#bruce its been 5 years

[batmanquotesreal]

you know he technically did say this for real

[9ffairs]

ubhhhh watever....

[dankovskaya]

Of course they r different genres of story centered around very different characters and relationships and situations etc but i think also that just makes it funnier

[misspickman]

you just know pren52 tim would never say this. guy couldnt wait to move out

[amfstargirl]

Yandere batfam x neglected reader

So, pack up your car, put a hand in your heart, sing what ever you feel, be wherever you are

We ain't angry at you love. ⋆·˚ ༘ *

The pain of the neglected soul. Under the heavy mood lingering in the manor. An architectural design that screams wealth but is never wealthy with love and laughter. well, at least not to the second youngest child of Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy, the most powerful man in Gotham City.

Being a product of a mistake between an infamous prostitute and a well-known, almost "celebrity"-like man was not really an ideal life. Being shunned away by the woman who you call Mom, who's supposed to whisper sweet words to you and rock your fragile body back and forth to ease you of whatever you feel bad about, instead shoves you into the arms of an unknown man who's your supposed father. Yeah, that sucks.You've always adored your mom. Despite the horrible words she casually whispers to you - "you ruined me, kid"—you turn a blind eye to her actions and act deaf to her cruel words and instead pretend that she's the mom who loves you and adores you just as much as you do for her. Because it was better. It just was. Your brain can't really process the fact that your abusive mother can be abusive. No, not when she was the one who carried you for 273 days, birthed you, and gave you your name. A 5-year-old's brain can't possibly carry the thought of having that same woman hate you. So even when it was your birthday, you waited for her all day to come home and give you kisses and maybe a birthday cupcake or present. just for once, she comes home drunk, messy, and dizzy with a man on her arms while laughing feverishly. It crazy to think that was the most happiest you've seen her; she was always scowling when she was with you. Strange. Even so you greet her with a hug. "Momma, I've been waiting for you all day—" she cuts you off and tells you to get away from her and calls you this strange name "annoying" huh. Wonder what that means. And for the next hours you spend your birthday alone, in your bedroom. Awake and hungry. But it doesn't matter at least mom came home! Sometimes she doesn't even come home for a few days, but she came home today! That means she must love you. Only for a few days she stays at home with the strange man she brought home on the day of your birthday. It doesn't bother you, it was normal after all. She always do this and then after a few days the man's gone. Yeah, this is just temporary. You say as you clean the house full of dirty clothes and empty alcohol bottles. And then one night the strange man is yelling at your mom; screams filled the tiny apartment with smashing sounds of bottles echoing around the room. You're furious, and you want to defend the woman who you oh so lovingly call "mother" You push the man away, and it angers him. With his bloodshot eyes, he grabbed the bottle and smashed it at the side of your tiny head. You soon wake up in a large room with bright lights and thick white walls. Soon you find out that you're in a hospital; its so cool, it's the size of your living room! Maybe even bigger… Moments later you found out that your mother gave you up to some unknown man who is to be called your "father.". You thrash and scream against the nurse's hold and scream for your mommy, yet she never came.A strange man came and introduced himself. He said he was "Alfred" and said from now on he will take care of you. That's silly because no one in your entire life has had someone take care of you. Soon he drives you to a gloomy big house with lots of statues as Alfred proceeds to tell you that this will be your new home now. Different portraits adorn the walls, and shiny pottery and impressive works of art fill the house. Alfred soon introduced you to your father, Bruce Wayne. Now this is where it all starts. With your new home, hope sparked through your heart, and you believed that somehow, someway, maybe you'll be able to get the love that you have always longed for, yearned for, waited for.

Wrong.

Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, the most powerful man of Gotham, the heartthrob, the Batman, but never the father of y/n l/n. He doesn't even know you. Doesn't even try to acknowledge you and your hard work, desperate to try anything to make him pay attention to you. To give you the attention you crave and yearn for ever since you arrived at the comfort of his home. You weren't stupid. You knew who he was and his nightly activities. You understood. But what hurts was that despite this, he managed to give every. Single. One. Of his children, attention except you. Was it because you weren't like them? Was it because you didn't fight bad guys for a hobby? Or was it because he never deemed you worthy of his time? Why? Were all the things the kids and big adults whispered behind your back true? That you were a child of a whore and you were bound to become one too over a matter of time? Was it true you'll never compare to your siblings? Being compared to your siblings, who had so much talent and had their own special abilities that yours can't compare to, was draining—and partially true. Your little ballet classes can never impress bruce over his other children's combat skills, multilingual abilities, and genius calculations. And you learned to accept that over the years as you grew up.

Richard grayson, dick, the loving big brother, the family guy. Maybe he was a good guy. After all, he managed to acknowledge you for about 6 seconds one time! He even asked you about your ballet classes! Though that was only to distract his self before Damian came. Always the big brother and Lil brother duo! .. Despite being busy with being a full-time cop and a vigilante, he still makes time for family, the ones he considers as family. Not you, never you. Who were you kidding? Dick is the star of the show, and you're just another side character in his main character life! Just a plain, old, boring bystander. That's all you will ever be to little Richard Grayson's glam life story.

Jason todd was different. He was known as someone who was brutal and full of anger. So it was no problem for him to shove you and tell you off. He had no conscience in telling you to go away, and you liked that. You like the fact that at least he had the decency to not give you false hope. Jason todd hates you, and you know it. Jason todd is jealous of your normalcy and how oblivious you are to the danger of the world. In his eyes, you were his replacement; looking at you makes the green monster of envy crawl out of him and take his anger out on you. The way you are so vulnerable stirs something up inside of him, and he realizes that your eyes look just like his when he was full of wonder and innocence. It made him restless and irritated. It reminded him of his mistakes, foolishness, and those memories he buried deep inside his mind to save him from countless nightmares he desperately ran away from.

Timothy Drake, the genius Robin, the hero by choice, the prodigy son. You would be lying if you said that you weren't jealous of Tim at all. I mean, look at him! He's a genius, a hero, a heartthrob, and a role model to several youths of Gotham. He was exactly like Bruce, and I mean exactly like Bruce. His life revolved around solving crimes, fighting bad guys, acing all of his tests, and coffee. Anything was more important other than you. Sure! He has time to cuddle with his family for movie night (without you, of course) but never has the time to play video games with you. Everything seemed to send thrills to his veins and spark an interest in him except your very existence. If you were just a mere bystander in Dick's story, you weren't even in Tim's!

Cassandra. The girl of the family. You have always envied her. Not only was she the only girl of the family and doted on by every single one of your brothers, but you and she also shared the same interest. What's even more infuriating was that she didn't even have to try. She didn't have to beg countless times to have anyone attend her performances because they were all there. Even Jason, who hid in the shadows. They were all there to support her and show her the love you have always asked for, begged for. She swooned all of them with her dancing, and you can't help that maybe her hands are more gentle, maybe her feet are more pointed, maybe her posture is more straight than yours, maybe she's prettier than you, maybe she's more worth than you.

And finally. Damian al Ghul Wayne. The youngest son, the baby brother, the scarred child loved by his family. When Damian came into the manor, you were thrilled. You thought that maybe you and he could bond over the same trauma. Maybe finally someone can understand you.You thought wrong again. Damian thought you were weak and a disgrace to the bloodline of the Wayne family clan. He called you thousands of cruel names and insulted you whenever he had the chance to. He always belittled you and showed you no mercy, going as far as to drag the blade of his sword across your neck, drawing blood, just for him to cruelly laugh in your face and tell you that you are being dramatic. You forgave him. You were a good kid. Right? So why is it that a kid who made thousands of innocent lives bleed through his sword is sitting with his father—your father—on the couch, sleeping soundly on his chest? It's not fair.

They were never fair.

As Dick was checking the CCTV footage of the manor out of boredom, he managed to catch a glimpse of footage—about 2 weeks ago—of a person packing their bags and putting things from the manor into a box and leaving. It must be a thief! But that's impossible. The manor has many securities that even a skilled assassin could not pass through the gates; it's impossible. Unless…Dick took another glance at the footage and zoomed in on the screen and squinted his eyes. And for a second, his breath hitched and his heart pumped fast, his hand trembled, and his eyes dilated.

It can't be.

[deebris]

The Mysterious Visitor 2

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: The unknown child evokes conflicting feelings in Bruce Wayne, who once again finds himself needing to deal with Talia's life problems. The girl only wanted the simple desire to see her brother again, unaware of the danger she had put herself into on her journey.

Warnings: The reader is 13 years old and is Damian's twin sister; the tone of the story is somewhat sad; Bruce is intimidating; Hugo Strange mentioned.

Word count: 2.8k

Note: I feel like maybe I could have developed a more emotional scene between Bruce and the reader, I also want to delve deeper into her thought process, but I hope to make up for that in the next part.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Alfred could finally check the exact time now that he was standing in front of Bruce's room, admiring for a few seconds the clock in the corridor's decoration, which showed 4:17 am. He prepared to knock on the door, but suddenly a thought crossed his mind: would it be more rational to wake Damian instead of his father? Throughout his life, he had faced unusual situations thanks to the Wayne family; hardly anything would shake him now. His concern, however, was not for himself, but for Bruce.

Talia was a persistent shadow in Bruce's past, still haunting him, and although he had tried to convince the butler many times that the only link he had with her now was because of their son, Alfred still doubted it. Their relationship had been complicated in many ways, either because of her ambiguous nature or Ra’s al Ghul's insistence on trying to persuade Bruce to join the League of Assassins, making Alfred fear that Bruce's morals might deviate because of this passion at the time.

Alfred raised his fist to knock three times and waited patiently as was his custom, but it seemed that was not enough to wake his master. He knew the door was open and knew he was allowed to enter without knocking, so just this once he used the liberty the young man had given him over the years; because in the end, Bruce Wayne was just that, a young man, and would always be seen that way by him.

Inside the room, he turned on the light, and the intense glare made him close his eyes to avoid the sting of the brightness. Approaching the bed, he sighed at the sight of Zolpidem pills left on the nightstand. This had been the only way Bruce found to stop spending sleepless nights, reluctantly since he was too stubborn and preferred to patrol in the darkness. Waking him would be a difficult task.

"Master Bruce," he called, waiting for a response, but got nothing. Alfred felt sorry for waking him, seeing how he finally seemed to be resting. "Master Bruce," he called again, this time nudging his shoulder. The pills must have been wearing off because he started to stir on the mattress.

"What’s going on, Alfred?" Bruce asked in a hoarse voice while rubbing his eyes to relieve the discomfort from the lamp. He sat up in bed, leaning his back against the headboard, blinking several times to see the butler in the corner. One of the room's curtains was open, and he saw the snow falling outside with the dark sky, showing that it was still night. "Is it Hugo Strange? Has he shown up somewhere?"

"Unfortunately, or fortunately, no, sir." Alfred paused, then licked his lips, preparing to continue and finally revealing, "There's a young lady downstairs who claims to be Master Damian’s sister." Direct, as always.

"Sister of Damian?" Bruce repeated the information, still not fully comprehending its meaning. He needed some time, just standing there absorbing the words. It seemed to be taking an eternity, but Alfred wouldn't interrupt the moment of clarity he was having.

He squinted, pushed the covers aside, and picked up the shirt he found nearby. Buttoning it up and getting out of bed, he continued, "When did this happen?"

"Just now, sir."

"Did Damian bring her here?" The question had a bitter tone but never crossed the line of respect that was drawn between them, and Alfred knew he should prepare for his interrogation. Bruce saw the alarm clock and, like the butler a few minutes ago, checked the time. "He never mentioned anything like this."

"Nor to me." Alfred suddenly extended a coat for him to take. Bruce held the fabric between his fingers, confused. "This coat is hers. There’s a map of Gotham City and a letter inside. I recommend you take a look at the addressee."

Pulling the papers from the right pocket, Bruce noticed a map folded into many smaller parts and a letter witch was still sealed, though the corners were noticeably crumpled and marked by small fingers. Carefully analyzing the cursive handwriting, he read. "I had no idea Damian still had contact with his mother. Much less that Talia had a daughter," he said, still drowsy, staring at the name 'Talia Head,' to whom the letter was addressed and recognizing his son’s elegant handwriting. Apparently, she still used the alias surname.

"It's not surprising considering you only discovered your son after so many years." The statement could have easily been interpreted as irony, but it was acidic. "She didn’t seem sure Damian lived here; I suppose she found out because of this letter."

"You left her alone downstairs?" he ignored the previous comment.

"I left her in Master Dick's care."

Bruce stared at him for long seconds and hurried out of the room. Halfway down the stairs, he could already see some glimpses of Dick's hair over the back of the sofa, talking to someone, or rather, laughing with someone.

"Dick?" The voice quickly caught his attention, turning his face to see his father approaching. When Bruce stood in front of the fireplace, he could finally look at the child beside the boy. Dick began to say something, but Bruce couldn’t hear. 

He stared at the girl, analyzing everything about her, from the way she intertwined her fingers nervously to her deer-like eyes. Her iris were shining, as if she had cried, and her swollen and bruised lips were quite noticeable. She had definitely been outside not long ago, shaking and rubbing her hands together constantly to warm herself up. She seemed too sweet, but Bruce knows that appearances can be deceiving.

His gaze passed over the pendants hanging from her bracelet, a simple detail that caught him off guard. Two crossed swords and a demonic head, he understood well what they meant; they were some of the symbols of the League of Assassins, the third was a simple "T" surrounded by a moon. He shouldn’t have been surprised, Talia was a possessive woman and he knew that the "T" was her way of marking property.

"Her name is Y/n," he heard Dick say after a long time.

You noticed how this man's eyes went dark while he watched you and couldn’t help but shrink back on the sofa. It was impossible to hold his gaze, and you began to feel ashamed of being stared at for so long.

"Y/n, this is Bruce Wayne."

"What do you want?" That came out ruder than he intended, but his aversion to the League of Assassins stirred a certain anger. The idea that this could all be a trap crossed his mind. You might be young and exude innocence, but you must have enough understanding to participate in their malicious plans.

"I just wanted to see my brother," you said with sadness in your voice, questioning yourself if this whole situation was worth it. Bruce knew the best way to confirm if this was all true would be by his son’s word, but the signs were so explicit that it might not even be necessary.

You don’t look anything like her, at least at first glance, but you wore her favorite colors and clothes so perfectly matched that no girl your age could choose yet, exactly to Talia's taste and with the appropriate youthful touch for your age. The pendants, the cut of your hair, literally everything had her touch. It was impossible for anyone to convince him otherwise.

"Go get Damian." He said, and Dick understood that the message was for him. Bruce needed to make sure you were telling the truth, or at least needed to make sure you weren’t dangerous. This could still be a League scheme or some plot by your mother.

"Can I see him?" Your voice was the loudest you had spoken that night. The excitement was clear, and it was so much that irrationally you stood up to follow Dick, but a calloused hand suddenly wrapped around your torso and stopped you, making your back hit a slightly prominent belly. You looked up and saw the old man again, his expression was not happy, and you realized it was directed at Mr. Wayne, who had an arm extended towards you but that never managed to touch you.

Like his face, his arm was tense, with visible veins and contracted tendons. You didn't know what his intentions were, but by the way the old man grabbed you to prevent him from laying hands on you, maybe he wasn't as good as he or Dick. It was a very scary sight., making you feel that this man could be dangerous. Trusting the old man, you turned to hug him, hiding as much as possible. Mr. Wayne’s aura was dark, very unfriendly, but you still saw how he recoiled with his face displaying a certain sense of regret.

Dick noticed Alfred's sudden movement behind him before he could leave the room. He glanced at their faces and for a moment considered whether it would be appropriate to turn back and mention the conversation he had with you to the butler in secret, but then his eyebrows furrowed thinking of Damian. Maybe he should confront the little demon first.

"Don’t do anything stupid, Bruce." Dick thought.

Frantically he knocked on the boy’s door. One, two, three, four times until he lost count. At no point did he hear any noise inside, so he began to turn the doorknob, only to find it was locked.

"Of course he’d lock it, that brat..."

"What are you doing?" Suddenly Tim's bedroom door behind him opened abruptly, making a sliver of light from inside illuminate the opposite wall. He was obviously irritated at being woken up but still had that tone of seriousness he carried most of the time.

"Where's his room key?" Dick completely ignored his brother's attitude.

"Forget it. I heard him sneak out to patrol again." Tim's voice sounded tired.

"And you let him?!" Dick snapped but reminded himself to contain it, remembering that Jason was sleeping in one of the rooms in that wing and that you three downstairs might hear the commotion. "Why didn’t you stop him?"

"And what good would it do? That boy is too stubborn." Tim tried to defend himself. "Besides, I have his location right here. He’ll be fine." He opened the door a bit more to show one of his computer monitors tracking the trajectory and heart signals of a green dot on the streets of Gotham City.

