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yandere! customer who's lowkey being an asshole so you beat him up with a broom because he's lowering your store rating. he smokes because he says it makes him look cool and that it might appeal him to you. if anything, it makes him look like an idiot. smoke off the grounds, stupid!
"yowch!"
"yeah bitch, that's what you get for smoking in the store."
why you hit him? cause the customer is in fact, NOT always right. and this one obviously is WRONG. your boss told you to just hit the bad customers after all. anyway this man is so wrong you just want to throw him off a bridge but you can't do that because he'll probably like it! scratch that, he will like it!
"the sign clearly says NO smoking. are you blind or just stupid?"
"i-i am a customer! you can't just beat me up and abuse me!"
"wanna say that again you little shit?"
you decide to hit him on the head again for good measure. can never be too safe, can you? especially when you work at a shitty convenience store where you're basically fighting for you life everytime you clock in for work. especially that man who always seems to... come back for seconds?
"get out!"
"𝓷𝓸"
yeah, he's probably a masochist at this point. you should probably just ignore him from now on instead if hitting him.
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yandere! dead ex boyfriend who promised to protect you in life and in death....
only for him to end up keeping his promise so now you have a fucking monster following you around wherever you go.
he can barely communicate like he used to, speaking only in low grunts and whines, his monstrous like appearance scaring the shit out of you and everyone else who sees him.
unfortunately for you he rarely shows his appearance to others (he can change his visibility at will) so you just look schizophrenic, freaking out in front of everyone else.
it's been a while since he first appeared and you're sure that you've slowly grown used to him. yet his surprise appearances when you wake up and he's next to you in bed never fail to throw you off.
you've been trying to understand what he's saying and recently you think you've come to an epiphany.
"so... what are you saying?"
staring at the monstrous figure in front of you, your hands tapping the table. your lips purse, eyebrows drawn together as your ex boyfriend grunts lowly, syllables coming out slowly but surely.
"i... protect... you..."
"protect me?"
he nods, resting his head against your lap before letting out a sound akin to a car purring. you sigh, shaking your head at his antics.
"mn... protect... cause... love... always protect... even if... ugly..."
yeah, you're sure he loves you. because ever since he started haunting you, you haven't been able to meet any of your other friends that he's deemed "dangerous". and by dangerous... heh... let's say he means "trying to steal you away from him".
"alright. i get it. you love me."
"mhm..."
man, now you're stuck with this monster cat of an ex boyfriend. what luck.
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ch.5 pt 1: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)
directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1,
read until the end for an author's note.
tw: self-esteem issues, typical implications of trauma and emotional neglect, allusions to self-harm.
you had always been a good kid.
you didn't have a consistent a plus, and you most certainly don't always win awards, let alone shower in a streak of gold medals and thick paper announcing your spot as first place. you're not the picture-perfect kid aunties will brag about and compare their other children to. you're not always refined, as a child born into the streets of gotham, bound to be rough around the edges—
but you were good.
and your momma always told you every night, in her hushed whispers and cuddling arms, after her sweet lullabies harmonizing with the hums of your broken fan, that it's alright if you're not the greatest; as long as you're good.
she taught you manners, to always respect everyone around you, your elders, strangers, even children your age, because blessings always come in the form of good faith if you're kind.
you believe her, of course you do, she's the only person you had in your life, the only person you needed. you should've never desired for anything else; what else could you wish for if not her love and presence only?
she's enough for you, and you're enough because she tells you too, with her siren-like eyes softening when she gazes at you with only love encrypted in her eyes, her once seductive smile plastered all over wanted posters now beaming with joy at having you in her arms rather than inauthentic pursuits of attracting men around her.
you always followed through with her words, because you love her and it's no doubt that she loved you more than enough too, too much that she had to continue on with her prostitute lifestyle to provide for your little family, too much that it was the reason why she had to be killed off in the first place.
because of her, you chose to be kind, you chose to lower yourself, to never raise your voice higher than those around you, to be humble, and to never show when you're at your limit, even to others closest to you other than your mother.
you remember so little of her the more you age, you grasp on straws just reminiscing on every moment spent with her.
"a good kid," she says, her voice almost a tantalizing memory threatening to drift away, "won't finish first, but fate will always make sure that they never finish last. so choose to be good, alright, baby?"
"yes, momma," your reply came in curtly, tiny fingers playing with the ends of her hair, without moment's hesitation, or doubt in the meaning of her words.
because her words are god for someone like you, because she is your mother who always knew what's best—
because she is your mother, and you may not like her for who she is as a person, for all the wrongs she did in the past before throwing it all away to raise you; but you love her either way, and follow whichever path she leads you to like a little duckling...
a good kid doesn't finish first, but they'll eventually get what they always wanted, right?
even if they wait for weeks, months, years; fate will find a way...
so why can't you have you have what he have right now?
why, just why, are you always finishing last?
why can't you receive the same attention tim did when he was first introduced?
elegant, poised, a rich boy with millionaire parents who had so much to spend, standing proudly and confidently at the doorstep of the manor, as if he had already belonged the moment he stepped foot into the staircase. thirteen year old, older and taller than you, better than you.
the memory is still clear as day, because it was the same day you had bothered alfred to update you on your offer to hang outside in the gardens with your father, only for the butler to look down at you with the same sympathetic eyes and tired smile, retelling you in his familiar excuse that bruce is busy.
'papa is busy,' the words echo in your brain in a mocking tandem, you wish to bang your head on the kitchen's mahogany doors at another attempt rejected. you wish to rip at your hair like you always do. but you can't, you just can't because alfred is in the same room as you, aged hands patting the delicate strands atop your head. you feel disappointment, you always do, then it's shame; shame because it's always alfred who has to witness your bated breaths and spilling tears at another day wasted alone—!
shame because this always happens, it's like bruce never wanted you in the first place; he probably doesn't even think you exist.
but of course, your young brain reasons, your father's always busy when it comes to you, only you.
his timetable consists of mourning his dead son, handling wayne enterprises and juggling his philanthropist career. when will you ever be worth enough that he places you in the same pedestal as all his other obligations?
and back then, you thought every night he spends missing are nights spent with multiple women— back when you've not known of his identity.
yet the point stands still, his missions do not relate to whatever situation stands before you now.
why?
why is it him to who answers the door to tim, the young boy's piercing blue eyes looking up at your father in a challenging gaze? whilst you stand, restlessly in a corner at the scene that unfolds before you. why is it him, who at first makes bruce hesitate, yet still take in the boy holding the camera, hand on his back to guide him inside, as the boy speaks cryptic words you couldn't fathom as you watch behind arch of the living room?
your blood curdles, heart starts to pound out if its gilded cage, and you feel your body buzzing in pure, unadulterated envy, the sole emotion you feel clawing its way into your vision; you see green, you can't see anything else but the scene before you. shaky breaths, blurry vision, balance barely stable as alfred could only offer a pat on your back and his pitying gaze on you.
no words, not even comfort, the manor seems dark again, everything feels as if it's closing into your body and devouring you whole.
why, why, why?
the questions circulate, the memories resurface all the time at just how easy it was for tim, just how he didn't even need to beg to have your father, yes, your father to keep his eyes on a boy whom he have only spoken once in his lifetime.
tim doesn't need alfred to relay a message, he doesn't even need to hesitate being in the same room as the man who seems always a mile away from you, who could never look down even when your fingers come up to fiddle with the cuffs of his sleeves, just like how you did with your mother's hair, all in the name of getting him to see you.
but you're not tim, you're perfect, you never will be.
it hurts, everything hurts when a stranger, someone like tim had the opportunity to talk to bruce, you never had any—!
even if you're always good, even if you always tried to succeed in your academics, your extracurriculars, your everything, even if you always try...
... the moment timothy jackson drake stepped into the manor, the moment his shining blue eyes, almost twinkling like yours when you've been first introduced, stared analytically at the man you called father, was the moment it piqued his interest; was the moment you knew that being good doesn't equate getting what you always wanted:
the attention of a father who chose to cope with grief in another new robin partner instead.
to be bruce's child first, rather than an afterthought later.
ever since then, ever since tim came into the picture, it was harder to gain bruce's attention. even alfred was divided between you and your seemingly divine... brother who just decided to take your place, who will soon be bruce's third child, erasing your name off of his memory.
being good was not enough, being great didn't even compare— your mother's words seemed easily overshadowed by the gnawing jealousy at just how wonderful your new brother is, at just how similar he is in regards to bruce, but different and also infinitely better than you.
it was the first crack in your fragile, glass heart after it had been wrapped in thousands of bandages from the heartbreak of your mother, it was the first rip at the seams at the already lacerated wounds that emotional neglect has left you.
from the days, weeks, months, you couldn't recall, trying to form some sort of interaction with bruce, dick and now even tim, instead of having alfred be your medium of communication.
from the cold, rainy nights spent with just your thin blankets and fading memories of your mother to soothe you from the nightmares that relishes in your fear.
imagining what it's like having your father speak words of assurances in a dull, almost alien-like tremor (you've never even heard his voice up close before...) comforted you at first, but now it became thousands of hushed whispers wishing you were never born in the first place if it meant your trepidation would end.
and it would've been better, the dread that buzzes restlessly under your skin could've been satiated if tim had even the decency to acknowledge your presence. but just like bruce, god, just like dick who had easily accepted the smart, academically talented boy as his own sibling— you're still amounted to nothing to be even considered worthy.
good, but not enough, not worth the effort of being greeted every morning, not worth the time spending small talks with. even dick, the athlete who once promised to ditch some patrols in bludhaven in passing moment's as an excuse to swat you away, have now opted to bother the newest addition to the family, forgetting that it was you who idolized him the most—
even if it was tim who met him at the carnival first, before dick's parents had died, going as far to dedicate the entire act for the boy— it was you watching him through the broken down television too, legs swinging back and forth on your springy, dusty couch as you doodle him doing stunts, talking to you because he meant the world to you too after you realized he was considered a brother to you.
tim met him first, yet you did so too, but as his younger sibling instead...! so it's unfair, it's unfair, everything is so unfair. tim and his stupid fucking goals of helping your father cope, your father, not his, his parents are alive, your mother is gone, goddamnit—!
it's all unfair. your mother says the world treats good kids like you right, so why...?
... what else could he want? what else does he want to take away from you?
and how could you blame him...?
he was perfect in the sense that you aren't. he was what bruce needed: a reliable pillar of support, stubborn enough to deal with the stress piling up with the loss of his second child, qualities that couldn't be seeked in you even if anyone tries their hardest to squint past that once wide-eyed, vulnerable exterior of yours.
all they could see is a broken child, but not of their own. they could offer you sympathy, pity at just how terrible your past came to be, but that's what every child of gotham goes through. not even witnessing your mother's last gulps of breath would be unique enough to pique their attention. they couldn't possibly see you being part of their family, never.
you learn quickly, that the world has always been unfair, that sometimes, your mother's words aren't always right, not always the best. you need to be better than best, but you couldn't.
so you still chose to be good still, because what else could you do? who else could your identity be outside of the morals she had taught you?
that's who you always are—
that's who you always will be.
always the lesser one. always the forgotten muse and the unspoken poetry.
because that's what good people are, always belittling themselves for others, always allowing the bigger people to step on them like ants. to crush on their hopes and dreams like the crumbs of bread that spill onto the sides of a pavement.
tim is a good person, it was why he wanted to help bruce in the first place, but you couldn't also forget the fact that he's the perfect son for bruce too— that's the main difference between you both. you're worlds apart. he's naturally smart, almost flawless both physically and mentally, and helps slowly but surely fill the hole in bruce's heart unlike you who realizes that you'll only deepen it instead.
and you're a good kid, you're his good child, you wish you were his kid.
you're kind but never the greatest, talented but not good enough.
and that's who you'll always will be.
just a person defined by their worth, by the words of their mother. just a kid with nothing more than a smile to offer, no matter how strained the side of your lips are, no matter if the tears threaten to crawl out your eyes like spiders the longer your presence get ignored—
you're good, but you'll never be good enough.
... so what made you better now? what made you worthy now that all their eyes are now on you?
you wish it was easy to answer, but life's always unfair to a good kid like you.
has anyone ever noticed why the wayne manor has been so dull lately?
why don't the blooms stand so prideful in the gardens nowadays? surely, alfred's green thumb could fix the problem, but it's been months and the most eminent scent that fixes upon their nostrils could only be obtained if they sniff hard enough to smell fresh flowers amongst the scent of mud after rain or wet concrete.
why does titus seem so down these days? damian tried to play tricks with him; his beloved pet only replied with a loud, high-pitched whine in reply and lay languidly at velvet carpets with a bone on his slack jaw. his owner noticed how his tail seemed to wag less the more the days passed by. and damian isn't stupid, but he notices how titus, with the addition of alfred the cat, would often frequent sniffing and lay on a spot damian's familiar with; one he's sure a certain rival of his would only sit upon whenever they'd hide from him.
why have there been fewer homemade baked treats in the pantry? hell, they seem to lessen every single day someone opens the pantry. wasn't it alfred who baked them? was there a thief who had been stealing, or was the steady decline not mere coincidence? nobody else took a hobby to baking, since they've all been frequently absent, prioritizing their patrols and mostly taking the cookies and crinkles at the end of their shift, munching on the treats all for themself. alfred hasn't definitely been taking a break and refuses any offers to, yet the lack of goods was noticable, and whenever alfred bakes, it doesn't quite share the same sugary, or savory goodness the past deserts have been sporting.
why has there been silence, one that so ominous, for months? dick swore he'd often hear someone conversing through doors with alfred. at first he assumed it would be tim, or cass, but with how feeble and meek the voice was, yet talkative and light with an accent he's sure he heard from bruce. yet he dismissed the implication of another presence in the room. but as of current, he misses that strange voice that speaks of stories about highschool drama and friends for terrible influences.
has the rooms been lacking of music lately? tim frequents the soft, buzzing hums his hyperactive form hears from across the living room or near the fireplace's burning embers. sometimes he'd be lulled to sleeping whenever he hears specific melodies. he'd listen so often that he even managed to recognize his favorite tunes with just a single note, eyes slowly closing every time he's in close proximity with that unknown voice, conditioned to finally sleep like a pavlovian dog. tim has been losing sleep these days, eyebags frequent in his eyes. he misses the music, he misses his only saving grace during restless nights with even energy drinks and bitter coffee being ineffective.
