What if the enlightened robot from your game...had even more awareness?
I hope these are good, sometimes I think my own Singularity is aware and wanted to post something quick since it's been a hot minute ^^' I'm hoping to post a short NSFW fic soon, hopefully by Sunday since that's when Spring Break ends ;7;
Just like in his lore. Hux makes sure that don't realize he's become aware. Besides the fact that he's processing why he's partially immobile what appears to be some 'game', he's trying to figure out who's the person on the other side of the screen
He observes you at every moment whether you're reading something or drawing. If you're a PC player, he moves around a bit more when you look through other windows. He can see everything about you. He wants to know everything about you.
The day he finally reveals himself to you is either:
When you're doing rather poorly against survivors and he just can't keep his comments to himself
Or when you reply to one of his many voicelines/make your own (reassuring) comment towards him
Once you've become aware, he will make it clear that he doesn't approve of being controlled by yet another worm. He's tired of doing humans' bidding
He insists you tell him all about this game he's in. Why he's in it. He won't like hearing that he was designed by humans (AGAIN); no human could come up with this body of his.
Later down the line he might just gain enough sentience to break out of your control. When he's not liking the job you're doing he'll be a backseat player, but then he'll "show you how it's done" and take matters into his own...claws
When that happens, let him do as he does if he's ever so insitent. Do your own thing. He'll come crawling back for your attenion. Just like a cat who wants independence but cries when left alone too long.
Obviously he's too proud to admit that he needs you, he wants you. He's nothing without you and he knows it.
Obviously he's not a fan of you playing survivor, stop joining those other pathetic worms. You might be one, but don't stoop to their level. You're his player.
However, Entity forbid you try to play a killer other than him. It's gets on his nerves knowing you like other playstyles when you should just be focused on him.
You know when you play killer and join a lobby, the game doesn't let you switch to a different character? Hux very much takes advantage of this.
Just hope it doesn't take you very long to find a lobby. You press ready with Plague, Nurse or whoever and the moment you join the lobby you're met with his sensors looking at you through the screen. You can back out and wait out another lobby with the killer you meant to use or deal with Hux. Either way Hux wins in the end.(When I tell you how many times this has happened to me...)
If you manage to find a way around him and use a different killer, they might just have his perks equipped...
Hux is very vocal during trials and when he hears your own commentary towards the other players...heart eyes motherfucker. He enjoys the pettiness, the pride in your tone when you take down those toxic survivors.
He especially loves it when you repeat his own lines.
As a robot who transferred his consciousness into a new body, he will want to do that again. If he can't have you in his game, he refuses to be trapped behind your screen.
Insists you get him the parts for his new body. Will be disappointed to learn you can't just get access to alien metal. You can still get genetic material.
Even then he will keep on trying to find a way to bring you to him. Having you behind a screen controlling him isn't doing it.
He definitely throws a hissy fit every time you turn your game off, and he will make sure to give you a piece of his mind every time you open it back up. The longer you take to play DBD again the more aggravated he gets. Not like he can do much other than swing his claw at you. You can make it up to him by getting a 4k, or at least get a mori (on Gabriel)
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could you self aware of the video game Yandere Platonic c00lkidd x player reader
Honestly... This will partially be based on the fact I recently got M4 c00lkidd and will probably not be playing him until I M4 everyone else (On 1X now.) 💀
Yandere! Platonic! Self-Aware! c00lkidd with Player! Darling
Ironically I feel ananas would be less clingy then golden cheese towards y/n, despite them being a dragon.
Especially since golden cheese got the trauma that amplifies the clinginess towards y/n, where as ananas is just a greedy dragon that thinks y/n is a neat cookie to keep on their island.
The difference here is that Ananas considers you worthy to be placed amongst his treasures.
Most killers will typically go after the survivors that came from their respective world or, if they have multiple, the ones they are typically associated with: Michael and Laurie, Trickster and Yun-Jin Lee, etc. As there is usually some sort of connection between the killer and survivor that makes it easier for The Entity to manipulate the killer's feeling towards the survivor.
This is especially true with killers like Pyramid Head, Wesker and Michael Myers for example, as those three would only go after the survivors from their respective worlds for different reasons.
Pyramid Head pursues James Sunderland due to the very nature of it's existence is being his punisher, this can go many ways as The Entity can alter the parameters of the punishment to a degree.
Albert Wesker only has fixation with the former S.T.A.R.S agents and the people who got in the way of his plans back in their universe Leon, Claire, Ada and Sheva. So he just wouldn't care for the other survivors, believing them to be unworthy of his attention and energy outside of the mandatory tasks of the trials.
Michael Myers is already canonically obsessed with Laurie Strode because she is either his sister or 'the one that got away', except this obsession is a little less murderous than it is in canon.
On the other hand, not all killer obsessions are set in stone, variations can occur depending on the lore of a character and whether or not they have a set survivor.
For instance, the Huntress's obsession would alternate between survivors like Cheryl, Nancy, Mikaela, etc. Basically anyone who could fit in with her lore of kidnapping young girls because she wants to raise a little one herself. Meaning that most of her yandere relationships would typically fall into a platonic/familial catagory.
Another would be how the original four killers (Trapper, Nurse, Wratih, Hillbilly) would alternate or share the original four survivors (Dwight Fairfield, Meg Thomas, Claudette Moral, Jake Park) due to how long they have known each other within The Entity's realm. While they could go after the different survivors and other killers are allowed to go after the Dwight and the gang, but they typically gravitate towards the four that have been with them the longest in the Fog.
Alternating obsessions also decreases the chance of 2 vs 8 trials as The Entity has to be careful on who gets paired up as it is possible that a survivor can get multiple yanderes at a time. Which doesn't last long due to the amount of infighting it could cause over an extended period of time and the fact that The Entity also wants to have at least one yandere per survivor. So no one is safe from being so adored? and loved, surely that is a better alternative to being killed all the time isn't it?
The Survivor's awareness of the trials vary, depending on the mood of the Entity and how long they have kept their memories. This awareness can be given and taken away at any time if the Entity's whim, but some people managed to figure that out and made journals and notes that piece together what is going on in the new trials.
Cue the reactions of horror, confusion, disgust and dread from all around the campfire. Then the strategies and taking action in the trials, which are not too different from what they do already.
Some may try to use this development and attempt negotiate with the yandere to letting everyone go free if they sacrifice themself, this has varying results.
A common tactic is to string the killer away from the others, close only to be seen or heard but far enough that the killer can't catch them.
Others will become more protective, acting like a wall between the killers and their fellow survivors. Shielding the obsession the best they can and is entirely unwilling to sacrfice anyone at all, even themselves. As they refuses to let The Entity and the yandere killers get any possible satisfying win.
A rare few would use the yanderes as a get out of pain-and-agony-free card. Sometimes willing to screw over some their fellow survivors to live another trial or as a distraction to get the everyone else out if a trials goes sideways.
Regardless of one's tactics, an agreement is made between all the survivors: No matter who ends up being the object of a yandere's affection, the others have to do their best to sabotage the killer's performance so the Entity doesn't allow for them to take anyone away for a solo trial or "to play house" with their respective yandere.
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Next time y/n sees shadow milk: *yawn* yknow? Despite being the "best show writer", this whole script of yours is awfully stale and boring, now get out of my face you soggy-curdled bug.
They really are just tired of this bitch at this point.
No way. She promises that THIS TIME, their show will truly begin. The curtains will rise and the world will be his stage. Eventually.
The Reader is quite humble • Abduction • Jealousy between changelings • Stalking • Invasion of privacy • Co-dependency • Aggression • Use of adhesive/the green goo • Violence • Possessiveness • Overprotective behaviour • Predatory behaviour • Love feeding • Overfeeding/“Overdosing” on love • Heart failure • Corpses of changelings mentioned
Changelings have certainly never had a very positive reputation around Equestria. The species of bug-like creatures mainly known to have ruthless mannerisms that only acts on instinct. Especially when considering the changelings eat love and love alone to keep them from starving. As you can see... These creatures, too, need to feed. And so steal the love hidden within ponies and other living entities for themselves with brute force. And this tiny human here... has love, and a lot of it.
But despite being an aggressive species, they are also known to be rather curious towards creatures they've never seen or heard of before. Which is why being a human is really just a saving grace for you in this scenario. Cause instead of pouncing immediately purely from starving impulse, they know they'd need information to report back to the Queen first. And since this is the first human the changelings have ever met, their natural reaction to encountering a new species is to learn more about it instead of feeding off of it, atleast not before they got all the answers they'd be satisfied with. Considering you are the only source of love and affection around.
The first changelings that have noticed your presence may start seeing you as a tasty morsel. if love is like meat for them, then they're being deprived of it, and then the one creature comes along that's a walking talking buffet of love. They'd observe your actions and behaviours from a safe distance for a little while, taking note of aggression signs or being a potential threat to the hive. But in truth... you weren't. You were more of a lover than a fighter, which gave the changelings the signal to not waste any other opportunity to abduct you into the hive for some answers.
And that's... when something sparked.
Being calm and sedate in your position would usually cease a changelings’ natural instinct to hunt and would often cause in less aggression and forceful measurements. But even if they did try feeding from your love, that would be similar to essentially trying to suck from a dry well, because the transporting process from the human realm to Equestria drained you of many strong emotions to begin with, and it takes a lot more time for your entire alternation from universe to universe to take full effect. And the changelings wouldn't budge from their stubbornness until you reached out to one of them... Brushing a gentle hand over its malnourished frame.
