#the child. the child??? and the adult??? mother what??????????

[amfstargirl]

Yandere batfam x neglected reader

Standing in the yard, dressed like a kid, the house is white and the lawn is dead ⋆·˚ ༘ *

You stood firm on the ground, eyes stern and unwavering. In front of you was a place all too familiar—the "shelter" where you grew up, the house that had been your home for five years of your childhood. As you stood there, memories flooded your mind, both the happy ones and the melancholy ones. Your eyes roamed around the place, taking in every detail before you finally decided to enter, lest anyone mistake you for some kind of lunatic loitering outside someone's house.

As your feet mindlessly carried you into the room, a heavy, shaky sigh escaped your quivering lips. It hadn't even been five seconds since you entered, yet you already felt the urge to cry. Oh well, that's what memories do to you. You gently caressed the dirty white wall adorned with your old, fading doodles. Most of them were pink—your favorite color then and even now as an adult. You smiled sadly as the memories of your time in the house flooded back, making you nostalgic. You scoffed sarcastically at the irony that you missed this place more than the manor where you'd spent a longer time.

Perhaps it was because the old you—the innocent, sweet, and pure one—was still within these thin walls that had sheltered them through all the bad times. You could feel their giggles and laughter lingering in the air. Tears streamed down your face as you stared at every sticker, doodle, and writing spread across the walls. Somehow, you cried out of joy, relishing the fact that the child you left behind in this house was still here in some way. Still innocent, still unaware of the harm the world could do.

In the manor, all the love you ever knew came from the man who introduced himself as the family butler but whom you soon came to know as your father. He was the love you craved and begged for at Bruce's feet. He fed you, took care of you, and taught you the things you needed to know. He attended family days, PTA meetings, and other events that your biological father should have been at. Under Alfred's shelter, you did everything you could to try to level with your siblings' talents—learning acrobatics, martial arts, drawing, baking, and more.

Yet it was Alfred who, in the dead of night, under the whispers of the cold wind whipping past your teary face, assured you that you would never need any of those skills to truly earn your family's love. All you needed was to be yourself. You allowed yourself to believe his words and lived them as your truth for a short time, but soon gave up on the idea, accepting that they wouldn't truly see you.

Now, dwelling on your lingering past and memories outside the manor, you remembered those you knew before coming to live with them. You reminisced on the thought of your mother. You remembered her.

You remembered how poverty ate your mother away and that she couldn't provide necessary needs for you but you, sweet, beautiful, angel you never complained.

You remembered how much you loved those barbie shows and movies but couldn't afford the dvds and even a proper functioning television so you sometimes watched it from your window across your neighbors, and while watching you saw a glimpse of their life. Their happy, perfect family life. How they cuddled their daughter and watched those silly barbie movies together. Your eyes softened as you thought "I wanted that" the little you hoped that maybe one day momma will get better and finally love me. Your tears poured from your eyes at the thought.

You remembered while you were doing your homework alone, you heard a whimper outside your window near the alley. As you peeked your tiny head outside, your braids flowing with the cold, harsh wind, your eyes searching for the source of noise. As you let your gaze travel through every corner of the alley, you saw a dirty, poor puppy whimpering, alone, calling out for its mother, its father, anyone. You ran hastily outside and collected its tiny and fragile form gently in your arms. "I'm here, I'm okay, you're safe," you whispered softly to the creature. And from. That very day you fed it and kept it sheltered secretly from your mother. You named her Amara. It suited her. You didn't have much play mates so you sometimes play with her by the yard where you and her would either run together or lay down. You never really got to say goodbye to her. From "that" moment on, you never got to go back to your house. You wondered how she was. Was she well fed? Did she think you abandoned her? Does she miss you? The guilt of living her ate you up the longer you dwelt on the past. You shook your head and sighed, trying to forget about all of it. You mourned every version of you. And this was your most treasured one. Thinking back on all the memories you had of the old you, of her. You thanked them for being so forgiving, for being so brave, for being so content with what she had, and for never trading anything for it.

They Were such a kind soul. And you're glad that they gets to stay where they were the happiest despite the nightmare they endured those days. You will always look up to them. They were and will always be a part of you. You took one last look at the house, the drawings, the dirty corners of the room, and released a breath as you closed your eyes. This was it. You'll finally get to say goodbye-

Whimper

You froze as you heard a familiar whimper. You turned around and slowly walked towards the opened door, and you saw her. Amara, your friend. You can't help but let the tears fall as her once brown fluffy appearance is now old and grey. You wondered how even in the light of old age she somehow still seems so youthful. She was still your baby. With a shaky voice, you tested the name. "Amara...?" she wags her tail in delight as a response to the familiar name she's been waiting to be called for so many years. You kneeled down and gently caressed her. "Oh, baby. You've been waiting for me, haven't you?" she whimpered as if answering you. You noticed her trying to catch her breath and her body growing weaker. You glance at her tail and see its wagging has become more frail and slow. You glance at your eyes, and you know. You smiled at her and whispered, "It's okay, baby. You can rest now." Her face weakly lit up, and she slowly closed her eyes, calm and loved, finally in your embrace.

After some time, you tenderly wrapped her body in a blanket. You carried her to the yard where you both used to play together as kids, a place where you ran freely without a care in the world. Borrowing a shovel from a tenant in the apartment, you buried her there, in the spot where you both were the happiest.

You whispered silent prayers for your companion and left with the memories. This was it. You've made your peace with the old you. Almost. There was one more thing you have to do.

You used believed that your mother could have been so much more. She was a beautiful woman. Smart, even if other would beg to disagree. But, you knew that she knew how to play her cards right to get what she desired for. She would have been so powerful if she used her sharp mind to something much more.. Productive. Yet she chose to sleep with men, abandon her daughter, and let herself be eaten by poverty and lust. Well, you didn't really mind if she abandoned you. You've always felt like you were the burden, the barrier to her way of succeeding and the chain locked onto her feet, keeping her from truly running away to what she has become. You've seen it in her eyes, the thought of running away and living a new life, but when she looks at you.. She saw a mistake she could never be freed of. A mistake. If only you weren't born, she would have been so happy.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink. "Ma'am?" the nurse asked. Suddenly, you were back to reality. You blinked again, processing her words. You glanced at her expectant expression and blurted out, "Y-yes, yes, uhm. Yeah. I'm ready." She smiled and said, "Great. Let's go this way, ma'am." You followed her hurriedly, not wanting to test her patience. As you walked, dissociating and thinking of all the possible outcomes, the nurse suddenly stopped in front of a room and said, "We're here. You can enter now." You nodded and thanked her silently.

Facing the door, you chanted in your mind, "You can do this," with a mix of determination and uncertainty. Taking a deep breath, you exhaled and opened the door. There she was—your mother, in all her glory. Bare-faced and vulnerable in her comfy hospital gown. You almost choked on your saliva, seeing her this... bare. You had always seen her so filtered, her face adorned with colors, her clothes tight and bright. Awkwardly, you shifted in your place and slowly sat beside her bed as her gaze followed your every move. You cleared your throat, preparing to speak, but she beat you to it.

“I know you.” you widen your eyes at her as she continues “you're my child.” you weren't shocked at the fact that she acknowledged you but the fact that she called you Her child, and the softness in her eyes. You were starting to think that maybe this isn't your mother, because she never looked at you like that. Never in years of living together has she even glance at you.

She chuckled at the sight of your confused and shocked state, bringing you out of your thoughts. "What? Shocked? Of course, I still remember you, Y/n," she weakly said, her voice small and quite different from the harsh tone she used to yell at you with. You inhaled sharply, trying to stop your tears from falling. What the heck? Were you about to cry again?

"I thought with how much resentment you harbor for me, you would have forgotten about me by now," you smiled sadly at her, watching her face drop slightly but still smiling weakly.

"Oh, Y/n," you almost crumbled right then and there. Oh, how much you had longed to be called so sweetly by your mother's voice. "I never hated you... that much," she said bitterly, and you stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue. "I just wasn't born to be a mother, no—at least not in this life. I'm a mess and I always will be. And I'm sorry I couldn't change for you because nothing can and nothing will change me anymore."

Your lips frowned at her words. "I always thought that maybe you could have been better without me," you said. You miss her, and you will always miss her. She was your whole world, but now seeing her and talking to her made you realize her world was clearly much different from yours. Her world was something one could not escape. You knew you couldn't live like that, and it seems that she cannot live any other way. They said that a mother and children exist as wretched mirrors of each other. You were all she could have been and she was all you might have been.

She closed the distance between you and embraced you for the first time. "You never were. It was me. I was the problem. You were just a child. In another life, I would've been able to care for you." You didn't question her on why she couldn't do it in this life because you knew. You knew she didn't have the capability to be a good mother and a morally good person now, and that was okay. You couldn't live with The fact that she will never truly care for you and will always hold secret animosity towards you if you force her to be a mother to you. You closed your eyes for a minute and silently took in the feeling of a mother's embrace for the first and last time.

"This is the last time you're ever gonna see me again," you said. Your mother chuckled bitterly and replied, "I know. Good for you, kid. Leave everything behind and start anew. You deserve it."

You soon moved out of her arms and held her hands tightly, looking into her eyes. With a deep exhale, you walked out of the hospital. This was it—you were finally free from your past. You had made your peace with it, and now it was time for you to move forward. You knew that if you didn't confront the horrors of your past, they would haunt you for the rest of your life. You had made a good choice.

As you stepped outside, the cool breeze greeted you, and you felt a sense of liberation wash over you. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over everything. It was as if the universe itself was acknowledging your newfound freedom. You took a moment to breathe in the fresh air, savoring the feeling of lightness that now enveloped you. Walking down the street, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. The city seemed different somehow—brighter, more alive. You noticed the little things that you had overlooked before: the vibrant colors of the flowers in the park, the laughter of children playing, the distant hum of traffic. It was as if you were seeing the world with fresh eyes, unburdened by the weight of your past.

For the first time in a long time, you felt at peace. The past no longer held you captive. You were free to live your life, to pursue your passions, and to surround yourself with people who truly cared for you. It was the beginning of a new chapter. You get home to your apartment and sit at your couch grabbing some blankets and making hot cocoa. You thought to yourself that this is what you exactly needed. Watching barbie movies in your new cozy apartment without any burden past onto your shoulders, the little you would have been so proud, making you smile at the thought. This was it. Nothing was going to stop you now.

That's what you thought.

It has been 2 weeks since you've moved in your apartment and you're getting ready for your ballet rehearsal. You were especially excited about this as you were going to perform swan lake when you got to enact one of the most important and famous characters, how cool was that? As you were about to grab your pink bowed pointe shoes a sudden “ping!” notification was heard from your phone. You turned your head and went to grab it expecting a message from one of your close friends or even your ballet mates but all you were met with was a message from a person you least wanted a one from.

