#Vigilante!Reaper

[solusminds]

@thelunarsystemwrites

Vigilante!Reaper [Neutral Evil]

Based on Ravens.

His design may be revised later, and more stuff may be added to his lore.

So do expect this to be edited later on

Reaper isn't really a hero or villain. He's a vigilante, a double-edged sword, if you will. He follows his own set of rules. He is more aligned with heroes most times, but he does help villains. His alliances are purely for his gain and to push his personal goal forward, whatever it takes to reach that. He has a strong dislike for those in power, especially when they abuse that power. He takes justice into his own hands, punishing those who are corrupt in power. He is not afraid to get his hands dirty. He's killed before and will do it again if he has to.

Reaper wears a black body suit and a black cape. The little cape pin with the rope is in the shape of a bird skull. The shadow over his eyes stays even if his hood isn't up. This shadow is gone when he's just a normal civilian. His cape is used as a cloak to mimic the grim reaper, wanting to intimidate his targets. He feels no remorse for his targets. He could care less about them.

He rarely speaks when he's out as a vigilante, sometimes saying something to whoever he's decided to teamed up with or who his target is. His targets are corrupt people in power, and he'll do anything to deliver justice, ANYTHING. Reaper currently has no stable alliances.

His powers/weapons + weaknesses/limits:

He can levitate, mostly doing it at home or when he's out in as a vigilante. He can get a couple of feet off the ground. Sometimes, he flaps his wings to mimic flying(his wings are too small to actually fly with). He barely uses this outside his house or when he's alone at work. This also applies to objects. He can make them levitate, but he has no control over what it is, and they're usually not very big.

Like original Reaper, he has the death touch, but it's much less powerful. It can kill plants and bugs, sometimes small birds, but never a person, and it's a conscious thing he has to do. He mostly uses this power for intimidation.

His main weapon is a scythe, though it's rather big and heavy, so it weighs him down a bit. This can be exploited to slow him down with sharp corners and small claustrophobic paths/tunnels. The scythe has a raven skull, up by the blade part, with a little lantern that has a light blue flame in it.

Can teleport, but it has a cool down. This cool down is dependent on how far he's teleporting. The farther he goes, the longer the cool down. It also just takes energy for him to do that, so he tries not to teleport often. He can teleport with other beings, but that takes even more energy, so he just doesn't do that.

Now, with Gaster Blasters, he has them, but he doesn't ever use them. He never summons any that are big, but rather, making them small and only using them to fetch things for him at work or home, they take energy to make, like all of his magic does.

Phobias & Disorders:

Reaper is an insomniac, so he is extremely exhausted. This intern will slow his movements and make him less vigilant, meaning his hunts for his targets can stretch on longer than he'd like. He ends up really tired and sleepy.

He has emetophobia(fear of throwing up), Trypanophobia(fear of needles), Nosocomephobia(fear of hospitals), Tomophobia(fear of medical procedures/surgery), and Atychiphobia(fear of failure). Reaper can deal with his fears most of the time as he's rarely in those situations, but he avoids hospitals like the plague.

Traits, Habits, and Other Random Things:

Remorseless to targets: He has no remorse for his targets. Killing isn't his main goal, but he will do it and won't feel bad about it if it happens. He doesn't care how scared his targets are. If anything, he likes it.

Lying: He isn't one to shy away from lying. He will usually lie to get information he wants. While the feelings of others aren't something he'd normally take into consideration, if he's close to someone or actually likes someone and knows something that'd hurt them, he'd lie to protect their feelings.

Flirty: Reaper is a bit of a flirt. He usually keeps his cool as he is almost never into who he's flirting with or being flirted at. It's all for manipulation. But stars forbid he's into who he's flirting with. He immediately becomes an incoherent idiot who forgot the pickup line and ability to flirt, but he still tries to be confident. (Ex: Starts pick-up line, tries to lean on the wall, misses wall and falls face first onto floor, turns and does finger gun, forgets rest of pick-up line)

Collector: He has small collections for random things, all organized in a very certain way. He has a small bone collection, sticker collection, and a collection for books he has in his living room. He likes everything to be clean and organized. Everything has a place to be.

Reaper talks to himself all the time, especially at work, sometimes even to the bodies he's dealing with, saying what's on his mind or acting like him and the body are having a whole conversation together. Another thing he'll do is tap/drum his fingers on something to the tune of a song he's listening to or thinking of at that time, or it's one he just made up.

He calls his home his "realm," so sometimes he'll use the excuse of "I'm tending to my realm" not to call/text someone. He forgets not everyone knows what he's referring to, so sometimes when he says, "Welp, time to head back to my realm," he'll get weird looks. He also will sometimes refer to other living beings as "souls."

Civilian Life & Past:

Reaper is a young adult and is bisexual. He had found out when he was 15 years old, suddenly so much made sense to him.

In his civilian life, Reaper lives in an apartment on the 2nd floor. He works as a mortician/undertaker, sometimes volunteering for the graveyard shift at a cemetery nearby where he lives and works. When he's not at work or home, he'll spend his time at a café, coffee is his addiction. In his civilian identity, his eyesockets are dead empty with eyebags. He usually wears a hoodie with sweatpants. He has black raven wings on his back, the wings aren't that big, they're actually pretty small, but he does make sure that they're well taken care of. He is currently trying to gain the trust of a cat that lives in the alleyway of his apartment complex. He wants to adopt her, he's named her "Eve" and already has stuff bought for her.

His social life is currently pretty empty. He doesn't really like people all that much. He was often excluded from things when he was younger, which probably influenced his introverted tendencies. He is still in contact with his brother and father. He lives in a different city, so he barely sees them, but he considers them to be the people closest to him and always thinks of them fondly. Another he has contact with is a woman he refers to as "Lady Life" or "Tori", she calls him "Mister Death" since he calls her Lady Life. He met her a few years back and has kept in contact with her, he doesn't live too far from her and sometimes visits her garden, he enjoys her company and she tells him about the plants she tending to. He has a book on plants so he can know more and talk about them to her. Tori also gossips with him. She's the one mainly gossiping, Reaper has no idea who any of the people she's talking about are, but he's always interested in it, especially with what's going between her and her ex-husband. He has met her kids on a few occasions, but they just know him as "Mom's friend."

When he was younger, his father was barely home. His dad was always out working as a scientist for terrible pay. His employers exploited him for more work with less pay and threatened to fire him if he tried to go against it. He had blackmail over him that stressed him out so much. Most of Reaper's memories regarding his father were of him standing in the doorway of his father's study, staring at his father, who was sitting at the desk trying to figure out how to get the blackmailer to stop and hopefully improve life for his two kids. He always wondered how this happened and why nobody did anything. The police were informed but threw the case out almost immediately. Reaper was so upset about it. Why was this happening? Reaper didn't understand. When he got older, he eventually found out the full extent of what, and that was what paved his path to becoming a vigilante.

In school, he was often alienated by his classmates. He never really understood why, and they never had a good answer. He did try to make friends but almost always failed miserably. He gave up after a while when it stopped working. He started to focus on his work rather than making any friends.

Relationships( so far):

RT!Gaster -> Father

RT!Papyrus -> Brother

RT!Toriel( aka Tori/Lady Life) -> (Best?)Friend

RT!Frisk, Chara, & Asriel -> Tori's kids(<- his view of them) / Mom's friend(<- their view of him)

[the-whispers-of-death]

grim reaper!reader and grim reaper!stone should make out sloppy style. i mean what? who said that. no it doesnt matter how different their name origins are /lh

((also yay,,, im back methinks))

They are both morally gray, so they'd get along methinks. Grim Reaper!Stone, go make out with Grim Reaper!Reader.

Officially, there's now like four people with the callsign/codename Grim Reaper, which is funny to me. So there's Grim Reaper (Bharat's old callsign), Grim Reaper (Grim Reaper!Stone), Grim Reaper (one of Death's nicknames), and Grim Reaper (Vigilante!Reader's vigilante name).

