p-seduonym

[p-seduonym]

Switched At Birth (Part Seven)

A/N: What, I couldn't think of a new gif idea. Don't judge me. Anyway, my laptop has been acting weird so I might not be updating as frequently. I'll try to keep it consistent though. Also, confession time, I don't particularly like Damian but I hope I was at least faithful to his character.

Taglist (I'll add you if you ask):@luludeluluramblings, @von-jour, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @kenyummy, @bunniotomia, @ch1cky-093, @toxicthotsyndrome68, @cynniee, @icefox8155, @eyeless-kun, @c4xcocoa, @ed15fashionista, @yourtypicalhuman09, @fightmebissh. @tsuniio, @fantasyhopperhea, @type-ink, @dirtydiavolo, @colorfulgardenerduck, @seemeee3, @ironsaladwitch, @yumeravenclaw

Yandere!Batfam X Switched! Fem! Reader X Yandere!Wayne!OC

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Damian sat stiffly in the back seat, the city’s lights flickering across the window like a metronome. Alfred hummed quietly from the driver’s seat, an old jazz record playing low beneath the rumble of Gotham's streets. He wasn’t really listening. His eyes were fixed on the sidewalk they passed—the boarded-up storefronts, cracked concrete, and faint trails of ivy creeping where they didn’t belong.

Then something caught his eye.

Two figures, ducking through the narrow breach of a long-forgotten building. The glass dome above gave it away.

A conservatory.

His brows knit as he craned slightly, watching Melissa Wayne disappear through the broken wall. She was laughing—a soft, theatrical sound. And beside her—

There. That other one.

An unfamiliar student. Damian could only see their profile, but they were smiling too.

His frown deepened.

“—Are you listening, Master Damian?” Alfred asked gently.

“I saw something,” Damian muttered, still watching. “They shouldn’t be in there.”

Alfred didn’t respond. But Damian wasn’t looking for permission.

He didn’t trust Melissa. He never had.

But it wasn’t her that held his attention.

Melissa Wayne was far from exceptional. In his mind, at least.

She didn’t possess any athletic prowess, wit, or intelligence. The only thing distinct about her was her simpering visage—a perpetual mask of demureness, carefully arranged, right down to the slight tilt of her head and the way she blinked just a second too slow. She was practiced. Performed. Vaguely, she reminded him of the socialites who clung to his father during charity galas—smiles and silk gloves, hiding emptiness underneath.

She walked like someone who could only follow. Spoke like every word was a test.

She had a knack for drifting just close enough to be noticed, then fading into the periphery when it suited her. Never too loud. Never too quiet. Just... there. And hollow.

Damian had seen it before. In court. In League spies. In orphans trained to survive by becoming whatever someone else needed.

But Melissa?

She didn’t even do it well.

It was all mimicry. Secondhand charm and borrowed elegance. And yet, somehow, Father still looked at her with a kind of weary obligation, as if trying to fit her into a frame she didn’t belong in.

She bore the Wayne name, but not its weight. A bastard from a dalliance with some drug-addled harlot.

And Damian had never been more certain of that than now, watching her disappear into the ruins of the conservatory like a ghost playing house.

What interested him was the one who followed her.

The one beside her. The girl who walked into the darkened building with such a warm smile.

“Pennyworth, I’m leaving,” Damian announced, already opening the door. “Tell Father I’ll return.”

It was child’s play to slip into the shadows after them, though it would’ve drawn too much attention to follow them directly. Instead, he slunk into the green gloom surrounding a slumping side exit, swallowed by the ever-encroaching vegetation.

The conservatory loomed above him—rusted beams swallowed by ivy, glass warped and cracked like old bone. Damian narrowed his eyes at the structure. Sentiment. That’s what drew people to ruins—the desperate need to assign beauty to something that had long since rotted. He didn’t understand it.

He crouched low near a collapsed trellis, silent as mist, and tracked movement through the gaps in the stained glass. The figures inside cast shadows—one tall and poised, the other more inward. Melissa’s laugh chimed again, muffled by the thick, damp air. He could see the way she tilted her head, leaned in just so. He’d seen that posture before—a pathetic display of submissiveness from her bowed head to her large, watery eyes.

But the other girl didn’t mirror it, from what he could see. The dusk darkened his view, but still—she stood slightly apart, watching and listening. When she laughed, it was real. Not the kind you staged.

Damian studied her longer than he meant to.

She moved with ease. Not trained—nothing polished—but she wasn’t wary of the space. Or of Melissa. That was... rare.

He adjusted his footing on the soft soil, the hem of his uniform brushing against the weeds as he continued his quiet surveillance. Something about the scene gnawed at him. There was too much softness in it. Too much calm.

And calm, in Gotham, never lasted.

He tapped his comm and muted it. No reason to alert the Cave—yet. This was inconsequential. If it escalated, he’d act.

For now, he stayed in the green-dark, watching the two girls in the crumbling greenhouse. One, hollow and scheming. The other... confusing.

He didn’t know her name.

But she didn’t belong with Melissa Wayne.

She belonged somewhere better.

And Damian intended to find out where.

When the setting sun was finally extinguished, he watched as the two of you exited, trailing shadows nipping at your heels. He followed—certain he had not been detected. How could he be? He was the heir of the Demon’s Head, and you were civilians.

That’s what he thought—until you turned and looked over your shoulder. It could’ve been mistaken for you calling back to Melissa, if you hadn’t caught his eye.

An accident, he assured himself.

But you smiled. A cheeky, knowing smile.

Had you known he was there the entire time?

He froze beneath the greenery as Melissa remained clueless to his presence. As the two of you mounted the bike, he heard you laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Melissa asked, smiling but clearly confused.

“Thought I saw a rat.”

A rat? he thought, and Melissa echoed it.

“Yeah, small one. Ugly, though.” You chuckled, pushing off and pedaling away.

It was embarrassing how long it took to process your words. But when they registered, he flushed an indignant red.

That insolent little—

@gothamu_streets just saw a girl on a beat-up bike pedaling through Midtown with Melissa Wayne riding shotgun??? is this performance art or did I hallucinate that 📍Midtown, Gotham | 🕒 6:42 PM

@g0thamg1rl whoever that was biking Melissa Wayne down Crime Alley is braver than any marine. literally thought that was a jumpscare. 📍Lower Park Row (edge of Crime Alley) | 🕒 7:06 PM

@nvmfrankie wait—isn’t that the same girl she was with at that thrift shop on Canal St? she had the cutest cat socks @watchdogtruths yup. same height, same backpack. girl’s got rizz, tbh @bratbutgoth the thrift store girl??? oh, she’s deep in the Wayne drama now lmaoo

@vigilantytea mel wayne riding on the back of someone’s bike?? no bodyguards? no limo?? did she get disowned or is this the start of her villain arc 💀 📍Gotham U District | 🕒 6:57 PM

@waynewatchdog 🚨SPOTTED: Melissa Wayne seen cozy with a mystery student—caught riding two-up on a rusty bicycle in the East End. Is Gotham’s quietest Wayne heir finally rebelling? Or is this her way of going “normal girl”? Developing story. 👀 📍East End, Gotham | 🕒 7:12 PM

