Actually kill someone.
You didn’t understand why they looked so panicked. People died in Gotham all the time. They’d all seen worse than this before.
The thought felt distant somehow as warmth spread rapidly beneath your body, soaking through your uniform and pooling across the dirty floor tiles.
Your breathing hitched painfully. Everything sounded underwater now.
Nightwing kept talking to you, voice strained and rough beneath the ringing in your ears, but you couldn’t focus enough to understand the words.
Your eyes drifted sluggishly across the four vigilantes surrounding you.
They looked horrified. Not shocked. Not professionally concerned.
Horrified.
Like this wasn’t supposed to happen. Like you weren’t supposed to happen.
Oh.. You were dying.
The realization should have scared you more. Instead, all you could think was how absurd it felt.
Twenty four years old. Shot in the chest during a robbery at a shitty convenience store five hours before your next shift was supposed to start.
A weak laugh almost escaped before it turned into a wet cough instead. Blood spilled down the corner of your mouth immediately afterward.
Red Robin swore under his breath.
“Stay awake.” Nightwing’s hands tightened slightly where they steadied you. “You’re okay,” he said quickly.
You weren’t sure if he was talking to you or himself.
Your hand twitched weakly toward the wound in your chest. Pain tore through you instantly.
A scream ripped from your throat before your eyes squeezed shut hard enough to hurt.
Shit.
Your chest hurt.
Everything hurt.
And through it all, you couldn’t stop staring at how devastated they looked.
You weren’t special. Just another civilian. No friends. No family nearby. A shitty apartment. An even shittier job. Nothing worth mourning this badly.
The last thing you felt was someone grabbing your hand tightly.
Then everything went black.
Or.. at least it should have.
Gasping violently for air, you lurched upright with a broken choke of sound clawing its way out of your throat.
The chair beneath you screeched loudly against the floor as your entire body jerked forward in panic.
Pain.
You braced for pain.
For the burning agony still carved into your memory so vividly you could practically feel it splitting through your chest all over again. You could still remember the warmth of blood pouring between your fingers. The wet, suffocating feeling in your lungs every time you tried to breathe.
You remembered dying.
Your hands flew frantically to your chest.
Fingers clawed desperately at the fabric covering your skin, shaking so violently you could barely feel what you were touching. You pressed hard against your sternum, searching blindly for the wound.
The bullet hole. The blood. Something. Anything.
But there was nothing.
No shredded convenience store uniform soaked crimson beneath your hands. No sticky warmth coating your skin. No hole torn through your chest.
Nothing.
Your breathing turned sharp and uneven.
“No-” The word escaped instinctively beneath another panicked inhale as your hands pressed harder against yourself like force alone would somehow uncover the injury that had been there.
It had been there.
You remembered it. You remembered collapsing. Remembered Gotham’s vigilantes surrounding you. Remembered choking on blood while your vision darkened at the edges.
You remembered dying.
A shaky breath caught painfully in your throat.
Your pulse hammered so hard it made your head spin. Then slowly-
Slowly,
You realized the floor beneath you wasn’t tile.
There was no smell of smoke. No shattered glass crunching underfoot. No distant police sirens screaming outside.
Instead, fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead. The air smelled faintly like old textbooks and dry erase markers.
Silence pressed heavily around you.
Wrong. Everything felt wrong.
Your hands finally stilled against your chest as you looked up. Rows of desks. Teenagers. A classroom.
Several students were staring directly at you now, expressions twisted somewhere between concern and confusion. One girl near the windows looked outright alarmed. Somebody else had half-risen from their seat like they didn’t know whether to help or stay back.
Your breathing picked up again immediately.
No.
No, no, no-
This wasn’t possible.
Sunlight streamed warmly through large classroom windows, illuminating dust drifting lazily through the air. Outside, distant voices echoed faintly through hallways. School.
You knew this room.
The realisation crashed into you hard enough to make your stomach twist violently.
Your gaze darted wildly around the classroom.
The faded poetry posters peeling slightly near the ceiling. The cracked corner of the whiteboard. The clock above the doorway that always ran three minutes behind.
Recognition flooded through you so suddenly it almost hurt.
You knew this classroom. You had sat in this room before. Years ago.
Your fingers curled tightly against the edge of the desk beneath you as panic crawled violently up your spine. That wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.
Because you were twenty four. Because six years ago you’d graduated.
Because minutes ago you’d been bleeding out on the floor of a convenience store in Gotham while four vigilantes desperately tried to stop you from dying.
A cold wave of nausea rolled through your stomach.
Slowly, almost fearfully, your eyes lifted toward the front of the classroom.
And locked directly with the stunned stare of your twelfth grade literature teacher.
Hey Yael. I’m back for the kids.
Read chapter two HERE
Comments and Reblogs will be deciding this fic’s fate. Whether it’s continued or scrapped is up to the readers.
So either comment or reblog if you’d like this to continue.
cw/tw : depression, agoraphobia, stalking, drugs(alchol, weed, nicotine), self harm, weapons, jealousy, violent thinking, does ass communication skills count? reader absolutely has rejection sensitivity dysphoria.
3118 words
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itd taken you 3 days to get from new jersey to cali, itd been atleast 5 weeks since then. the excitement of the west coast was short lived, eventually you were back to your life in gotham. sleeping days away until your body physical couldnt anymore then youd eat or drink until you could again.
cannabis made you too paranoid to consider trying again but trying diffrent more and more expensive types of alchol was more than you could ask for. youd sit and watch tv and eat maybe smoke a nice cigar and down a bottle until you conked out for another 16 hours. you ended up losing track of the days.
you only finally crawled out of the imperial sized bed one night because you felt disgusting enough to bathe. only when your skin was sticky and itchy and your hair was stiff at the roots. then after hours in the steaming bathroom, you realized the bedroom stunk of rotten food and sweat and blood so you asked for cleaning service and they all but forced you out the resort so they could clean your room. leading to another few hours wandering the crowded city streets. you could sit down but you feel bed enough to just keep walking.
its alot honestly, theres so many people and theres absolutely no way to escape if a tsunami rose over the tallest skyscraper or if a shooter decides right here right now would be the perfect opportunity to end their own and so many others lives or if bruce suddenly swung down in that stupid suit and forced you back to his ugly manor. no one would help, theyd just think your another criminal.
you need to take your mind off it all, you cant keep thinking about all this. your throats getting tight and you can feel tears welling, you need to get out of here. get something to take the edge off, a toy or a blade or a drink. you need to get back to your room.
your eyes watch your wringing hands instead of where your going and it makes you bump into the person in front of you, so you jump to apologize, only for someone else to catch your eye.
jason?
your head swivels so fast youd think you heard a gunshot but the glimpse of recognition is gone just as fast, drowned in a sea of people, endless faces like endless waves. violent in its intensity, the constant stream of bumping and pushing and walking. you must have been seeing things.
you manage to get pushed to the outskirts of the walk way before you lurch forward pushing through the crowd as swiftly as itll let you. trying to catch up with that man whoever he was. you push and search peoples faces, they gleam and glare but none of them are the one. you try to search faster, further, more, until all your adrenaline is gone and a lead sits between your ribs, you wont find him like this.
