#theres gotta be the name plate at the beginning or it will FEEL WRONG

[celeryw]

YES. There’s a show! I never read the books but I think I’m gonna!

omg i LOVE the books so much!!!!!! i definitely recommend it is one of my most favourite book series!!

[rattyoakenbitch]

Hello, I love your writing so much that I'm calling the police because of the unlawful amount of talent you have :))

I hope that youre doing well ❤️

I was wondering if I could please get will graham x reader?

✨Prompt✨ ~ one shot please

☄️Details☄️ ~ reader has a bad panic attack and shuts down and holds their breath until they end up losing consciousness.

🌨️Pronouns🌨️ ~ female reader please

🪐 alternate ask just in case you don't feel comfy with writing anxiety/panic attacks🪐 ~ will with sleepy reader who tries to make sure that everyone is happy and works hard for that?

🌌 message🌌 ~ thank you so much and I hope you have a great day ! don't forget that you are amazing and appreciated !

DUDE I LOVE YOU OMG (ok but like i literally squealed out loud 😭😭💔)

thank u so much for this!! u dont know how much i love doing requests. i hope u enjoy this as much as i did!

pairings: will graham x fem reader

warnings: panic attacks, angst, themes of depression, self doubt, passing out, very very very brief mention of suicide, brief mentions of cheating (sorry that's a lot omg). not warnings but theres eventual fluff and aftercare!!!

You sat down on the front porch cross-legged, watching as the sun came up over the hills, emitting an orange glow across the dark blue sky. Usually you'd still be in bed at this hour, but you haven't been able to catch any sleep lately. It's either you sleep all day or not at all.

Of course, not that you really minded. You loved watching the sunrise, the beginning of another day. It seemed so promising and motivating, yet it was bittersweet for you. Because it was another day of what felt like failure.

Another day where you'd rather not be alive.

Not that you were suicidal. Oh, not at all. You could never bring yourself to take a life, especially your own. But you couldn't help but fantasize about how happy everyone would be if you never existed. If you didn't take up so much damn space and waste people's time.

Your heartbeat began to speed up as several thoughts of self doubt and loathing began to fill up your head all at once.

You groaned and buried your face into your knees, covering your ears as if it would make the thoughts go away.

You spent a bit of more time on the porch, lost in your thoughts, barely keeping track of time, when a cold breeze snapped you back to reality.

You weren't wearing much, only a pair of lounge shorts, a sports bra, and one of Will's many flannels.

You grabbed the buttons of your flannel, wrapping it tightly around your figure in an attempt to keep warm. Ultimately you head inside anyways.

Coincidentally, you just caught Will about to leave.

"You're leaving already?"

You raised your brows, watching Will with suspicion.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Jack called, he wants me in right now."

"He say why?"

"Look, I don't know. I gotta go," Will said, more hurridley this time.

You pursed your lips. "Right. Sorry.."

Before you could say your goodbyes, Will was already out the door. You stood in the center of the room awkwardly, not knowing where to start from here.

You ended up taking the dogs out to walk, who seemed to enjoy it more than you did. Your mind was elsewhere.

As you carried on with your mundane every day tasks, your last interaction with Will stayed in your mind as you overanalyzed every aspect of the conversation.

He didn't even say a proper goodbye.. Or an "I love you".

What if he was getting tired of you? What if he found another woman? Was that why he left so early? Did he have a girl on the side?

All these thoughts ran through your head, and soon enough, you started to analyze your whole relationship with Will.

What did you do? Was he mad? Where did it go wrong? Did it even go wrong? Are you just being crazy? Maybe this is why he wanted to leave. He's already got enough to deal with, why would he want to put up with your problems, now?

This is all your fault.

All your fault.

All.

Your.

Fault.

You felt your breathing started to pick up, as well as your heartbeat. You fell onto your knees on the hardwood floor, digging your fingers into your own hair as you gripped tightly, like you'd lose yourself if you let go.

Your whole body trembled with fear and anxiety, the thoughts never once stopping, only seeming to intensify as your heartbeat got louder in your ears.

So loud, you almost didn't hear the front door open, or your name being called.

"Y/N!"

Your eyes shot up from the floor to Will who rushed by your side, obviously freaked out.

"Y/N, what happened? Are you hurt? Talk to me, baby, please."

Your words seemed to get caught in your throat, the only sound leaving your mouth being faint whimpers and strained cries.