@sunlesssundays she’s not a mystery, I literally saw them together in Old Gotham like weeks ago @bootlegoracle same girl from that viral pic outside ThriftHaus on 9th. band sweatshirt, cat socks, huge bi energy. I remember things @bluelightgotham maybe she’s just a friend??? maybe mel wayne has friends like the rest of us and they thrift together. calm down, internet @n0tjackryder nahhhh no one thrifts in tandem unless it’s serious

@notbatmanirl bike kid got mel wayne smiling? either this girl’s a genius or Gotham’s about to burn down again. 📍St. Aubyn’s Overpass | 🕒 6:55 PM

@stainedglassx not her being the same girl from the thrift store pics 😭😭 i knew she was gonna be important @voidcandy this girl better get hazard pay. I’d evaporate under that much Wayne-family attention @gotham4thegirls melissa wayne and her thrift-core goth gf giving romcom energy while unknowingly walking into danger?? sign me UP

@gothamtabloid Melissa Wayne ditches her driver for a late-night bike ride with a mystery companion. Young love… or something darker? 👀🖤🚲 📍Broadcasted from Gotham Heights Newsroom | 🕒 7:40 PM

@cheesyfriesonmain someone tell me why mel wayne looked like she was clinging to that girl on the bike like her life depended on it. was that a date or a hostage situation? 📍Corner of 5th and Monroe | 🕒 6:51 PM

@roguechronicles Y’all really sleeping on the fact that the girl biking Melissa Wayne through Gotham was smiling. Like ma’am, do you know what city you’re in?? 🧍‍♀️ 📍Old Gotham Strip (near the border of Crime Alley) | 🕒 7:01 PM

@whoisontheguestlist Okay but… who is the girl with Melissa Wayne? New intern at Wayne Enterprises? Daughter of a rival family? Or just a cute nobody doomed to get caught in a mess? 📍Posted from Gotham City Center | 🕒 7:35 PM

A/N: This kinda felt like a nothing burger. I didn't really continue the story. anyway, hope you liked Damian's pov.

[p-seduonym]

I've been watching movie explain content recently and the little light that got lost reminds me of the movie MAMA from 2013.

ig the "bad guy" called Mama is how I'd think Yaya acts

I believe that one of the girls go with mama in the end tho

I saw that movie like forever ago. I think i might subconciously projecting that in the my fic.

Honestly, though I'm just going off of vibes. I can't for the life of me explain Yaya's powers except.

A. She had them before she passed and they transferred over.

And B. They grew stronger over centuries.

That's all I can say without spoiling things.

[p-seduonym]

The Little Light That Got Lost (Part Twelve)

A/N: Finally, we get some Batfam content. Sorry for the slow burn. I was procrastinating having to write from them. I just? don't know how to write the Batfam? I love em, can't write em. Hope you like this! Things will get a little better before it all hits the fan.

Taglist: @cheust, @i-simp-for-women, @goodsoup19, @143637-hrrm, @delias-stuff, @12nitled, @cutenessbun, @rinkydinkythinky, @trashlanternfish360, @bunbunbread, @daddysfangirls-dc, @justannie18, @moon0goddess

Part One

Part Two

Part 2.5

Interlude

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven

[PHONE TRANSCRIPT – RECORDED LINE: 02:14 AM, WAYNE NETWORK SECURE CALL] Participants: Tim Drake (Caller) / Dick Grayson (Receiver) Interference Detected: UNKNOWN AUDIO SOURCE

DICK: Hey. You good?

 TIM: Define “good.”

 DICK: …What’s going on?

TIM: (Sigh) You know how Casey’s seeing a therapist?

 DICK: Therapist? I thought it was just counseling.

 TIM: That’s what it started as. Teacher said they needed someone to talk to. But get this—I got into Dr. Hoffman’s private files. The ones she didn’t submit to the Wayne Foundation reports.

DICK: You hacked her?

TIM: Light touch. Nothing traceable. I just needed to know what she wasn’t saying. And Dick... it’s pretty bad. 

DICK: How bad?

TIM: They’re sleepwalking. Having nightmares. And it’s getting worse.

 DICK: They’ve been wandering at night?

TIM: More than that. They got to the front door. And the garden. Almost went over the balcony, too.

DICK: What? [Rustling] When did this start?

TIM: Couple weeks ago. Right after their birthday. They haven’t been sleeping right since. But listen—

DICK: Shit, did I miss that? Wait, why didn’t you tell me?

TIM: I did. You said you would be the one to go. 

DICK: Wait, forget that, what’s causing all this? This couldn’t just come out of nowhere, right?

 TIM: [Sighs] That’s the thing. Bruce doesn’t know about any parasomnias on their mom’s side.

 DICK: But you think it’s something else?

TIM: …I think it has something to do with Yaya.

[Brief static]

DICK: Yaya? Their little imaginary friend?

TIM: Hoffman mentioned her in some of the sessions. Dick, this is way beyond an imaginary friend. 

DICK: What do you mean?

TIM: Casey talks like she’s real. Not just made-up stuff, either. I got the transcript from a hypnotherapy session.

DICK: She hypnotized them?

TIM: Yeah. It was just the one session. Alfred was there too, but still. Casey talked about Yaya like she was a real person. Described her clothes, her voice, how she holds them when they’re scared. It’s not just comfort—this Yaya... she teaches them things.

DICK: Like what?

TIM: Etiquette. Old lullabies. Stuff no one their age should even know. One of the songs—Bruce had it analyzed, asked a musicologist.

DICK: And?

TIM: The melody predates the Revolutionary War. They think it’s Puritan.

[AUDIO DISTORTION – FAINT WHISPERS DETECTED, FEMALE VOICE, UNINTELLIGIBLE]

DICK: Tim? That was weird—did you hear that?

TIM: Yeah. Hold on. [Pause] Checking my line. Thought it was signal bleed from the Manor system.

DICK: That didn’t sound like static. That... sounded like a voice.

TIM: [Quietly] I think I know what it was.

DICK: [Pause] You’re joking.

TIM: I’m not. I told myself Hoffman was right—that Casey’s trauma made her up. But then I found something else. Another file. From Constantine.

DICK: Wait—John Constantine? 

TIM: Yeah. He was at the Manor a few weeks back. Alfred called him in off the record. His notes—he doesn’t think it’s just a haunting. He thinks Casey’s being raised by her.

DICK: What? 

TIM: And he’s not sure we can get rid of her without hurting Casey.

DICK: Christ.

TIM: There’s more. Constantine thinks Yaya isn't just stuck at the house. He thinks she’s anchored to Casey. That whatever Nathaniel Wayne did to her... he turned her into a kind of guardian. Or parasite. Or both.

DICK: And we just left them there. Alone.

[Silence. Static builds faintly, then drops out again.]

TIM: I didn’t think it’d get this bad. I thought... they’d talk it out. That therapy would help.

DICK: We all thought that.

TIM: I don’t think therapy can help with this.

DICK: So what do?

TIM: [Sighs] I…I don’t know. Bruce has no idea what to do. Damian isn’t any help. Jason scares them.

DICK: He scares them?

TIM: Caught him once with Bruce. Lots of shouting. No clue why.

DICK: [Sighs] Why didn’t they just come to me? Or Alfred?

TIM:...I think they tried. We just…weren’t there.

DICK: Well, we can’t let this go on. They need help.