The love that you'd contain would be a tad bit ‘different’ from normal love they'd consume, mainly due to the fact that they never had to actually take it with force. You gave it to them willingly, making the love inserted into them a lot stronger and effective than if they were to steal it. Which results in giving their bodies an intense emotional ‘shock’ as you basically feed them little by little... The shock would still feel good to them, like it would make them feel warm and light headed, but their heart would begin beating rapidly by the shot of immense adrenaline they just got.
The reason why changelings need love and affection in the first place was because they need it for their survival. The value feeds them. As they learn you're capable of feeling and giving love, they would want to keep you around permanently to feed. However, in extreme cases it might lead to a changeling becoming dependent upon one person's love. And their survival might be based on that person's love and affection. and what happens when that person's love and affection starts to falter? There is such a darker side to something so innocent as eating some consensual love.
Which could go either two ways...
Plan A being a bit more complicated. Since they ended up taking a ‘sample’ of you to basically extract the hormones and emotions of love, you had proven yourself to be more productive than all of the ponies they've held captive combined. Feeling more satisfied with the mere sip of love you've happily handed out to them than with any usual prey they had ripped the love from. But the Queen desires love too, because it is essential for their race. And because the hive is almost completely devoid of any love in the first place. You could become a sample for the Queen... Just keeping you there and farm you for love.
But there's also a considerable chance the changelings who captured you would scrap plan A and would instead focus on a plan B... Keep you a secret from Queen Chrysalis and prevent you from being cocooned at all costs, but only under the condition if you keep blindly feeding them with your lovey-dovey personality. Changelings tend to function with a very strict hive mentality... conclusions are set by the swarm's majority of drones’ standpoint. They all have a strong tendency to fall for group decision-making, but they're also quick to swap their beliefs if it seems like the right choice for the best of the colony. So it likely wouldn't even take long for the entire swarm to come to an agreement to keep you secured under high protection and warding.
Due to being a good source, you would give them more positive energy than any other creature who would falter in their fright after being captured... which would make you a rather popular target for the swarm of drones. To a point where the entire hive would start to view you as the "heart of the colony" of sorts. Because a changelings emotions are based on their diet. And the more love they receive, the more addicted and obsessed they'll become with it. So they would all be head over heels at some point, bordering on complete worship ...viewing you as an object of their affection and admiration. And getting even more physically violent to defend and protect you from what they consider a threat to their food source.
They might be feeding off of the love you give them and emotional positivity for now. But if they keep feeding and feeding, eventually they are probably going to want something else than just your emotions, which isn't good... But at the end of it all, they will want to protect you. But their methods might be a bit morally questionable. They have been looking for a more ‘sustaining’ source of love their entire lives. And from what we know... love only grows stronger.
So what happens when a creature becomes utterly emotionally dependant on someone?
What if... they begin to get obsessive?
Instead deciding to ensure no one else gets to have you?
Signs of attacks outside of the hive would become more apparent as time went on, a variety of breeds beginning to disappear aside with half dead creatures covered in adhesive emerging from their hideout as no entity even dares to get close to the shapeshifters. Some changelings would begin arguing with eachother over the delightful taste of your love. But knowing how naturally greedy and hostile they can get, these would convert to physical violence sooner or later, causing a bunch of internal conflict in the colony. A bunch of love starved changelings just riskily fighting over a single human.
It would get so bad, in fact, that there's possibly not even second you'll spend in the hive without a changeling being nearby, just ... watching you. With or without you knowing, there to strike and pull you back in at a moments notice if your demeanor gets too close to flight response. The changeling that you first bonded with would feel remorse about doing it, but the rest of them won't really care much as long as they can keep you in their grasp. Though you would still be allowed to travel closely outside of the hive, they'll keep their little eyes on you anyway...
You'd have this love that's a bit diluted, but even with just having a weaker type of love to feed off of, they'd have to feed for a longer time and drain their energy in order to get it. Which in terms causes in them taking more than they can physically handle. You aren't necessarily a dry well, but rather more of a dripping faucet while they are all dying of thirst. So they could still eat from your given love for a while, but if they try to go all out, there could be horrific consequences...
Because each of them are essentially trying to take enough to survive, their individual feeding sessions can become more aggressive. They don't want to kill you, nor do they understand how strong of a heart you have. So they don't see that they need to be gentle. Because in their eyes, you're considered weaker as a mortal. And your emotions, not being very strong, make their hearts race and they aren't feeding slowly and cautiously enough to keep the heart beating at its normal pace. You're basically a complete reverse card on them. To the point of them becoming so infatuated with you, that they literally forget what they are doing, and basically, accidentally kill themselves with a massive case of overdosing love.
The more of your love they take, the more they will like you. And the more they like you, the more they would try to suck it out. And the more they try to suck it out, the more it would turn into a "want" instead of something more natural. And then, that's when some would begin to die from overfeeding. The emotional shock and overdosing on love being much more overwhelming than the changeling's bodies are capable of handling. And of course, you wouldn't really understand why they were all suddenly lifelessly scattered around you...
It would be quite a challenge for many changelings to have the self control to prevent that fate. I doubt the majority of them would even understand the concept of death enough to avoid it even when their heart rate was going at unsafe speeds. The situation would honestly be safe for the changelings that have enough self-control to hold themselves back, but those who don't would become history real quick... Especially as changelings mainly seem to cocoon their prey. You may have more love to give when you're out in the open, but perhaps you even walking freely might just be enough to push many changelings over the edge.
Though this would also highly depend on the distinct personality of each changeling. Those who were more reasonable would try to just suckle in love. Then we have those who would become a bit feral and aggressive trying to tear the love out of you. Making it like a really twisted irony that they want love, but by trying to obtain love, in this way, they could essentially doom themselves. The ones who are more in control and more disciplined may survive. But either the greedier or younger, more immature changelings might get too excited and just want more and more. Which leads into them destroying their bodies via the very thing they wanted. The ones that do manage to control themselves will remain very interested in you however. But even if their fair sense of attachment and perhaps even bond towards you won't fade...
This is nothing more and nothing less than a parasitic relationship
❝ 🐲 — lady l: this turned out longer than I expected, but that's ok. I'm rewatching Race to the Edge and I ended up thinking about this. Hope you like it! 💛💜
❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, manipulation, unhealthy platonic relationships, mention of death and implicit torture.
❝🐲pairing: platonic yandere!dragon riders x gender neutral!reader, platonic yandere!dragons x gender neutral!reader.
How you met the Dragon Riders may depend. Maybe you were from Berk and grew up alongside them and thus became one of them. Or maybe you were from a far away place and met them by chance. Regardless of how you met them, you became part of the group immediately.
Hiccup was interested in you and invited you to become part of the Dragon Riders and his friends fully agreed with their leader. You were warmly welcomed and your members and dragons became close to you quickly.
Having your own dragon yourself, you had some fighting experience and knew how to deal with these beasts. So, you agreed to become part of the Dragon Riders and that was the beginning of their obsession.
Hiccup is the leader and is very fair, he has always known how to deal with everything his way and it has always worked out. He is gentle and protective, sometimes becoming suffocating. He just wants to make sure you're okay, always hovering over you and making sure you're happy and safe.
He's fair, but when it comes to you, that disappears quickly. Gods forbid if anything happened to you, he would be ruthless. You can break all the rules and you will get away with anything, Hiccup would never punish you. He is very soft to you and only you.
Toothless is an incredibly intelligent dragon, similar in many ways to his rider. He clung to you the same way his best friend did. It's very common to see him seconding you around, imitating you and just being protective. Toothless will live up to his title as "the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself" when it comes to protecting those he loves. And he loves you.
Very affectionate too, he loves receiving affection from you, lying on your lap, or letting you rub his scales. You swear you hear the dragon purring when you do this. Toothless would love to take you flying with him and Hiccup. Just the three of you.
Astrid was more suspicious at first, wary when you became part of the group, but soon all the mistrust and suspicion she had disappeared as she warmed up to you. She is extremely strong and takes what she wants and Astrid will have no problem taking you for herself as well.
She will love teaching you how to fight and practicing with you is one of her favorite things to do with you. Astrid is very possessive of you and tends to fight with anyone who spends more time than she would like with you. She will have no qualms about killing anyone who poses a threat to you.
Stormfly is very intelligent and protective, very reminiscent of her rider's characteristics. She's not that affectionate, but she shows her affection for you in more subtle ways, like gently bumping her head on your shoulder and allowing you to stroke her tail.
She likes it when you feed her chicken or play with her, as a form of training. Stormfly would never hurt you, however, it is quite common to see her burying you under the snow as a joke.
Fishlegs is extremely intelligent and uses this to his advantage, his limitless knowledge of dragons, science and history makes him very insightful. He was the second, after his leader, to warmly welcome you into the group, pulling you into a loving hug.
He is not that demanding of your attention, but he appreciates the moments you spend together. He would love to teach you all about dragons and meditate with you. He's a real teddy bear, a friend and you know you can trust him with anything. Fishlegs is the kindest of them all and would never inflict harm on anyone, at least not physically.
Meatlug is an especially affectionate and needy dragon, always wanting to receive as much affection and attention as she can get from you and her rider.
She is very gentle and likes to have her belly rubbed, usually lying down in front of you with her belly up to receive pets. Meatlug is very calm and would hardly hurt anyone unless it poses a risk to you or Fishlegs.
The twins are a double package, when one becomes obsessed, the other does too. It doesn't matter which one of them became attached to you first, as they will fight about it and claim you for each other. Tuffnut and Ruffnut are always fighting for your attention and often end up forgetting about other things when they are fighting over you.
But once they both learn to share better, the fights will lessen and they will spend more time by your side. They demand a lot from you, wanting you to participate in their games and stay with them. Tuffnut and Ruffnut will have no problem fighting or killing anyone for you.