I have a lot of love for the callsign Grim Reaper apparently.

[redtutel]

My Take on a crossover fighting game roster for Jump+ Manga

[anderwhohn]

@smokedanced asked: [ hostage ] in a police standoff, my muse holds your muse hostage. +reverse, izzy "holding garrus hostage" (as per garrus's idea, they're pretending) to flee the citadel in crime!izzy c-sec!garrus verse

Shit! Shit shit shit shit FUCK!!

This, Isabela thinks to herself as she unlocks her weapons locker, casting a wary glance at the C-Sec officer who's been hounding her for months, having only recently chased her through the Wards trying to arrest her, not quite trusting his sudden change of heart when he suggests she take him hostage, is absolutely insane, on both his and her part.

Because he's not just some patrol officer. She's looked into him - he's a fucking detective, and the son of one of C-Sec's best investigators, though his father has since retired and returned to Palaven. She has no way of being sure of his motives, but right now, she has to get out of here, and he isn't necessarily wrong...

He is her best chance of getting out. Whether or not she can get out alive, on the other hand, is a completely different matter. And she certainly doesn't trust that he won't just arrest her himself once they've escaped the scene.

"This is a horrible idea," she notes, turning her focus on the stash inside the locker, grabbing her M-5 Phalanx, M-11 Suppressor, and M-12 Locust, arming herself before grabbing several flashbang grenades, just in case she gets cornered. Because even if Vakarian is temporarily on her side, it's not like C-Sec is likely to try to take him out with lethal force.

"Not to mention excessive," she grumbles as she makes sure to keep as many objects between herself and the apartment windows as possible - even with the custom reinforced glass, she doesn't trust C-Sec not to be setting up snipers, though at least their best sniper happens to be trapped in the apartment with her.

Looking back at the turian, she sighs, "You've dug into my case - you know how I operate. I didn't kill anyone, because if I had, I sure as hell wouldn't have left a fucking breadcrumb trail straight to my hideout." She won't say she wouldn't kill anyone - she's not in the habit of doing so, but sometimes it's unavoidable. This time, however, she can truthfully claim innocence in that much, at least. "Someone's paying C-Sec for this raid... and I think I might know who..."

[msunitedstatesjames]

The ME3 Citadel DLC really has everything:

-An evil clone

-Commander Shepard and Javik battling for top billing with Blasto the hanar in a war propaganda film

-An anime style zoom in on the eyes of Traynor and her greatest rival over a match of space chess

-A scene where you have to manually press whatever buttons your system requires 183 times to beat James in a pull up competition

-A scene where the gang is trapped in a vault with limited air, while Shepard complains about the fact that no one told them how cheesy they sound when they talk

-Shepard forcing a hardened mercenary/bounty hunter to say 'please' when he asks for more change to beat the claw game in an arcade

-Shepard almost being assassinated in a sushi resturant, then being ceaselessly derided for falling through a fish tank in their escape attempt and getting everyone's favorite restuarant closed

-Potentially a sexy tango dance scene with a merc-killing vigilante turian

-The chance to rebelliously stick your hands under a decorative waterfall so many times that a staff member is like, 'fine, do what you want, but just so you know this waterfall is a hanar urinal'

-Shepard learning to play piano

-Shepard Accusing Kaiden of poisoning them Canada style

-A toothbrush that prevents a hijacking attempt

-Watching some good old fashioned telepathic sports and cracking open a cold one with the boys while the galaxy is in a shambles

-Wrex complaing that he's been having so much sex he's too exhausted to fight the Reapers

-Playing fetch with a skillet and a Varren

-Just two space divas drinking wine and talking about shoes

-"It's joking time."

Unironically, this is truly Bioware's finest work.

[that-wildwolf]

I still am and will continue to be a little bit messed up about how Garrus, self proclaimed bad boy and vigilante, super capable special ops soldier, best sniper in the galaxy, played his biggest part in the Reaper War not on the front lines but away from any combat. I will never be normal about this. In ME3, no one else checks up on Shepard like he does. Romance or not, Garrus tells Shepard to get some sleep, asks her how she's doing, lets her air out her doubts and insecurities to him... Like I am not joking I am fully serious, Garrus pretty much singlehandedly won the Reaper War. I'm sure she would have broken down if it weren't for that support. Do you think she would have made it otherwise? Do you think she would have had the strength to go on, to win? I'm so so obsessed with this. Mr action hero over there quite literally won that war with the power of love. Not with a gun but with some compassion for a person he loved. Can not will not be normal.

And what messes me up even more is he would absolutely not recognise his part in that victory. Like she won is all that matters. It was her victory. I'm sure it never even occurred to him that no one else checked up on her, it never occurred to him that he was the only thread she was hanging on. Because he loves her, she's his best friend, so of course he's gonna check up on her. He doesn't see this as anything special. It just makes sense for him. I really do think she could tell him outright "hey Garrus actually you're the only reason we won at all" and his brain would not connect that a non-combat thing equals war victory. I'm always and forever going to be a little bit insane about this.

[zeroslashsix]

The “Shepard Effect” has gotten so much funnier to me as I replay Mass Effect. The thing where all Shep’s squadmates end up flying the nest and becoming big important players in their own spheres? Like the random mercenary Shep brought along to hunt Saren ended up leading his entire species, that random Quarian kiddo on her Pilgrimage ends up as her species ambassador, the Virmire survivor becomes the next human Specter, etc. It’s the effect Shepard just has on the people around them that launches their careers/destinies... except it doesn’t apply to Shepard themself. I get the marketing plan of “Commander Shepard” being the only title so they’re more recognizeable to a gamer audience, but from a military perspective it is so fucking funny that Commander Shepard doesn’t get promoted once. Like not even posthumously, not even after saving the Citadel and killing Reapers left and right, all the while their squadmates are jumping from lieutenant to major, kid to ambassador, professor to Shadow Broker. Garrus isn’t even attached to any government body, and he still goes from C-Sec officer to Omega vigilante to Reaper expert(?) in the turian Hierarchy. It’s unclear what his official position is in the third game, but we know he gets a salute from a Hierarchy general.

And here’s Shepard cruising through, still a Commander because obviously they haven’t done a single thing worthy of promotion since the first game. No, it’s fine, they’ll fix everything for you and keep killing Reapers left and right. Died in the line of duty? Just a normal tuesday for Commander Shepard, nothing noteworthy here. Yes they will be the commanding officer of a major, there is nothing strange about this rank structure. 

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

In a way this was the best outcome.

Timothy Drake was always meant to die.

He cheated the reaper when he was nine knife at his throat chasing around vigilantes who wouldn't have ever known him as anything other than a statistic.

He survived past fifteen which for any boy who wears those bright colors knows is an achievement.

Luck is what they will say.

Bad luck specifically wrong place right time at least in his mind.

Bleeding out with his brothers surrounding him.

A bullet he took before it could reach Damian.

He can see him he looks terrified standing a good two feet away which is an accurate description of them a gap that neither boy could ever seem to close.

Jason lost his mask somewhere he can feel the press of his fingers trying to keep blood in. Demanding it. Hopeing for a miracle. That's Jason Todd.

Holding him Dick's arms wrapped around him whispering

"I have you sweetheart I know it hurts, Dad's coming baby just a little bit longer."

He remembers a poem he found right after Jason died he had wondered if Jason raged fought tooth and nail to keep breathing.

But with all his brothers here his Father on the way he can't think of a better time.

As his breathe slows and he feels his vision fade he doesn't fight.

Lying in his brothers arms Timothy Jackson Drake takes his last breath.

Peacefully falling into the night.

There was no rage only a sense of peace for a tired hero who could finally rest.

