#Penguin: I have no fear

[deadsetobsessions]

More triplet tim PLEASEE

Aye, aye!

@batman-soup your idea just gives on giving omg what magic are you cooking in your head bc this prompt literally went absolutely crazy in mine

Commissioner Gordon was a decorated veteran of the GCPD, having lasted in the force longer than most without buckling under the pressure and temptation of being a dirty cop. That means he’s seen some shit, and he’s been in some shit. Even when Batman made his debut, even when he had to cover for Bru- ahem, Batman’s fool ass, James Gordon hadn’t even considered stoping in his effort to better the GCPD.

As he blankly stared at Batman, who looked as tired as Gordon felt, and the- not one, not two, but three- Robins following him, Commissioner Gordon seriously considered going down stairs and handing in his letter of resignation on the spot.

“Batman,” he greeted the Dark Knight, in the tone one might use when saying “Batman, what the fuck?!”

“Commissioner Gordon.” Batman said, sounding like he swallowed gravel and spent his nights crying instead of beating up Gotham’s criminal underbelly. “This is… the Robins. They’ve been… switching out until they were all ready.”

“Hey, Mister Gordon!” One of the Robins chirped. Commissioner Gordon pinched himself. Maybe he got micro-dosed with fear toxin? Commissioner Gordon nodded at the Robin who spoke.

“Commissioner Gordon!” The second one smiled at him.

“Commissioner Gordon.” The third one said, shoulders back.

“Have there always been… three of you?” Gordon asked, perplexed.

“You’ve actually all met us before, but don’t worry about it! Whatcha got for us this time?”

“Robin,” Batman growled.

“Yes?” “Yeah?!” “What.”

Commissioner Gordon chugged his coffee, to avoid laughing at Batman’s exasperated demeanor. Privately, he wished the coffee was a strong, black out worthy drink, and that the Robins gave Batman the stress Gordon experienced at Batman’s antics.

“It is important.”

“Yeah, yeah, we got it, B.” Regular Robin, Gordon deemed, waved him off.

“But we’re currently not taking mental health advice from you, you walking therapist’s wet dream.” Serious Robin scoffed.

“So you can stick your opinion where the sun doesn’t shine!” Chirpy Robin said. Gordon had wanted to name him happy Robin, but he’s not getting the feeling of “happiness” from him.

“I will bench you.”

“Try me,” all of them defiantly said at the same time. Gordon smothered a laugh, but by the glare Batman sent him, he wasn’t too successful at hiding it.

Batman visibly gave up, shoulders slumping. “Commissioner Gordon, what do you have for…us.”

“There’s, heh, Penguin’s expansion.” Gordon looked away from Batman’s baleful look, mustache twitching with suppressed laughter.

“He’s expanding his weapons trading.” Regular Robin said. Serious Robin nodded, leaning back on his heels in thought.

“That’s a sign of an upcoming turf war.”

“Red Hood’s part of it! I saw Penguin’s guys lurking around his safe house!”

“Why do you know where his safe house is, Robin?” Gordon might acknowledge that they’re trained vigilantes, but at the end of the day, Robin is still a child that shouldn’t be near a crime lord, especially a highly dangerous and highly trained one like the Red Hood.

“Prank! Don’t worry about it!”

Gordon side-eyed the Bat. When Batman didn’t move to say anything, he shrugged and let it go. There’s only one person more protective of Robin than the rest of Gotham’s non-criminal city, and that’s Batman. Gordon caught the three of them exchanging glances- a whole conversation he and Batman were not privy to- and suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to go home and never leave his bed again.

“You know where he’s staying, Robin?” Batman asked, when the silence got too long.

“Yep!” They chorused, even the serious one. Batman looked like he wanted to step back but held on like his pride was on the line.

“We can handle Penguin.” The serious one stated.

“You can get the goons, Batman!”

“I’ll rob them blind,” regular Robin grinned.

“Dibs on Penguin!”

“I’ll get the weapons.”

Batman sighed.

“Godspeed, Robins.” Gordon told the youngsters. To Batman, before he left, “Good luck.”

Batman grunted and disappeared. It sounded like a tearful thanks. Commissioner Gordon took a puff of his smoking pipe and decided to end the day today. He did not want to deal with the Robins and whatever terror they were about to unleash on Penguin.

——

“Penguuuuuiiiiiiinnnn, where aaaaare youuuu?!” Lionel sang, whacking a goon across the head with a pipe. “Come ooout!”

Archy, gleefully lugging away bags of tech and guns, jerked his head at the left hallway. He wound around the bodies of the unconscious goons Batman beat up. Lionel grinned at him in thanks and, bouncing along, went to beat up the Penguin.

“Robin, that is evidence.” Batman stopped Archy.

“It’s only evidence if it gets logged. Besides, I’m not going to do anything with them… much.”

Batman scowled, remembering the parenting books he devoured after adopting Jason. Be firm.

“You are not going to give them to Hood to help with his turf war.”

“Give me one good reason why.”

Tim, passing the arguing pair, snorted. “C’mon B, at least Hood’s guys will make sure to not use them to hurt kids. Who knows what the GCPD will do with this many guns.”

“And, not to mention, you let me get shot when we fought Dent.” Archy looked up at Batman balefully, rubbing his side. Batman grimaced… but stood aside.

Archy smirked.

“B, help me out with this,” Tim shouted, patting the top of Penguin’s heavy safe. Batman sighed and took out his laser cutter. Or, as Dick named it, Batlaser.