why has the dust been collecting off the bookshelves of their library? whenever jason visits the library, there would always be fingerprints he'd find on certain books, one he'd pick up and come to enjoy reading. some were collections of series, others being short novels. the ghost that graces him these recommendations, who sometimes even brings new books, hasn't been in the library for months now, and he's skittish the more he visits the manor each time. the library was his sanctuary for all the moments he'd have fights with bruce, or felt too deep into his traumatic anguishes. the tastes he shares with this lone stranger who visits the library at different lapses than him was now gone, and he's noticed the anger that pangs deep in his chest every damn time dust has been collected off of books, with no fingerprint in sight.
just, why has it been so silent lately? both physically and figuratively. no music dawns their ears, no hinge of the fridge being heard throughout the night, or at least the faint mutters of an unknown whispering.
these were all unsaid questions buried deep in the minds of the people under the roof of the manor. now the only things they could feel were the heavy knocks of the rain on the window and the cold sensation of tiled floors on their already covered soles.
it wasn't noticable by chance, but it could be felt by everyone, both inhabitants and visitors.
and the answers lie simple: it's a secret.
they're the deals you make when you want someone to keep their mouth shut close, they're the things you swear your life to to never confess upon. they're the unsaid statements which helped torment a certain child under the roof of an already lonely and ghostly manor.
sometimes, secrets don't take in the form of someone making one up, but rather, it takes in the form of an unspoken agreement, a pact with your surroundings, an untold promise with nature or the things around you.
you were never particularly secretive with your talents, for arts, baking, or anything that takes in the field of creativity. you kept to yourself, and don't bother anymore to annoy your family to look upon a sketch only to be dismissed, or to taste the treats you hide by a pantry for later consumption; but you loved it still whenever alfred gave you the creative liberty to stroll around the manor to decorate the bleak place into a less melancholic version of a gothic abandoned house by the forest, left with only the legacy of a long-standing family.
it was just, you never find it necessary to tell anyone why there's a charcoal portrait of alfred hanged in one of the uncrowded hallways, or why the colors of the walls change momentarily, or why certain colors of flowers were more present by the garden than other colors— so maybe you could consider that a secret.
and it made you feel less lonely, if even by a fraction. yet you don't know it, but your acts of service to the manor was what made the family enjoy their stay a bit longer, was what made them appreciate the backdrop of a new wallpaper they had thought alfred had chosen, or find the designs of resin furniture adorable.
you don't know it, but you were what made mundane living enjoyable for those who seek to relish in the sheer feeling of adrenaline instead.
when you were first taken into the manor, you were the reason why all their senses were stimulated. tiny, malnourished you couldn't keep your toes in place once you've been exposed to a new, more bigger environment.
back then, the manor carried this atmosphere of darkness, a reflection of bruce wayne's grief after his beloved parents' passing away from his arms. yet you took that pain, and turned it from its bleak, grayish colors, to an intimate, fluorescent glow. a soft, bright light emits from one of the random rooms, with custom-made beads dangling about and glow in the dark stickers that litter the room. it was one not too blinding to the eyes, and felt warm like the touch of a mother to their crying child.
your cooking of sweet treats were the ones they often like to fight over. it was through alfred's secret recipes he bestowed upon you, and your own alterations for your baking, that the kitches would always smell of cinnamon, brown butter, and caramelized sugar. it was because of you that you made the manor smell sweeter, more homey, like what would've smelled of an apartment during christmas eve. you've made them associate the kitchen with both famous, foreign, and local recipes that they came to love. steph loved it whenever she'd stumble upon a cookie decorated with purple, cass finds the ribbons on some cupcakes cute, associating it with ballet.
every time bruce, tim, or dick needs a place to destress, they often visit rooms with sweet humming or the occasional singing. it was sometimes gibberish, others with lyrics, yet pleasing to their ears all the same. it reminds them of their mothers' singing, whenever they'd knit or praise their precious jewelry. it makes bruce's stiff posture slacken, finding that odd voice sometimes sharing his talking habits through the lyrics they sang. dick would always sing along, feeling as if he was back in time with his mother playing with his hair as she sings circus music, and tim would close his tired eyes, laying his head on his hand as he dreams pleasant scenarios for once in his life.
although you never once felt any of their embrace, they've certainly felt yours in their hearts, minds, and sometimes even their body; a spiritual connection they've felt with you without even knowing it. the last time damian touched you was when he pinned your wrists to your side. and even if he tried his hardest to ignore the raging beat of his heart, screaming at him to release you from the tight cage of his grip, he refuses to. out of sheer anger and petty spite, or the desire to feel the skin of his sibling who struggles to let go from his hold, he doesn't know. but he certainly does remember how your palms lack callouses unlike his does, and how warm your touch felt, even if blazing with cold sweat from his threats.
he had remembered the smell of your sweat and even the taste of your tears by accident and committed it to memory.
it was through your indirect care that everyone felt loved and cared for, and find themselves enjoying the sweet, small moments of living within what was once a stuffy manor holding painful memories.
and nobody knows why — with the exception of dick, bruce, and damian now — that despite the batcave being filled with the entire family, it felt empty all the same.
well, not entirely empty, but bleak with color. every hue remained gray in their eyes, the pipe leaks were eminent, heavy breathing was evident all throughout. no music catched on to their ears, and they all remain skittish and rigid.
it seems as if everyone has catched on, that they're all holding their breath together as the leader of the group, batman, looks around to do a silent head count.
after all, he told both dick and damian to update the family that this meeting is urgent, and no one shall even bother ditching, or else they wouldn't get to the bottom of your disappearance without all the help they could receive.
in a race to get you, they need to burn off all resources or god help bruce because he'd run himself crazy searching for you.
alfred doesn't want that happening, but he understands.
you're important, and no one could dispute that fact. after bruce had gone through your all your diaries, your sketchbooks that he had to pry away from damian's possessive hold, and the box of belongings that you left that he stashed away in his office— he knew he couldn't just leave his child out in the streets of gotham.
you're his child, and a damn child of his means his responsibility. either he likes the obligation or not, it's his duty to protect you from the harm of living in such a dangerous city. and you're certainly not a vigilante, he'd already ran through multiple recent investigations before everyone came rushing down to the batcave to confirm you're not connected with any bad guys; which was good, and bad news.
that means you chose not to undergo the same, dangerous path jason chose, or rebel like damian, yet at the same time you must've been incapable of self defense.
and he knows that even if you fight with normal moves; without his guidance against a gallery of brutal villains out to destroy batman or anyone related to bruce, you're dead meat. bruce doesn't want you dead. the only times he wants to hold you in his arms were the ones unconnected to you laying limp with your last breath, no. he wants you alive, and well, and safe from harm.
his precious baby, his treasure. he wants to see your face in one piece, and he wishes cradle you in his arms. just because you're over eighteen doesn't mean he's fully lost you. he's your father, first and foremost, and your hero second.
that's why it's imperative that everybody follows his orders now, with the primary order being that everyone, under the guise of currently not holding a mission, is required to be in the batcave within the first thirty or forty-five minutes of the announcement. no, there's no excuses that should be said, or buts. this meeting is a priority meeting, and as vigilantes who fight for the safety of their city's citizens, they know not to disobey.
and as family members related to bruce's precious second youngest, it's an obligation for them to care as much as bruce, dick, and even damian does for the search of your disappearance.
though apparently, jason couldn't get that message, and didn't bother to update through comms over where he's at the opposite side of gotham, his devices turned off after he had recently gone off in a rebellious tangent yet again about bruce's refusal to mercilessly slaughter the deserving ones.
he'll lecture his second child soon after he reports to bruce, mentioning your safety on the line while at it, but right now?
right now he needs to address the elephant in the room: the overbearing anxiousness and antsiness everyone collectively feels, bruce's stern eyes replicating the anger, the surge of energy he feels to exact vengeance on every crime that litters the street, the same urgency he felt compelled to drown upon right after his parents have died right in front of him.
whilst alfred's knowing ones stare at each and every one of the culprits of your disappearance, all a direct reason why you had left in the first place.
someone sighs, and it's not bruce who speaks up first amongst the crowd of vigilantes.
"so what now, father? are we all just going to stand here, or are we going to address the main issue? or do you want me to be the one who brings them back home? i wouldn't mind finding them before all of you do."
"this is not the time to be... you, damian, we're all....we all need time to think." it was dick who spoke next, with a sense of urgency, as his eyes that tried his damn best to stare at damian softly, with a smile to accompany it, immediately plasters itself back on his phone, spamming your phone with messages damian was sure were all about him begging for you to take them all back. without any fights, without any hesitation.
ever the pacifist, one would think. but everyone could see wide blue eyes, glinting at the screen. begging for mercy for such a lost case, tears nearly rimming his eyelids, lips bitten raw as blood drips down his quivering chin.
cass could read his movements, she knows he's mad. but not even a master of body language is in need to know just how much dick's rage emanates off his body.
fingers clenched on his phone, teeth gritted as he spoke, eyes frantically searching through messages, scrolling up, then down, as if he's waiting for something. for someone no doubt.
tim deduces that the person they're focused on for this urgent meeting was the same person dick was trying to text. 'must've been related or close to us if it means it's this important for everyone to be involved.'
he'll look through dick's phone later to solve the itching case, his fingers twitching to whip out his side in the batcave's screen and make a new case file.
but he chose to ignore it for now, they all do, each one focusing on their primary worries.
"who's them? wait— what even are we gonna talk about?" duke's voice rang loudly through the cave. it at least broke through the tension, bruce's tense shoulders sagging in relief then suddenly reverting back to its old, rigid pose.
everyone noticed the action. they're trained individuals after all.
barbara flinched through her seat at the sight of the man, with her hands readily available to type at the keyboard. though her eyes stay glued at batman, looking deeper and noticing his fervoured state.
it's as if he is lost in thought.
and with just how much thoughts were racing in his mind, it's easy to drown. to get lost in that mirage of memories trying to link an image of you to anything he tries to remember. even now, bruce wants to see your face first and foremost. he wants to see an image of you sleeping in your tiny, creaking bed, and to erase any of those memories to replace it with new luxuries he could provide you in life; a comfort you should've been blessed with the moment you entered the double doors of his manor.
his string of pearls, his little treasure.
"(name). they left, and i need all of you to listen to me, now. rebuttals later."
when bruce spoke up, gruff and domineering, with no room for anyone to speak back, all eyes were now on him.
dick throws his phone across the room, ignoring the shatter of the pure, aluminum branded back of it. his foot was jittering, and his voice was as ready to command orders with bruce.
blue eyes stare, vicious and hungry, impatient at its prime. with the addition of damian's green, squinted ones, and bruce's stern glare, thundering and clouded.
it was a spectacle to witness the same emotions coursing through their veins. as if they're one and the same; vultures feeding off the feeling of need and urgency to actuate what seems to be an already brewing plan on the trio's part.
the rest, unknowing of what had just occurred half an hour ago within your bedroom, listens.
they ignore the gnawing feeling of intuition, of something, right at this moment, going wrong, just to hear bruce's explanation, with dick and damian butting in.
they listen, fascinated about you being bought up, a name so foreign yet familiar, a mystery in their eyes despite having met or seen you occasionally; a glimpse of you running through hallways or painting in the garden.
they listen, and all the individuals let deep, feral emotions fester within them the longer they allow their ears and their mind to devour the words dick says, all syllables a symphony of praises towards you, each vowel accentuating his favor.
they listen, and learned.
whatever happened within the batcave, is also a secret.
you have your own secrets. they have theirs.
except, yours were discovered, and they choose to let emotions brewing deep in their hearts as obscured within public view.
tim wants to search for you, steph joins in on his sentiment too. barbara's already at it whilst she types and listens in on bruce's words, cass ponders about your invisible presence and just like bruce, tries to think of memories of you stumbling by her, and duke just as much attempts to picture your face and remembers something sentimental; one he'd ponder on later once he's alone.
now they all know your secrets, not everything, but a semblance of it. they discover their neglects, and acknowledge the consequences. why throughout their stirring arguments, they all couldn't find your handmade night-lights that they like to look at during the dark, or smell the baked crusts on your home-made pumpkin pie recipe, or the humming of random music through the halls.
because you've never once visited the batcave—
and it was the only room not graced with your courtesy, care, passions, and love.
they listen to bruce's plan, yet they ignore the growing dread.
they ignore why jason is radio-silent all throughout too.
instead, they focus on you, trying to reminisce on old, buried memories they at least spent with you. good ones, not the ones containing your meek begs, and heartbroken gazes. or the ones where you stood in the corner of a room watching them talk. or the times where you all had dinner together and you're left in the wake of silence despite the chatter filling the dining room.
... and once they couldn't muster anything up, they figured on creating new ones instead.
warm.
this place feels so unnaturally warm, that it seeks shelter under your skin. warm, yet welcoming at the same time.
...where are you?
your bleary eyes slowly open, blinking gradually, squinting out the streaks of white in your vision. it's always a hassle to wake yourself up. sleep has never been peaceful for you: always awoken by nightmares, or tormenting paralysis, sometimes mere insomnia causes you to lay awake and sweating in your tiny room. and your dreams always has to involve your family, one way or another; of course it's always about them, they've been your only source of life despite never being there for yours. but now? now you feel like you've had a complete 9 hour cycle of sleep, with no hint of fatigue in your body.
you've never had any proper sleep. ever since you saw... you saw her dying that it never registers within your mind just how deprived you are of rest, constantly haunted by memories you wish you just could... forget. but you couldn't, not when your beloved mother is the only precious reminder you have in life to stay alive.
your arms, arms that were always sore, in twisted positions, bruised and with faded scars from all the times you felt too impulsed to hurt, the only way to forget the mental torment you've gone through; now lay atop cozy sheets with no pain bared, no extra sheen of sheen on sweat. your fingers stretch, you caress the pillows your head lays on, cold to the touch against your warm, uncrying face.
it feels nice, feels crisp against your skin. your ears don't burn and you don't feel the need to flip your pillow to the colder side.
a yawn slowly escaped your lips. you lick them, they're not chapped, nor dry. they don't feel bitten, nor streaked with blood. you lick again, there's no familiar sting, nor the taste of blood that seeps against cracked skin.
