#abusive deceit

[starstruckangel2009]

Does anyone have this fic or what the heck happened to it?

It was either titled "The corruption of Morality Sanders" or " The corruption of Patton sanders" It was this super dark whump fic of Patton featuring Unsympathetic/abusive Janus and Remus. Written four to five years ago (it was post Remus' introduction episode but before Janus' name drop).

the plot was that Patton went to Deceit (Can't remember what for) who hypnotizes him into stay and him and Remus do a whole bunch of fucked up stuff to him.

I've been having the scenes play in my head for days now and it's driving me nuts because I CANNOT find it, I'm pretty sure it got deleted so if someone's got it saved I'd really appreciate it.

[traumatizedjaguar]

The fact that someone can go an entire friendship with you, deceiving you and manipulating you, the weight of that comes crushing down on you. It causes trust issues, makes you scared what else could they have done that you’re unaware of, gives you anxiety about future relationships and worst of all, it makes you realize they didn’t love you. They aren’t even hurt by hurting you. They don’t care how antagonistic they are they excuse it. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, so therefore you aren’t hurt.” Just bc you’re not affected by certain kind of emotional abuse, doesn’t mean others aren’t.

[bat-besties]

Batgirl #39 - Dylan Horrocks

This page alone is just so much proof about how Barbara is Cass' best guardian and the adult figure who cares about her most. She isn't afraid to call out Bruce and deadpan antagonise him ("Ha." is such geninus. He hates being laughed at.)

Also Bruce's insistence that Cass is old enough to be forced to fight but he won't let her even consider dating Superboy is so interesting. It's the same possessiveness he has over Tim with Steph. He doesn't think someone is good enough for his kid - and he makes his kid and the person MISERABLE because of it. He actually destroys property because of how mad he is at Babs for this. It's controlling and toxic.

And the worst part of all this?

Barbara actually thought Bruce had listened to her. She was trying to give Cass a teen experience complete with cute beach clothes, letting her have a little alcohol for the first time, and even encouraging some summer flirting.

Cass is uncertain Bruce thinks this is alright, and look at how happy Babs is to reassure her that no, he actually had the idea! He paid for everything as a treat.

And then the rug is pulled out from her, and because of her paralysis she can't even take over for Cass, she has to watch every small scrap of progress be ripped away.

It's not the most cruel thing Bruce does to Cass, but at least at other points he doesn't pretend to be kind, to let her hear she deserves a holiday before proving he doesn't think she's good enough (he engineers the situation because she hesitates in a previous fight).

(Also Tai'Darshan was absolutely right in calling out the willingness of American business to ignore murder if they can get oil and making Cass' hesitation about him purely about his looks and not his politics and kindness was a sexist writing decision.)

Bruce engineers a situation to force Cass to atone for her hesitation or else be responsible for murders happening on her watch, and also puts her up against a metahuman when Babs explicitly says that their current advice for her is not to face them. It's Superboy who wins the fight, not her - if he hadn't been there she could have been in real danger.

Barbara setting a boundary for Cass, and Cass failing for one single moment, is reacted to with a cowardly trick to make them redeem themselves to him.

Unfortunately, it's not an unusual Bruce play for his bats.

And Barbara knows exactly what he's doing, and is powerless to stop him by design.

She's allowed to raise Cass, but not to protect her, and it makes me so angry. Both of them deserve so much better.

[theexodvs]

Telling children to follow their hearts is abusive.

[mrscoultxr]

I think the reason Mrs. Coulter is my favorite is because she’s not like other villains at all. At least, not the sort typical in children’s books. She never revels in evilness, never rubs it in the face of Lyra, never schemes openly or plots or monologues in any way. In fact, she says very little for a good portion of the second book.

And at least in book canon, my favorite canon, she never explains herself to Lyra. Not once! She’s not the one who reveals she’s Lyra’s mother. The tearing at Lyra’s daemon is done cooly and coldly, she barely pays attention to it. She doesn’t feel the need to apologize about the intercision. In fact, in the book her tone could be better described as “explaining difficult concepts to children”. She makes the idea of what’s happening good and light, like it’s the best thing that can happen. If I had the book in front of me I could point out that she calls having a severed daemon “the best friend in the world” or something like that.