[playmiya]

BYS, a MIYA ATSUMU social media au in which you're the editor of the campus newspaper and moonlighting as a vigilante, only second to tokyo's very own spider-man. when a crimewave hits shinjuku, you're given the perfect opportunity to uncover the mystery of his identity to finally establish yourself as a journalist, but will his unmasking his identity come at the cost of your own?

pairing: spider-man!miya atsumu x vigilante!fem reader. updates (almost) daily! warnings: plot-required violence, drinking, unsanitary jokes and cursing content: slowburn, crack, the dates and math do not add up, minimal angst, mutual pining, college setting, everyone's playing volleyball & fluff

playlist: bys by keshi, say by keshi, the reaper by keshi, home is far away by epik high, love story by epik high and iu, summer's over interlude by majid jordan, pick up the phone by young thug and travis scott, love love love by epik high & gen z luv by central cee

index profiles: shinjuku sufferers / am i the asshole? / the lore entities chapter one: the best idea of kenma's lifetime chapter two: when ur whole crew doesn't know a damn thing chapter three: the attack of explosive diahhrea chapter four: +1000 aura for [name] chapter five: fascinated by gambling chapter six: suna has strep chapter seven: a spidey sense for romance chapter eight: i just get so passionate about feminism chapter nine: z-tier bitch chapter ten: the big book of roblox chapter eleven: we’ll fuck chapter twelve: tha greatest moron of our life and times chapter thirteen: #humbleking chapter fourteen: it couple chapter fifteen: the talk & more, COMING SOON

extras moodboards: [name] | atsumu send an ask to be added to the taglist

taglist: @diorzs @egoistars @she-lovesmyheartshapedsunglasses @dailyakira @giocriedpower @southernfrogprincesd @iiwaijime @punkhazardlaw @dazqa @gsyche @loverlunaire @milesmoralesluvs @thiisisntlovely @kuroppiii @ihatetakumi @sillygooseymood @writing-for-the-hell-of-it

[solusminds]

Vigilante Reaper <3

He eepy

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 4 - Nightmares Too

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

“You wanna get out from under there?”

What sort of question is that? Of course, you don’t. You’re going to live here now. You’re never leaving this tiny, cramped space till you rot away and die. The stained underside of some IKEA desk was your new home.

Well, since your actual home was seeming less and less like an option. Which kinda sucks, because you’re feeling surprisingly possessive of your stuff. You don’t want fancy dresses or bubbly champagne, you want your ratty couch and the neighbour’s cat that liked to visit in the middle of the night. Your mother was right, you were the type of person to never be happy no matter what. You could appreciate the food, though.

Shaking, trembling, knees clutched to your chest, you look up. Slowly, because you’ll probably piss yourself if you don’t.

Now that you weren’t holding his hand, the vigilante known as Red Hood was much, much scarier. He was sitting on the carpeted floor with you, but he still somehow looked incredibly menacing. You preferred his old look, honestly. The helmet had less ‘grim reaper’ vibes. The hood and metal face mask made him seem like a cyborg assassin, or something equally terrifying. He was terrifying.

Still, you could appreciate the insane sort of hilarity of this situation. The notorious crime fighter and crime committer was sitting here with you, crossed legs, twiddling his thumbs away. You press your face into your hands, laugh, and then scream. The sound is muffled, but he probably still hears the exciting new phase of your breakdown.

“Don’t…” your voice cuts off, you have to think before you can manage to speak again, “Don’t you have something better to be doing?”

His giant shoulders shrug.

“I’ve got time.”

Did he? You don’t know how long you’d been up here, how long you’d been sitting here either. You’d fallen asleep, despite your desperate fight not to, so it could be anywhere between 10 to the next day. Had you missed midnight? God, you hoped not.

That stupid little ritual is what convinces you to leave. Not common sense, not the Hood, not your desperate desire to get home and sleep. No, it’s the image of your mother’s tired smile, the city in the background as you wish her another happy birthday after a long day of work. It’s a memory you’re not willing to give up, even if you technically already made your wish.

You’d lived this awful day twice. You got to blow out your candles twice, too.

Slowly, surely, you climb out from under the desk. Red Hood is quiet, careful. He doesn’t move apart from a subtle shift in his hood, suggesting he’s watching you. He’s acting like you’re a wild animal or something, like he might scare you off, or might prompt you to attack.

If he tries anything, you will. It doesn’t matter that he could snap your neck like a twig. Maybe he’s right to act that way, you’re feeling pretty feral right now. Half giving him your back, you turn the monitor for the computer on. It’s Wayne property, so you think you technically have some right to it. It’s not like you’re going to hack it or anything, you just need it to-

11:48.

“Thank god,” you sigh, relieved. Still, you’re not out of the woods yet. You needed at least a lighter, hopefully, a candle and a desert of some kind too. There were lots of cakes downstairs, if you felt you could do it. Big ‘if’ there. The mental breakdown was still well underway. And not everyone could dodge a punch like Red Hood could. Knowing you, you’d probably get sued for millions if you accidentally snapped at some poor rando.

Let’s start small. You wrench open the office’s drawer and start rooting around. You find lots of things, a Wayne Enterprises-themed stress toy, a kid’s drawing of them and their parent holding hands, and a surprising amount of hand cream, but no lighter. You slam the drawer closed and move to the next one.

“Hey, what are you doing?” his voice rumbles out, and your head snaps around.

You look down. Right. This is probably illegal. You were rooting through someone else’s private property. Of course, it wasn’t the first time you’d done something like this, but it was definitely the first time you’d done it in plain view of a vigilante.

Crap. You hadn’t thought. That was your entire night, summarised.

“Uh, this is… Do you have a lighter?” you ask, wincing. You don’t really like the mask he’s wearing. Apart from being so intimidating, you’re shaking like a wet chihuahua, it’s also impossible to tell what he’s thinking through it. The domino mask, the metal face mask and the voice changer completely hid any emotion. Full coverage and all.

The helmet probably would’ve made that even harder. You’d still prefer it. This guy's creepy.

“You smoke?” he responds, slowly but surely getting to his feet. You back up quickly, pressing yourself to the wall of the cubicle. Red Hood pauses and then moves even slower. He’s careful not to frighten you any more than already.

This was all really strange. One of the strangest things that had ever happened to you. And you might’ve woken up this morning in an alternate dimension. Or something, you had zero clue what was going on. God, you really wished you’d paid more attention in science class. You’d thought Mr Gregory was crazy, but he’d gotten the last laugh.

“I don’t,” you clench your sweaty fists tight, “Maybe I should.”

“Don’t get started, it’s impossible to stop,” Red Hood says, digging into his pocket for something. You freeze, but relax again when he hands you a scuffed metal lighter.

Holding it close to your chest, you whisper a thank you to him. He nods his head in acknowledgement.

This was really weird. You couldn’t say it enough.

“I hate you,” you state because you sort of have to. Even when he’s being nice to you, helping you. It’s an obligation. You have to make sure that despite the show of good faith he was offering, you were certainly feeling no such thing.

“I figured,” he replies, which like- What the fuck? Does this make absolutely zero sense to anybody else? You’re not sure what about your panic-stricken tears and desperate hand-holding made you seem hateful, but you could work with it.

Maybe all the feelings you push down are starting to show. You ignore how worried that makes you because you’ve had enough for today. Today was more than e-fucking-nough.

You were going to find a cake and a candle, and you were going to make your wish. Again, because life sucks. You were going to finish this horrible day again because life sucks. And hopefully, you’d wake up tomorrow… tomorrow, not today.

You weren’t sure if you would. Life sucks, right?

You look the Red Hood in his creepy glowing red eyes and say, “I think I’m losing my fucking mind.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, I don’t think it is.”