'this is strange.'
you feel unusually relaxed, your breathing's oddly steady. there's no scent of smoke and pollution invading your nostrils, no shadow of doubt cloaking your mind.
you don't feel like dying today.
it feels so nice, the weather's so weird... pleasant. but this? it's not normal, gotham has never felt so quiet today. there has never been a time where you wake up feeling so... human. this is not routine. you're not used to this. god, everything's so strange and yet...
it's been so long since you last felt like you were... home. wispy streaks of particles dance under the soft light that beams outside of crooked, wooden windows. it casts an angelic glow on your surroundings, unlike the shrouded darkness you're accustomed to.
your eyes do a double take, churning mechanically at an angle where you can clearly see the glass panes.
"hm?" windows that always fog up with polluted specks of dust, now clear, and bright as day. it feels like the sun is kissing your skin through the light that enters the glass, you feel the at ease as your bones crack comfortably, and your muscles stretch without ache.
and you...
you're laying in a thick mattress that buries you in deep burgundy sheets. blankets wrapped around your body like a welcoming hug, you're reminded of your mother yet again.
your heart thumps rhythmically, not erratically this time, no— you've never felt so invigorated. it's been a while since you slept in a comfortable bed, in a comfortable setting, with a comfortable atmosphere. not the sound of blades hit your ears, nor the honking of cars, or ringing of phones. wherever you're laying didn't feel stiff like cardboard back in your apartment, the pillowcases are cool to the touch. your clothes don't encase you uncomfortably tight, there's no random thread that persists on irritating your skin.
it feel so oddly peculiar, so comforting, and you want to cry.
you feel light, airy even. there's nothing but the buzz of empty warmth that encapsulates your entire body. you're not used to this, this disgusting feeling of comfort, you don't think it's real.
only one response enters your mind, the only thing you're accustomed to.
'i don't deserve this.' your thoughts drown you into a deep sea of anguish, but the dichotomy of comfort and pain stirs you into satiating confusion. this is the first time you felt blessed, the first time you wish you were good enough to feel like you're worthy of deserving such goodness in your life.
suddenly, you feel like crying, but no tears escape your eyes, and your heart refuses to beat out of its cage. you're in a trance that refuses to release you from its comforting hold.
the hazy tune of birds chirping snaps you out of your deprecating reflection of your life.
when you squint and look out the windows once more, you make out a faint reflection of green, dominating the entire view second floor view of what is supposed your home.
for the first time, you don't feel fear reminiscing on that earthly shade of color.
you're in a... forest.
your nose picks up on the scent of the damp, green, grasslands. your eyes makes out the scenery outside, droplets of water slowly dripping on tall leaves, the rivulets travelling from blades of leaves to nourished, wet soil. it produces this stimulating smell, one you haven't been able to experience for months living in the polluted air outside the windows of your apartment.
petrichor.
you don't know what, or how, or why this is happening.
all you know is common knowledge, something perceived through senses and observations. you're in a cottage, yes, the interior layout is filled with personal trinkets you know you would've bought with money if you even had it, and furniture suited to both you tastes and your mother's... but otherwise, nothing else.
other than memories of a fantasy you shared with your mother, back when you were innocent to the cruelty of the world, of gotham and its merciless passions.
"XX/XX/XXXX, entry no. 23.
i remember one conversation i had with my mother.
it was about something related to where would we choose to live if we had the choice. she asked me that, out in the random, and that took me by surprise to say the least.
huh, during that time, i never knew her intentions for my answers.
i answered her sincerely, told her that, well, i wanted to live in a comfortable cottage, with two floors and a spacious bedroom for me, with hers right beside mine; so she can keep all the monsters away when i got too scared living by my own.
i wanted fairy lights strewn on the roof of my room, and matching glow in the dark stickers of stars and constellations with hers, just like the ones we have in our quaint apartment. i told her it wouldn't be complete without the mini figurines on top of raspberry colored cabinets, the ones that i loved to collect whenever we thrifted at stores, and most importantly the picture frames of us together.
she giggled at my reply, and told me it was such a 'me' thing to choose what i had said. but i retorted and told her she'd choose the same thing. and she said i said what exactly was on her mind.
thinking about that memory now, i feel warm despite the fact that bruce forgot to attend another parent-teacher conference again this week. every memory of my mother... tugs at my heart, both painful and nostalgic. i miss her.
if my momma was here, she wouldn't even hesitate to pull out of whatever side hussle she had for a job at the first second i'd mention something about my school. she always prioritizes me as her only child. it makes me feel special, and loved, and cared for— i haven't felt that in a long time. i won't lie that alfred's presence helps but a mother's love precedes all essence.
i love her so much. i wish i never took her for granted.
now that i think about it too...
if my momma was here, we could've been in that cottage right now, living our lives, carefree, without nothing to worry us. whether it'd be food in our plates or money to pay the bills. we'll always be happy with mushroom foraging and sitting by the warm fireplace i pictured, with her homemade hot chocolate by the table. she'd be nestled beside me, keeping me warm. that's enough to make me happy, enough to dismiss the heaviness in my heart as i write this.
i wish we were at that cottage right now, forever actually. i don't need a big family, all i need is my mom. and sure we'll have some arguments along the way but it wouldn't be as bad as, well, damian threatening to draw his sword on me and stab me at the heart every second i made him mad, which is always...
funny thing is... fuck, i never noticed how she was saving up money and starving herself whilst simultaneously keeping me well-fed so she could pursue my dreams of actually getting a cottage. i was so oblivious to everything that i just, i never noticed that she was earning all this, to build my dreams, so we can escape from gotham and live new lives with each other by our side.
she was doing all this, for the sake of my comfort, my happiness, my everything. she lives her life with no breaks, and retired from her previous job as a... sex worker just so i can live normally, so i wouldn't be ashamed of being her child, of seeing her as my mother. she was everything i needed in my life. she sacrificed, and i took it for granted.
and i wanted to scold her so badly; doing this for such a lost cause as me. it hurts to think about it now.
so what if i wanted a cottage? what about it if i'm now living with my father, huh? i don't care about living comfortably at all, if that meant i didn't have mother by my side, to support me, to actually love me, then what is a house all worth for??? all i wanted and needed was her, just her. and they took me away from my mother.
my mother.
your heart breaks at the seems whilst you write that faithful night, the grip on your pen near to leaving dents on your finger. if it draws out blood, then so be it. your handwriting turns unintelligible, strokes not knowing where to end. what once was clean, white sheets of paper now crumpled by your despair, by the tears that escaped your eyes, by your fists balling at the paper, all your emotions boiling down to mere grief.
if bruce mourns for jason, you do so too for your mother.
yet you continue to write, and write, and write. it's the only medium of comfort you have, the only means to treasure memories long gone, heartaches and comfort all a coagulation of your retreat to the real world.
if dreams can come true, then you wish the fantasies of your mother being with you comes alive, that she'd be by your side, taking your pen away from your hands, kissing your sweaty forehead and matted tresses, assuring you she's fine. she'll smile with crinkling eyes, and set your quivering hands to a stop, then wrap you in her arms, shielding you away from the burden of living without her.
if you were her flower, then she is your hearth. the only warmth you'd feel in such a cold manor, the only one capable of dipping her hands into your chest, taking your beating heart, and melting off the frigid locks that kept your love in place ever since her death.
only then can you say that dreams do come true, only then can you rest; close your eyes without praying for a dreamless slumber, without nightmares, without swords piercing your body, or the dismissive turn of your family's back on you.
but if dreams do come true, what does that say about nightmares?
only reality can tell.
or you can tell.
at you current state, seated restless on your tiny room with barely any illuminated moonlight guiding your tired body, tormented by both past and future, writing endlessly on journals soon to be forgotten— wouldn't that be considered a nightmare? to be subjected upon unwanted isolation, from the very same people who promised their lives to protect lives such as yours.
your family, your father, brothers and sisters. through empty promises alone; all enough to destroy you inside out.
talentless, worthless, out of place.
yet even if your diaries were all torn apart, pages seeping with both blood and tears, you still write.
you write, and you continue through your endeavors. what once were fond memories were the same monsters chasing you through barren halls and empty rooms.
after all, it's the only way to honor her passing, even if it kills you all the same.
you continue, wiping at your sullen cheeks, and brushing away ripped strands of hair; pen inseparable from stubborn, swollen fingers.
now i'm living here, in this big manor, with nothing going on for me. i have alfred, and he's like a father figure right after mom, but it doesn't change anything... it doesn't change the grief i feel, the sorrow, the unwaning depression. nothing. i couldn't even get myself to stand up from bed because i'm so fed up with everything.
if i didn't try so hard in the first place, i would've never been left this destroyed.
i want to give up, i want to die and just disappear off the face of earth. no one would notice, and at least after i die, i would be reunited with her— but I can't. why?
i have to remind myself everyday. i just can't give up and let all her efforts go to waste. she doesn't want me dying, earlier than her age, too. she told me i couldn't just let go so easily, that life is beautiful if you try to find its hidden beauty. i'm still trying to find meaning in all her wise words, i can't just take her honor for granted, especially since i know that despite everything, she has her own anguish and regrets.
does she regret having me?
right now, i feel a spark of motivation. she's been saving up, just for me, and i want to honor her memories at least. if i can't feel like home in this manor, then i'll make myself a home. to honor her, and to build upon both our dreams.
i don't know when, or how i could even engage in this impossible goal. but for momma? i'll do anything for her, even if it means working myself to death. because at least that means proof that i tried, and she'll be proud of me in the afterlife. god, i hope she would be.
we'll get that cottage soon, momma. i promise."
thinking about it now, that was ten entries right after your breakdown during your birthday. it was at a period of time where you fully accepted that you'd never be loved by your family, that you never belonged, and matured just as quickly after taking a break from writing self destructive diaries.
you sigh, looking down at your clenched palms and indenting fingers on skin. you really wish she was here. it could've made everything better, you would've been better if she was by your side.
a knock ensures before your door, and that alone snaps you out of your thoughts. you jump in shock yet feel no pang of panic in your heart, but before you could reach out to defend yourself, the door opens after the prior knock, and your...
your mother enters.
angelic, glowing, beautiful.
she's decorated in a white dress, with a pearl necklace decorating her neck, glinting like diamonds, soft in its assertion. like an angel, rather than the devil she's portrayed to be in the newspapers she hid from you.
she looks beautiful, as always, breath-taking to the point it makes you wonder how you share the same genes as her.
but her beauty now precedes her beauty from when you last saw her bleeding in the cold tiles of your apartment. now, she looks old, yet ethereal. wrinkles flecked her skin, her eyes drooped at the lids, her hairs displayed streaks of white in some areas.
you've never seen her like this.
she had you very young, and you've lost her young. yet she looks as she's rebirthed now, living yet aging like fine wine.
she is happy, and content with her smile, and looks at you with a radiant grin, smile marks on her sunken cheeks, like you mean the world, walking towards your seated form as she hugs you weakly, yet lovingly.
warm, like the spring's gentle blooms, like the feel of petals rubbed against your fingertips.
you're caught breathless.
"momma...?"
beauty that is true, that is honest, and speaks of history. beyond the barriers of photos you see in her at her prime, when she was known as a 'man-eater', a lustful creature that steals from rich to survive.
you've never lied when you said your mother is always going to be the most beautiful woman in the world.
at least, in your eyes. because if she objectively was, then your father could've, should've stayed with her, for the sake of his pride and reputation at the very least. he could've had her by his side, even through a loveless marriage, if it meant it ensured her safety.
you dismiss the bitterness the brews inside you, and opted to focus at the strange, yet welcome circumstances beforehand.
your hands find a way to wrap around her crouched figure, fingers lingering on the once sinewy bones of her spine, now healthy even through the sagging skin.
"my baby..." you look up at her, her hands holding your head so tenderly, cradling you side to side.
"momma..." she kisses your forehead, then both your cheeks, and takes a seat beside you. when she did, you felt a surge of energy and warmth burst throughout both your body and heart. for once, you felt giddy, solitary confinement all but a dream in this fantasy land.
you don't let her hands go for even a second, fearing this moment will be taken away from you. there's warmth emanating off the fingers intertwined with yours, you wish this moment never ends.
the questions that almost left your silken throat took hesitation. you just can't ask why she's alive, where you are and why you're here in the first place; for fear she'll be taken away from you, that you couldn't see her beyond the conjured and brief memories you had of her.
you wish to cry once again, this time, you let out a small hiccup and feel saliva bundling on the back of your mouth. she hums in resounding worry, her other hand swiping away at the hair covering your wide eyes. the softness in her eyes doesn't falter, and she hums a familiar lullaby: one that triggers nostalgia, that reminds you of the days spent without electricity in your tiny apartment with her lighting a candle just so she could read you another one of your favorite stories, huddled beside her.
the last you've heard of her voice, it was parched and inaudible. she always sacrificed for you, and drinkable water was a privilege in the shady parts of gotham.
"you're probably wondering where you are and why we're here, aren't you, sunshine?" she cuts her singing off abruptly, your eyes snap open to look up at her through your eyelashes.
"... y-yeah," your reply comes in, voice barely whisper. unsure and insecure of where this conversation will go, you chose to bury your head in her shoulder. she smells of ripe strawberry and cherries, unlike the mixture bold perfumes mixed with the stench of booze she comes home with after another night of restless endeavor. yet you don't acknowledge the memories of the past, you're here with her now and it's all that matters.
"where are we, mom? am i... dreaming? please, i- i miss you." this time, your tears come out in a steady stream, but your throat doesn't constrict in itself, and you don't feel the urge to rip at your hair at anymore.
now you're just terribly sentimental rather than bitter. no more was the jealousy that aches, or the panic rushing through your veins. it's just you and your mother, and the memories of her passing that buries you at the hilt of your sadness.
"well... you're in the realm between life and death, my little angel," she states with lidded eyes, as if it is a matter of fact. her hands move to scratch your scalp, she hums and swings your crying body side to side, akin to a mother cradling her newborn baby.
you felt particularly reborn, the sudden change affecting you more than you'd like to admit. the light outside your window casts her in a sheen of white, glimmering like rays of the sun, or like the twinkle of the moon.
even if she was old, and grey and wrinkly, she's always been ethereal.
and you're convinced that she's the angel instead.