Dick looked both ways down the hallway before pushing Tim back into his room and closing the door.

"Hey, what's this? Why are you acting so weird?" Tim was startled by Dick's unusual behavior, feeling anxious as he watched him go to the computer to check Damian's exact location, observing the dot on the screen moving. Dick pressed a button, likely an emergency notification to get Damian to return home. Then he turned to Tim, gripping his shoulders and looking at him with intense seriousness.

"Tim, what I'm about to tell you might be a lot to take in, and I need you to try to understand as much as possible." Dick pointed a finger in his face, waiting for confirmation.

"You're scaring me like this. What the hell happened?"

"No questions and no interruptions! Understood?" Dick's tone was authoritative, stepping back only when he saw Tim nodding affirmatively.

"Why the hell is everyone awake downstairs? Did someone die or something?" Jason barged into Tim's room without ceremony, trying to make a joke, but when he saw the ghostly expressions on their faces, he quickly shut the door again, this time with him inside the room. "My God," he exclaimed in shock. "Can I join in on your little secret?" he asked ironically.

"Did you see the girl?" Dick asked Jason nervously, with a certain expectation.

"Yeah. I saw a girl with Bruce and Alfred. But they didn't see me, since I went back upstairs. The mood down there is pretty tense." Jason threw himself on the bed, making the mattress bounce and Tim frown in displeasure. "I think Alfred is going to give him a lecture afterwards."

"She's Bruce's daughter."

Jason propped himself up on his elbows, and Tim had to sit in the computer chair. His mouth formed a perfect 'O' as he struggled to believe Dick's words.

"With who this time?" Jason seemed to be reacting better than Tim to the news, even letting out a light laugh. It was a typical, caustic Jason response.

"That's not all." Dick ignored his comment. "She said she's Damian's twin."

Tim let out a short whistle, processing the idea like a complex calculation. "Tell this story from the beginning, Dick. Why did she show up now?" He finally managed to rejoin the conversation. It took a while for the shock to pass, but now he had his usual rational demeanor.

Dick rubbed his hands over his face, trying to recount the night and organize the information. "Apparently, she doesn't even know Bruce is her father. And he doesn't know about it either."

"Damian also never mentioned having a sister."

"Damn. Hiding one kid for a decade is something, but two?" Jason stared at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, a strange sensation taking over the room. But seeing the melancholic expression on Dick's face, his curiosity grew even more. "What else do you know, huh Dick?" He questioned him, sensing there was something much deeper behind this, and his brother just gave him an enigmatic look.

"She said she came here to see Damian. That she found out where he was because of a letter he wrote to Talia..." Dick suddenly froze, pulling a little box from his pocket as if it were a dangerous bomb. "While we were talking, she said a man had helped her get here. He gave her a map and asked her to deliver a present to Bruce, but she gave it to me to deliver." He handed the beige little box to the two, but it was Tim who took it.

Whatever it was, it was very well wrapped.

"Is it right to open it?" Tim asked. "I mean, it's for Bruce, isn't it?"

"I already opened it." Dick said bluntly. "I thought it might be a trap, I was careful."

"Give it here." Jason took the small box from Tim's hands. It was the same size as an engagement ring box, perfect for carrying in a pocket. He pulled the lid off and took out a card, freezing when he read it.

"What does it say?" Tim was curious, taking the card from his hands and reading it out loud:

'I sent your daughter home as a demonstration of my benevolence. Merry Christmas, Batman. Signed, H.S.’

"Holy shit," Jason exclaimed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "That bastard figured out Batman's identity."

"Even worse: he knew about her before we did." Tim added reflectively, his voice barely a whisper. "That means he knows much more than just Batman's identity. He might know other things, including our identities. He probably suspects we are also vigilantes."

"I want to hear the whole story properly." Jason's intensely serious voice broke the silence that had settled in the room, determined to fully understand the appearance of this girl and how she got involved with Hugo Strange.

Dick took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before speaking. "Alright, here it is. Minutes ago, Alfred and I woke up because a girl showed up at the manor claiming to be Damian's sister. She told me that she had a map of Gotham and a letter addressed to Talia from Damian. Alfred brought Bruce to her, and then I went upstairs to call Damian, but I discovered that he's out on patrol. And now we're here."

Tim interrupted, "Wait, so Damian's been in contact with Talia and didn't tell us?"

"That's what it seems like," Dick confirmed, rubbing his temples. "The girl didn't even know Bruce was her father. She mentioned that a man helped her get here and gave her a map along with a present for Bruce."

Jason leaned forward even more. "And this man was Hugo Strange."

"Not xactly, he could have sent someone else." Dick nodded. "The present was that card. Strange knows about her and about Bruce being Batman. He sent her here as some twisted gift."

Tim, processing the information, asked, "Did she say anything about why Strange would do this? What does he gain from sending her here?"

"She didn't seem to know much about Strange's intentions," Dick replied. "She just wanted to see Damian. But it’s clear that Strange knows a lot more than he's letting on. He must have some larger plan in mind."

Jason clenched his fists, his anger palpable. "So, this girl is just a pawn in his game. We need to figure out what his endgame is."

"Agreed," Dick said. "But first, we need to make sure she's safe and find out everything she knows. We also need to talk to Damian and see what tell us about all this."

Tim nodded, adding, "And we have to stay vigilant. If Strange knows this much, we can't underestimate him. He could have more moves planned."

Jason stood up, his determination evident. "We need to get to the bottom of this before anyone gets hurt."

"But what about Talia? Did she just let her daughter go out there, be deceived by a stranger, and then simply come here?" Tim pointed out. "And you, Dick? Are you going to tell Bruce?"

Suddenly, the sound of someone tapping on the window glass was heard. The three brothers turned their heads to see Damian, clad in his Robin attire, asking to come in. "Open up already, you idiots."

Tag list:

@lafrone @sylum @mileskisser @belowbreadcrumbs @riddle-me-im-sirius

@rafa-the-beautiful @shehrazadekey @fairuzwhat @bedeater @arianapjs

@idonthaveanameforthisacc @azulawayne @nciolisa @lovelywritersgarden

@spideybv28 @faimmm @formula-space @cherry-peach-flavored

🍒

@nebuluma

Credits for the divider: @cafekitsune

[unacknowledgeable]

Serial killer reader x yan!Batfam (bc who doesn’t like seeing reader finally go batshit crazy?)

This idea has been bouncing around my head for a while, so Imma toss it out here. A slim layout of it and testing the waters ig lol

 WARNING for disturbing imagery, animal abuse, broken bones, mentions of child neglect (obviously)

Reader arrives at the manor at the ripe ol’ age of 8, near fresh off the crime scene of their mothers murder

None of the transition is handled well, which, its Gotham so what do you expect really, so no real systems are put in place to help this child not only deal with a brand new environment, but also having just watched your mom brutally murdered in front of you

Bruce is already  5 years deep into batmanning shenanigans, with Dick 4 years into being robin

Since you weren't as obviously volatile as Dick was when his parents were murdered, Bruce didn't really see letting you in on the nightly activities as necessary

You never really pushed hard for a relationship with Bruce, believing that he was distant because you were not a choice, unlike Dick.

Your mom used to get like that, sometimes. she’d always been truthful about you being an accident, would close herself off for awhile, but at least she always came back, or she use too

You had Alfred, sure, but his experience with grieving children mostly involved allowing them to swear vengeance on all crime sooo, he’s more of a “I'll try to solve your problem, even though what you're needing is someone to comfort and listen to you” 

But you can't really fix the problem of a very dead mother

So you’re never really given a space to process, and it definitely festers

So what is a small child left to do with no real outlet for the terrible things they've witnessed? Well… recreation is a start.

You were left to your own devices quite often, and the manors grounds are so so big, so it's easy to see how you got away with your… activities, for awhile

Squirrels, birds, frogs, any animal small enough to fit into your tiny little hands, all met their end by them

It isn't until you’re a few years into your new school, that you catch a bird and show your classmates just how fragile and “cute” its bones were, and the funny little tweets it made when you snapped them

And your friends try to stop you, saying its wrong and mean, that the tight grip you have on the bird is "hurting” it, that you’re crazy and horrible

So you decide to just show your friends how wrong they are, that it's just a game

Soon, the teacher comes running over at the sounds of shouts and screaming, and finds a child with a broken arm, and a robin with a broken neck

With the reader stood above them, yelling that their friends aren't playing the game right

……………………………………

Alfred is the one who comes to get you, as Bruce is busy with something and he’s just absolutely beside himself, how did this happen? How hadn't he noticed anything?

He rushes through the necessities, assuring that all damages will be paid for, agrees to have you transferred to a different class then the boys whose arm you broke instead of being expelled (the wonders of unimaginable wealth)

The drive back to the manor (manor, not home, never home) is quiet, the silence is suffocating, for both of you, 

You’re mostly confused, you never really hid your “games” while at the manor, at least not on purpose, you'd just always wash up before going inside, not wanting to get anything dirty

And Alfred is angry, mostly at himself, he prided himself on his ability to see everything, to always know, but this? He was completely blindsided.

So yes he's angry, not really at you, but you don't know that, you can only see the slight shake of his shoulders, the white knuckled grip on the wheel, the frown pulling his wrinkled face and the furrow of his brow

And all you hear is the quiet, ”Never do such a thing again”, as the car pulled up the driveway to the manor

That very night, Bruce brings Jason to the manor

And the urgent conversation Alfred planned on having with Bruce fell to the wayside

That's some of what I’ve got so far lol, there's… a lot more honestly. The brain worms are hard at work. Hope you enjoyed!

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 5: The Departure (Warning: this chapter will contain violence. Read at your own risk.)

It’s been around two months since you accepted the Megamycete into your body and for the first time since you were dragged to Gotham, you’re actually happy. With its vast archives, you’re bursting with knowledge spanning over the course of four-hundred years, ranging from the academic to the arts and it’s thanks to that knowledge that your grades have skyrocketed in the past few weeks; where once you struggled with something, now you know better than even the teachers, even correcting them when they make a mistake and outpacing the best students in your class. Sure, by this time, it’s a little too late to get to the top of your class, but you really don’t care about your ranking; all that matters is being able to complete your homework, class assignments, and tests in record time, giving you time to work on more important things, like your game.

Included in the Megamycete’s records are the knowledge and memories of many computer programmers, some of them working for Bruce in his tech division; you also have many artists and musicians swimming in your head, many of them talented in making art on computers, so with your newfound knowledge, you’ve made tremendous strides in making your game. A year ago, you thought you would have to find a way to crowdfund the game in order to pay artists, musicians, and programmers and it would take a few years to make it ready for players, but now, you’re sure you can have this game ready by yourself within the year.

Not only has your intellectual attributes increased, but so have your physical abilities; the Megamycete’s records also include many athletes, both professional and student, and you know how to play every sport that’s ever been played in Gotham, but you haven’t shown any improvement in gym class. You never had any interest in sports before and you sure as hell don’t know. Plus, if you suddenly start showing everyone in the school that you’ve all of a sudden become smarter and stronger out of nowhere, you might attract enough attention that not even the Waynes can ignore.

And that won’t end well for anyone.

Speaking of them, you know they heard about what happened at the My Alibi bar and are working overtime to find the culprit, the only thing they know for certain is that it was the work of someone new. It actually brought a smile to your face when you learned about it, that for all their detective skills, they have no idea that the person they’re hunting for is under their own roof. While Damian is the only one to have ever told you to your face, you know they all think you’re stupid; that because you chose to deal with your fucked up life in a semi-healthy way and not dress up in some stupid little costume and fistfight psychopaths, that must mean there’s something wrong with you in the head.

Fuck all of them. You don’t need them and tomorrow night, you’ll be driving back to Goodsprings.

When you turned eighteen, you inherited all of your Momma’s assets, namely her life insurance policy, bank accounts, and royalties from all her books, all of which was worth a little over two-million; at first, you were going to save that money for when you moved back to Goodsprings in case you had to fix up your old home and pay the bills, but after almost dying due to relying on bus stops and bumming rides off of Alfred was unfair to the man, you decided to take some of the money and invest it in a car. The Megamycete had absorbed many modern car experts, so you were able to pick out a brand new car that was worth the hit to your wallet.

Plus, you had a way of earning a pretty penny and stick it to Bruce at the same time: sell his proprietary technology to Lex Corp. Many of Bruce’s employees are buried in Gotham’s cemeteries, some of them working on the latest technological breakthrough at the time of their deaths and you knew Bruce’s biggest business rival would kill to see what Bruce’s scientists are cooking up in their lab.

You reached out to the man using your computer knowledge to send him an email that couldn’t be traced back to you, stating you had the specs for several of Wayne Enterprises’ latest large scale projects and asked him if he was interested in buying them for a couple million in cash. Knowing he’d never consider the deal without some proof, you included bits and pieces of what you were offering, just enough to show you were legit, but not enough to be useful without the rest of it.

Sure enough, he took the hit and now, here you are, meeting with the most powerful man in Metropolis in his office, which overlooks the entire city. Of course, you’re smart enough to not show him your face, so you took the form of some Joe Schmo that died years ago.

“I don’t believe it,” the man exclaims as he sifts through the papers you drew the designs on. “Medicine, experimental aircraft specs, software designs! Over a million spent in corporate espionage and nothing to show for it. Then you come along, offering more than enough to recoup those losses and then some.” He looks back at you, an ominous twinkle in his eye that makes you shiver. “Any chance I can rely on your services in the future?”

“Perhaps,” you say in your disguised voice. “If I get my hands on more WE secrets, I’ll keep you in mind. Now, about my money?”

“Of course,” he purrs. He snaps at his assistant, who places the briefcase she was holding on his desk and opens it, revealing more money than you’ve ever seen in your entire life. “Twenty million in unmarked bills. I trust that’s more than enough?”

“Yes,” you say, trying to hide your shock from earning enough money to last you the rest of your life in just a few seconds. “I believe it is.”

(We see no signs of sabotage or subterfuge,) the Megamycete says. (It would appear Luthor intends to keep his word. For once.)

“Mercy will see you out,” Lex says as you take the briefcase. He then holds out a business card. “And this is my personal number and email. If you have more secrets you’re looking to sell, call me day or night.”

“Thank you,” you say as you pocket the card.

And with that, you follow the assistant out of Lex’s office and down to the lobby.

(You must be happy to have amassed such a fortune,) the Megamycete states as you walk out the front door. (And exacting revenge on Bruce Wayne makes this moment all the better.)

“You’re damn right,” you respond with a chuckle.

(Perhaps you could use some of that money to enjoy yourself? Since our joining, you have been hard at work with your education or your project. Taking some time to have fun will do you a world of good.)

Its words resonate with you. Sure, you’ve been busy with catching up on school and the gaps in your game, but you’ve done some fun things the last few weeks, right?

(No, we are afraid you have not.)

“Damn,” you mutter. “Guess I should change that.” You glance down at the briefcase in your hand. “Well, we have twenty mil of Lex’s money in here. How about have a night out in Gotham?”

(We agree wholeheartedly,” it exclaims, its voice full of joy and anticipation. (We look forward to seeing what you have planned.)

You chuckle as you change your form to your hardened mold armor and wings and take flight into Metropolis’ night sky. Fortunately for you, it’s a quiet night in the massive city, so Superman isn’t flying around, so you don’t have to worry about bumping into the Man of Steel.

“I gotta say, this city looks a helluva lot better than Gotham,” you remark as you soar above the skyscrapers. “Gotham looks like a giant tomb while Metropolis looks like the future.”

(Yes, we have noticed that no matter the era, the architecture of Gotham refuses to change. The city seems to be doomed to remain locked in a by-gone age. We look forward to seeing the world beyond.)

“You’ll love Goodsprings. Sure, it’s the size of a stamp compared to a behemoth like Gotham, but you can actually sit on your porch at night and not have to worry about gunshots or escaped lunatics. People actually have conversations with one another instead of telling you to fuck off.”

In a less than thirty minutes, you arrive back at Gotham and land on the roof of Wayne Manor and quietly sneak in. Joker’s still on the loose, no doubt waiting for the perfect moment to unveil his latest sick and twisted plan, so everyone’s out and Alfred’s stuck in the Batcave, keeping an eye on camera feeds.

You take out a few bills from the briefcase before hiding it under your mattress and heading out to the back where you keep your car parked. While Bruce has multiple cars, every single one of them is a high-end luxury car that costs way more than yours, so you didn’t want to take the risk of Bruce or the others finding it and doing something to it, so you keep your car behind a large barn that’s used to hold all the groundskeeping equipment.

As you drive off the property, you tell your phone to dial Alfred, who answers it halfway through the first ring.

“Master Y/N, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, Alfred, everything’s fine. I was just letting you know that I’m going out for a bit. Thought some time outside the house would do me some good.”