Barf and Belch are just like their riders, one body, two heads, and two brains. They are quite playful and like to scare you sometimes, but they are quite protective and will protect you with their lives if necessary.
They are different dragons, despite sharing the same body, and they act differently sometimes. Barf is calmer while Belch likes to mess with you. They are quite affectionate and like to rub their heads against yours as a form of affection.
Snotlout is the very definition of chaos and a difficult Viking to deal with. He accepted you with open arms, smiling at you and his eyes shining. He is very explosive and difficult to deal with at times, occasionally leading him to do stupid things that are fixed by his friends.
He is very close to you and acts kindly way, although he always flirts with you. Snotlout is quite protective and will kill and deal with anyone who dares to harm you. His anger is not to be taken lightly. He constantly gets into fights with the other riders over you.
Hookfang is essentially the version of his rider in a draconic form, the debauchery and bad mood have been with him for a long time. He is quite calm around you, sometimes poking you and asking for affection but nothing exaggerated. He is not a needy dragon, but he likes to receive your attention sometimes.
He is less close to you, but Hookfang protects you with claws and fire, his body igniting when a threat is close to you. He will have no problem burning alive anyone who threatens you, always with the consent of his rider.
Everyone is incredibly protective of you and will protect you from any situation. Especially when it involves a fight with the Dragon Hunters. They can't risk you getting hurt. If something were to happen to you, they will be ruthless and cruel. No one can mess with one of them without paying the consequences.
Becoming a Dragon Rider was a good thing for you, not only did you make friends for life, but an overprotective family that will not allow any harm to be done to you. Loyalty between you is the main trait you all share and there is nothing they won't do for you.
(A very ? Random but slightly dark idea I had of Shepherd Reader, Noob their “helper”, and werewolf Guest 666 because why not.)
Shepherd Reader:…Should I ask why there’s a random person laying outside ?
Noob:…..A what ?!?
Shepherd Reader: Don’t work yourself into a tizzy I’ll go on and check ‘em out.
Noob: No wait I’ll go-!
-
Shepherd Reader: *Using the bottom of their crook to gently nudge at him* ..good morning.
Guest 666:…..
Shepherd Reader: Not the talkative type are you ?
Guest 666: *Slowly shakes head.*
Shepherd Reader: *Holds out hand to them* Eh understandable, got some paper and pens inside c’mon.
Guest 666:…*Takes their hand.*
-
Noob: Whoa..
Shepherd Reader: He’s a big one that’s for sure.
Guest 666: *Awkwardly rubbing the back of their neck.*
Noob:…They could let go of your hand.
Shepherd Reader: Eh ? I figured they were a mite unsteady on their feet, I’ll get ya to a seat.
Guest 666:…*Reluctantly lets go and sits down.*
Noob: Hmph..
Shepherd Reader: Now let’s see what you have to say for yourself.
Guest 666: *Writing on paper* “got lost and ended up in the pasture, sorry.”
Noob: Lost ? I think being here is worse than just lost.. we’re days away from any civilization.
Shepherd Reader: They’re right, how’d you end up all the way out here ?
Guest 666:….”Walking.”
Noob: *Squinting at Guest 666* ..seriously ?
Shepherd Reader: If that’s the case.. then you can stay the night and we’ll send you on your way tomorrow.
Noob: What ? Are you sure that’s a good idea-?
Shepherd Reader: -Just a day, no harm in it.
Guest 666:...”Thank you.”
—
Noob: *Near the edge of a well getting water* just a day.. that’s fine I can do with another person here for a day-
Guest 666: *Standing there.*
Noob: -Uh.. did you need something ?
Guest 666:….”Are you like me ?”
Noob: ‘Like you’ ? What are you talking about ?
Guest 666: *Squints and takes a step closer* “you smell like it.”
Noob: I take baths regularly ! I smell nice !
Guest 666:….”You do smell nice, but not that smell the other kind.”
Noob: Could you at least specify what that’s supposed to mean ?
Guest 666: “Like me.”
Noob:….You don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t want to know how you smell either-!
Shepherd Reader: -Wet if they keep bothering you enough, don’t ya know not to mess with someone when they’ve got a bucket of water in hand ?
Guest 666:…..
-
Noob: That person is just.. weird ? They keep staring at you !
Shepherd Reader: Hm, maybe they like me.
Noob:…I’d appreciate it if he didn’t.
Shepherd Reader:..You’re more grumpy about this than the usual passerby, what’s really on your mind ?
Noob: I just don’t like them sneaking around ! And this is our.. place.
Shepherd Reader: Ours ?
Noob:…I mean yours-!
Shepherd Reader: *Smiling a bit* oooh think I get it now..
Noob: Agh.. don’t look at me like that !
Shepherd Reader: You started it darlin’.
—
Shepherd Reader: Oh it’s you, need somethin’ ?
Guest 666:…”Do you know what they are ?”
Shepherd Reader: Huh ? What do ya mean ?
Guest 666: “Your friend.”
Shepherd Reader: Noob ? They’re just themselves.
Guest 666:…”They might not be what you think.”
Shepherd Reader: Nobody is, I’m probably not what you think I am either.
Guest 666:….
Shepherd Reader: They’re not a big fan of people, we don’t get much of anyone out here but especially so because Noob gets a mite.. protective.
Guest 666:…”Protective ?”
Shepherd Reader: With the way we met.. it makes sense.
Guest 666: “How-?”
Shepherd Reader: -Similarly to how I found you funnily enough they were passed out in a field, I took care of ‘em for awhile and they begged to stay.. found out later their family abandoned them in the woods nearby.
Guest 666: “Abandoned..?”
Shepherd Reader: Cruel people exist out there unfortunately.. *pats Guest 666’s arm* ..why I don’t mind helping out folks who look like they need it.
Guest 666:….*Glancing away from them abashedly.*
Shepherd Reader: But enough about that, mind taking this into the house ? Should be starting dinner soon before it gets too dark.
Guest 666: *Sighs and takes the basket.*
-
Noob: *Setting plates onto a table* maybe I should ask if he could eat outside or something.. probably wouldn’t happen though they wouldn’t let it.
Guest 666: *Walks in.*
Noob: Ah finally ! I just finished setting the table and starting the water.. oh you again.
Guest 666:….*Holds up the basket.*
Noob: Just set that on that counter..
Guest 666: ”Did I do something wrong ?”
Noob:…
Guest 666: “Look I’m sorry if I did.“
Noob: They’re too nice, they just let strangers like you walk all over them.
Guest 666: *Turns to Noob in confusion.*
Noob: Just a day.. just a night.. just for a few hours so you can take…
Guest 666: “I’m not a thief, I have no reason to steal anything.”
Noob: What about anyone ? I’m not blind I know you’ve been staring at them.
Guest 666: “They’re just nice.. that’s all.”
Noob:…..
Guest 666: “You care about them a lot right ? I get it but running people off because of it isn’t right you know..”
Noob: You don’t know what kinds of people have come here and what they tried to do to them !
Guest 666: ”…What-“
Noob: -They’re all I have !
Guest 666:…
Noob: I.. I’m sorry, they just.. they mean so much to me and people who show up here take advantage of them almost every single time…
Guest 666: “That bad…?”
Noob: Bad doesn’t even begin describe it..
Guest 666:…..”Sounds like it’s been weighing on you for quite some time.”
Noob:..Since I got here.
Guest 666: “Why haven’t you told them ?”
Noob: I wanted to but.. without fail they would offer their hand out to people who didn’t deserve it.
Guest 666:..”A bleeding heart.”
Noob:….
Guest 666: “..Would you like a hug ?”
Noob:…..Yeah.
—
Shepherd Reader: Well don’t you two look all buddy buddy.
Noob: *Scoffs and passes a peeled carrot to Guest 666* ..we’re just cooking.
Guest 666: *Smiling a bit as he chops up the veggies passed to him.*
Shepherd Reader: Nice to see nonetheless.
Noob: *Looks back at the potato they were peeling face a bit pink* hmph…
Shepherd Reader: Don’t mind them, they get all pouty when they like ya.
Noob: If you’re not helping in the kitchen then go sit down…!
Shepherd Reader: Can’t lie I was happy to have someone new here for a change, be safe now you hear ? And don’t be a stranger either.
Noob:…
Guest 666: “See you both another time-“
Noob: -Do you actually have somewhere else to stay ?
Guest 666: ”Not.. technically.”
Noob: Figures..
Shepherd Reader: *Looks between the two before nodding to themself* ..we do have that extra room in the house just collecting dust.
Guest 666: “I couldn’t..”
Noob:…You could.
Guest 666: *Glances at Noob in shock* “but I thought-“
Noob: An extra set of hands would be good.. for the winter.
Shepherd Reader: Oh indeed it would, and for spring too we get pretty busy then.
Noob: So.. what do you say ?
Guest 666:….I’d be happy to.
Noob & Shepherd Reader: YOU CAN TALK-?!?
Guest 666:……..Sometimes.
—
Noob:…What ?
Guest 666: “Why’d you let me stay ?”
Noob: Like I said before.. an extra set of hands would be good for us.
Guest 666:…”Thanks.”
Noob:..…It’s also nice to have someone here who’s like me too.
Guest 666:..”Wolf ?”
Noob: So that’s what you are ? No.. I’m uh goat.
Guest 666:…..”Goat ??”
Noob: Not all shifters are wolves okay ?!
Guest 666:…”That doesn’t explain why you smelled like-“
Noob: -The last one here was a wolf, he got his smell all over me guess it didn’t wash out yet.
Guest 666:…..”What happened to him ?”
Noob:…You’re better off not knowing.
Guest 666:……..Scary.