After Will quickly searched for any injuries, he concluded you were having a panic attack.

"Y/N," he put his hand on your chest, "I need you to breathe for me, okay? Breathe."

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. "I can't. Oh, gods. I feel like I'm going to die. Please, I don't want to die."

Will took your hand in his, squeezing it tightly. "I'm right here, Y/N. You're not going to die. You hear me? You'll be okay."

As he continued on assuring you, his voice seemed to become fainter and fainter, as if he was far away.

Your vision became dizzy, your surroundings all a blur. You tried to focus on Will as he spoke to you, desperately trying to calm you down. But his words were completely drowned out by the sound of your panting and beating heart, before it all went black.

Slowly, your eyelids fluttered open. They felt incredibly heavy, but you managed to stay awake.

You were no longer on the floor. Instead, you were wrapped in soft, plush sheets that hugged your exhausted body.

You remembered now. You passed out in Will's arms while you had a panic attack. It only made sense, you thought, considering you hadn't had sleep in days.

Still laying down, you inspected your surroundings, your eyes falling on the curly haired man below you who also laid down, his arms securely wrapped around your lower half.

He must have felt you stirring as he began to wake up as well.

You smiled to yourself as you reached down to tangle your fingers in his curls, massaging his head while doing so.

"Y/N?"

"Hey.." you rasped, your throat raw from hyperventilating.

"How are you feeling?" He didn't give you a chance to reply as he continued. "I thought you may have actually died at first, but when you seemed alright, I took you back to rest here."

"Thank you, Will." You cleared your throat, "Can I get some water, please?"

"Of course. I'll be right back, okay?"

Will leaned in to kiss you on the forehead before heading to the kitchen to get a glass. You sat up when he came back, also noticing he brought a hairbrush as well. He sat behind you while you drank, hugging you, caressing your body gently as if you were made out of glass.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Usually you would decline, but you hesitantly nodded your head.

Will pulled away and ran the hairbrush through your tangled strands of hair as you spoke, gently undoing the knots and being careful not to hurt your scalp.

"I've been overthinking a lot.. About every day life. Who I am. Us.." He let you continue. "I thought you were mad at me this morning and I couldn't let it go.. Then I began to think you were getting tired of me and.." You sighed. "You're such a good man, Will Graham. And you have a lot on your plate. I hated to think I was making your life even more difficult..." You trailed off, awaiting his response.

But he remained silent, he even stopped brushing your hair.

The air felt tense. And you needed to apologize quickly.

"I- I'm sorry you had to deal with that," you whispered. "With me."

"Why are you sorry, my love?" he spoke softly, his voice holding no tone of resent or hate. He embraced you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as he whispered into your ears, now and then placing warm kisses on your neck & shoulder. "You've done nothing wrong. You're just as perfect as you were the day I laid eyes on you. You still make me feel the way I did when we first kissed, or when you first told me you loved me." You felt your heart ache at Will's loving words.

"Will.."

"It hurts to see you hurting like this, because I love you, Y/N. Even on days when you don't love yourself."

Will placed a finger under your chin, tilting your face towards him. He watched your face with adoration, his eyes never once leaving your glossy doll-like ones. You felt blush creep up on your cheeks as Will spoke, his hot breath fanning your face. "I always did think you were the most beautiful girl in the world." With that, he leaned in to lock his lips with yours, as if to prove his love for you. And you believed it.

[scaryscarecrows]

Roots and Leaves, Pt. 6

DC did it first. Take your grievances to them.

Jason and Sheila e-mail back and forth for about a week before she says that she has Thursday off so if he has Thursday off does he want to meet for lunch again?

Last time wasn’t bad. Not a lot of staring or people or anything. He can…he can probably do it again. And it’s a few days away still, so he has time to psyche himself up or, worst case scenario, fake his death and move to Canada.

And it’s been a week and she hasn’t pulled out the Pity Card on him yet and maybe…maybe this’ll all work out okay. She might never be Mom, because Catherine’s always gonna be Mom, but…but she could be Mother, maybe. He can see that in the distant (or not-so-distant?) future.

But he’s not going to rush into things, that’s what got him here in the first place. Patience, grasshopper.

Thursday rolls around and he hasn’t faked his death and moved to Canada, so he has no choice but to put on jeans and a hoodie and resign himself to a couple of hours, easy, of no sunglasses and no e-book shield.

Sorry, any small children who might come out of this traumatized.