“Batman is supposed to be a symbol,” Batman rumbled.

“Yeah, of vengeance and justice. I’m getting justice for my stolen bat-tech, Robin L is getting vengeance for that one time Penguin kidnapped him, and Robin A is getting… stuff. Now c’mon, I can’t carry all this gold by myself. I gotta loot the goons too!”

“Do not loot the goons.”

“You’re right. If they had cool stuff, they probably wouldn’t be working for Penguin.” Tim brightened as he shuffled through the Penguin’s hoard of treasures. “Oo! Lookit! Tax evasion!”

“… You memorized his tax returns when Oracle hacked it, didn’t you.”

“Obviously. Keep up, old man.” Archy snarked as he walked back in to grab some more stuff. “Hood’s on the way with Nightwing and I want froyo, so chop chop!”

Batman sighed.

——

Penguin huddled against the crate, heart pumping a rhythm of abject terror.

His night had been going so well! He had drinks in one hand, a beauty in another, and the weapons trading game underneath his feet! The Cobblepots were going to rise once more!

Then, the slide of gravel, here and there.

Fear.

A low chuckle. The Bat?

Fear.

The squeal of a hinge.

Fear.

Bubbly laughter. Oh no. Robin.

Batman and Robin had dropped to the floor of the base, knocking his goons out left and right.

“Ge’ your fat nose outta my business, Bats!” He had went to wave his umbrella to send spikes at the pair, only to be stopped cold.

He turned around slowly and … Robin?

“Wha-?”

“Heya, Penguin! Nice seeing you again!”

“Agh!” Blinding pain erupted on his face, nose leaking blood. Penguin stumbled back as the psychotic Robin laughed.

“There’s two Robin! Run!” His goons shouted. “Boss, run!” Cobblepot stumbled away, mentally noting to give that goon a raise, once he could see more than red tinged blurs.

“Wrong. There’s three.” A cold voice sounded out, followed by the quick sounds of bodies dropping. Oswald Cobblepot ran, because he was not meant to deal with more than one Robin. The world was not meant to have more than one, so it definitely wasn’t ready for three.

The door creaked open. Oswald Cobblepot peeked his head out from behind the crate. He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw an empty doorway. Maybe he forgot to close it when he ran in.

“Heya, Oswald!”

Penguin looked up, eyes darting from the blood stained pipe and straight into the grinning maw of a Robin.

“… Bollocks.”

[graythursday]

stills of cristin milioti as sofia falcone in max’s ‘the penguin’ (2024) save meeee save me stills of cristin milioti as sofia falcone in max’s ‘the penguin’ (2024)

[jas-peesauna]

little s3 nygmobs animatic .. just for practice ^_^

song is sex with a ghost by teddy hyde !

[thethiefandtheairbender]

anyway kataang is at its most interesting from 1) katara's pov and 2) just how messy and complex her view of and feelings towards aang and love and grief really are

[simmyfrobby]

― “October,” Louise Glück, Averno.

Hockey Poetry Post 11/?

(Photo credit: Len Redkoles, Nicole Vasquez, Justin Berl, Jamie Sabau, Patrick Smith, Bruce Bennett)

Note: This is only ¼th of the hockey OT3 poem, but it's my favourite part so it gets its own post.

[coffbeanie]

I don’t know if anyone brought this up yet, but I find it really ironic that the first time we saw how the Penguin would look in The Batman (2022) (this is in reference to the first teaser we got, not the main trailer we ended up getting later), but the first time we saw the Penguin, he was standing outside, in the rain, dripping wet, and I find it funny because when it comes to the Penguin, that feels like one of the LAST states you would ever see him in.

Why would the Penguin be wet in the rain? Doesn’t he have an umbrella to keep him dry? Where’s his umbrella, a piece of iconography that’s been related to his character in DC Media for years?

Are umbrellas too whimsical for Matt Reeves-?

[buggaboizz]

Do you think Peso has a reason to be scared of the dark like something scary happened to him in the dark and he's been scared ever since??????

Well, my head cannon of his backstory is that he lived back home with his family before moving to a city to study medicine. After he graduated, he worked in a small clinic before joining the Octonauts as their medic (and the latest member)

I think a lot of his fears and anxieties come from him just not having seen or experienced much, with him being a new recruit and not having been many places (plus he's also just naturally more timid and shy).

For darkness specifically (which is actually sorta a fear of mine?) It's not the darkness itself that's scary, but what could be in it, the unknown. So that combined with his other fears is what created it.

I feel like his fear of darkness is something he's had his whole life, ever since he was little he's been scared of the dark. Obviously he's gotten better with it since then, but it's still there, and with other stresses or fears going on it can make it worse.

[musical-chick-13]

You know, I thought I would be Super Scared™ to post/pin singing again (specifically singing that's not in a humorous/parody context), but once I committed to following through on that decision and actually put it up, I just felt...incredibly relieved.

[fo-enjoyer]

.

Matthew is off the list so that means if I have 3 DC f/os they will take over more than half of my list

Oh dear... I hate this information

[graythursday]

i rly hope that the public’s positive reaction to sofia in the penguin prompts writers to involve her in comics more. shameful she only has two appearances 😓 she deserves to come up more than she has.!!!!!!! if she does make a return to the comics tho they better keep her original design and not base her around cristin’s portrayal of her (even tho she’s phenomenal) 🤞

[unfortunate-beetle-and-friends]

Reblogging for Greg and the Foxes and my partner and their math joy!