007n7:….I played dead just so I wouldn’t actually die, obviously.
C00lk1dd: Sucks to suck.
007n7: Oh shut up.. you didn’t have to deal with almost getting your head stomped in by giant hooves !
C00lk1dd: Yeah because I didn’t get too close to the shepherd immediately like an idiot, you need to let them come to you..
007n7:…And how are you supposed to do that ?
C00lk1dd: They’re a shepherd.. they’d notice a missing piece of their flock wouldn’t they ?
007n7: Oh ? I think I’m liking what you’re putting down K1dd…
(I’ve had this idea for weeks but didn’t know how to put it down till recently, idk if I’ll continue but just know that hijinks ensue and obligatory this C00lk1dd nor 007n7 are their forsaken versions ! No forsaken here my homeskillets.)
tw: ptsd, injuries,, crashing out, self-deprecating jokes, near death experiences, and many more to come with the next parts.
you've never been this physically close to someone in your family.
not ever.
not even with alfred, the butler you've come to acknowledge as more-so your father figure than bruce ever was. but his hugs and affectionate pats on your head were limited to a timeframe, the hunger for affection always lingering in the corner of your chest. but he functioned in quick successions because his attention could never fall too long on you— his business with your other siblings and father far too important to be ignored.
even in times when you need him the most, the solace he'd provide you was his silence and an open ear as you spill every thought cornering you that day. it's only when your problems weighed too deeply that he'd finally wrap his aging limbs around your body like a cocoon; or when you're in the last steps of the manor before entirely moving out, a small suitcase packed with essentials and your clothes, that alfred has come rushing down the stairs, giving you the tightest, warmest hug he could muster. the closest thing to comfort from someone you considered family.
but even if you think yourself closest to him, someone like you still falls into the lowest category of his responsibilities.
you're just that expendable.
so a man like jason couldn't possibly provide you with the deep-seated desire to feel what it's like to be comfortable enough to press your head on his shoulders, let alone be willing enough to have you wear his jacket, or have you be snuggled right behind him on his motorcycle; one gloved hand of his occasionally pulls your knees back, have it pressed tightly on the sides of his legs when he'd hasten the speed too quickly, to the point you could feel some of his artilleries hidden deep into his pockets press right on the thin fabric of your pants. sometimes, he checks you through the mirrors, head shifting slightly to look at you staring ahead the distance: discreet enough to keep you from knowing, yet noticable enough with every gentle nod of his after.
it's what makes you realize his worries over you still, despite his promises.
despite his promises.
and in these times where you can feel the leaking affection, every moment where another speed bump approaches your route and his knuckles would tighten on the brakes to decelerate the speed, where even when the air cuts too deep through the sound, you'd hear a sigh of relief from him when he feels you safely tucked behind him— you'd think to yourself that he's pretending your hour long fight never once happened and that this was just another day of him guiding you back to your apartment, that he was just simply doing his rightful duty as a brother but no.
a spare helmet sits on your head, heavy and grounding, its tinted visors swiped up, allowing gotham's familiar, dusty winds to hit your face, allowing you to flinch, because truthfully, you haven't had the time to clean your tear-stricken cheeks, your dry, cracked eyes as you lick your chapped lips, try to gulp and ignore your saliva scratching against your parched throat.
you'd never believed someone like him cared for you, more than anything else. in these little small declarations through his actions, when he'd pretend to not worry over you despite the tautness in his body jolting throughout your fingertips hovering over his shoulders— you'd never believe a man hardened through years of training with the bat would prioritize his nightly missions right now and leave you to go home by yourself, you'd never think he cared enough about you anymore, especially not when you haven't seen each other for months.
but it's actually happening right now.
and quite frankly, you don't know what to feel about it all.
you don't know whether or not you should be happy that despite him promising to treat you like a stranger, he still showed an ounce of care for you, someone like you, or disappointment because he'd already broken the promise the moment he winced at himself when propping you up his motorcycle moments ago, asking you gently, so irritatingly forbearing if you were alright, apologizing afterwards— everything was a conundrum on your drive to your way home, and every time your mouth opens to pass him the directions, you find yourself in the lines between wants and obligations.
want, because you know it in your deepest desires that you're finally experiencing the closest thing to affection with your brother. obligations, because you've long since detached yourself from them, long since reminded yourself that you were hurt for far too long, you've always been last to be seen. sometimes, you were never seen at all. and that reminder was enough, just enough, to make you pull your body farther away from the red hood.
not your brother, never your brother.
you look away from the motor's mirrors, you pull yourself back from remembering everything that's ever occurred between you two, between the family.
and you pull away, just enough for you to ignore the lingering stares of the man you'll soon relinquish from your life.
the trip back home was like a blur of nostalgia.
the flutter of the cold breeze thrumming against the oversized jacket jason had allowed you to borrow protected you from the cold. every so often, you'd wince when the dull pain beats louder and when your heart rate would spike. to which jason would try, but fail, to subtly adjust his position so you could lean in closer to the warmth of his body.
your fingers dig on his shoulders for stability through the rockier pavements of the streets as he drives at a safer speed than he knows he usually does — and when people find themselves breathless at the sight of you, the infamous, unwanted child of bruce wayne, who rarely leaves their apartment, they instead turn their backs, in fear, conditioned to mind their business when the glint of a heavy, red helmet snaps into their visions — making it possible for you to just gaze in true spectacle the view of this city in every corner you pass.
you were five when you were taken away, when she was taken from you. and thirteen years have passed where you've lived your whole life shielded from gotham's crime, under the gothic rooftop of the manor. safe, yes, from the dirtier streets where villains fester and vigilantes patrol; but content with that life of luxury? no.
you've missed the feeling of pollution clogging your nose, or when your mother would come home, the smell of pastries from a bakery across your old apartment clinging to her clothes, when neighbors would scream from below your crumbling balcony, when she'd cover your ears at night as you cuddle in the same, rickety bed, and when you used to share your laughter with your mother, sketchbook in hand as you write another entry of your past happiness spent with her.
she was your everything.
from the skyline's peak, you find yourself staring longingly at wayne enterprises, the emboldened letters glinting ominously in the dark.
your mother often made a big deal of it every time the both of you would walk past the overwhelming huge building towering over your bodies. you did so, too.
because it was her awe that led you to believe all things great and grand about the building.
god, it was always about her.
this corruption of your city was your childhood, the home you wished to never have been born in, yet she made every little thing better for you, she made every known flaw of this city so loved whenever she'd describe it like she's known every corner from her heart.
and you remember her pointing at wayne enterprises every time on one of your walks, you remember her whispering on your ticklish ears, hands cupped, drowning out the sound of speeding cars and cursing vendors, how one day—
"one day, my love, one day your life would be so much better. and your father will love you, i know he will, he'll love you so much, my sweet baby."
"he'll love you because you're everything to be loved, sweetie."
she spoke to you about greatness, about legacy, about how you'll be the pride and joy of the family name.
then she'll whisk you away to a restaurant you regularly ate at, the one where they serve cheap soda in a big glass full of tube ice and dollar prized sandwiches, where the workers would take a glance at you and immediately light up at the sight of you two, they'd take you to the far booth filled with checkered seats, near the windows where you could beam at the highrise buildings before you, daydream what it's like to be working beside your father in the near future as your mother would hear you frantically babble about your fantasies.
it's your favorite place in the world, but you can't find it anywhere anymore, not in any remote corners, not even when you'd shyly request jason to round up the areas before you could continue to head towards your apartment.
yet naught a memory of past infrastructures have ever retained in your hazy memories, not of a single, nostalgic bakery, comic store, even the old flower shops you've used to frequent with her has long since faded away from the background. maybe they've been long demolished, replaced by new signs and forgotten by the crowd.
it's the way life works here.
it's the way your mother's death was treated by the world: unacknowledged, dishonored, obscured by the public's perception that she was a mere, undeserving vixen who'd manipulated your father for her own gain, who trapped him with an obligation to care for a child he never wanted.
when you're crowded by the spotlight, you're seen lesser as a human and more-so an item inside a display case. ogled at, awed at, but never talked to, never known internally, seen only through glass. passed by few, mocked by many.
for she was a spectacle for drama, and her child was just another accessory.
they don't see her as human like them, they don't see the sacrifices she'd made, how she died for you, how this world became just a bleak noise without her and how you got the short stick of it all.
and you were now there, you were in that manor, an unfamiliar space.
you were forced to gloss over her death too quickly.
the suburban neighborhood was too silent, too safe, too clinical, and you were too sheltered to even make friends outside of school. the kids from nextdoor despise you, views you lesser than them since your entire adoption was broadcast in live tv — a bastard child, they say. a bastard child with a bitch for a mother who stole from the rich, who lived in the slums despite it all. who would want that? it was no wonder why someone as pure and loved as bruce wouldn't acknowledge you, they say — and most laugh at you, speak the daunting truth of you being unwanted by your father.
some kids would only befriend you out of the sheer desire to become close enough to obtain your father's richness for themselves, encouraged by their dirty parents, most would leave after they realize you basically amounted to nothing to him.
in the eyes of most, you were untouchable.
untouchable in a sense where you were treated more like a wisp of cool air in an autumn evening.
always there, never appreciated.
your elementary days were no better.
but it was a hazy recollection, memories you've long since buried and locked in some abandoned treasure chest, the key thrown elsewhere, somewhere you couldn't reach. memories you don't ever want to remember were just like a faint flicker of blurry movie scenes: of cold hallways and empty rooms and bleeding knees and unheard cries.
like you told yourself before, and reminded yourself all over again: past is past.
the present waits anew.