All this to say she’s terrifying. She’s real. She’s a woman with secrets and skeletons in her closet and she’s fine with that. She doesn’t need to make a show of herself, doesn’t need to explain anything! She is simply on her own path to success, to her goals and dreams of power in a man’s world.

This is why she was able to convince a literal Angel of how treacherous she was. She didn’t flaunt it. It was all just a core part of her being. Her ambition led to terrible things, and she knew that was all he would see. An ambition so terrible she would do anything, heinous or not, to succeed.

[easily-distracted-by-fandom]

Small rant

could people please PLEASE tag for unsympathetic deceit/janus? I get it, you see him as naturally unsympathetic or whatever and unsympathetic is a long word and you don’t want to type it out. But I am TIRED of scrolling through sanders side fics when every 1/10 is a fic where deceit is some villain that’s emotionally and physically abused Virgil. I am TIRED of reading through tags so carefully because odds are if there’s manipulation and deceit sanders in the tags the two are tied. Please, please tag your fics when you have an unsympathetic character, I love Janus and it hurts me to see him being talked bad about so that’s why I filter the tag! So, from a very tired Janus fan, please tag your fics. I’m begging you

-Tal

(okay that wasn’t a small rant but 🤷‍♀️)

[awesomecooperlove]

💣💣💣

[hazyaltcare]

cw for abuse mentions

just looking for some positivity here ig. im a deceit sanders kin (i dont really go by janus but idm it ig?) basically, in my timeline, virgil was pretty horribly abusive and toxic to me. i can move past that, as i dont have any contact with him anymore, but what hurts is how the fandom treats our relationship. im always made out to be the bad guy, the one who drove him away. and i know im different from my source. but its kind of terrible being seen as this manipulative asshole who hurt poor innocent virgil when...it was the complete opposite.

thanks for your time, guys. you're doing good work

Hello, Deceit, and thank you for reaching out.

I am sorry to hear that your timeline's Virgil was abusive and toxic to you. I sympathize with your predicament, and I am immensely glad that you have no contact with him anymore and can move on. You deserve some peace of mind, and to heal from your trauma.

It is valid to be hurt by what the fandom makes out your relationship to be. I understand the feeling. As someone who was abused for a very long time by one of the "good guys" in canon, I feel like I'm demonizing a "good person", disrespecting the fandom, and bigoted by talking about my abuse at her hands. But I'm neither of those, and neither are you. You are not alone.

You already know you are allowed to be different from canon. Your timeline is valid and your hurt, your trauma, is real. Let yourself feel terrible about it.

However, you and I also know that the fandom does not know your timeline at all. They're just going off of canon (or fanon, even). They are not talking about you or your timeline's Virgil. Fandom posts and fan work are not indicative of your personality, actions, or relationships. You're not manipulating "poor innocent Virgil", you were abused.

And ultimately, the choice is yours, because you deserve to be comfortable. Would it be more comfortable to block the source tag altogether? Or just the pairing tag? Avoid the fandom for a while and just focus on the material? Ask for support from any trusted person in your life?

At any rate, I hope you can find solace, and take a break from the things that upset you. You are not a bad person for fulfilling your emotional needs.

Last but not least, thank you so much for your kind words.

Mod Vintage (♒)

[traumatizedjaguar]

The weird thing about abusers is they get vengeful over perceived slights that never happened, interpreting your intentions as negative toward them and using other cognitive distortions like black and white thinking to stabilize their delusional belief, and they project onto you without even seemingly realizing it… like each abuser to varying degrees seems to not even be aware of it?? I’ll tell ya, lack of self-awareness on both a human and spiritual level is extremely dangerous…

[thinkingonscripture]

Biblical Strategies for Dealing with a Toxic Supervisor

Some years ago, I suffered under a toxic boss who had a very controlling personality. She meticulously managed her public image, maintaining a polished but fake charm, and used relationships to maintain her power. Despite her initial charm, her character flaws became evident over time. On several occasions, I witnessed her using intimidation tactics with staff, shutting them down in an unjust and…

[anaknijunj]

Love Scam

In my teenage years, I held onto the belief in the concept of soulmates—the idea that there's that one special person who becomes the love of your life. At the age of 17, I thought I had finally found him.