There’s quiet between you two for a moment. You think he’s staring at you, trying to figure you out. He knows you hate him, but you’re… well, you’re too tired to be angry right now. You just want to go to sleep. You just want this damn day to end. Tomorrow you’d go back to hating all the vigilantes of Gotham with a fiery passion, but today…

Well, you wouldn’t call it peaceful, whatever this situation is. Maybe it’s understanding. He seems understanding, for some reason. You don’t really want to think about that.

You just wanted to hate him. It was easier that way. Then you didn’t have to hate yourself so much.

“I’m going to go find some cake and a candle. It’s my birthday and I haven’t made a wish.”

Red Hood nods, “I could eat.”

That wasn’t an invitation, but whatever. Guess you’re blowing out your candles for your twenty-first with… this guy. Better than yesterday, which was with nobody but yourself and your trashy TV. Or, well, the first today.

You really think you are losing your mind. Whatever, whatever, let’s worry about it later.

After one of the most awkward and uncomfortable elevator rides of your life, squished into a corner as Red Hood took up the lion’s share of space, you find yourself back on the first floor. It’s chaos. The gorgeously decorated gala is now in rubble, and people are rushing around with the sort of fear you’d expect after the fucking Joker showed up.

He wasn’t here, which was good. It was important to focus on the good.

First responders flit around the space, checking the people who seem worse for wear and the rich bastards who think they’re more important than the service workers who are cut or bruised. All the food tables have been knocked over, the waste of it making you upset. Of course the Joker wastes food, he’s gotta be the evilest man on earth or something. It’s not just the interior that’s been destroyed, either. The giant gothic windows have been shattered inward, and broken glass covers the entire floor space. Red and blue lights flash through the gaping holes, bits of glass still attached to the stone sending it cascading across the walls.

You look down. You’re missing your shoes.

“You can’t walk on that,” Big Red says, which like, duh.

“I know that,” you mutter, looking around for another way. Ah, good, there’s a staff entrance over there, which you think probably leads to the kitchen-

“I could carry you.”

You give him a disturbed look and he shrugs. Pointing to the ‘staff only’ door, you wish you had the strength to tell the guy to fuck off. He feels like a babysitter or something.

“I’m going in there.” ‘Please don’t follow me.’

He follows you, because of course, he does.

Lucky for you, the staff entrance leads straight to the kitchen. Even luckier, there’s absolutely nobody here to witness you lose your mind. There are also lots of dishes waiting to be served, already plated and perfect. This is a professional kitchen, but it was your birthday so you have to assume they’d have had candles or a cake prepared.

You walk through the giant kitchen, and Red Hood hangs back. He leans against the doorway, crossing his tree-tunk-esque arms and glowering. Nowhere can do a scary hero like Gotham can. He was really messing with your vibe, which wasn’t all that great in the first place.

Your eyes rove over the platters, head snapping back when you spot a tiny set of confectionaries at the back. Cupcakes, three in total. They don’t match the rest of the other high-quality foods, but you know they’re the ones you want anyway. You hope this didn’t belong to someone else, and promise to pay them back… somehow. You’d write a note or something, leave your number behind.

You were rich now. You’d have preferred the lottery instead of all this. What’s the saying, ‘beggars can’t be choosers?’ You’d certainly been begging.

It’s a struggle to reach the back of the counter without knocking any of the other food. You grab the plate, lift it up and over, and then set it back down on an empty stretch of countertop.

You look over the three cupcakes, trying to pick one. There’s one that’s a dark raspberry pink. A pink that’s a little too dark, actually. Almost… reddish. You glance over your shoulder at the devil lurking behind you, wince, and decide you’re going for the blue cupcake. You think this might’ve also been one of Sam’s favourite colours. It would’ve been at some point, at least.

Now, candles. This might be the hard part, but it’s the most important one. Again you start rooting through some stranger’s property, and Red Hood just watches silently. It’s weird. This whole situation is weird. You’re tired and confused and you’re half convinced you’re dreaming it all, but… but you’re definitely starting to think this might be real.

And that’s fucking scary. So, back to candle hunting. They had to have some, it was your birthday. Maybe, you were pretty sure. Somehow the worst day of the year had happened twice because God knows you had some shit luck. You’d really like some solid answers, instead of just ‘maybe!’. And for some reason, you really didn’t think you’d be getting them anytime soon.

Ah, shoot. You found your candle. It’s one of those giant ‘Happy Birthday’ cake toppers, all loopy and connected words. Your cupcake is way too small, and your candle is way too big. Well, you’re nothing if not resourceful. When you bend the candle, the wax snaps easily under your grip. You’re left with a capital ‘H’ and under that the ‘B’ and little ‘i’ and ‘r’ from the beginning of birthday. Good enough, you suppose.

You stick the crumbly, glittery monstrosity on top of the stolen cupcake, and swipe the lighter again. The letters sag to the side, and you nudge them back into balance.

You glance down at the ovens, reading the bright neon numbers. 11:57.

You wait, flicking the lighter open and closed. The metallic click, the rhythm of the movement, it settles you a bit.

“Why are you waiting?” Red Hood pipes up, breaking that comfortable silence. At least he doesn’t come any closer, still lingering half in the room, half not.

“It has to be midnight,” you answer, wishing him away. This is your thing. You didn’t want anybody here for it, didn’t want anybody else’s presence tainting this piece of your mother’s memory. You were greedy for it, not eager to share.

You were sharing today. There’s a part of you that wants to scream and rant at the man who for some unknown reason simply will not leave, but you imagine your mother’s frowning face, and you can’t do it. She’s the angel on your shoulder (nagging, nagging, nagging) compared to your usual devil-inclined self. She was always insisting you needed to be a better host, be nicer to people. Maybe make more friends. And after she’d gone, you’d tried, you really, really had.

But Red Hood was an altogether different matter. Everything they were, everything they represented, was an altogether different matter.

You were obsessed with the Waynes. And in a different, more bitter, spiteful, malicious way, you were obsessed with the Bats, too.

You weren’t going to be friends with Red Hood. You hated him, despised him. Mum always said you needed to get better at forgiving people. You disagreed, but just… maybe just for today, you wouldn’t make him leave.

You could glare at him, though. You felt that was fair enough. He ignores your narrowed eyes like a seasoned professional. Bet he’s had a lot of people hate him. Bet he deserves it.

“It’s 11:59,” he tells you, and you stop glaring at him to light the candle.

The light is weak, barely able to touch you. Still, it’s strong enough to get rid of those tiny glimpses of red and blue police lights, to keep away the darkness for just long enough. You sigh into the light, absorbing it into yourself. You’d always thought the world was too dark, and you hated winter when you’d lose the sun. So like you had to hate the dark, you had to love this light. This tiny little candle, burning away.

“What’re you gonna wish for?”

You stare at the flickering flame. It twitches back and forth. Casts light into the kitchen. Mesmerises you. It’s barely alive, and you’re about to put it out before it can even start. It could’ve been some great fire, some city-destroying blaze. And you’re going to kill it. Kill it before it can kill you, can kill everyone here. Kill it before it could have ever hoped to live, to thrive.

Just a baby. Just a little, little baby.

It doesn’t deserve it. That never seems to matter. It never mattered before.

“The Joker to die.”

You exhale, blowing the light out and sending the kitchen into darkness. When you manage to find the light switch and turn it on, the room is empty. It’s just you, your cake, and your tears. Your hands clench, and then you realise you’re still holding it.

You still have the Red Hood’s lighter. He left without it.

Well, finder’s keepers, right?

-

You’re shaking in the back of the ambulance, the blanket wrapped around your shoulders not enough to keep out the Gotham night’s chill. You don’t really remember how you got here, to be honest. Everything’s pretty goddamn blurry. You were talking to a vigilante, a red one. Not down here, staring up at the Wayne Tower. You remember his face in the shifting candlelight. Did you blow out your candles with him? That was a fucking crazy thought.