TIM: Look, I know, alright? But therapy can’t do anything against something that’s not human.

[Low static interference begins, growing louder]

DICK: Tim? You still there?

TIM: Yeah, I—wait. Something’s—

[UNIDENTIFIED FEMALE VOICE] "They were mine before you ever cared."

(call disconnects—line goes dead)

[END TRANSCRIPT]

A/N: Did it work? Maybe not? I'm better at making original characters than writing for canon ones. It'll get a little cute before it all goes wrong, so look forward to that :)

[p-seduonym]

The Little Light That Got Lost (Part Eleven)

A/N: Almost done! Will get to the climax soon I promise! Also, I have no idea how to right for John. That may be obvious or it may not, idk.

Taglist: @cheust, @i-simp-for-women, @goodsoup19, @143637-hrrm, @delias-stuff, @12nitled, @cutenessbun, @rinkydinkythinky, @trashlanternfish360, @bunbunbread, @daddysfangirls-dc, @justannie18, @moon0goddess

Part One

Part Two

Part 2.5

Interlude

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Field Notes – Wayne Manor, Child’s Quarters Subject: Casey Wayne Observer: J. Constantine Date: [REDACTED]

Room’s too big for a kid that small. Bed, wardrobe, nightstand—all oversized. Like someone shrank the occupant or built the room for a different child entirely.

Only thing that fits: a cheap little table dead center. Plastic. Primary colors. Two chairs to match—one pink, one blue. Tea set on top. Not plastic. Ceramic. Hand-painted flowers. Someone gave a lot of care to something bound to get broken.

But the kid’s not there. No movement. No sound.

Nearly wrote them off as missing until I caught the tip of something—tiny feet sticking out from under the bed. Just enough of a gap between the frame and the floor to fit a body their size. Didn’t call out. Just made a note and kept my distance. They were watching me before I ever walked in.

Lit a cigarette. Didn’t smoke it—just let the smoke linger. Pennyworth’ll give me hell for it.

Transcript Begins:

CONSTANTINE: “Rough week, eh kid?” No response.

Kneeled down, not too close. Didn’t crowd them. Just enough to be noticed.

Looked like a cat, that kid—wary but watching. Under their arm: a toy duck. Looked like hell. Missing an eye. All stitched up.

CONSTANTINE: “Funny thing, that toy. Looks like someone tried to kill it.” No answer. Just a thumb over one of its wings.

CONSTANTINE: “Right then. Mister Duck, is it? You seen some odd things, haven’t you? Woke up with your stuffing outside your body, stitched back up by the butler. Rough go, that.” Their lips twitched. They shrunk back.

CASEY (murmured): “Ducat.”

CONSTANTINE: “Yeah?”

CASEY: “His name is Ducat.”

CONSTANTINE: “Of course.” Not much, but getting somewhere.

CONSTANTINE: “Alright, Mister Ducat—can you tell me what you’ve seen?”

CASEY: “He can’t talk.”

CONSTANTINE: “Oh, I reckon he can. He’s just got a mouth full of secrets.” Silence. They start to rock slightly.

CONSTANTINE: “Got told you didn’t want to talk. That’s fine, eh? Mister Ducat can do all the talking.”

Took a drag of the cigarette. Just one.

CONSTANTINE: “What kind of secrets does he keep, then? The kind that whisper when the lights are off?” No answer. Just more rocking.

CONSTANTINE: “You know, I’ve met a few toys in my time. One was stuffed with straw and Latin verses. Another had teeth in its belly. Your mate here—he’s got the look of something that’s been places.”

They sighed—not tired, almost annoyed.

CASEY: “Ducat doesn’t keep secrets. Titus hurt him, so Alfred had to fix him.”

CONSTANTINE: “Yeah? The dog hurt him?”

CASEY: “Yeah, so he went away to the hospital.”

CONSTANTINE: “He went to the hospital, huh?”

They pointed a tiny arm out from under the bed. At a toy trunk in the corner.

CONSTANTINE: “Ah, you put him there to get better?”

CASEY: “Yes.”

CONSTANTINE: “So you think he doesn’t know anything?”

CASEY: “He doesn’t.”

CONSTANTINE: “How do you know?” Pause.

CASEY: “Maybe I’ll ask him.”

Sat down on the floor. Cold to the touch.

CONSTANTINE: “Alright Mister Ducat. Can you tell me about your mate Casey? I heard they’ve been having troubles.” They clutched Ducat tighter.

CONSTANTINE: “Walking while they're asleep. Speaking things no one understands. Seeing things that no one else can.”

Silence. Heavy. They stared at Ducat like he might betray them.

CONSTANTINE: “Do you know what they’re seeing?”

Slow headshake. Then:

CASEY: “It’s not things. It’s them.”

CONSTANTINE: “Who’s ‘them’?”

CASEY: Shrug. “I dunno. They were here a long time ago.”

CONSTANTINE: “A long time ago?”

CASEY: “Yeah. Before Daddy. And Alfred. And everyone.”

CONSTANTINE: “And what do they want?”

CASEY: Shrugs again. “I dunno. They keep me up though.”

CONSTANTINE: “Yeah, I heard you were having trouble sleeping.”

They hum. A soft, tuneless little sound.

CONSTANTINE: “Want me to make them go away?”

CASEY: “...You can’t.”

CONSTANTINE: “Why you say that?”

CASEY: “Yaya says there always there—” They stop. Sudden.

CONSTANTINE: “Yaya, huh? That your friend?”

CASEY: “...Yaya is Yaya.”

CONSTANTINE: “You know her long?” Silence.

CONSTANTINE: “I’ll take that as a yes. So Yaya says they can’t go away?”

CASEY: “...When people are hurting and scared, they can’t leave.”

CONSTANTINE: “She say that too?”

CASEY: “...Yes.”

CONSTANTINE: “So Yaya can’t leave?”

CASEY: “No.”

CONSTANTINE: “You think Yaya’s hurting?”

CASEY: “I dunno… maybe.”

CONSTANTINE: “Hey, kid, listen. I can make them stop hurting, y’know? They’ll go away—”

CASEY: “Don’t!—Ah!”

CONSTANTINE: “Kid?”

They shot up. Too fast. Knocked their head on the bedframe.

CASEY (panicked): “Don’t make Yaya go away! Don’t make her leave!”

Now sitting on the bed. One sock off. Heel bruised—small, round mark. Old. Like they kicked something harder than they meant to. Or someone didn’t notice they’d been hurt. Still holding Ducat. Tighter than before.

CONSTANTINE: “You don’t want Yaya to leave?”

Shakes head.

CONSTANTINE: “Why’s that?”

CASEY: “She stays with me. Even when the lights go off.”

CONSTANTINE: “That when they come?”

CASEY: “Sometimes. Sometimes it’s just quiet. But it’s scary quiet. Like before something bad happens.”

CASEY: “Yaya sings when it’s quiet. She hums like this—” They hum a strange lullaby. Off-key. Old. Didn’t recognize it.

CONSTANTINE: “She hold your hand when you’re scared?”

CASEY: “No.”

CONSTANTINE: “No?”

CASEY: “She hugs me real close. So I don’t go anywhere.”

CONSTANTINE: “You go places?”