“While I agree that you need to get more, perhaps tonight isn’t the best time,” he says hesitantly. “I mean, the Joker is still out there, no doubt planning another heinous act.”

You’re touched by the man’s concern for you. Really, you are. But, with the Megamycete, you have nothing to fear.

“Don’t worry, Alfred, I’ll be fine.,” you reassure him. “I promise I won’t be gone too long. I’ll just be in Amusement Mile for an hour or two.”

“Still, I wish you weren’t going by yourself. Perhaps I can get one of your siblings—“

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m going out to have fun before I graduate, not be miserable. If I wanted to be tortured, I’d throw myself in Arkham’s Intensive Care Building.”

“I know why you feel that way, Master Y/N, but maybe you can give them another chance? You’ll be graduating tomorrow night and leaving after the ceremony. I just don’t want you leaving us under such bad circumstances.”

You know the man’s been trying to get the Waynes to notice you, but they’re all busy with their own lives in addition to being vigilantes at night, either fighting crime in Gotham, Blüdhaven, or elsewhere around the world. And when they’re all home, they’re spending time together, having fun that was never meant to include you. You learned that after countless times coming downstairs and seeing them, eating delicious food, laughing, watching movies, and enjoying themselves without you. After a while, you stopped going downstairs when you heard noises coming from the living room.

You don’t belong here, either in the Wayne Family or in Gotham. You never did. You know it, they know it, and deep down, Alfred knows it, whether he wants to admit it or not. You’re a Gould, not a Wayne and there’s nothing that’s going to change that.

“Alfred, I think the ship for us being a ‘happy, loving family’ sailed long time ago. They’ve made it clear that there’s no room for me in their world and I sure as hell don’t want them in mine. All I want to do is go home.”

“I understand,” he says after a brief moment of silence. “I hope you have fun, Master Y/N. And please, if you get into trouble, call me straight away.”

“I will, Alfred. I’ll talk to you later.” And with that, you hang up.

You let out a sigh when the line goes dead. You hated saying things like that to the poor man, but it’s how you feel about the Waynes. Ever since you moved in, all you heard about Bruce is that he’s a caring man and a loving father, but that care and love only appears to be for those he deems worthy of it. For someone like you, a bastard born from a careless one-night stand, he has nothing but neglect and indifference.

And the same goes for the others. They’re all a dysfunctional hodgepodge that are saturated with so much trauma and paranoia that it’s a miracle that they haven’t killed each other yet. You’re sure if they were locked up in Arkham and studied, they could fill an entire library’s worth of psychological textbooks.

(You should not concern yourself with them. They have made it clear that they are not worthy of your love or forgiveness. After so many years of suffering, you are so close to breaking free from your prison. By this time tomorrow, you will be back where you belong.)

“Yeah, back home. Finally.”

After thirty grueling minutes of dealing with Gotham’s traffic, you finally reach your destination: Bat Burger. As much as you hate any mention of Batman, Gotham’s cashed in on the “Bat Craze” and inserts him into anything they can. At least the food’s good; almost good enough to make you ignore the cartoonish Batfamily designs on all the walls. Emphasis on the almost.

“Welcome to Bat Burger,” the teenage cashier, dressed in a uniform designed around Batman, says in a monotone voice as you approach the counter. A brief look in his eyes tells you he’d rather be anywhere else right now. “How can I bring justice to your hunger today?”

“Can I get a Batburger with ketchup, large fries, and a large Bat Cola?”

“Do you want to Jokerize those fries,” he asks as he types in your order.

“No thanks.” You hand him a hundred dollar bill. “I don’t need the change. Keep it as a tip.”

“Oh,” he exclaims, the dead look in his eye gone, replaced by shock. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you respond, happy to see such a transformation in the teen.

“Thank you,” he stutters as he hands you your cup for your drink. “Your food’ll be out in a minute. Let me know if you need anything else.”

You nod as you take the cup to the drink station.

(That was quite charitable of you,) the Megamycete remarks as you fill up your cup. (Such an action is rare in this city.)

“He looked like he needed it. I know what it’s like to be that miserable. Plus, it’s not like we’re hurting for money. If I ever run low, I still have plenty of Bruce’s secrets I can sell to Lex for a couple million.”

(Indeed. It would appear he had many of his employees working on secret projects that were not meant to be released. Perhaps such things were only meant for his nightly activities?)

“Wouldn’t doubt it,” you say as you sit down. “Kinda surprised no one’s figured it out. Batman’s toys look expensive and there’s not that many people in Gotham that could foot a bill that big other than Bruce Wayne.”

Not long after that, your order was called and you collected your fast food goodness. You practically moan as you take your first bite.

(This is quite appealing,) it says as you take another bite. (Savoring the food in real time is far batter than savoring it from the memories of the deceased.)

“I’ve wanted to come here for a while,” you say as you take a few fries. “Always saw the garbage cans full of Batburger bags when they came back from patrol. They never offered to take me and I never asked.”

(Their loss, we assure you. We can think of no better meal companion.)

“Shucks,” you chuckle. “You’re making me blush.”

After your meal, you decided to go to the arcade a few blocks away from the restaurant, eager to show the Megamycete all your favorite games. Also, with it behind you, you might be able to earn more tickets and win some of the bigger prizes. Your stride’s broken when you hear screaming, gunfire, and people running from the Gotham Arcade.

“What’s going on,” you ask a man as he tries to run past you.

“It’s Joker,” he exclaims, his eyes full of fear. “He’s shooting up the place!”

He runs away as you duck into an alley and call upon the mold to form the armor you’ve been using a lot lately. As you walk towards the arcade, you look through the roots and see the Bats scattered across the city, handling other crises; meaning they wouldn’t be here anytime soon.

“Guess it’s up to us to save the day.”

(The Clown has added many into our archives, all of whom spent their last moments of life terrified and in pain. We think it is time he knows fear.)

You walk into the arcade and are greeted by with over a dozen bodies, all of them riddled with bullet holes.

“My god,” you say, stepping over two teen boys who look like brothers. “There wasn’t a point to this. This is an arcade, not a bank. He just did this because he could.”

You follow the sound of gunfire until you see the Joker, dressed in his signature purple suit, shooting at a bunch of arcade cabinets.

“This is so much fun,” he exclaims as he rips a bunch of tickets from the machines. “Don’t you agree, Harley?”

“Sure do, Mistah J,” his partner, clad in her usual red and black spandex and jester hat, answers as she slams her giant mallet down on a poor Whack-A-Mole machine. She bends down and rips out a bunch of tickets from the smoking husk and holds it up to Joker like some offering to an ancient god. “Look, Puddin’, I won so many tickets!”

It’s then the two lunatics notice your presence.

“Well, well, well,” Joker says as he pockets his ill-gotten tickets. “Not the costumed freak I was expecting.” He holds his hands up to his head. “You’re missing the ears and everything.”

The two laugh and you roll your eyes under your mask.

“Looks like Ol’ Batsy has a new brat in his nest,” she jokes. “So, who’re you?”

“Oh, Harley, his name doesn’t matter.” He pulls out his gun and points it at you. “He’ll just be another corpse.”

He fires the gun and this time, the bullet actually penetrates your armor and pierces your lower torso. You wince at the feeling of a bullet in your gut.

(It would appear the clown uses a higher caliber than the common scum of Gotham,) the Megamycete explains as it heals your body, stitching the wound closed and hardening your armor to repel the stronger bullets. (Funny how he possesses such toys after being in Arkham for so long.)

“Oh, you’re a tough one, aren’t you,” he says, seeing that you’re not going down. “Normally, his little birdies go down from just a little love tap. Are you sure you belong to Batman?”

Now that pisses you off. Bruce may have had a hand in bringing you into the world, but you’re not his. You’re so pissed, in fact, that you raise your right arm and call upon a long tendril that pierces the center of the clown’s chest and pull him towards you.

“Mistah J,” Harley shouts in fear as you bring Joker to your face. She’s obviously paralyzed by fear because she stands there, doing nothing but watching the scene unfold before her.

His pasty white chin is covered in blood as it pours from his mouth and his eyes are wide as saucers.

“Now ain’t that a surprise,” he says with a chuckle, causing him to cough up blood.

“Get this through your sick and twisted head, clown,” you hiss. “I’m not Batman’s anything. There’s no words in any language that can express how much I hate him.”

You twist the tendril and take pleasure in watching him wince in pain.

(He fears you more than the Bat right now. Good. You are far superior than that worm and his collection of misfits. You always were.)

You feel yourself grin at that. You are better than them, aren’t you?

“And as much as I hate to admit it, Jason was right on how to deal with you. When you have a tumor, you don’t dress up in some stupid costume and beat it until it stops being a tumor.” You lift him far above, his head almost touching the ceiling. He flails around, but your tendril holds him in place. “You take a knife and cut it out.”

And with that, your tendril sprouts dozens of smaller ones that burst through his body, rendering it full of holes that it looks like a blood soaked piece of Swiss cheese. Said tendrils twist around until what was once the Joker is reduced to chunks of meat.

“Mister J,” Harley shouts, her voice full of agony, as his remains fall to the floor, landing with a wet splat. She looks at the pile of flesh, tears streaming from her eyes before turning to you, her gaze full of hate. “You bastard!”

She charges at you, her mallet raised and ready to strike, but you wrap her in your tendril, stopping her advance and making her drop her weapon. She struggles and as she does, she lets out loud sobs; ones were intimately familiar with. You let out similar ones when you lost your Momma and over the years you’ve spent in Wayne Manor.

“You killed my Puddin’,” she weeps. “When Bats hears about this, he’ll hunt you down like a damn animal! And when you’re thrown in Arkham, I’ll be waiting for ya!”

(She has a point. Batman and his flock are already looking for you and when they learn you have killed the clown, they will make finding you their top priority; they will marshal every resource at their disposal to finding your identity. Even if she cannot provide them with your identity, she presents a risk to our secrecy.)

You ponder on this as you watch Harley struggle against her bindings, her sobs now filling the arcade. You know the Megamycete is right; she’s a loose end you can’t afford, especially when you’re so close to going home. Plus, you know with Joker gone, Harley has no one to control her and with how racked with grief over the loss of her “love,” she’s a huge risk to everyone on Gotham.

You decide the risks are too great and command a smaller tendril to emerge from the one holding Harley, have it wrap itself around her neck, and quickly snap it, the noise it makes ringing in your ears like a gunshot. You release her from your grip and she tumbles to the floor, lifeless.

(It had to be done,) it assures you. (She represented a threat not just to you, but to the rest of the city. There is no telling how many people would have been hurt the next time she broke free from the asylum’s confines. Plus, the influence of the clown would have stayed with her, even after his death. She would most likely never have returned to what she once was. The rest of her life would have been spent mourning over the clown, inflicting pain onto the innocent, and escaping from and being returned to the asylum. You showed her mercy.)

You hear the words and in some way, they make sense, but right now, you don’t feel like you showed mercy. You’ve heard of the Tragedy of Doctor Harleen Quinzel, everyone in Gotham has at one point or another; the story of a poor psychiatrist new to Arkham who had been prayed upon by a manipulative mass murderer, turning her into his demented partner in crime and cutting a bloody swath across Gotham every time they escaped, leaving behind many orphans, widows, and corpses in their wake. She had spent years listening to other people’s problems and for once, wanted someone to listen to her, to make her feel like she was important.

In many ways, you can relate. Maybe in another life, you two could’ve been friends, wallowing together in your shared misery.

Just then, you learn from the roots that the Bats have been informed of the Joker’s appearance and are now on their way here to capture hm, unaware that you’d already beaten them to the punch.

“Let’s go,” you say, moving quickly. “We’re done here.”

In no time flat, you’re back to your car and out of the area before the Bats showed up.

“Sorry, buddy, but it looks like we may have to take a rain check on that night out.)

(We understand. And you should not feel guilty because of your actions. It is thanks to you that not only many will be able to sleep peacefully in their beds, but many beyond this mortal realm will finally know peace. While many threats to Gotham remain, its largest one has finally been put down.)

“Yeah, I guess.”

(It is also worth noting that we have only been joined for a short time, you have accomplished much more than Batman has the last two decades.)

That actually makes you feel a little better. Yeah, Bruce has been doing this for years and Gotham’s still a hellhole. In the span of a singe night, you make it visibly more safer. And to top it all off, he’ll be racking his brain trying to find out who the hell killed him and he’ll have no idea it was you, his forgotten firstborn son.

“That does make me feel a little better. Thanks.”

“Ok, when you find out who did this, can you please tell me so I can end them a thank you card before you lock em up,” Jason says as they watch what remains of the Joker being collected into a large evidence bag by GCPD while Harley’s body is placed on a gurney and covered by a sheet before being wheeled out.

“You know, I hate to say it,” Jim says as he dismisses a detective. “But I think this is going to make the city way safer. Hell, the mayor may want to offer whoever did this a key to the city.”

“It doesn’t matter if all crime in Gotham stops because of this,” Bruce responds. “It was done the wrong way and when I find out who did this, I’ll deliver them to Arkham myself. I’ll take Joker’s remains back to the Batcave, see if I can find any clues on the identity of his killer. I’ll give them back to you along with my findings.”

“Thanks,” the police commissioner responds as he takes the bag from a forensic investigator and hands it to him.

“Come on, B,” Jason whines as they leave the arcade. “Joker was a piece of shit and it was only gonna end with his death. Whoever this person is, do they really deserve to rot in Arkham over someone like him?”

“Whoever this person is, they took the law into their hands.”

“Pot meet kettle,” Jason mutters, but Bruce doesn’t acknowledge the remark.

“And this person clearly has powers. If they go off the deep end, there’s no telling what will happen. We need to find them before something happens and someone gets hurt.”

Finding this person just became their top priority.

This is it, the night you’ve been waiting for: graduation. It’s funny, when you first woke up this morning, you could feel every second of the day tick as you waited for the graduation ceremony. The only thing that made the time go by fast was you thinking about the conversation you overheard in the kitchen this morning.

Bruce and Tim talking about spending the day at their computers, analyzing every camera feed in Amusement Mile to look for whoever killed Joker. You had to bite your tongue to keep you from laughing. Here you are, the person they’re chomping at the bit to catch, and they have no idea you’re in the other room. You should be happy that they finally want something to do with you, but you know it’s only because you sent Joker to hell, something Bruce should’ve done years ago.

And when you heard that Tim was skipping the graduation ceremony to aid in patrolling? You immediately did a cartwheel down the hall. Not only will you finally be free from Gotham, but you won’t have to share the spotlight with Tim and risk catching their attention, though they probably would’ve had no idea who you were. Alfred tried to get Tim to reconsider getting Bruce to attend, but when those two are obsessing over something, it’s impossible to tear them away from it. The butler tried to tell Bruce that he had another son graduating, but the man left before the sentence could be complete, stating he had work to do.

At this point, it doesn’t even phase you. You know they’ve practically forgotten your existence and you couldn’t care less. You have everything you need to go back home and start your new life, you don’t need them for anything.

“Master Y/N, are you sure you don’t want me to call master Bruce and have him attend your graduation,” the butler fusses over your cap and gown for the umpteenth time. “As you father, he should be here to see one of the most important moments in your life.”

“It’s fine, Alfred, I don’t need him here. Frankly, with the way he’s acted over the years, I’m glad he’s not here. Same with Tim.”

The butler looks at you and you grimace at your remark. Ever since becoming the Megamycete’s host, you’ve noticed changes in your behavior. Where once you use to keep comments like that to yourself, you know say them in front of Alfred, unafraid for his reaction. Or how you use to always speak in a barely audible whisper for fear of being overheard by the Waynes, now you talk to Alfred at a volume that could easily attract unwanted attention. And you’re certain he’s noticed your change, too. God knows that man is aware of everything that goes on in his house.

(It is because you no longer have that fear. Before, you were a timid little thing, afraid of being seen by a predator lying in wait. Now? You are the hunter. They can’t hurt you anymore.)

Alfred opens his mouth to day something, but one of the teachers calls for all seniors to make their way to the field, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. He heads to the stands while you follow your fellow seniors to the field where you’re herded in alphabetical order. Once the teacher was satisfied with the order, she typed on her phone and the graduation music started playing from the speakers at the top of the stands.

As you follow in line, you look up to see Alfred in the front row, holding his phone up, no doubt intending to take several pictures and record just as many videos. You smile at the man, thankful to have him here on this important night. It’s then you think about your Momma and how she’d be cheering for you so hard, everyone could hear her. You feel something slide down your face and realize you’re crying. This is an important day in your life and you’re missing an important person in your life.

(She would be so proud of you. If your memories are anything indication of her character, she would give anything to be here right now. While the butler can never replace her, he is an acceptable stand-in.)