And now the Bruce Wayne has a hand on your shoulder. You don’t remember when he arrived. He’s talking with the paramedic, chatting over the top of your head. There words are going in one ear and out the other, it’s alien for as much as you can understand. You want to shake his hand off, you don’t want anyone touching you right now. Especially not a stranger.

Even if it was a guy you had owned a fan Twitter for. Those were the darkest days of your past. Even more so than the time you’d totally thought about jumping in front of the Gotham subway. You’d only not done it because you’d have felt bad for wasting other commuters' time. What were you doing? Ah, right.

In the end, you don’t shove him off, because you don’t know if you can move other than blink. Even that’s against your will. Your eyelashes are fluttering randomly, eyes flicking around the interior of the ambulance. You’re barely conscious. And you doubt you’ll remember any of this later, either. You can feel the memories slipping away, the drain at the back of your mind sucking up the fear and bad thoughts and leaving you blank and empty. Numb, safe, but numb.

The paramedic’s mouth moves. You don’t think she’s talking to you, which is good. You can’t hear her over the ringing in your ears. She does some final checks, and then she’s off to the next person.

The two of you are left to silence, to watch the rest of the world in its chaos. You feel like there’s a barrier, a pane of glass, between you and the other people here. Like your TV screen, really. The paramedic goes to a woman and her son. The woman seems fine, but the son has a long gash on his arm. She’s screaming, he’s crying, and the paramedic is handling it all with calm professionalism. You wanted to start screaming too.

You glance at a man in a suit yelling at another first responder, spittle flying into the air with his rage. You think he’s one of the ones you saw earlier in the ballroom. His suit is still perfect, and he doesn’t have a speck of blood on him. Even his hair is still perfectly brushed and coiled.

You looked like a drowned rat in comparison.

“…Are you alright?” The question breaks the silence, and you slowly turn to look up at Bruce.

Well, that’s the dumbest question you’ve ever heard. You thought Bruce Wayne was supposed to be brilliant. Maybe he’s just feeling bad because of the new trauma he’s gifted you tonight? It wasn’t his fault. As most of your mental health issues stemmed from, it was the Joker’s fault.

“No,” you answer, and he nods stiffly. Great chat.

He huffs out a sound of frustration, lifting the hand on your shoulder. Immediately, some of the tension in you seeps out. You hope he doesn’t notice. You think he probably does.

Someone calls out your name. Your head turns to the crowd. They call out your name again, this time closer, and you call back. You’re sort of surprised when a crying Jeanine pushes out of the throng of people. She’s a mess, her hair out of her pristine bun, her suit missing its jacket, and her glasses cracked. Seems she didn’t have a very nice time either.

You look down. She’s also missing her shoes. It’d be kind of gross, walking around on Gotham’s streets barefoot, if you could manage to give a shit. You’re still restarting, however, and all energy is going towards not crying again. You’re failing. Awfully bad, at that.

Whatever. Gotta try.

Panting, Jeanine places her hands on her knees, “I’m so, so sorry.”

It takes a moment for you to load the words through your Windows XP brain, but when you do, you’re more confused than you were a second ago.

“What? Why are you sorry?” you say, for a second imagining Jeanine as one of the people that attacked you.

“Because you wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t… hadn’t forced you to come…” Jeanine’s voice trails off, a look of horror on her face. Ah, she’s noticed Bruce. Apparently, she’s quite afraid of the man. You feel a sense of camaraderie towards the woman. God knows how many times you’d worn the exact same expression talking to one of your own bosses.

And then, well, then you usually got fired. It’s not looking good for her.

“Mister Wayne! I didn’t see you there, apologies!” she says, straightening her shoulders.

“Jeanine, it’s good to see you. Are you well, have you checked with the paramedics yet?”

“I have, Sir. Thank you for worrying about me,” Jeanine answers, with a healthy dose of hero-worship in her voice. You can’t judge, you’d be staring all starry-eyed at Bruce if you weren’t falling asleep where you sat. Apparently, traumatic experiences make you sleep. Who would’ve thought?

Like you hadn’t experienced this scenario a thousand times before. First time with fucking Bruce Wayne standing right next to you, though.

“Of course, I would. You’re one of my people,” he says, giving her a warm smile. Jeanine physically sags with relief at his words, because it sounds like she’s probably not getting fired tonight.

Bruce gets a notification on his phone, hums, and then slides it back into his pant pocket.

“Jeanine, we’re going back together to the manor tonight,” Bruce continues. Also, you were? Nobody mentioned that to you, and certainly nobody asked you about it. Well, fuck what you want, right? Who cares if you desperately want your cramped apartment in the Narrows, you’re getting shipped off to the fucking Wayne Manor of all places.

You just go along with it. Just go along with it. Wayne Manor probably has lots of nice, plush beds, and you’d kill for a pillow and some ambient rain sounds right now.

Bruce looks off to the side, where Tim is on the phone. They make eye contact, Bruce nods, and then turns back to the two of you.

“I’ll be right back. You two stay here, do not go anywhere,” he commands, king of the castle.

There’s quiet between the two of you. Jeanine squirms under your gaze, obviously guilty. You think back over her words, and then you groan.

“Jeanine. Jeanine, did I not have to go to this fucking party?”

Jeanine is quiet. She’s too fucking quiet.

“Jeanine?” your voice is shaky, and you have to bite the inside of your lip to force yourself not to tear up again. It was getting kind of embarrassing, honestly. You did not cry this much. Usually. This was not a usual day, of course. You’d been Ground Hog Day-ed into another reality… you think.

“No, Ma’am, you didn’t need to go. You’re… you used to be a Wayne, and even if you’ve parted from the name, you still have the power that comes with that. You did not have to come tonight,” she says, sounding remorseful and afraid. And maybe she should be.

If you had as much power as she said, you could probably fire her. You press your hands into your face.

“I thought you said you’d quit if I didn’t go,” you grind out, digging your fingers into your eyes, clawing into your already ruined makeup.

“I was lying, Ma’am. As I always do. I’m sorry,” she apologises. None of this makes any sense, and neither does she. Why would she lie? Why is this normal? What is the new normal, and how are you supposed to hide if you don’t know how to blend in?

You realise that you’re falling into old habits instinctively. That maybe you should say something about all this, or at least that you have some weird form of amnesia. You don’t, though. You’re scared, you’re far too scared.

“Well how- I thought you were serious this time!” you cry out, stuttering over your own lies, flinging your hands from your face. Jeanine winces at you. It’s probably the dried mascara running down your face in black rivulets, making you look like an odd mix between a raccoon and a banshee.

You’d seen your reflection in the ambulance’s side mirror. It had almost been as scary as the Joker’s goons. Almost.

“…Please, please don’t fire me,” she begs, her hands clasped tight in front of her.

You realise you probably should for an admittance like that. This was too complicated, this woman and her non-existent relationship with you was far too complicated. You also realise that whoever ran this stupid body before was very used to Jeanine’s baseless threats, and it wouldn’t be at all fair to her. And she seems quite desperate for this job. Which really doesn’t make much sense, because she seems quite important, and she’s working for you, someone else who seems quite important.

God if you fucking knew. You were quickly discovering you didn’t know shit.

“I won’t, just… just don’t say anything about this to anyone, okay? I’m…” you sigh, uncertain what to do, what to say, “I’m having a hard time.”

“Thank you, thank you so, so, so much. I’ll pay you back, I won’t do it again, I’ll do whatever you ask me to-”

“That’s enough, please. I just… I’d like some quiet,” you cut her off, closing your eyes and shuffling back in the ambulance. You cut yourself off from the rest of the world, hide your head behind your knees, and try to ignore the flashing lights and yelling voices. The ambulance shifts weight slightly as Jeanine sits beside you. She’s not too close to feel uncomfortable, just toeing the line.

Bruce comes back, looking over the two of you. He seems sombre, but you’re not sure why. Is it the entire night? Did something bad happen again? Is it just how miserable the two of you look? You don’t care enough to ask.

