#flock from the void

[did-i-do-this-write]

Hi! Happy WBW! This week I've been thinking a lot about religion so... What is considered sacrilegious in your world? Is it common to encounter such a thing or is it punishable (or maybe both)? How do religious institutions react?

This is almost a month old at this point, but I still appreciate the world building question, thank you! 😊

Religion is interesting in Paragon because it is just set on an alternate Earth, the only difference being the existence of paragon.

Some religions are indifferent to paragon powers. Others see them as demons sent from hell to destroy their religion, so they have a lot of prejudice against them. And some even see them as guardians and/or saviors meant to protect them and their message and their religions. A subsector of those religions, however, see paragon of other religions or no religion as traitors, leading to some prejudices in different ways.

The religions that see them as demons also see them using their powers as sacrilegious, so there is a "as long as they don't use their powers and show us who they are, then I don't have a problem with them" vibe.

This ask motivated me to write 100 words for Home is Where Your Light Shines Brightest.

Experiment Total: 88,169

[indecentpause]

Hi! Happy WBW! This week I've been thinking a lot about religion so... What is considered sacrilegious in your world? Is it common to encounter such a thing or is it punishable (or maybe both)? How do religious institutions react?

This is a really interesting question! The only thing I have with made up religion is The Princess and the Pirate so we'll do that, even though I haven't worked on it in a while.

There are multiple... sects, I guess, and denominations, of the same religion, amongst the five countries. Like, people worship different Gods within the same pantheon, or follow or believe things under the same umbrella but understand them in different ways.

A lot of people think religion is antiquated and doesn't really serve them anymore, other than, like, where the world came from or why certain things are as they are. Some people believe the myths are true but the Gods aren't really around anymore, some think they're more like metaphors. Magic and science and tech all exist side by side, but magic is so hard and takes so long to learn that a lot of people don't even realize it's actually still real.

ANYWAY to your question: it's both dependent on the sect and the location. For example, in Selan, mice are considered sacred, especially mice that are solid black or solid white, and if you hurt or kill a mouse you're just asking for heavenly wrath to fall down on you. So even people who aren't part of that denomination tend to leave mice alone, even though to them it's more of a cultural thing.

There are very few things that are specifically taboo because of religion, they are more things that are cultural with religious explanation, if that makes sense? Like. Killing for example: it's bad because religion says 'hey, don't do that' but it's also bad because now a person is dead. And that's more of a legal thing than a religious thing.

Religious institutions are generally pretty chill about most things, unless it brings harm to others. Some groups extend this to animals so those people are often vegetarian. The ways people who do eat meat treat the animals are also very important. Like, if it's found the animal the meat is from was kept poorly or hurt badly while alive, or killed painfully, there will be a lot of anger. That's not exactly sacrilegious though? It is considered a moral failing if your city/town/etc has starving or homeless people, though. That's not exactly something a religious institution can punish a leader for, but they can definitely throw a shit fit until it's fixed.

Religious institutions have no legal power in the sense that they can't try or punish people for transgression. But they can shun the hell out of you if they think what you did was bad enough. But for the most part people are pretty relaxed about it in a 'whatever you do in your own home is your own business' way. It's pretty lax in most places. There are extremists, but they're not the norm.

So.... I guess there aren't really many things that are sacrilegious, exactly (and I'm working on figuring out what they are), but things that are considered morally and socially acceptable and unacceptable. And transgressions would more be punished by exclusion from their neighbors rather than a religious group!

thank you so much for your question! :D

[dragon-swords-prophecies]

Vampire Hunter Steampunk Story-Victorian Era? 👀

so, the funny thing about this one is that, in its current state, absolutely *nothing* in the title is accurate anymore. except the steampunk part, that's still accurate.

the other funny thing is that whilst i was typing out my answer to this, i had an Idea, and so now everything I was going to say has changed!!!! (except the title being mostly inaccurate. that's still the same)

the loose plot is that you've got these two people, Alexandrina (Alex) [LASTNAME] and Asa Tyler, and they're friends, and Alex is an investigative reporter type person, and Asa is some sort of artist (?) type person, and Alex is investigating/reporting on a thing (yet to be determined), as one does, and there is A Mystery (yet to be determined). Because Alex is extremely curious and also somewhat stubborn, she intends to solve this mystery, or at least follow it. Because she is his best friend (and he's also curious), Asa is going to help.

EDIT: fun fact, I thought I posted this a month ago, and was under that impression until I went looking for something in my drafts just now, i am very sorry, i hit the wrong button!! (save as draft not post). I intended to hit the post button!!! (this now has a wip intro--)

[kacievvbbbb]

I feel like the main reason this evil shanks theory is so prevalent (besides the private meeting the the gorsei which up even I can’t explain) is that his general cheeriness and lackadaisical disposition is more of a presented front, a mask to be slipped on and off at will which would be fine if he weren’t often put in the same boat as Roger and Luffy two people ( for as much as we know about roger) who have no masks at all.