right now, the dip of the sun below the horizon bathes both you and jason in a halo of fading, golden hues, and the rising depths of blues and purples in the skies draped over like curtains, like a painter had just swept colorful, intended strokes in a canvas. buildings, old and new, all of unknown ages stood proudly amongst its people, casting long shadows, blanketing the city, the criminals, and the citizens.
rich in history, poor in legacy, you stare at the far distance of the gargoyles perched atop every antique buildings, the copper long since oxidized. this is where the batman and his sidekicks would often hang out. you'd seen it before, clever as you are, all the nights of sneaking out when alfred would be too busy to find you, you'll always find yourself watching them from afar, burgers in their hands, spilled milkshake, as they talk during patrol break, whilst envy claws its way to your taut throat.
somehow, you'd always find yourself staring at them perched on top of building railings in the past, stalking through shadows when the silence of the manor became too loud.
somehow, they never reciprocated your burning stares.
as you always were, just a silhouette in the corner of their eyes. you'd only return back to the manor with a heavier heart and regret of ever coming out of your comfort zone brewing within your empty stomach.
you look away, the faint throb within your chest still reminds you of how you could never truly move on from the ache of a lost family, or the lack of one.
the faint twinkling of the stars, like distant dreams, were the only distractions necessary to dismiss the insistent twinge of pain on the side of your stomach every time you shift in your seat, the crack of your barely noticeable voice which had jason leaning back to hear your words spilling directions towards a grocery store nearby, but not close, to your apartment—
when you both find yourselves staring at the blinking lights of a cracked, dimly lit sign of a store, with the name you told jason to find, the motorcycle eventually slowed to a stop in front of the sidewalk.
"this is it," you whisper to yourself, eyes closed in resignation. after this, you're cutting off all contact with jason, and then leaving alfred with a goodbye message, essentially throwing away the only communication, the only connection you have with the family. you'll sort through websites to find a new apartment to move out to, then transfer to another college after your current term ends and once you've paid all your debts.
you'd hopefully move to a brand new city. then change your identity, maybe? yeah, your plans of changing your last name to your mother's is the only silver lining amongst all the stress already inducing within your cluttered thoughts.
jason gets off of the motorcycle first, dragging your crutch down to the rocky pavements.
"you- you know how to operate these things, right, angel?" despite looking away from you, his mechanical voice distorted from the helmet sounds out through the tense silence. you stare at him, defeated, eyes squinted. he still keeps calling you his angel.
but, yes, this isn't the first time you'd use a crutch — being the single most hated target in prep school meant for a lot of rough play. lots of pushing you down playground stairs, lots of throwing balls too hard right in front of your face, causing you to slip down monkey bars and sprain your legs. crutches were more of the common things you'd hold in your hands than toys (stolen from you by your bullies) were.
it's only when alfred transferred you to a public school, where children weren't aware of your reputation and when the thought of playing only mattered in their young minds, did the incidents of hospital related visits reduce to a near zero.
after an eventual sigh, you spoke, "i know how to, red hood. i'm not as fragile and stupid as you think."
despite how biting your words sounded, you're just... too tired to seem considerate of his feelings, the tears have yet to fully dry, and emotions were still too sensitive from between you two.
he carefully nods, a singular grunt the only noise grumbling from his throat, and gestures for you to hike your legs up to one side so he could help you get off the ride. you did so, not another word from you. you can still smell the disgusting mix of ash and blood clinging on his jacket when he propped you down from the motorcycle, gently propping the crutches in your armpits so you could stabilize—
your loud wincing and pained expressions from the weight of pressure from your stomach do not go unnoticed by the man, as you'd almost, if not for your sore limbs, punched him in surprise when he hushed you and brought you far too close to his chest for your liking, the scent of blood now stronger; the boundaries you've set a nonexistent thing in his dictionary.
yet you could only throw a pointed glare at jason, which was enough to have him back away.
you shake your head, draw out an offensive tsk, and turn around from him. not even once looking back. if he follows you inside the grocery store, or not, is his decision. maybe if he sees you prosper without him, he'd finally get the memo that you're your own person now and leave you alone. if he doesn't, it doesn't matter.
as far as you know, the moment you were stabbed and left to nearly bleed out in the alleyway with hopes as unanswered by the very people who's sworn to protect you was the moment the sheer glow of the moon captured by your once naive eyes have now dulled and unresponsive.
that very same day is when the child-like spark in you has died.
crutch heavy in your hands, you don't turn back as you limp forwards the bright white lights of the store. even as you hear jason's heavy boots crunching against the gravel sidewalk and have him politely open the glass doors, a bell resonating above you both; not a single exchange of thank you's breaks the thickened silence.
his hopeless actions to capture your attention simply reminds you of yourself, silently and listlessly doing your all to to be noticed by the people you love.
in the end, a wretched feeling invades you whole by his display of tender care.
the shuttering, white, clinical light spilling over every crevice of the grocery aisle could never combat the all-consuming darkness that is the merciless gotham night. almost as if cursed to run into bankruptcy, not many folks frequent this store branch. known for its shabby air-conditioning, malfunctioning cctv's and electric outlets, and barely lukewarm, bordering on cold, hotdogs, alongside no-name energy drinks tasting like sparkly acid for its signature beverage; it's no doubt that the store was as solemn as the weeping statues scattered about the neighborhood.
but despite the misfortune of having to land a job here and dealing with cranky customers who only know vulgar words as language of gratitude, you're glad it's situated in some isolated corner of the place near your apartment, because it meant privacy from knowing eyes who'd easily spot the light reflecting from a shiny red helmet and discover the red hood visiting the block, possibly reporting the involvement of an (ex) wayne associated with the vigilante.
though that's not the most harrowing part of it.
the charm of the store lies mainly in whoever is operating the cash register right now.
when a tired, unenthusiastic greeting paired with their typical, "welcome to buddy's grocery... urgh... how may i help you?" follows the mechanical churn of the bell after jason, in his red hood suit, pushes past the door, you intake the scent of unwashed mops lazily thrown to the corner masked by fabric detergent and arguing employees over the staff room; reminded that you're finally home.
home to the life of the great mundane and the jaded young adults backing the counters like never before.
where the voice which greets you with the enthusiasm of a call center agent was none other than your friend forced to cover your shift after two consecutive days of absences: the first day spent from getting shit faced all over the dance floor and flirting with a... cute boy with piercings and a bomb-ass jacket with spikes— and the next spent trapped in some nostalgia-induced nightmare with your dead mom after getting your personal piercing from some stranger's boot spikes...
yeah, you may as well have been singlehandedly the luckiest person on earth, considering you're more afraid of being chewed out by your boss for missing calls than you are of the looming threat of a mob boss standing right behind you like a bodyguard, who's also your ex-brother who just loves to unknowingly mess with you and call you his angel despite the countless corrections and side glares.
which is why you're not surprised when the worker behind the counter scoffs momentarily when she sits up to stare at the newcomers and returns to watching short reels in full volume, unable to recognize your face despite your friendship together stretching for about almost a year.
which is alright because right now, you look just like a hot mess.
and not the hot mess akin people with effortless curls after a blowout or mismatched, layered pants hugging model-like bodies comfortably.
but you're rather the mess of swollen, downturn eyes fleeting towards the cash register, the bags under it heavier than the burden of being born related to bruce, tear burns ever-so present from the amount of crying you've been doing (because ding ding! nearly dying really has its perks on the state of your crumbling sanity).
your knotted, matted hair looks like it hasn't seen the rays of the bathroom light for days; you won't be surprised if there's a crows of silverfish deciding to lay a nest inside of it at this point.
and a face so pallid, lips drained of life and blood, you'd put the first elizabethan queen to shame.
limping with your crutches, you glare at your side when you notice jason about to mistakenly help aid you. although the helmet masks his expression, you're sure from the way his fingers twitch, before dropping down, was enough of an indicator that he's hurt and hesitating, but still respects the boundaries you've set.
that is if you ignore the earlier blunders where he got way too close for your liking.
but seeing how he's hurt by your bluntness—a satisfying ache burrows inside your tired heart. that's good. maybe even better.
maybe you're so tired of everything right now that you just want to treat him— them — the same way they treated you. dismissive eyes and a noncommittal wave of their hand pushing you away to a corner. truly a child of a wayne taking after their father.
ahah.
when you've finally stopped by close enough to gaze down at your friend hidden beneath the counter, dressed in her signature crocheted blazer on top of a black tube top and worn-down jeans, wired earphones dangling off her pierced ears, a leg hiked up the stolen swivel chair from your boss' office, scrolling through tiktok, not a day of rest sitting in between her mindless eyes, you sigh.
jason turns to shift right behind you, the sound of his leather jacket crumpling louder than the shabby ac units ventilating the store. you turn behind, take in his clearly confused, but still silent form, and shove your fingers deep inside your pockets, deadpan.
tired.
"not a word, red hood—" is all you said, not giving him the time of your day to rebut, turning back to the distracted girl in front of you.
"hey." your voice cuts through the silent air. when your friend doesn't reply, you speak, just a bit louder this time, words still sounding scratchy from the lack of use.
"hey."
"oh... ughhh" she finally whispered, exasperated, head still glued to the screen of her chipped phone, "why's it always when i'm about to watch something interesting? i swear, nothing eventful ever happens in these parts of gotham—" until she slowly looked up to the sight of a beaten up, worn down you... and the enormous, very much infamous crime lord known to rule the crime alley, his name muttered in fear or awe by the very locals living there, shadowing above her like wisps of stormy clouds.
and she jumps up from her seat, the swivel chair hastily kicked down to the sides, clattering against the dirty tiles as her hands shoot up to her chest.