I didn't wanna derail the other post but I still wanna spread some love for my favourite subject...

Reblog if you've ever felt genuine joy or excitement from doing and/or thinking about math

[call-memissbrightside]

All I can think about is Katsuki dating someone with a baby—

His friends think it’s a bit odd since he’s in his early thirties and could still mess around before settling down but he’s not having it

You’re a bit nervous to tell him that you had a kid after a few dates, and you think he’s never going to hit you up again when he doesn’t really respond when you tell him, he just drops you off at your place with a emotionless look on his face.

You cry to yourself that night as you put your little girl to bed, and the two year old knows something’s wrong because she’s fussy through the whole night routine. You really liked Bakugou, he made you laugh and respect you but if he can’t accept your daughter than it's not going to work out.

Then the next morning he texts you that he got tickets for three to the local aquarium for the day. You call him, confused.

“That way we can take your daughter?” He’s confused by your question. “Why? Is she too little for the aquarium?”

You’re nervous as hell for him meeting Mai for the first time, but Katsuki is taken back at how your daughter looks just like you. She's adorable, and his stomach flipped taking in how you looked so beautiful in your jeans and simple shirt.

"Hi Mai, I'm Katsuki," He kneels down to the four year old's height but he's so big and the little girl immedietly burst into tears and hides behind your legs.

"Oh honey, it's okay," You coo at her, picking her up. Mai isn't convinced and hides away from Katsuki.

"I'm sorry, she'll warm up," You explain, but you weren't too sure. Mai had a shy personality, and was very attatched to you. You just hoped that Bakugou would be patient with her.

Mai started shedding her shy personality once you arrived at the aquarium.

"Mom, fish!" She yelled in excitement, tugging on your hand to get you to walk faster. Katsuki stands back and just watches you interact with your daughter. He knew he liked you, but seeing you be a mom did something to him and he imagined this being his life forever.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked when you noticed Katsuki seemed distracted.

He opens his mouth to answer but Mai interupts him when she squeals, "Mommy penguins!"

Katsuki was closer to her, and the little girl grabs his hand and drags him through to the penguin exhibit. Bakugou is taken aback, but quickly pushes back his fear of scaring her and kneels down to look at the penguins swimming as Mai squeals in excitement. She can’t pronounce his name correctly, so Mai just addresses him as ‘Suki which warms his heart.

It’s like a switch got flipped and Mai wouldn’t let go of Katsuki’s hand for the remainder of the tour through the aquarium. You stand back, smiling and snapping pictures, just watching as Bakugou showed a much softer side to him.

The day ended with Katsuki buying Mai the biggest stuffed penguin the aquarium store had, and the little girl could barely hold onto it as she fell asleep in her stroller.

“You didn’t have to get her that,” You said, feeling overwhelmed by his gesture.

Bakugou feels a string of anxiety pull in his stomach, wondering now if his actions were seemed as inappropriate.

“I-,” He tries to be truthful, “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked. Mai just seemed so happy and I wanted to get her something to remember me by.”

That melts your heart, and you kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for being so sweet to my baby.”

Katsuki is blushing so hard, his ears are ringing as he helps you by packing down the stroller and putting it in the trunk while you tuck Mai into her car seat. The little girl was out, but still hugging her penguin.

Katsuki keeps the radio low as to not wake Mai as he drives you two home, holding your hand and already planning the next outing.

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

SILLY LITTLE BAT

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-Hero! Fem!reader.

sinopsis ⸺ In the shadowed halls of Wayne Manor, a girl lost among the darkness seeks the connection she never had. Her mother, a kleptomaniac with a broken heart, vanished, leaving only echoes of empty promises. Surrounded by a family that never sees her, her pain turns into a deafening silence. The void left by her past traps her in a limbo of solitude and sorrow.

One dark night, seeking her own way, she became what she once despised. Now, like the albino bat rejected by its own flock, she flies alone in the twilight. Her pale skin glows in the dark, but her heart still yearns for the warmth of a home she never came to know.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Discrimination, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Suicide, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia, Manipulation

Chapter Guide! Pt 2. Pt 3. Pt4

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is—so there might be some grammar or spelling mistakes here and there. This is the first part of a story I’m writing for a friend (Isabel, I love you, you brat), and also an experiment to see what it’s like to write on Tumblr. Please support me! :"((

Nobody is coming to save you

Get up.

Your mother was not a good woman, and that was an undeniable fact, heavy as the shadow that covers Gotham City at nightfall. She was a creature of the underworld, one among the specters that wandered under the yoke of crime, walking among dangerous names like Selina Kyle or Harleen Quinzel, yet always remaining in the background, never reaching their fame or infamy.

She was nothing more than a kleptomaniac and a mythomaniac, doomed to live by cunning and deceit. She took advantage of the men who crossed her path, from the lowest criminals, like The Penguin, to the most powerful man in the city: Bruce Wayne.

You never called him Dad. To you, he was always Bruce, and on the rare occasions you addressed him, you did so with distant formality, "Mr. Wayne." Richard, your adoptive brother, found in him a father figure, while to you, he was just another shadow in the mansion, that huge, cold house you arrived at after your mother’s death.