Don’t get me wrong I’m pretty sure that Shanks is a naturally happy, good natured dude but he’s also the most politically minded pirate we have seen on the show (and some of these pirates were actual politicians) like I’m pretty sure Roger is more mature and secretive than Luffy ( makes sense he’s older and has seen more of the world) but with both of them you never get the sense that their silliness is something they are putting on for the direct purpose of making themselves less of a threat. They both can get serious when the situation calls for it but that feels more of an extension of their already established personality more than a hidden personality.

While with shanks it’s undeniable that something changed within him and his goals the day Roger died I don’t know if Roger actually told him something or if he just wasn’t dealing with the abandonment well it was probably a mix of both honestly. But yeah Shanks comes off as a guy with his ear to the ground someone who has schemes on schemes on schemes. he’s someone playing in the long run, kind of like crocodile but not nefarious. And when compared with a straight forward head first always kinda guy like Luffy, like he often is, he can come off a little suspicious.

There’s something that’s a little fake about his cheer, something a little too performative about his optimism and foolishness. I think it’s a mix of; he’s housing a deep sadness, he’s more of a realist that an optimist and also dudes just a pacifist unlike like luffy who loves to brawl ( like luffy knows when it’s better not to fight but he also loves a good fight) and he would rather deescalate a situation than fight it out and sometimes the easiest way to do that is with an air of cluelessness and making yourself seem less of a threat which makes it so much more jarring but effective when he reveals just how big a threat he is. but I can see why people think it’s suspicious.

(Interestingly even when luffy tries to emulate this behavior like when he first encountered Bellamy at the pub his plan is to just not react which while in the same vain is very different than Shanks actively playing the drunken good natured take it on the chin role for the bandits Luffy was still essentially himself he just refused to react while Shanks played a role which made it more terrifying and effective when he stopped)

Also it doesn’t help that until recently he’s largely been missing from the narrative with just a man echoing or a whisper here or there of how powerful he is.

But I think we should remember that Shank’s goal is essentially world peace. and peace, a true lasting peace, is just a little more of a precarious balancing act, than utmost freedom. For freedom you have to destroy the old game, for peace you have to learn to play a new one, hopefully with a bit more kindness injected into the foundation.

[triptychofvoids]

Medic tries to avoid parks and stuff because as soon as he enters he's swarmed by hordes of friendly pigeons. Sure, pigeons are lovely, but it's just So Many and they try to follow him around all day

medic goes to parks and stuff specifically for this reason actually. youre saying he can not only be greeted by his own flock when he gets back to base but he can also befriend the local birds? that these animals that are so quick to startle would choose him as company? what bliss!! and a massive ego boost he really doesnt even need. and if he just so happens to arrive wherever hes headed in a flurry of wings it certainly isnt his problem, but he will make it everyone elses

[trixierosewrites]

Hi! Happy STS! Welcome to Feather tries to get active in the community again program!

The world got to see your story and oops video essayist discovered it. What type of essay are they making? Is it a deep dive? Is it a rant about “controversial” parts? Is it about how the story got popular? Taking apart every single sentence? What are they focusing on?

Happy STS!! And what a question, omg. I think I could definitely get called out on the glorification of violence (in Memento Vivere, a lot of people die, and pretty horribly, but it’s a horror-thriller so I dunno what people expected) or alternately “bad representation” because my gay people are evil gay people and so forth. It would be nice if someone picked up on all the hints I’m dropping about people’s characters, especially as it’s a novella in which most people are hiding secrets we get to find out pretty soon before they die, so a deep dive or characters would be fun!

Thanks for the ask, this was a fun one!

[walkman-cat]

Hi! Happy STS! Welcome to Feather tries to get active in the community again program!

The world got to see your story and oops video essayist discovered it. What type of essay are they making? Is it a deep dive? Is it a rant about “controversial” parts? Is it about how the story got popular? Taking apart every single sentence? What are they focusing on?

hihi! happy very late storyteller saturday (perhaps even a storyteller sunday :o)

i think with eidolon vetch theres a couple options for things to focus on:

a deep dive into the worldbuilding/history of the setting (Yes i have thought about the past of the story more than the actual story's plot. it's a problem) especially the traditions and fashion!

2. going into the trans text/subtext (because i accidentally made a character who is trans also have a very trans arc separate to his transness, which is silly.)

3. just. going through and breaking down the tropes used surrounding gentleman thieves and detectives. i'd love a multiple hour video essay comparing eidolon vetch to its influences because it is nothing without my love of gentleman thief and detective media!