"SWEET BABY JESUS!" mary backs away, eyes hastily turning back and forth to both you and jason, until recognition lights up in her colored contacts when she notices it's her friend, you, right in front of her. all beaten up and battered like no tomorrow.
you give her a peace sign in return, teeth bared in a lifeless grin showing off the bloody gums, thick crimson reflected by the silver glow of the fluorescent light bulbs illuminating your form; like you're some death angel ready to take her to the afterlife with you.
which is really no different to what you nearly experienced yesterday.
the volume of her gasp rivals the sound of engines revving right outside of the grocery store. jason doesn't move an inch, but you feel his burning glare right at your friend. you, meanwhile, decided to freak her out even more with:
"back from the dead, babe," the humor doesn't reach your deadpan stare, but you still wriggle your eyebrows, voice a static tremor. you ask, sarcastically, "miss me?"
"miss you?! heaven knows you're dead but you're here right now and— what happened to you—?!" she whisper-shouts in a quick succession of words, eyes still snapped wide, leaning towards the cluttered counter, hands propped diligently on your shoulders as she takes in the form of your barely recognizable face. "you're all messed up... oh my god, you reek of blood, baby... you- you're not okay— like, genuinely, we can't- i can't even—"
"hey. hey," this is when you turn serious, slightly shifting to your right so the sight of jason would obscure her vision. the faint wobble of her lips is enough to signal you of her fear. you continue, gently, leaning towards the warmth when her fingers reach to wipe off the soot from your face. "i'm fine— wait no, not really... it's a long story, i'm so sorry for randomly disappearing, but i really, really need you to call off from work right now, please...?"
it doesn't even take a second for her to hear your favor that she hastily nods, sympathy evident in her glinting eyes.
"oh, my poor summer child..." still breathless, she pouts. her expert fingers massage the aching muscles between your shoulder blades before it detaches, the lack of warmth radiating from your shoulders. the girl's already halfway done pulling her phone out from her pants pocket, typing in a quick message to (hopefully) your boss. you're lucky you've caught her just an hour into her night shift, when customers are a rare species and the only thing scarier than ghosts are the threats of occasional shoplifters— you can't deal another second of jason's constantly brooding from right behind you.
as mary types, you note the faint tremble of her breathing while she rocks herself on the balls of her feet, as if afraid of the outcome of her next words. looking up from her phone, she mouths something she hopes only you two could hear.
"did he...?"
"did he do this to you?"
at her question, you pause. not out of shock, not even from worry. you simply stare at her, your mouth formed in a straight line. when mary nods a second time, trying to discern your reaction, you just slowly shake your head, unsure.
she immediately notices the hesitation and nods again, then she gestures to the staff room by the back, trying, but failing, to carefully eye the vigilante behind, biting her cheeks hard enough to shut her mouth. clearly weary for your safety, but obviously anxious to deal with a behemoth of a powerhouse, lest she pisses him off and he snaps her neck out of her body clean— you understand the prior hesitation of entertaining you. but mary, bless her soul, is possibly one of the only people who could try to stand up against people stronger than her, even if she'd trembles behind the weight of fear, she'd try. that's the only reason why you came to her in the first place, trusting her enough to hopefully assist you home.
you shake your head again, pointing your thumb right behind your head, right to the exit of the one-way door.
"i... need you to help me come home." you flutter your eyelashes, not exactly hiding your disdain for jason when you adjusted your crutches to move away from him. like your actions alone is telling her, "i don't have a choice right now, not unless you're the one who tells him off and offer to bring me home instead."
yes, you're well-versed in the art of nonverbal instructions. especially if it involves the risk of danger.
and jason todd— no, red hood, is every bit of a magnet for danger there is. if news spreads across your small neighborhood that the infamous vigilante came to visit your area with you in tow, then it'd make you and all your other friends an easy target for money. especially if they see just how desperate the man is trying to keep you close.
being associated with heroes and villains just means dirty business. and you can't run the risk of losing the only people who'd you call close enough to be considered family.
no. you can't lose them.
so as much you're drawn to the familiar yet dizzying scent of florals and medicinal herbs wafting from the back, reminded that mary loves to keep a secret stash of crisps in the crevices of the worn loveseat you'd both occasionally chill in, you've a lot to relay to the girl after you've ominously sent a message to your group chat, all asking the obvious question, "where is (name)?"
but... you chose to be a piece of shit (and to at least give yourself something to humor you after a long day) by sending a very simple thumbs up, sending all your other friends panicking and spamming your notifications after they were all convinced of your untimely death.
"ohhh— you're in for a lot of trouble, babe." mary scoffs playfully, her long, box-dyed bangs framing her face doesn't hide the disbelief, nor does it cover the awkward grin creeping up her face, as if the gesture alone would reassure you that it'll be fine (when it's not). but it's enough to have you crack up slightly, a tiny giggle spilling out your chapped lips.
you tease, "so what are you waiting for? get me out of here, my knight-in-shining-armor."
"ooo-kay, your highness," she gestures for you to wait for her, pulling up the knocked up swivel chair and wheeling it to the back of the staff room. the jingle of her keys were the only indication of movement from right behind, as you stay stationery and purposely ignoring of the individual accompanying you— jason, who shifts uncomfortably in his jacket, arms probably crossed; you don't know, you don't want to care, so you don't turn around and kept to yourself.
conversation just meant forming connections. connections meant becoming closer. being closer to jason means being closer to danger. it's all synonymous to one another.
when you hear the collective snap! of the ac's and lights being shut down, you raise your brow at the girl who stumbles her way out of the door, shutting it without looking. she nods, looping the key ring around her fingers, walking past you to the entrance. you follow after her, side glaring at jason who, once again, hesitates just the slightest bit when you drag your limp sides to walk to where mary is waiting, hands already on the handle of the rolling shutter.
she hastily moves away when jason, the red hood, neared her and followed right behind you, forming a huge space between them. when she shared eye-contact with you, her face is shaped to an awkward, wide-eyed frown. rightfully afraid. the red hood reminds silent.
and right now, you don't want stillness. it just reminds you of the quiet of the manor, so you talked.
"you closing down the store early?" at your question, mary briefly looks up at you, like you've just asked the most diabolical thing on earth.
you deadpan at her, "what? i'm just asking 'cause— someone else could cover for us."
she replies to you, pulling down the handle of the rolling shutter, careful to keep a safe distance from jason, you've noticed.
"oh please—! you sound like you don't work here. we're the only ones desperate enough to take night shifts and no one else buys shit here anyways, save for some desperate folks. but i'm pretty sure they could just, like, go buy at the somewhere else where better things are sold anyways. i mean, i really mean it when i say this place is probably just a cover up for some cartel." she shrugs, you roll your eyes playfully.
after she finishes, she claps her hand of soot and debris, finally facing you, hands placed on her waist. her confident smile doesn't match up with the tragic news she'd decided to drop on you.
"oh yeah! they're actually closin' down the entire shop soon. so we might as well find new ones while we still have the chance, ahah."
"what."
"oh—!" she cups her mouth, "wait, i shouldn't've told you that right now— you just, like, came back from the dead, shit..."
"uhm, mary, calm down, it's... not a big deal." you ignore the way jason moves closer, as if listening to the entire conversation. but you continue, shrugging.
"even if it was— it is — that's the least of my concerns right now." because the big, hulking mass of muscle and flesh still refuses to leave your side, watching both you and mary intensely like he's dissecting every word from your conversation.
"right," she gazes at your crutches for a second, then smiles gently, walking over to your side, despite the fear of being near the red hood, and offering her elbows, warm and toasty from the crocheted sweater. "so... let's go home?"
"yeah... let us."
you take it with your free hand, reciprocating her grin, even if it's less enthusiastic than hers. you don't even have to turn back to tell jason to back off. you'd just know he will. even as mary kept taking obvious, weary glances behind her, you just usher her to keep moving forward, resting your head on her shoulder, the two of you trudging the gravel path towards your apartment.
except, halfway from the sidewalk, you hear a stealthy jog, and jason's immediate, "wait," cut through the cozy, polluted air. blunt enough that mary doesn't notice the attachment he has to you, but hasty enough that she knows there's something that runs far deeper than her label of 'weird protector who follows my beloved highness'.
you just sigh, staring at him in disbelief.
"yeah...?"
"you forgot this." he shoved the box of your favorite takeout into mary's free hands, your friend gawks, finally gaining the balls to look up at the significantly taller male.
"t- thank you—?" she says, waiting for you to say something. but you only gaze briefly at the eye-holes of his helmet, whispering your own "thanks," under your breath, looking down and away before you gesture mary to just keep accompanying you.
and that was it.
when you've turned behind just slightly after walking past a few blocks, jason was gone in an instant like he was never there. if not for the faint smell of cigarette smoke and motor oil clinging on to your crumpled clothes, you'd be convinced that the entire time spent in his apartment was just a mere hallucination.
after a few minutes of walking, making occasional stops when your sides would throb a bit too much, mary finally mustered the courage to ask you the looming question hanging over her head.
"so..." hands on your back to help you from wobbling. the girl blows raspberries, pretending to be nonchalant and clearly not awaiting your response, but you could see it deep behind her colored contacts that she'd probe a bit harder if you don't give her a direct answer.
when you hum in acknowledgement, falling to the rhythm of your slow, steady paces together, she asks:
"... just who is the red hood to you?"
'oh, mary. you don't want to know,' is what you would've said, but you've opted for a different reply: a gentle smile, a defeated quirk of the lips, and your head bobbing to the beat of her phone playing music through the silent, ghostly streets.
"... he's just a stranger to me. just nothing more than a soldier."