CASEY: “Sometimes. Alfred says I do it when I sleep.”

CONSTANTINE: “So Alfred knows? What about your dad?”

Flinch. Word hit like a slap.

CASEY: “...I dunno.”

CONSTANTINE: “You don’t like your dad?”

CASEY: “I dunno. He’s busy.”

CONSTANTINE: “He busy a lot?”

CASEY: “Yes.” Fidgeting now.

CONSTANTINE: “What about your siblings?”

CASEY: “They don’t like me.”

CONSTANTINE: “What makes you think that?”

CASEY: “They don’t talk to me ‘cause I’m little.”

CONSTANTINE: “That can’t be the only reason.”

CASEY: “It is. Stephanie calls me ‘Baby Casey’ and that’s why I can’t play with them.”

CONSTANTINE: “They play without you?”

CASEY: “Yeah. Stuff like Mario Kart. I wanna play too but they won’t let me.”

CONSTANTINE: “So you play all alone?”

CASEY: “...Not always. Sometimes Duke plays. But he’s busy now.”

CONSTANTINE: “All the time?”

CASEY: “Yes.”

CONSTANTINE: “Must be lonely. Playing by yourself.”

Shakes head.

CASEY: “I’m not alone. Yaya plays with me.”

CONSTANTINE: “Yeah? What do you two play?”

CASEY: “We have tea parties. Sometimes she teaches me e-ti-quette.”

CONSTANTINE: “Etiquette, huh? That’s a big word for you, kid.”

CASEY: “Yaya says it’s when you have good manners and people like you more.”

CONSTANTINE: “I’m not really big on the whole politeness thing. But whatever floats your boat.”

Quiet again.

CASEY: “I want people to like me.”

CONSTANTINE: “I’m sure they do.”

CASEY: “Only Yaya does.”

CONSTANTINE: “Yeah? She say that?”

They just looked at me. Direct. Empty.

CASEY: “She doesn’t like you.”

CONSTANTINE: “I’m used to that.”

CASEY: “She says you’re trying to take her away from me.”

CONSTANTINE: “I’m trying to help her. You said you think she’s hurting, right?”

CASEY: “Yes.”

CONSTANTINE: “So you don’t want her to be hurting anymore, right?”

CASEY: “...But if she goes away, I’ll be all alone.”

CONSTANTINE: “Casey, listen—you're not alone—”

They weren’t listening. Just staring past me. I looked back.

Big thing. Took up nearly the whole damn room. Big-ass teeth and darker than tar.

CASEY: “She told me I’d never be alone. Even if I got buried.”

[End Transcript]

Conclusion: Subject exhibits signs of prolonged emotional isolation, limited physical affection or comfort from primary caregivers, and an intense attachment to a protective entity referred to as “Yaya.” Entity appears maternal in function. Further exploration needed into historical records of the estate and potential residual hauntings linked to the nursery and cellar spaces.

Will need to proceed carefully. Subject is not just haunted—they’re being raised by the ghost.

A/N: I feel like this one was a bit redundant. Did it feel like that? Idk. Hope you enjoy and all that jazz. I might get more into Bruce's thoughts in the next one or I may jump straight to the climax. We'll see.

[p-seduonym]

Yaya: you don't understand! they ignore babe!! babe needs me!!!

John: *takes a long drag from his cigarette* goddamnit...

Casey: I love Yaya :3 she's the best thing that ever happened to me :33

I'm ridiculously happy you sent me an ask about this fic!

But yeah that's pretty close to their dynamic.

Still though, John has a job to do so we'll see how this plays out.

[p-seduonym]

Hiiii! I absolutely love you Switched at Birth story. It's so nicely paced and I love how it's a bit different from other batfam neglect fics.

A couple of qs. Sorry if any were answered already, I'm tired

Does Mel know the batfam are vigilantes? If so how did the reveal go? Also do you plan to have reader look a bit like Martha or Thomas? In my mind reader looks a bit like Martha so I can see Bruce getting whiplash doing a double take.

ANYWAYS- I hope the rest of your day/night goes well and I look forward to the chapter

Hey there, sorry I didn't answer right away. I just didn't know how to answer without spoiling anything.

All I can say is Mel doesn't know about their night life.

Hope you'll stick around to read more!

[p-seduonym]

The Little Light That Got Lost (Part Ten)

A/N: Writing Constantine, even if it's just notes, was a little tough. If these don't feel very tied together, I'm sorry. I really want to get into Casey's perspective again, I just need to figure out how.

Taglist: @cheust, @i-simp-for-women, @goodsoup19, @143637-hrrm, @delias-stuff, @12nitled, @cutenessbun, @rinkydinkythinky, @trashlanternfish360, @bunbunbread, @daddysfangirls-dc, @justannie18, @moon0goddess

Part One

Part Two

Part 2.5

Interlude

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Gotham Colonial Watch Inquisition Record — Entry #47 Filed by: Deacon Elias Brewster, Gotham Parish Overseer Date: [March 2nd, Year Of Our Lord 1652]

In matter of the unnamed servant girl, of unknown parentage, previously in employ at the Wayne Household, I hereby submit an account of troubling reports and observations.

Several weeks past, Mr. Nathaniel Wayne declared his intent to take the girl to wife. This announcement was made without banns, and no council of elders was consulted beforehand. Furthermore, it was in the wake of the late Madame's passing. He claimed it was a deed of mercy—that her soul might be spared from corruption, her sins cleansed through union with a Godly man.

While some whispered misgivings, the people of Gotham Colony, held in esteem Mr. Wayne’s judgment, for he is a man of land and long-standing. The girl was known to keep to herself, speak in strange ways, and some say the babe in her care spoke her name before they spoke aught else.

The marriage was never seen, though it would be a grand ceremony. That day, she was gone. Mr. Wayne claimed she fled in the night, ungrateful for his kindness.

House servants report they did not see her leave. No shoes or cloak were missing.

One girl claims the white dress—Madame’s wedding garment—was taken from its chest.

Another says the child was found wailing in the upstairs wardrobe, their fingers clutching a veil of lace.

There are stories of scratching beneath the house. Of chill winds though the torches be lit. Of the air turning foul in the nursery.

When I inquired, Mr. Wayne bid me leave. He said I lack faith in redemption.

Yet I fear something buried. I fear the root of sin is not the girl.

— “Though the pit be sealed, the sin within shall rise.” — Ecclesiasticus

—E. Brewster

Field Notes – Constantine

Location: Gotham (Morwen Parish House / Wayne Estate Ruins)

Date: [REDACTED]

Don’t like Gotham. Never did. But when the dead start talking, I listen.

Got a call from Pennyworth—always dry as dust, but knows when to ring the bloody fire bell. Kid named Casey Wayne—descendant—been having episodes. Was seeing a shrink and talked about them. Night terrors. Sleepwalking. Drawings. Seeing dark figures. 

Psychotherapy and hypnotherapy were done. Did nothing– shocker.

Did some digging. Found a journal. 17th century. Written by a servant girl. “Yaya.” No surname. No family. A ghost in the records—except she ain’t. She's anchored.

She saw the dead. Fed the baby. Took the beatings. Then the Master—Nathaniel Wayne—gets all holy and offers her marriage like a pardon.