everyone in the family has hallucinated jason, thats a fact you know is true. still you could have sworn it. it probably wasnt your jason. it was probably just a random person that looked like your brother, you assure yourself. even as you sharply turn an alley corner. your hands are shivering. this is insane. your brother is dead. jason is dead. you went to his funeral and saw his massacared body in that gleaming glass case. hes not coming back, yet you dont try to stop your fumble through your pocket to pull out your new phone.
it takes you an unreasonable amount of time to finally get in, theres a security camera on this street and you kept messing up the force bypass. you roll back a few minutes and search the crowds for the person you tell yourself you didnt see but you catch him.
a hulking figure, something you didnt notice before, tall and wide. nothing like your little brother, who was quite the few inches shorter than you and way thinner and sure people change as they grow but surely your brother wouldnt have changed this much, right?
even you dont believe yourself. in your heart of hearts you know it, really you do. which is why you cant believe it. that cant be your jason. people dont just come back to life.....but they could....its not unrealistic...not here, not with meta humans and aliens with superpowers and witches and mutants...surely..maybe...could he have come back to life..? he had to of. theres no way that isnt your brother. your only family left, your little jason after all these years.
your fingers panic to follow him as he moves through the gotham streets, you occasionally lose him in a crowd or an area missing surveillance tech but you always end up finding him, trailing him until he finally slips into an apartment.
you slump against the brick behind you and stare at your phone. hes alive. hes alive and hes here. and jokers still around. he must hate you, all of you. you should go after him.
you can hardly breath as you stand, the air is humid and cold and the moonless sky tells of rain, you gotta go faster, not a second of hesitation is appropriate. if you grab your car you could get there before the rain starts. just dont get too jittery, just keep breathing. hes alive. this is your brother, the sweetest thing youd ever met. is he even gonna like you anymore? is he gonna hate you like the rest of the family? theres no going back now though right?
yeah, yeah. yeah. no going back, his building is in sight, you cant weasel out of this. you park as far as you can while its still in sight and walk past his apartment but only so you can disappear behind another building into the shared back alley. you try to be as silent as possible ascending the fire escape but the metal rattles under your weight. if it doesnt really work.
you turn the corner from the stairs to what would be his level, only to come face to face with a red helmet and a metal barrel to the forehead. "jason?" your words strain painfully, then your name falls just as wearily through his voice modulator. he lowers the gun back to his hip but you can see his fingers fidget around it as he hesitates to holster it.
"how- why?" you choke, tears burning up your eyes, forgetting in this moment everything but him. your composure is whittled to nothing and you dont care how loud you are or where you are. he on the otherhand slides back through his window into the apartment and you follow wordlessly, shutting the pane behind you.
he stands there, his arms crossed, tense like he doesnt know what to do. and you, you are a mess- each step is more clumsy than the last, wiping your tears and snot with your hoodie sleeves. youre so lightheaded, you feel like you could pass out any second but you cant let yourself. your brothers alive, really truly alive, before your eyes, infront of you. you cant let this slip away, you cant let him slip away again.
for all you know he just dug himself from his grave, though his appearance suggests otherwise. hes dirty but not 'broke my way out of my coffin' dirty more like a 'been too busy for a shower recently' dirty. bulky rather than thin as one who hasnt eaten since he was 12 would be. hes covered in scars but not a hint of blood or open wound. how much of your little brothers life have you missed?
you cant contain yourself, you wanna examine him, you want to see everything hes gone through. you want to see his face. you have to force your feet to stay planted so you dont do it for him, "take your helmet off please."
your voice twists just pathetically enough he sheaths the gun, but he doesnt clip it, instead his hands rise to the bikers helmet and then its off and there he is, your little brother.
taller, wider, bigger than you. choppy black hair with a tuff of white, it wasnt your dorky kid brothers ginger dyed black to fit in with bruce and dick, now it looked natrually black. shaved on the sides and long in the back with bangs so short they could be considered micro.
his face, though is what swears to you its him. still so soft, pudgy, sure the shape of his jaw is more refined, less chubby but still him. the scar on his neck hes had forever, the imprint of his nose, the same as when he was a kid. his skin is more tan now, hes got more angel kisses but its still jason.
you want to embrace him but something makes you hesitate, his eyes, you actively notice now. a seething, bubbling, acid green that threaten to burn. youre little brothers eyes were blue, bright blue and now they lacked the life you remembered. no, they roared with a vibrant life unfamiliar to you. a life he wasnt ready to share with you evident in his posture, his composure, how he hasnt said a word besides your name. it makes you want to dig your heel into him more.
before either of you know it your arms are wrapped around his hulking torso, squeezing him as hard as you can and trying to pick him up like you used to be able to. you can only manage a few inches this time.
he laughs in a way you know hes uncomfortable but you cant care. "shut up." you squeeze him harder and rub your face against his bicep, tears already beading through your eyelashes, "where- how-" you choke up so much you have to shake your head and start over, "s' glad youre here."
your elbows suddenly buckle and you drop him back to his feet, still refusing to let go of him, hugging him tighter than you have ever. when he was a kid he was too weak for hugs like this, hes not escaping this one. finally his hands wriggle free enough to hold you back, his arms pinned to his sides by yours and you let up on how hard your squeezing him after a minute more or so, simply holding him.
"..how are you back from the dead?" he hesitates to awnser, his voice is deep without the voice mod, scratchy but its your brothers. "its a long story." youre voice tilits to something curious, "..are you a zombie..?" he smiles down at you, "not like that.. so far.." that gets a chuckle out of you and you rub your eyes dry. "i missed you," you let your head tilt up to meet those new eyes, chin digging into his muscle. his jaw tenses like he tastes poison and you frown, gently pulling away.
he just watches you, his face not baring any emotions you can read besides tension and an ugly thought pierces your chest. "why havent you come see to me?" its accusing and it burns your throat up when he again fails to awnser.
your arms drop and you take a step back, he looks down at you how one would look at a dog before putting it down but he doesnt apologize, instead he mumbles something filler, something you dont care for anymore, something you dont need, something he doesnt mean. "i missed you too."
"where have you been if you havent been dead?" your lips curl into a sneer. you force yourself into his face and he steps back, his hand angles to go for his gun and it makes you so mad you snatch it from his hip and toss it behind the island. you keep backing him up until his back meets wall, his hands, trying to calm you down, put in front of his chest in a defenseless manner despite being able to rip you in half if he so wanted. why doesnt he just overpower you if he doesnt care that much? "where have you been if you haven't been with me?"
your hearts on your sleeve, while his is staying buried beneath his chest and it hurts. he doesnt look angry, he doesnt look sad, he isnt even scared by your behavior. he just stares with that- that- that regret! on his face that makes you want to punch him, really fucking punch him.
his hands push you back to your heels by your shoulders, your name sounds absolutely disgusting on his tongue in this moment. he keeps biting his tongue, hesitating to say and do the things he wants and its making you sick. since when did he have to hide from you?
why does he just stand there like that? does he hate you? he looks so- just absent. does he not remember how much you love him? that hes your little brother and he means everything to you? do you need to remind him?