You just don’t care.

You tune out of their conversation again, even knowing it might be important. When Jeanine leaves, and Bruce invites you to a black car, you follow silently. He opens the door, and after a moment’s hesitation, you follow him in.

He knocks on the panel separating the two of you from whoever’s driving the car, and like a well-oiled machine, the car pulls out of the traffic and the paparazzi and out onto the street. Must be nice. You bet Jeanine is going to have to walk home.

Ah, wait, you’re one of them now. You’re one of those ‘must be nice’ types. Weird. You kept forgetting, somehow. Even with Gotham’s prince sitting next to you. Weird.

“I want you to stay at the manor for the night,” Bruce says, and you nod, barely listening. You’re barely conscious, far too tired to understand the implications of the words he was saying. If there were any, like you said, you couldn’t tell.

You’re watching the city go by, the light streaming past in a blur of colours. You rest your head in your hand, your elbow on the armrest. Even with you pressing your face to the glass, you can’t see the sky. The buildings stretch too high. And even if you could, it wasn’t like you’d see anything aside from some late-night flights. The Gotham light pollution and the smoke-filled sky would see to that.

Bruce doesn’t say anything else after that. You’re grateful for the quiet.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and maybe in some act of self-harm, try to remember what happened tonight. Try to pick through your thoughts, and understand whatever happened. That man… that horrible man. He disappeared into thin air. Gone, just gone.

And your world had changed. You’d gotten richer, more powerful. And yet, and yet… you knew this feeling. You knew this weakness. You knew what it meant when you looked in the mirror and you saw something barely alive.

You knew what grief looked like.

You want to rip out your own hair and chew off your own skin. It didn’t make any sense, and you felt crazier and crazier by the second. And none of it made sense, and yet, you had the worst feeling. An omen, a dark cloud. Something worse than the Joker, something that made even less sense.

Even in this life, were you alone? That wasn’t fair. That didn’t make any sense. That didn’t make any sense at all.

Your voice is quiet in the car. Her voice is quiet in the car.

“Do you know where my Mum is?” a little girl asks the big, strong man, her tiny body dwarfed by the black leather of the car. She’s out of place, out of time. She doesn’t fit here.

She doesn’t think she ever has.

The big, strong man, the hero, stays silent, his face hidden by the darkness. The little girl sobs, cries, wails. She wants her mum back. She wants her family back. And now, she wants her life back.

All have been stolen from her.

Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she was dead. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were dead. Maybe this was another world, and both you and her now have to navigate another lonely place. At least you’d do it together, hand in hand.

It didn’t matter. You knew where you needed to be.

“I want to see it.”

You need to see it. You grasp desperately at Bruce’s arm, nails digging into his expensive and ruined suit. Begging him, pleading him.

He says something. You think it’s a ‘what?’

“I want to see their graves. I want to see my mother’s grave.”

Bruce’s face darkens, and you’re too tired, too exhausted to tell what emotion flits across it. You wonder if it’s the same desperation you feel. But it confirms it. They’re dead. They’re still dead. Despite everything, despite the entire world changing for you, the most important part had been forgotten.

They were still dead. And you were still here. Alone.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow, but for tonight, you need to rest,” he promises you, and your hand releases. You watch your palm hang limply in your lap, and for a second, it doesn’t seem like your hand. Bruce starts speaking again, this apologetic, pitying tone. You can’t stand it. You can’t stand it one bit.

And in the rudest, most cowardly thing you’ve ever done, you cover your ears like a child.

The rest of the car ride passes in a blur of colour and sound. You’re in Gotham, driving away from the Tower, you’re at the edges of town, passing over one of the bridges, you’re driving through New Jersey’s countryside, passing green fields and old buildings. You go by the iron-wrought gates of Wayne Manor, up the alley’s winding entryway, and finally, the car rolls to a stop in front of the stairs.

To Mr. Wayne’s credit, he doesn’t open the fucking door for you again. You get to stumble your way out on your own two stubborn legs, swaying drunkenly, sickly. He waits for you at the stairs, and you ignore the arm he offers you. He’s just as blindingly irritating as his son.

Didn’t you like these people? You would again in the morning, you just needed your hate. It was the only thing keeping you going at this point. Pure rage was fueling you as you climbed those steps. You’re panting, but you don’t really know why. They’re not that tall.

You feel weak. You feel so, so weak. And you hate it. You’d worked so hard to be free of it, even when you longed for it like a toxic ex-lover, you’d pushed it away. And now it had it’s fangs wrapped around you again, and again, you’d have to climb out of hell.

Today, it was more literal. Tomorrow? God fucking knows. People were literally vanishing from thin air, Pete’s sake. You’ll try, of course. But god fucking knows.

A butler opens the door, and Bruce enters. Once you follow in, the butler closes the door behind him. This time, you really do try to hear what they say. It’s impossible. You concentrate, but all you get for your hard work is a headache. Tomorrow, you’ll try again tomorrow.

The butler rushes off, something important and butler-y to be done. You really didn’t know what butlers did. You couldn’t imagine what their jobs were other than cleaning and cooking. Accounting? Did butlers do accounting?

“I need to handle some things. Will you be able to find your old room alright?” Bruce asks, interrupting your increasingly inane thoughts.

You blink, at him stupidly. Because you were stupid. You had a brand to keep.

“Yes,” you lie. You don’t really know why you do. Some odd mix of self-protective instincts, exhaustion-induced delirium, and also a deep desire to be alone. You really, really wanted to be fucking alone.

“Goodnight then,” Bruce says, he pauses like he’s going to say something else, but he doesn’t. He’s done that twice now, you think. Maybe he just doesn’t think you’re worth the effort. He’d be right.

You watch his back as he strides off into the darkness of the manor, leaving you shivering in the empty foyer. Your expensive ballgown is tattered, grimy, and worst of all, bloody. You want to get out of it. And then you want to sleep.

The click of his dress shoes fades, and you’re left wondering what the fuck you’re going to do next. Could you just start storming into random empty rooms? Where would you find any clothes? You were not going to sleep in this dress, no way.

So, you start up the grand staircase and start storming into random empty rooms. You find studies, bathrooms, and bedrooms. None that seem like anyone lives in them, of course. They feel like fancy hotel stays, the type you see online and sigh about.

The house, no, the manor, is quiet. Empty. It feels haunted, honestly. It probably was, a building this old and important. And it wasn’t like you didn’t know about Martha and Thomas Wayne. You didn’t think any Gotham native didn’t know about them, about the tragedy that had struck them.

It made Bruce seem like someone real, someone like you. Because if even the billionaires could get shot in alleys in Gotham City, it made more sense when the poor folks died. Like you were all human like God didn’t play favourites.

But, let’s be honest, you’d prefer to be an orphan in a mansion than the Narrows. Bruce Wayne had time to heal after what happened to him, for you it was from the frying pan to the fire.

The orphanage you’d been in for two years before you’d turned eighteen and been kicked out had had a very strict hierarchy. Probably still did, you never went back to check. It was technically a foster home, but the ancient sign beside the front door spoke differently. ‘Gotham Orphanage - Founded by Alan Wayne 1878’, the mark of the Waynes even found there. You used to touch the sign every time you went past it like it was some odd good luck charm. You still owe that sign your first successful job interview. Like you didn’t touch the copper plate every damn day, including every day you’d failed another interview.

And, well, it was Gotham. It wasn’t a good place. It had long been cemented in your mind that those theories that Gotham was cursed were true. That there wasn’t any other explanation.

You pause in your musings when you find a room that actually looks like it might be lived in. A long time ago, you think, from the dust covering the shelves. When you check the closet, you find men’s clothes, also untouched. You hope whoever lives here doesn’t care if you steal their shit, because you certainly don’t. Oh wow, this bathroom is gorgeous. The tub is gigantic, easily able to fit a group of at least six, maybe more. Still, you want to go to sleep more than you want a nice soak, so you go for a quick shower where you get rid of all… all the blood.