Dick. Your supposed older brother is asking you to hang out with him. At this very moment. You dropped your phone and stared at nothing while breathing heavily. You feel your heartbeat rapidly breathing, the knot in your stomach growing more tighter and tighter each minute you let the thought sink into your brain. You almost tripped at your foot as a result of your vision disfigured, as if you were looking through a fish-eye lens. This wasn't right, this wasn't supposed to happen. When-how?-why?! Why was this happening now? You were only starting to feel like everything in your life was finally starting to go your way. Why did this have to happen? It was as if the universe was mocking you. You bit your lips until it bled but you couldn't care less. You were numb. You hadn't even realized that you were nowate for today's rehearsals. With trembling hands you reached for your phone and shakily pressed the button “block” as you silently prayed that he-they would never come in contact with you ever again.

Of Course that wouldn't happen though. The universe was never really on your side.

Dick? What's happening here?

A sudden deep voice spoke, bringing Dick out of his deep trance. He turned around and saw his father standing outside the door, looking suspiciously at him. He stared at his father and saw the look on his face—full of confusion and unfamiliarity, not towards him but the room he was in. "I-it's Y/n," he stuttered, the name tasting so sweet on his tongue. He wanted to roll around in the scent of you. Was that weird? No—he just missed you, that's all.

"What about them?" Bruce's voice carried a nonchalance that almost made Dick angry. How could he be so indifferent about his precious sibling? With a hard voice, Dick replied, "They're gone." Bruce's eyes widened slightly at the response. What did he mean you were gone? You were just here when... Wait, when? He worriedly glanced at Dick, and as if understanding, Dick answered, "I know."

Bruce inhaled sharply and stepped inside the room, your lingering scent greeting him. Your trophies adorned the walls. This was your room? No, it couldn't be. This was too little. This was just... not it. The difference between his other childrens bedrooms and yours was so noticeable. You didn't have any fancy chandelier decorating yours. You didn't have your own bathroom.

Bruce's eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail. The neatly arranged trophies, the faded posters on the walls, and the small bed that seemed too empty now. He walked over to the desk and picked up a framed photo of you, when was this? You look so.. Grown? How old were you? Were you old enough to live alone? How come he didn't know? Did you have a job-were you even allowed to have one? he clenches his fist as he stares at the sight of your image and sees your bright smile. His heart ached at the sight. How had he missed this? How had he not noticed the signs?

Dick watched his father, a mix of emotions swirling within him. He wanted to scream, to demand why Bruce hadn't paid more attention, why he hadn't been there for you. But he knew he wasn't any better than his adoptive father was. Besides, it wouldn't change anything. The damage was done.

Bruce set the photo back down and turned to Dick, his expression a mix of regret and determination. He saw the tiny diary and other papers scattered across the floor and picked them up, reading them one by one as he slowly spiraled into regret and guilt. Dick watched as he knew this was going to make him understand. Today made it all clear to him. Why there was a nagging feeling inside of him saying that there was something missing in the manor. It was why the sweet muffled music of the orchestra haunted the manor, the same kind of music haunting their bedroom. Like it was a reminder, a warning. That something special was lost. The soothing sound of humming, light footsteps around the manor now gone. The pink bows tied around the handles of the stairs, the love that the plants receive now nowhere to be found. It was because you took that love with you.

"We need to find them," Bruce spoke, his voice steady but filled with urgency. His knees bounce as his Jaws tighten anxiously.

Dick nodded, his resolve matching his father's. "We'll find them," he replied, his voice firm. "And we'll make things right."

As they left the room, Bruce carrying the framed image of you tightly, almost as if he was paranoid that something would take it from him, and dick gently running his thumb through the texture of your pink, bowed, bright diary, the weight of their mission settled on their shoulders. They knew it wouldn't be easy, but they were determined to bring you back. The silence of the manor was a stark reminder of what they had lost, and they were ready to do whatever it took to make amends.

Bruce was anxious. He didn't have a plan. Ironic, because Batman always had a plan. It was an unspoken rule—Batman was always prepared. But now, he found himself at a loss, his mind racing with uncertainty. Perhaps it was because he knew every single person in Gotham. As the guardian of Lady Gotham, he prided himself on understanding the intricate web of connections and motives that defined the city's inhabitants. He calculated every person's actions, paid attention to every detail, and watched from the heart of Gotham.

He paid extensive attention to everyone... except you.

It wasn't intentional. He had always been consumed by the weight of his responsibilities, the never-ending battle against crime, and the need to protect the city. But now, standing in your room, surrounded by the remnants of your presence, he realized his failure. The irony of it all struck him—Batman, the meticulous planner, had overlooked the most important person in his life.

Now he was desperate, he may not have a plan but he was desperate. He'll do anything to get you back. Any possible way to get back all the times he failed you, when he failed to be a father to you. He swore to protect you and never let you out of his sight ever again.

Dick wasn't any better. As he walked, his thoughts played tricks on him, but in a way he almost relished. His mind insisted that you must be so scared without him, without your older brother to protect you. He didn't even consider the possibility that you could be an independent, fully functioning individual on your own, or the fact that you had grown and most likely abandoned the thought of "bonding" with him. In this moment, his mind was consumed by the image of you and the curiosity of what more you had within yourself that he had neglected. His anxiousness grew, causing him to bite his nails and run his hands through his hair in frustration. His breathing became ragged, and his heart pounded in his chest. It was as if he had turned feral, his bloodshot blue eyes itching to be blessed with a vision of your face.

The more he thought about it, the more his mind played tricks on him. He imagined you scared and alone, wondering why your older brother wasn't there to protect you. He couldn't bear the thought of you suffering because of his neglect. His thoughts raced, each one more frantic than the last. What if you were hurt? What if you were in danger? What if you had given up on ever reconnecting with him?

The guilt gnawed at him, making it hard to focus on anything else. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed you, that he had missed so many opportunities to be there for you. His heart ached at the thought of all the moments you had spent alone, craving the attention and love that he hadn't given.

As he continued to walk, his thoughts became more erratic. He imagined you thriving without him, having found your own path and your own sense of independence. The possibility that you no longer needed him stung, but it also filled him with a strange sense of pride. You had grown, despite everything, and that was something to be admired.

Still, his mind couldn't rest. He needed to see you, to know that you were okay. The uncertainty was driving him to the brink of madness. His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists, determined to find you and make amends.

he wouldn't rest until he saw you again.

Both Bruce and Dick disregarded everything around them, unaware of the curious look Tim gave them. He followed quietly behind their backs, raising an eyebrow as he wondered why they hadn't noticed his presence yet. Normally, these two were incredibly guarded, so Tim was shocked by their lack of awareness. What could have made them so unfocused?

Bruce—the Batman—and Dick—the first Robin and now Nightwing—were both engrossed in a particular object. They seemed to be completely absorbed, their usual vigilance overshadowed by their intense fixation. Tim watched as Bruce's eyes remained glued to a framed photo on the desk, his expression a mix of regret and determination. Meanwhile, Dick's gaze was fixed on the pink notebook in his hands, his fingers gently tracing the glittery cover.

Tim couldn't help but wonder what was so important about these items that it made two of the most vigilant people he knew drop their guard. The framed photo of you, smiling brightly, seemed to hold Bruce in a trance, while the pink notebook, adorned with bows and glitters, seemed to capture all of Dick's attention. They were so consumed by these objects that they had let down the walls they had built through years of vigilantism.

It had to be something incredibly significant—something better yet, special.

“What are you two doing?” asked Tim, suddenly breaking the silence between the three of them as he watched the father and son duo flinch, obviously flabbergasted at his sudden interruption at their deep trance. He observed as their face turned from shock to going back to their frowning faces making him mirror the same expression. Dick clenches his jaw and exhales sharply preparing himself to speak when he is suddenly interrupted by a familiar voice he would always recognize.

"What is going on here?" a figure with deep forest-green eyes asked, standing tall in the shadows, his cold demeanor unwavering. Dick's eyes met his, and he said his name. "Damian. Wha—"

"You have deliberately abandoned your promise to train with me today. Why?" Damian's voice was sharp, full of accusation. Shoot. That was right. Dick had forgotten to train with his younger brother today. But it didn't matter now; his other sibling needed him, and it was about time they knew about them too. He glanced at Bruce's unfocused state, feral and restless.

"It's about Y/n," Dick said firmly.

Tim stood still for a moment, trying to figure out who "Y/n" was, while Damian immediately sneered at the mention of his "rival." He couldn't pinpoint why your presence angered him so much. Maybe it was because he had to share the title of being the Wayne heir with someone so... normal, someone so far below his level. You both were so different. Perhaps he was jealous of you for being so normal, for not having to worry about tainting your hands with blood and painting others black and blue. What did you even do? He didn't know, but he bet it was something a normal civilian would.

Meanwhile, his peripheral vision caught Tim standing still, deep in thought. Damian saw him processing quickly, his mind running fast as he tried to figure out who you were and why you were so relevant at the moment. Then suddenly—aha! Tim remembered now! You were the kid who had pestered him non-stop about some game.

Tim's eyes widened as he recalled the memory. The realization hit him like a wave. He had been so dismissive back then, but now he understood the significance. Guilt washed over him, mixing with curiosity and concern. What had happened to you? Why were you so important now?

Damian's sneer softened slightly, replaced with a look of contemplation. “What about them?” asked damian. While Tim wondered the same. Suddenly Bruce's cold and deep voice said “they're gone.” Damian raising an eyebrow of his response, and Tim answering “gone? Gone how?” switching his gaze from dick and Bruce's form awaiting for one of them to answer his question as the tension in the room thickens. “I mean that they're gone. All their things not found in their room, no trace of them not in the mansion, and not even a goodbye.” Tim and Damian frowned at the same time. Damian scoffed and thought you were probably just making a big scene so the attention would be on you. Bruce said “we need to find them. Now.” his voice left no choice for them to abide by his command.

Now alone in the CCTV room, Tim let his bored gaze wander over the footage from a long time ago, his palm supporting his head. Suddenly, something caught his attention. He watched as you sat, his fingers tapping the keyboard to increase the volume. You hummed lightly at the footage, a simple gesture but not to him. Your voice was so familiar to him. His eyes dilated as you continued humming, your voice sweet as honey, as light as a mother's touch trying to lull her baby to sleep.

He zoomed the footage closer and closer, almost as if he wanted to go through the screen just to hear your sweet, angelic, melancholic voice. Your voice was like a soft fur blanket to him. He didn't know if he was hallucinating from sleep deprivation, but he swore you were covered by a soft light, hugging your form and kissing your skin gently.