then he hugs you and you cant do anything but let him. his arms practically engulf your head and he digs his nose into your hairline. you can feel him breathing and every little shake and hesitation. it feels so good and just as much soul crushing. eventually you start calming down and he waddles your softening body to the couch sitting down with you and you curl up into his side. your body morphs with your breathing up and down and in and out and around and over him.
all you remeber is your eyes burning and your heart hurting and how badly you wished for him to just say something but he never does. all you get to listen to was the pace of his heart uncomfortably set, even as his hands rubbed over your sides and his lips pressed to your crown with an empty kind of presence, devoid of kiss.
the next morning you wake up to bliss. your body feels light, airy and refreshed, the bed under you is cushy, soft and perfect and everything is so, so very warm. you stretch out into the fat pillows and silky blankets, about to fall back asleep when you realize, this is not your bed. this is jasons bed. you found jason, your safe and hes safe.
you let your gaze wonder over his room, its not much. two doors leading out, an en suite and a living area. a bed and a bedstand and on the bedstand theres a small duffel bag and a note. you sweep your legs off the bed to read it, 'i was getting stronger.' simply drawn in his pretty hand writing. it makes you smile, your fingers running over its crease before you decide to pocket it. gentle hands now fall to the file underneath, flipping through it, a page on a 'roy harper', a few on big criminals and the back full of members of the family, just like before his death then.
what really intrests you is the file on yourself, its not blank, infact its as full as everyone elses. lists of things you enjoy, your achievements, the fact youve been missing from the manor for 2 months, it makes heat rise to your face. you didnt think anyone cared about you that much.
his duffle has a box of injections and a couple bottles of pills at the top, along with some clothes and other miscellaneous items. the kitchen has a bar counter into the living area and which is completely barren save for a couch pushed up against the wall. his kitchen is almost just as empty, just a couple to go boxs.
you feel weird waiting for him to come back, so you snag a blank sheet and jot in as legable writing as you can manage, your phone number, the resort youre staying in and your current license plate if all else fails. before straightening up and deciding to leave, deciding he wouldnt want you there when he got back.
its a short walk to where you parked and you slide into the drivers seat and fall forward against the wheel, your forehead digging into the handle. your eyes uselessly drill holes into your knees. your brothers alive so why do you feel so empty? you pull the note out of your pocket and look at it, 'i was getting stronger'. you want to throw up. thats why hes been gone? because he wanted revenge on the joker? he didnt visit his family after he was reborn so he could train for years- no thats not what angers you. no, not ever as much as how angry you are that bruce and dick have had the opportunity to kill joker time and time and time again. had him in their hands and havent.
you find yourself feeling justified that jason wouldnt want to visit them. but you? selfishly, hypocritically, you cant see, why hadnt he come see you? youre his big sibling, his. you would have mourned him forever and he wouldn't have cared to tell you he was alive at least? do you matter that little to him? would he have ever told you? or would you grow to not matter to him just as you had for everyone else? even if he has a file on you, he has a file on them too. are you on the same level as them? this whole time have you been? does he hate you just as much? maybe you should have taken matters into your hands, that's what he would have wanted right? you really do deserve it huh? to be on the same level as your siblings that refuse to kill? its just as much your fault that joke is still alive as it is theirs.
wait. do they all know that hes alive? was it just you left out again? you should know, there's no way they'd know and not you. you listened to their comms like background music, if they knew you'd know. but you stopped listnening a few days before you left the manor and it's been two months, did they know now? and they just let him get away again? no way, Bruce would get possessive over him right? hed force him to stay in the manor until he calmed down, he loved the family again. so there's no way they know, atleast you really hope not. you really hope its just you.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
a/n : i am not immune to the mullet jason propaganda YOU CANT TELL ME HE WOULDNT HAVE A CHOPPY MULLET PLEASEEEEEEEE AND YOU WANNA KNOW WHY SUBCONSCIOUSLY HE LIKES THAT STUPID HAIRSTYLE BECAUSE WHEN HE DIED DICK HAD IT (although his was alot slicker and longer and elegant in general) also cuz its punk as fuck
i started hating this fic for like 3 days and couldn't work on it BUT that means theyll be crumbs for another fandom.. soon :)
posting all 'catgame project' related stuff (so far) for posterity. most stuff is 2-3 years old atp but i just revived the project and reached out and im putting a team together.
no more freelance (ok maybe a bit to support myself) we are mkaing a game !!!!!!!
Reading list/Fanfic Masterlist Yandere!Batfamily X Reader
NONE OF THESE FANFICS BELONG TO ME, this is more of a personal reading list of fanfics I follow and such, all the links lead you to the creators' direct blogs.
Almost all the fanfics in the 'platonic' section are with Neglected!Reader, I'm addicted to that trope.
More than one link will lead you to the authors' master list instead of a masterlist for the series. This is because they don't have a dedicated list for the series, and it was easier for me to keep them this way. (There are also links to the first chapter, in this case, the author probably left the other chapters there, in addition to imagines, headcanons, and drabbles on their own.)
I thought about adding a short description below the links to explain what the fanfic is about… maybe I'll do it later or just leave it as it is.
Not - series
Again and. Again - series
Bruce hears Reader call someone else "dad." - drabble
Reader who only recognizes Alfred - drabble
[UN] Fair - series
Adorned in pearls (although Bruce here is not platonic…) - one shot
Batfamily with a Shallow Reader - imagine
Reader in Squid Games - imagine
Crack Baby - series
Smalltown Meta!Reader - series
Forget me not - series
No more Chances - series
Inmorta! Reader - series
Undoing Fate - series (it's not yandere but it has my favorite cliche so…)
Tip toes - series
Meet The Waynes - series
Bring back the dead - series
Obsessive reader in the shadows - imagine
There are two fanfictions here, the first fic doesn't have a name and I don't know what to name it. - series
Who said money can´t buy hapinness (considering the # I assume that the batfam is platonic….but I'm not sure) - series
Between life and death, death is tempting - series
Ain´t no sushine - series
Beyond the Bat - series
Crow choir - series
Waterbone - drabble
Marine!Reader - one shot? drabble?
Saboteur - series/imagine
Unwanted embrace - series
I'm almost sure this was one of the pioneering stories in this trope. - one shot
Little Demon - one shot
Goodbye World - one shot
Batsis wakes up in a fanfic - imagine? drabble?
Batfam playing with Reader - I think it's a drabble…I don't know
Pity Party - series
Yandere Al Ghuls! - series
How would they spend time with you after the kidnapping? -drabble
You´re a fucking weird hacker - one shot
Lucid Dreams - series
Ghost of the Past - series
Soulamate Soul Animal - series
Good Look(includes more DC yanderes characters) - series
Web Bound (It is NOT yandere, but it does have obsessive characters) - Series
Bug like Angel - series
The other family - one shot
Batman! Damian Wayne x Robin! Reader - one shot?
Children!Reader who loves Tim more than Dick - headcanon
Yandere!Batfam Headcanons - headcanon xd
Advantages and disadvantages of Neglected! Reader - Headcanon(?)
When your family only cherish you after your death - series
Yandere Batfam x Neglected!Elle Woods!Reader - series
My pathetic family - series(?)