Convenient, considering his wife, his child, and the governess all died in the same breath. Village probably needed someone to blame.

No one saw a wedding. But everyone felt it. That’s how hauntings start—not with blood, but with silence.

The cellar is still here. A basement now. Old brick. Cold as sin. 

She’s down there, more than likely. Dressed in white. After trying to run.

And now, centuries later, she’s still watching over her babe. Problem is, the babe’s long dead. And Casey Wayne ain’t them.

She’s tethered. Protective. But warped. The kind of spirit that sings lullabies but could drag you into the floorboards.

Need to find what’s keeping her here. Body’s still under the estate, I’d bet my last cigarette. Or worse—part of her is.

Dealing with a ghost here, maybe more, could become a polter, trapped in a feedback loop of fear and mother’s love.

Next steps: — Locate the grave. — Unbind any circle. — Talk to the kid before she makes them hers for good.

One last thing: She didn’t ask to be a witch.

But they made her one anyway.

A/N: I have no idea what to write next, I'll be honest with you. It might be something with Constantine and Casey, but I'm not sure how I'll even format that. But I'll still try to get some work out for y'all.

[p-seduonym]

Switched At Birth (Part 6)

A/N: Hey y'all! I've been playing some new games and haven't written for a bit (IE a day). I promise to get into the Batfam in the next part though! I just... gotta figure out how to write for them. Hope you like Melissa' spiral into yandere!

Taglist (I'll add you if you ask):@luludeluluramblings, @von-jour, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @kenyummy, @bunniotomia, @ch1cky-093, @toxicthotsyndrome68, @cynniee, @icefox8155, @eyeless-kun, @c4xcocoa, @ed15fashionista, @yourtypicalhuman09, @fightmebissh

Yandere!Batfam X Switched! Fem! Reader X Yandere!Wayne!OC

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

You knew Mel was hiding something when she texted you. Not from anything she said—there weren’t any obvious clues. Just a feeling. The kind you get in your chest, quiet but insistent. Call it intuition.

Still, you didn’t press. You just decided to meet her. 

Walking from your school to Gotham Prep got old fast, so you fished out your old bike from the garage. It was far from elegant, but seeing the face Mel made when she saw you on it was worth it. Convincing her to ride on the back was even more fun.

“C’mon, you didn’t expect me to make you walk, didja?”

“I guess not, but won’t I be too heavy?”

“We’re, like, the same build. I think I’ll be fine.”

She sighed and climbed on the back of the bike, under the heavy gaze of passing students. And as you began to pedal, she asked:

“Did you skip class?”

“Hmm? Why d’you ask?”

“You’d have to to get here by the time I’m out of class”

“Heh, you worried I’m not being a good student?” You joked.

“I just don’t want you to get in trouble because of me—”

“Hey! Hold on to me or you’ll fall” You cut her off just as the bike jolted over a sharp bump in the path.

“O-Okay” She wrapped her arms around you. You felt her grow warmer but decided not to comment on it.

After a moment, you confessed. 

“I just left a little before the last bell. No big deal”

She sighed, “That's not a good habit, y’know?”

You laughed, “It’s my senior year. Not much else to miss”

You felt her lean her head against your shoulder. 

“Do you remember where to go?” she asked. “I didn’t know if you got my last text”

“I got it. Just up a few blocks and take a left at the corner, right?”

“Right” She said and, even though you couldn't see her, you suspected she nodded.

It was a bit more than that, though. The ride took some time, the bustle of Gotham falling behind the two of you as you pedaled past. Past the derelict buildings and the boarded up windows, your sight blurred into a sea of gray. 

You wondered, briefly, if that’s what Mel saw too.

You saw it, over the skyline, before you reached it.

It was a dome of steel and glass, towering and strange.  The sunlight glinted off its rusted beams and warped through its murky panes. Vines curled across the surface. Moss clung to the seams.

A conservatory– long lost to time. Riddled with decay yet blooming with life. 

Melissa’s arms tightened slightly around your waist. “This is it,” she said, almost shyly. “We’re here.”

You coasted to a stop near what used to be a side entrance now just a broken stretch of wall half-swallowed by ivy. The bike creaked beneath you as you both dismounted.

“I used to come here all the time,” she said softly, brushing off her skirt. “When I was little”

You left the bike on the ground before you followed her through the breach. 

Inside, the air was damp with earth and the sweet scent of overgrowth. Ferns curled like sleeping creatures. Flowers bloomed in the cracks of shattered tile. Every inch of space was claimed by green.

“You found this place?” Your voice was hushed as you took in the sight, as if in a confessional.

“Kind of,” She said, matching your steps as you gently maneuvered around the vegetation. 

Moving with practiced ease, she gently guided you to a stone bench. Cracks marred the surface and you ran your fingers down them as you sat down beside her. The pane over head was more cracked than the others, but the setting sunlight filtered through— fractured but soft and warm against your skin.

“It was a joke, I think,” Mel said after a moment, uncertain. “Some kids said they wanted to meet up somewhere, but I ended up here instead. A fake address, I guess”

“Yeah, kids suck”

“Yeah…” She deflated slightly. “But I found this place, so it wasn’t that bad.”

Mel leaned back to look at the setting sun through the cloudy glass.

“I didn’t think that then, though. Thought it was my fault”

Her eyes grew distant.

“I always thought it was my fault”

You turned to look at her, but her eyes were trained on the sky.

“You know,” she began, voice low and almost detached, “I thought that maybe there was something wrong with me. I couldn’t understand why they never really saw me.”

She shook her head, her smile faint but bitter. “Bruce, especially. He never even bothered to get to know me. It was like I was a shadow in his world. Just something to be kept in line, taken care of… but never loved.”

You felt a pang of sympathy, but something about her words seemed too rehearsed. You shifted, trying to find the right thing to say.

“Maybe he just didn’t know how...” you said, not quite convinced.

Melissa’s laugh was dry, almost mocking. “That’s the excuse everyone gives for him. But I don’t think he wanted to know how. Maybe he didn’t want to. It would’ve meant opening up. Letting me in. And, god, I don’t think he’s ever let anyone in.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with something you couldn’t quite place. But the next words out of her mouth made your chest tighten.

“He could have chosen to care. But he didn’t. He never did.”

Her voice dropped, just a shade darker.

“I think maybe the Waynes are just like that. Always have been. They’re so good at pretending they care. At pretending they’re this perfect family.” She scoffed, bitterness creeping into her tone. “But it’s just a show. A game they play. And you know what? I’m tired of it. I’m tired of him pretending.”

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift. “What do you mean?”

You felt a shift in your chest, like something was quietly unsettling itself. But then she was smiling again, and the warmth of the conservatory and the closeness of her presence made you want to believe her, to comfort her.

“This place is important to me, you know,” she said instead, voice softening. “It’s the one place I’ve ever felt like I truly belonged.”

You nodded, trying to focus on her, trying to let go of the feeling that something deeper was lurking just beneath the surface of her words.

But Melissa wasn’t finished. She looked at you, her gaze intense, her voice almost pleading now.

“You… you meant it, right?” Her voice cracked a little. “You won’t leave me. Not like the rest… right?”

You felt your cheeks grow warm.