“Yeah,” you whisper as you take your seat near the front of the stage set up in the middle of the field. “He is. And I’m gonna miss him like hell.”

While you’re overjoyed to leave Gotham in your rear view and never step foot in it ever again, you’ll really miss Alfred. The man has been your rock since day one, celebrating your birthday which also happens to be the day of your Momma’s death. He held you while you cried and was your only company in the lonely halls of Wayne Manor.

Maybe you can hire him as your butler? Your smaller house would no doubt be much easier to clean than that behemoth of a mansion. Plus, Alfred is way more than people like the Waynes deserve.

After an eternity, the valedictorian finishes his speech and takes his place at up front, which is when the headmaster walks up to the podium and begins to call the students to come up and receive their diplomas. With each name called, you feel chest begin to tighten. This is the first time in years that so many eyes will be on you. What if you fall flat on your face while walking? Or try to shake the headmaster’s hand with your left instead of your right? Or—

(Relax,) the Megamycete says, bringing you out of your thoughts. (All will be fine. When your name is called, you will rise, walk with a level of pride none of your peers could ever hope to match, accept your diploma with such grace the headmaster will b in total awe, and walk back to your seat with the same pride as before. You are better than any of these children and you will make them know it.)

Hearing those words instantly makes you relax, your the knot that had been building up in your chest untangling, allowing you to breathe again.

“Thanks,” you say, taking a much needed deep breath. “Glad to know you think so highly of me.”

(We speak only the truth. We have seen the lives and memories of countless people over the past four centuries and not a single one holds a candle to you. You possess much potential and now that we are joined, we know you will unleash that potential and the entire world will be in awe of it.)

Wow. You actually have no idea how to respond to that.

(Pay attention, now. You will be called soon.)

It’s then you realize the headmaster is now on the Fs, almost to the Gs.

There’s three people ahead of you.

Then two.

Then one.

Then…

“Y/N Gould.”

This is it, your biggest moment in Gotham Academy. You stand up and walk with the grace the Megamycete said you would, accept your diploma from the headmaster with your left hand and shake with your right, and walk back to your seat. As you do, you see Alfred, a smile stretched across his face and cheering your name as he continues to hold his phone, probably recording a video just before your name was called.

(Excellent, Y/N,) the Megamycete praises as you sit back down. (We offer our most sincere congratulations on your triumph.)

You stare down at the piece of paper down in your hands and you while the evidence is right there in black and white, it still doesn’t feel real. You’re actually in awe of the fancy kind of paper Gotham Academy uses to print its diplomas, with its Coleen gilded edges, bold ink, beautiful calligraphy, and soft feel.

Hell, Alfred may fight you to keep it so he can frame it and mount it somewhere in Wayne Manor.

After that, the rest of the ceremony seems to speed up, the last of the names being called, the headmaster deeming all of you graduates of Gotham Academy, and the graduating class being told to gather behind the chairs for the moment every senior looks forward to: the Cap Throw. You follow your fellow graduates with bated breath, eager to throw your cap and complete your graduation experience.

“On three,” the valedictorian yells from the center of the crowd. “One! Two! Three!”

You eagerly toss your cap with everyone else, your cheers and laughs joining everyone else’s. You watch with joy as the caps soar above you all and begin to float back down to the field, your eyes tracking your cap, which you had decorated with paintings (the Megamycete allowing you to make them flawlessly) of the team you beat Cynthia from Pokémon Platinum with: Infernape, Luxray, Staraptor, Floatzel, Lucario, and Garchomp (you had no idea so many used the same team before you discovered the internet).

You collect you cap while so many try to find theirs and had towards the exit to meet Alfred.

“Congratulations, my boy,” he greets you, his wide smile still adorning his face, before bringing you into a tight hug.

“Than you, Alfred,” you respond, returning the hug.

When you separate, he flags down a passing man. “Pardon me, sir, would you be so kind as to take a picture of the two of us?”

“Sure,” the man says, taking his phone and aiming at you and taking the picture.

“Thank you, good sir,” the butler says as he takes his phone back.

He types on his phone and not even a second later, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket beneath your gown, indicating he sent you the picture.

“I’m so proud of you, Master Y/N. You’ve certainly earned this.”

“Thank you, Alfred. And not just for this, but for everything.”

You two leave the field and he follows you to the gym so you can return your gown and once you do, you two make your way to your car, which is when you realize this is the part of the evening where you two say your goodbyes and you leave for Goodsprings while he returns to Wayne Manor. And the sweet moment you’ve been waiting years for now turns bittersweet. You’ve looked forward to this moment ever since you started high school and while you’re ecstatic to finally leave this godforsaken city, you hate that you have to leave Alfred behind.

“Master Y/N,” he says, breaking the tense silence. “I know you’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, but do you have to leave right now? Maybe your return to Nevada can wait until morning? You really shouldn’t be driving so late.”

“We can put it off for as long as we want, still won’t change the outcome.”

“I know,” the poor man sighs. “But still, it’s over forty hours from here to Goodsprings.”

“I’ll be fine, Alfred. Really. I’ll be super careful. I’ll stop at a motel a few hours from here, take regular breaks, stop at restaurants to eat, and I’ll be there before you know it and in one piece.”

“I just wish I could convince you to stay. I’ll miss you, terribly. The manor won’t be the same without you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Alfred.”

You two pull each other into another hug.

“Promise me that you’ll call me if you run into any trouble, be it on the road or in Nevada.”

“I will.”

“And that you’ll try to visit whenever you can. I’ll arrange for Master Bruce’s jet to come and get you, you just say the word.”

“I’ll try.”

You’re lying. You’re lying and both of you know it. But, neither of you bring it up.

“And promise me you’ll take care of yourself. I didn’t raise you for over ten years just for you to end up in the hospital just because you didn’t feed yourself.”

“I will,” you laugh. You know he’s joking, he taught you everything he knows about cooking, cleaning, and housekeeping. That, combined with the Megamycete’s records, you have everything you need to keep your house together.

“I just wish your father and siblings were here.” You just did manage to fight off the flinch at the mention of those assholes. “This is an important moment of your life and they should be here to celebrate it with you.”

“I know you do, Alfred,” you respond, thankful that you’re still hugging so he can’t see the face you’re making at the thought of them being here, insulting you and making you feel like graduating somehow made you feel like a failure.

Finally, you two pull apart and with one last goodbye and promise to be careful, you get into your car, the backseat covered by boxes that couldn’t be placed in the trunk. When you woke up this morning, you packed your computer, video games, books, and other things that you refused to leave behind at Wayne Manor, your Momma’s pen sitting in your pocket as you refused to part with it. Sure, there were some things were left behind and while Alfred told you repeatedly he could arrange for them to be delivered to your house, you told him that anything you left behind wasn’t important and could be thrown away.

You didn’t leave much behind, some stuff like a few books you hadn’t read in years, a bunch of notebook paper with stupid ideas for video games that you had years and threw away when you realized no one in their right mind would play them, and an old journal you kept when you first move to Gotham. You archived every major event leading up to Damian’s arrival in those pages, which is when you finally filled it up. You briefly thought about keeping it, but decided against it. You had your stay at Wayne Manor burned into your memory and weren’t eager to have been more reminders around you. Plus, you’re about to start your new life, so there’s no need to carry it around. Maybe you can start keeping a new journal?

You start up your car, put it into reverse, and when you backed up enough, put it into drive and wave at Alfred as you leave the parking lot and follow your GPS to Goodsprings. That’s when your phone finally connects to your radio and starts playing music, Hollow from FFVII Remake, playing at just the right volume.

“Wow,” you chuckle as the music begins. “Talk about great timing.”

(We agree. This song is about heading into the unknown with hope; perfect for the start of your new life. It is as if fate itself is smiling down upon you.)

“Seems like it. You with me, buddy?”

(Every step of the way. Until the very end.)

And with that, you pick up speed as you get onto the interstate.

Alfred watches you drive off and only when you’re out of sight does he finally shed a tear. To see Master Y/N leave is one of the most difficult moments of his life.

He understands, of course. Not only did you leave much behind after the tragic and unexpected loss of your mother, but Master Wayne and the children had given you zero reasons to stay. In fact, they’d given you a million reasons to leave.

But he can’t let you go. Not his favorite member of the family.

He’d never admit it to anyone, but out of everyone in the Wayne Family, he cared for you the most. You were raised by a wonderful, loving woman who knew how to properly raise a child and didn’t skulk about at night, battling with criminals night after night. You had a normal life and knew what life was like outside of being a vigilante, bringing a much needed balance to the manor.

You were a delight to raise, always saying please and thank you, offering to help around the manor, and carrying on pleasant conversations that were the highlight of his day. And if the family would take the time to get to know you, they’d come to the same conclusion he did many years ago.

However, as brilliant as everyone in the family is, they can also be equally foolish. Too wrapped up in their civilian and vigilante lives to see the gift they had been given, but spurred for years. And now, you’re gone.

But not for long. You belong here, with your family, and by God he’ll make sure you know it, your father knows it, and your siblings know it. One way or another, he’ll bring your father to his senses, and when that day comes, he’ll make him go to you and beg for your forgiveness, even if he has to get on his hands and knees. And after that, your father will bring you back home, where you’ll be lavished in the love they should’ve shown you from the beginning.

He’ll do whatever it takes to bring you back home, where you belong. He doesn’t care what he has to do or how long it takes, he’ll make sure you come back to the place where you belong. And when you, you’ll be showered with so much love that you’ll never want to leave ever again.

A/N: I got lucky this week. I was going to have 4 tests this week (2 regular tests and 2 midterms), but a professor I have for two classes got sick and cancelled, pushing the tests for next Monday and Tuesday. With only one midterm left and a study guide basically matching the test, I had plenty of free time to make this chapter. Hope you all enjoyed it!

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @starsdotalk @luna57765 @jsprien213 @lizz-lrm @chericia @lunaluz432 @orbitingtraveler @roseytheteacup @meechibee @bellethesleepypotato @exactlynumberonekryptonite @marsmabe @ellaprime7

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #41

Say Uncle.

Imagine dis…

I don’t have much to say about this one just the fact that when you are buying alcohol to celebrate New Year just make sure not to drink it all at once despite the holidays…

Ah, the hangover: nature's way of reminding you that your liver is not, in fact, a miracle worker, and your brain did not sign up for the tequila marathon.

And no, this prompt is not about just that. I want to get this idea off my list before I completely forget about it.

…

The night when both Martha and Thomas Wayne met their demise Alfred already swore himself to protect the two young masters that were left behind. Bruce at the young age of eight witnessed his parent's murder and death, just because the boy insisted on watching the latest film with only the three of them young master Daniel’s insistence. Daniel, who was only 5 years old caught a nasty cold and was prompted to stay inside the manor to get better. Young master Daniel insisted on the three of them enjoying the film instead of staying at home just reminding them to bring him souvenirs to not be completely left out.

Tasked with raising two young boys both boys felt sadness and guilt for each of their own despite not having to feel guilty about it. Young master Bruce for insisting to go at the theaters and young master Daniel for insisting on a souvenir.

The media with all of its cameras stared down at the Wayne name and manor as it was the tragedy of the century as the Waynes are not only the wealthiest of the socialites but also one of the founders of Gotham City. All metaphorical eyes went to Master Bruce, why only him you ask? It is all because young master Daniel had not been introduced to the public eye as it had been some sort of tradition to the Wayne’s to teach their children at the age of 7 to have them enjoy privacy and have the children at a certain age to understand the dangers of media.

With young master Daniel still technically hidden Alfred made the hard decision to further hide the young master through the system. Both boys of course protested through tears and shouts from both boys. Of course, Alfred tried to explain to the boys for their protection and Alfred assured the boys that he would use his connections to watch over Daniel.

…

Fast forward and the two brothers despite having a secure line of communication simply strayed apart. Maybe it’s because of the distance or maybe it’s because of talking to each other less when both entered their teens, but I say because of secrets…

With Bruce, he had traveled the world training to become somebody, somebody who can prevent tragedies like his can ever happening again. To protect and make a difference to the place that took his parents away. He kept silent about Danny, his training, and his turning into a crime-fighting vigilante. He wanted Danny to stay safe the last family he had, to stay in the life he had built, from what Danny had told him from the rare chances that they both got the time to chat. Bruce kept on thinking to himself that it was safer for Danny. The lack of knowledge of both the public about his bio brother and Danny’s knowledge about his nightlife made Bruce’s nightly chant to himself justified.

…

Danny scanned the manor, it had been a while since he adjusted the cuff of his fitted suit. He hadn't been here in years, and Bruce hadn't gotten in touch with him outside of Alfred's regular chats and the rare times the brothers even called the other.

As far as the world was concerned, Bruce was "dead." The family he hardly knew was shocked to learn that Danny was named guardian of the remaining Waynes in his will. This prompted Alfred to explain who the supposed relative of theirs and began tidying the manor as if the queen herself was going for a visit.

The moment Danny entered the manor both Dick and Jason had their eyes on him. As the two who had been with Bruce the longest apart from Alfred, they should have already heard something about the man from Bruce, even a slip of the tongue but nothing, so they have every right to be wary of their supposed uncle who has actual biological connection to Bruce.

Their apprehension was only increased by Danny's striking similarity to Bruce. He had the same sharp blue eyes, but his expression was gentler, and the same sharp jawline, but it was tempered with fatigue rather than unwavering resolve.

Danny made significant adjustments during his brief time as their new guardian. Without Damian ever hanging onto Dick like some sort of life Line, Dick has now the time to properly sort out his feelings and mourn for Bruce. Jason despite the bad blood between father and son is also seeking professional help as per Danny’s wishes to sort out his thoughts and with Danny slowly filtering out his ecto to a much healthier one. Tim finally had a sigh of relief when he saw their supposed uncle handle the board like an iron fort. He had managed those elites as if Danny had the experience dealing with old men that thought to be the center of the universe. Finally, Damian, who at first struggles with the supposed usurper to his supposed birthright begins therapy that focuses on undoing the works of a cult, as per the suggestion of the usurper’s foster sister.

Slowly but surely they finally had a sigh of relief to the civilian side of their lives, as Danny kept the Wayne co flourishing and the nosy journalist away from them especially Damian since he is the only biological son of Bruce Wayne despite adopting Dick, Jason, and Tim first.

 On the other hand, their vigilante life is full of tension, as Tim supposedly found evidence of Bruce being alive. Dick and Jason kept pushing on to Tim that he is full of grief to accept Bruce’s death and brush his claims. Of course, Tim tried to find more definite evidence but was later banned from the Batcomputer for his mental health.

…

It all came to a head when a sleep-deprived Tim stumbled into the dining area for breakfast with the rest wearing his robin suit and sweatpants and a haphazardly worn domino mask on his face. As Danny is about to ask Tim about his sleep, Tim not recognizing who he is talking to begins a floodgate of information.  The partial evidence, Gotham’s criminal activities, the number of vigilantes needed to wear the cowl to ensure no one could suspect that something happened to Batman and so much more.

By the time Tim ended his rant he saw a pale-faced Dick looking at him with pure disbelief, Jason and Damian looking at him with murder in their eyes, and finally, Alfred holding a tray of freshly squeezed orange juice so tightly that it began to shake.

Tim is now dreading whatever expression the person is in front of him. Tim now slowly looked at Danny’s… Contemplative face?

All of them are now holding onto their breaths looking at Danny waiting but for what?

Danny blinked, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he muttered something under his breath, too low to catch. Then, slowly, he raised his hand and tore open the air, as if cutting something in midair.

A green rift shimmered, pulsing with an eerie light reminiscent of the Lazarus Pits, though a bit brightener. Before anyone could react, Danny reached into the rift with the ease of someone retrieving a misplaced item and yanking a battered figure through.

Bruce Wayne, still wearing his Batman suit, though, stumbled into the hallway, his cowl pushed back to reveal a rare expression of wide-eyed shock.

The rift closed as abruptly as it had appeared, leaving only each of them with their respective jaws dropped and wide open.

Danny looked at Bruce as if scanning any injuries and let out a deep sigh of relief.

And uttered a single sentence that seemed to come from Danny’s inner mind.

I can't believe you turned into a furry fruit loop.

Immediately turned around and left the still-shocked family with their minds still rebooting at what had just happened. Bruce, for his part, could only stare after him, his mind racing to catch up.

…

Danny on the other hand is mildly a bit stressed, don’t get him wrong. Having Dan, Ellie, and Klarion as his kids is the most wonderful thing that ever happened to him, he just wished that the kids the rare chance they have their truce would send their home straight down the deepest rings of hell. As much as he had a clear reason to fight off some demons after so much adventure in terms of retrieving their house it got so old that it became a hassle.