He appeared nearly too perfect to be real, challenging all those clichés about skepticism towards love at first sight or instantly discovering a soulmate. Yet, there was an undeniable uniqueness about him that made me understand in a heartbeat that this guy was someone truly worth treasuring for a lifetime.

We would often lie beneath the starlit sky, lost in conversation about anything and everything. We’d ponder what it meant to be grown-ups, imagine the future that lay before us, and share our deepest dreams.

In his presence, I discovered a whole new world I hadn’t yet experienced. He gifted me with the most extraordinary teenage years, filling them with joy and memories that will forever hold a special place in my heart. He became my second family, and his circle of friends embraced me as one of their own.

Never before had someone showered me with such attention and care. With him, I felt an unwavering sense of security, and everything in our lives felt utterly perfect.

Of course, we faced our fair share of challenges, just like any couple does. Yet, we managed to overcome them all, even enduring the hardships that came with battling cancer. From day one, he stood by my side, a pillar of support and unwavering love.

Following years of navigating the ups and downs of our relationship, he eventually proposed, and we boldly ventured into the journey of marriage, prepared to embark on this exciting new chapter in our lives as a united couple.

While planning our wedding, my designer made a remark that stuck with me. She said not everyone is lucky enough to find that special someone. Despite my battle with cancer, I felt blessed to have found my soulmate, my best friend, and the love of my life – my other half.

However, not long after our marriage, I began to sense a shift. Something felt off, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Initially, I attributed it to my own difficulties adjusting to married life, along with the other changes happening around me.

Unexpectedly, my husband started making unreasonable demands that seemed out of character for him, considering our long history together. It raised questions in my mind as he began seeking “undivided” attention, mirroring behaviors he didn’t want to see in me.

Conversations that used to flow freely, where we could discuss anything and everything, now became triggers for our fights. Words that were once harmless now offended him, and my opinions were interpreted as criticism.

He started criticizing my every action, causing me to feel anxious and suffocated, as if I couldn’t breathe.

Days turned into a fight where his behavior left me feeling deeply disrespected. It took me four agonizing days to gather the courage to explain why his actions had hurt me so deeply.

I never expected that the person I've spent 18 years with, my closest confidante, would be the one to hurt me the most. His actions have been so unexpectedly cruel that I never imagined someone could behave this way.

Despite my awareness that his messages held no truth, the pain of receiving them from him was undeniable. I was taken aback and wounded by the words he used, particularly the mention of my cancer, as if he were oblivious to my anguish. His apparent indifference to my suffering shook my belief in the authenticity of our entire relationship.

Trying to prove his infidelity no longer makes sense because the way he treated me is a clear sign of abuse.

I tried to be as mean as he was, but it only made me feel worse, showing that we're not alike.

I used to worry about the situation, trying to understand why things had changed. Perhaps life had been tough, causing him to forget how to truly love. I wanted to help and talked to him, hoping my love could make a difference, but it didn't. Instead, I ended up feeling drained.

It’s hard to believe that despite my battle with cancer, he chose to treat me poorly. I’ve come to realize that life isn’t always fair. His actions have hurt me deeply, and uncovering the truth was a painful experience. I even thought that maybe my passing could change his perspective, but his actions show he’s determined to push me away.

I won’t deny that I’ve reacted to my pain with mistakes. I’m not a perfect partner, and I take responsibility for hurting him. But I’ve learned that the person I’ve hurt the most is myself. My anger and reactions have made me lose respect for myself. I’ve allowed myself to be hurt and undervalued by him repeatedly, to the point where I struggle to find a reason to keep going. It’s hard for me to see anything good in my life now because I’ve stopped appreciating everyone and everything around me.

We each have our own wounds, and healing is a personal journey. I just wish he had decided to heal, move on, and find happiness.