Tim sat in your "presence" for a bit, soaking in your voice. As he listened, memories flooded back. He recalled distant muffled sounds within the thin walls, lulling him to sleep, chasing away the demons that kept him awake at night. He had so desperately wanted to close his eyes and rest, and he remembered thinking maybe it was just a voice in his head, or maybe a real-life angel offering him salvation from suffering and the sweet pleasure of sleep. Now he knew, the angel was called "Y/n."

His fingers tightened around the edge of the desk as he leaned in closer, his breathing steadying as he watched the footage. The realization hit him hard. How had he missed this before? How had he not recognized that comforting voice? The gentle humming, the presence that had brought him solace on sleepless nights—it was all you.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he continued to watch, his heart aching with a mix of regret and longing. He remembered the nights he had spent tormented by nightmares, the countless times he had struggled to find peace. Your voice had been his lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness.

He couldn't shake the feeling of guilt. How had he been so blind? How had he not seen the importance of your presence in the manor? Tim's thoughts spiraled as he recalled the moments he had dismissed you, the times he had been too wrapped up in his own world to notice you reaching out. He needed to see you. To hear your voice, to take you back, to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness as his forehead kisses the cold, dirty floor, or to maybe steal you back without a word. He didn't know, he just had to see you.

The footage continued to play, your voice a soothing balm to his troubled mind. He sat there, never unwavering, always in awe of your voice and never taking his attention off you. He sat there,Unaware that he had been playing the same footage for hours and hours. His dilated eyes worshipping you as if you were a god.

He felt a deep sense of loss, realizing that you were gone, and he hadn't even had the chance to thank you for all the nights you had unknowingly saved him. Determined, he knew he had to find you. He had to make things right.

After some time, finally. Tim's resolve hardened as he stood up, his eyes never leaving the screen. He would find you, and he would make sure you knew how much you meant to him. With renewed purpose, he left the CCTV room, ready to join Bruce and Dick in their search. Together, they would bring you back and rebuild the bond that had been neglected for far too long.

With much focus on the object of his obsession attention, he failed to notice a tall figure in the shadows, watchin. Thinking after all these years they have finally come to their senses, realizing the greatest gift of all was right under their noses.

Damian was a dangerous person. To be fair, he was raised to be an assassin and an heir to the throne from the moment he was born. Not even a moment out of the womb did he catch a glimpse of the normal life he so desperately wanted. He trained day and night, month after month, year after year, to become the perfect product of the world's greatest detective and the daughter of the king of assassins. Imagine the inner turmoil within him when he didn't meet the expectations set upon his shoulders. All his life, all he knew was to fight. In any situation, his first instinct was to fight and guard himself for his life.

Sometimes, he wondered how they expected a child to lead thousands of assassins to create a bloodbath. Behind his pride and arrogance was a deep-seated anger towards those in charge of his fate. He was furious that his innocence had been stripped away, clawing its way back to him, but ultimately, they succeeded in giving him a future burdened with the weight of guilt for painting the young and innocent red.

Damian's upbringing left him with a constant battle within himself. The expectations placed upon him were immense, and he often felt like he was suffocating under the pressure. The relentless training, the unyielding discipline, and the need to prove himself consumed his every waking moment. The anger he felt was not just directed at those who shaped his fate but also at himself for not being able to escape it. Many didn't know of it but he found it hard to be Robin. The conflict between leaning to your instincts or “your- now- morals” was hard. To kill and to save was wrong and somehow to save and to forgive was right.

Despite his impressive skills and abilities, there was a part of him that longed for something more—something normal. He envied those who lived ordinary lives, free from the burden of bloodshed and violence. He wondered what it would have been like to have a childhood filled with laughter and innocence rather than combat and survival. As to why he wonders what more could you possibly want? He was so sure that you had so much wonderful time living such a luxurious life in the manor and never having to prove yourself to be worthy of something in being able to get the object of your desire. How could you run away from this life? From your life? You were so unfair, so selfish.

As he continued to grapple with these conflicting emotions, Damian's exterior remained cold and guarded. He rarely allowed anyone to see the vulnerable side of him, the side that yearned for a different life. But deep down, the scars of his past lingered, a constant reminder of the life he was forced into and the innocence that was stolen from him.

He shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and released a heavy sigh. What a bother. Making his way to every corner of the manor to "inspect" and see if you had left any trace of yourself there. As he walked down the path, letting his bored state guide him, he glanced at the thick walls and noticed some unfamiliar works of art. His gaze roamed around the room, settling on various paintings he had never noticed before. It was as if the paintings spoke for themselves, screaming out for anyone to notice and appreciate them. The different textures, colors, shapes, and stories behind the art captivated him.

Damian liked to think that he noticed everything and had the ability to be highly aware of his surroundings, whether he was familiar with them or not. But at this moment, he paused, questioning himself. If he was truly aware, how had he managed to overlook these breathtaking canvases filled with bright colors that made him... feel things? He took a step forward and saw a tiny signature on the left side of one of the canvases. He brought his hand up to softly caress the painting, gently and carefully, as if he were afraid that a mere touch could destroy it.

Engrossed in admiring the paintings, he failed to notice the tall figure beside him. It was only when the man spoke, "Master Damian," addressing him, that he flinched slightly.

"Ah, Alfred. My apologies, I was a bit distracted by the art adorning the walls, which seems to be... unfamiliar to me. Would you mind telling me where my father keeps buying these paintings? I must say I'm quite... impressed."

Alfred frowned and smiled sadly at the youngest Wayne. "Well, Master Damian, these paintings are actually not your father's doing. Rather, they are Master Y/n's work of art."

Damian's eyes widened in surprise. He turned back to the paintings and said "Y/n did these?" he asked, almost incredulous. The realization that you had created such beautiful and meaningful art struck him deeply. He didn't even know that you could draw much less create such.. Beautiful art. While he was thinking about it he realize that he had complimented you, you!

"Indeed, Master Damian," Alfred confirmed. "Y/n spent countless hours creating these pieces. Each one holds a story, a piece of their heart."

Damian felt a pang of emotion through his chest, he couldn't pinpoint what it was but it was somehow nagging him about something, or rather someone. His fingers traced the brushstrokes with a newfound reverence, as if trying to understand the emotions you had captured on canvas.

"I never knew..." Damian whispered, more to himself than to Alfred. The layers of vibrant colors, the delicate details, and the raw emotions conveyed through your art were all a testament to the depth of your soul. He felt a connection to you that he hadn't realized before, a sense of camaraderie and understanding. And he was totally not dissing you just minutes ago.

Alfred placed a comforting hand on Damian's shoulder. "Art has a way of speaking to us, Master Damian. It reveals truths that words often cannot. Y/n's art is a reflection of their experiences, their joys, and their sorrows. It is a part of them that they have shared with the world."

Damian nodded, taking a step back to fully appreciate the entirety of your work. Your art had opened a door to a deeper connection, and he was willing to walk through it. He didn't know why but in a way this was proof that you had always had some kind of connection to him.

As Damian and Alfred stood there, surrounded by the masterpieces you had created, a sense of resolve settled over Damian. He frowns and takes a look around all the work of your art. His style doesn't differ much from yours. the caress of brush ever so slightly seen, and the emotions behind the soul of your paintings, like his. What made you so similar to him? And that, he will not know until he finds you.

He knew that finding you and bringing you back was not just about making amends—it was about recognizing and celebrating the unique and irreplaceable person you were.

Y/n considered themselves a keen observer, attuned to the delicate nuances of the world around them. They noticed the gentle yet sometimes harsh swaying of the wind as it danced with the leaves, creating a symphony of nature's whispers. They noticed the lady sitting on the park bench, quietly absorbing the view of the home she once grew up in, her memories interwoven with the present. They noticed the ducks by the pond, gracefully gliding through the water alongside their mother, a portrait of serene tranquility.

Y/n noticed everything, yet no one noticed them. And it was fine. They had long accepted this reality, enduring the loneliness of being invisible in a world where they saw so much. The weight of being unnoticed had become a familiar companion, a constant presence that shaped their existence. In the silent spaces between moments, Y/n found solace in their observations, finding beauty in the overlooked and meaning in the mundane.

So why were they just noticing you just now? Why? When you have just started to accept and move on. Why must they bring the horrors of the past when your current life is filled with hope arraying a new journey, now destroyed.

Why couldn’t Dick just let you be, drifting away in the silence you’d crafted? Why couldn’t he leave you to fade quietly, just as you had promised yourself you would, a ghost of your former self, untouched and unbothered? Yet there he was, an ever-present weight, his hands—rough, calloused, scarred by years of untold burdens—forcing your face into the past, as if his touch could rewrite history. His fingers dug into your skin, twisted into the soft contours of your face, tearing through the years of numbness, of denial, dragging you back to a place you had sworn you’d never return.

And then, Tim. Oh, Tim. The boy who once didn’t even see you, who barely even remembered your name when it lingered in the air of the manor. Now, he’s relentless, his fingers tapping into your phone with the same quiet insistence that his presence once had in the dark halls of that place you used to call home. You want to scream, to rip the silence apart, to do anything but feel what you’re feeling now—this suffocating pull to return to them, to face them, even when you know you never should have to again.

The ache swells, the lump in your throat is a tangible thing now, a choking presence you can’t swallow down. It’s the same searing pain that’s lingered, festering, hidden beneath layers of what you pretended was healing. How cruel it is, to have spent so much time trying to break free, only to find that some things, some people, are never quite done with you.

The ghost of them lingers, burrows deeper, with every unanswered message. They still haunt you, even from afar. You hate them for it, for still holding the power to break you open, to make you bleed from places you thought had long scarred over. It feels like a thousand wounds opening up again—slow, deliberate, bleeding you dry in a way you don’t know how to stop.

You stared blankly into the emptiness, feeling numb, when suddenly a hand rested on your shoulder. You flinched instinctively and turned to see who it was. Your eyes widened as you recognized your ballet teacher standing behind you. "Miss Kavinsky! I-I... Hi! I’m—" you stammered, but she quickly cut you off with a smile.

"Y/N L/N-Wayne, I know," she said with a warm tone. "It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you."

You winced slightly, the sound barely audible, but Miss Kavinsky didn’t seem to notice. "Come on, let’s meet the other dancers. I’m sure they’re eager to meet you."

The surprise hit you hard, and you stuttered, "M-me?" You couldn’t help but feel like an idiot.

She grinned, a playful mix of amusement and mild disbelief on her face. "Yes, you. You're kind of a celebrity here, Wayne. Not surprised with a talent like yours."

Her words lingered in the air, but you went quiet, caught off guard by the compliment. You couldn’t fully process it, the idea of anyone looking up to you seemed so foreign, so distant. And somewhere in the haze, you barely registered the way she had called you "Wayne.”

As you and the other dancers gathered at the stage, a wave of anxiety washed over you. The weight of thoughts about Tim and Dick pressed heavily on your mind, and the pressure of the moment only made it worse. Just as your mind started to spiral, a voice cut through the chaos.