You hadn’t felt this feeling before, beyond the occasional stray you’d beg to take home. This feeling of wanting to hold on, to shield something fragile from everything and anything. It curled in the bottom of your chest like a sleeping beast. Yet, despite all her flaws, her timidity, her bitterness, it called to her. You couldn't just leave her, you assured yourself, not when there’s so much she wants and so much to be done. 

Without thinking, you leaned forward, brushing a kiss on her temple.

“Of course” You swore in the approaching darkness of dusk.

Really, it was kind of cute—how precocious Melissa Wayne could be.

A/N: Forehead kisses! Can! Be! Platonic! Or! Romantic!

I say this with my whole chest out.

Also,

Melissa: I want the Wayne family to hurt.

Reader:

That's basically their dynamic.

[p-seduonym]

hello ! i came here to say that i absolutely adore your switched at birth series the moment i stumbled upon it a week ago 🩷 you have a way with brief, yet concise descriptions and i find your works to be incredibly underrated because other than me adoring your writing style; your characterization for the reader and melissa wayne, their parallels to their rightful family, the growing bond (and obsession for melissa's case) and so much more is just so captivating to me since i don't often tend to get attached to series', especially those involving oc's.

and i confess that i do solely check on the yan batfam tags to see if you've updated <333 from one author to another, keep up the great work since you're way more consistent with updates than i am.

Omigod thank you!!! I love your work and was so worried I couldn't measure to you and other authors in the yan batfam tag. I'm soo happy you like my work so far, cause I was also worried Melissa wasn't very fleshed out of a character. I usually don't make ocs, but I'm glad you like her!

Hope I can continue to meet your expectations!

[p-seduonym]

real talk what class would each bllk player be? I know Kunigami would be a paladin, cause he's a knight or hero or whatever. Shidou would proably be a barbarian, going off of vibes alone. And I think Chigiri would be a rouge?

Discuss

[p-seduonym]

Heyo, in love with your works, especially your switched at birth story. I was wondering if you would add me to the tag list?

Hiya! I'm so glad you're liking my works so far ☺️ I'll make sure to tag you in the next part!

[p-seduonym]

The Little Light That Got Lost (Part Nine)

A/N: Yall I was so wrapped up in the two updates yesterday that I forgot I had homework. Was up for hours finishing it. Anyway, here's more of my bad life decisions. I should be reading Shakespeare right now but I'd rather make this.

Taglist: @cheust, @i-simp-for-women, @goodsoup19, @143637-hrrm, @delias-stuff, @12nitled, @cutenessbun, @rinkydinkythinky, @trashlanternfish360, @bunbunbread, @daddysfangirls-dc, @justannie18, @moon0goddess

Part One

Part Two

Part 2.5

Interlude

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Gotham City Municipal Archives — Document No. 2287-A Collection: Morwen Estate Holdings Recovered: October 16, 1936 – from subfloor storage, Morwen Parish House (formerly Wayne Estate) Condition: Bound parchment folio, twine binding. Ink faded. Final pages partially destroyed by moisture.

Document Title: "Untitled Journal (Author Unknown, presumed female servant of Wayne Household, ca. 1640s–1660s)"

Archival Notes:

Entries contain frequent references to infant care, religious guilt, dreams, and sightings of the dead.

Name “Yaya” appears repeatedly, possibly a nickname or spiritual moniker.

Multiple entries imply mistreatment by an unnamed governess and inappropriate attentions from a male figure— possibly Nathaniel Wayne, referred to as “The Master”

Final pages include erratic symbols and fragmented writing.

Catalogued by: A. Kearney, Archivist

Accessed by: John Constantine

[Journal Entry--date unknown]

madam is sick. she don’t rise no more. she dont eat cept a bite or sip. the babe did wake at the 3rd hour. madam did not move. I shaked her and say “madam, the babe be hungry” but she dont hear me or dont want to. I give the babe pap. he cry till light come. master come home after a long while. I say madam be bad sick. he say I am to sit with her, watch her close. I dont want that. I dont like the room. there is little fiends there. they watch me by madam bed. I do not tell master that. nites is heavy. sumone is watchin me. not the shades. not them. it feel like eyes behind the wall. when I cant sleep I rock the babe. the babe burn hot. he dont stop crying.

lace is hard to make. takes long time. like the babe. the babe call me Yaya. he cant say my name rite. master say my name much. he say it pretty. he say it soft. he say it like a prayr.

miss did screem at me for the pot fallin. twas not me what done it. twas the babe. they be walkin now. but not walkin right. I din’t say nothin to miss. she hit my hands with the switch. five time. it hurt bad. I did not cry but I wanted. I went to market today. wheat cost dear.they say crops be dyin. they grow then curl up dead. they whisper bout miss annie. they say she be witch. I bringed her a flouer. she gave me a shilling

the babe love flouers. in the mornin when I dont see them, they be in the medow. I scold them but they smile. then I smile too. master bring me a fruit. a fig he call it. it taste like honey. smell like flouers. I say thank you. master say he bring me more.

master’s oldest is kind. he been at school. he know many things. he come home and smile at me. not like others do. he say my lace is real pretty. I say thank you. I think I was smilin too.

madam died. she was in bed. I was by her side. the babe was in my lap. they was sleepy but tryn not to. I say sleep now. then madam say “may I sleep?” I say yes. she dont wake up.

no one say nothin bout madam. the house is quiet but not soft. it feel heavy like rain comin. miss wont look at me. she give me chores and dont say please. the babe cry more now. they look at doors like they waitin. I clean madam room but I dont touch the bed. I think she still there. not in the bed. in the walls. in the air. I say sorry. I dont know why. just feel like I must. I tell the babe she sleepin long. they nod like they know. master come to me today. he say I done good with madam and the babe. he say I am strong girl. he touch my hair. I dont like it. he say I look like spring. I dont know what he mean. he say I must stay close now. he say he need me. I nod. I dont speak. when he go, I wash my hair.

the oldest come again. he say I should go. I didn’t know why. it made my heart hurt. did I wrong him? he not mad. he look sad. he say there a place. far. kansas, he say. he take me if I say yes. I don’t know.

the big one is gone. the oldest. they say he fall in the pond. but he swim good. he always swim. they pull him out and he don’t breathe. miss scream. master dont. the babe hold tight to me.  I think I saw somethin. his eyes was open when they find him. mouth too. like he tryin to say.

miss be mad at me. I heard her and master talkin low. she say I am cursed. say I bring bad things. maybe I do. I see things. but I dont tell her. I never told her. she aint s’posed to know. maybe they tell her. the ones in the walls. the ones what watch. shell go to the revrent, she says. she say I am made wrong.  that sin do live in girls what got no mama. Revrent say the Lord don’t suffer witches. I don’t be no witch.

miss is gone now. I found her. bottom of the stair. her neck was wrong. bent like branch. they say she fell. but she don’t fall like that. master come. not alone. men with him. he grab me. took me to the cellar. it cold down here. I aint done nothin.

A/N: ooh getting into Yaya's past. She's supposed to be semi-literate so that's why the spelling is bad. I promise it's not cause I suck at writing. Btw, you ever written for a puritan era semi-literate servant? Shit's hard. Anyway, hope you liked it!

[p-seduonym]

The Light That Got Lost (Part Eight)

A/N: I lied again. I said this would be shorter but it's actually pretty long. Just wanted to up the ante on the spook factor here. Sorry if Alfred didn't say much I din't know what he would say.