The ballad of a bygone blight - series
Batmon and his baby -drabble/ Scenery (bruce is romantic)
Reader happy to be ignored - drabble/Scenery
What We Want - series
The sinfull Allure (the story is not yandere, but it has the batboys, and I love this reverse harem) - series
Seven Days a Week - Hit me Hard and sort - two series
First married to Bruce - one shot
As Yanderes´ Universe - one shot series?
Polyamory with Aged Up! Damian Wayne and John Kent - imagine
Sisters!Reader x Batboys - Headcanon? (according to the hashtags)
Greetings - drabble?
How Dick and Damian would handle learnig reader is dating somebody? - Drabble?
Addictive - Series
Do You Think We´ll Be In Love Forever? (includes more DC characters) - various drabbles
Perfect Life - one shot
Batboys and reader who knows - headcanon set?
Checkmate - one shot
Tim Drake x nursing student!Reader - one shot
Remedial Lesson (18+) - One shot
Dommy Mommy!Reader - headcanon
Reader hosted by Tim Drake - one shot
Yandere self-aware Dick Grayson - headcanon set
Moon Prism Power! - imagine
What types of yanderes would the Batboys be? - headcanon
In which: Bruce Waynes daughter, Y/N Wayne is a full time party girl. Club hopper, party animal, hedonist. Whatever you want to call it. To full the void her father left, she turns to nightclubs, dingy bars and basement raves.
Chapter eleven. If I get leave.
Fic masterlist!
cw: Reader is in hospital, breathing, medical talk, inaccurate medical information (i tried but im not a doctor), mentions of addiction, mentions of underage drinking, Reader has bad mental health, reader undergoes a mental health evaluation- suicidal talk, depressive thoughts, reader is not well mentally, mentions of trauma. - I DO NOT CONDONE OR SUPPORT ANY UNDERAGE DRINKING OR SMOKING, stay safe stay in school
Jason runs his hand through his hair with a long face. He grits his teeth and sucks a mouthful of air through the cage in his mouth. “Alright, sit down. It’s a long story.”
No one dares to break the silence. Not yet. If they left it unbroken, they could pretend they hadn’t heard what you just said. Everyone could live in la la land, where nothing went wrong and no one ever had to confront anything that made them uncomfortable.
You look from the left of the room to the right and take in the strange picture. From your left, Damian perches on the edge of a blue plastic chair, Dick hovers behind him, Alfred by his side, and finally Bruce, who looks like he’s just seen a ghost.
His grip is tight, as if you might float away, and that feels stupid because you’ve never felt so heavy. Every bone in your body is an anchor tethering you to the bed. Even though it hurts a little, you don’t want him to let go. He hasn’t held you like this before, like you meant something.
You think about saying something smart like ‘well I’m already sat down’ or, ‘it’s not like i can go anywhere else’ but your throat is too sore. It’s a strange feeling, not scratchy like a cough, more like graze. It feels like a scrapped knee. Inside you.
Tim’s eyes dart from Jason, to you, to Bruce. He’s searching for something. You know his tells. The same way he knows yours. Sometimes better than you do. Does Tim know this guy too?
Dick shatters the silence.
“This is Jason-”
“She knows his name.” Damian is the second to break it. His posture is similar to a cat moments before jumping off a ledge. Poised but hesitant. “She just said it, Grayson.” He’s never defended you like this before, if that's what you could call this.
“Both of you shut up.” Jason groans. He exhales, his shoulders tightening up, and then he begins. “I’m Jason.” He says it like it’s supposed to mean something. When you don’t get the hint, he continues. “Todd.” It rings a bell but it doesn’t connect any dots yet. Trying to remember anything feels like flying a kite. You’ll get a running start, and it’ll take off, but then the wind disappears and the kite falls.
All eyes are on you. Again. This whole thing starts to feel like a monkey's paw. You used to be afraid of that story when you read it in the Manor’s library. It went something like this- A married couple are gifted a mummified monkey’s paw. They are told that each finger of the Monkey’s paw can grant a wish, but it will have disastrous consequences. The husband wishes for money. The next day, his son dies at work, but he gets bereavement pay from his son’s employer.
When you think about the story, you remember the tiny note written at the bottom of the first blank page. Property of Jason Todd. Return if found. No. That doesn’t make any sense.
“What?” That's all you can say. You don’t have time to think of a smarter question.
“Just listen to him.” Tim urges with a tone that borders on patronising.
“I used to- shit this is hard to explain. Okay. My name is Jason. When I was a kid I lived ‘round Crime alley. Bruce took me in. But I… I ran away, and didn’t come home. But I’m back now.”
Even under the influence of the medicine, you can smell that bullshit from a mile away. “But you died. Right?” You turn to Alfred in hopes he would back you up, but instead he just gives Bruce a look, a silent message, and says nothing.
“Jason died. You told me he died. And that doesn’t-” You cut yourself off with a violent cough, one that rattles through you like sharp wind in tunnel. It reverberates loudly thanks to the oxygen mask on your face, making it sound worse than it was. Everyone lurches at once. Like that would do anything. You want to swat them away, but a tiny part of you tells you that if you push them away now, they’ll never come back. You wanted this right?
You rip the mask off your face and let it dangle around your neck. The first hit of fresh air is magical. Not perfectly fresh, it tastes stale, but it’s a welcome change.
“That doesn’t explain Damian.” you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand when your coughing fit stops. You feel gross. This isn’t the first time you’ve woken up and felt disgusting. Some days you wake up with smeared makeup and new bruises. Sometimes it's in someone else’s bed. But there’s always a cloud of shame. Over time it’s become something akin to a friend in the sense that it’s familiar, and you know it will always be there.
“Why did you tell me he died?” This time your eyes are on Bruce. Something shifts behind his eyes. Not pity or disappointment. Something else you can’t point. “At the time, we thought he did.” He moves his hand from your shoulder and adjusts the neck of the hospital gown. When you took it off, the cord of the oxygen mask had caught on the edge of the neckline.
He noticed. His movements are slow and tactile, painfully comforting. You could’ve had this before. There could’ve been a world where he held you with that same gentleness, but you weren’t in that world.
“We didn’t know how to explain it to you.” He concludes. “I thought that, given your past, you’d find it overwhelming.” You want to cry. Or scream. Or hit someone, maybe even yourself. Why does everyone treat you like you’re stupid?
“How does Damian know him then? Didn’t you think he’d find it ‘overwhelming’?”
Damian’s posture straightens like he was anticipating a move. “I asked.” He says simply.
“Oh so it’s my fault for not knowing? Sorry, let me understand this- I was supposed to go up to Bruce and ask ‘hey is Jason still dead or did he crawl out of the grave and come home?’ Is that what you’re telling me?” The room goes uncomfortably quiet.
Oh no. No no no. It’s going to happen. They’re going to leave you. You pissed them off. That’s why they’ve shut up. The Monkey’s paw. Behind you, the heart monitor starts to escalate. Your chest feels breathless. But you can’t move.
Alfred clears his throat. He breaks from the crowd around you and ushers Bruce out of his spot without a word. Bruce complies. When Alfred sits, he picks the mask you tore off and holds it to you. Not an order. But you both know it’s not a question. Your fingers shake when you try and put it back on so he has to help.