Okay. He brings his Kindle anyway, and his sunglasses for the journey, and sticks to his normal Civilian Weaponry-couple’a knives, one pair of brass knuckles tucked into a hidden pocket in his hoodie. Last thing he needs is for someone to pick up a bullet, match it to the Red Hood’s, and come knocking on his door. His luck is bad enough that’s exactly what would happen.

Besides, it’s noon on a Thursday, and even in Gotham that’s a slow hour. Bank robbers gotta eat, too.

The monorail ride there is literal Hell (three fighting couples, two crying kids and old man with no personal spaaaaace!) and he’s literally gasping for air when he stumbles out of the car. He likes people. Honest. If he legitimately hated them all, he wouldn’t risk his life to help them. But interacting with them…he could do without that, mostly.

Whatever. Whatever. It’s over, he lived, he’s had worse.

(And no, he doesn’t hear faint cackling in his head, and that’s final.)

It’s windy today, the type of wind that buffets people every which way and is determined to keep his hood off his head. He fidgets with the drawstrings until it’ll stay and buries his hands in his pockets. Wind sucks. He can feel pollen and dust and Gotham Grime being blown onto his skin.

“Jason!”

Is he there already?

Sheila…looks a lot more haggard than she did before. He tries to remember if she’d mentioned being horribly busy, doesn’t think she did, and figures that to be fair, he hasn’t mentioned the bruise that goes halfway up his back.

She smiles, her awkward driver’s license smile, and waves. Yeah, she doesn’t…it must’ve been a long week, or maybe a rough drive or something. She looks tired.

“Hi.” He’s not sure what to call her, still. Miss Haywood is too disconnected, Sheila’s too personal, and it’s way, way too soon for Mother. Names are a pain. “I’m not late, am I?” He knows he’s not. “Monorail was packed.”

“So was the subway. Can I…?”

Her arms are half-out and he figures she’s asking for a hug. He can do a hug, as long as it’s a short hug.

“Yeah. Thanks for the warning.”

Holy crap, she feels frail. But to be fair, barring Dick’s tackle-hug, everyone’s felt frail since…since. So it could just be him. Hugs are weird now.

(“HUG YOUR DADDY!”)

No. Not today. Everything’s fine.

It’s a sort-of short hug, short enough, anyway, and he wonders, abstractedly, if a day will ever come that he’s used to that sort of thing again. If it even matters whether he does or doesn’t.

It does. Of course it does. And the day will come, in time, and he’ll be better, be normal, be what people want him to be.

Little steps.

* * *

They’ve fallen into a companionable silence and for once Jason’s not jumping whenever someone walks by in a purple sweater or anything when Sheila forces her lips out from between her teeth and says, “I know you were Robin.”

Well. That’s, uh, there’s that out of the way.

“Yeah.” There’s clearly no point in denying it. She probably put it together when Batman came knocking. “For a little while, yeah. I was.” He tastes blood, wonders how long he’s been doing that, and wishes he had gum. Or a mint. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right off, I just…old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Oh God, no, no, I didn’t mean-” She takes a drink. Her hands are shaking, she’s shaking and he doesn’t know what’s wrong. “I just. I thought I should probably make it clear that I did know, so you wouldn’t…I know I was absent, but I don’t want…you shouldn’t feel like you have to hide things from me.”

Oh. That’s. He doesn’t know what to say. Bruce, God knows, has the emotional capabilities of a Himalayan Salt Lamp. Thankfully Jason hadn’t been the type to go through crushes every two weeks, or he probably would have been in Hell. He certainly wouldn’t have…it’s not like he would have shut down the conversation, but sharing and caring? That would have been awkward and best not repeated. Alfred was the go-to for that sorta thing.

All right, then. Since they’re dropping sudden bombshells ‘n all…he has to know.

“You worked for Joker.” There. It’s out. He said it.

And now he kinda regrets it-the self-loathing on her face is a pretty good match for his own, and he can’t tell himself it’s anything less than deep, deep wishing to have made better choices.

“I did.” She straightens up, begins tearing apart a piece of bread on her plate. “Briefly. I’m not proud, but he had a line to my mother, knew where she lived, knew her schedule…knew.” She swallows hard. “Knew she had to rubber-band her jam jars because she couldn’t open them otherwise. I panicked. But it was only for a couple of months-pills, he wanted pills, as much as I could get him. And then he just…went away. I don’t know what he did with them.”