In the end, my journey through the complexities of love and heartbreak has revealed a profound truth: Sometimes, even when you believe you've found your soulmate, life can throw unexpected challenges your way. It's in these moments of adversity that we must summon the strength within ourselves to heal, grow, and find the serenity that comes from self-love and resilience.

As I continue on my path towards self-discovery and healing, I am reminded that I am not defined by the actions of others, but rather by my own capacity to endure, learn, and thrive. And who knows, perhaps in the future, I'll rediscover a different kind of love—a love that starts with loving myself.

[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!

[immaculatasknight]

Here's looking at you, kid

[jazstarr]

& not push me away or play mind games to manipulate

[cosmicpuzzle]

Negatives of Mercury in Each House

Mercury in 1st House: Overthinker, mental overload, takes things too literally, impatient, not a good listener, interrupts while talking, opinionated, critical, argumentative, fussy with details, nervous.

Mercury in 2nd House: Does not keep promises, mismanages money, financial trickster, bad salesman, lies about money matters, stammering.

Mercury in 3rd House: Too much into details, information gatherer, thinks but not acts, cluttered mind, breathing and lungs issues, smoker, loses the big picture, media addict, smartphone addicts.

Mercury in 4th House: Unsettled mind, emotional issues, analyses feelings than feeling them, not able to settle at one place /city, frequent mover, shy outside home, nervous, anxious mother, tension at home, sibling quarrels, property troubles, documentation troubles.

Mercury in 5th House: flirtatious, casual lover, critical of children's education, too mental in love and expressing affections, takes risk with speculation, poor gambler, worried over children, micromanages children's life.

Mercury in 6th House: Argumentative, picks intellectual fights, overzealous in health matters, troubles with co worker, gossips at office/ workplace, criticizes others work, perfectionist, makes mistakes at work, skin eruptions.

Mercury in 7th House: changes partners frequently, falls in love then discards, trouble with contracts, marries for documents purpose(like spouse sponsoring a visa), mental relationships, not serious in love, experiments new partners, falls in love with 2 people at same time.

Mercury in 8th House: Secretive, schemer, cold, sarcastic, suspicious, corporate frauds, abuses through words, foul language, trouble through inheritance, relatives, nervous disorders like paralysis, respiratory illnesses, obsessed about death.

Mercury in 9th House: Fundamentalist, thinks too optimistically than practically, can't see immediate consequences, focused only on the big vision but doesn't take practical steps, questions religion and faith systems, cannot believe without proof.

Mercury in 10th House: Changes career frequently for promotion or increments, too smart and then deceives oneself, lies at work, thinks only about gain, not emotional, works only for results, no imagination or creativity at work, works as per the letter of law than to the spirit.

Mercury in 11th House: Makes more acquaintances than true friends, social climbers, makes contacts for sake of it, deceitful friends or deceits friends, financial mismanagement, greedy for profits, attracted to quick rich schemes, cheats others financially, lies to others.

Mercury in 12th House: Poor concentration, poor focus, dreamy, impractical, poor memory, lack of action, forgets important things, does not solve problems, not good with details, does not speak properly, not responsive to others, over imagination.

For Readings DM

I post more on my twitter/X page . Follow me for more short and interesting post over there. (Eventually may shift there)

Magha Sidereal Astrology🌙 (@maghastrology) / X (twitter.com)

[awesomecooperlove]

A new phenomenon called ‘Snapchat dysmorphia’ has popped up, where patients are seeking out surgery to help them appear like the filtered versions of themselves,” said Dr Neelam Vashi, director of the Boston University Cosmetic and Laser Centre.The study, published in JAMA Facial Plastic Surgery Viewpoint, found apps like Snapchat and photo-editing Facetune are to blame - as they allow selfies to achieve a level of physical “perfection” previously seen only in celebrity or beauty magazines.

AccordingAs these images become the norm on social media, and in real life, the idea of what is attractive worldwide also changes - which can affect self-esteem and trigger body dysmorphic disorder (BDD) or Snapchat dysmorphia, a term coined by Dr Tijion Esho, a cosmetic doctor.The emergence of Snapchat dysmorphia comes after previous studies found social media negatively impacts self-esteem and increases the risk of mental health issues.