“I think it would be best if everyone gave you some space. For a minute”
The men, and Damian, take the hint. One by one, they slowly filter out. Dick offers a small smile before he goes. Damian straightens out your blanket but doesn’t look at you. Tim delivers an awkward side hug, careful not to touch the equipment around you. Jason does a slight nod, the kind you give a stranger when you hold the door open for them. Bruce is the last to go. He squeezes your hand and stands up. Hesitates. Then his hand holds the side of your face and he plants the smallest kiss on the top of your head.
You freeze. This has never happened before. Not with him. Ever. Burning tears start to bloom in the corners of your eyes. He leaves before they grow.
Alfred starts to stand but your hand darts out and holds onto his sleeve. “Don’t go.” He sits back down and gives Bruce a nod. Then the door closes.
“Good save.” Dick’s sarcasm is laced with anxiety. No one could’ve planned what just happened. Unfortunately for you, you live with detectives who live double lives 24/7. They created that story on the spot. This wasn’t the first time they’d run with a fake story. Undercover work wasn’t anything new, but this was different. “Ran away? Really Jason?”
“What else was I supposed to say?” Jason chides. He tries not to let his face show it, but he’s scrambling. He’d only ever seen you under the influence, so he hadn’t expected you to be so sharp when sober. This was the first time he’s seen you string together coherent sentences without slurring or stammering.
A lot of things were clicking into place. You had told him about your brothers, now he could put a face, or faces, to the names. The Oolder brother who doesn’t really like you’ was Dick. He pins Tim as the ‘Only nice one’, and all signs for ‘The one who is embarrassed of you’ point to Damian. You never named them, he reasoned you didn’t want to give all your personal life to the big bad Red Hood. Maybe if he pressed you would’ve spilled, but then what good would that have done?
“You think she’d be completely fine with the pit? That wouldn’t raise any questions at all.” He mirrors Dick’s sarcasm but the nervous edge Dick flavoured it with is gone, instead Jason peppers his bite with venom.
Bruce clears his throat and all eyes go to him. Jason feels his shoulders rising, squaring up against a potential threat from Bruce. Like a junkyard dog moments before being thrown into a fighting ring. Bite or get bit. Though they were mostly cordial now, not like how it used to be, there was always a part of him that told him he had to always be ready for anything. To get ready to kick and bite. Sometimes that part felt so big that he wondered if it was a part of him, or if this was him.
“We’re going with Jason’s story.” He decides. And then it’s law. “Jason left, and now he’s back.” It isn’t a perfect story, but he thinks it will pacify you for now.
He did love you, he does love you even, but in a broken way. When hasn’t Bruce loved someone in a broken way? Instead of holding you and telling you every day that you were enough, he left you to your own devices. He wants to lie and say it was out of nobility, that he believed it was the most ethical choice, but it wasn’t. Every time he smelt the alcohol on your breath, or saw the bruises on your legs and arms, when he caught your eye and saw how spaced out your pupils were, it reminded him of everything he was.
Self destruction. Trying to escape yourself. Filling an endless void with material goods, with drinks and drugs, just for the hole to deepen. Being surrounded by people but feeling like you're alone in a lifeboat in a cold and uncaring sea. The eyes that dissect your every move. Chasing pleasure from people you won’t remember thinking that’ll change something, and when it doesn’t, you just find someone else and try again.
You were both in that lifeboat. In the vast unfeeling ocean, and you were clinging to him, begging him to pull you up. There’s a boat in the distance, a ship, salvation. He flags it over. When the boat comes, he climbs the rope ladder. You reach to be pulled up. If he takes your hand, you could lose your balance and fall in. So he leaves you. From the deck, he looks down on your lifeboat. You’re alone. If he lowers the rope back down, it means he’ll have to get back into the boat. He leaves the ladder dangling from the side, an open invitation to a party, but there is no one to escort you there.
Every time he took someone under his wing, they broke. But, at least they could break together. He left you to fall apart all by yourself. If you were going to drown in that sea, he should’ve held your hand and sunken with you.
But you were sinking. Every night you were drowning yourself in a bottle. You had called for help, leaving your proverbial SOS in the sky. Leaving empty bottles in plain sight. Cigarette butts on your windowsill. Eating breakfast in front of him with dark eyebags.
You were shot in front of him.
Even though you cried and begged not to die, he knew that look. Relief. Maybe your conscious brain couldn’t register it, but he’s certain that subconsciously you knew you’d die if you ran down that alley.
He’ll drop the ship’s anchor. He’ll climb down the rope ladder and pull you up, out of that darkness. He’ll pull you onto the ship’s deck and hoist the ladder back up, so you’ll never go down again. The storm will calm, and the waters will still.
Bruce exhales, freeing himself from the image. Today, it will change.
Alfred keeps fretting with the cord of the mask, adjusting it over and over again so it fits snugly without digging into your skin. You want to enjoy the attention, but you can’t focus on anything. Since you woke up, there’s been this… itch. If you can call it that. Like fingernails scratching at your chest from the inside. Everytime you think about the alley, it comes back. When you think about anything but the present, the scratching starts. You’ve felt anxiety before, you’ve had a handful of acid induced panic attacks before, but this feels so much worse. Like the breath in your lungs is slowly being siphoned off by invisible claws.
Neither of you speak, just enjoying the silence. Well, you aren’t enjoying it, but it’s easier than talking. Everything takes effort, breathing, blinking, thinking. You wonder if you’ve actually woken up, or if you’re still dreaming.
“You know you’re lucky, don’t you?” Alfred cracks the silence. There’s a tone in his voice. It makes you want to cry immediately. Normally you’re better at hiding that. But when doing literally anything takes effort, it’s easier for the dam to burst. The tears roll down and trickle around the mask, not breaking the seal. Alfred looks taken aback, instead of continuing his lecture, he just thumbs away the tears.
The anger you felt at your family, for hiding such a big lie, is still hot, but not like fire, like boiling water. It bubbles and rages inside you, but it isn’t quick hot anger, it's a slow, wet kind. The kind that makes you upset for feeling angry. Like a child regretting their temper tantrum after they’ve been put in timeout.
You lift your head when the door opens again, thinking it’ll be the gaggle of men and boys, but instead a single doctor comes in. His clipboard is snug against his chest and he walks like he’s being watched. That’s when you see a shorter doctor behind him, she carries herself with grace and controlled confidence.
They greet you but it feels stiff. Something’s wrong. The scratching gets worse. “Good morning Miss Wayne.” the taller one greets, his voice a little shaky. He looks like he’s five minutes from imploding under stress. “How’re you feeling?”
It takes you a moment to find the words. “Fine. My throat hurts.” You’ve never liked going to the doctors. “My stomach hurts too. But I mean I was shot, so.” Trying to find the humour in the situation backfires because Alfred tuts. That signature, ‘you’re better than this’ tut.
The doctor seems to find it funny at least. The taller one gives a small smile and checks the clipboard again before looking back up to meet your eyes. “Well your charts look… surprisingly good. Considering everything else.”
“Considering..?” Alfred pries.