You watch the red run down the drain and are brought back to much simpler times.

Even as one of the older kids, you were still new blood. You hadn’t made any friends when you tried to defend the younger, weaker kids, either. The foster ‘parents’ who didn’t let you call them anything other than Mrs and Mr Hemming didn’t care about any abuse that happened under the house, as long as it wasn’t visible. You’d done this ritual before, but it actually had been your blood. It hadn’t hurt as much as this did, for some unknowable reason.

You weren’t a fighter. The very few punches you did take, you never hit back. Not like you had tonight. You’d been terrified the Hemmings would kick you out, stop feeding you. Still, you never moved, either. Never let the others take their anger out on the younger kids. You couldn’t do it. And now, looking back on it, your fear of the Hemmings retaliating was stupid. They’d needed the funds the foster caring gave them, and they were always trying to take in more and more kids.

They were empty threats. You were a terrified child. The what-ifs didn’t really matter anymore.

And maybe you were a bleeding heart type, like the other kids had said. Maybe you were gullible, naive, and a pushover. Like you hadn’t been through all the bullshit everyone else had. Like you being nice and hopeful and all those things that got you picked on weren’t all deliberate choices. One day, all the anger and rage you had would bubble over. It would destroy you and your life in a catastrophe, not unlike the one that took your family.

You’d already pushed it down so many times. Waking up today, in a different, unfamiliar world, had probably just made it worse. As always, you ignore it. It’s not worth worrying about.

Getting out of the shower, you do a very lazy towel off and then grab that mystery man’s clothes. They’re mostly dress suits, but you find a few old T-shirts. It hangs off you like a curtain, but it’s warm and it smells nice. Minty and earthy and… oddly free. Bouncy, alive, but still calming and relaxing. It’s a nice counter to the corpse vibes you’re rocking right now, which is decidedly un-alive and un-calm.

You wonder what it would’ve been like to mourn in safety. Where you didn’t have to worry if someone would steal your portion of food or the few funds you could hide in the garden. Where the glares of others didn’t constantly dig into your skin, reminding you that you weren’t wanted there. That you never would be.

That was alright. The place had stunk of mould and rat shit anyway. And maybe you had in this life. It didn't look like you were doing much better, anyway. No, this version of you somehow looked worse. You didn't know how it was possible, and then you remind yourself that none of this is possible, and you really ought to let go of that word.

Still, you lived in Gotham. You would always live in Gotham. You couldn’t leave, it was your home. It was a part of you, like every other sorry idiot who still lived here. School shootings, bomb threats, the city’s regular ol’ disasters. Even if you had been put in a good foster home, even if you had lived... here, you doubted your life would’ve been that much better. Of course, you were still bitter about it. Couldn’t the world just take a little bit off your plate? Maybe it was now, maybe this was the universe's way of saying sorry. A fancy, but empty house, with a still dead family. Maybe you were a little too greedy, a little too jealous.

You slide the duvet covers to the side, untucking them just like you do whenever you do stay in a crappy motel. When all the sides are thoroughly untucked, you slide underneath the covers. When your face lands on the pillow, you sigh in relief. Despite all the bullshit you’d suffered tonight, you had silk pillows, and this phone had youtube premium, so you could listen to rain sounds on it.

Safe. Sort of. Happy. Sort of. Alive. Sort of.

You told yourself it could be worse. And it could’ve been, so you kept on. Today, even after the night you’d had, you tell yourself it could be worse, again. At least the goon didn’t capture you, at least you didn’t actually see the Joker, at least you had a safe bed for the night, at least…

At least the Batman didn’t rescue you. You know it’s silly, but you can’t help but think it.

You hated him almost as much as the Joker, which was saying something since you regularly daydreamed about ripping that man limb from limb. Because the Bat refused to do anything about the supervillain, to finally put the mad dog down, you would always hate him. There wasn’t any other option. You sort of hated his entire entourage. Even Red Hood a bit, since even if they constantly fought, it was obvious both of them held back when dealing with each other. Still, you hated Red Hood and Robin a little less, after tonight. You kind of owed it to them.

You didn’t want to. You wanted to hate them and keep hating them till you died. It was one of your little things, the little things you couldn’t let go of. The little things that hinted at your less-than-perfect sanity. You felt that if you ever forgot what they’d done, what they kept doing every day, that you’d be disrespecting your family, forgetting some part of them. Some part of their memory, which you greedily hoarded away. Not a single precious recollection was to be lost, not ever.

You weren’t allowed to move on. Weren’t supposed to. Sometimes the many little rules you’d made for yourself felt like they were going to eat you alive. A swarm devouring its master. Swallowing you down bit by bit. Up and up, eating all the parts of you pushed down.

You wrap the blanket tighter around you, closing your eyes tight. Like if you tuck your feet inside the duvet, the monsters can’t get you. Your monsters can’t get you. Sometimes it felt like they were already feasting, and you just refused to feel it.

But only sometimes, right?

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[nemesyaaa]

here's a list of obx au's that i think of often and that I hope can help with writer's block bc i will never write them :)))

rafe cameron : lawyer!rafe, sadistict!gladiator!rafe, joker!rafe, momma’s boy!rafe, grim reaper!rafe, blade runner!rafe, sniper!mask!rafe, blue beard!rafe, older!creepy!taxi driver!rafe, purge!leader!rafe,...

jj maybanks : graffiti artist!jj, stuntman!jj, urbex!youtuber!jj, pervy!video club x!coworker!jj, bad!teacher!jj, theatre!student!jj, pickpocket!jj, butler!jj, con artist!jj, depressed!rich!drug addict!jj, creepy! obssessed!fan!jj...

pope heyward : scientist!pope, zookeeper!pope, video game!store!manager!pope, doctor!pope, dark!plastic surgeon!pope, strict!class president!pope, marine scientist!pope, nerdy!detective!pope, mathlete!pope, aerospace!engineer!pope, geek!hacker!pope, pervy!computer scientist!pope, cult!scientist!leader!pope…

john b : pool!lifeguard!john b, music store!manager!john b, firefighter!john b, old!guitarist!john b, gravedigger!john b, dog sitter!john b, sadistic!dom!john b, drug sitter!john b, con artist!john b, animal rescue!john b, banker!john b....

reader: muse!reader, dentist!reader, circus performer!reader, academic!weapon!reader, goofy!loser!reader, art!student!reader, brothel!reader, fashion designer!reader, nurse!reader, pet store!reader, famous podcast!reader, fortune!teller!reader, swan!reader, veterinarian!reader, vigilante!reader, wedding!planner!reader, stand up comic!reader, sailor!reader, cosplayer!reader, sex shop worker!reader, hairstylist!reader, pin up galore!reader, activist!reader….

fantasy female!reader :succubus!reader, wish!granting!genie!reader, tiny!fairy!princess!reader, whimsigoth!witch!reader, egyptian!goddess!reader, cursed!angel!reader…

done ! you can use freely, i don't care about credits but i would like to read and support your work, so tag me anywhere, or tell me<3333 hope it helps 😁

[spideytingley]

my february fic recs!

percy jackson and the olympians

luke castellan

a rose and her thorns by @atlabeth

one year with luke castellan (on-going series) by @tangledinlove

true colours by @supercutszns

titles by @indecisivemuch

look at me ^

scandalous ^

lavender roses by @breadbrobin

the grudge by @kamaluhkhan

sleeping beauty by @targaryenluvs

marvel

peter parker

two normal arms by @waitimcomingtoo

steve rogers

fall into love by @mrslilyrogers

back to you by @literaryavenger

something’s wrong with the morning by @iloveinej

bucky barnes

loverboy, talk of the town by @curseofaphrodite

pietro maximoff

the silent treatment by @floral-and-fine

dc

adrian chase

never been kissed by @training4theapocalypse

now or never by @whirlybirbs

5 times vigilante definitely does not have feelings (and the 1 time he does) by @tropes-and-tales

the bridgertons

benedict bridgerton

to be loved and to be in love by @desertno3

forgive me by @benedictscanvas

the ultimate deception (on-going series) by @maximoff-pan

harry potter

james potter

chaser at heart by @messers-moony

remus lupin

matchmaker by @leossmoonn

acotar

azriel

death and his reaper by @illyrianbitch

matchmaker, matchmaker by @luvvyouforever

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief’s echoing hymn) by @utterlyazriel

the shadowsinger & the inkbird (on-going series) by @florencemtrash

game night by @berryzxx

[barefoothighlander]

call of duty masterlist

-my requests are open if you have any asks!