You remember how, time and again, you tried to warn your mother to stop stealing, to stop lying, that those dark paths would inevitably lead her to Arkham Asylum, surrounded by all the lunatics you feared so much, or even worse: to death. But she always responded with a playful smile, stroking your head with her delicate hands, adorned with stolen jewelry and crude tattoos. "Those are just fantasies of an eight-year-old girl," she would say sweetly, while her ring-laden fingers assured you that you needn’t worry, "I will always come back for you," she promised, "because you are the only thing more valuable than any diamond I’ve ever held."

But the cruel truth was that was the last time you saw her. That night she left, and she never returned. It was then that the last vestiges of innocence faded with her absence. From that moment on, you ceased to be a child.

And that was one of the few things you understood with absolute clarity. There were no more empty promises, no more caresses tinged with lies. All that remained was the silence of a life fading away, like a stolen jewel that never returns to its rightful owner.

The only thing you knew after calling the police when your mother didn’t show up after two days was that they found her corpse in a back alley far from Gotham, showing signs of having been beaten and bruised by some underground gang.

Commissioner Gordon searched the entire house for illicit substances and signs of debts to mobsters, but he only ended up finding documents, stolen jewelry, and letters from your mother that were never sent, and most importantly, DNA evidence implicating that the city’s millionaire was your biological father.

From then on, your life was stained with eternal gray, that muted shade that erased all traces of light or shadow. There was no more white or black, only a silent fog that, day by day, enveloped you and dragged you into a madness that seemed inevitable. Gotham itself seemed more alive than the place you called home, although "home" was never the right word.

You didn’t love any of the Wayne family members. Bruce, your biological father, never listened to you. To him, you were always just another shadow, a ghost in the vast mansion that he prioritized over his other children, his "true" heirs. There was always something more important, something more urgent, and your presence faded among the cold walls and the echo of his hurried footsteps. With each passing day, you became more invisible to him, as if your very existence were a mistake he preferred to ignore.

Richard, the perfect brother, was kind on some occasions. He spoke to you courteously, but when you needed him, when you asked him to attend one of your performances, there was always an excuse, something that kept him away, as if your passion and accomplishments were insignificant details in his heroic life.

Jason, on the other hand, despised you from the start. He saw you as an intruder, a child of gold—but not of that pure and valuable gold, but of a dirty and false one, which he always mocked with disdain. And although you never cared for him, when he died, silent tears rolled down your face. It wasn’t out of love, but out of respect for what he represented, for the brutal reality of his fall.

Tim, in contrast, was the most indifferent. To him, you were a nobody, so irrelevant that you weren’t even worth a glance. Spending time with his friends or being the Robin of the moment mattered more than you did. You lived on his periphery, in a limbo where neither your name nor your face seemed to exist.

Cassandra, Stephanie, Barbara… at least they treated you with politeness, but you knew they didn’t really remember who you were. They saw you, smiled at you out of obligation, but deep down you knew they had no idea of your name, your story, your struggle to be more than a shadow in that world.

The worst of all was Damian, your younger half-brother. When he arrived at the mansion, Alfred introduced him to you with that serene formality he always had, and you, driven by an almost desperate impulse, tried to reach out to him. You wanted to offer him the support and affection of an older sister, that warmth you would have longed for in his situation. But all you received in return was a cold response: a katana piercing your abdomen. I wish I could say it was just a metaphor, but no, that wound was as real as the blade that cut your skin.

You would have liked to think that the pain was symbolic, that Damian had only rejected your affection with harsh words or his usual arrogance. But no, it was much more than that. The only thing you received in exchange for your attempt at fraternal love was a stab, a scar you still carry not only on your body but also in your soul. Because in that brutal gesture, you understood that the blood that united you also separated you, sharper than any weapon. And that was how you tried to connect.

You strived to stand out, to learn, to shine in your own ambitions, wishing that your success would be enough to earn you a place, a bit of affection. But no matter how hard you tried, it was never enough. Your talent crashed against indifference, your achievements faded into the air, as if they had no weight in the lives of others.

The only light, the only beacon in that storm of gray, was Alfred. The only one who smiled at you with genuine tenderness, the only one you truly loved. To you, he was the real father, the one who was always there, expecting nothing in return, offering you a silent but firm love. You did call him father, and his presence was the only thing that kept your sanity, the only thing preventing the gray from consuming you completely.

But even that love, so genuine and deep, was not enough to fill the void that your own family left you. And in that void, you continue to float, trapped between the girl you were and the woman you are trying to be, searching for a place you can truly call home.

Y/n's small room, though modest, had always been her refuge. The walls were adorned with unfinished sketches, trophies from various activities, and some paintings she had completed with dedication, showcasing her passion for both manual and performing arts.

The dawn light filtered softly through the curtains, bathing the space in golden tones, giving it a warmth that contrasted with the coldness of the rest of Wayne Manor.

On the desk, a small cake rested on a plate, simple yet made with love. Beside it, Alfred, with his usual understated elegance, watched Y/n with a mixture of nostalgia and concern. He, the only one who seemed to remember her birthday, offered her a delicate professional drawing set, wrapped in smooth, elegant paper.

"Happy birthday, Miss," Alfred said with a gentle smile, although his eyes reflected a sadness that was hard to conceal. "I know how much you love art, so I thought this would be helpful for your new projects."

Y/n took the gift in her hands with a genuine smile. It had been so hard for her to find moments of joy lately, but Alfred's gesture filled her with a warmth in her chest that she hadn't experienced in a long time. She placed the gift into one of the many brown boxes she had prepared for her upcoming move.