"Hey! You're Y/N, right? I'm Desiree, but you can just call me Des."

You forced a smile, barely hearing Miss Kavinsky as her voice faded into the background, announcing something about attendance. Your attention was now solely focused on Des, who had just broken the ice. You shook her hand and smiled more genuinely, the tension in your body loosening up a bit.

"Hi, Des. Yeah, you already know who I am. Nice to meet you."

You both exchanged a quiet laugh, and the chatter around you faded as you continued talking. For a moment, you felt like you could breathe again. You asked the usual questions: "How old are you?" "What's your favorite ballet?" The conversation flowed easily, but when your name was suddenly called for attendance, you were snapped back to reality.

"Here!" you called out, your voice getting lost in the sea of dancers.

But then Des said something that made you freeze.

"So, are you excited that both of you are here?" she asked with a playful giggle, her smile sweet and innocent.

You blinked, confused, but smiled through it. "Both of us...?" you repeated, trying to follow along.

Des chuckled softly at your puzzled expression. "You and your sister, silly! It must be so nice to perform together. My brother wouldn't even try to get into ballet, you know?"

Her words, lighthearted as they were, suddenly made your world feel like it was crashing down around you. You felt a cold panic begin to rise. Your fingers instinctively dug into your palms, almost drawing blood. Your smile wavered, barely holding on, while your eyes fluttered, teetering on the edge of tears. Des’s voice became distant, her words fading into a muffled blur as your thoughts spiraled out of control, bloodshot eyes starting to sting with unshed tears. Your heart raced, and the chaos inside you was too much to contain.

In that very moment, her name echoed through the air, sharp and clear. Without thinking, your gaze shifted, and you locked eyes with her. Her wide, unblinking stare pierced through the noise, anchoring you in place. For a fleeting second, you wondered if she had been watching you all along—since the instant your name was called, or perhaps even before. You couldn't be sure.

What you did know, however, was that the weight of her gaze felt like a force, pulling you into a quiet abyss. It made you feel small, fragile—as if you were prey beneath the steady, unyielding gaze of a predator. A shiver ran through you, and suddenly, all you wanted was to escape, to flee from the suffocating intensity of her eyes, which seemed to strip away every layer of protection you had left.

The fates were clearly playing with you now.

Cassandra was an exceptionally gifted individual, much like her siblings, each of whom possessed their own unique abilities. From the moment she first pursued ballet, her family showered her with unwavering love and support. She had access to training that most could only dream of—privileges afforded to her not because of her wealth, but because she was no ordinary person. She was Batgirl, the daughter of Batman by choice, a mantle she wore with pride. So, when an invitation arrived for her to join the prestigious Swan Lake performance alongside other top-tier dancers, it hardly came as a surprise. After all, excellence was something she had always embraced, both on the stage and off.

As she gets ready for her first rehearsal she can't help but notice that some of her siblings are missing. She shook it off and ate her food but also not abandoning the thought of asking about the absence of her siblings and father, to a familiar companion of their family:Alfred. As where Alfred only replies with them being busy about.. Something, yet said to her to fret not and just worry her mind about her ballet play, quickly chasing away her concerns for her family with a smile that made her feel lighthearted. With a chuckle she got up and made her way to the location of where the dancers were told to meet.

Cass had always believed she was the only one in her family who truly appreciated the delicate artistry of ballet. Her passion for the graceful movements, the precision of each step, and the beauty of the performances had always felt like a private world to her, a world she inhabited alone. She couldn’t recall a single moment where anyone in her family shared even the slightest interest in it. So, when she entered the crowded theater that evening, expecting to be surrounded only by fellow ballet enthusiasts, she was taken aback by something unexpected.

Amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, she spotted you. For a fleeting moment, her heart skipped a beat, not from the rush of seeing someone in the crowd, but from an overwhelming sense of familiarity that washed over her. There you were, standing like a ghost from a forgotten past, an unexplainable connection sparking between you both. Cass couldn’t place it, but it was as though she had known you forever, even though your paths had never crossed before.

Her mind wandered, replaying the memories that had been buried deep within her. A distant image flashed across her thoughts: she was standing in a room filled with soft, pastel-colored fabrics, the scent of leather and polish hanging in the air. Two pairs of pointe shoes rested beside one another on the floor—one was familiar, worn and well-loved, the other brand new, the laces still fresh and untangled. The second pair, the one that felt entirely foreign, immediately piqued her curiosity. She was certain it wasn’t hers, yet the connection to it lingered, something so subtle but undeniable.

The realization hit her like a wave. She didn’t know you, not consciously, but somehow she felt bound to you, as if fate had woven your lives together in some strange, invisible thread long before either of you had even been aware of it.

The entire day she watched and observed you. She paid extra attention to every detail of your expressions, body language, and posture. She didn't know why but you seemed to be very clear–in her case, in distress, like you were panicking over something. And she didn't know why she somehow hated seeing you that way. As the minutes passed, she found herself simply just staring at you. Not even for a fleeting moment had she taken her gaze of you. She watched and observed tensely at every person who looks at you, who talks to you, who breathes near you. Almost as if she was guarding you. As they were told to gather she followed silently after the crowd and placed herself purposely in front of the other side from you. She scoffs in amusement as you barely notice her, too focused on your own little world. As minutes continued to pass, suddenly a girl broke you out of her thoughts with her voice making you flinch. Her breath hitched as irritation started to crawl their way through her chest. Why couldn't the girl be more gentle with you? Can't she see that you were clearly stressed? She frowns slightly at the girl, surprising herself by the sudden change of mood. She holds her breath and watches you like a hawk would at its prey. Her vision was filled with your now loosen frame, giggling with the girl who approached you earlier. A new feeling started to claw its way through her chest, now bigger and stronger. The green monster eating her up when suddenly the call of her voice brought her out of her thoughts as she, for a moment took her eyes off of you to answer quietly to her name and as she bring back her gaze to you, quickly to not miss anything she might take the pleasure in seeing, suddenly your eyes are on her too. Her eyes couldn't leave the sight of your gaze who held such horror in them, as if seeing her was too much for you. As she was your living nightmare sitting right in front of you.

The remaining time the dancers practiced, you avoided her gaze and her presence. The more you avoided her, the more she itched to be in your presence alone, to be near you. The whole time at the practice she was, for the first time, distracted. Her thoughts are consumed by you. Her thoughts came up with every question she could ask about her and your current situation. What were you doing here? Why didn't she know? Were you at the manor? No, if you were she would've known.. Right? Okay if you weren't, then why weren't you? Those questions alone made her uneasy and frustrated. As it was time to go home, she watched as you hurriedly got out and quickly went home to wherever your home was. The nagging feeling screamed at her to follow you but decided against it and thought that going home and bringing the news to her family might help more. After all, they were stronger together.

She stormed into the manor, urgency in her every step, and sought out Alfred with a single, breathless demand: "Boys. Where?" Without hesitation, he led her to them. Her gaze fell upon them, intense and unyielding, her pupils trembling with an unspoken storm. She whispered a single name, a breathless, haunting utterance: "Y/N." The boys, in unison, responded, "We know."

A deep breath escaped her, the weight of their actions—venturing after you without so much as a word—forgotten for the moment. She snatched a laptop, her fingers flying over the keys in a frantic dance of their own. The screen flickered to life, revealing a video that stole the breath from the room. There you were, dancing—each movement a testament to grace, each step more captivating than the last.

The world had already fallen under your spell. The internet buzzed with adoration, praising the way your every turn, every leap, every pause held the audience in thrall. Under the stage lights, you seemed more than human—a celestial being, your form bathed in soft light, glowing like an ethereal angel, kissed by the very air around you. The boys stood frozen, their gaze fixed upon you, entranced.

Your presence was no illusion. You were a goddess of their own making, and in that moment, they knew: they were already devoted, bound by the silent understanding that they would worship you, body and soul.

As the video played, the room fell into a hushed reverence. The boys, once brimming with urgency and tension, now stood motionless, their eyes locked onto the screen, as if spellbound. Every fluid movement you made seemed to breathe life into the very air around them. They couldn’t look away; they didn’t want to. Your every step, every pirouette, was poetry in motion, a delicate balance of strength and grace that made their hearts race.

The way you arched your back mid-spin, the soft brush of your fingertips against your skin, the quiet breath you took before every leap—it all drew them in, slowly, methodically, as though they were witnessing something far beyond the ordinary. Each turn of your body mirrored the very rhythm of their own hearts, synchronized with the ethereal pulse of the music, and they couldn’t help but feel as if the entire world had narrowed down to this one sacred moment.

Your eyes, though focused on the stage, seemed to flicker with a spark of something far deeper, something they couldn't quite place but could almost taste. It was like watching a dream unfold, where every movement became a metaphor—each glide across the stage spoke to something eternal, something untouchable. They found themselves lost in the elegance of your form, the way your body seemed to move with a natural fluidity that defied the laws of physics.

The lights above you softened, caressing your silhouette, painting you in a divine glow. And in that moment, they felt small, insignificant even, as if you had been carved out of stardust itself, too perfect to comprehend, yet impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just the skill of your dance—it was your presence, your essence that held them captive.

They felt an almost primal pull, as though your every movement was speaking directly to their souls. The way your body spoke without words—your elegance and power blending seamlessly—rendered them speechless. They were entranced by the aura you carried, intoxicated by your beauty and the mystery you exuded, a beauty that wasn’t merely skin-deep but radiated from within, a force of nature.

For a fleeting moment, they could almost believe that you were more than human, that you were something higher, something divine. They stood there, wide-eyed and breathless, as if they had been granted a glimpse of something sacred—something that no one else could understand. And in that moment, they knew that they would follow you, worship you, in a devotion that transcended mere admiration. You weren’t just captivating; you were everything. They couldn't believe that someone like you had been overlooked by then.

Bruce now understands that with no plan in mind he would still follow you till the end of the earth. Oh his little baby. He would do anything to earn your love and affection for him. To see you and to bask under the ray of sunshine your smile brings. To feel your presence alone.

Dick now understands that he owes you more than a few dinners or dates as siblings. No. He owes you the world. As guilt eats his flesh up one by one, mourning all the versions of you that he could have witnessed right before his eyes are now long gone. But that's okay, he'll make it up to you.

Tim now understands that you were surely his angel. His savior. His form of salvation. He could watch you all day and never get bored. He could listen to you all day until his ears bled but never say a word.

Damian now understands that the disbelief he felt when looking at your paintings full of emotions overflowing with a sense of overwhelming feel, was now long gone because he knew that only such being like you, almost like a supernatural being, could be the only one who has the ability to capture such deep emotions in one painting, to be able to create such beautiful, breathtaking object.