"you've been through a lot, haven't you?" her questions brought you out of your tearful stupor, she brings her lips to kiss at your forehead and wraps her palms on the sides of your face, wiping away at the waterworks refusing to cease.
all you could do was nod, and feel the warmth reflecting off her body, transferring all to you. even in the plane of death has she always been generous.
"i-i... i don't want this to end, momma..." you utter, gazing at her ever-smiling face. there was a faint translucency in her body, as if her form is slowly disappear. and for a second, you feel fear that she'll disappear. fear that dissipates just as quickly when you hear her heavenly chuckles.
"...baby, i'm here with you right now in because i want to remind you to choose the path to live. it's too early to die right now, it's too early for my baby to join me in the afterlife." her words are too complicated to comprehend with how muddled your thoughts were, her saccharine actions feel like a forbidden touch, and you just couldn't comprehend why, just why does she want you to live...
when there's nothing else left for you in the realm where she's not around.
"but i... i don't understand...? why can't, why can't i be with you, mom—?"
"because unlike me, baby, you have so much to do. i've nothing left of me to offer when i died, baby... at least now, at least you'll find that you're still always loved, even when i'm not with you."
she cuts you off with a hush, pinching your cheeks before another wave of tears and quivering hiccups escape your befuddled body.
but you can't afford to let her go a second time, you can't go back—!
you don't want to be back in that damning structure you call a manor, you don't want to watch your father from a mere corner shrouding himself in the pits of darkness you know you couldn't carry, you don't want to return to begging for dick's attention as he turns a blind eye, you don't want the pitiful stares from tim when he's in the same room as you, or duke, cass, and steph's hushed whisper whenever you pass by, plans being made without your knowledge, without acknowledgement of your presence. you don't want to be blamed by damian for even being born in the first place. you don't want anymore uncelebrated and silent birthdays anymore, or milestones celebrated with just a fucking cupcake and a pat on your head...!
you want your mom, you don't want your other family, not anymore...
even if... even if your disappearance paved the way for a new shift in interests in your family's mind, even if you're now unknowingly the center of attention after months of the manor's solitude without you; just like you had always wanted— you're tired, and you've long since given up and grown from selfish and unrealistic desires of a completely healthy family.
if you could even call them that wretched title.
if you could even consider them as one like how they never did you.
the tears return just like the pain you were temporarily barred from, now it's a waterfall that threatens to throw you off of your escape from the reality of life, stinging your eyes and falling on crumpled sheets as your fingers grip uncontrollably for a sanction of control. from what? from the fear that now is the moment that you'll truly never see her again, not even in your memories.
"... momma, please, stay—!"
but right before you could reason out, desparate words crawling and jumping out your heaving chest and into the spiraling room, right before you could beg her to stay closer with you with her flickering warmth for just a second further as her body slowly dissipates from her hold on you, as your vision darkens and you hear that faint, familiar murmur of gotham's bustling motorcycles and alleyway screaming—
her last words, full of assurances, just like the day she tucked you in that little closet and made you promise that you'd stay silent for her, sacrificing her life just so she could protect you; it grounds you into your spot, restless, broken, and chasing unsaid words to tell her before you lose her once more, and destroys any and all hope for complete, and utter happiness you forced yourself to truly believe.
"... i love you, my sweet angel. be good for me, alright...?"
and just like that, your eyes blearily open to find itself into a completely foreign surrounding yet again.
and this time, it is real and unwanted.
'jason todd, a good soldier,' were the words marked and engraved on his tombstone. buried under the healthy soils of the manor, he felt as if his presence was forgotten all the same.
it was true, he was a good soldier. always obedient, always listening and mirroring bruce's orders, even though he grew up in the ratty streets with a drug-addicted mother and an abusive father, when he was picked up by bruce and lead into the vigilante life with the beaming potential to combat even dick; jason was always the good kid, who, even if he became a tad bit rebellious on the years garnering on teenage life, died honorably for the safety of his biological mother who betrayed him.
jason todd, always the boy portrayed as a warning sign for all the future robins, always the child remembered as just that: a soldier of batman, the kid of bruce who died unfairly; the truth of his death, the truth of joker's fucked up foil to destroy the bat's mentality even further all for a good laugh, hidden beneath restricted case files and bruce's suppressed emotions— all left unattended, just for him to be replaced by another new robin; a telltale signal that felt like bruce was trying so hard to repair the broken fixtures jason left behind.
the implication itself felt as if the world is laughing at his heroic acts, never acknowledged beyond the faults that lie on his stubbornness; a learnt trait all robins grew into once they've been taken in bruce's care.
he must've never been a good kid if life decided to take him away, when his youth was at an all time high, when all he wanted to do was meet his real mother, and to save her even when she had left him to die with explosives laid beside his beaten body.
was it his fault that all he ever wanted to do was to make his father proud? what was wrong with being a hero, being robin with his magical passions?
jason was never the spiteful man everyone assumed him to be. he was never rebellious, or thirsting for vengeance, or came to hate bruce as much as what everyone else thought of when they'd first hear his name.
even when he was revived in that sunken pit of hell, nineteen with a seventeen year old soul, feeling his once lanky body too tall, too big for him to flex his fingers, to kick with his now muscly legs, crying and screaming under all the madness of forcefully having his soul be reunited with his body after two years of peaceful rest.
and when he had returned to his senses, when he discovered that there were two new children running around the manor, one a product of a one-night stand, the other donning the identity of a new robin, did jason become the spiteful image everyone imagine the young boy came to be from when he was just an impulsive teenager.
becoming alive once more, reliving betrayal after betrayal, watching in the background: never the full story, but enough to feel like he's been replaced— it became his sole duty to torment, to do to criminals what has been done to him, just to teach the bat that his moral code was flawed, was what caused a thousand other souls to be lost under the hands of the puny joker.
all this, just to feel a sense of right in a life constantly wronging him.
yet under all the blood-soaked jackets, the aluminum amoury, under clenched teeth and resentful, dead blue eyes stood a boy who loved. who stole tires to provide for his small family who never truly loved him: a father who beats at his body nightly, a mother who dismisses him in favor of her favorite substances. who read books of all genre— classic his all time favorite, jane austen his beloved author, he loved school, loved learning, jason always came home with an A+ in all his subjects, eternally grateful despite the years of betrayal, of heartache, of shredded photos and shattered picture frames.
who advocated his young life fighting crime, kicking ass beside his vigilante partner and a man he came to call his dad, even though he had all the opportunities in the world to turn rotten like the crime infested streets of gotham. because he was a good kid, too, and a soldier the next.
he was never the violent kind. he was the kid who loved above all else. idolizing dick, bruce, all the good people in the world with shining ambitions that should've never been stained so early. he even told bruce he always wanted a little sibling to care for. he wanted to teach another young, unfortunate child what it's like to share kindess in this shithole of a city.
jason todd was a ball of pure joy, loved by bruce to the point his father could've never moved on from his death, never acknowledging the next traumatized child that came after him, and also tim, too, who he always mistakenly call by jason's name.
jason couldn't see beyond the surface of what he knew, masked by hatred for what had become after two years, questions spiraling hid head that accompanies a darkness he never knew could shroud him like a cloak. bruce used to hide him under his curtain of a cape back when he was a small, manourished kid, his vision overtaken by pure black; but now the older version of him knew what true darkness is like without needing his vision disrupted.
death feels like eternal darkness, a void that devours your vision of all colors, no physical form, no thoughts, but unmoving with the feelings grounding you in place, like hell. and with the shadow of doubt that he was never truly cherished by a man he loved to call his father, that no vengeance took place after his death, jason couldn't fathom the pain greater than what he experienced in that cold, dark warehouse; spending hours hoping that he'd be saved.
how long did it take for bruce to replace him? days, months, weeks?
how long did it take for bruce to move on? was he just an afterthought to the man? was he just a good soldier in bruce's eyes?
and why, just why, does he also blame himself for his own doom? for being stubborn enough to pursue chasing after a clown smarter than him, why does he
... if he had never died, things would've never escalated that far, it wouldn't have created a domino effect that ruined not only his life, but his angel's too.
if he had never died, you wouldn't be bleeding in his arms like he did too in bruce's.
... except unlike him back then, you want to simply die now.
jason's passing was not only his guilt or bruce's, it also marked the start of your treacherous journey of thirteen and a half years living in silence, in fear and in constant yearning after your mother's death, for a love so passionate from bruce like the one he gives to all his other children but you.
for a love he had given all up for jason that he never had any to spare to you.
bruce never gave you what you wanted, what you practically needed. all in favor of mourning the passing of his second child, his son who achieved more than the levels you knew you'd never reach. you were never the desirable child, because as good as you were like jason, as nice as you could be, or talented— nobody could replace the hole that jason left within bruce from when he left the world.
you both were good kids, but jason was infinitely better.
when you were first introduced to the manor, jason assumed you and tim replaced him, he watched secretly after his resurrection, with grim prayers for your downfall 'cause he couldn't attack you like he did tim in the tower because of your civilian status, your involvement towards batman was close to zero.
you were a young child, you knew nothing, and he hates you.
he regrets hating you.
all because he hates seeing himself in those young, glinting eyes. he never realized what he felt was fear, fear that someone like you could end up like him, when he had first obsessively did research on your buried past. your world could've been so easily destroyed by the tips of his finger and he had done so mercilessly until it was too late.
he really hated you at first, but he couldn't do anything to hurt you without trespassing the manor and triggering all the signals and alarms he's sure have been updated by the new, puny little robin. he hated you so much for reasons he couldn't pinpoint, blinded by sorrow, and grief, and every piling resentment built on years of animosity he should've only directed only towards bruce, and never someone as innocent, as uninvolved as you.
you, who he calls his angel after the years of torment you've unknowingly and obliviously suffered under him.
but he was so angered, the darkness in his mind clawed him deeper in a frenzy for revenge, that it overpowered the empathy he felt for when he first saw you, standing alone in the kitchen room with an apple in your hand and a blunt knife in the other. not ready to defend yourself at the sight of him, not even pointing it at him, but inviting the man to eat with you your favorite abomination of apple slices and peanut butter— as if you didn't care about the gun in his hands and the window cutter in the other.
you didn't understand why it was so easy to ignore you. it had been years since you have talked, let alone find yourself staring at a person, that you never cared for your safety as long as it meant that... well, you could have someone to finally talk to, with your parched throat from all the moments of unuse, excitedly addressing him as mr. ghost.
he couldn't do anything, couldn't even stare at you for longer, so he ran away at first glance, and failed to see the heartbroken sigh from you agter and the tears that welled up having your hopes raised up only to be shattered once more.
that sight of you standing under the moonlit night triggered conflicting feelings within him– but it was always the strive for vengeance that took over his life, didn't it? even though meeting you bore solid evidence that you were none the wiser, that you didn't deserve anything coming from you; it was through his sheer dedication to destroy all things cherished by bruce that he never once realized that you were merely nothing to bruce— that he ruined an innocent person's life over nothing.
he resorted to praying for your demise if it meant he couldn't physically hurt you. he focused on tormenting you indirectly before the fire in his raging heart was eventually extinguished.
he was the man you see by the hallways, the monster you thought raptured knocks on your window in the middle of the night, the reason for why some of your old childhood toys would be missing eyes, had loosened stitches, or had their stuffings removed and displaced somewhere hidden you couldn't reach.
a cryptic message that made you run and bury your head in alfred's suit, asking the old man to spend the night with you after another one of your toys was ripped apart. a reaction that made jason scoff at your immaturity; as if the inner child in him wouldn't react the same way.
you were only a few years younger than tim, despite arriving in the manor before him, and jason was stupid enough to assume you had been raised well by bruce that you'd be mature at your age, he was such an idiot to think that you wouldn't be as emotionally affected but rather paranoid of the sudden paranormal activity surrounding you. that the cookies you baked were all left to be crumbs, after just leaving them to cool off for a few minute, the pens you used for journalling wouldn't have gone missing— he thought surely, you'd be broken mentally...
but never this... emotionally.
what he didn't expect were breakdowns right after, hair pulling, the biting of skin and panic attacks after panic attacks.
wide eyes staring at the ceiling, perspiration on your skin clinging on to blazing bedsheets at the lack of ventilation, sporadic breathing, bleeding scratches on your skin like a wild animal.
you cry like one, unashamed of how loud your sobs were for such a parched throat, at how long you've been wailing alone whilst hugging your too-little body, eyes closed and misty, as if it would rid you the images of your wrecked bedroom and missing journals.
yet jason never stops to wonder why no one had came running in your room to save you from destroying yourself even further.
he never wondered nobody bothered to acknowledge your crying every night, continuing on his tangent to destroy everything you loved just to prove a point, that you couldn't be worth the effort for bruce to care enough about, despite the internal conflict he felt ruining an innocent kid's life.
and he didn't even need to prove anything, because you were never worth anything. the longer jason went on without bruce's acknowledgement, the more everything felt wrong, the more he felt like whatever he's doing is torture, not retribution.
he's terrible for what he'd done, and slowly resigned to watching over you instead to ensure you'll slowly calm down after months of his monstrous presence looming over you.
but the damage was already done, and you're left to even smaller, shattered pieces.
and here he is now, watching as you bleed out in his arms, crying and babbling at the pain, yet begging under your breath to "please, please don't call batman, don't call bruce... please leave, please, please, please don't do anything stupid, jay..."
whilst pushing him away, as if scared of him, as if you'd rather death than... than to see bruce dismiss another relayed message regarding you.
even if you're dying, you refuse to undergo the same pain of neglect. even if you're dying, you don't wish to ruin their movie night plans just because you were stupid enough to drink yourself to near death to distract yourself from dick's messages.
all because you've taught yourself that you're never worth the wait, and jason takes blame in partaking the destruction of your optimism.
under the flickering light of the lamppost, your swollen eyes and snot-ridden nose don't pose the same satisfaction he felt when he first ripped your plushie apart, not anymore. all he felt was dread now, that you're bleeding, his angel is bleeding and everything happening is very much real.
he feels a hidden awe, too, at just how ethereal and warm your body feels, despite the light leaving your eyes, the fight slowly being replace by another one of your panic attacks. he holds you still, and stabilizes your body with his strong arms to prevent anymore bleeding, despite the wobbly legs and your losing consciousness.