"Thank you, Alfred. It's perfect," she said, examining the set carefully, as if each detail were a reminder of the affection he held for her. "It will help me a lot... although, well," she sighed, as if searching for the right words. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that." Alfred raised an eyebrow, attentive, as she continued, glancing at the small space that had been her home within the vast mansion.

"Today... today is not just my birthday. It's the day I leave here." Her voice was firm, yet there was a sense of liberation in it, as if this were a long-awaited step. "I am finally no longer a Wayne. I go back to being a L/n."

Silence filled the room for a moment, heavy and dense. Alfred clasped his hands, striving to maintain his composure.

"Miss, I can't help but feel a certain unease hearing this. Are you sure this is what you want? This house, though empty in many ways, has always been your home..."

"Home?" Y/n looked at him with a mix of sadness and determination. "This house has never been my home, Alfred. Not like it was for Dick, nor even for Bruce. I have always been a stranger here, the daughter of a woman who never fit into this world, the bastard child. My mother taught me to find my own path, to not cling to what doesn’t belong to me... and being here, being called Wayne, has never belonged to me." Alfred sighed softly, turning his gaze toward the window. He knew there was truth in her words, but that didn’t lessen the pain of her leaving. "I know it’s hard to understand," Y/n continued, "but for the first time in a long time, I feel happy, Alfred. I’ve graduated, college is just around the corner, and I want to start anew. I want to find what truly makes me, me... not what others expect of me."

The old butler remained silent for a few moments, nodding slowly. He knew he couldn't retain her, that it was not his place to interfere in the young woman's dreams. But still, he couldn’t help but feel a pang in his heart at the thought of the house being even emptier without her. "I just wish you find what you’re looking for, Miss. And if you ever need a place to return to... this door will always be open for you."

Y/n stepped closer to him, gently hugging him, something she had rarely done. "Thank you, Alfred," she whispered against his shoulder. "You will always be my family, but I need this. I need to discover who I am outside of this last name."

The old butler felt the lump in his throat as he tightened the embrace a little longer before letting her go. He knew that deep down, she was doing the right thing. But that didn’t make it hurt any less to see her leave.

"Alfred, can you call the movers? I’ll be leaving tonight," Y/n said as she closed the last box with trembling hands, her gaze lost in the empty corners of the room she once considered her refuge. The butler, ever serene, nodded with his unwavering calmness.

"Don't worry, Miss, I assure you they will be here on time." His voice was soft, almost an echo of the ancient walls of the mansion, as if he himself were part of that structure that had seen so many comings and goings, so many lives broken and healed in silence.

Alfred turned halfway to leave, but Y/n's voice stopped him, broken yet sweet, like a melody at sunset. "Alfred..."

The man turned slowly, his eyes filled with paternal warmth, though always contained behind a formal gesture. "Yes, Miss?" he replied, with that tranquility that had always brought Y/n peace in her worst moments.

She took a breath, feeling how the words she had kept for so long fought to come out, to break the shell she had built since childhood. "I’ve never told you, but... thank you. Thank you for being the father I never had, for being there when no one else was."

For a moment, the silence in the room was heavier than all the accumulated boxes, deeper than any word. Alfred, who had been a witness to so many confessions and secrets in that house, stood still, his eyes shining with an emotion he rarely showed. "Miss," he murmured, his voice slightly choked, "it was an honor and a privilege to take care of you. If I ever gave you anything close to what you deserved, then my life has had true purpose."

Y/n smiled sadly, nodding slowly. "You did, Alfred. You did. And for that, I will always carry you with me, even if I leave here."

The butler slightly bowed his head in respect, swallowing any emotion that might betray his composure. "Wherever you go, you will always have a home here, Miss."

"I know," she said, though in her heart, she knew she wouldn’t return.

And as Alfred left the room to make the call, Y/n let out a long sigh, as if with it, she were leaving behind a part of herself, a part she could no longer carry with her.

Life in Gotham is like constantly walking on the edge of a razor blade. The city never sleeps, always alert, always dangerous, and for someone with the Wayne surname, the risks multiply. It has been a year since you left the mansion, trying to erase any ties that bound you to that life, desperately wishing the name would fade into the echo of the dirty streets and crumbling buildings. But it's not that easy. The name Wayne remains an indelible mark that the media and the people of Gotham refuse to let fade. The forgotten child, the silent accident of billionaire Bruce Wayne. And although you try to live as if you don’t exist under that shadow, the weight of the legacy haunts you.

You left with little, barely enough money to rent a small apartment in one of the worst corners of the city. You share the space with a friend, a plant-loving girl who has filled every nook of the place with leaves and pots, as if trying to make green defy the constant darkness of Gotham. You get along well with her; her love for nature is almost an antithesis to the chaos of the city, and she has taught you that even in the hardest concrete, something can bloom. She always accompanied you on the coldest, loneliest nights, giving you a warmth that, although ethereal, was very welcome. But still, life is not easy. You barely survive, spending the little you have on cheap food and paying the rent. There are days when the cold seeps through the poorly sealed windows, and you wonder if it was really better to be in the mansion instead of this little trench. However, you prefer this rough freedom to the soulless luxury of Wayne Manor.