Cassandra now understands why she felt like she somehow had a connection to you and that was because she was your sister. And as she was a daughter to batman by choice, that she will also be a sister by choice to you. She was an observer, someone who guards-and she will guard you with her life for all eternity.

As the overwhelming tension fills the room Alfred stands at the corner with a small smile. “apologies master y/n had I done this sooner, you would have not slipped through my grasp dear child. Do not fret for your family is coming to get you.”

Ah, Alfred, the mastermind. He knew this would happen. He just needed to intertwine a little. He did not worry because he knew. He knew that leaving your bedroom door open the moment he knew Dick was coming over to the manor while the others were busy, and knowing Dick's tendency to wander off in the vast expanse of Wayne Manor, the chances of him finding your room were high. He knew that rearranging your trophies inside your room (which you had told him to get rid of) would pique the interest of your family even more. He knew that decorating your hidden paintings around the minimalist and empty walls of the house would catch the attention of the youngest Wayne. He knew that playing those soft melodies of your voice through the small TV in the kitchen would enchant a certain sleep-deprived boy, making him miss the sweet sound of your voice.

Alfred knew that when Cassandra was called for the big ballet play, you would be at the same play too, as you had told him over the phone, giggling and excited with a high-pitched voice. He didn't bother to tell you about your sister's similar invitation, nor did he inform your sister about yours. He knew every single detail, every thread that needed to be woven together to create this intricate tapestry of reconnection.

Alfred's wisdom was like a silent symphony, orchestrating events with a delicate touch. He understood the nuances of each family member, their strengths, their weaknesses, and their desires. He knew that Dick's curiosity would lead him to your room, where the trophies would spark memories and questions. He knew that Damian's keen eye for detail would be drawn to the vibrant paintings, each brushstroke a testament to your hidden talents. He knew that Tim, in his sleep-deprived state, would be captivated by the melodies of your voice, a soothing balm to his restless mind.

Alfred's heart ached with the knowledge of your absence, but he also held hope. Hope that these carefully placed breadcrumbs would lead your family back to you, to the realization of what they had lost and the determination to make amends. He knew that the path to reconciliation was not an easy one, but it was a journey worth taking.

As the days passed, Alfred watched with a knowing smile as the pieces began to fall into place. He saw the flicker of recognition in Dick's eyes, the softening of Damian's demeanor, and the spark of determination in Tim's gaze. He knew that the seeds he had planted were beginning to grow, and soon, the family would be whole again.

Alfred was getting old and he couldn't bare the vision of his children Bruce and you, drifting away from each other, and you from him. Maybe it was his own selfish reason but he couldn't help it. He raised you from the moment you got to the manor. Teached you everything he knew and gave you all the love he could. He watched you grew up and maybe it was a moment of rush that he allowed himself to be selfish and turn the tables around.

In the quiet moments, Alfred allowed himself a moment of reflection. He thought of you, the child who had brought so much light into his life. He knew that you deserved to be seen, to be cherished, and to be loved. And he would do everything in his power to ensure that you found your way back to the family that needed you just as much as you needed them.

Authors note: I'm sorry I took so long in writing this! I hope yall enjoy the 10k+ words I wrote. One tip tho is to read and observe the details very carefully! Dw I'm gonna explain it soon tho. Hope yall enjoy this cuz imma take a break after this.

[summertimesadnessirl]

I did get my shit together. Like 4 times.

Every time I get my shit together someone else comes along and fucks up my shit.

I'm not going to get my shit together again unless I get to

1. Find everyone who ever did that to me and charge them $500,000 over a period of 4 years in evenly distributed chunks which pay out on the first of each month via direct deposit.

2. Recieve a public apology from Chappell Roan which mentions me by name and explains what she did and who put her up to it, full legal rights to all her songs and merch and all profit from them, and a legally binding contract from her that she will dye her hair a color other than red and never be photographed in public with red hair or brown lipstick ever again. I will them use the money to contract deleteme.com to scrub all reference to her from the entire internet forever.

3. My mother, Gale Tousignant, is placed on house arrest on an ankle bracelet and is not allowed to be around children in the future.

4. The government creates a committee for the investigation of munchausen by proxy of psychiatrist that investigates the psychiatric community.

5. Churches are required to pay taxes on tithes and on any income from owning businesses and real estate.

6. The US government decriminalizes and supports the sale of drug safety tests for drug users.

7. All laws against pornography are repealed.

8. All citizens over the age of 18 are entitled to any form of birth control including condoms and abortion for free.

9. All minor children are given a ubi

10. Men who pay child support have their payment amount automatically adjusted based on their withholding amount.

11. People under the age of 26 automatically qualify for food stamps

12. University education is free for everyone

13. 25 dollar an hour minimum wage

14. Strict labor laws are made on the entire usa to prevent abusive scheduling practices at hourly wage jobs.

15. The labor board does an investigation into coercion to quit or incitement to make mistakes with the intention of creating a fake paper trail to fire people in jobs as a form of discrimination or retaliation

16. Unemployment is the same rate as whatever someone was paid at and it lasts 99 weeks for any adult after a layoff

17. The government regulates the job application process to prevent ghost jobs, require a set salary or hourly wage be written in the add and not a range, and make job interviews illegal (literally illegal, if someone's skills and references check out you don't need to subject them to a test based on subconscious biases and privilege.)

18. Capital gains tax

19. The government will limit the number of rental properties someone can own to 3, and the number of single family homes someone can own to 3.

20. Immediate dissolution of laws that prevent people with yards from using them to grow vegetables or farm chickens

21. Government program that reimburses the full cost of putting solar panels on any building.

22. Government program that requires any business which owns more than 4 locations with a flat roof or makes more than 1 billion annually to put solar panels on the roofs of all their buildings.

23. Government buyback program of power people don't use from their solar panels.

24. No fault divorce is not to be touched.

26. An organization designs an app that allows any citizen to make a living will, a will, prenuptial agreement, model release for use on social media, or a contract to be used which which is designed to be something like a prenuptial agreement for roommates to protect them with splitting bills and lease and so on, with common situations to create boilerplate style more or less correct documents that can be witnessed by an attorney or verified by a notary public and signed. A good faith effort is used to allow the app to make suggestions and help with common disputes and legal situations people have in these cases in the way that a real attorney would, so that even though the contracts can still be challenged and can't demand either party to break the law, the average person can create documents that help them with these situations effectively.

27. When a generic product is produced in the same factory as a more expensive name brand product using the same ingredient, a law requires a specific label on the front which makes it easy for consumers to identify in grocery stores.

28. A team of forensic accountants is hired to testify before congress every year on live TV explaining how tax planning works to take advantage of loopholes.

30. An awareness campaign about sexual abuse from women against women, including "enforced modesty" as abuse and grooming

31. The tax on inheritance is immediately tripled.

32. A bot net is created to link statistics about nepotism and inherited wealth and class mobility on any hint of meritocracy propaganda online.

33. EL James is sued for damages and loses all profits from the sale of her work for grooming and entrapment of women in financially abusive relationships.

Idk. I still think I just wanna die.

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Helloooo!!! I would like to make a request of Charles x autistic reader in where yn mom and dad are always criticizing her and making her feel less, she sometimes acts like a little girl specially when she's with Charles and when her parents critiques become overwhelming for her, he just snapped and defend her. Pls I would love to read that <3

Safe in his arms||Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Word count- 648?

The dining room was stifling, not from the warmth of home-cooked food but from the weight of judgment pressing against your chest. The overhead lights were too bright, the clinking of silverware against porcelain too sharp, the scent of roasted meat too thick in the air. You swallowed hard, your fingers tangling in the hem of your sweater as you tried to ground yourself.

Charles sat beside you, his presence the only anchor keeping you from drifting away. He was always patient, always understanding. He never made you feel like too much, never looked at you with disappointment the way your parents did.

Your mother let out a long, exaggerated sigh, setting down her fork. “Y/N, sit up properly. You look ridiculous hunched over like that.”

You straightened immediately, your muscles tensing.

our father hummed in agreement. “And stop fidgeting. God, you always have to be doing something with your hands. It’s like you’re five years old.”

Your lips parted, an apology on the tip of your tongue, but before you could say anything, your mother scoffed. “Honestly, Y/N, when are you going to grow up? You still act like a child. It’s embarrassing.”

Embarrassing. The word lodged itself deep in your chest like a shard of glass. You weren’t trying to be childish. You weren’t trying to be difficult. The world was just too loud, too fast, too much. Sometimes you rocked back and forth to soothe yourself, sometimes you held onto Charles’ sleeve when the noise became unbearable, sometimes you whispered little phrases under your breath to make things feel okay again. None of it was to get attention. It was survival. But your parents never understood that.

“You need to start acting like an adult,” your father continued, cutting his steak with unnecessary force. “The real world isn’t going to coddle you.” Your breathing grew shallow. The lights felt even harsher now, the sounds even louder, your sweater suddenly too scratchy against your skin. You reached for Charles’ sleeve instinctively, rubbing the fabric between your fingers, seeking comfort, something, anything to ground you—

Your mother’s eyes narrowed. “See? This is exactly what I mean.” She gestured at you like you were some kind of spectacle. “Still clinging to people like a scared little girl. It’s pathetic.”

Pathetic. The word struck like a slap. Charles tensed beside you. His grip on his fork tightened, his knuckles turning white. “She needs to stop depending on you so much, Charles,” your father added, shaking his head. “You’re just encouraging this behavior.”

This behavior. You swallowed hard, willing yourself to disappear, to shrink so small they wouldn’t see you anymore. Your breathing hitched, your vision blurring at the edges. It was too much. It was always too much.

And then— “Enough.” Charles’ voice rang out, sharp and unyielding. The room fell into stunned silence. Your parents blinked at him, shocked, but Charles wasn’t backing down. His jaw was clenched, his chest rising and falling with restrained fury. His hand found yours under the table, lacing your trembling fingers with his.

“She’s not pathetic,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “She’s not childish. She’s autistic. And instead of trying to understand her, you belittle her. Do you even realize how hard she tries every single day just to exist in a world that doesn’t accommodate her?” His accent thickened, his words sharp as daggers. “You sit here and act like she’s a burden, like she’s failing to meet your expectations, but the truth is, you are failing her.”

Your mother opened her mouth to protest, but Charles wasn’t done. “She is one of the strongest people I know. Do you have any idea how much effort it takes for her to be here right now, to endure this, to hold herself together while you tear her down?” His voice wavered slightly, thick with emotion. “You should be proud of her. You should be supporting her. But instead, you make her feel like she’s broken.”

Your father scowled. “That’s not—”

“No,” Charles cut him off, his grip on your hand tightening. “You don’t get to do this anymore. You don’t get to treat her like she’s not enough.”