jason couldn't afford to let you die in his arms, he couldn't fathom just how much he misses your presence.
and now he realizes just how much he hates it when you fear him throughout the entire procedure of calming you down. how you shiver in his gaze, how he feels the pricks of your goosebumps against the thick fabric of his gloves.
you never once feared him when you first met him, it was through your lack of it that he bonded with you, keeping the torment he put you through a secret. even though he makes short and sometimes brash comments with his unfiltered mouth, you'll always find joy in his words because he was the only decent guy around the manor, despite his presence being scarce and sometimes nonexistent.
you cherished him, and god, he never knew how much he cherished you too.
but now you're sobbing and mumbling incoherently about how you wish it was never him who saved you, that it could've been someone else, or you prefer to be left rotting in the damn corner, dead and discarded, if it means it wouldn't be him saving you, for damn reasons he doesn't even know.
why do you hate him so much now...? why does his precious angel look at him in a tearful daze, all desparate to push him away despite the soreness of your body, despite the blood dripping from your lower stomach all the way down to the floor in a swirl of nauseating crimson mess?
why does he see himself in you?
why does he see the same broken child who chooses to care for others than themself?
as much as jason hated to admit it, as much as he said he never wanted to die for the sole reason that he cherished the moments with his father at most—
jason wished he could've turned time back right now, at this instant. he wished he could've been stronger, could've been far more resistant of that damn explosion, that he never was stupid enough to fall for one of joker's traps—
if it meant he wouldn't be suffering from the gripping ache on his chest, from the dreaded claws you call paranoia at the sight of your ice-blue lips and dimming eyes from all the blood loss, your arms still trying to push him to a considerable distance despite him wishing to hold you oh-so tightly, as his fingers, shivering from a familiar panic he felt, try to wipe away at the river of tears collecting at the edges of your dirt-stained chin and wobbly lips, his helmet pressed atop your forehead as if to reassure you, mostly himself that you'll all be alright—
that you wouldn't go through the same route as him, scarred and traumatized after this moment under the moonlit night that watches jason wrap his gloved palms on the back of your neck despite the remaining fight and adrenaline in your body, the other bulky mass of muscles under your feet.
the polluted air bares witness to his hasty breaths, the protective hold that refuses to let go, body automated to run to his motorcycle, stepping carelessly on the bloody carnage of the alleyway's floor (they deserve torture after what they put you through, hell, he'll make sure their burial will be damning to both the police that failed to search you even though they were in close proximity to where you screamed, and the other related lackeys involved in this wretched smuggling crime), to bring you to doctor leslie for an immediate surgery.
jason hopes that instead of hate, you'll still feel a semblance of any remaining love for him instead of aching nostalgia after all this time.
he hopes you could forgive him as it is only now that he realizes how vulnerable you truly are, that despite jokingly calling you his guardian angel, he should've been the guardian, the knight, the man who protects you from all evil as what he calls his morals to be.
why were you even out in the first place? just why were you absolutely wasted? why, why, why does the image of your resigned, and tired eyes the only thing flashing and looping in his mind, filtering out the speeding motorcycle cutting through wind and traffic lanes, ignoring red lights and the loud beeps of the other vehicles before him, the pump of engines similar to the wild beating of his heart, as he speeds through shortcuts after shortcuts to take you to immediate treatment before it was too late.
he takes short breaths, too aware of his surrounding, too deep in thought, he couldn't waste any moments thinking about anything but his angel.
he wishes he could've changed so many things. but you couldn't change the past anymore, you couldn't change the grueling form of torture you call silence for a child who wanted the same type of love bruce had for when jason was alive, who had to deal with the aftermath of jason's death.
and now, as the ripe age of eighteen, still too young, and still bleeding, at the mercy of death.
it never occured to him just how interconnected your lives were together. just how much it was through his passing that affected your life.
he was the first brother who saw you without the need for your cries of attention every lonesome passing of time in the ghostly manor.
and you were the first who stared at him through tear-stained cheeks and diluted irises. not out of fear, not out of haste to warn other members of his growing family of jason's (a stranger in your eyes, no less, with armoured chest plates and a crimson helmet glinting mercilessly in the dark, lightless room only illuminated by the wretched moon, with guns loaded with bullets in his holster) sudden trespass within the kitchen windows, not out of every negative emotions he expects of you; but out of sheer shell shock that someone had finally caught you through your nightly sneaking.
out of genuine whiplash of someone finally looking at you eye-to-eye, head faced to one another, your cold fingertips pressing against the swell of your eyebags from restless nightmares and anxious paranoia triggered from academics, as if to tell yourself that this was all mere hallucination.
you matter so much to him, even if he tries to overcorrect his sins, trying his damn best to notice your presence whenever he visits the manor, even if his brash words sting your heart sometimes, even if he couldn't properly show you affection he should've given you—
it's not enough.
it was never enough, that even his gentle words spoken to you whilst he speeds through his motorcycle felt entire foreign. that despite unconscious and limp on his body, you're still flinching and the tears couldn't have enough time to dry. jason could've done so much more for his precious little sibling, he could've been the best older brother in the world like he promised himself to be back when he was an oblivious little child, just like how he sees you right now.
everything he did was not enough, but the doubts that circulate his mind didn't fester in his mind much anymore; because he turned it into motivation, he looks at you through the mirror of his motorcycle, vulnerable, aching with the need for affection (that he could provide, he could give to you infinitely...!) and transforms the regret into motivation.
to be better, to be the one you look up to, not with thoughts of how or when you'll be able to spend time with him, but with confidence and preference for his time. that he'll be the first you choose to look for.
jason promises you his undying loyalty, to protect you from the danger of this world, to savor the light and the warmth that emanates off of your presence. despite the heartache you felt because of him, because of all your tormentors— you were still kind, like an angel who had fallen from grace, but chose to grace the world instead with their remaining salvation.
if you manage to survive throughout it all, through the surgery and the anaesthesia-filled stitchings, with jason's scarred hands wrapped around your fists, daintier compared to the muscles in his. if by the end of this night, jason would have you alive (he will, he'll refuse anything else, even if it takes you being resurrected in the lazarus pit, then so be it) in his arms and resting peacefully in his apartment and not under bruce's roof, out of respect from your sheer insistence that you'd rather anywhere but the manor.
jason swears on his life that he'll make it up to you.
he'll be better for you, for his angel, to atone himself for all the sins he committed upon you.
and even if it means ripping the world upside down at its seems, even if it takes decades for you to feel comfortable within the confines of his arms, unlike the dread that claws at your body earlier, pushing him away, pushing your older brother away— he's willing to undergo even the same torture from joker if it means making up to you.
as long as he has you in his sights.
all this, just to see the fear in your eyes replaced by genuine happiness at the sight of your big brother, ready to do anything for you the moment requests spill out from your benevolent lips and gleaming eyes.
you truly are his saving grace, his angel in disguise.
reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.
PLEASE READ: 14,200+ words. no beta, we just cry. "i am good, but not an angel. i do sin, but i am not the devil. i am just a small child in a big world trying to find someone to love." it's a quote that inspired this half of the chapter partly. apologies to anyone if jason seems a bit religious here??? he's not, but i'm trying to establish connections on why he even calls you that nickname in the first place (and totally not me relating it to the flashpoint comic where he becomes a priest 😭). again, bit of a boring chapter, but no hate please haha, instead leave comments if you enjoyed reading it!!! more interactions = more content.
there are many lyrics and song references scattered about the paragraphs, can you guys spot it all for me 🫦? i'm a musically inclined guy, and there's also lots of not implicitly stated songs too, i lost count honestly. tysm for all your patience, because writing through my hectic schedule is honestly a struggle.
as stated, there are a lot of jason todd and mc parallels, i love hearing you guys' thoughts about me expanding upon this. they're very different but also share so many similarities, and i like to explore deeper on every character just to make the yandere element more obvious and distinct.
and like my previous announcement too, please please please do not copy off the scenes i wrote. although my writing is mid, it doesn't mean it should be stolen word by word or the entire scenarios or scenes i've written should be taken in and written into your own fanfics too. my potrayals of each and every characters are a bit more unique takes too (i like to make myself believe), so as much as possible, please credit me. i appreciate you all 🩷
yet again, leave comments, interactions, what you think of this chapter (but not too critical comments, or pure hate please). idk what to feel about my writing, i hate it a lot sometimes but oh well! merry christmas, this is my early gift for all of you guys and for the second part, i'll try to post as soon as possible (i need to generate more spotlight to ensure they get equal attention ofc).
taglist: @neerathebrightstar, @ghostdoodlen, @prince-nikko, @daisy-spot, @strawberryglass, @h0neybun-was-here, @confused-they, @weirdcore-fantasy, @mystyque234, @marssthings, @notwhoy0uthink, @aliengutzstuff, @lilyalone, @luffyadolover, @punpunsonny, @lazyemmy, @questionthegrapevine, @oh-nowo-i-got-uwu, @winter-world, @zavavas-dungeon, @budijojo, @altruisticbeauty, @dopepursebasketballplaid, @the-holy-pigeon, @red-phantom-0, @em-draws14, @thypplover, @cens0r3d-blog, @yl90, @sadeem575, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch, @maicenitas, @kiiyoooo, @flyingpansaurus, @farmerboywakatoshikun-blog, @rogueofbullshit, @earlqurl, @dotomuses, @sheep-from-rad, @tsuniio, @thesm1l3yface, @nosochek-3o, @radiantharu, @iwasveronica, @kdjhubby, @ashstwin, @thetreefairypersonalblog, @se-rae2, @0ut0fsweets, @notwhoy0uthink
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guys i am going insane at writing the parallels between jason todd and the reader. i hope u all notice it too once i release the chapter because IT'S JUST SO CONVENIENT FOR THE PLOT!!!
love your mother too much, to the point you become all sacrificial for their image, even if in the end it's what destroys you? check.
feeling replaced by tim drake? you feeling your role as the actual third child, and jason with robin? check.
you, being a 'good kid,' and jason as a 'good soldier' but never good enough? check.
rage that isn't easily boiled down by grief but rather the years feeling unattended and cared for by a father figure who fails to placate the need for paternal love, now leads to avoiding the manor like the plague? check.
and so many more shit that i'm sorry if i'm not writing prompts right now or answering asks because i'm also too invested in expanding further on how the family was always obsessed with you, just never directly acknowledged.
you've always had that alluring effect that you've gotten from your mother, it just sucks that it's always too late of a time that it was when you've learned to give up on loving them that's the same moment they want you back in their arms again. and the doubt that cloaks your thoughts that this is all temporary, arghhsh.
so if anybody is interested in more, here's a reminder to join the taglist hehe.
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yandere! incel who's a shut in that talks big but is a a whole ass pussy who can't, for the life of god, talk to you. well, unless he's insulting someone or trying to end their life that is.
"yeah you're really sweet but i actually have a boyfriend-"
"kill him."
he's been stalking you ever since he found you on some random social media website. at first you were just a hot person he jerked off too. but then something changed and... now he not only jerks off to you, but he also wants to have you all to himself. you could say you're his waifu... he may or may not have a body pillow of you.
by some stroke of fate, you ended up following him back??? and now you two... talk to each other? well, it's more of him harassing you talking about how romantical he gets with you... yeah he might have forced you to accept his message requests and to chat with him and he'll also send you money to keep you interested- what? it's not that bad! it's not like he's sending his dick pics!
he just wants to chat with you! genuinely. because he wants to know more about you from you. not his stalking.
erm... and by chatting he means showing off his extensive yugioh and pokemon card decks... talking about how normies wouldn't understand... how you're a normie too but you're a better normie because you're in his heart together with his waifus... and also because you don't want to talk to him so he tries to keep the conversation going by rambling about his interests...
"uh..."
"so like, this charizard card is actually really fucking cool because it's shiny-"
yeah he doesn't know how to talk to hot people, especially you. but hey! he heard some people like this? do you like this? you better like it. he's cool, isn't he? he has good swag. and rizz. you like him, don't you? you have to like him! he's a nice guy!
oh and well- what do you know? you've blocked him. this sucks. bad things always happen to nice guys �� he's going to jerk off again.
...
and then create another account because wdym you don't want to talk to him anymore??? you're joking! you must feel the connection that the two of you have!!! he's already sent you 100 dollars 🤬🤬 you CAN'T reject him. he's already complained on 4chan to his other loser incels and wrote on reddit r/aita. you're in his mind 24/7 and it won't be changing anytime soon.
unfortunately for you, he's super persistent. so... um... good luck! ahaha... maybe he'll learn to take a hint and bug off? or you might get REALLY unlucky and he might grow some balls and find where you live (which he probably already knows) and break in.
good luck dude. you're gonna need it.
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"Release my penis from the dick magic you've inflicted upon me, Witch-"
"The who I did what now with?- Ow!-"
Sitting up in your boyfriend's bed, a pillow strikes the blindside of your head as you prop yourself up on your elbows. You roll onto your side as they throw themselves onto the massive, curling up into a fetal position next to you.
"I can't jerk off- Not without thinking about you. Literal thousands of dollars of commissions down the fucking drain because you won't get out of my head for five minutes!"
Turning over to face him, you can hardly see why they're complaining. "And that's my problem.... How?"
"Do you want to know what make me bust so hard I lost the hearing in my ear? Us kissing. Both of us still had our clothes on. There was barely any tongue involved either, I got so worked up over the tamest thing possible - Do you even know what I used to get off to before we met?"
"...It's probably better for my overall health if I didn't.'
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The lush green garden would always come to life whenever Jing Yuan would step foot into it - the jade like sheen on the leaves would make a person wonder if they had walked inside a man made paradise as the scent of opulent blooms would trail not far behind. The garden was a source of tranquility, a place to come and rest, to seek peace of mind.
Naturally, that was not the case for you.
With a huff and suppressed cough, you tried to push the massive white lion off you, its snow-white fur sticking to your frowning lips as it only pressed itself closer. The massive cat clearly had other things in store for you as it evidently found your frustration amusing, if not downright adorable.
It was no different than its insufferable owner.
"Now now Mimi, play nice." said Jing Yuan with a tut, his voice playful and airy. The man sat across you with his legs lazily crossed against one another, a cup of tea in his hand. Sluggishly, he took a hard sip, eyes closed in complete relaxation as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down in joy.
You wanted nothing more than to smack the pristine red porcelain out of his hand.