Taglist: @cheust, @i-simp-for-women, @goodsoup19, @143637-hrrm, @delias-stuff, @12nitled, @cutenessbun, @rinkydinkythinky, @trashlanternfish360, @bunbunbread, @daddysfangirls-dc, @justannie18, @moon0goddess (will add more if asked)

Part One

Part Two

Part 2.5

Interlude

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Based off of @cheust's Ghost Caretaker AU. It's really good so give it a read!

[Hypnotherapy Session Log — Initial Entry] Subject: Casey Wayne Date: [REDACTED] Time: 3:12 PM Location: Wayne Residence — Conservatory Room Practitioner: Dr. Johanna Hoffman, Ph.D., Child Psychiatry and Clinical Hypnotherapy Observer: A. Pennyworth (guardian present at subject’s request)

[Pre-Session Notes] Subject appeared alert but subdued upon entry. Eyes slightly red; reports no recent crying.

Mr. Pennyworth led Casey to the conservatory, noting it was the "the only room left that feels warm to them". Statement was curious—will follow up.

Conservatory itself is unusually dim for the time of day (overcast, but not storming). Interior temperature recorded at 71°F, but air felt markedly cooler upon entry.

Small details throughout the space suggest disuse despite regular upkeep: a thin layer of dust on the windowsill, faint mildew beneath the carpet near the west corner. When I sat in the chair provided, upholstery made a faint, damp sound—possible moisture beneath cushion.

Audio equipment briefly cut out during calibration. Static present in test recordings between 3:07 and 3:09 PM, source unknown. Mr. Pennyworth refused coffee, sat with hands folded tightly. His demeanor was unusually tense.

Session proceeded at 3:12 PM with standard induction protocol.

[Session Begins]

Dr. Hoffman: (Soft yet steady tone) Casey, can you hear me?

Casey: Yes.

Dr. Hoffman: That’s good. Before we start, can you tell me about your surroundings? What do you feel? What do you see?

Casey: I can feel the chair. It’s soft, but cold. Like no one sat in it for a long time.

Dr. Hoffman: That’s very observant. And what do you see around you?

Casey: I see you. And Alfred. There’s a table and window too.

Dr. Hoffman: Good. Now, Casey, I’m going to have you close your eyes. Can you do that?

Casey: (nods slowly) Okay.

Dr. Hoffman: Focus on the sound of my voice, okay? Take a deep breath in…and out. Good. Now, we’re going to play a little game, alright?

Casey: A game?

Dr. Hoffman: Yes. I want you to imagine you're at the top of a set of stairs. Can you do that?

Casey: Mmhmm.

Dr. Hoffman: I’m going to count down from ten. With each number, you’ll take one step down. With each step, you’ll feel more relaxed, more calm. Ready?

Casey: Ready.

Dr. Hoffman: Ten… step down.

Casey: (Whispers) One step.

Dr. Hoffman: Nine… deeper now.

Casey: Two steps.

Dr. Hoffman: Eight… the air gets quieter here.

Casey: Three.

Dr. Hoffman: Seven…

Casey: Four.

Dr. Hoffman: Six… nearly halfway.

Casey: Five.

Dr. Hoffman: Good, Casey. Now five…feel the warmth around you.

Casey: (Softly) It’s getting warm. 

Dr. Hoffman: That’s perfect. Four…

Casey: Six.

Dr. Hoffman: Three…

Casey: Seven.

Dr. Hoffman: Two… almost there.

Casey: Eight.

Dr. Hoffman: One… and now, the last step. You’re there. Tell me what you see.

Casey: It’s dark. I see a little light, though. 

Dr. Hoffman: That little light– where is it coming from?

Casey: A door. A really old one. It’s open a little.

Dr. Hoffman: Good. With every step, you feel lighter. Safer. You’re doing so well. What happens when you reach the door?

Casey: My hand’s on the knob. It’s cold… but not scary. Just old.

Dr. Hoffman: Go ahead and open it, Casey. Slowly. Tell me what’s on the other side.

Casey: (Breathes in) It’s a room. It looks old, too. But pretty. There’s a really big window. And a closet. It smells like… wood and something sweet. Maybe… flowers?

Dr. Hoffman: Is anyone in the room?

Casey: (Quietly) Yes.

Dr. Hoffman: Who is it?

Casey: A lady. She’s sitting in a rocking chair and making something. It looks like…lace?

Dr. Hoffman: Can you describe her?

Casey: Her clothes are long and dark… old-fashioned. Like from a storybook. She’s pretty… but looks sad. She’s humming, too.

Dr. Hoffman: Does she see you?

Casey: Mmhmm.

Dr. Hoffman: What does she look like when she sees you?

Casey: She smiles. It’s… a sad smile.

Dr. Hoffman: Do you know her?

Casey: (Pause) I think so. I think she’s… Yaya.

[Note: Made eye contact with observer. The room was growing notably colder. Despite the thermostat reading 71°F, I experienced a physical chill. Mr. Pennyworth visibly tensed but remained silent. A low, static-like hum became audible in the conservatory wall unit. Audio equipment confirms minor interference beginning at timestamp 00:09:32.]

Dr. Hoffman: She’s Yaya?

Casey: I think so, but she looks different. Not big. Not dark. But she has Yaya’s smile.

Dr. Hoffman: What is she doing now?

Casey: Still rocking. But she’s patting her lap. Like she wants me to sit.

Dr. Hoffman: Do you want to?

Casey: (Very quiet) Yes.

Dr. Hoffman: Then go ahead. You’re safe here. Let yourself feel what comes next.

Casey: (Pause. Then a whisper.) She’s holding me. And humming that song again. The one about the flowers in the basement.

Dr. Hoffman: Can you hum a little for me?

Casey: (Soft humming)

[Note: Observer grew notably tense as the humming progressed. The melody was not consistent with any known folk songs. The humming was caught on the session audio, but there’s a secondary layer—faint, dissonant, like a second voice beneath Casey’s. Will isolate track in post-analysis.]

Dr. Hoffman: That’s very good, Casey. You're doing incredibly well. Let the room hold you. Let Yaya hold you. You are not alone here.

Casey: I don’t want to leave.

Dr. Hoffman: You don’t have to—not yet. Just tell me what it feels like. Right now.

Casey: Warm. Safe. But… the candles are flickering. Like something’s coming.

Dr. Hoffman: Something is coming?

[Note: Casey’s breath was visible in the air now. Observer was looking towards the windows past them, seeing frost bloom on them]

Casey: I can hear it. Like a thudding sound… it’s getting louder now.

Dr. Hoffman: That’s alright, Casey. You’re safe. Can you tell me where the sound is coming from?

Casey: (Long pause) The door. The one I came in.

Dr. Hoffman: Is it still open?

Casey: Yes.

Dr Hoffman: What do you see through it?

Casey: Nothing. Just dark. But I hear the steps… closer now.

Dr Hoffman: How do you feel?

Casey: It’s colder now. Yaya isn’t humming anymore. She stopped rocking.

Dr. Hoffman: She stopped?

Casey: Yes. She looks scared. The sound is really loud now.