Tears blurred your vision. No one had ever defended you like this. No one had ever looked at your parents and told them—out loud—that they were wrong about you. Your mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression unreadable. Your father looked away, shaking his head, muttering something under his breath. Maybe they would argue, maybe they wouldn’t. It didn’t matter. Because Charles had you.

The rest of the dinner was a blur, but the moment you stepped out of that house, Charles pulled you into his arms, holding you like you were something precious. Like you weren’t too much. Like you were just enough.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered against his chest.

His hold on you tightened. “You don’t have to be sorry, mon amour.” He kissed the top of your head, his voice raw with emotion. “I just wish they saw you the way I do.” You buried your face in his shirt, inhaling the scent of him, the safety of him.

“Me too,” you murmured. But even if they never did, at least Charles did. At least, with him, you were safe. You were enough.

[she-is-ovarit]

What women (female human beings) experience under the new administration's executive orders and subsequent introduced bills by republicans:

Potentially being charged with a felony and in some states the death penalty for taking the abortion pill or contraception pills.

Being politically forced to incubate and going through unwanted pregnancies, which will result in ~20+ years of being a caregiver to a child emotionally, financially, physically.

Rapists can now choose the mother of their offspring.

Women will be unable to medically treat sometimes life-threatening and extremely debilitating hormone cycle related conditions through contraception.

Women's healthcare is now required to also meet the needs of men (house resolution 7). In other words, honey, does your husband want you to have that hysterectomy?

What Tribes are experiencing:

A complete freeze to federal funding—the vast majority of tribal nations as sovereign yet dependent nations almost solely rely on this funding for very basic human programs (education, housing, food, elder care, youth care, protection).

What gay people are experiencing:

Rollback of gay rights and same sex marriage which allows us extremely important legal protections including allowing us into hospitals to care for our dying loved ones, property rights, etc.

What trans people experience under the new administrations executive order in comparison:

"I'll have to hide my pronouns in my social media bio :("

"I'm not able to alter my birth certificate"

Males can't be transferred to women's prisons.

Trump recognized there were two sexes.

Literal children and teenagers under 19 years old can't be pumped full of hormones or given surgeries to drastically alter/modify their sex. Adults over 19 still can.

Boys in high schools can't follow girls into locker rooms and bathrooms through just arguing they don't identify as boys.

Schools can't be federally funded (incentivized) by students believing they aren't really of their sex or by them just using different pronouns.

[coraniaid]

To the extent that Buffy the Vampire Slayer is deliberately and consciously About any one thing, it is about growing up. Specifically, it is about Buffy herself growing up. Moving beyond her childhood and her teenage years and becoming an adult.

And -- not always, but very often -- the metaphor that the show keeps coming back to for growing up is death and dying. Buffy's childhood friend Ford dies, and Buffy and Giles talk about growing up while waiting by his grave ("I'd like to stop," Buffy admits, just before Ford, now a vampire, bursts out of his grave). Buffy's mother dies young -- barely over forty -- and Buffy is forced to grow up again ("Who's going to be [Mom] if I'm not?" she asks her sister Dawn, her idealized childhood self made flesh, "Who's gonna take care of us?")

Buffy herself dies twice, and climbs out of a grave in a symbolically important way three times (in Nightmares, in Bargaining and in the very literally titled Grave). Buffy's main enemies on the show, especially during the high school seasons, are vampires -- forever young immortal creatures that refuse to die, but which "she alone" has the power to kill -- and Buffy can only defeat the Master by accepting the inevitability of her own death. The act of dying at the Master's hands both makes her more powerful ("I feel strong," she says after being revived, "I feel different") and also enables her to meet other people like herself (first Kendra, then Faith). Death is her gift, you might argue.

Another thing the show regularly associates with adulthood is money, particularly for Buffy. As a child, money isn't something that Buffy herself worries about, except abstractly: in School Hard she complains about spending a large fraction of her allowance on a new cream rinse that turns out to be "neither creamy nor rinsey", and in Homecoming she'll rue that she spent "a year's allowance" on a now ruined dress, but these allowances never actually run out. There is always money for new dresses.

Money is something for Buffy's parental figures to worry about. Joyce admits to "dreaming about bills" in The Puppet Show. Her father chooses his job over her in Helpless because "his quarterly projections are unravelling ... he can't afford to take off right now". It's Joyce, rather than Buffy, who worries about how she'll pay her way through college in Choices ("I know we can make it work if your father pictures in", she says, in what in hindsight seems like hopeless optimism) and it's Joyce who will be paying the bill for all the expensive textbooks Buffy buys in The Freshman ("I hope it's a funny aneurysm," Buffy says, which probably means nothing). And [whatever you think about Giles being paid], this is why Buffy insists on Giles being restored as her Watcher in Checkpoint, "reinstated at full salary", but doesn't think to argue for any salary for herself. Buffy doesn't get paid. Even at this stage of the show, money isn't something she has to worry about.

So, after Buffy dies for the second time and is brought back into the world again -- after she is forced to live in the world as an adult, and permanently take over the role of her mother -- it's no wonder that suddenly money becomes important to her. Not just important, but real, in a way it never was before. Those bills Joyce was dreaming about in Season 1 are Buffy's bills now.

And this is also why Buffy's friends can't just bail her out. Why Willow and Tara plan to go on living in her house without paying rent. Why all the gang come to offer her (moral) support when she starts her "subsistence level employment" in Doublemeat Palace, but don't think to actually pay her for the food they order. More than that, it's why Buffy doesn't ever think to ask for rent, and why she tells Xander his burger order is "on me" before he ever admits to looking to get a free meal, why the only person to give her financial assistance is her former Watcher (and now fellow adult) Giles.

Because her friends haven't gone through everything Buffy has. "It's kind of a Slayer thing", you might say. Unlike her, they haven't died. They haven't had to claw their way back to life from out of their own grave, into a world where everything is suddenly "hard and bright and violent". They haven't been forced to grow up yet. They don't know what it's like, and (as Buffy herself says in a different context), it's important to her that "they can never know". They're still kids. They're not in hell. Money isn't real to them yet.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

In fact, it protects the vast majority of child sexual abusers! Because most CSA victims are abused by someone they know! Who they probably don’t want dead! Many people get away with CSA already by guilt-tripping their victims with the whole “if you told anyone I’d get put away forever is it really that bad?” and even more do it bc that’s what the child’s told by Other People They Know imagine how much worse it’ll be if they could die. What small child wants to kill their mother or father? Children instinctively trust and love the adults in their lives- this'd keep children silent and protect the ones abusing them. And if the abuser thinks the child would be willing to do that… then they’d be very likely to escalate and straight up kill the poor kid, because they'd get the same punishment anyway and if they kill the child they might be able to get away with it.

Criminal justice isn’t and shouldn’t be about making us feel good bc we put bad people through bad things, it should be about keeping people safe. Which completely throwing child psychology out the window and incentivising the murder of abuse victims does not achieve! Most of us wouldn’t mind child abusers dying, but like, making the punishment for child abuse death shouldn’t be about our feelings it should be about protecting children. And making it harder both emotionally for children to come forward about people they most likely care about to some degree because children don’t want to kill people and would blame themselves for it because They’re Literally Children and Don’t Know Better and also for them to survive their abuse is doing the exact opposite

LGBT people, I need you to know that any “pedophile execution bill” passed in the US is meant to put you, personally, to death. When the right says “groomer,” they’re talking about you. When they say “predator,” they’re talking about you. When they say “pedophile,” they’re talking about you. Any actual child sex abusers who are convicted and executed would be, to them, a happy accident, a cherry on top of a law that’s meant to exterminate anyone who deviates from the cisgender, heterosexual norm.

[cinamun]

Things Fall Apart - A Recap

We're almost so back y'all, so let's take a quick look at where we left off in this, the saga that never ends:

We left off with Mercy Carruthers, a solid co-star who has been battling demons for most of her life. When we began the current chapter, she made the wise decision to allow herself to finally heal after the violent ending of the chapter before. However, cynicism took over and, without an understanding of the work she needed to undertake for therapy to be successful, she gave up. While trying to turn back to sex as a means to fulfilment, she was met with a harsh truth and sage advice from a trusted friend.

Will she listen?

Prior to that, we found Indira embarking upon modeling as the start to a potential acting career. Not wanting to be lost behind her mother's shadow, she signed off on a contract that would surely make her a star. Still young, and not quite familiar with all the ins and outs of industry, she is just learning how to use the pitbull she inherited from her mother. Speaking of her mother, someone with vast experience and street knowledge that would have surely helped Dira make a better choice, Indya expressed concern right away with the contents of the coveted modeling contract. While Dira stood firm on her decision, asserting herself as an adult who is capable of making her own decisions, her mother is left feeling hurt and scared for her youngest child.

Is Dira in above her head? Will Indya assert her dominance in the industry and intervene?

Finally, there's the incredibly intelligent powerhouse that is Hope Diamond Carruthers. A loving mother who felt lost in neverending diapers, infinite piles of laundry and a feeling of worthlessness. After an honest revelation to her husband, he changed his role in his own career so that she could live out her dreams now that the twins were in daycare. After a relaxing road trip and a week away, the decision was settled: Hope was going to pursue her dream of coaching young girls in swimming and, perhaps, becoming the next star coach of young, gold medal simlympic athletes.

Will her persistent self-doubt sabotage her dream? What could possibly stand in her way?

Things Fall Apart continues in one week.

[diushek]

One day, Shen Qingqiu comes from the city with a little baby in his arms. He says: "His mother died during childbirth and I am taking care of him." He names the child Shen Yuan when he is old enough to give him a name, and the child grows up in Qing Jing.

Everyone, absolutely everyone, believes that Shen Qingqiu is the biological father of that child. Only have to LOOK at them both and see the resemblance: the same eyes, the same hair, the same facial structure, the same lips, even the same angry pout. Rumors - Shen Qingqiu had a child with a prostitute who died and now he is taking care of him!! - are open secrets.

Shen Qingqiu, as usual, ignores them. He cares for his little one, raising him with the closest thing other Peak Lords can call love. Impeccable robes, the best meals, the best early education. Shen Yuan grows up as a polite, gentle, kind-hearted, sweet-faced child. He frees insects before killing them, isn't afraid to dirty his robes if he must go after someone, and has an avid interest in beasts and monsters beyond comprehension. The Peak Lords jokingly think: this child has taken his father's face and surely the good heart of his mother, may she rest in peace.

When he comes of age, he doesn't even have to dig a hole to be chosen for Qing Jing Peak - everyone knows that Shen Qingqiu has already made a place for him there. However, Shen Yuan insists on doing it on his own! He wants to earn his place. The Peak Lords respect him for it, and there are various interests, but he still ends up in Qing Jing Peak.