"General." you seethed, teeth bared in anger. It was difficult not start acting out of line but in due time, you had learned that the best way to get the man to listen was to be nice. Sure, you probably looked like a raging demon, ready to claw his throat out with your bare hands but those feelings had to be pushed aside. Your smile was crooked and twisted, obviously fake but Jing Yuan didn't seem to care. He acknowledged you with a serene smile as he placed the cup back on the table. From the corner of your eye, you could still make out the pretty white wood used which the table was made of as an assortment of various sweets was spread on it. Cakes, strawberry and lemon tarts, odd candies, fine chocolates and other goodies, all of which served to soothe you, or so Jing Yuan liked to tell himself in a vain hope to win you over.
Just as you were about to speak once more, Mimi had the bright idea of pressing her paw against your stomach, effectively knocking the air out of your lungs. The creature seemed to purr in delight as she brought herself even closer to you, shoving even more of her thick hair down your throat as she nuzzled herself deep into your mouth and nose. You spat out an endless sea of fur, saliva sticking to the corner of your lips as an amused Jing Yuan laughed his butt off in the background. Even with your obscured vision thanks to Mimi's head, you could clearly see the general clutching his armored chest, tears almost streaming down his eyes as he laughed his heart out.
It was a shame how pretty he was. The way in which his soft locks would sway back and forth, the few rays of sunlight framing his face just right, making him appear even more handsome than he had any right to be.
You hated how much he made your heart skip a beat, he had no right, not after taking you away so selfishly. If you were to maim his face with a butter knife a little, just a little, would the endless throbbing inside of you cease?
There was no time to even process the thought as Mimi had fully tackled you to the ground now.
As if she could sense your violent thoughts, the lion started to lick your face from top to bottom. She purred and purred, the sound ringing loudly in your ears as you brought your arms towards her head, desperate to make her move. The lion seemed to be made of iron rather than flesh and blood because no matter how hard you tried, she would not be moved.
Gods be good, did Jing Yuan teach his pet to be an outright pest like this?!
You didn't even notice the general had moved and was now next to you. He laid sideways, his cheek pressed up against the palm of his hand as the other arm was outstretched to pet the top of Mimi's head. The fur was soft to the touch as Jing Yuan mumbled praises to the lion but his gaze was locked onto you, golden eyes twinkling with adoration and something just a bit darker.
Despite the current predicament, Jing Yuan was acutely aware that this situation was far from normal. He would toss and turn in the dark of the night, mind twisting with horrible thoughts and selfish ideas, none of which were fitting of someone like him. You had carved your place deep inside Jing Yuan's heart and had wrapped yourself around him like a vine in spring. Sometimes, he would be met with sharp thorns, wounding him horribly. He knew that he had no right to be upset with you but that did not change the fact that a wound was still a wound, blood was still blood.
And you always knew how to cut deep.
This was his punishment, he supposed. The grueling price to pay for keeping you by his side for all of eternity as he would suffer at the thought of knowing that his feelings would never be truly reciprocated. With each rising sun and till the setting orange dusk, Jing Yuan was always seeking ways to worm his way into your heart, to discover a way to make you love him. He was a patient man and his cunning knew no bounds, it was only a matter of time before some progress would start to show... Still, it was never going to be quite like the thing he wanted.
That is precisely why he was enjoying himself so much at this moment. He took the sight in like a man starved and engraved the sight deep within his heart and mind, a rare happy memory of his to keep. Ever the opportunist, Jing Yuan was going to make the most out of this moment.
His own selfishness made him sick to his stomach but his madness called for more. With a tap of his palm, Mimi stopped her little assault and finally gave you a moment to breathe, which you took like a fish to water. Even with your hair disheveled and face sticky with spit and drool, nothing could deter Jing Yuan from admiring you.
He had managed to craft his ideal paradise. He just wondered how much time he had left until it would all come crashing down.
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Seen the request, so I shall deliver. Could you pls write a drabble or hcs of a yandere sunday with an isekaied reader?
Good timing because I'm actually planning a non yan isekai fic for him, I wonder if you saw that post. Here it is in case you haven't.
Sincerest apologies if this isn't the best, this fic is 100% emotionally charged by my obsession with him and frankly with a little bit of a high for passing a tricky exam. This is a treat for myself.
Picking up the cup from the fine oak table, you gazed towards the eerie galaxy before you, hundreds upon thousands of stars giving you a constant reminder of just how far from home you truly were. Taking a sip from the little porcelain cup you could not help but to hum in delight, the soft notes of the tea soothing your nerves ever so lightly as you pretended to ignore the heavy gaze which lingered at the back of your head.
Even from this distance, it was easy to tell that Sunday was eager to approach you. Still, he kept his distance and made a silent offering in the form of the very tea you drank at the moment.
Anything is better than Himeko's coffee but you were never going privy her to that.
In a not so distant past, all of this was nothing but fiction. The Express, the story, the characters - it was all nothing more but fiction, something to pass the time as your days went on and on, the same monotony repeating each and every day.
It was hard to not think about your friends and family, what sane person would not? Lord knows how they must be feeling right now, worried sick out of their minds with indescribable sorrow. In their eyes you had merely vanished, not a single trace to be found. For all they knew you could have been left for dead in a ditch somewhere, beaten, bloodied and broken, never to see the light again or if they were even more inclined to be morbid, you had succumbed to a fate worse than death. Death at the very least grants you finality, that all is over regardless of what happened moments prior.
But that was simply not the case for you.
Here you were, lounging about in a comfortable chair as you pondered on your old life while enjoying tiny little luxuries, far away where none of your loved ones could reach you. However, life was funny sometimes because it had some fun games in store.
Sunday was very kind upon arrival. He made sure to always be there for you, always checking up on you, always there to keep you company. You were already smitten with him but now to actually witness him in the flesh was just... Indescribable. You got along like a house on fire, so much so that the crew liked to tease that you ought to just get a room. Sunday, ever the gentleman, would just brush their words aside and assure you to not take their playful little jabs to heart.
You wouldn't say anything, resorting to merely giving him a smile but not because of what he said but rather of what he did not - never once did he actually shut down those perverse accusations. Never, not even once did he deny them.
He became an emotional crutch, someone to whom you would come running to when things got tough and he would always welcome you with open arms. Sunday would hold you tenderly, his serene voice dripping with honey along with a tender drop of ecstasy, for his excitement with holding you would just show itself sometimes. His grip would be too tight at certain moments, never quite ready to let you leave. His hugs were warm and comforting, he always smelled so good too. He smelled like kindness and sweet wildflowers, always lulling you back to him no matter the time. In dark corners and perhaps even under the watchful eyes of the crew, Sunday would wrap his scarf around your head, securing the soft fabric in order to provide you with a sense of comfort.
It was humiliating just how much you would try to inhale his scent as much as possible. You wanted it etched deep inside your memory, you wished for it to linger on your very soul and for it to follow you everywhere you went, sticking to your being like tar. The fabric of the scarf would muffle your ears a little but someone was always chatting in the background. Be it March bickering with Dan Heng, Mr Yang scolding someone for doing something they were not supposed to, or just Conductor Pom Pom trying to give a speech, all of it was irrelevant.
You were ready to kill whoever would try to pry you away from sweet Sunday. That thought came often which had left you worried - just what kind of person had you become? Regardless, you kept your mouth shut and had no plans of sharing such violent sentiments with anyone, particularly not to the one you held so dear.
When it was time to part for the evening you would bid the crew farewell and wished them a good night. You always made sure to take a few extra seconds with Sunday, just to ease your aching soul. He would tell you to sleep well and would see you in the morning, ready to take on any endeavor that crossed your paths.
As everyone parted ways, Sunday would wander off somewhere dark and distant, somewhere no one could see nor hear him. He would fall to his knees and clutch his chest in agony, fat tears streaming down his face as he did everything he possibly could to steady his raging heart. In a rush he would reach for the scarf which clung around his neck, his grip tighter than iron as he would bring it close to his nose. Taking a large, deep breath, Sunday was greeted by your familiar scent which would promptly calm his poor heart.
He sometimes wondered if his heart would start bleeding from the pain due to the sheer intensity of his emotions.
This was wrong, everything about this was not right and it hurt. Sunday was obviously ill but he had no clue on how to fight this... This emotion, this white hot feeling of need whenever you stood by his side. He started to choke on the air around him and fell into an abrupt coughing fit but even then, he could bring himself to remove the scarf from the lower part of his face.
Sunday wept and sobbed, filthy snot coming out from his nose but he could not handle that now. He needed you, Oh Heavenly Aeons, how he needed you. However was he going to tell you how he felt? How, oh how was he going to express the sheer magnitude of his true thoughts? He would scare you off, he was sure of it.
Even with this pain, even with these clipped wings and bleeding heart, Sunday had never felt so alive, so harrowingly present in the moment whenever he was with you.
Perhaps, he was doing himself a kindness by just letting you be. Drink your tea, be at peace.
He can always just make you another cup if you so desired.
Without knowing, you both haunted each other in the most agonizing way known to mankind and neither was strong enough to face the reality of the situation.
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obsession w/ sunday
inspired by @yandere-romanticaa's fic! Tehee your works are so eye opening 0.0 <333 I licherally haven't created a yandere content for such a looong time lolol let's see if I can still pull this off lmao
WARNING/S: Yandere, Obsessive Behavior
☆⋆。taglist☆⋆。
------@moristhesecond @hunnieknight @haithxm-main
@mikoochaan
@greyrain23 @reideneris @bro-im-just-playing @teabutmakeitazure @meimeimeirin
@psychopomp-enthusiast @jade1605 @mochinon-yah @eussstasss @lillieofth3valley
@ichikanu @harmonysanreads @yellowelectroslime @miraclecherryblossomsblog @rossithepixie
@schoenpepper @cadesthings @creationsabyss @hirotasama @jth12
@alhaithams-malewife @oliaxter @angeveins @sakisud @xhongshan
@materlux @lost-in-the-night-skiess @shinha @m1kuz0ne @vashyuu
@n0rmalsimp @biytdtdatmirsmlys @mad-girlfan @wriomii @fyodorssimp1
@pastelmitzuki @latimeria-fell-from-heaven @feral-childs-word @sunyandmony
@seelie-buddy @xiaosantenna @elvira44578i @lolitalarva @liliabrary @f1nd1ng-yuki
@vikaflora2 @ume1sii @whodissbitj @mageofthelibrary @lilisgardensblog
@hypermanica @noisy-seelie @rarealienbutt @taisami @yuutryingtowrite
@chanontherun @almostfuzzyharmony @boothillsbootyeater @lobbitack
@hydroarchon-furinaa @pleniluneg4ze @keirennyx
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Warning: Some violence.
_______
Before, it was easy for them to do multiple things at once. They could easily keep minds of little humans free of free will, focus on this d̸e̸l̸i̸c̸i̴o̵u̴s̸ prayers, do some side work for C̸ ̷R̴ ̸E̷ ̷A̴ ̴T̵ ̷O̴ ̴R̴, and still managed to do a hundred few more tasks in the same time.
Right now, they couldn't even catch one insignificant pest and reverse the damage it caused.
They were hunting. They tried to catch it. That damn spark. That destroyer of peace.
They roared, when March's ice pierced through their hand. It was wrong! She is supposed to be happy and cute! Not angry! Anger won't make anyone happy! Anger make them blind! Anger won't let little humans see the truth.
Anger leads to rebellion. C̸ ̷R̴ ̸E̷ ̷A̴ ̴T̵ ̷O̴ ̴R̴ don't need a rebellion. Their rebellion saved little humans, 'The Plan' keep all worlds safe. Anger will make humans forget about C̵ ̸R̸ ̷E̶ ̶A̸ ̴T̷ ̵O̴ ̸R̴'̶ ̴S̸ sacrifice.