Freedom, however, comes at a price. It wasn't enough to distance yourself, to change your life, or even to always carry a knife for defense. Gotham does not forget. People recognize you in the shadows, whisper your name, and approach you, sometimes with curiosity and other times with disdain. You have been beaten more than once. Some just for being a Wayne, others because they think they can extort you, even though they have no idea you can barely get by. The scars on your body bear witness to those beatings, but you refuse to give up. You get up every morning, despite the pain, and continue on your way. You don’t need Batman. You don’t need Bruce. You learned long ago that he wouldn't come to save you.

That night, like so many others, you were heading to the subway for your night shift, with the hood of your coat covering your face, trying to go unnoticed. The sound of the tracks echoed in your ears, a constant reminder of the city's hustle. You had gotten used to walking fast, avoiding eye contact, as if each step was a small battle won against the city. But this time, something was different.

"So it was true, the little Wayne girl is roaming the city... how lovely." The raspy, mocking voice rang out beside you, cutting through the heavy air of the train station. The man speaking wore a suit that, at first glance, seemed elegant, but there was something about his extreme thinness, his skin clinging to his bones and his disheveled hair, that made him look more like a specter of Gotham than a distinguished figure. A ghost from the shadows that had stalked you since you set foot on the streets.

If it weren't for his gaunt appearance and unsettling aura, you might have mistaken him for one of your father's employees. "I'm not a Wayne anymore," you said disdainfully, your voice sharp like the edge of a dagger refusing to be touched. "If you want money, I don’t have any. And Mr. Wayne wouldn’t give a cent for me either."

Your gaze drifted to the station clock. 8 minutes until the train that would take you away from this corner of Gotham, far from the shadows and faces that always seemed to recognize you.

The man let out a dry, raspy laugh that sent chills down your spine. "I don’t want your money, pretty girl," he replied, moving closer, invading your space with the same familiarity that Gotham’s filth slipped into every corner. "You’re worth more than that." You felt his calloused, scarred hand rest on your hip, with a pressure that was neither violent nor friendly. The contact filled you with disgust.

7 minutes.

You clenched your fist, your jaw tight as you struggled to maintain your composure. "I don’t want sex either, idiot," you spat, your words loaded with contained fury. Your hand subtly slid toward your bag, where your knife lay, waiting to be used.

6 minutes.

The man didn’t flinch. In fact, he let out a low, mocking laugh. "And I don’t want that either, little girl," he murmured, his cold, deep blue eyes scrutinizing you as if they could read every dark corner of your soul. "I want something more from you."

5 minutes.

"What do you want then?" you asked, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady, even as the ice of fear began to creep down your spine. Your eyes scrutinized him, searching his gaze for any hint of his true intentions, but all you saw was darkness.

4 minutes.

He let out a long, chilling laugh, tightening his grip on your hip. "Do you know what I want, Y/n?"

3 minutes.

His voice dropped, as if his words were a cursed secret the wind refused to carry away. "I want you."

2 minutes.

The world seemed to stop. You knew there was no time to run. There was no time to pull out the knife or to scream. It was as if the clock itself had conspired against you, reducing those last minutes to mere seconds.

1 minute.

The blow was sharp, a flash of excruciating pain at the back of your head. The cold metal of the station, the hum of the city, everything faded abruptly. The last thought that crossed your mind, before the world vanished into darkness, was that this time, you didn’t expect Batman to save you. It wasn’t a mere thief or a street threat that was taking you.

Gotham, with all its cruelty, always had new ways to remind you that there is no escape.

That night, when the Gotham subway stopped at the station, there was no one to pick up.

The mansion felt emptier than ever, like a deserted and cold labyrinth, where each hallway seemed to stretch into an infinite tunnel, devouring the light.

The silence was overwhelming, an oppression that enveloped every corner, as if even the ancient walls had run out of words. It was so heavy that the few who remained in the mansion couldn’t help but move uncomfortably, trying to fill that void with something, anything.

Bruce Wayne walked through those same hallways with a strange feeling, as if something was missing, though he didn’t know what. An unease, a persistent discomfort that he couldn’t shake off.

He had been like this for months, with that absence haunting his mind, a gap he couldn't identify. And then, suddenly, like a gust of icy wind, the truth struck him.

You.

His daughter.

His little daughter.

How long had it been since he last saw you? When was the last time he heard your laughter, the one that always seemed too sarcastic, too filled with resentment? He stopped abruptly, frowning. Why couldn’t he remember you? He couldn’t bring to mind a clear image of your face, not even how you used to look at him... why? How could he have forgotten you like that?

Damn.

It was as if time had stopped. It had been a year, maybe more, since he had really thought about you. He felt a pang of guilt pierce his chest, a heavy, silent guilt that dragged him into the abyss of his own negligence. Not knowing what else to do, he began to check the rooms, one after another.

Each door he opened was another blow to his conscience. Where was your room? The more he searched, the more confused he felt. The mansion was enormous, but how could he have forgotten where you slept? How was it possible that he didn’t know where you lived in the house where both of you grew up? Had you been here all this time?

Each door he opened was identical to the last, as if all the rooms had fused into one.

None showed a trace of you.

None seemed to have a hint of your presence. Didn’t you decorate your room? He thought frantically, didn’t you even mark it as yours? Panic began to take hold of him. Anxiety wrapped around him like a fist tightening on his chest. Were you still living in the mansion? Or had you left without saying a word, like a shadow fading at dawn? But... no, you hadn’t mentioned anything. You hadn’t said you were leaving. Or had you? And if you had, why didn’t he remember? How could he have ignored you for so long that now he didn’t even know if you were still under the same roof?