 Let's also talk about how chatty Mom and Dad have been ever since his older brother Bruce became a crime-fighting furry, and when he started adopting kids as if they were Pokemon. Bruce doesn’t have to catch them all, and stop encouraging him, Danny wailed to his ghostly biological parents. As much he adored his nieces and nephews, he densest need to know from his ghostly parents how many flips Dick did with one hand or how many books Jason added to the library or how many albums of pictures Tim had, or even how adorable Damian is.

So imagine his surprise that in the middle of him sorting out paperwork, he is now an official guardian to his nephews since Bruce had “died”.

At first, he was hesitant on top of his children, for, he has an entire realm to sort out. Add to the fact that he didn’t feel Bruce’s spirit enter his domain. Bruce’s kind of lifestyle along with his nieces and nephews already guaranteed them a spot in the realms.

So when Tim exploded out of sleep or just needed someone to vent it made him send out a silent question to Clockwork. There he was, his dumb older brother, falling through each timeline, he simply grabbed the scruff of his neck and pulled him back to the present.

As Danny left the manor, he silently wept for the added paperwork that he expected to be added as well as damage control to whatever chaos his children got themselves into.

….

 PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[casscainmainly]

My Top 10 Batgirl (2000) Moments

This is my list of top 10 Batgirl (2000) moments!! There were so many to choose from, but these are my personal favs :)). Counting down from 10 to my absolute favourite.

10. Volving

An absolute classic. Perfectly encapsulates what Cass does throughout the entire run, and more writers should play with Cass' use of language like this!

9. Beat Up Every Mob In Gotham

Perfect encapsulation of the early Barbara-Cass dynamic, and one of the funniest moments in the series. Just love the expressions and the way this shows so much of Cass' character.

8. Choosing to Write

The entirety of issue #2 builds up to this heart-wrenching moment. After delivering a dead man's final message to his wife, Cass sees the wife's reaction to the written message and decides to learn to write. A foundational moment for her character, and a nice motherly Babs scene too.

7. Alpha Redemption

Capping off issues 35 + 36, Batgirl unmasks herself to convince Alpha (an amnesiac villain) that he doesn't have to be defined by his past. Brilliantly displays her core belief that people can change, and the fact that her belief pays off makes this moment extremely moving.

6. For God's Sake

Possibly a controversial pick, but I really like this moment because it underscores some of the fundamental conflict between Babs and Cass. They love each other, but they don't always understand each other, particularly in regards to each other's disabilities. A painful moment that should have been explored more.

5. Fight For Your Life

My favourite Stephanie and Cass moment in this run. You can feel Cass' grief throughout this hallucination, but there's also so much hope and love (for Stephanie and for herself). It's an amazing conclusion to Cass' initial suicidal tendencies: instead of desiring death, she now actively fights to live.

4. Darknight Detectives

This interaction sums up a lot of Bruce and Cass' best moments. Cass' unwavering moral beliefs, Bruce's pride, their instinctive understanding of each other; they just get each other in a way few others do. I picked this one instead of the 'instinct/good answer' moment because it also marks Cass' development in her detective ability. From Moment 8 above to here, the confidence in her mental capacities has grown so much. She really volved!

3. Perfect For A Year

I mean of course this had to be here. These lines literally take up 90% of my brain space, it's an incredibly tense moment that illustrates Cass' desire to be perfect, her need to be useful and good. This issue is also just awesome.

2. You're... Not

Another absolute classic. Illustrates Cass' compassion and her belief that people aren't defined by their lineage, which is particularly personal to her, given her own dad. This struggle between good/bad, parent/child defines many of Cass' best stories.

1. Who Do You Think You Are? + Father's Day

What else would number 1 be?? Issue 33 is my favourite in the entire run, and the entire thing is stacked with moments that could fill up this list. I just love 'who do you think you are' because it's all of Cass' rage spilling out, and yet she still loves David Cain in her own complicated way (and he reciprocates, too). Then we have the ending, which is the BEST Bruce and Cass moment ever. The sparse, meaningful dialogue, the expressions, the reveal of the TITLE: comic book writing at its finest.

Honorary mention to the Shiva/Cass fight, which just narrowly missed out.

[bet-on-me-13]

Captive AU

So, the GIW has been around for a while.

Ghosts have been a problem for centuries, the US Government wouldn't have waited until the 21st Century to figure out a way to deal with them, so the GIW has been around for years. And the general Public knows about them, it's a common household name like the FBI or the CIA. They are simply seen as another government organization doing its job, no need to care about the Ghosts they capture, they're Non-Sentient anyways.

Over the years of their existence, they have acquired their own little prison full of Ghosts. And among that collection of Ghosts, 4 stand out.

Because they are somehow Ghost-Human Hybrids.

The first was captured a while before the others. A College Student studying Ectology had been admitted to the Hospital after a Lab Accident, where he had been diagnosed with an, as of yet, unknown and incurable Disease. He had Green Boils popping up all over his Face, and he was in excruciating Pain.

The GIW had sent a team to investigate, and they had found that the College Student was slowly transforming into some type of abomination. He was still partially human, but he was also partially a Ghost. They had him declared Dead and shipped him off to a Blacksite Facility to be experimented on.

...

The Second One came about 10 years later. Coincidentally, it was very similar circumstances. The very same pair of scientists who had been acquainted with their previous subject had just admitted their 5 Yr old son into a local Hospital. He had been in a Lab Accident that had stopped his Heart for a few minutes, and out of curiosity the GIW had sent a Team to investigate.

And what did they find, but a perfect recreation of their favorite Test Subject.

They declared the Child Dead, and sent him off to the same Facility they kept the other one in.

...

The 3rd of the Hybrids was actually created in a GIW Lab, 3 Years Later. In an experiment to see if the Hybrids condition could be recreated, a GIW Scientist had taken the DNA of the 2 existing Hybrids and had cloned them.

Of the Test Batch of 15, only 1 Subject survived. It was deemed only a Partial Success, because while they did manage to create a New Hybrid, it was Unstable and prone to melting if overexerted.

They placed it in the same Containment Unit as the other 2, and left it at that. No more Cloning Experiments had been conducted afterwards since the project was deemed an overall Failure.

...

The 4th and Final Hybrid was found in Gotham City of all places, 2 years later.

A GIW Operative had been visiting Family when their Van's Ecto-Detector had gone off. Soon after that they found the Subject in an Alleyway, seemingly disoriented from its recent awakening.

DNA testing had revealed the Hybrid to be deceased Jason Peter Todd, the adopted Son of Bruce Wayne who had been killed 6 Months Prior while studying in Ethiopia. By the Scientists Best Guess, an Anomoly in Space-Time had caused a Natural Portal to open right on top of the Teenagers Corpse, fusing his Deceased Body and nearly formed Ghost into One.

They shipped the Teen off to the Blacksite, and placed him in the same Containment Unit as the others.

...

So now the GIW have 4 Hybrids, all created from different circumstances, all different ages.

One was formed from the Slow Death of a College Age Student, after a Lab Accident had flooded his system with Pure Ectoplasm.

One was form from the Instant Death of a 5 yr old Boy, after a Lab Accident had flooded his Body with a dimensions worth of Ectoplasm.

One was created in a GIW Lab in a Cloning Experiment. She was created to be 3 Yrs Old upon Birth, and was Unstable as a Result.

One was created from the Fusion of a Long Dead Teenage Corpse and a nearly formed Ghost, in a random Space Time Event that forced both together.

...

All the Halfas are basically a Family together. Vlad is the oldest, at around 35, and takes the Paternal Role.

Danny and Ellie are the Kids, and are 10 and 5 respectively.

Jason is the Oldest Child, and takes his Older Brother role very seriously. He is 15 when he is brought in.

They all take care of eachother, through all the experiments and tests the GIW force them through.

One of the most common experiments is to have them battle the other Ghosts in Captivity. Although that is just a thinly veiled dog fighting ring that the GIW scientists like to Bet on. Sometimes they are put up against eachother, but they refuse to fight until they are electrocuted into submission.

They were also forced to Push all of their Powers to their Limits every day, just so the Scientist can see how they are growing. This had drained them, since they only got the absolute minimum amount of Ecto to survive off of, and they were forced to use it all up every day.

This goes on for 3 more years.

...

Until the day when the GIW messed up.

During one of their Constant Dog Fights, they had made the mistake of putting two Electricity Core Ghosts against eachother. The resulting battle had created an Electromagnetic Wave that fried all systems in the entire Facility.

It was a Disaster. Dozens of Scientists were killed when the Door Locks failed to contain the captive Ghosts, and even more were injured when a few of the Ghosts managed to break into the Armory on Base.

It was only hours after the whole ordeal was Finally quelled that they realized that their most Valuable Test Subjects were missing.

Vlad, Danny, Jason, and Ellie had taken the chance to run away during the commotion. Vlad had unfortunately been injured during the escape, and Ellie had been forced to use her powers causing her to destabilize a little, but all in all they had managed to escape on one piece.

But now they were fugitives on the run from the Government, with an injured adult and a sick child.

Jason had an Idea though. While he didn't have very clear memories of his life, a side effect of his late resurrection, he did remember that he used to live in Gotham. And they all remember researchers grumbling about how their scanners always malfunction when they passed nearby Gotham.

So, Jason led his little Family to the most Familiar place in the city he could think of.

Crime Alley.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 3

I'm on a roll- don't expect it to last :)) but as of right now, Chapter 4 is done, Chapter 5 will be started, and I feel like each one will be longer and longer than the last- hope ch4 was just a one in a trillion thing

First || previous<< Chapter 3 >>next

Sleeping that night seemed to be a struggle on its own, nightmares plaguing your mind left and right. You’d fall asleep for 30 minutes and wake up, fall asleep for another 30 minutes and wake up again, and again, and again, giving up once you woke up at 03:33 am. No use in trying to sleep if you’re just going to wake up crying and gasping for air, heart pumping so hard you could hear the blood running through your veins.

You needed air, wanted something less stuffing than the four walls that seemed to close in around your shaking form. With bare feet, you made your way across the manor towards the garden. May as well try and do something productive.

The garden was loved and taken care of, once upon a time. The plants were dead, the trees dried beyond help, and the dirt may need to be changed as well if the roots have gone putrid and rotten, just to be sure. It’ll take years to bring the space to its glory, to how it looked in the painting, but you could feel it in your bones that it will be worth it.

Diverting your attention from the nightmares to the garden helped ease the shaking, the fear. The more you thought about the nightmares, the more you didn’t know which one scared you the most. Between relieving your mom’s death, accepting she was dead, that you’ll never see her again, that you didn’t even know where they buried her- and seeing Bruce as the one holding the gun, firing it at your mom, at you, and then laughing with glee, saying something you didn’t quite remember…  You couldn’t decide which one you hated the most.

Your eyes trailed the walls of the manor, up to the roof, and back down. You wanted to call him dad, hug him, have him come to your recitals and activities, and have him love you like Officer Gordon said he would. And yet, no matter how close he seemed to you, he was farther away than the moon. You hoped it was just your awkward self, that maybe your anxieties were putting ideas where there shouldn’t be any. Today’s breakfast only seemed to fortify said anxieties.

“When will I go back to school?” The question fell from your lips so quietly, and the silence it created made you sink into yourself. Bruce’s eyes had been glancing at you non-stop, but now they were fixated on you, non-blinking. He hummed, low and thoughtful. “You’ll be moved to online schooling. After what happened to your mom, I feel it will be safer for you to stay inside the manor for a while”

“For forever.” The shadows hissed in his ear, but Bruce simply cleared his throat, checked his watch, and left, Richard following soon after at the man’s nudging. Bruce will drive Dick to school. Your eyes remained on your plate as they left, remaining quiet for a while.

“Mama said I should make friends.” Your teary eyes met Alfred’s again as your lip trembled. “How will I make friends if I can’t go outside?” The older man’s hands were rubbing together behind his back. He felt as inexperienced as when Bruce was a toddler, as unsure of what to do as when he was with his father. That was a rare feeling for the man.

With a soft sigh and a shaky hand placed on the young kid’s shoulder, Alfred did what he did best. “I am sure you will have many opportunities to make friends, young miss.” He lied. You knew he was, and yet you held onto the hope. Bruce said it’ll only be for a while- so maybe, just maybe, in high school, you’ll have tons of friends.

You finished your plate, eyes still wet, but at least you didn’t cry. Your insistence to help Alfred was only met with a soft smile and a shake of his head, the man insisting on you enjoying the free time you have, telling you that perhaps you should go and buy some clothes, some decorations for your room.

Again, you mentioned the insanity of leaving a kid to buy whatever they wanted, but Alfred only laughed. “Can- is there a laptop I can use? Mama always let me on hers when we ordered something online. It’ll be easier for me…” You asked so softly, almost going into rambling as anxiety of sounding like a brat, like you were ungrateful for the phone, settled in.

Alfred didn’t even blink, no muscle on his face twitched as he only nodded, saying he’ll bring one to your room straight away. That was easier than expected. You were so used to your mom saying no, or bargaining with her for new shoes, and you understood- you didn’t have that much money, could barely scrap by… But the way the Waynes threw money around felt irresponsible. Does Bruce truly make that much money that he doesn’t have to worry about losing his home? What if he loses it all one day? Does he have a savings account? Your tummy didn’t feel good worrying about all that, mama always said that only adults should worry about money.

You don’t think your mom would like Bruce very much. That thought filtered through your brain for quite a while as you looked up how to take care of a garden and specific plants you wanted to see bloom. He was so cold, distant, creepy, and secretive. Your mother always dreamed of a loving man, strong but gentle. You never understood why she put up with the men she hung out with considering they were exactly like Bruce.

Alfred interrupted your musing as he knocked, opening the door only when he heard your voice. He left the laptop and its charger on the desk, and his only words were to inform you of the timetable for eating.  “But, of course, if you get hungry before then, you’re more than welcome to the kitchen, young miss.” And he left just as fast as he came, barely having the time to ask where your mother would be buried. You doubted Bruce would hold a funeral for her. Alfred just said he’ll look into it.

With a small huff, you went and plugged the charger into the wall and laptop before opening it. Bruce gave you the card to use, and if he can’t be bothered to go with you to stores, you can surely get whatever you want. He’s so rich, you can bleed him dry a bit.

In the end, you didn’t. You felt too guilty about buying clothes and things for the garden, so your desires for those shiny metallic watercolors and 360 markers were exchanged for a few sketchbooks and graphite pens. Your mother is rolling in her grave at how much you spent, you were sure, so you rationalized the guilt to simply wanting to perfect your skills before buying those fancy things.

You got the clothes a size or two bigger, just like mami did, so they’ll fit you for longer. Simple things, pajamas, socks, underwear, and a few pairs of jeans and T-shirts, things she’d buy for you since you were unsure of what you were supposed to get.

You hoped Bruce wouldn’t be too angry, he was a scary man now, and you dreaded to see him angry. On the garden side of things, you may have overindulged. From all the tools you got, to the kind of soil, to the types of flowers, to making sure you got beds for the plants. The soil outside truly looked beyond saving. But if he was okay with Richard’s desire for more gymnastics equipment, surely he'd be fine with this.

At lunch, you were informed by Alfred that Bruce and Dick won’t attend dinner. It didn’t surprise you, however, it still felt like they were avoiding you, and it still hurt. Perhaps this will be the new normal, the everyday occurrence. Maybe this was normal for them, you were sure high school and work kept them both busy… Will they ever have time for you?

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae Forgot the tags D: my bad

[avaleigh16]

Dick: Is the plural of milf , milfs or milves.

Jason: Milfs.

Y/n: Milf is an acronym, you can't change the spelling to milves.

Dick: Wait, they're acronyms? What do they stand for???

Bruce: Mom in late forties, dad in late fourties.

Bruce: I learned that from the movie called M.I.L.F that I saw the trailer of in theaters probably 5 to 7 years ago.

Y/n: Mom I'd Love to Fuck.

Dick: WAIT, WHAT THE FUCK—

Dick: I NEVER REALIZED IT WAS ACTUALLY HORNY!

Bruce: Oh, is it not mom in late fouries?

Jason: What? No! It isn't!

Bruce: THE MOVIE TRAILER LIED TO ME!

Y/n: Bruce...

Bruce: THIS IS WHY I DIDN'T THINK CALLING PEOPLE MILFS WAS ALL THAT BAD BECAUSE IT STOOD FOR SOMETHING HARMLESS IT JUST HAD A SLIGHTLY SEXUAL CONNOTATION!

Y/n: I am entirely unsurprised that this is coming from you.

Bruce: TIM, DOES IT MAKE SENSE WHY I CALLED THE DIARY OF A WIMPY KID MOM A MILF NOW BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WAS LITERALLY JUST A DESCRIPTOR WITH FUNNY CONNOTATION!

Dick: The word milf has been ruined for me.

Jason: THAT'S ITS DEFINITION, IT CAN'T BE RUINED THAT'S WHAT IT MEANS!