U̴͈͛ͅn̸͎̾̃r̸̛̻e̸̤̞̎l̵͇̞͋i̴̜͋a̶͈̭͊͝b̶̤͑̔ľ̷̤͖̓e̷͈̽̍,̴̘̎ ̸̙͍̀u̷͚̥̒̃ǹ̵͉̺́g̶̭̔̈́r̸̯̅̀e̴̛̤̾a̸͋̇͜t̸̪̚f̷̨̍̉ṳ̶́̂l̸̡̩͊ ̴̨̈́̒t̷̺̫̿r̶̹̒ă̷͍i̷̥̎t̴͕̒o̴̯̎͝r̷̡̛̰͘ś̴̢̹̏.̵̦̑͠.̶̬̘̅͝.̴͇͘ ̶͚̻͒
Because of them... The First Traitor
C̴̨̧̢̧̛̲̰̯̫̻͓̼̯̟̜̰̙͚̮̹̞͔̣͇͔̠̭͎̬̮̘͖͉̟̯̘͙̈́́̈͆̈́̀̔̂̎̃̃̃̉̈́̈́̀̽̐͑̆̓̌̓̀̿̃͑̾̍̀̚̚͘͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅ ̸̢̧̨̧̡̛̛̹̬̞̳̳̗̺͓̞̭̦̺̟͈̳͓͖̭̬̼͈̭͓̩͉̥̦̺̭̤͕̼̫̟̟͈͚̝̣͍̩͉̻̙͔̣̗̤̹̖̝̥͔̰͓͕̹̬͇͈̮̥̮̜̮͚͕̜̣̟͈͋͛̈̄̐̈́̄́͗̅̋̎͐͌̈́̓̈́̅̒͛̀͐̏̽̊̿͛̌͐̾̃͘̕̕͜͝͠͝ͅƯ̴̢̡̡̧̜̦̱̫͇̰̼̹̝̦̩̼̬͎͉̭̬̜͍̝̻̲̯̦͓͕͚̫̠̫̯̲̯̞͊̽́̐̾̾̋͊͒͐̓̋̓̾̇̓̓͘͜͠͝͝ ̷̛̞͈̥̤͓̋͒̈́̌̍̐͒͐̋̇̑͆̂͒̈́̑͌̃̾͗͒̏͌̐̀̈́̕̚͠͠R̷̢̨̛̛̩̹̠̗̠̩̭̠̰͈̲̺̯̘̯͓̺͕̩͖͍̖͇̻̣̙̭͉̭͉̟͓̯̦̟̟̰̲̼̄͆͆̋͑̏̒͊̾̉̐̐̿͆͋̍͛̀͊̋̐̈́̅̓̓̀͌̍̑̉͆͒̔̀͑̀̿͒̆͊͐̈̾̓̆̏̈́͑̓̑͋̈́͐̾̓̈͊̈́͗̄͊̿̋͂̐́́́̅̀̈́̏̀̿̾̓͘͘̚̚͜͠ͅ ̶̡̢̨̛̹͉͎̱̮̻͙̻̤͖̮̫͉̤̝̟͖̲̘̠͖̃̂̐̓̈̀͒̀̓̍͋̅͗̐͊̾̂̀̓͆̓́̃̈́͑͌͌̋͋̉̃̈́̎́͆̔̌̆̉͒̄͆́͛̓̀̇̎̐̈́̚͘̚͘͝͝͝Ŝ̵̨̧̡̧̥̮̩̥̩̮̞̗̼̟̥̠̝̗̭̯̻̦̙͔͚̬̃͑̍̓͋́̈́͛̾̍̓̽͂̂̈́̅͊̿̄̋̽͋̽̃͘͜͜͜͜͝ͅ��̨̧̨̢̨̘̪͓̘̞̦͔̻̩̫͖̗̹͈̬͔͚͉̤̹̙̟̯͔̝̲͕͎̰͍̟̤̲ͅͅ ̸̢̧̡̨̧̢̧̘̗̻͓̯̼͕̱͖̥̺̘̭͓̭͓͍̱̟̥͕̦̭̳̬̻̖̹̙̞̩̟̺̘̱̺̲͔̻͈͖̠̮̹̬͛͊̽̍͗̃̌͜͝͠ͅͅĘ̵̧̛͈̱͇͖͈̰͍̥̰͍̭̗̫͉̠̻̳̜͕̲͔̳̲̫͓̞̙̊͒̈́̓̄͛̐͐́̍̀̀̆̇̈́̍̊̈̈́͂̂̊̅̅̓͛̏̇͂̓̑͆̿͗́̐̋͛̑̀̽̓̋̃͗̒̒̕̚͜͝͝͝͝ ̶̢̡̰̻̲̘̮̳̺͇̝̩͓͎̹̤̜̤̮̮̥͔͔̦̬̪̀̔̒͋͗̋̉̈́́͋̾͂̄͛̿̏̾́̀̋͊͛̓̃͐̐̔͆̀́̓̈́̈́͛̀̉͌̿͑̊̂̔̑̈̀͆̏́̉̈́̅͌̅͌̌̈́͒̒̚̚̚͜͠͠͠͝Ḓ̸̨̧̨̧̢̰̟͖͖̱̩͕̞̺̞̭̩̣̲̝͕̲̯͚̜̘̗͓̠͉̺̦́̅͆̏̑̽̋́̆̿̈́̋̍́̋̀̄̊̎̇͌̈́̐͐͗̀̅̿̍͒̄̊̌͛̓̇̾͌͒̐̊̾̋̂͊́̃̊͑́̒̆̌̅̽̇͐̚͜͝͝ͅ ̶̛̠̩͙̹͖̍́̈́͗̈́͂͒̑̀̔̀̊̐̈͗̂̓́͗̈̓̊̄͋̍̾͋͊̌̀̊͗͊̈̒̏̈́̓̚ ̶̢̨̧͔̣̬̦̻̠̠̗̠̲̥̙̪̩̟͉̰̻̳͕͈̅̉̔̓̀̇͌̈̏̄̽̐̐͗͒̎́̋̄͒̒̈́̉̎̄͒͗̃͆̈́̅̄͑̒̆̽̚̚̚͘̚͜ͅ ̶̡̙͍̜̖͚̖͓̥̲̪̫͕̝̥̓̇̀̑̐̔̌͗̏̓̒̑̊̀̾͠ ̵̢̨̨̨̧̢̨̨̛̳̦̮̮̰̤̬̼̖̤̥͖̤̗̜͇̖̺͍̩͕͍̟̺͚̱̙̣̠̱͈̮̗̼͈̮͖͚͈͍̱̪͙̱̦͓̖̜̣͎̼̼͊̄̀̋́̄̂͐͒͛̔̐̿̂̓̆̒̆̅͒̑̔͋̽͋̅̌̇̒̈́̽̌͐͌̇̓̿̏͌̽̽́̿̏̅͛̽̓̉̏́̇͂̆̈́̆́̀̑̋̿̓͑̕̚̕̚̚̕̕̕͘͜͜͝ͅA̸̢̡̡̡͇͍̠̠͉̭̞̗̞̳͚̬̩̥̬̯͙̪̯̭͕̪͐̄͂̔̈́͋̿̀̔̓ ̸̧̭͈̘͓̻͓̱̖͈̣͖̹̂̉̄̏̅̀́̅̚K̴̫̮̟̭͕̯̞̄͛͗͆͋͘ ̴̢̡̡̘͚̱̙͓͕̫̮̣͍̠͕͙̮̲̣̪̳͍̫̫̖͙̠͈͕̹̥̯̱̦̩̟̙͍̼͍͚̟͉̬̞̥͙̘̖̘̞̺̠̝̟͉͙̻͖̻̘̗̟͓͕̳̞̞̙̤̪̺͖̍̂̈́͂́̔͑̈́͛̿̾͑̿̎̚̕̚̕͜͝͠ͅͅͅI̵̧̛͙̜̠̦̞̪̝͔̦̤͇̎͑̏̋̌̋̔̈́̃͋̃͐̄́̋̋̒͆̋́̔͊͑͗̐͋̒̇̇͛̈́̈́̿́̀̌̊̈́̑̋͊̋́͗̿̾̏̉́͊̐͐͑̀̈́͊͌͘̚̕͘̚̚͠͝͝͠͠͝͝͠ ̵̨̡̢̧̨̧̧̨̨̢̛͇̬͎̩̻͇͉̬͓̭̟͎̤̗̙̠͖̩͚̰͎̝̥̱̫̦̼̮̝͎̻̹̪̞͎͓̠̳̻̰̲̟̟̩̘̥͎̱̱̳̻̤̮̠͔͒̓̂͆̆̊͌̈̓́̓̈́̓́̎͒̉͛̅̍̊̈̔̈́͆̄̀͊̽̒́̌̓̐̎̑́́̐̎͛́̿̃̀͒̄͒̀͑͆͆̎͒̈͐̇̑̆͌̒͊̉̄́̕͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅV̴̧̡̡̧̨̡̡̡̨̧̨̧͔̺̲̹̦̬̱̩̲͚͚͈̤̥̝̙͎̺͈͙͓̮͓̬͕͉͈̤̪̝̦̟̟̟̯̥̥̦̙̥̩̼̮͎͖̺̤̘̹̙͉͈͇̲̼̹͙̩̜̖͇̥͔͓͍̹̺̫̼̬͎͓̼̂̈́̿̀̀̇̔̿͑͗́́͗̄̽̾͗̑̈́̀̾̐̈́̓͂̾̅̽́̇̄̉̆̍͛̀̌̍̈́͋͂̽͗̽̈́̈̉̑̈̕͘̚̕͜͜͜ͅ ̵̡̪͈̪͉̗͔̘̜͍͈̠̗̭̳̙̥̰͇̰͚͙̥͔̦͖̹̘̻͈̯͈̱͔͇͍̑̋̓͐̄̓̅̈́̇̈́̎̐̈́̄͒̅̕̕͝ͅͅͅͅḮ̴̡̧̨̧̢̢̛͚̜̖͎͓̮̭͎̙̳̤̖̤̝͉̳̻̘͓̖̻̞̣̻̞̣̙͙̦̯͓̪͚̫̤̣̘͕͉͓̗̬̭̯͔̲̤͖͉͖͚̖̥̪̬̫̗̞̪̮̝̮͇̻̟̤͕̯͔͚̪̎̀͐̇̀͌̽̎̏̉̒̑͗͗̈́̈́͂̋̃̀͛̓͂̌̓̀̎̐̔̇̓̌̄͌̇̈̀̒̉̎͆̂̃͛͛͗͋̏̃͌̓̏̃́̎̽͐̕͘͘͜͠͠͠͠ͅ ̶̡̨̡̢̧̡̡̧̛͎̙̩̰͈̺̳͕̦͕͈̙̞̺̲̘̠̜̼̱̱̖̜̳̺̯̥̳̳̬̫͙̹̤̤̱̦̞̗̺̰̗͓̳̹̬͓̖͓̖̠̜̟̯͎̝͍̥̖͍͍̼̻̝͍̟͎̤̹̩̠̪̍̂̈́̈́́̈́̉̀̓͒̈́̈́̓̍̽̌̆̒̈̅̅̇̃̈́̌͊͊̀͂̂͂̐̋̈́̑͂́̌̏̈́͛̊̌͌̍͌̅̀̉̆͊͘͘̚͜͜͜͝͝͠ͅͅͅL̵̡̨̨̟̤̤͎͎͓̠̰̞̼͈̼̗͇̯͕̪̭̗͉̲̬̟̫̯̬̠̱̻͍̞̟̜̻̜̯͚̲̱̭̥̳̼̼̰̾͛͛̿̒̀̎̽̃͐̿͋͊͘͘͜ͅͅͅ ̸̡̧̨̧̥̫̥̰͕̥̞̟͎̲̩͕̬̮̭̪̘̦̫̗̣͇̠͈̩͕̠͈͓̼̺͇̭̫̯̬͉̭̞̯͔̖̙͓̰̦͇̱͚͔̹͉̗̠͉̠̹̰͕̤̠̮̰͎̩͉̹̓̽͋̉̆̑̀̒͗̈́͛̈́͂̀̓͘͜͜
They reached forward, trying to catch it, trying to grab mind lines.
Their hand closed around the spark.
It burned through their flesh. Boiling, seething, silvery ichor flow on the floor of the holy temple. They fell, their own blood burned in their veins, and above their heads the spark tore Internal Lord's gifts to people to shreds.
They raise up, grubbing the edges of the giant chalice. Clear water surface was covered with remains of mind lines.
They lowered their hands into the water, raising a fountain of spray. They poured their strength into a ball of mind lines.
_______
Neither Kafka or Silver Wolf have time to react.
In a blink of an eye, bloodied talons sank into the ghost hand.
They start pulling away, holding their pray.
_______
The game scene changed to loading screen.
Before you could read the text on the screen, you yelped and almost dropped your phone. You felt, like someone sat your [dominant] hand on fire.
You hold it closer to your chest, trying to catch your breath.
Suddenly, the pain was gone. Carefully, like it was made out of glass, you moved your hand to your eyes.
It looked fine. You could move your fingers just fine, skin wasn't damaged and, of course, there were no burn marks.
Reluctantly, you, once again, took the phone in both hands.
You noticed, that you still were on loading screen. You finally read the text.
"Aha. The Aeon of Joy. No one can predict what this Aeon might express THEIR mirth at."
"Joy is a right of sentient beings, and Aha inspires THEIR believers to delight in the joys of life. THEY take pleasure in the sharp turns of fate."
_______
They were disoriented, and didn't pay attention to their surroundings. They were existed. They got the criminal. They were teaching the criminal a lesson.
They didn't notice sounds of laughter and jingle of the bells.
It was too late. They only noticed Aha, when Aeon grabbed them by the hair.
"What's wrong, Cole, Protector of The Minds? Aren't you having fun, dancing with Aha?" laughing mask lowered towards their face. Aeon's hand moved again, breaking their wing further. Their second wing, that was already broken, was uselessly pressed against their side. Aha moved, dragging them on the ground.
Multiple masks were circling around them. Laughing, mocking them. They snarl and tried to bite at least one, but a swift kick from Aeon forced them to close their mouth.
"Protector are stupid! Protector are mean! Protector should play with Aha, not with Spark."
Aha's mask changed. The smiling face was replaced with a furious grimace.
Another kick send them flying in the corner of the room. Before they could move, Aha made a somersault and landed on top of them.
They coughed from the impact. They croaked.
"Another rebellion? Didn't First Traitor's example teach you a lesson about crossing us, remain of an old order?"
Aha snarled. Masks moved, revealing Aeon's real face.
"Creator lied to me. Creator lied to Akivili. All of you lied to us. You are nothing, but traitors. Creator broke a promise."
They growl. They already felt, how their wounds started to heal.
"Ungrateful creatures. We saved you from the old order. We are creating the utopia. Stop resisting. Even with all of your powers combined, you won't win. You will never permanently injure me."
The smiling mask appeared again. Aha giggled.
"Injure you? I didn't want to injure you. I was keeping you busy."
Their throat felt dry.
"Busy? From doing what?"
Behind Aha's back, the remaining mind threads were cut off.
Chalice, that became useless and without powers of divine to feed it, crumble into pieces.
Aha whispered.
"From saving your precious artifact."
Aha disappeared immediately after they stopped talking.
Cole, Protector of The Minds, stayed on the floor.
They defeated the First Traitor. Creator's Hope and Hope's brat were among the casualties, but Creator secure their way to Utopia. All of them hopped, that there will never be a situation like that ever again.
The worst nightmare became a reality.
Another Rebellion have started.
________
Masks moved. A melancholic mask floated before Aha's face.
Aha, hidden from the outside world, were looking at the Astral Express. Nanook's pets were having a field trip on the station, where Astral Express was currently staying.
And, somwhere there, Akivili's hope were helping people.
"They came, Akivili. You were waiting for them for so long. And they are finally here."
Aha stopped talking, thinking about their next words.
"You would be happy to see them, Akivili. You... You will see them, right? You are still here, still somwhere, right? If I help them, your little hope, will you return?"
Aha looked up, where, they assume, Akivili's hope were.
"You will find them, right? I will help you, and you will return them, right?"
Aha looked away.
"Please. Seeing them and you will bring us joy."
Masks start moving. Aha stand up and jump.
They dissapeared, teleporting to their next destination.
_____
And on the station, Stelle, Caelus, Dan Heng, Himeko, Herta and Welt finally get their free will.