“Her, uh, condition on intake. Although we can’t trust these charts 100%, there could still be some floating in her system. But all things considered, you’re looking well. But uh, we’ve- uh”’
“I’ll say it.” The short one pipes up, clearly irritated by his stuttering. She takes the board from it and clasps her hands together in front of her. “Miss Wayne, we want to keep you under observation for another seventy-two hours after you’ve healed from your surgery."
“What? You said I was fine-” Alfred takes your hand in his, a silent grounder. The scratching ramps up. “I’m not sick, I didn’t break anything. You already did surgery on me, right? Look, I just want to go home.”
“This isn’t about the surgery.” Her voice is clipped but there’s a softer ring to it. She’s exercising restraint. “We’re concerned about your substance intake. If you drink, or take recreational substances while on the medication we’ve prescribed for you, I’m not going to beat around the bush, it could turn lethal. Do you understand that? If you continue to abuse your body, you’ll die. We want to keep you under observation to make sure you put yourself in danger.”
Humiliation burns through your core. This is rock bottom. You feel like you’re back in school, getting told off for not doing your homework in front of the whole class. You wish you didn’t ask Alfred to stay. Having him hear this makes everything feel so much worse.
You really are the worst daughter ever. No wonder they don’t want you. God if Mother could see you now she wouldn’t recognise you. She’d leave you too. If she wasn’t dead, she’d have left you.
“How long do I have to stay?” Your voice is shaky and embarrassing.
“Depends on how quick your stitches take to heal up. After that, we’ll keep you on some antibiotics, and once you’ve finished the course, you’ll be okay to go home.” The taller one pipes up.
When you don’t reply, but instead just nod, they take their leave. “Someone will come by later and ask you some questions. Don’t think too deeply, just answer them honestly.” The shorter one finishes. “I hope you’ll feel better soon.” And you believe she means it.
The group is divided. Jason and Damian come in just after the Doctors leave. Jason still looks uncomfortable. You wish you could’ve met under different circumstances. It would be nice to be alone. Or make a better first impression. He stands in the back of the room, not making any first moves, so you end up being the first to try and break the ice.
“I’m not normally like this.” You broach weakly. “I mean, I don’t dress like this normally.” Sheepishly gesturing to the hospital gown and mask. “I’m Y/N.”
Jason bites back a quick ‘I know’ and instead just dips his head. “Yeah, well, weird circumstances.” he summarises. You notice the scuff marks on his jacket. His clothes don’t look new and pristine like everyone else’s. They’re clearly lived in. The leather is old and worn, with discoloured patches on the elbows. He must work with his hands.
“I like your jacket.” You try. A tiny, almost invisible, smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Nah, this thing? It’s ancient. Bet it’s older than Damian.”
Damian’s always envied how easily you connect with people. Something so simple as a trivial compliment, and you’ve already started hacking away at Jason’s icy walls. You had a charm that he lacked, and that drove him mad. How are you able to be so likable, even now when you’re practically strapped down to a bed, unwashed and dressed in thin, flatout ugly attire?
“How come you two know each other? I know I asked but you didn’t really answer.” You try again.
“His Mom knew mine. I left home to find her but, well it’s done now.” He puts his hands in his pockets.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, you didn’t do anything.” He scoffs.
“Where are the others?” Alfred asks, finally standing up and stretching his legs. You wonder how long he waited for you to wake up. How many hours had he been by your side?
“Outside getting air.” Damian clips. He’s sat back on the same chair he was before he left, right by the bed.
“Tim’s vaping, isn’t he?” You muse, a tiny laugh fighting it’s way out. God you’d kill for a vape right now. You normally hate it, and tease Tim for 'not committing to real tobacco', but you’d do anything for a hit. Something to damp down the scratching anxiety.
“Yeah.” Jason makes a noise, something like a laugh but more subtle, like he’s surprised you can still joke in this situation.
“I’m going to join Master Bruce. Some fresh air will do me good.” Alfred lets go of your hand and you miss the warmth when it slips away. You feel so cold. “I’ll be back soon.” he promises, then closes the door behind him.
Great. Now you’re stuck with Jason and Damian. You had turned Jason, or rather the vague concept of Jason, into an imaginary friend for years and vented to the fictitious friend about anything and everything. Now he was real, and old, and breathing. Old was a stretch, older is the right word. Part of you felt guilty for warping him into something he wasn’t. He wasn’t yours, it was wrong to impose an identity onto him when he wasn’t there. But it was nice to have a friend that couldn’t leave, or hurt you.
When the door closes, the shift in the air causes the book peeking out of Tim’s backpack to fall out and hit the ground. You didn’t realise he left it there. Then you recognise the cover, it was the same book you were struggling to get through the other day. The one you were trying to read to pass the time before you went to Roy’s.
Jason bent down to put it back, but when he saw the cover he paused. He turned it over in his hands, checking the back, then looked up at you. “This yours?”
“Yeah.” you admitted with a twinge of embarrassment. It was below your reading level. You found it in the library one day and held on to it. It was a little older than what you were used to, to the prose and language was harder to understand.
“No way. I used to love this one.” He handed it to you with care, like the pages would fly out. During your walks with Red Hood, you never mentioned reading.
“Really?” He swore he could see something in your posture shift, like you were getting less afraid of him by the minute. “I haven’t gotten super into it yet. Is it good?”
He starts a small rant about it. Jason doesn’t get to talk about his interests much. There’s a light in his voice, strong but not overpowering and loud, just passionate in a confident way. He knows what he’s talking about, he doesn’t overexplain anything.
To be honest, you aren’t really listening. A lot of it goes over your head. He talks about the themes and the character dynamics, how the time period influences their choices and actions, but a lot of it gets drowned out. You’re just grateful to have something else to focus on. Something other than the beeping of the monitors, the cords rubbing against you, the way the gown feels against your skin.
Damian doesn’t interject, but you can tell he wants to say something. You won’t force him to. If he feels like it, he’ll talk. It’s still painful to be around him. Everytime you see him in your peripheral vision, you see yourself pushing him. You feel like a monster. A beast.
Before he can finish, the door knocks. It’s a different doctor this time, one you haven’t seen before. She isn’t dressed like the other ones. She’s not in a lab coat, but instead just wearing a simple button up and a cardigan. She looks more like a teacher than a doctor.
“Sorry to interrupt, I’m Dr Wyatt, I’m here to ask you some questions.” Her voice is soft and direct. Jason and Damian exchange a look and reluctantly leave the room.
“You guys are coming back right?” Your hand grips the edge of the thin blanket tightly.
Damian nods. Then they leave. And it’s just you and the Doctor alone. You haven’t had a single minute to yourself yet and it’s starting to drive you crazy.
You sit up in the bed when Dr Wyatt sits down in the chair Damian was in. You’re assuming the questions will just be ‘how are your stitches’ or asking if you want anything to eat, but instead she pulls out a thick stack of papers from her bag. They’re stapled together and frighteningly official looking. You decide to take the oxygen mask off if you're going to be talking for a while.
“Now Y/N, I’m going to ask you some questions, and there is no right or wrong answer, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Okay, good. Now, when I ask you a question, you can answer it with ‘Never’, ‘Sometimes’, ‘Most of the time’, or ‘Everyday’. You understand? And again, there are no right or wrong answers. Or judgement. This is only for me and the Doctors to see.”