And Shen Yuan becomes Shen Qingqiu's clear first disciple. He is a skilled scholar, excellent martial artist who is not afraid to tear someone rude with foul words, but with an almost natural disposition to be kind, sweet and gentle with those who deserve and require it.

It is then that Luo Binghe arrives at Qing Jing Peak.

The Peak Lords hear of the rumors and they spread them like pollen in spring: apparently there has been a HUGE discussion between Shen Qingqiu and his spoiled son! Something involving a child with water burns, a beating, and a woodshed. No one understands what happened, but a day later, Shen Yuan completely disappeared from the Cang Qiong Sect.

And he has taken a young disciple with him.

Shen Qingqiu begins to act as if he never had a son - as if his whole life has been all about him, hostile and unpleasant. His mood is worse than ever and his cruelty is undeniable. No one understands what has happened between father and son, but these are rumors that even if whispered, bring the very bad faces of Shen Qingqiu. And no one wants to be behind Shen Qingqiu's wrath when it is unleashed.

(Shen Yuan had transmigrated. Into a baby! Into Shen Qingqiu's son! Yes, indeed his memories had been gradually unlocked, thank god. It would have been so weird to be a baby with the mindset of an adult... And he had believed, for a long time, that perhaps Shen Qingqiu could change. That loving him and caring for him would make him better when Luo Binghe reached Cang Qiong.

Unfortunately, that was not the case.

So, Shen Qingqiu can hate him for this reason if he wants! But Shen Yuan has to leave there and take Luo Binghe with him. He will teach him cultivation and do everything to make him become a powerful cultivator before his demonic seal is unleashed, he will do everything possible to prevent him from the Endless Abyss, and will prevent Shen Qingqiu from being turned into a human stick.

Probably, a single night of punishment and humiliation wasn’t enough for Luo Binghe to want revenge so hard. Actually?? He just would save the lives of all his martial uncles and his father in the process to kindly educate Luo Binghe and make him as powerful yet happy as possible. They should thank him!! He's sacrificing himself, his comforts, and his reputation to save everyone's asses!!!)

...

(Although Shang Qinghua had wanted to give Shen Qingqiu a son - a magical pollen pregnancy between Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu, which Shen Qingqiu would NEVER tell Yue Qingyuan was his child until the very last moment - for the drama and secondary revenge and angst 7/9, that had been a damn draft!!! He didn't even get to develop the background of Yue Qingyuan and Shen Jiu!!! And now that son ran away with his Protagonist!? System, what's going on!? Why do HE make sure the Endless Abyss arc be completed!? He doesn't even fucking know where the protagonist is!!! System have mercy on AND HELP!!!)

[prismaticpichu]

. . . How dare you? How fucking dare you just waltz into the chamber, unannounced, and jab that child’s toy into my side? Have you not a smidgen of respect? Have you no MANNERS? What the hell is the matter with you, asshat? Don’t you know it’s astronomically rude to interrupt a conversation between two adults? You think I maimed your mother just so you could spoil quality time with mine? Ifrit fucking damnit… You know what? You know WHAT? I was considering just leaving your charred rear on the ground, traumatized and quivering, but not anymore. Forget it. You lost your fucking chance, you hear me? You HEAR ME? You think you can just go around, laying your greasy human paws on other people? Disturbing the sanctity of their family gatherings? What the hell are you, some kind of wild animal? Jesus….

~

Kinda a funny line, in retrospect x,D

[countesspetofi]

The great thing about trying foods as an adult is that sometimes you find that what you didn't like wasn't the food itself but just the method your family used to prepare it.

There's a scene in the movie Big Night (highly recommend) where everybody's enjoying the big feast the whole film's been working up to, and one woman bursts into tears. People ask her what's wrong, and she sobs, "I just realized what a terrible cook my mother was." I've seen something similar happen with so many people in real life! It happened to me, albeit at a much younger age; I thought I hated spinach, but when I learned as an older child that you didn't HAVE to put vinegar on it, I became a fan for life.

My 30-something wisdom is that your palate is constantly changing so don't assume because you hated a food 10 or 20 years ago you still will. Most radically, your taste as a little kid is not indicative of what it will be as an adult-- I've known too many adults who still refuse to eat anything but chicken strips and ketchup because they're still basing their taste on what they experienced at 8 years old and so have cut themselves off from the entire world of adult taste. In my case, my taste for savory foods, especially vegetable dishes, "bitter" foods, and more complex flavor combinations has really expanded. I didn't like mushrooms as a child or for most of my 20s, but around 28 suddenly they worked for me. I started enjoying dark chocolate around 25, especially paired with fruit flavors. I've never been hugely fond of eggplant but discovered that in a sauce or roasted in butter and oil its delicious. I've always enjoyed fish but in the last 15 years I've discovered a passion for it, salmon especially. I've learned to recognize the tastes of herbs and love putting them into everything I can (currently I'm most enthusiastic about dill.) I'm also suddenly crazy about all kinds of sandwiches. And I'm still trying olives every couple years in case suddenly they start working for me, though sadly no luck on that front yet. So basically, expect that your taste is going to change in adulthood and expect that it will keep changing. And you can also work to develop your palate by exposing yourself to new flavors and combinations and cuisines, opening you up to even more foods you might never have liked before. So keep trying new and old foods, because you never know when you might suddenly start liking something new or discover a new way it can be prepared or a new texture it can come in. Don't wind up imprisoned in a world of chicken strips just because you haven't tried anything else since 3rd grade, you deserve better.

[velidewrites]

Do the Vanbros have a favorite childhood memory?

EXCELLENT ask. It's new lore time (sorry in advance)

Sylas will never admit it, but he remembers following Eris around as a child. He remembers seeing Eris as his older brother, someone so strong and impressive and fierce who'd promised to always protect him. He remembers young Eris leaving the Forest House to go on hunts, and he remembers sneaking out to run after him, eyes wide and bright, desperate to be just like him. He remembers, but he won't let himself think about it -- about any of it. Has not thought about it in centuries, for fear that Eris might suddenly become something more than what he is now. An enemy. An obstacle. A target. Sylas only thinks about Beron telling him he's weak, weaker than Eris, a disappointment. Another failure of a son. A wasted opportunity, a hope a father had harbored for nothing. Maybe, if he proves he's stronger than Eris, Beron will change his mind. But, just look at him. Sylas can practically hear the discontentment hissing through Beron's teeth. He could never defeat his older brother. Sylas has never even managed to defeat his own raging magic, and he's got the scars to prove it.

Marcel remembers nothing. Too many years of his life had been spent in the Forest House under Beron's close watch to remember anything that had happened prior. Marcel remembers the torture, the near-silent whispers of incantations Beron had found in the Middle. Magic aimed to steal, to take, to conquer. Marcel remembers the forceful pull of Beron's magic against his own, the agonizing pain of a High Lord's command to surrender the smoke so that he may claim its power for himself. He remembers praying to the Mother, the Cauldron, the Forgotten Gods, to just give it to him and let the pain slip away. He remembers losing faith in all of them. He remembers his mind crumbling thought by thought, scar by scar, until nothing good remained. If it had, he might have remembered being born shortly before the War. He might have remembered Beron hardly being around during his early childhood, and the nightmares the staff's stories about the battles ahead would give him. He might have remembered falling asleep to a gentle, crackling fire, and the small children's book in Eris's hands. His brother's quiet voice reading him stories about the animals living in Autumn's beautiful, golden forests, the very image lulling him to sleep.

Vermilion did not have a happy childhood. He remembers wandering the empty halls of the Forest House, haunted only by the ghost his mother had become. She was always so sad -- so lifeless, the russet of her eyes like decaying Autumn leaves, giving way to a piercing, ruthless winter. He remembers trying to make her laugh, if only so that her eyes might light up and Autumn might last a little bit longer. And he did, sometimes. Those precious seconds are what he holds onto today, when he visits the House for formal events as Beron's perfect emissary, and the look she gives him is no different than that of the ghost's. So no, he didn't have a happy childhood, but all that changed with one equinox -- the one event his mother had been allowed to leave the House to attend. Vermilion, a very young adult now, knew then; she was still in there, buried somewhere too deep for Ver to uncover. A few months later, he sees that russet sparkle again -- but it's no longer held in his mother's eyes. Lucien's birth had changed everything, and Autumn was back in Vermilion's life, putting an end to the years of unforgiving winter. He swore, then, that this russet light, he would never let die out. Lucien would be his to protect, his to love, his to show his mother that being Vanserra has never meant a thing to Vermilion. And so he did -- he took Lucien everywhere, snuck the teenage little rake in to taverns, brothels, and hunts, balls and galas where they'd place bets on which highborn lady would go home with either of them first. And when, one hunt, Lucien took home Jesminda, Vermilion had never seen that spark burn brighter. It is the failure of his life that Vermilion was the one to kill it. He remembers holding Lucien down, the hot tears of his brother staining his jacket, Lucien's still-weak fire burning Vermilion's skin. But he didn't relent. It had to be done. But now, Vermilion wonders -- was the death of that spark worth it if all it left behind is another ghost?

[dreamyintersexouppy]

i think about my first period a lot, the memory of it is where i keep a lot of my feelings about transmisogyny and intersexism so it's just been on my mind with everything that's been going on. i can't help thinking about it, about the what ifs of it. what if id been afab, it wouldn't have been hard, the doctor that delivered me made a personal judgement on what i should be. it was so arbitrary so i can't help but wonder what if it'd swung the other way.. even if i was weird, which i would've been, if that doctor had decided to assign me female i would've been expected to be a girl. the presence of what every adult considers my future "maturity" would've loomed over me, and when it arrived maybe i wouldn't have felt so alone. sure i would get my pain dismissed, but i might've also had other women to tell me what was happening. i might've had at least someone there, even if their information was lacking, to remind me that what i was going through was normal.

but what ifs are too dangerous to get lost in for long, the doctor decided to make me male, the world and people in it expected me to be a boy. i was weird, made too many friends with girls for adults to make sense of, calling me a faggot of a child in their minds. expectations still loomed over me, but no one expected to explain anything to me. my mother was never prepping to be there for me when a specific scary moment came. so i had that moment alone, because i was supposed to be a boy, even thought everyone could tell i wasn't quite. so they just looked on, an entire auditorium of adults and my peers, ignoring me doubled over as i bled for the first time, completely alone.

i don't think ill ever be able to properly describe what it feels like to be an amab girl being swallowed by what i was "supposed to be," but that story, that memory, feels very very close.

[freyakitten]

As a small child, poison control (well, the Australian equivalent) was responsible for calming my mother down by telling her that I couldn't possibly have eaten enough rat poison to kill me because it tastes so bad.

As an adult, I know why that was what she needed to hear. I don't know if they were right, but I do know that that was what she needed right then.