Y/n: Y'all are dumbasses.

〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰

Y/n: Damain, what does IDK, ILY, and TTYL mean?

Damain: I don’t know, I love you, talk to you later.

Y/n: Alright, I love you too, I'll ask Tim.

Damain: Wait- Y/n, no-

〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰���〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰

Jason: Swear words are illegal now. If you say one you'll be fined.

Y/n: Heck.

Jason: You're on thin fucking ice.

Jason: Oh no-

〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰

Jason: I owe you one.

Y/n: That’s ok. You can just date me and we’ll call it even.

Jason:

[alphynix]

Modern mammals are the only living representatives of the synapsids, but back during the Permian there were numerous other evolutionary branches – first the pelycosaurs, and later their descendant the therapsids.

Some of the first non-mammalian therapsids were the biarmosuchians, mid-sized carnivores with a more upright posture than their pelycosaur ancestors. They had large canine teeth in their jaws and powerful bites, and some of them also developed elaborate ornamentation on their skulls, with various bony bumps and crests adorning their faces.

Pachydectes elsi was a 1.5m long (~5') biarmosuchian living in what is now South Africa during the late Permian, about 265 million years ago. Bone texture indicates its head ornamentation was covered by either tough thickened skin or a keratinous sheath, and the large bulbous bosses on the sides of its snout had a particularly rich blood supply, suggesting these structures could have been continuously growing throughout its entire life.

But despite how well-protected it looked, Pachydectes' skull was actually relatively fragile and wouldn't have been able to withstand the impact forces of using its headgear for fighting or defense. Instead it may have been mostly used for visual display – and the blood supply to the snout bosses might even have given it the ability to "blush" them if they had a soft-tissue covering.

———

NixIllustration.com | Tumblr | Patreon

References:

Benoit, J., et al. "Early synapsids neurosensory diversity revealed by CT and synchrotron scanning." The Anatomical Record (2024). https://doi.org/10.1002/ar.25445

Rubidge, Bruce S., Christian A. Sidor, and Sean P. Modesto. "A new burnetiamorph (Therapsida: Biarmosuchia) from the middle Permian of South Africa." Journal of Paleontology 80.4 (2006): 740-749. https://doi.org/10.1666/0022-3360(2006)80[740:ANBTBF]2.0.CO;2

Wikipedia contributors. “Biarmosuchia.” Wikipedia, 13 Feb. 2024, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Biarmosuchia

Wikipedia contributors. “Pachydectes.” Wikipedia, 7 Feb. 2024, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pachydectes

[on-the-clear-blue]

So I was thinking and like, the Batfam all come from vastly different backgrounds, and like everything in life, food is easily the best way to truly see someone.

Bruce likely grew up eating the same thing every day in the way of "Fridays are Lamb chops, Sunday is Pot roast" because that's how it was just done those days.

His father was a well to-do man, a gigh class doctor and his mother was a socialite, they held their postion highly and knew what was expected of them, even by their staff.

Martha always worked withe chef for meal plans, changing things for holidays or if they would have guests but always had a base she built off of.

It was that base that Bruce clung to after they died, sure the chef left, the other maids and servants going wirh him, leaving just Alfred (he was just a butler, he ran the house, told people what to do not cook)

But Alfred, a man who been through war and acting school did what he did best, He adapted, becoming more than just his title of Butler.

Now think of all that being flipped on its head by little Dickie, freshly orphaned from his loving family. His loving Romani family that traveled across world that likely ate different cuisines every time they stopped in a country. (This is in fact a call back to my baby dick post)

Just...

Dickie, staring wide eyed at just the amount of meat on his plate: It...it's all for me?

Bruce, staring back with confusion: Do you need more? Alfred get Dicke more food, clearly this isn't enough for him.

I love the idea that Dickie pulls a face when he sees mashed potatoes for the third day in a row, he is crying and sad, he missed rice! Fresh veggies! Where was the flavor?? Why was everything so rich?

And Bruce adapts, he is the God damn Batman, of course he adapts, and the perfect schedule of foods he always knew would be on each day of the week is changed, oh of course he doesn't like it but it's for his son child so of course he puts up with it.

(Yes he can't handle the spice, he might of traveled the world for 5 years but he lived off of energy bars and MREs so he didn't have to think about food while traning)

Then his son is gone, (its all his fault why does this always happen why can't he just say what he means to say) and the schedule comes back. Was pot roast always this bland? When did the mashed peas start to seem unpleasant?

Then...Jason is in his life, it's a whirlwind of things, trying to get him comfortable in a place that seemed like a fairy tale.

Jason, who lived on the streets for years, Jason who even before he was homeless was in a poor household, who made ketchup sandwiches cus he was able to snatch a few from the gas station when the clerk wasn't looking, who thought fresh veggies were a special treat meant to be savored, who always felt loved when his mom saved up a bit and they got smoked turkey legs and boiled them up in a soup.

That Jason looks at the offered food and feels uncomfortable, all that was far to much for him.

Jason, frowning at his bowl of soup: Um...what's the big bits of green?

Bruce, looking up from his case file: Hn, it's herbs Jaylad, I think basil and parsley.

Jason, nodding but clearly doesn't know: Oh yeah...totally see that now...

Unlike Dick, Jason doesn't ask for things, doesn't want to be a burden to the guy who took him in, so he eats and doesn't throw a fit.

(The first night Jason actually ate with Bruce the kid nearly ate till he threw up, not wanting to waste a single bit.)

It was months later when Jason finally asked for something another and...

Jason, fidgeting: So B...Um...I wanted to ask but uh...C-can I just get like...actual crackers and stuff? Not those fancy rich people ones but like...Ritz? Cheese wiz? I...I just...I don't like blue cheese.

Bruce, blinking in rich person: Ritz...as in the hotel? I can ask Alfred about a cheese wizard but...Hn..

Later

Bruce, fighting Condiment King: Do you know a Cheese Wizard?

Then Jason, his boy, his and Gotham light dies, Bruce finds his body broken and beaten and- he was breathing Bruce got him in time- he didn't. The boy wasn't responding. His boy. His Jason died in his arms. Choking out sobs as he couldn't get enough air in, coughing and shuddering as he tried to get the smoke out

(Jason's death certificate says he dies of smoke inhalation, the explosion didn't kill him, it was the fumes afterward)

Then Bruce shuts down, he becomes the Batman fully, Bruce Wayne died with his son that day and all that was left was the Bat.

Then a pesky boy put on Bruce's sons outfit, charged in and saved him. Pulling the man back from the brink kicking and screaming and crying.

Tim wasn't a son to Bruce (couldn't be, wouldn't allow him to be) he came every evening for training and patrol and then he was gone and that was all Bruce had to think about the boy.

Then he saw Jason in Tim, saw Dickie, saw himself and before Bruce knew he was caring for the kid.

Asking to say for a post patrol snack was first denied, about a dozen times before Tim broke, humming and quickly downing that German dish that Dick always wanted when he was feeling sick.

Tim slowly started to settle, growing a bit more lax in his own right, like a feral cat slowly becoming more comfortable with someone.

(No he didn't take advice from Selina...there isn't any proof)

Bruce, sitting at the bat computer, watching the reflection of Tim training in the background:

Tim, winded and tired after a few minutes and having to take a break, pulls out a protein bar:

Bruce, Vietnam war like flash back to his own training days where he only lived off ration bars: pained Hn

And once more Bruce adapts, learns. Tim won't stay for dinner, won't stay the night after a hard patrol, but Bruce can tempt him, with little things, a bit of jerky instead of what Bruce knows for sure are bulk baught meal replacement bars during a stake out, a thing of left overs (they arnt actually, Alfred made them just for Tim) of "last nights dinner"

Bruce is 75% sure Tim knows but neither say anything.

Then tragedy rears its ugly head and Tim's parents are dead, first his mother, his father in a coma and...Tim choses to run away, hiding behind an uncle Bruce is very much aware didn't exist three days ago, and he can't do anything more than what he has already.

Then his boy (God not again why does he always get attached) losses his father, murdered by a God damn Flash rogue.

(The angry rant Barry gets about keeping track of criminals and their whereabouts become legendary in the Leauge)

Finally Bruce's boy is at the Manor and...Bruce sees him, almost for the first time behind the mask of "Tim Drake, the nice young man" he's reclusive, obsessive and picks at his food more than he eats. Surviving on snack foods and energy drinks.

It's a chore to get the boy to eat anything that wasn't out of a package or a box (and Bruce gets it he really did, knowing what it will taste like and knowing it will always taste the same was very comforting) but he managed.

Then like a hurricane Damian is brought into his life, his son, (he has another, one he never knew about and oh God he already loves him, already would die to have the boy trust) and then-

He's gone.

He's flung through time and lost and lives not his own are played out and things he never thought would be comforting are.

Then...then he is found and God it's been months, it's been ages and...

Dick is more Damians father than he could ever be, was there for him in was Bruce should have been...

Dick leaves again, but not as far as Jump city, comes to stay at Bludhaven. (So close but so far away, why didn't he want to stay?)

Jason comes back just as he came into this world, screaming and covered in blood (His boy, his Jaylad ALIVE BREATHING)

Tim has matured, changed, and he walks differently now, far more like Ra's stride (Why does Tim get dead look in his eyes now? What has his son seen? What has he done...)

And Damian. He only was with him briefly, not nearly long enough to see his LoA mask drop, to see the boy beneath the weapon.

That mask goes back on when Bruce returns, he sees the true Damian for a moment before it is shut off fully, sees his son (God did he say how much he loves the boy already?) Softly petting a cat names Alfred before noticing Bruce.

And like all times before, Bruce adapts, changes his approach yet again.

Damian responds to violence, he expects to be yelled at and will only respect a choice if it was fought for, Bruce knows this and...he messes up some times, takes the easy way out and does what the boy know and Bruce feels the guilt.

But he tries to connect, past the way of pain that Damian knows.

Damian, fuming in his room after an argument with Bruce, angrily looking at the wall: 😠

Bruce, knocking on the door, then opening it a second later, not saying anything as he sets down a bowl of mango on Damians bedside table, then leaves.

Damian, grumbling as he eats the fruit of forgiveness: Stupid Father...

(He 100% asked Talia what she normally does and it seemed to work)

Their relationship is rocky, but they find moments where they touch, where Father and Son find a soft moment, Damian teaching Bruce how to make his grandfather's Chai blend, Bruce in turn teaching his son how to make latkes, an exchange of their pasts together.

Then Cassandra comes and Bruce is thrown for a loop once more, she is unlike any of his other children, she is open, painfully so, she might seemed closed off, silent and deadly...but Bruce can see her, truly see her as she wants to be seen and she is screaming, hurt and scared and all alone.

He takes her home, David Cain can try and take his daughter away but there will be hell to pay.

And then she is home, she is settled in a life where she can learn more than just violence.

She stares at the plate of food that is put in front of her the first dinner that Bruce's family has together (HE HAS A FAMILY! WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?)

And she cries.

It is just as she wanted but she didnt know what to do, David Cain was a horrid man, in his chase for the perfect weapon he long left the idea of pleasure and care by the way side.

So Cass was overwhelmed by actual food, not nutrient dense bars that tasted bitter and was ash on her tongue.

Cass, pitifully looking down at an orange: HOW DO I EAT YOU?

Bruce looking on from his seat: Sweetheart? Don't eat the peel, Cass-Cass. No. Cassandra please. N-No not the lime! Put that down! You're just going to...that.

Cass, looking pained from eating a whole lime at once: 😞

Bruce, looking equally pained: Sweetheart you can spit it out...

And Bruce thinks his family is big enough, with his boys and his wonderful daughter (no Steph and Barbara didn't count, as they both kept on insisting, they both still had parents)

And then comes along Duke and...God he is already signing the foster papers before he could think too hard.

Duke is unlike the rest of his children as in he is batshit insane but hides it far better than he has any right too.

Bruce tries to not pull his hair out as the kid talks about how he made a kinda cult around Robin and lead them to help the Bats...

It takes time for Duke to get used to the Manor, but he does slowly, finding his place in the family much easier than they all assumed.

Unlike the rest of his children, for some reason it is easy for Bruce to speak with Duke, it's as if they both think similarly.

If Bruce wanted any of his children to take up the cowl when he dies (Which he very much would not like thank you very much) Bruce is hesitant to fully say Cass would be the next Bat, while Cassandra has the fists to do it, Duke had the dedication and drive to, the mental state to truly be the Dark Knight.

Bruce, in the cave, hour 36 with out sleep, 5 coffees deep into a conspiracy: hn.

Duke, right there with him, missed two days of school and hasn't stopped drinking energy drinks: Hm?

Bruce, wordlessly passing the files over, before pulling a face at Dukes energy drinks: Hn..

Duke, taking files but offended on his poor babies behalf, popping one open and dumping it into Bruce's (empty) coffee cup: Have some you marshmallow looking ass...fuck out my face B.

Bruce, scowling, taking a sip before freezing for a full minute, (its the fruit juice kinda monster) his body hasn't has nutrients in a while and are all over this: Hmm...Nice.

(Duke shares more, cus while his dad is not able to be there for him, Bruce is more of that weird uncle that the rest of the family don't talk about.)

It's not till someone at a gala complains, saying "I understand he has an obsession with those...children, but why does everything have to be about them, I miss the old menu for these things." That Bruce realizes that the predetermined, predictable life he once clung to was gone, dead and long buried...and Bruce couldn't care about it less.

(That Gala person gets personally banned and their business is outed for all the shitty things they have done.)

---

This....this was far longer than what I meant this to be...I just wanted to talk about what they would like and what kinda food the batfams culture has but um...this got way outta hand...so ya.

[dallaji]

Save some room for us.

♡ bada lee x reader / NSFW❗

SUMMARY: This could’ve been a perfect night: it was your first time being invited to a sorority house party and you were promised alcohol, decent music and good company. So naturally, because nothing is ever truly perfect, your ex-situationship had to be a part of said sorority.

WORD COUNT: 7k

CW: ex-fwb, university setting, lengthy smut (like 50% ratio), both bada and reader are switches, relationship is the epitome of "its complicated", bada is a mess but please forgive her, author has never used a dating app before, kinda angsty?? hopeful ending though!!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was inspired by this post by @moonsvrse but it honestly spiralled so um, i'm so sorry if it's not what you hoped it'd be (╥﹏╥).

————— ୨୧ —————

It was almost comedic, honestly.

When Minah had invited you to her sorority’s house party with a hopeful glimmer in her eyes, you had said yes without a second thought. It wasn’t your scene at all, but you and Minah shared a Sociolinguistics class that became considerably less boring once you sat down next to each other. 

Usually a Saturday night was spent with your two roommates, eating at the cheap fast food joint around the corner of your shared dorm: you were always back in the comfort of your own room before the clock struck 11pm. For the sake of experience you decided, why not. Maybe you’ll finally get a taste of that wild university life.

Now, at 11:05pm, you were crammed into a sorority house with at least 150 other people: the bottom of your sneakers sticky after stepping in an unidentified puddle on the floor, speakers blaring whatever Spotify selected for the RapCaviar playlist that week, and a bottle of lukewarm beer in your hand. It was fine, though. Minah had introduced you to some of her friends who you had hit it off with quite effortlessly. One girl called Lusher couldn’t stop gushing over your outfit, though by this point she had knocked back quite a few drinks.

You were having a good time.

But it became comedic once you headed to the kitchen with the group of girls to grab more drinks and were faced with a ghost from a not-so-distant past.

Bada Lee was leaning over the kitchen counter, smiling sweetly at a girl chattering animatedly in front of her. She looked just as attractive as you remembered her. Perhaps even more so.

Naturally, your first ever house party had to be hosted by a sorority she was seemingly a part of. 

Really. It was straight out of a comedy skit.

Bada and you had met on a dating app about a year ago: you saw a picture of a girl standing tall in a dance studio while donned in a sweater, jogger and Jordans, and you had instinctively swiped right. You don’t know what Bada had thought of your low effort selfie - posing inside a coffee shop - but it must’ve impressed her somehow. You were matched by the end of the day. 

“fuck marry kill: han so hee, bruce wayne, me” had been her introductory line. And despite your answer (you had, in fact, answered that you would kill Bada), you did end up fucking after spending your first date at a dim sum restaurant. 

This was, coincidentally, right after she had confessed she wasn’t interested in anything serious right now. She had still wanted to meet you however. You were, in her words, “too pretty not to take out”. 

You didn’t have a lot of time to mull over the initial disappointment, because she was fingers deep in you later that same day; lips attached to your neck and a rogue hand fondling your breast. Regrettably, the sex had been ridiculously good.

Chin up, though! It wouldn’t be the last time. 