“Ah!” he exclaimed in a whisper, unable to contain the dread he felt.

Frustration consumed him from within. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, breathing heavily, and the echo of his voice faded into the empty walls. He tried to remember something, anything about you, about the last time they spoke, about how you were... but everything was blurry, as if his mind was betraying him, hiding you behind an impenetrable fog.

How could he have forgotten so much?

He brought his hands to his head, trying to calm himself, but only felt more confusion, more desperation. The mansion, which had once been his home, now felt like a strange and foreign place.

Had you been the one who made it feel like home? The question echoed in his mind, but he had no answer. Just more questions. More uncertainties. Finally, he let his arms fall, exhausted. He had checked almost all the rooms and had found not a trace of you. Not a clue. Not a sign that you had been there. And at that moment, something dark and painful began to settle in his heart.

Had you ever really been there?

Then something caught his attention as he passed by the cleaning room. In a dusty corner, next to a forgotten bag, something was protruding. Something small, old, and faded. He bent down and pulled it from the dirty clothes. It was a stuffed animal, or what was left of one. The faded black of its suit left no doubt. It was a figure of Batman, but worn down by time, battered to the point of looking forgotten.

Bruce's eyes were fixed on the small piece of fabric hanging from the doll's neck. A tag.

Your name.

Your name, handwritten, in ink that was already fading.

Bruce felt a lump in his throat, a mix of guilt and rage. How could he have forgotten something so important?

He clutched the doll tightly, as if doing so would return a piece of you to him, but instead of comfort, he only felt more emptiness. Where were you? He ran to Alfred, who looked at him with a mix of concern and pity.

"Alfred..." Bruce said, his voice breaking. "Where is she? Where is my daughter?"

The butler, with his always serene face, seemed to age suddenly. A long silence settled between them, as if time was fading away. "Mr. Bruce, I didn’t mean to..." Alfred lowered his gaze. "I didn’t want to burden you with that truth, but... it’s time you know."

Bruce felt a chill run down his spine. Truth? What truth?

"She left almost a year ago. She didn’t say where. She just... she took all her belongings, though they weren’t many, and left. She said she didn’t want to be a burden. That you and the other family members had too many things to worry about."

Bruce took a step back, as if the words had physically struck him. Did she have enough age to leave? A burden? Never, not for a second, did he think that of you, of his little daughter who, even though she wasn’t wanted, he embraced under his wing just like Damian.

You were never a burden.

...or were you?

No, he refused to acknowledge it; he just... he hadn’t spent time with you because Gotham needed him!

But when you needed him, where was Batman?

Where was Bruce Wayne when his only biological daughter needed him?

"Alfred, do you know anything about Y/n?" the hero asked, worry clear on his face.

Alfred didn’t look at him; he only stared into nothingness. "...I haven’t heard anything about her for two months...

And honestly... I'm starting to think...

that she might be lost to us forever..."

A/N — This is definitely apart from being my first official Tumblr post, it is also my first DC post and especially the first from the Lord of the Night xD

Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.

Isabel, I dedicate this to you, my love. Eat more to be well, you fucking anorexic, don't suck.

take a bath!

inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams' work, @i-cant-sing's work and @klemen-tine's work, be sure to check them out!

[fanfic-obsessed]

Feral Tim

I have found I have a great love for Feral Tim Drake. This is a Tim Drake who has built his own moral code in an echoing, empty house and tracking vigilantes across rooftops. First it should be noted that Tim’s loyalty is tied closer to Robin than it is to Batman.  That his motivation for blackmailing Bruce to become Robin was more toward saving Robin’s Dad and Robin’s legacy than saving Batman. 

Little Tim Drake is Obsessively, Desperately, Dangerously protective of the Robin legacy and his predecessor Robins, particularly Robin #2 Jason Todd.  It becomes well known in Gotham, really quickly that it is not a good idea to insult Robin while Robin #3 is around.  

As always, I have no idea what is cannon here.

Like, if you insult Robin #3 to his face, you will get a laugh and an agreement-He will still stop you from your crimes but you won’t end up extra hurt. If you insult Robin in general, Robin #3 will be more aggressive in taking you down and you will get some extra bruises. If you insult Robin #1, you can expect at least one additional broken bone, which bone depends on the insult. However if you insult Robin #2, Robin #3 will bite and he will bite to the bone; you will be mauled and chances are Batman will have to pull Robin #3 off you. 

Count of Bites, before all of Gotham got the point: 4 low level criminals, 3 civilians (all of which were drunk, belligerent, and woke up the next day confused about their injuries), no less than 16 assorted Goons, and The Penguin. 

I want you to take a moment to picture Batman, who got a bit less violent after getting Robin #3 but got substantially less violent because he had to be a tired dad prying his little gremlin’s jaws off The Penguin. Everyone is distinctly uncomfortable with Batman apologizing to The Penguin. 