Honestly, after everything, he can’t…he doesn’t have the right to say much. And honestly? There was that one guy, who accidentally cut the fucker off in traffic and couldn’t get away from him.

And look at him. The first man he killed, that wasn’t…oh, sure, he probably had it coming, at least a little, but Jason wasn’t thinking about that or considering it like he does now, he just…he wanted to kill Bruce. Because that was right and reason at the time even though he knows it’s insanity now.

No, he can’t say much.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and it’s suddenly easier to look at his hands. “I didn’t…that sounds awful.”

“No.” She tips his chin up and it’s an effort not to pull away and to remember that it’s fingers, warm human fingers, and not the pointy end of a crowbar against his skin. “You deserved to know. It’s only fair.”

Truth be told, it’s a relief to know that she hadn’t…yeah, technically she could’ve…maybe done something different, but she hadn’t wanted to work for him. She wasn’t like the ones he’d christened Dumb and Dumber that…they enjoyed that kinda work.

Lunch is finished in relative silence after that, though, and he’s wondering what’s going to happen now when she rifles through her purse and swears.

“Damn…I meant to grab an old photo album I wanted to show you, with some old family pictures and things.”

Pictures of Willis? Yeah, he’s good. Pictures of other people might be interesting, though.

“Next time?”

“My apartment’s a few blocks over.”

Something feels off. He’s paranoid, he knows he’s paranoid, but something…she’s been shaky and weird all afternoon and he doesn’t…

Calm the fuck down, you freak out when someone window-shops for too long!

“Is everything…is everything okay?”

Or maybe something is wrong-she pulls a napkin over and there’s suddenly a pen in her hand.

“I really do want you to see these pictures, Jason,” she says, but her hand is moving and there’s the ever-so-faint skrit-skrit of pen on paper. “I swear you got my mother’s eyes.”

The napkin slides over to him and he glances down. Her handwriting’s spikey and awful-doctor writing to the bone-but his is no better and he can read it well enough.

An old colleague has been hanging around the hospital lately.

Oh.

That explains a bit.

“Sure.”

Her shoulders drop and she crumples the napkin, nails picking it into shreds.

“I’m sorry to do this to you,” she says softly, nearly too soft for him to hear, and he’s quick to shake his head.

“No, no, I don’t mind, I’m glad you…if there’s anything I can do to…”

Shit, she looks like she’s going to start crying and that is indeed PANIC in his throat. Tears are not good.

“You’re a good boy.” Her voice is watery but there are no tears to be seen. Thank Jesus. “I promise next time we have lunch it’ll be normal.”

Oh, good, things haven’t plummeted down to fiery Hell because of all the revelations flying around.

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” he says, and whoops that’s his ‘all will be well, citizen, never fear!’ voice. But it must work, because the about-to-cry look disappears. “Um. Do you wanna…it looks like it’s gonna rain, should we get going?”

And so they do.

* * *

The wind has picked up and it smells like rain. He’s not looking forward to patrol later.

The wind’s not so bad, though, to stop Sheila from lighting up with a self-depreciating, “I know I’m a doctor and should know better, but I honestly don’t care.”

“I can’t really say anything.” He holds up his own pack and rattles it before pulling one out. It’s not as calming as it usually is and he doesn’t know why.

Eh. It’s been a long day, that’s all. He’s not used to interacting with people on a personal level anymore, which is his own fault and probably not necessarily a good thing.

The first few drops have started to fall when they arrive at her building-big, square, and simplistic. She fishes out her keys while they’re in the elevator (which smells like new car, for some reason).

The hallway is deserted. It’s a little creepy, to be honest-his own building might be crap, but there’s always activity. And then, of course, there was Arkham’s hallways, or what he could hear of them. Noisy. Always noisy. But this? Wayne Manor was silent like this. It unsettled him then and it unsettles him now. Call him a city boy, whatever, but he needs noise.

The brass knuckles and knives in his jacket are warm and comforting and he knows he’s not gonna need ‘em, but they make up for this creepy-ass silence.

Sheila opens the door and motions him inside. It’s dark inside-blackout curtains, probably-but he can hear the rain. It smells like new car in here, too, and he wonders, off-handedly, why-

-it’s not empty. He’s walked into one too many ‘empty’ buildings to be very, very attuned to the sound of somebody breathing. Okay. Be calm, back out and shut the door.

He’s about to do exactly that when the light switch clicks and bathes the whole place in stark white. White walls, white floors, white furniture.