The second “date” was spent watching a schlocky horror flick in her small dorm, before you ate her out on the couch until she was shaking and panting underneath you; bad movie and takeout pizza long forgotten. What you had initially disregarded as an incredible one-night stand became a biweekly hookup for the 5 months that followed.

The both of you had set rules in place, though these were mostly driven by Bada: this was just sex. She didn’t have the time or the “emotional bandwidth” for anything serious. 

The problem was that the lines got blurred pretty quickly. After a month you had begun meeting up without the pretense of sex hanging in the air. You would rent some more schlocky horror movies together and actually watch them, popcorn propped up in your laps. She would wait up for you after class to go grab some coffee, even if her own schedule was mismatched. You had cooked chicken noodle soup in a pinch at her dorm when she was down with the flu. She would slip her arms around your waist from behind and call you her “baby” in the softest voice.

And yet, the rules were simple. There were no strings attached to this arrangement, and you would be reminded in subtle ways. While you knew how she liked her eggs in the morning and that she’d much rather spend her time on watching terrible TLC reality shows than studying for her finals, you had no clue who her friends were or what hometown she grew up in. Sometimes your text messages would go unread for days at a time, but she would still post on Instagram. Bada’s Tinder profile picture would change every now and then, despite her continuously finding her way back into your bed.

But it had been fine. The rules were simple, and it never really drove you to heartbreak levels of sadness. At the very worst you had been annoyed by her flakiness, but you enjoyed her company too much to ever mention it. 

That was until you woke up one day to find yourself blocked on Instagram, her account set to private without a clarification or even a final goodbye. You had sent exactly one text asking if everything was alright, but it never went through. Her Tinder profile stopped updating. The message was more than clear, and you were not one to chase someone down. You were much too prideful for that.

A few days after being locked out of her life, your roommate (who had taken it upon herself to keep tabs on your past situationship) showed you a picture of Bada wrapped around a girl who was everything you were not: where she looked soft, you were sharp edges; where she was exuberant, you were placid. And then everything clicked. She had met someone who made her want to go steady, and that person was resoundingly not you. 

You met your roommate’s eyes with such a forced indifference, it almost felt defiant: “Good for her.” You had mumbled, unpausing the TLC reality show Bada and you used to watch together.

Thus, exactly as she had bulldozed into your life, she had promptly disappeared. You, too, stopped using Tinder. When your friends asked about your dating life, you would shrug and say you didn’t have the time for it. But truthfully, the pit in your stomach became a permanent fixture whenever the topic arose. 

You carried on with your life; there were no “stuffing yourself with chocolate” or “locking yourself in your bedroom sobbing”, but the hurt you felt was akin to pulling back when a candlelight grew bigger under the palm of your hand. You felt slighted and confused, frustrated that she never felt an explanation was warranted. But perhaps this was your problem: putting expectations on a woman like Bada, who had never done the same for you. The rules had been simple, after all.

It had been 7 months since then, and you had genuinely not thought of the girl in a long time. Yet there you stood, frozen in the doorframe as Minah and her friends rushed into the kitchen. The way Bada was looking at the girl in front of her almost reminded you of the way she looked at you on that faithful first date. The girl in question, however, looked nothing like the girlfriend she had introduced to the world months prior.

You were normal about it.

So normal that you had traced your steps back unnoticed and hid around the corner with your back pressed against the wall. A guy you didn’t know gawked at you like you were a safety risk, but you were too busy trying to think of an escape plan to really pay attention.

“Bada! We were looking for you earlier— Wait, Minah, where’d your friend go?” You heard Lusher’s voice question.

“Oh? I swear she was just behind me.”

“Friend?” The familiarity of Bada’s voice made your stomach churn. You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

“Yeah! Don’t think you know her, she’s in my Sociolinguistics class— Seriously, where’d she run off to?”

“Sociolinguistics, you said?” 

You couldn’t listen to it any more: you downed your beer with a grimace, left the bottle on a nearby table and then pushed through the partygoers. The living room was currently packed with people dancing, playing beer pong or lazing on and around the couch. It was busy enough to drown yourself in the crowd and thus slip away from Minah’s searching eyes.

You found a free spot on the carpet in front of the television and sat down unceremoniously, legs crossed as the partygoers around you did not spare you a single glance; way more focused on things you weren’t doing. Like having fun, for example. 

You suddenly became much more conscious of how loud the music was. It was absolutely going to leave your ears ringing once you were back in the safety of your own bed. 

Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you sent your roommate a tentative text asking if she was still awake and could come pick you up. You would give it half an hour, you told yourself. If she didn’t get back to you beforehand, you were honest to god willing enough to call an Uber.

You kept track of your surroundings, dropping your head whenever you noticed Minah or her friends move around the room. You could’ve sworn they were calling for your name. Luckily no one else in the sorority house knew you, so your cover wasn’t blown.

It took 20 minutes.

You had been scrolling through your Instagram feed when a beer bottle was shoved under your nose. Flinching, as if you were snapped out of a trance, you looked up only to meet the eyes of the one person you had been trying to avoid.

Bada had come to sit next to you on the floor while you weren’t paying attention, and held out the drink with a soft smile. There was a point in time where you were obsessed with that smile, but right now it was ticking you off. 

“Hey there.” She sounded painfully nonchalant as if she were greeting an old friend, voice loud enough to be audible over the music. You suppose she was, if you were to have a habit of making out with people you considered old friends.

You felt like a cornered animal; your brain urging you to just get up, walk away and call an Uber, but your body remained frozen in place. You took the beer from her hand with little acknowledgment, breaking your shared eye contact, and took an immediate swig from the bottle.

“Hi.” You muttered bitterly, staring straight ahead.

“Never pegged you as a sorority girl,” She was still looking at you, smile unmoving as she brought her own drink to her lips, “Minah invited you?”

“Yup.” You popped the ‘P’, turning the bottle in your hand to keep your eyes occupied. “Could say the same for you.”

“I moved out of my dorm at the start of the semester. This place is much bigger, so the sorority formalities are only a small sacrifice.” Bada laughed good-naturedly, as her head tilted to the side to get a better look at you, wordlessly encouraging you to meet her halfway.

You kept your eyes on your drink, fighting the urge to ask her what the hell she could even want from you. “Cool.” 

“How have you been?”

Was she really going through all the steps of small talk 101? 

“Fine, what about you?” You took another swig from the bottle.

“Okay,” Bada replied vaguely, but the amiable smile did not leave her face, “What is it you did again- Political science?”

You tightened the grip on your bottle and scoffed, tongue digging in the hollow of your cheek. She knew damn well that you had a major in Anthropology. The smart thing to do would be to get up and leave, but you liked having a retort ready: something Bada had said she loved about you in the past.

“What is it that you did? Computer science?” You looked up at Bada, who was very much a Dance major. 

For the first time Bada’s smile faltered. Perhaps it was something about the look in your eyes or the combativeness in your body language, but it was enough to downturn the corners of her mouth. She put down her drink. “Sorry, I thought—” She began, suddenly unsure of what to say, “I was joking.” 

“I don’t know what you think.” You retorted plainly. The words, which were clearly not only meant for the current conversation you were having, hung in the air like a dark cloud. “Look, I didn’t know you were going to be here. So before you get the wrong idea—”

“I’m sorry.” Bada blurted, but her eyes were no longer scanning your face and rather seemed much more preoccupied with the sleeves of her hoodie, slender fingers picking at the fabric.

“You already said that.” You sighed, not letting up. You didn’t like the sudden rigidity in her posture, but it was hard not to feel like your anger was well founded. 

“I know you wouldn’t know I would be here. It’s not like I…” She glanced up at the ceiling and gestured vaguely with her hands. “It’s not like you would’ve had a way of finding out.”

You arched an eyebrow, quietly waiting for her to continue.

Bada pressed her lips together in a fine line, worrying the skin between her teeth as she pondered her next words carefully. “I’m sorry for the way I left things.” Finally, she turned to look at you, her eyes intense and pleading. For a second your mouth went dry, vaguely registering how close she was. You wanted to scoot away, but her stare was begging you to hear her out. “A lot was happening— A lot has happened. I was a complete coward, and so immature, I- I’ve regretted it since.” 

“You could’ve unblocked me any time.” You spoke slowly.

“I could’ve.” Bada agreed, scanning your face. “Maybe I’m still a coward. But then I saw you just now and…” Her lips parted as she mulled over her next words: “I don’t know. I just needed to talk to you.”

The bottle of beer was becoming lukewarm in your hold. You didn’t like seeing this Bada: guilt and shame written all over her face and shrunken into herself. It seemed completely unnatural to the girl you had come to know for those 5 months, who did everything but make herself smaller. You desperately wanted to tell her everything was okay, but you knew you would regret leaving things unsaid. Even now, when you think back to the moment where you found yourself locked out of all her accounts, you could feel your heart plummeting down your chest so vividly; as if you were experiencing it all over again.

“You didn’t owe me a lot,” You admitted, attempting to hide the quiver in your voice, feeling silly as soon as the words had left you, “but you could’ve said something. Anything.” 

“Yes.” Her voice was almost a whisper, eyes downcast. “I want to tell you everything that was going through my mind at the time but, maybe not now.” 

“Maybe not now.” You concurred. Not because you weren’t near desperate to know, but rather the timing didn’t feel right. You almost felt like she had to fight for the right to tell you what had happened. She should have to fight for your listening ear.

“You have actually been doing good?” Your eyes met again, and something about the way she spoke sounded hopeful; prodding.

“I’ve been good.” You replied, unsure of how to navigate the conversation any further. 

You had half expected her to get up and leave with that, perhaps deem this closure enough to go on with her night, but she stayed put. Bada took another sip of her beer, the way her shoulders sagged an indication of how uneasy she felt. Yet she stayed put. You took this moment to take her in with a more discerning eye: her hair loose and dyed in streaks as opposed to the blonde head of hair you had met her with. She was in an oversized t-shirt and baggy pants, bright tech sneakers carrying over the colors of her outfit. Just as she had been in the past, she was your polar opposite. You were all sleek lines, minimalism and soft colors, your belted loose-fitting dress pants not fitting the energy of the party whatsoever.

Then, you noticed something colorful on her forearm.

“Is that a breakup tattoo?” You blurted dryly, eyes glued to the intricate wave drawn on her skin.

Bada chuckled, holding out her arm with a smile. “Something like that.” 

“Never pegged you as the type.” You parroted the drawl of the same words she had used earlier, and Bada shook her head with a disbelieving grin. “When’d you get it?”

Her grin wavered, slowly morphing into something more calculating as she tilted her head to lock eyes with you once more: “About 7 months ago, give or take.”

————— ୨୧ —————

You barely noticed the doorknob pressing into your lower back as Bada held you down by your hips, your lips locked in a hungry kiss as the muffled sounds of the party downstairs thumped underneath you. Your fingers carded through her hair as she pushed her tongue past with a deep, shaky inhale through her nostrils. One of her hands came up to cradle the side of your face, deepening the kiss with the urgency of a starved person zeroing in on their last meal: if they wavered, it may be frisked away from under their nose.

The kiss was all spit and heavy breathing, mouths gliding together fluidly as if you had choreographed this in the past. Bada hummed approvingly into your mouth as your hands found the hem of her shirt and pulled upwards, eager to feel her bare skin again. She broke the kiss with a wet noise, albeit apprehensively, and let you tug the fabric off, leaving her in a mere sports bra. Your hands smoothed along her waist, reacquainting yourself as she licked into your mouth again without hesitation, now both hands cradling your face as if she was marveling at a treasure. 

A particularly eager suck on your tongue made you moan against her lips, and Bada parted the kiss with a smug grin, half-lidded eyes scanning your features in amazement. “Your turn.” She whispered, gaze back on your saliva-slicked lips. 

Before she could kiss you again, you crossed your arms over your stomach and pulled your sweater over your head, revealing a non-padded lace bra; the sheer fabric leaving little to the imagination. Something about the look in Bada’s eyes deepened as you both kicked your shoes off in a hurry, and she made immediate work of your belt: tugging at it roughly, your hips pulled forward by the force she exerted, before unhooking the clasp and throwing the garment on the pile of clothes left in your shared wake. 

She planted one hand next to your head, against the wooden door, as the other one clutched onto your waist with a burning touch, effectively keeping you in place. Her parted lips attached themselves to the crook of your neck and she let her tongue swirl against the patch of skin, drawing a quivery exhale from you. Baring your neck further, you allowed her to mark you up without a second thought, and she seemed to take that job very seriously.

“You haven’t changed.” Bada noted against your skin, her breath skirting along your earlobe. Something about the tone of her voice sounded delighted at the fact, and you felt your lower stomach warm up impossibly more. 

She kissed her way to your collarbones, your skin shivering at the sensation and letting your hands find purchase atop her shoulders. You let your head fall back against the door with a quiet ‘thud’, back arching when she sucked another hickey right above your cleavage. Then, her hands came up to your chest, squeezing your breasts together and watching the way your cleavage deepened. She bent over and licked up a stripe along the slit, tongue digging into the crease. You pushed your chest out instinctively, sucking in your lower lip.

Bada locked eyes with you as she brought her lips to one of your breasts, letting her tongue lap across the lace fabric covering your nipples. Your hand came up to tuck her hair behind her ear, your movements delicate as she licked at your other nipple, forcing them to stiffen under the heat of her tongue. Her soft hums reverberated against your skin, her thumbs digging right below the hem of your bra and skirting along your underbreasts.

Impatiently you brought your hand up to your back and unclasped your bra. Bada moved away, watching the fabric drop to the floor with a bemused expression, but her hands immediately pressed over your breasts in a possessive manner, kneading the flesh before locking your lips once again. Teeth clashed together, the desperation in both your ministrations making the kiss so uncoordinated you were both left panting. She nudged her hips against yours, writhing against you as your name left her lips.

Your fingers meaningfully hooked underneath the straps of her sports bra. “Your turn.” You mimicked her request from earlier, and she obeyed with a pompous grin. 

But as usual, she had to one up you with a burning defiance in her eyes: she hooked her thumbs into her pants and tugged them off, underwear following suit. Eager hands grabbed onto your hips again as she rotated your positions; your back facing the bed.

“Try to keep up.” She whispered hotly against your mouth, the two of you immediately turning into a mess of limbs and unfocused kisses as she steadily walked you towards her bed. 

The back of your knees hit the edge of her mattress, and you toppled backwards, barely able to register your new position before nimble fingers began unbuttoning your dress pants. Resting on your forearms, you raised your hips to give her easy access and soon enough she pulled off your final garments with haste; leaving the both of you completely bare.

You scooted backwards as Bada climbed on top of you, your arms instinctively wrapping around her waist as she leaned down to kiss your lips, her ass resting in your lap. You had no time to feel skittish about the state you were in, much too familiar with the scenario as Bada’s well acquainted touch found its way to your breasts again, rolling your nipples between her fingers. You missed this, but you would never admit that to her.

Suddenly, she parted the kiss to instead look down at you contemplatively. You tilted your head, a snarky response on the tip of your tongue before the palm of her hand pressed down right above your chest, halting your actions. Her eyes scanned along your figure ravenously, and you, too, took her in: she was somehow both lean and soft, her hair falling over her shoulders like a curtain, strong thighs keeping your hips in place. She was beautiful.

“Do you trust me?” She asked, forefinger tilting your chin upwards.

“No.” You replied honestly, not breaking eye contact.

She grinned wider, finding tremendous joy in your words before she climbed off of you. Leaning over her bed, she began rummaging through her bedside table drawer as you sat up, watching her curiously. You heard a clanging noise when she pulled something silvery out, hiding it behind her back before you could properly register what it was.

“Turn around for me.” She requested, and because you were all bark and no bite, you obeyed.

As soon as your back was facing her, you felt her gentle touch grab a hold of both your wrists, crossing them against your lower back. You felt the cold press of something sharp close around them and lock into place, and heat pooled in your lower stomach, immediately recognizing what she was doing. 

You looked down at the handcuffs wrapped around your wrists over your shoulder before meeting Bada’s smug grin and blown pupils: as if her wildest dreams had just come true. She looked like she was ready to devour you. 

“How many girls wore this before me?” You asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She responded blithely, letting your fingers tangle together affectionately as she pressed a sweet kiss on your bare shoulder.

“Maybe I would.”

“Why does it matter if none of them look even half as good as you do?” She gave the cuffs a playful tug, nuzzling the back of your neck fondly before moving to lie down flat on her back; a hand pressed on your shoulder signaling you to stay put.

“And how many girls have you told the same thing?” You wondered loudly, unable to hide your own smile when Bada laughed at your words.

“Seems I have a lot to make up to you.” Her hands grabbed onto your hips and she began pulling you backwards. “Get on top of me, baby.”

Once again you obeyed because, well, she did have a lot to make up to you. And the way she called you 'baby' had you dripping.