Life-changing OCD hack is learning that you can literally call poison control to check if you fucked up and took medications wrong in a way that could kill you instead of having a panic attack while reading reddit and quora threads for an hour. They won't even be mad at you. Like obviously don't do it every day or something but genuinely you can do this if you need to

[space-dreams-world]

D and T twins part 3: Damian's and others Part

When Damian came to live with his father after the coup, they did a DNA test to confirm Talia's truth as she had lied about her pregnancy before. Both Waynes are shocked by the results displayed and are both slightly relieved by this news, but for different reasons.

Damian is relieved because he always felt that Talia had been mistreating him and only felt comfort with his uncle and that he had a deeper understanding of him as he felt a connection with him. (In fact, Danyal had told Damian about the other child in his father's care (Dick and Jason who was currently in the compound with them) and expressed his feelings about treating his siblings right as he had seen the effects with their cousin Mara, Cassandra Cain and his sister, Talia.)

Meanwhile, Bruce is surprised but confused as he and Danyal were never that serious. He was elated as Danyal was the better twin he liked since Talia was a hassle to deal with, and he was uncomfortable with her after the SA and the fake failed pregnancy. His feelings for Danyal are similar to his feelings for Selina, Ghostmaker, and Two-Face... longing for co-existance. He felt Danyal could get him on some level and that he lit up his world (besides his kids).

Bruce remembers the moments in brief flashes of tender embraces, the sweet whispers of love, the long walks around the compound, and their first meeting (and how he saw through his ruse).

The only weird thing was that Danyal is MIA as neither he nor Damian could recall the last time he was last seen. In fact, Damian recalls he was last seen before Talia's coup heading towards the Lazarus pits.

Damian still has a slightly negative relationship with Tim as Damian was never briefed on Tim and feels that Tim encroached on his family and doesn't know how to act around him.

Damian, while not loyal to his grandfather or his "supposed mother," feels that now he can be himself as his "uncle" wanted him to be. He asks Dick, Bruce, and Jason to keep an eye/ear out for his father.

Dick has vague recollections of Danyal when Talia came to Gotham and dated Bruce, but Jason is silent. Jason quietly remembers that Danyal was there when he had Lazarus flares in the middle of the night, when Talia wasn't forcefeeding him info on Gotham, he was the clear rationale, when he got too injured in his training, Danyal would check up on him. And when he left for Gotham,

[What they don't know is that Danyal is training and making his way back to the DC verse while acciquiring knowledge with the help of Clockwork and other ghosts. Lady Gotham has also made an appearance to Danyal and has made a plea to help with her spirits. If Danyal is King in this au, then he only becomes it after all his family passes or is in the Infinite Realms.]

Now, Tim has no need to dig into this family affair, but he thinks he can use Danyal to get Ra's off his back and maybe make his brothers happy...(he unknowingly signs his immediate resignation to being treated like an adult and is forced back into acting like a kid with more healthy alternatives to his messy lifestyle and therapy... lots of therapy with the family.

[piracytheorist]

Spy x Family 30 Day Challenge

Day 13: Best moment of two of your favourite characters?

Oh hands down, the bench scene.

First of all, we see this from Twilight's POV, who is regaining consciousness slowly, so he first hears Yor's singing. He remembers his mother singing that same song to him, calls out to her, and then we see how Yor had him lie on the bench, his head on her lap, both of their coats covering him and keeping him warm.

And to me, it's so, so tragic, the way he pulls back in shock. This man hasn't allowed a single moment of vulnerability to show in front of others for years, because he would always be facing either an enemy or someone he wanted to spy on. And as such, he also hasn't been comforted all this time. And now, when he wakes up in a comforting, secure environment after a terribly vulnerably moment, his instinct is to pull away and freak out.

Meanwhile, Yor is dragging herself down, thinking herself incompetent and unfitting for her role in the family, a role she's grown to love now. She's ready to give up and move on, if it means Loid can be happy.

And Twilight realizes this can't be about him and his freak-out. Yor is hurting, and she's uncertain, and it was just made painfully clear to him that manipulation and honey-trapping won't work. So he uses honesty, as much of it as he can allow, yet more than was necessary to prove his point. He didn't have to tell Yor the very sensitive part that he doesn't remember his mother's face, but the security he's starting to feel around her made him drop that wall and open up, genuinely and deeply.

And it's enough for Yor. Loid's words make it clear that what she considers a fatal flaw of hers, to him it's a strength that means a lot to him and he admires. And to be told this by someone who's only known her for a little while, who trusts her with his child, who immediately forgives her for kicking him unconscious, is incredibly big for her. Her whole adult life she's felt on the outside, not having friends or even teenage years where she had the time to look after herself, constantly being criticized by her coworkers, and all while not knowing how to "act normal". And now she's told that it's okay, that there's nothing she needs to change. That she's enough.

So yeah, I love this moment for both of them.

[cheemscakecat]

The old Jedi would not know what to do with Luke.

Anakin was seen as a handful, but the Jedi could still command and control him. He was only a little boy when he was cut off from seeing his mother, and when the Jedi started drilling it into him that his personality was a problem he needed to grow out of.

He respected them, they were the authority figures in his life. He just wanted them to see him as someone worthy of respect too, instead of a problem child.

But they still talked down to him, even after all he did in the Clone Wars. Anakin was susceptible to Palpatine playing the part of a kind father figure because the Jedi treated him so badly.

He was so depressed when he met Padme again and his mom dying was the final straw. Padme stuck with him, but believed they needed to keep their stations as a Senator and Jedi to make the galaxy a better place.

Neither of them were in the right headspace for Anakin to leave the Jedi and seek a different life. He still wanted to be a Jedi, and wasn’t he supposed to be the chosen one? Surely he had to keep trying, he had to prove that Qui Gon was right. Had to prove himself.

Luke wouldn’t have thrived either if he was taken to the Jedi as a child. But if he travelled back in time as an adult?

That man thinks like a good old moisture farmer. Some of the most moral, trustworthy folks you could find on Tatooine. And they don’t take nonsense from anybody.

He respects Obi Wan and Yoda. But he doesn’t agree with them all the time or take all their words as gospel. He was turning down Obi Wan about rescuing Leia, saying he had to go home and he wasn’t qualified to help. Left Dagoba to save his friends, because he can’t just leave them behind to train.

And he didn’t give up on reasoning with Vader, even when told nobody comes back from the dark side. He believes people can redeem themselves.

Luke isn’t set in the strict and cultish ways that the Jedi had in their last days. That’s something Disney didn’t understand.

He’s like the ancient Jedi, the ones who were normal people who happened to have the force. That’s how he operates. Who says you have to train since childhood, away from all your family, in this temple system?

He doesn’t have all the same information and training, but he has an outsider’s perspective. Luke Skywalker doesn’t put the Jedi in the same box they built for themselves before the fall. And he would make that known.

He would get along swimmingly with Qui Gon and Quinlan Vos. Vos operated outside of the Order and was looked down upon for it. I can see those two sitting and joking for hours, racing each other with Luke on a Speeder and Quinlan parkoring through the trees.

Qui Gon tried to be civil and work as a member of the Jedi, even when they looked down on him. He believed someone like Anakin could change things, so of course he’d be excited meeting Luke.

Wouldn’t it be a relief to hear another person call out the Jedi on their overzealous rules? This Skywalker, who spoke of Count Dooku potentially being redeemable and said he understood why the man left? Nobody else would have said it out loud. Mace Windu would find the man infuriating. An outsider with no right to speak about the Jedi’s ways. Do you know what he said, when Mace told him he was not fit to call himself a Jedi, much less a master?

“I’d rather not fit your definition of a Jedi. This” he gestured at the Council “isn’t something to aspire to. You’re all so high up you can’t see the ground. You can barely see the other Jedi who are a floor beneath you.

I prefer to have my feet back on solid ground, with the people who live there.”

“You said your name is Skywalker.” Luke shrugged and chuckled.

”I like to fly. I’m a decent pilot. But looking at a world from orbit only shows a fraction of it. Landing, seeing what’s on the ground is important. There are so many lights you can’t see from space. So many sounds that Air Traffic Control sees as a distraction.

The sound of a child singing along to a song, the sound of old locals bickering, the sound of animals in the trees. They’re best experienced in person. The Jedi haven’t gone down to listen in a long, long time.”

Mace could say Luke’s not a Jedi, but then what is he? He uses the light side of the Force and has good morals and does his best to work with the personality traits he has.

Maybe he does have that impatient streak and fierce anger, but he’s learned to manage them. Instead of repressing them and assuming they’ll lead to the dark side.

You can’t call Skywalker a servant of the dark side, even when you vehemently disagree about Sith being capable of redemption. And he knows enough, is skilled enough, that you can’t just write him off as part of the unwashed masses.

So what is Luke then? Living proof that Jedi can function without the Council and Temple and Dogma. Proof that Anakin could have thrived if he wasn’t raised separated from his old life and to think he was wrong for having the traits he was born with.

Would he fade away if he changed the timeline? Or would he create a new, separate timeline and wind up back in his version of the future?

Luke would probably try not to sound like a crazy man, talking about the Chancellor. Instead of being able to oust Palpatine, I believe he would change the timeline by making a difference in people’s lives.

Qui Gon was surprised to see Skywalker insisting that Anakin needed his mother; and if the Jedi were so set on isolating kids, he’d buy her freedom himself and train the boy outside of the Order. He’d never really questioned the virtue of separating parent and child, but when Luke called it out? Really made him think.

Nobody could deny that Skywalker and the small child with the same name hit it off. They were both from Tatooine and loved to tinker and loved to fly. Some even wondered if Luke was the father, which made him burst out laughing and point out the flaws in that theory.

Shmi still ended up marrying Owen’s father when she was freed, but let Anakin go with Skywalker to become a Jedi. Somehow she knew the two of them would come to visit, just like he promised.

Years later, Luke would find a way to return to his own timeline. And it would be time for him to go home, with precious memories with his father, grandmother, and uncle that he never dreamed he’d experience.

The Anakin Skywalker he left behind would be okay. He had learned how to deal with his emotions in a healthy way. He didn’t hang on the Jedi’s every word.

He was so much more calm and happy. He didn’t care what the Order said about him when he and Padme announced their marriage. Anakin had questioned why she’d deny herself happiness for her career, and she saw that he had a point.

Of course Luke stuck around for the ceremony, alongside many Jedi like Qui Gon who left the Order after seeing there was an alternative. He left an Obi Wan and Yoda who weren’t so stifled by the Order, and who made it better for it.

It would be much later that Anakin would realize the other Skywalker was his son. He grew into the same face and voice and powers. And he would find a hologram from his master, too.

Explaining that he was from a timeline where the Jedi failed the Chosen One and he fell to the dark. Reassuring Anakin that he redeemed himself in the end, and that the evil Empire was defeated. Calling him dad and saying he was glad they got to get to know each other properly.