So Gothamites, no matter the type, learned that one does not insult Robin #2 ever. In fact avoid insulting Robins, unless you are specific enough to be insulting Robin #3 (Though they would not have cause to know for several more years, this protectiveness extended to both Robin #4, the girl Robin, and Robin # 5, the Stabby Robin). Batman gets less violent by virtue of now chasing after a child with negative fear responses (Seriously, Scarecrow once dosed him with his latest fear gas and Robin #3 did not even appear to notice). Gotham, as a whole (Goons, Civilians, all of the other Rogues, other vigilantes) and without consulting each other, decides that Robin #3 and The Joker cannot ever meet. There is a herculean, sustained effort by all of the Rogues and Goons to keep the Joker distracted until Batman can send Robin away whenever the Joker breaks out. Consensus is that no one quite knows which will come out victorious, but there would be substantial damage. Also, Robin would end up biting the Joker and no one is sure what the Joker’s blood would do to him.

We fast forward to Red Hood taking over Crime Alley. He does not notice but the first time he ranted about Robin every one of his subordinates, plus the three Black Mask Goons in the room, flinches. They all relax when it becomes clear that the Robin Red Hood takes offense to is Robin #3.   No one quite knows how to tell Red Hood that, for his health, he should stop insulting Robins (there had never been any real discussion about it). Black Mask and Ivy, at separate times, try to awkwardly pass on the warning but did not quite get the message across (there really is no way to phrase “The tiny child in the traffic light colors is dangerous and will do you actual damage if you disparage his personal hero, the dead Robin”). 

As soon as it got around that Red Hood hunts Robins, with Robin #3 specifically being a target, Batman does ship him out to Titan Tower at once, but not for the reason that Red Hood thinks.  It is not actually to protect Robin, not really. It’s because Batman has figured out that Red Hood was once Jason, and he knows down to his bones that Tim’s moral compass stays on this side of the killing line because he believes that both Jason and Dick would have a problem with him killing.  If he finds out that Jason, the preferred of the two, is ok with killing, that line goes out the window.  And then Batman is going to need to put Robin on a child leash. 

So Red Hood goes to attack a Robin far from the nest and it starts about how he expected. He got in a few good hits, and his replacement actually does have some decent moves. Then Jason makes a disparaging remark about ‘the Robin that died’ that, had he been allowed to finish his sentence, would have circled back around to insulting Tim. However he was not allowed to finish his sentence because instead of fighting on human teen, he was suddenly fighting some kind of demon (metaphorically), who in between mauling him (and how the fuck is this kid biting through kevlar, Jason would like to know) is screaming about how Red Hood was not allowed to talk about Tim’s Robin like that. 

For a few moments Red Hood gets to realize Robin is not locked in with him, he is locked in with Robin.  Then one of Robin’s attacks pulls off the helmet (no bombs at this time, thankfully). As soon as Tim sees Jason’s face he stops attacking and hugs him tightly, babbling about how good it is to see him alive and apologizing for attacking him as Tim thought it was just some villain being disrespectful.  Tim pulls him through to the med bay to treat his injuries. 

While Jason is being treated, and they wait for the lockdown to lift, Jason is struck by the realization that if he even implied he wanted it, Tim would go try to collect the Joker’s head for him.  This is quickly followed by the terrifying realization that Jason is 45% of this child’s moral compass (With Dick being about 30% with the remaining 25% being all Tim). 

The Pit Rage is practically running from this level of crazy. 

Jason finds himself escorting Tim back to the Cave, with Jason low key panicking.  While there is some sympathy in the form of Dick, it turns out that Dick and Tim have a similar way of thinking (except where Tim imprinted on the two Robins, Dick imprinted on Bruce and Alfred) and the same recklessness. It’s Bruce that Jason finds himself bonding with (Is Jason weirded out by the fact that, of his siblings, Jason-with his supernaturally enhanced anger and the bag of heads- is the most stable? Yes, Yes it does) as he desperately tries to keep Tim from doing damage (both physical and psychic) other people.

[roscolate]

I’m gonna be freakin’ sick 😨😨😨😭😭

TW: Eyestrain / Blood / Choking / Strangling / Torture / Amputation

OP’s Message: I am so sorry for those sensitive to this

ACT 1

ACT 2 - 1 <<< 38 / 39 / ???

Did I say knock your socks off? More like feet xDDD. And right on time for October too! I apologize for this being too intense for some, but I promise that’s the last of KP’s torture.

Anyone like the sadistic Koopa tho? Hehehe.

[glitter-stained]

I think the Jason that gets isekaied into the Adam West show keeps a diary that documents the development of his mental health

"dear diary. Today Weird Dick asked me if I wanted to wear his Robin suit for a Halloween costume party while we were distracting the villains and I burst in tears."

"dear diary. The bats of this universe have this strange meta power where they just say things by association of ideas and that makes them true. They just call it "deductive abilities" and I don't think they've realised yet. Last time I framed a conversation about the zoo with Barbara to get her to the conclusion that Scarecrow and Penguin had teamed up and it just happened. I worry how this is going to affect the multiverse."

"dear diary. Today I killed the joker."

"dear diary. Today I killed the joker."

"dear diary. There's something seriously wrong with this universe."

"dear diary. Today I tried to jump in front of a nuke but bruce jumped in front of me and then a dolphin jumped in front of bruce and the dolphin's death neutralised the nuke. I fear I must resign myself to the ways of this world."

"dear diary. Today Weird!Bruce told me he was proud of me."

"no seriously wtf is going on with Selina?"

"dear diary. Today the bats broke into this universe with a portal and told me to get back home. I said no. Weird! Dick told Normal! Dick an insult so lame Normal!Dick popped a vessel. Weird!Bruce sent an "itchy powder bang grenade" at Normal!Bruce to get him to leave. It was nice."