Through her guiding motions, you scooted back on your knees until they were pressing down on either side of her head; Bada’s hands immediately came up to smooth along your curves until she cupped your ass, watching the jiggle as if she was hypnotized. Her eager touch almost made you purr, and you instinctively straightened your back to move all your weight to your legs, opening up for her as your arms were inebriated by the tight hold of Bada’s handcuffs.

“Good girl.” She crooned. And then, her hand came down to slap your ass. 

You let out a surprised gasp but didn’t move. Bada hummed from beneath you, appreciating your responsiveness and letting her nails scrape along the back of your thighs, feeling you shiver under her touch. 

“Unfair that you’re still so pretty from this angle.” Bada mumbled, mostly to herself. She placed her palms on your asscheecks and parted them, and you bent forward ever-so-slightly out of instinct, sinking deeper into the mattress. 

Bada cooed and before you realized it, her hand was on you. Her slender fingers dragged along your glossy folds and coated your heat with your own wetness. You sucked in your lower lip, effectively muffling a surprised moan, but leaned into her touch all the same. Then, she blew cold air against you, gloating over the shiver that ran down your spine.

“So pretty.” She reaffirmed, bringing her fingers to her lips and licking them clean, her other hand spreading your folds.

You almost expected her to ask you to start begging: she had always relished in breaking down your rebellious defenses until you would desperately beg her for more. This time, however, she seemed just as keen as you - if not more - to get her hands on you. Saliva-covered fingers pressed back against your folds and she began drawing circles across them with a maddeningly soft pressure. A shaky exhale left you, hands curling into fists at your lower back as you slowly began grinding your hips against her touch, hoping to find more friction. 

“That’s it.” She muttered, adding more pressure to her ministrations and beckoning you closer and closer, her other hand squeezing your ass.

With a particularly deep rub, you moaned her name and sank lower, the strain of holding yourself up while she was driving you mad almost unbearable. Bada groaned underneath your weight, basking in the way your hips gyrated with your heat so close to her face and she rewarded you by caressing her thumb along your entrance; circling it with more force as soon as she heard you keen. You felt heat course up your spine, immediately chasing her thumb through the grinding motions of your hips.

Bada, who had already found your most sensitive spot, giggled; prodding at your entrance with a forced carefulness she damn well knew you didn’t need. With a high-pitched whine, as the circling of her fingers against your clit sped up, you arched your back, wrists tugging at your handcuffs in frustration as she continued teasing you.

Finally, her thumb pressed into you, the circling of her wrist against you not pausing and you moaned, pushing your hips out impossibly further until Bada had to give your ass another forceful squeeze, urging you to stay put. She fingered you with delight and you felt yourself drip under her care, but what really made you twitch dangerously was the feel of her parted lips moving along your hip. She dug her teeth into your skin and slapped your ass once more, your body flinching inadvertently causing you to sink down on her finger with more force. 

You knew you looked like a desperate mess, mindlessly chasing down whatever she was willing to give to you, but it didn’t stop you from whining out her name, your lower stomach clenching.

“You better not be close already, baby.” You were surprised by how out of breath and wrecked she sounded while you hadn’t even gotten to properly touch her yet. You once again tugged at the handcuffs and you heard her tut. “So impatient.”

She removed her thumb and you almost cussed at her, but were quickly shut up when both hands moved to your hips in a vice grip, pulling you directly onto her open mouth. A moan got stuck in your throat and you almost faltered, nearly falling forward but forcing your legs to keep you upright. 

Bada began swirling her tongue along your folds as if she was parched, hands keeping your cheeks spread as she groaned hungrily against you. Bobbing her head up and down, she lapped at you, tongue digging into your folds before giving your clit a sharp suck; over and over again. 

“Bada…” You moaned, head dropping and only having half a mind to wonder if anyone downstairs could hear you. You realized you kind of didn’t care when Bada was making the kind of noises underneath as if you were doing her a favor.

You had stopped moving your hips, too stunned from pleasure to even consider it, until Bada began forcing you to do so; tight grip on your hips as she lightly bounced you up and down against her mouth. You began rocking back, cursing softly when Bada slurped under you, drinking at the wetness she continuously drew out of you.

You then noticed Bada had spread her legs with a hum, her own hips gyrating against nothing as she ate you out. She was getting off to this, and you felt yourself go all the more insane with want. She was so wet and you wanted to touch her so badly, but your shoulders started to strain through the position you were locked into.

“Bada,” You started, but another eager suck made you cut yourself off with a moan. “Let me—”

She caught her breath against you, chest heaving, still insufferable enough to find the energy to say: “Be my guest.” 

She dug right back in, this time her tongue prodding against your entrance, purposefully leaving you a despairing mess in your handcuffs.

You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of begging for a release from your confines so you dropped forward, face down and ass up, forcing Bada to sit up a little higher to keep her lips pressed against you. You heard her curse.

You didn’t waste any time teasing her, instead immediately closing your lips around her glistening folds. There was no need to toy with her, because her thighs twitched as soon as your lips met her heat, and you felt her moans vibrate against you. You sucked harshly on a bundle of nerves before collecting spit in your mouth and coating her with it, slurping around her breathlessly. Her thighs spread apart even further and you felt her lips falter against you, overcome with pleasure as she began grinding her hips up into your mouth. 

Soon you realized she was much closer than you had anticipated because she began sucking on your clit even harder, in complete and utter desperation, before digging her tongue into your entrance, nails pressing crescent marks into your asscheeks. You ground back against her mouth as you tried to keep a steady pressure on her, licking her with fast but deep strokes. You felt a familiar pressure tighten in your stomach and became involuntarily more erratic, muttering soft ‘uh-huh’’s to encourage her to keep going at the exact pace she was using on you. 

Bada whined against you, the muscles in her upper thighs tightening next to your head. “So close—” She gasped, and you closed your lips around her clit and began sucking. Simultaneously, she dug her tongue impossibly deeper into your entrance.

That’s what did you in: a moan got stuck in your throat as you felt your full body quiver at the orgasm that rippled through you. Bada let out a guttural moan underneath you, her thighs clenching around your head and toes curling as she shook incessantly. Rocking your hips back against her in a daze, she continued to suck on you through your orgasm as you lapped at her clit, soon enough the both of you shivering against each other from oversensitivity.

Panting, you dropped yourself next to her, your legs and shoulders straining from exertion. You were about to ask her to get the handcuffs off of you, until she crawled on top of you.

She was completely flushed, bangs sticking to her forehead, nipples perked and chest heaving as she pinned you down against her pillows, your wrists still pressed into your lower back. 

“Not done.” Bada managed to gasp out as she swept down for a needy kiss, your tongues meeting messily through parted lips. You did not know where she was gathering the energy from, but her hands were back on your hips to slide you further down the bed. 

She threw her right leg over yours and you immediately realized what she was trying to do. “Can you still cum like this?” She wondered coyly, angling her hips against yours before pulling your own leg up, hooking your heel over her shoulder.

Her hold on you was burning, almost having the potential to leave bruises behind, and you didn’t even know how you felt yourself getting wet all over again. The handcuffs were digging painfully into your lower back but you didn’t care, your lips parted in anticipation as Bada stared you down with such a deep longing it made your stomach coil. She twisted her head and pressed a kiss to your ankle, never breaking eye contact with you, before grinding her hips against you in a tentative manner; her folds gliding flush against yours.

You bit down on your lower lip as you felt her wetness grind against you, a quiet whimper slipping past and the smile on Bada’s face widened, eyes turning into crescent moons despite her own excitement. 

Yeah, you could still cum like this, and she knew it. 

She began working up a pace against you, first slow and deep, and then letting it build up to something faster. The way your mounds met each other had your eyes rolling back, soft moans falling from your lips as your hips ground against each other. Never once did her eyes leave you and you almost felt drunk off her attention, eyes falling shut as she hummed in pleasure.

The bed shook, headrest slamming against the wall over and over again with the quickening of her pace. Bada brought a hand to your breast, kneading it into her palm as she spoke lowly, her own eyes half-lidded in exhilaration: “Can anyone else fuck you this good?”

Your lips parted in a gasp, your desire so intense you didn’t even know what you wanted to say. You wanted to say something snarky, but the urge to burst into tears and tell her ‘only you can’ closed around your throat like an invisible hand. Bada’s head fell back as both of your hips moved impossible faster; her tongue dragging messily along your ankle in a complete daze as you panted her name.

“Answer me.” She gasped, the hand that was previously preoccupied with your breast coming up to grab a tight hold of your chin. And as if to prove her point, she began fucking you. Hard and deep, your body shaking with every thrust. 

Your brain was short-circuiting and you shook your head, eyes shut tight. “N- no…” 

Then, her hand moved to your throat squeezing lightly, but possessively. “Say it.”

Feeling her hips falter, you panicked and cried underneath her: “No one can fuck me this good!”

Bada hummed approvingly, picking up the pace again and sliding her hand to the back of your neck. “That’s my baby.” She leaned down, your leg still hooked over her shoulder and stretching along with her movements, yet the pace at which she fucked into you never wavered. “Stick your tongue out.”.

Disoriented, you arched your neck and obeyed, her own tongue gliding against yours in such a filthy manner you became lightheaded. Then, she closed her lips around the wet muscle with a moan, before meeting your mouth in a full kiss that was more exchanging saliva than anything else.

She parted and moved back, her hips pausing momentarily as she looked to where your vaginas met. Before you could object at her lack of movement, she lowered her head and slowly let her spit dribble from her lips and fall onto your folds. Immediately, she picked up the pace again, watching the way the added lubrication made the two of you slide together even easier. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of her.

Bada met your gaze with a wolfish grin and immediately switched gears to an unforgiving pace, the sound of wetness and skin slapping together filling the room as you couldn’t even register the music that was still playing downstairs. You felt the pressure in your upper thighs build up again at a dizzyingly fast pace, and cursed under your breath.

“Please…” You gasped as you threw your head back, unsure what you were begging for but writhing your hips against hers so frantically the message should be anything but unclear.

“Am I gonna make you come again, baby?” Bada panted, slamming herself harder against you.

You nodded, feverishly: “I’m gonna- I need—” But the words died on your lips as your lower stomach folded dangerously. You needed to come. You needed Bada to make you come. 

A palm flattened between your breasts as Bada leaned down on you impossibly harder, keeping you in place as her thrusts took your breath away. Without your body giving you another warning, you orgasmed a second time with Bada’s name in your mouth, legs spasming in her hold as she forcibly held you down; taking in every second of the ecstasy that overtook you with such a warmth in her gaze you almost felt yourself overcome with the urge to burst into tears again. 

“So beautiful…” She whispered. “That’s it.” Her hands caressed up and down your thighs, whispering praises into the air to will the heaving of your chest away, feeling your heartbeat under the palm of her hand. 

Finally, Bada dropped herself onto the bed next to you entirely out of breath with a self-satisfied grin, officially having spent the last bit of energy that was left in her. You watched her catch her breath with a fond gaze, wanting to reach out and hold her but being held back by the jingle of the handcuffs.

Bada snapped out of her stupor, almost appearing flustered for leaving you in such a state, and helped you sit up with a soft encouragement, promptly freeing you from your handcuffs. You felt a sharp strain in your shoulders as you shook them loose, a little dumbfounded when you noticed the red marks around your wrists.

Bada had noticed it as well and gently grabbed a hold of your hands, thumbs caressing along the bruises with a touch so careful it seemed she thought you would shatter. Slowly, she brought your wrists higher and began pressing delicate kisses against them. 

“Sorry…” She said, sheepishly, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to scold her. Instead, you looked back at her with a dazed expression, heart constricting in your chest. You hadn’t seen this level of gentleness from her before.

Leaning over her bed, Bada grabbed an unopened bottle of water and uncapped it before handing it to you. You accepted it wordlessly, her actions making you aware of how parched your mouth felt. 

Taking big gulps, you hoped to ease away the tension building up in your chest. Perhaps it was due to your post-orgasm state, but you felt anxiety spike up your heart rate as your head flooded with all kinds of thoughts. Was this a one-off? Was she going to ghost you again? Momentarily you felt like an idiot for even landing yourself in such a position, but before you could climb out of bed Bada flipped her blanket open.

“Tired?” She asked, picking up on how quiet you had become but assuming it was due to exhaustion.

You nodded timidly and crawled under the blanket with her, Bada slotting herself against you like a missing puzzle piece. Her fingers found the bruise at your lower back, where the handcuffs had been scraping against, and drew soothing circles against the skin. She mumbled something about having ointment for bruises, but the both of you were too slumped to get out of bed.

You nestled back against her despite the way your head yelled at you to take your leave, much too enthralled with the way her arm curled around your waist protectively. Bada giggled when she felt you snuggle closer and pressed a soft kiss to your neck, inhaling your scent with a hum. 

The music downstairs had stopped and the house seemed quiet, the last guests likely having left ages ago, so all you could focus on was Bada’s soft breathing which slowed down by the minute. Your own eyelids began to feel droopy, too, and right before the both of you fell asleep, you felt her hold on you tighten.

————— ୨୧ —————

Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering in your chest as you became aware of your surroundings. Bada’s arms were still around you, loosely, as she slept soundly next to you. It was still dark outside but you saw the early beginnings of sunrise setting in the distant sky, signaling it was the very early morning. As your hands came up to rub your eyes, you became aware of the ache in your wrists and mentally cursed yourself. 

This was easily the most irresponsible thing you’ve ever done: letting yourself be lured right back into Bada’s bed after she had passed you off like you meant nothing. You couldn’t believe how naive you had been; how enchanted you were by her every time. Staying here was setting yourself up for heartbreak, when she would inevitably ask you why you were still at the sorority. 

You needed to leave.

Images of the night you had spent together flashed in front of your eyes, and you felt your lower stomach heat up.

You needed a lobotomy.

Slowly you grabbed a hold of Bada’s arm curled around your waist, the girl still sleeping serenely and entirely unaware of your panicked state, and moved it off of you. You paid close attention to her breathing, which remained even, and then deemed it safe enough to crawl out of bed. Your legs were wobbly once you stood, the strain caused by the position you had underneath her from the night before hitting you like a truck. You winced, groggily looking around as your eyes got used to the darkness and trying to navigate where your clothes had gone.

Before you could move to the other corner of the room, you felt a hand curl around your forearm. You gasped in surprise, whipping your head around to find Bada peering up at you through sleepy eyes. Your chest constricted painfully. 

“Where ‘r you going?” She slurred, waking up slowly as the grip on your arm tightened.

“I…” You began, but the words got stuck in your throat once you saw the realization fall over her face. She frowned.

“Please don’t go,” Bada pleaded, voice much clearer this time though still hoarse with sleep, “Stay the night.” 

“Bada, I don’t know if that’s a good idea…” 

“Please,” She repeated, and she sounded so heartbroken you could die. “Let’s start over.”

You gazed back at her in wonder, trying to search her face for more clarity but all you found was too much. The look in her eyes was so vulnerable, so desperate.

She gave your arm a tug and whispered: “We can start over. Please get back in bed.”

You carefully moved your arm out of her grip, but she let go easily: not because she wanted to, but because she understood it wasn’t fair to hold you hostage. She wasn’t crying, but the way she looked up at you made you wish she was.

“I just- I’m going to use the bathroom.” You mumbled and immediately willed yourself to look away. You couldn’t take it anymore. 

Your throat closed up painfully as you walked to the other side of the room and bent over to pick up your clothes. As you pulled your underwear on, you felt Bada’s prodding eyes in your back. With the rest of your clothes in your arms, you walked over to the door without sparing her a single glance, unlocked it and stepped out into the hallway. You clenched your jaw to hold back the tears from falling. The room remained quiet. 

You found the bathroom right across Bada’s bedroom, and sat down on the shut toilet seat with your hands in your hair. You knew that you weren’t being totally unreasonable— so why did you feel like the worst, most cruel person in the world? 

With a deep, shaky sigh you pulled your phone out of the pocket of your dress pants: it was 5:30am on the dot. Your roommate hadn’t responded to your text message yet, indicating that she had been fast asleep the entire time. 

As you searched for an Uber in the area willing to drive this early, your phone dinged with a familiar notification. 

Tinder.

You forgot you still had that installed.

You tapped the notification bubble and a familiar chat room opened up; one of Bada’s mirror selfies staring back at you at the top of the screen.

Today 5:36am fuck marry kill: kim tae ri, dick grayson, me

A breathless laugh escaped you.

Suddenly, you were filled with a clarity, thinking of the wave tattooed on her forearm.

You were willing to take the plunge.

Slowly, you stood up, leaving your clothes behind on the bathroom floor and headed back into Bada’s room. She was wide awake, face lit up by her phone screen as she looked up at you in apparent shock and gratitude.

You crawled back in bed, Bada’s arms curling back around your waist.