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as some of you have clearly stated.. 😨 you want more of the love and deepspace self aware au and I'm here to serve !! 🥳
@lynnsqueendom @anxiousgoddest
Zayne
☆ Another universe in which he can't have you. So far yet so close, wanting nothing more than to feel you in his arms but all he feels the substitute that's supposed to be you
☆ What he would do to see your smile in person, to hear your voice, to hold the hand that clicks him whenever you see him in the cafe
☆ But that's okay, he'll spoil you where he can. Sending you free 5 stars of him, getting you free ticket, popping this up on your dashboard so you'll see it and realize what he's been doing (what? who said that?)
☆ Overall, he wants you to know he cares and isn't some heartless and cold guy who doesn't care. He can't help but try to distance himself because he knows he will never be able to have you as he can't escape the game just yet
Xavier
☆ He has tried oh so hard to figure out why this is happening and what he can do to bring you to him.
☆ His curiosity over the situation has sparked so many attempts to either bring you to him or him to you, he desperately wants to meet you and feel you for the first time. To hold your hand, to see your smile, all of it
☆ You play the story and get frustrated with a battle because you can't beat it? Say less, all of a sudden you cometed the battle and barely had to do anything. It was as if the game could see your struggle
☆ He adores playing kitty cards and the claw machine with you, seeing your face light up when you get the plush or he gets it is the highlight of his day
Rafayel
☆ He can be a bit of a jerk (a lovable jerk though) He will purposely glitch your game out during a battle sometimes, making you think it's your wifi when in reality it's him getting back at you for what you said about him earlier 🙄🙄
☆ Don't worry, he makes up for it (eventually)
☆ Although he will do stuff like get you free gems and money daily, no matter how much you may like him at first. He can't help but feel infatuated with you, in love even.
☆ Seeing how you react when you win against him in cards, seeing you gasp whenever he says something mean in the story, seeing your reaction to some of the cards... He adores it all
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Self-Aware!Rafayel x Down-bad!Player
Rafayel becoming aware he's a game character and becoming aware of you as well pt. 2 here A/N: Don't fight me
Self-Aware!Rafayel who realizes he’s in a game when he can hear your echoing giggles as you poke his butt. “Are you laughing at me?” you think nothing of it just assuming its another voiceline “He’s so dramatic” You mutter to yourself “Im not dramatic!” You chuck your phone across the room and stare at it with your eyes bugging out of your head and your hand covering your mouth. “You didn’t have to throw me”
Self-Aware!Rafayel who blows your phone up when you take too long to reply. “What are you doing?? Do you send me a text and then throw your phone in the ocean?” “I have shit to do Raf!” “Do I not matter to you?” He finds a way to actually video call you and now thats his favorite form of communication. He pouts when you tell him you need to charge your phone because it's about to die. “The batteries in your world are terrible how long is this charging going to take?” You pat his head as you giggle “give me 30 minutes at least”
Self-Aware!Rafayel who has a fifteen minute existential crisis when he realizes he’s just pixels “What?! Am I gonna die if your phone dies?! If im not real how am I talking to you??” “I don’t fucking know Raf you’re the one who randomly broke the fourth wall one day”
Self-Aware!Rafayel who judges people with you in public for a laugh “Please tell me you heard that” “Yea a whole wife and child on the side is crazy”
Self-Aware!Rafayel who didn't understand your SpongeBob jokes an now its his favorite cartoon after watching it on FaceTime with you. He's constantly making SpongeBob jokes as well now. "What are you eating?" "A Milky Way" "What's that?" "A chocolate bar with caramel-" "Chocolate? I remember when they first invented chocolate" "I bet you do...." "😐"
Self-Aware!Rafayel who paints portraits of you and saves them in your album. He finds himself constantly using you as his muse every time he picks up a brush. “Why don’t you paint MC anymore?” “I may or may not have someone else swimming through my mind”
Self-Aware!Rafayel who feels comfortable enough to be vulnerable with you since you already know his history. He told himself not to fall for you and is now driving himself crazy wishing he’d made a binding vow with you instead
Rafayel: Maybe your souls got mixed up and I was supposed to be with you Y/N: I don’t think that’s how that works Raf you were made to find her in every life Rafayel: ……but it feels like I was meant to find you
Self-Aware!Zayne
Self-Aware!Xavier
Self-Aware!Sylus
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Self-Aware!Xavier x Down-Bad!Player
Xavier becoming aware he's in a game now he's aware of you as well. pt. 2 here A/N: Don't fight me
Self-Aware!Xavier who realizes he’s in a game when he can hear you talking about Lumiere. “Lumiere is in Abyssal Chaos again *sigh* I love him” “So you’re infatuated with Lumiere as well?” You freeze, looking around not sure if he’s talking to you or not. You check the time and realize it's late so you decide to just go to bed.
Self-Aware!Xavier who draws his sword on you the next day questioning who you are. You're stunned at the fact he's actually talking to you. “That will literally do nothing you can’t reach me Xav” “What do you mean?” he can’t quite understand why you’re a stranger, but you also feel so familiar.
Self-Aware!Xavier who quickly grows fond of you. He finds himself napping on the phone with you often now. “Are you free this afternoon? I was hoping we could nap together” starts out as phone call naps which turn into FaceTime/video chat naps and eventually turns into him not being able to sleep well unless you’re on the phone
Self-Aware!Xavier who loves to eat with you and listen to you rant about your day and anything you can think of because your voice alone soothes him. He’s concerned when you don’t log in for a day telling you how he didn’t get good sleep because he didn’t hear from you.
Self-Aware!Xavier who plans meals around your schedule because he will always make time for you. He claims the food taste better if he gets to look at you while he eats.
Self-Aware!Xavier who wants to learn the kind of games that exist in your world. You’re connected through technology so he finds a way to play video games with you even it means illegally transferring data to him through the app.
Self-Aware!Xavier who tells you he has someone he’s in love with so he can’t fall for you. “I know” “You know?” “Queen of Philos … I know …. she loves you too by the way” you don’t miss the way he slightly deflates at the fact that you know who he was talking about.
Self-Aware!Xavier who even though he said he can’t fall in love with you falls head first anyway and can’t stay away from you. He finds himself speaking to in-game MC less and less meanwhile he’s becoming incredibly jealous over not just the guys in your life, but everyone who is able to actually be in your presence. “Your day sounded like it went well” hes pouting “me and some friends went to topgolf” “I heard”
Y/N: Xav are you jealous? Xavier: And if I say yes? Y/N: I'd say you’re not supposed to have feelings for me Xavier: It’s hard not to have feelings for someone who feels like home Y/N: I feel like home to you? Xavier: Yes and here I am yet again unable to reach my home
Self-Aware!Zayne
Self-Aware!Rafayel
Self-Aware!Sylus
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Self-Aware!Zayne x Down-Bad!Player
Zayne becoming aware he's a character in a game and now he's aware of you as well. pt. 2 here A/N: Don't fight me
Self-Aware!Zayne who realizes he’s in a game when you trip and fall down the stairs; your phone tumbling ahead of you. He can see your panicked face as you quickly examine your phone for any cracks. “Are you hurt?” He asked and you simply giggle “What are the odds you ask me that after I fell down the stairs?"
Self-Aware!Zayne who silently examines you when you open the app the next day and says “That was quite the tumble you took yesterday” You stare at the phone in shock. “Can you hear me?” You look around staring into the imaginary camera of life “Is he talking to me?” “Yes I'm speaking to you”
Self-Aware!Zayne who finds a way to actually call your phone when he wants to talk to you. “I have a break between patients are you busy?” He now spends his nights falling asleep on the phone with you or if he’s working late he listens to your soft breathing while you sleep.
Self-Aware!Zayne who memorizes your work/school schedule and plans study dates for you two. “Focus Darling we have thirty more minutes” He helps you study for exams or gives you the best advice on organizing your work schedule. He doesn’t mind your busy schedule because he constantly has a full schedule as well.
Self-Aware!Zayne who can’t help, but smile during photoshoots even when he’s supposed to be serious. “Zayne you’re supposed to look like you’re deep in thought” “I am deep in thought … im thinking of you”
Self-Aware!Zayne who tries not to fall in love with you, but ends up falling head over heels anyway. He finds himself ignoring the texts and calls from the in-game MC. “You can’t keep ignoring her” “Im not ignoring her I just have my priorities straight”
Self-Aware!Zayne who closes the app when you tell him he needs to stop eating so many sweets “You can’t keep doing that every time I tell you to listen to your dentist!” “That man is exaggerating" He crosses his arms defensively "My sweets intake is just fine” "You keep telling yourself that....." "I will" as he closes the app again.
Self-Aware!Zayne who is desperate to find a way to get you to his world or for him to get to yours. The closest he can get is leaving you his signature Ice Jasmines on your lock screen.
Self-Aware!Zayne who is solely devoted to you and tells you how you’re the only person he dreams about and you're the reason he no longer has nightmares.
Zayne: You appeared in my dream again last night Y/N: Did I? What did we do? Zayne: I held you tight and just listened to you talk Y/N: If only that could happen …. we’re like dawnbreaker Zayne: Dawnbreaker? Y/N: He’s you, but in a different world where he fell in love with a girl who doesn’t exist in his world Zayne: Is that right? Well then you’re right we are both like dawnbreaker here
Self-Aware!Xavier
Self-Aware!Rafayel
Self-Aware!Sylus
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Self-Aware!Sylus x Down-bad!Player
Sylus becoming aware he is a character in a game and now he’s aware of you as well. A modern day Romeo & Juliet story here …. A tragic love story A/N: Don’t fight me [Requested by: Anon]
Self-Aware!Sylus who realizes he’s in a game when he can sense your energy on the other side of a phantom wall. He can hear you squealing when he calls you honey and you're radiating happiness when you send him random emojis.
Self-Aware!Sylus who finally sees you when he happens to be looking around during a photoshoot and sees your shocked face when he makes eye contact. He smirks and turns back to the in-game version of you. “Why are you out there?” You dropped your phone and stared at it in shock. Did Sylus just ….. talk to you? You muttered a low ‘Hello?’ but got no response. You brushed it off as you just being tired and on the game too long.
Self-Aware!Sylus who manages to create a keyboard in your chat so he can actually text you. You were so confused when you opened it and it allowed you to type without just pressing a prompt. You gave it a spin with a quick ‘Hey Sylus’ something simple. Of course the message was read immediately and he replied with a ‘Hello [your name]’ you stared at the screen in shock not knowing if this was a new update or if you were just going crazy.
Self-Aware!Sylus who chuckles when he sees you pouting because you didn’t get his card so when you close the app and lay down he gifts you the card himself. You opened the app and the first thing Sylus says to you is “I don’t like seeing you sad, check your memories I left a gift for you”. When you open your memories you see that you not only got his most recent card but all of his five star memories. “What's happening here?” “You’re smile is so captivating I just had to see it again”
Self-Aware!Sylus who opens the app randomly throughout the day so he can see you “I haven’t seen you all day what are you doing?” causing you to snatch your phone off the table because he always seems to catch you when you’re at work or around a group of people. “Sylus I'm at work I'll call you when I get off” he crosses his arms and seems to be pouting? “I don’t like how much you have to work I don’t see you as often” “Well not all of us are billionaires some of us work for said billionaires to make a living” “I wish I could take care of you….” “You and me both”
Self-Aware!Sylus who teases you when he wins a game of kitty cards or who uses his evol to get every stuffed animal for you when you get frustrated. “You sure do wear your heart on your sleeves sweetie”
Self-Aware!Sylus who stares directly at you when you’re doing a photoshoot with your in-game MC “Sylus focus on her so I can get the picture” “I want to focus on you though” “She is me” “…..she’s not”
Self-Aware!Sylus who tells you not to fall in love because he’s not real, but he falls head over heels in love with you anyway. From the late night conversations of you explaining your world to him and just talking about everything and nothing at the same time. He can’t help it one night when you’re up late on the phone as always he just has to ask “Do you love me?” you’re shocked by his question, but swiftly answer with a shy “Yea I do”
Sylus: I thought we agreed not to fall in love Y/N: I was already in love you just noticed late Sylus: I believe I fell harder You giggled as something somber settled in your chest. Y/N: We’ll never truly be together you know? Sylus: I know and yet I continue to long for you …. I wish I could kiss you Y/N: I wish you could too…..
Self-Aware!Zayne
Self-Aware!Xavier
Self-Aware!Rafayel
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MC: would you like a BanÆnÆ (banana)
Rafayel: mlyem *munches on banÆnÆ*
Xavier: ....
Zyane: ......that was an orange wasn't it?
Sylus: he knows....
A/n: no , because rafayel wouldn't even question what mc is making him eat.
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𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐘, 𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐃, 𝐃𝐘𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇, 𝐀𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃, 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄
FLUFF, GN!READER BUT IN LEOMORD'S, SHORT DRABBLES
synopsis: spending halloween together with them (separate)
“H-Hey, I said slow down!”
She’d laugh at your screams as she took you rooftop-hopping across a haunted neighborhood she’d recently discovered.
Despite the eerie noises and thick fog, nothing could stop Fanny from swinging along with you.
She laughed again. “Scared already? The ghosts are harmless here, anyway.”
“It’s not the ghosts! It’s the height, Fanny!”
He’d take you on a midnight horseback ride, your eyes lingering on the distant view of the castle.
Leomord chuckled lowly. “Enjoying the view, princess?”
Feeling your cheeks heat up, you leaned closer against his chest as the horse slowed, allowing you to take it all in.
You nodded slowly, trying to hold back a smile. “View’s so pretty, Leo…”
“You aren’t wearing anything!”
Dyrroth had reluctantly agreed to accompany you to your friend’s costume party, but he showed up in his usual outfit with just a cloak thrown over it.
He let out a groan, furrowing his eyebrows. “I don’t need a costume to look scary.” He murmurs, “I’m already a demon.”
“But still! You promised you’d be an angel!”
“There’s no way I’m doing that!”
You burst out laughing. “Wait, you’re serious?”
Alucard, dressed as a demon—something he’d usually be hunting—just smirks at your surprised look. “Even demon hunters need a break from chasing themselves.”
The irony isn’t lost on him, and now you understand why you were told to dress as a demon hunter.
He chuckles, “You’d better chase me down, then.”
“BOO!”
“Ack!”
Vale uses his powers against you to make you feel the Halloween spirit ‘better,’ and each time you get startled, he chuckles before eventually comforting you.
“Stop jumping on me!” you slap his shoulder playfully.
But his soft laughter fills the room as he clutches your wrists. “Come on, that was a great scare.”
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