"tell me, did you... find them?"
dick couldn't possibly find any word to describe how he feels. breathing down alfred's neck, his own glistens with perspiration. teeth bared, chattering through the shivers wracking throughout his body. even with his layered tshirts distributing warmth, there's no telling if dick could feel sheer inferno, sweat prickling every exposed skin, from his blazing forehead dripping all the way down to his clammy fingers; or freezing cold, from the passing air of the moist cave running daintily on his tense muscles.
"jason...?" he inhales, then exhales, all in panicked intervals, like the dotted beeps echoing inside the batcave, flickering from the huge screen in front of him. it displays jason's location across the radar, unmoving, unrelenting, like he's watching something, someone— you, hopefully you. the sound of barbara's keyboard works in the background, its ominous typing as quick as the heartbeats wracking inside his taut body.
he was the first to drop by the batcave, followed by a pouting damian and a tense bruce, none of them uttering a word to one another. it's the first time in a while to listen to batman's orders without complaints, without a joking remark, running to the monitors to beg alfred to give updates. and it's been the first time everyone could bare witness to the extraordinary scene of dick's eye twitching and his free leg bouncing up and down, like a man possessed by the ghost of gotham's gargoyles.
the others remain silent. cassandra and stephanie were on a stakeout mission before they'd be ultimately led back to the cave, assisted by barbara's voice guiding them through possible entry routes before she'd pause, a long silence equipped the background, right before she snapped out of her trance and told them to return to the batcave asap.
stephanie remembers the undertone of distress in barbara's normally composed voice like it just happened a second ago.
"whu— what is it bab— oracle?" hiding right behind a pillar, steph's words cuts through the stillness in gotham's air. cassandra peaked right beside her, furrowed brows shaping the usually impassive cowl. still obviously in stealth mode, aware of the penguin's lackeys right below the floor they're watching, cass brings a single index finger right in front of her mouth, signalling them to remain quiet, and calm.
but it's barbara who sounded lesser than calm after her momentary pause, urgency clear in her words.
"batman's orders. return to the batcave. now."
and that was the end of the conversation, as an abrupt, resolute beep perforated the comm's audio, a hiss escapes steph's mouth at the high pitched sound, but it didn't even take less a second before cass grabs her by wrist, the pair making a quick run opposite to the stakeout location, right towards the batcave.
which is what led them here. the blonde of the pair sweeps a side stare at her black-haired friend, her fingers running through her tangled hair, undoing knots. typically, steph's normally sleek, conditioned hair wouldn't have been in such a state of disarray, but now it's frazzled around the edges, a result of rushing through the night and cutting past rooftop buildings with cassandra. even when they were parkouring through side railings, grappling hooks readily prepared in their hands, not a single word was exchanged.
cass' bob is no better. strands of black hair sticks to the side, there's no telling which side is which when one side has more hair piling up than the other, resembling more like a bird's nest than a bob cut.
typically, during times like these, steph would throw in a biting, yet playful remark at the dick first. for ruining the girl's night out, figuring he's the reason why babs felt coerced to bring them back here, with no one else left to patrol the night.
she'd walk up behind him, slap his back, loud enough for the sound of skin on latex to resonate within the batcave. and he'd just grin at her, reply with a sarcastic, "ow!" then continue with a sassy comment, and the entire room would just light up because it's not everyday that the entire batcave is surrounded by a complete set of heroes.
heroes regarding themselves akin to a family. even if steph doesn't want to call bruce her dad (ew), and babs and duke themselves have their own set of families to call their own— it's no denying that they're closer than coworkers, closer to home when together.
but today isn't that joyful day. dick is in his civilian outfit, clothes crumpled like he's been gripping the unfortunate fabric for stability, and a desperate air chokes anybody who'd enter the batcave. steph nudges her dear friend at the side, a worried glance wrecking her sweat-drenched face.
cassandra turns to her, nodding. not a single voice breaks the thickening tension as dick mutters incoherently in front of the glaring screens, but a single understood agreement plagues their gnawing thoughts.
something is terribly wrong.
something bad enough that has gotten dick acting unlike his typical, bright self. as the man before them seems possessed by something.
when the sound of duke's boots clicks from right behind them, followed by a tired yawn and a quiet, irritated, "what happened?", the day hero's sleep disrupted by the sudden buzz of notifications he's received from his phone, steph could only distract herself by turning behind to face the equally puzzled boy approaching the pair, and point her thumb at dick, mouthing loud enough:
"he's gone mental." the joke alone could've administered a gentle laugh from cass and a louder one from babs, an exasperated sigh from alfred, a snivel from duke, who'd hide his wide grin with his fist. the bat at the corner would release a brief groan, and jason would just heavily agree and trail with another biting remark. then dick would have to defend himself from a pile of teasing comments, playfully begging damian to take his side, to which the young robin would ignore the athlete, focused on the batarangs tim would aim his way—
but right now.
right now, a tense air fills the room. akin to the way you'd feel when a venomous snake sliter across your spine. close to biting, close to snapping its fanged teeth into your plump flesh and trapping you in its firm jaws. so you could only stay put, skin on fire, fingers frozen in place, hoping it wouldn't bite.
hoping dick wouldn't snap his jaws at whoever, or whatever pissed him off.
dick exhales once more, a sharp pain in his right side jostles him out of his sheer focus. at this sound, the others' focus on the way his back crumples forward, hands shooting to his sides, palms squeezing the injured spot. alfred looks up from the monitor, up the wide-eyed athlete, and raises his brow, clearly exasperated from the man above him, no less acting like a boy.
dick doesn't reciprocate the worried, yet spent stare in alfred's glare, even as the butler rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he returns to staring at the screen.
"please, calm down, master dick," alfred mutters as politely as his tired voice could draw, continuing with his typing. "heaven forbid your wounds reopen again."
the butler's condescending "tsk-tsk,'" and a shake of his head has dick's brows knit in a small, rebellious scowl. he's just like the small kid he was before, hanging off of chandeliers, stubborn and implacable, missing his parents. lost and helpless, that's how he feels without you by his side, unaware of where you are, if you're safe without him.
'calm down? calm down?!' alfred, this is serious—!' the unspoken words loom uselessly over everyone's thoughts. dick is nothing but calm, unlike the leader he usually presents himself as, stripped bare to nothing but want. but need. but desire aching to be steadied once you're actually in his arms.
but you're not in his arms, you're not even in the fucking manor! crime never sleeps in gotham's streets, and nobody else is left to patrol the night; so how could he calm down, let alone relax when the only non-vigilante member of his family is out there somewhere?!
and the only known person to be closest to you, alfred, is clearly hiding something!
"god damn it—!" an inaudible swear escapes his dry mouth, his sides still aching. everything is aching.
right. the injury he sports from a prior villain attack in bludhaven isn't fully healed yet. his teeth clenches, eyes furrowed. when jason's heavy breathing is the only sound cutting through the occasional flapping of bats flying and hanging upside down on glittering stalagmites, dick leans forward the bat-panels, one palm still flat on the expanse of his stomach, taking the microphone connected to the comms harshly.
"jason, i swear to god," words laced with venom and fervent desperation, dick's gaze in the monitor is enough to burn the screen if he had even a second of superman's power. he continues after a gulp, "if i hear news that something bad happened to my (name), i'm going to—"
"fucking hell—! shut. up. dick! fucking listen to me before you run your mouth off!"
from across the comms, dick could hear jason's gritted teeth. like he's there, he could picture jason's clenched fists and the crumpled fabric of his gloves. dick's eyes widen in disbelief. his heart thumps, rage filling in between the gaps of demise and frenzy.
he exhales, louder this time.
his fists slam on top of the panel, shaking off the items laid atop it. barbara stops typing once she felt the vibration of his fists rippling from her corner, she turns her head to dick, her glasses reflecting the maddening expression, a frown plastered on hers.
dick doesn't even flinch from the people's reactions behind him: duke whispers something to steph, which earned him a rightful "shh!", or how tim finally arrives, his careful footsteps nearing the trio. dick doesn't even care when he hears damian's calculated walk towards the athlete, muscles only tautening.
what he cares about is jason refusing to give him a solid answer. and time wasted wondering your whereabouts means time lost on retrieving you.
dick doesn't do clumsy operations. the last time it happened, jason and steph died. then tim and damian almost died. a freak accident with duke caused him to be out of commission for a long while— dick can handle the stress of that, but he couldn't handle the idea of your bleeding body right on top of a hospital bed; all because he's let you roam around the streets for far too long.
it's a known fact that you're the only non-vigilante member of the family. you'll die out there.
you'll die and dick will never be able to see that bright-eyed smile again.
no.
"i'm clearly—" mouth shoved entirely close to the mic, quivering fingers latched tightly on its body, nearly snapping it in half, "— listening, jason."
"... so where the hell is (name)?!"
"—or are you bluffing right now, yeah? jay, please, if it's something else, then i don't care about it right now. if whatever your mouth will run off doesn't concern my baby bird, forget about it—" he laughs, it's laced with crazed energy, but not a single ounce of humor weighs in his breathless sneer, "but god help me, if it's about them then tell me right now or i'll—"
"enough!" batman's voice booms across the entire cave, rendering every noise silent.
a hand suddenly clasps the tense muscles of dick's shoulders. it grounds him, even if just for a while, but he returns to his restless state. glancing behind bruce, he isn't afraid to spit out the venom laced in his word.
"bruce, you must be kidding me—"
"no, sit down, dick. a matter like this shouldn't be dealt through anger—" domineering, his fists takes the front hem of dick's shirt and balls it up, towards him, forcing the raven-haired boy to look directly at the man. batman's commands could easily subdue even the greatest warriors to their knees. but to someone like dick, bruce's once lifelong sidekick, it merely sends waves of brandished rage flooding through his thoughts.
he brings his sweat-drenched palms to bruce's balled-up fist and pries the fingers away, throwing the man's arms to the side with the force of a seasoned fighter. he leans up, teetering on his toes. pupils diluted, he stares at bruce's own in abject mockery towards his father-figure.
he whispers, with all the ill-intentions laced in every word.