[Note: The low-frequency humming within the conservatory walls is now audible to both myself and the observer. Its source remains unidentified, though it does not appear to be linked to any mechanical or environmental factors. Further investigation is required.]

Dr. Hoffman: What is Yaya doing now?

Casey: She’s standing up and holding me and going to the closet–

[Note: Subject’s respiration has quickened. Hands trembling. Visual tremors around mouth. Subject not yet distressed, but escalation possible.]

Dr. Hoffman: Casey–

Casey: She’s putting me in there. It's loud and dark and—I can’t see anything—it’s so loud, I can’t—I can’t think!

A. Pennyworth: Master Casey–

Casey: (Suddenly, voice altered—tone deeper, rhythmic) "Hie thee into the press, my sweet—quick now. Make thyself small, and stir not. Whatever thou hearest… thou must not come out."

Dr. Hoffman: (Calm, but with an undercurrent of concern) Casey… are you still with me?

Casey: (The voice remains altered, slow, and rhythmic) “Hush, little one”

Dr. Hoffman: (Pause, then a gentle but firm tone) Casey, you’re safe. Listen to my voice. You’re in control here. Focus on me. Can you do that?

Casey: (The voice shifts back to Casey’s, though it’s still strained, distant) I don’t want to be here anymore. It’s so dark… and it’s so loud.

Dr. Hoffman: (Soft but reassuring) You are not alone, Casey. I’m here. Alfred is here. Can you tell me more about the noise? What does it sound like now?

[Note: The low-frequency hum continues, now accompanied by subtle scraping noises from the conservatory walls. A faint, barely perceptible voice, similar to Casey’s, seems to be repeating a mantra underneath their words.]

Casey: Like someone walking. Someone tall. And big. It’s getting closer. Yaya won’t open the closet.

Dr. Hoffman: (Focuses intently) Can you feel anything, Casey? Is there any change in the air?

Casey: (Shivering) It’s heavy… I-I can’t breathe.

Dr. Hoffman: Stay calm. You’re doing well. Can you tell me what Yaya is doing now?

Casey: (Stuttering) I-I don’t know. I think…she’s going to the door. I don’t know. I don’t know… (whispers) The sound is louder now. It’s coming from behind the door.

Dr. Hoffman: (Keeping her voice steady) Do you want to open the door, Casey? Do you want to see what’s there?

Casey: (Sudden panic in their voice) No! No, don’t open it! Please… I don’t want to see it!

Dr. Hoffman: Casey, you’re okay—

Casey (in an altered voice again): “Forgive me, little one. I could not preserve thee, though I did pray and labor with all mine heart.”

A. Pennyworth: Master Casey!

Casey (sobbing): Yaya, make it go away! I’m scared!

[Note: Conservatory lights failed. Session ended under emergency protocol. Audio and visual equipment malfunctioned. Post-analysis pending.]

...

..

.

Further hypnotherapy would not be advised.

A/N: Again I did this in one sitting cause that's how my motivation works I guess? Also made a sneaky reference to a lullaby an anon wrote for @cheust which was super cool and I wanted to incorporate. Once again, I promise everything will be more cohesive when I finish this series up. Hope you like it!

[p-seduonym]

Just read your Switched At Birth and god its so good! I dokt even know anything about batfam

Thank you soo much! And don't worry I only know stuff about the batfam from tumblr and the webcomic

[p-seduonym]

I hate your cult of the lamb concept *I say as I walk away with a suspiciously your cult of the lamb concept shaped throat*

Spit it out!

That's my only original concept!

[p-seduonym]

The Little Light That Got Lost (Part Seven)

A/N: I don't think they use rotary phones at Wayne Manor I just couldn't find a better gif okay? Hey y'all, this one's a bit shorter but I'll compensate by writing two of them. I've been doing good so far being consistent but I might run out of steam soon due to work and stuff. Hope I can keep y'all satisfied.

aglist: @cheust, @i-simp-for-women, @goodsoup19, @143637-hrrm, @delias-stuff, @12nitled, @cutenessbun, @rinkydinkythinky, @trashlanternfish360, @bunbunbread, @daddysfangirls-dc, @justannie18, @moon0goddess (will add more if asked)

Part One

Part Two

Part 2.5

Interlude

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Based off of @cheust's Ghost Caretaker AU. It's really good so give it a read!

Transcript: Phone Call between Alfred Pennyworth and Dr. Johanna Hoffman

Date: [REDACTED]

Time: 8:43 PM

Call Duration: 6 minutes, 17 seconds

Transcript Source: Wayne Manor Landline Recordings (Authorized)

Dr. Hoffman: Mr. Pennyworth—thank you for following up. I read through the most recent entries you sent. These episodes seem to be increasing in frequency?

Alfred: Yes, Doctor. Eight incidents in twelve nights. I’m concerned the sleepwalking is becoming more hazardous.

Dr. Hoffman: You mentioned outdoor wandering. Exposure to cold, proximity to stairs, disorientation… Have there been any injuries?

Alfred: None so far. But each instance is growing more... elaborate. They appear drawn to certain locations. The pond. The attic stairwell. A disused study. And there are spoken phrases now. Words they don't recall by morning.

Dr. Hoffman: Are these locations tied to any traumatic events or family memories they might be processing subconsciously?

Alfred: Not to my knowledge. Master Casey hasn’t spent time in those areas while awake. The study, for instance, hasn’t been used in years.

Dr. Hoffman: And the coin you referenced—was that something he had before the episodes began?

Alfred: No. It appeared early on and seems to have become something of a fixation. I’ve since placed it out of reach.

Dr. Hoffman: Children can project powerful meaning onto certain objects, especially if they’re under stress. Mr.Pennyworth, I must ask— are there any other influences in the household? Anyone Casey could be mimicking? Or responding to? Possibly a source of this coin?

Alfred: The household is... limited. Only essential staff. Their exposure is minimal. And I cannot fathom this behavior being derived from any of their siblings.

Dr. Hoffman: Then these behaviors are originating from within. Which strengthens my earlier recommendation: hypnotherapy. A light, guided session. No invasive procedures. I believe it may help us reach the source of these events.

Alfred: (quietly) With all due respect, Doctor, some sources are best left undisturbed.

Dr. Hoffman: I understand your caution. But if Casey is experiencing distress—especially without understanding why—we have a duty to help them face it safely. Memory is not the enemy here.

Alfred: Memory is never the enemy, Doctor. But sometimes the past… fights back.

Dr. Hoffman: Then it’s all the more reason to proceed carefully. I’ll bring all necessary materials. I’d like to hold the session on-site. Preferably somewhere familiar to the child.

Alfred: Very well. But you may not have access to every room you request. Some doors are... off limits.

Dr. Hoffman: I’ll work with what I’m given. But Mr. Pennyworth—if there’s more I should know, now is the time.

Alfred: (pauses) What you know now will have to suffice. For Master Casey’s sake.

[Call Ends]

…

..

.

Ring ring

“Hello, Mister Constantine? Yes, I believe your expertise will be needed at Wayne Manor…”

A/N: I don't think I'm ready to write for Constantine but y'all are right it's kinda obvious they would at least call him about all this supernatural junk going on. Or at least Alfred would.

[p-seduonym]

I think I'll update "The Little Light That Got Lost" twice today. just cause the next parts are a little shorter than usual.