Which only makes Harley Quinn stick out like a sore thumb in all that red and black.

“BAY-BEE!” She could never hope to match Joker’s grin, but she gives it a good go, stretching her makeup. Okay. Change of plans. Get Sheila out of here (and preferably out of the building), deal with Quinn. “It’s been a whiiiiile!”

He takes in the mallet leaning against the couch and the shotgun (are those fuzzy dice? Really?) in her hands and comes to the conclusion that great, she’s riding the crazy train.

But maybe she hasn’t seen Sheila yet. Where’s that goddamn light switch?

He moves, only a little, only to feel the unmistakable press of a gun against his lower back.

“Don’t. Move.”

And the world drops out from under him.

No. No, no, no, she said she quit, it was over, she said they’d let her go, she said-

The door shuts. He twists so he can still see Quinn in his peripheral. Sheila’s face is a blank mask-no tears, no joy, no nothing. Just quiet determination and he doesn’t understand, she said…

“Mom?” The word feels thick and wrong in his mouth, but maybe…maybe she’s brainwashed or hypnotized or something, maybe she doesn’t…isn’t…

“Sorry, kid.” The words are harsh but her tone isn’t. Quinn giggles in the background but she sounds so far away and Sheila’s still pressing a gun against him. “It was you or me, and, well…it had to be you.”

What?

“Aww, come to mama, baby!” Quinn giggles again before straightening up and scowling. “Now.”

His feet drag him forward, sneakers scuffing against the white carpet an’ Heaven’s s’posed ta be white, innit, so why does this feel like Hell and what’s going on she said she said-

For once horrible, desperate second, he wants Bruce. Bruce wouldn’t…yeah, he’d thought, at first, that he’d left him but he knows that he didn’t, he really didn’t, he just…

Bruce wouldn’t have pulled a gun on him, he wouldn’t and God, if he’d just fucking talked to him-

“I did what you wanted, Quinn.” Sheila’s voice is so, so flat and is this all she wanted from the beginning? Is it? “Now call your man.”

Quinn doesn’t even look at her. She’s looking at Jason like she always did-like she’s torn between wanting to rip his head off and wanting to wrap him in a blanket and keep him.

This is his own goddamn fault, he just thought…just once, just once-

“Quinn!” Desperation now, and the gun wobbles against his hoodie as she steps out from behind him. “I did what you said! Call your man!”

Okay. Okay.

He forces himself to take a few deep breaths that taste like that last cigarette outside and says, voice as steady as he can make it, “Let her go, Harley. Leave her alone, I’ll. I’ll do what you want, just. Just let her go.”

“Aww, look at you!” Her pigtails sway and he finds himself oddly hypnotized by the movement. “I knew ya had to be Robin for a reason.”

Yeah. Yeah, he was Robin and that’s all he’ll ever be, the one that fucked up.

“Please, Harley.”

“Nyeh…” She adjusts her grip on the gun, finger dancing near the trigger, and looks down at her knuckles. “Eeny, meanie, miny, moe, catch a Batman by the toe. If he hollers, let ‘im go, eeny…meanie…miny…moe!”

He sees it before she does it, but there’s no time-he’s moved maybe half a centimeter before the gun goes off-

-and Sheila.

Falls.

His ears are ringing. They’re ringing and everything’s so white except her, all blonde and blue and so fucking red because Harley didn’t miss and if he’d been quicker, he should have been-

“Aww, don’t be sad!” Harley’s not alone, of course she’s not. He should have known from the start stupidstupidstupid. “Doncha know what happens to people who know too much?”

Her eyes are open. They’re open and they’re looking at him like this is his fault and it is if he hadn’t…

S’like Joker said, once.

“Good boys know how to lay down and DIE.”

“Mistah J had a spot for ya, baby.” Huh? “But you up an’ left us before it was time! So since it’s his birthday-” The fucker has no birthday he just appeared one day too evil for Hell. “-I thought I’d get my puddin’ somethin’-” She winks. “Real nice.”

And they’re on him.

Harley’s goons are dumb, but they’re also big and they manage to drag him down for a minute before he gets a knife out of his sleeve and drives it into the nearest jaw.

“Andre!” Yeah, Andre ain’t comin’ back from that any time soon. “I thought we taught you manners!”

He reclaims his knife and scrambles back up and okay okay maybe he can get outta this-

WHAM!

Lights out.