-this blog is 18+, mdni, if i notice you’re an underage or ageless blog i will block you

-all posts will have individual warnings, smut indicated with a *

-taglist form

simon ‘ghost’ riley

absolution (18+) masterlist

summary: you're a sniper and hostage negotiations specialist in the military, secretly married to Simon, as the knowledge of your relationship would compromise both your posts. one night he comes home from a mission and you tell him that Price wants you on the team for an upcoming 141 mission.

spillways (18+) masterlist

summary: you joined the 141 a year ago, your file is completely redacted and no one knows anything about you, other than your code name, ‘phoenix’. you keep to yourself but have caught the eye of ghost, who seems intrigued by your presence and is determined to find out who you are behind the mask you put up.

mary on a cross (18+) masterlist

summary: you've recently moved to manchester, while looking for jobs you come across a run-down pub looking for bartenders. upon meeting its owner simon, you find out there's more to him than meets the eye. mercenary/vigilante au

the vow (18+) masterlist

summary: you’re betrothed to the future king of Guilder and a fearsome knight is assigned to protect you. medieval au

mini series

never going back again (18+) masterlist

summary: ghost finds himself at the wrong safe house, injured and unable to call for backup

cards on the table (18+) + soap

summary: ghost and soap place a bet on who can sleep with you first

septem peccata mortalia (18+) masterlist

summary: a collection of oneshots based on the seven deadly sins

pick and go (18+) masterlist

summary: you work as an athletic trainer for the manchester rugby team and accidentally sleep with one of their players rugby au

call me little sunshine (18+) masterlist

summary: you come home for summer break to find a new man has moved in next door, he’s charming and mysterious so you welcome him to the neighbourhood. dark themes

one shots

two birds

everlong

fear of the dark*

something sweet

cherry*

hysteria*

sweet creature

snake mountain blues* (cowboy au)

requests

epiphany

the very first night*

no more tears

forever

in the night

delicate

duality part 2 part 3*

sick day part 2

reaper

threesome (+ könig)*

monster!ghost (+ könig)

angel on my shoulder

mask kink

faked o*

protective!ghost*

jealous!ghost*

sub!ghost*

readers crush on ghost

ghost & cats (gn!reader)

headcanons

ghost x sunshine wife!reader hc

ghosts corruption kink*

ghosts office*

lieutenant ghost*

ghosts breeding kink*

ghosts tongue piercing*

jealous!ghost*

ghost x touched starved so

141 oneshots & headcanons

141 x fem!reader*

141 and calling them daddy

141 x adhd!reader

price x recruit!reader*

under prices desk*

price x adhd!reader

prices superiority kink*

price x noisy!wife*

gaz x sunshine wife!reader hc

homecoming (könig x wife!reader)*

sharp shooter (könig x fem!reader)*

ser schön (könig x gn!reader)*

könig x sunshine wife!reader hc

graves x enemy!reader*

[thelunarsystemwrites]

Inviting other artists!

So I've just made a superhero AU for utmv. Right? Well, I really only wanted to design one guy, Lust. Sooo I'm opening the AU (WHICH LITERALLY HAS NO LORE YET SO NO WORRIES) for others to partake in!

Here's like, the basic lay out.

Choose one Sans AU to turn into superhero/villain. Please refrain from using a Sans someone else claimed.

Make them into a superhero/villain themed after something specific. (Example: A plant themed superhero, or even a cactus one!)

Keep powers balanced with weaknesses, please make them relate to their theme!

Give them a civilian identity! You don't have to draw this one, but make sure to mention their civil job and name!

Give them a Superhero/Villain name as well!

Wait, supervillain?

OH YES! You can choose the mortal alignment of your claimed Sans! Super hero, villain, neutral, vigilante? Just pick whatever you want!

Of course headcanons are welcome, it's Canon to YOUR design! Make them trans, gay, autistic, whatever! (Human designs are allowed too!)

Wait.. what do I (the artist reading this) Even get out of doing this?

Well I'll tell you! For one, its a fun artist challenge where you personalize and create a whole new hero/Villain to your preferences!

You also get to imagine their lore, and incorporate their personality into the story! They'd all be canon part of the AU. (Note: if someone claimed a sans first and you did it anyways, yours wouldn't be Canon unless issues occurred with the OG/they gave you permission.)

I dunno, I just wanna make an AU with a ton of people, ya know? I think it's be fun for us to work together on this.

CLAIMED LIST:

Lust: Hero. Complete. By @thelunarsystemwrites.

Reaper: Vigilante. Completed by @solusminds.

Outer: Vigilante. Complete by @dzasterdumpterfire

Ink: Retired Hero. Complete by @lix88888

Error: Supervillain. Complete by @its-paperd

Dust: Claimed by @billygoat26

Farmer: Claimed by @absurdumsid

Cross: Claimed by @weirdest-worlds

Geno: Claimed by @eldritchcats

Shattered: Claimed by @genderfluidyellowocto

Nightmare: Supervillain. Completed by @analexthatexists

Killer: Claimed by @a-menacetosociety

Dream (and core frisk): Claimed by @thenocturnenarrator

Blue: Superhero, complete by @createbellatheartist

Fell: Supervillain, complete @underrrtaleee-freakk

Quantum: Superhero. Completed by @nashdoesstuff (Also made an OC for the AU, Dreamshade! Superhero.)

Horror: Neutral Evil. Completed by @it-came-from-mount-ebott

Ccino: Claimed by @some-aroace-chaos

Fresh: Claimed by @nightmareishomophobic

Die sans: Claimed by @dustsansm1

Bill: Supervillain. Completed by @endless-emptyness (OC Nanno made by sane person!)

Epic: Claimed by @dtdrawz

Fatal error: Claimed by @spookyboris2

Swan: Claimed by @glitching-moon

Sci: Claimed by @joonebugg

Dance: Claimed by @dv-reblogs

Swad: Claimed by @shinanigans-art

Littletale: Claimed by @somehhuuuhh

Possession: Claimed by @b0nerific-individual

Alter: Claimed by @annabel184

Paperjam: Vigilante. Completed by @papple

Decadent society: Supervillain. Complete by @supper122

Green Sans: Claimed by @xxcross-is-a-helicopterxx

Roulette: Claimed by @ant1quarian

On the claimed list, if you claim a Sans (By commenting or reblogging saying "Dibs Blank!" Or "Can I do blank?" Etc! I'll add it on the List saying: "Sans: Claimed by User"

Once it's made, please tag me so I can see! Then I'll update it to "Sans: Moral alignment. By User." And link it on this post! [Please only claim one, we want enough to go around! However you can claim variations! So one person could make dream, another could make shattered!]

[Note I do not claim any ownership over your designs for the AU, nor will I use your design w/o permission.]

With all that said! Anyone interested? [And hey, if you're not interested? It's okay to just not join. Or ignore this!]

Asks! (Questions regarding the AU!)

Can we make our own lore woth other characters?

Secondary claims?

Only two grabs?

Can we have OCs?

Can we use our own AUs?