[wizardnuke]

why do some penguins break away from the flock and run full tilt towards the middle of the arctic to their death. why is that a recorded phenomenon. what causes that instinct. what is the use of that instinct.

[crowavius]

Crow what is booping and how does one do it

hey twirl! welcome to tumblr, hehe

the ability to 'boop' blogs was added as an april fools joke this year! they brought it back for halloween :3

you need to opt-in to be able to be Booped! i. dont know how to opt in on mobile.

[blackvahana]

Me: I should move the Flock to Ananyavarda officially. Actually. where are all of them

The Mental image from one of them now in the in-between because it was in my old territory when that was wiped from existence:

[somerandomcockroach]

Savage

Monster hunter au part 5

Ratchet being worried that his fiendly beast got killed or decided to leave him while he’s actually just started his anime training episode👍

Oh my god this au is taking over my brain haha thank you all so so much for your kind comments and deranged tags. I’m eating them for breakfast>:D

Part 4

[dragon-swords-prophecies]

Hi Copper! guilt: What is your OC guilty about? How do they handle their guilt? Do they try to avoid guilt, or do they accept it?

hi feather!! i'll do this for alex from herald (selected via spinner wheel)!

guilt: What is your OC guilty about? How do they handle their guilt? Do they try to avoid guilt, or do they accept it?

she handles her guilt by trying to avoid it. this does not always work! actually it almost never works. alex is mostly guilty about going into the exact same job that her father had (which killed him), because she doesn't want to hurt her mother anymore than her mom's already been. she has been trying to avoid this guilt for 10 years and she has been failing to do that for almost exactly as long!

[digital-chance]

Hi Chance! From the last ask game: What is your favorite moment in this WIP?Do you have any other WIP related things, like moodboards, character portraits, playlists or similar?

Lovely to see you!

(from this ask game) 💖 [Heart] What is your favorite moment in this WIP? 🎶 [Notes] Do you have any other WIP related things, like moodboards, character portraits, playlists or similar?

My favorite moment in Nova Futurum would be when we all meet Henry for the first time and then the gang gets arrested.

There is so much content from Nova Fut that i haven't published. Some of it is just stuff like my Notion page for Nova Fut aesthetics (i'm so proud of them) and some of it is the pinterest boards i made. other parts are some characters and art. I'll probably post the moodboards once I release the character profiles, and reupdate rowan's character profile post.

like here's a header i made recently:

for the most part, with each wip, I tend to not share details online unless I can combine it with other pieces of info. it makes for a better post, especially with my writing and processing style. i also like to process things for a month or so to make sure they make sense.

Thank you for the ask!! Sorry for taking so long to respond (5 months yeesh).

[triptychofvoids]

and how many pigeons do you have? if it's not a secret

its no secret but,, aheh... its a bit difficult to keep track of them all! especially since the number changes from time to time. sometimes one will, unfortunately, die. sometimes a pair will lay eggs, sometimes a local pigeon will just decide to join the flock! but lets see...hm. i started with about 20 at first and i consider those 20 to be mine, if you want a simple answer. but the total amount of pigeons that live on base now...? well, last time i took a headcount it was 78!

[starlooove]

Ok that’s sweet and all but it still sucks that they did the same thing every fandom does by ignoring black characters actual personality traits and putting them into the straight man stereotype.

Like I don’t give much of a fuck about the rest of that shit but DC comics has been so racist for so long and it fucking bites that when we’re finally getting Duke recognized more, after YEARS of ignoring that he’s part of the family, it’s just basically an audience stand in who gets sad sometimes.

WFA can have it’s funny or cute moments and all and enjoying it is whatever but the fact that y’all are doing at the expense of a black character AGAIN is so irritating and chalking ppls issues with characterization down to “it’s not canon” is just another example of how black fans don’t just go unheard but are oftentimes deliberately ignored in convos like this.

Am I the only person who actually enjoys the batfamily webtoon? I see many people who are saying that the webtoon is bad representation and too fanon. I just think the webtoon it's just the family acting domestic and talking to each one like if no one is trying to murder them.

[marcyvampire]

SILLY LITTLE BAT

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

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

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

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

Chapter Guide! Pt 2. Pt 3. Pt4

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

Nobody is coming to save you

Get up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7 minutes.

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

6 minutes.

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

5 minutes.

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

4 minutes.

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

3 minutes.

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

2 minutes.

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

1 minute.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

His daughter.

His little daughter.

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

Damn.

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

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

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

None showed a trace of you.

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

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

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

How could he have forgotten so much?

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

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

Had you ever really been there?

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

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

Your name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were never a burden.

...or were you?

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

But when you needed him, where was Batman?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

take a bath!

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