“Okay.” your voice quivers a little.
“Alright, I’m going to start now. Over the last two weeks, how often would you say you’ve been feeling anxious, or on edge?”
Oh. It’s those questions. When Mother died, you remember a lady at the social services building asking you similar stuff. You don’t think it went anywhere though. Maybe it’s the near death experience talking, but you don’t feel shame when you say “Sometimes.” Normally, you placate yourself, you water down your feelings, you make them smaller to avoid bothering anyone. But now you don’t want to be small. You want to be seen.
“Okay, and do you have any trouble relaxing?”
The question makes you snort. That catches her attention. You can already see her scribbling something down. “Something funny?” her tone isn’t accusatory.
“No,no, it’s just- I’m really good at relaxing. I don’t do anything. I’m not in school. I don’t have a job. Or hobbies, or friends, or anything a normal person does. So I don’t do anything. I lie in bed. Or on the floor. I sleep through the day. I doomscroll. I drink.”
You’ve never said that part outloud.
“Or I smoke. To pass the time. Then I go out, and I party. It relaxes me I guess. Then I go home and sleep for ages. That’s pretty relaxing.”
She writes something down quickly and looks back up at you. “And do you find yourself becoming easily irritable or annoyed?”
“Back off!” You fight back your growing frustration. It burns in your throat with a flaming chokehold. Your lip quivers under the heat. It’s wet and raw, warm like blood. “I’ve had a shit day and I don’t want to spend another minute here.”
“Sometimes. Yes.” It’s clipped and avoidant.
“Have you felt little interest or pleasure in things you normally enjoy?”
You have to think for a moment on how to word your answer. “Sometimes. I used to really enjoy partying. But, I uh, I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like I have to do it. Like, if I want to drink, I have to go to a party. I don’t just want to drink at home. If I’m outside, and I’m with people, then it feels less… weird.”
“And can I ask who these people are? In your own words you ‘don’t have friends.’ So who are you partying with?”
“I don’t know. Just people. I meet them randomly. I don’t know them. I just talk to them and then we drink.”
“Do you feel down or hopeless?”
“.. Yes. Most of the time”
“Do you feel that you’ve let someone down? That you’ve failed.”
You think about your college friends' graduation pictures. Of the life you could’ve lived. You think about school. How your grades were only ever fine. Average, bordering on underachieving. “Yes. All the time.”
“Do you have trouble connecting with something, like reading a newspaper or watching TV?
“When I try to read I can’t think about the words. It’s like autopilot. Most of the time. I watch TV but I'm not really taking it in, it just passes over me”
Doctor Wyatt pauses before asking the next question. “Do you have thoughts about dying? That you’d be better off dead, or hurt?” Her eyes are soft as the press.
“Yes.” it shocks you to admit it. “When… When I got shot, I think I didn’t want to wake up. I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t want to wake up. Does that make sense? It’s stupid. And pathetic. But I just, I don’t know anymore. I think I’m tired of trying, but then I haven’t done anything. I’ve never really tried to be anything. So what's there to be tired of? It’s disgusting.”
“You aren’t disgusting Y/N.”
You needed that more than you knew. You break into tears immediately. Again. Wyatt hands out a tissue for you and you wipe away the rolling tear drops. One strays against your lip and you taste the salty sweet residue.
“Do you have repeating memories of a traumatic event? Recent or Old.”
“Sometimes I see my Mother. And I see her yelling at me. And I see her body at the morgue. I was the only one that could identify her. She didn’t have friends. Or family. She died- killed- when I was thirteen. I used to get nightmares. But, when I drink, or get high, or whatever to distract myself, she’s not there anymore. And then I get sad that she isn’t there. So I go home.”
“Where’s home?”
“I live with my Father, but my Mother’s home was on Birch street. So I just wait outside the apartment building for her to come out. But she doesn’t.”
“Do you find yourself bothered by strong negative beliefs?”
“What does that mean?”
“Thoughts like, ‘something’s wrong with me’, or ‘the world is out to get me’.”
“Yeah, sometimes. I mean, I know there’s something wrong with me, I know I’m bad, but I think the world is just the world. I think life just sucks for everyone, I think some people are just better at managing it.”
“How many times a week do you consume alcohol?”
“Pretty much every day.”
“When you start drinking do you find yourself unable to stop?”
“Yeah. I just, I don’t want to be sober. I want to stay drunk. Everything feels easier. I feel normal.”
“How can you tell when you’re drunk if you’re never sober?”
You don’t have an answer. Dr Wyatt continues. “Has a Doctor or a relative expressed concerns, or asked you to cut down?”
“Sort of. I mean, my brother does sometimes. But he doesn’t stop me.”
She writes on her notepad and you watch her face twitch. Her eyebrows knit together and droop at the end. When she stops, she gathers the papers together and looks back up at you as she stands up. “Thank you for your time Y/N.”
“It was nice to meet you.” You try a smile but you doubt she bought it. You’ve never been that open with anyone. Not even imaginary Jason. There was something freeing about deciding not to care anymore. “Do you think I can take these things off? I need the bathroom?”
At Dr Wyatt’s request, someone comes in to take off the mask and the monitor attachments, freeing you from the bed. Your feet feel like mud when you put weight on them. For a second you nearly stumble, but you catch yourself. There’s a tall window in the room, so you prop it open to get some air in. Then you head to the bathroom.
One day, those feelings will end, right? They have to, because there must be more to life than this. Chasing something that’ll never come. When you look in the mirror, you see her. The thirteen year old you whose life stopped because one man couldn’t take no for an answer. She’s afraid of you. Of course she is. You look awful. Her eyes are still bright. When did that light go out?
You want to hold her close and never let go. To melt into her and try again. Go back and make better choices. Beg Mother to stay. You’d never fight with her again, you’d be her good girl. You’d let her shout and belittle you without protest if it meant she’d stay. Try school again, make friends that wouldn’t leave you. Become a better person. Be kinder. Less selfish. Choose a normal, uninspiring life. Work a job you feel ambivalent toward. Take home a paycheck that keeps the lights and fridge on. Live in an apartment that feels like it’s actually yours, not just a guest room in a hotel.
In the blink of an eye, she’s gone, and it’s just you and staring at yourself. The last person you want to see right now.
WE’RE HERE TEAM WE DID IT.
GOD LIFE GOT WEIRD AFTER CHP 10. Okay so- I got my apartment keys, only for my landlord to give me the wrong ones, so I had to sort that out. And then when I started to finish packing, i got a tooth abscess which WAS THE MOST PAINFUL THING EVER OMFGG. I literally couldn’t do anything but lie in bed, even sitting up hurt. I was on strong painkillers so I couldn’t focus on anything- ended up just watching Malcolm in the Middle while trying not to move too much.
I finished my assignments and the universe immediately struck me down. We ball. The sun is shining and I’m moving soon. Life will be good.
Because we love to rank people now this is my tier list! (In NO particular order)
I also want to add that the original tier list post actually referenced fics instead of the blogs themselves, I've added the actual blogs because I find it silly to rank people based on one story they post. The ones that didn't get tagged in the OG are the one's I've put in italics.
Please show support to these writers - a lot of them aren't taking the criticism to heart, which is good, but it's still wildly unfair for someone to rank anyone like the original poster has.
S Tier (AKA Everyone):
@gotham-daydreams - they write great fics - even though they aren't active anymore. CHECK THEM OUT!
@blughxreader - Also not active anymore, LOVE THEIR MAIN STORY, the yandere purge au had me kicking my feet. CHECK THEM OUT!
@ametrictonofaudacity - Gaps is a great series, multiple different fandoms which is awesome, does yandere letters and match-ups. CHECK THEM OUT!
@yandere-daydreams - Romantic and amazing. Currently writing JJK stuff, has amazing Batfam oneshots CHECK THEM OUT!
@sugary-strawberry-shortcake - Platonic and amazing, currently writing a fic where Reader is Poison Ivy's daughter. CHECK THEM OUT!
@yunyuu - SO MANY ROMANTIC MINI FICS I'M OBSESSED!! CHECK THEM OUT!
@neellscapsule - Writing skills are peak, endings are amazing. Girl With One Eye genuinely had me hooked. CHECK THEM OUT!
@candysparks - A very fun writer, super creative, currently writing a Yan! Neglectful! Batfam x Replaced! Reincarnated! Time-loop! Crazy! Reader, like hello?? Peak?? CHECK THEM OUT!
@visceralmeraki - Thirteen (the movie) inspired Reader fic that will be the death of me if it stops updating! They also have written a Vampire Reader based off of Claudia from Interview With A Vampire! CHECK THEM OUT!
@maliciouscottonball - Never knew I needed merman Dick, but here we are. Literally all oneshots/blurbs/fics written by this account have me rolling around rabidly. CHECK THEM OUT!
@maicenitas - Great portrayals of the characters in my amazing opinion, the story they're currently making is great! CHECK THEM OUT!
@acid-ixx - AMAZING! Again and Again is genuinely an amazing fic, alongside the other ones written this person is so cool. CHECK THEM OUT!
@ollyissleepy Writes a cool Werewolf Reader fic and a Bruce Wayne x Reader fic. One of the writers that write for males/use he/him pronouns and male anatomy!! CHECK THEM OUT!
@cinrot - Gwen Stacey Reader? Am I in heaven? CHECK THEM OUT!
@dehydratedoverlord - Eyes Without A Face and Suffocation are amazing reads. CHECK THEM OUT!
@zippysmusings - Hilarious. I seriously love the dry humor of Why Are You So Obsessed With Me?! and I'm vibrating in my seat thinking about reading Empty Nesters next chapter. CHECK THEM OUT!
@jade-zzz - I go back and re-read their Jealousy Headcanons for Dick, Jason and Tim constantly and I can't wait for pathetic tim drake stuck in a cabin if you get where this is going to be released... I'm frothing at the mouth. CHECK THEM OUT!
@yandereworlds - Art is amazing, if you can you should commission them! I follow them on TikTok too!! CHECK THEM OUT!
@luludeluluramblings - MY GOAT! I don't play about their fics, omg, like I've never cackled more at a fic than Oh My God Who Wrote This?! CHECK THEM OUT!
@cupids-cruel - Nightshifts is amazing, genuinely. Like if you enjoy a Reader who has no self preservation that is the fic for you. Burnt Out is also SUPER DUPER COOL!! I've read it a million times now! CHECK THEM OUT!
@echo-exco - Healer Reader is peak, don't know much about anime but the fics from them with an Anime Reader is so fun! + This person is so creative and fun! CHECK THEM OUT!
@sangunary - SO much to read! If you're looking for neglected, fluff, romantic, platonic and/or crack fics this person has a whole library of stuff in their masterlist and MORE as you scroll! CHECK THEM OUT!
@fallen-angel2470 - Writes mainly requests, so if you have a request they're your go to, trust!! CHECK THEM OUT!
@aneldritchclown - A Breath Of Fresh Air was such a fun read! REBLOGGING MASTER! CHECK THEM OUT!
@invincibledc - Super cool DC OC's, super creative! Catboy Reader x Tim? SIGN ME UP BRO!! CHECK THEM OUT!
@coralaura - Is currently writing a Peter Park Reader x Platonic Yandere Batfam fic and I'm obsessed!! CHECK THEM OUT!
@otakusimp1 - Is writing an Isekaid Villainess Reader x Yan Batfam fic. I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE NEW FIC TO DROP!! And the new chapter of Serial Killer Reader x Yan Batfam? I'm seated and ready like the greedy glutton I am. CHECK THEM OUT!
@niwaart - Yandere Batfam x Neglected/Divorced wife Reader, Male Doctor Reader, Different World Different Family, Lost Omega, Family Without Light, See What I Can Do, and so so so many more! Literally a library of variety! CHECK THEM OUT!
@eveningcherryblossoms - Beta Reader fic was amazing, Pink Robin is amazing, the oneshots are amazing, the attitude is 10/10, I love them and their fics so much! CHECK THEM OUT!
@lilasgenericlillies - Yandere Batfam x Isekai'd [neglected] reader is awesome, the fic blew my mind, seriously. I loved the way they wrote the Reader. Also writes for ftm readers if that's something you're interested in! CHECK THEM OUT!
@firbat - Little sister Reader was so cute! Writes tidbits about the Forever Pup Au created by @lunaris-literature ! Pretty new but is already starting off with a bang!! CHECK THEM OUT!
@eclipse-msoul - Genuinely amazing, I love their aesthetic, I love the way they write, it's awesome! I especially adore Belong To Me In Oblivion and I think the mafia concept in Misfortunate Lady is PEAK!! CHECK THEM OUT!
@its-me-levi - Their story The Forgotten One had me at the edge of my seat, kicking my feet and pulling at my hair. The way they write the characters is amazing. CHECK THEM OUT!
@mimiii-3 - Personally I don't usually read stories where the Reader has a child - but All Grown Up was just superb. They have a way of drawing you in with their writing! CHECK THEM OUT!
@i-cant-sing - A large variety of fics for you to choose from across numerous fandoms! The DC Universe part of the masterlist has numerous fun oneshot fics which I adored reading through! CHECK THEM OUT!
@bluetooththereptile - Cool Batfam drabbles sourcing from animes, games, etc! Very creative! CHECK THEM OUT!
@aplpple - SO MANY FICS ALREADY!! You're bound to find your cup of tea in this blog! They post headcanons, drabbles/oneshots, and fics!! CHECK THEM OUT!
@cloudy-strawberry - This creator wasn't added in the og post but they're goated so I'm adding them anyway!! I love love love their fics!! CHECK THEM OUT!
Let’s go I got into QCC for fall 3 classes! Hurray for getting into college! Had my advisor appointment yesterday. The birthday of my missing big brother may 18. Gotta move on so I’m turning it into a positive. I have so many photos of the campus I’m going again tomorrow for math placement.
Let’s go I got into QCC for fall 3 classes! Hurray for getting into college! Had my advisor appointment yesterday. The birthday of my missing big brother may 18. Gotta move on so I’m turning it into a positive. I have so many photos of the campus I’m going again tomorrow for math placement.
WILLOW KARMA CHANCE @willowkarmachance - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