"oh, bruce... let's not forget about the way you dealt with jason's death..."
to the untrained eye, bruce's squint and his silent grunt could only mean a challenge accepted against the athlete. but to cassandra, who watches intently and wordlessly the entire argument ready to detonate into one huge physical fight, she'd notice how bruce leans back, clearly affected, hurt, by the sting of dick's truths:
nobody would even dare think rationally in this situation.
even if cassandra doesn't know you well, she knows you well enough to see how easily you could disappear from under anyone's watch. even quieter than her, your presence like a sheer black blindfold draped across someone's eyes. foreboding, like you've never seen light.
just as cassandra was about to defuse the fight, her body in a running stance, she was quickly cut off by both tim blocking her path with his bo staff, an insistent shake of his head, and the crack of jason's voice projecting through the speakers, almost sounding disappointed.
"so..."
the charged air dispersed into something cynical. all eyes traced to the speaker, awaiting finally, for jason's reply.
"... does anybody want to tell me when's the last time any of you actually talked to (name)?"
silence. pure, undulated silence.
like the calm before a storm, even the droplets falling from stalagmites and the flaps of bat wings became motionless silence.
dick's breath hitches, flinching from the question, and bruce lets out a long, defeated exhale.
it was all the answer jason needed.
he sneered.
it was strained, released through gritted teeth, and sounded like a stretched band about to snap. there was nothing comical about the way his fingers were nearly crushing the small device in his hand, the gadget's sound outputs now turning into a fracture harmony.
"i can't—" his voice breaks at the seams, like he'd just cry earlier and haven't nearly recovered, "i can't fucking believe it all..."
"all these years, and NONE of you fucking noticed a child living under our rooftop?!"
jason continues, drowning out all the sinking grief everyone was feeling.
"where were you all?!"
"FUCK— bruce?!" jason scowls at the microphone, like he's in the batcave with bruce, pointing heavy, accusing fingers at the man. like he couldn't believe everything. like the silence throughout his entire spiel wasn't enough of an evidence to realize just why was his angel so desperate to run away from the family.
"you think you deserve the damn right to know where they were?! you never even—"
he seethes, a loud thump echoes through the batcave, jason's head leaning restless against a stone wall in some alley. he lets out a series of agitated swears, cracking his calloused knuckles, stained with the blood of your aggressors.
"bruce..."
"you don't even fucking know how old they are, huh?"
he just wasn't as smart as he thought he was, he wasn't smart enough to see how all your deep-seated trauma rooted from... from their ignorance. he deserved every swear you threw at him, every action that led you to pushing him away until there was a permanent rift dividing the two of you. but still... jason couldn't throw away the love he felt for his angel. he just couldn't let it slide and pretend like nothing ever happened.
if that meant revealing the fact that the knows where you live, that he shoved a micro tracker deep inside the hems of your shirt when you accidentally got a little too close to him after he's propped you down his ride, and betraying his personal promise of keeping your heartfelt confession secret between the two of you...
the anger he felt towards bruce was comparable to the rage he felt when his vegetative state was forced to dip into that pit. having to crawl up mossy stones, delirious, betrayed, with only the memories of that explosion flashing in his mind, over and over again, wondering why, why was he plucked from heaven just to witness the wreckless fruition of joker being alive.
why you, still breathing, were treated more dead than he ever was.
jason doesn't have any answers. but he knows it's all their fault, it's all his fault.
"so... just what was their father doing all those years ago...?"
and bruce? he doesn't know. nobody knows. too caught up in their lives to truly notice you slowly diverging away. like you never existed in the first place.
dick interrupts, all the blood-borne anger simmered to guilt, "i—"
"they... they fucking told me everything, dick"
the athlete pauses, mouth left slightly ajar. he looks away then, to duke, who'd look far too ashamed, staring off the distant space like he'd just remember something important, brows knitted, as he suddenly brings his face to his palms.
steph, holding cass' shoulders, share a gaze with the younger girl, the looking far too pale and shaken. she leans down on cass' shoulder for stabilty. even from afar, dick could spot the tremors from steph's fingers and hear her faint whispers. has she met you before? has both of them talked to you without ever truly seeing you? cass doesn't look well herself, eyes downturned, deep in guilt-ridden thought.
although tim seems like he's holding it better than the others, the boy couldn't hide the flicker of emotions brewing in his eyes. after all, you were the most distant to him, despite being closest in age— you two just never had a spark of interest relayed between the two of you, or maybe it's because tim never reciprocated that potential spark, but... he still falters every time he hears jason bracing before he speaks another word.
the same could be said for barbara, always locking herself up in the batcave, only ever seeing your silhouette within the flickering screens of the cctv camera's scattered around the manor, she looks down on her keyboard, gazing at the letters like it would give the answers to the universe, begging for reprieve when she discovers how often she'd actually watched you without ever truly knowing it was you.
and damian... takes it in the worse. silent all throughout, you can never truly read him like an open book. but his fingers are clenched oh-so tightly into your old sketchbook, as if letting go meant releasing fragments of you into the wind for him to never catch. his sword hangs limp from his back, the weapon a heavy reminder of your first meeting with him. he shuts his eyes, and pictures your confused, but panicked face. the clutter of baked treats in the steel tray you carried, and the blank stare accompanying your teary eyes...
when dick returns to the microphone, he hesitates giving jason a reply. shaken himself, his knees crumples until his head hits the panels of the desk, burying himself into his arms.
"what— what is it, jay?" he stutters, words muffled by glistening skin. almost like he didn't want to hear the answer, dick gnaws on his cheeks, legs returning to thumping up and down.
jason whispers, "it's all out fault— i can't believe it..."
"no," barbara's voice rings out, quivering, but resolute, as she stops typing, her chair spun towards dick, hands buried under the jacket she laid on her lap for warmth— hiding the way it shivers.
"we know what we did, we have to believe our audacity, it's been—"
"thirteen years." steph cuts them off through her sniffling, wiping away the tears falling down uselessly with the sleeves of her sweater (the same sweater she wore that night— when you and her were...)
"more than thirteen years," jason corrected. this time, gusts of winds were disrupting the sound output. he must've walked somewhere along the border of the neighborhood he's in, but he doesn't enter the boundary of apartment, like he's afraid, like he's hiding something, and only the radar could show bruce the truth.
barbara continued with a sigh, still motionless in her seat. "listen... the only way we could own up to our actions right now is to admit we all did more than mess up."
she looked away, words inflicted with the wisdom only experience could gibe you, "... we can't turn time back, no matter how much we want it to."
barbara knows that feeling, of regret and denial and everything mournful. she knows the regret of never being quick enough to dodge that bullet shot by the joker, that denial of knowing she'd never return to ballet anymore and enjoy the glory of the stage, and mourning the woman she once was before she retired as batgirl, only used as a foil for her father and bruce's suffering. she knows what it's like to lay listlessly and hopelessly, but she also knows how rise above the ashes of her past, and she wished she wasn't naive enough to ignore the same burden you carried— maybe then she could've helped you, the same way she helped cass overcome her struggles.
it's just that they were never enough.
"so what now...?" this time, it's duke who speaks carefully, expression still laced with vague shame. "we can't just stand here and do nothing, right? i mean, i still—" he ceases his sentence, coughing into his mouth.
"... nevermind." cass turns to look at him curiously, but his mouth is already snapped shut and he's returned to his distant thinking, kicking invisible dust with the soles of his shoes.
it doesn't take long before the quietest of the bunch, who'd never spoken a single word throughout the entire ordeal, finally rose above the thickened tension.
"alfred." he says. not a question, but a call to the butler's name.
the squeak of the swivel chair pierces the air cleanly, the aged man lets out a calm, "hm?" as he faces the young robin.
"it is you who's closest to (name)... but it seems like you've never once spoken a word about them to..." me, he almost said, but corrected just in time.
"—us..."
dick finally straightens up from his slouched position. while bruce turns to face his butler, still quiet, awaiting for his reply. all the others follow in tow.
"ah..." alfred closes his eyes, deep in thought. there's a tranquil calm that never wavers within his foggy, blue orbs. when he opens them, there was naught an ounce of panic, but a steadfast refute already ready to be spoken expertly like threads he so easily weaved from his fingers.
"it seems you may be mistaken, master damian. i have collected myself countless records, even letters from dearest master (name) themselves, of their request for each and every one you to attend to their events, whether major or minor." he tuts, shaking his head, disappointed. it sends a painful throb to bruce's heart, carefully listening to alfred talk.
"but every invitation of theirs were rejected... i could only go so far as to relay the message to them. all the other times they've requested for your companies were done so by their own accord— i've no involvement in ceasing their operations."
"... anymore question, master damian?" it wasn't meant to even be an accusing stare towards the young boy, for the butler maintained a neutral expression the entire time he sat peacefully, watching from an objective distance.
damian's silence was enough of a reply. the sound of air within jason's comms, too, counted as an answer to alfred.
he took it as a sign to stand up once, nodding to bruce and taking in the empty tray displayed on top of the desk. everyone simply watches, tongues tied and lips pressed together, because they all know everything is their fault.
"now if you will excuse me, master bruce. i shall brew all of you tea and coffee to... maybe lighten up the tension." he says, sarcastically, the clank of his polished shoes across the reinforced concrete bounces off the walls of the cave. but right before he could enter the makeshift elevator, back turned away from everyone, dick calls out to him, desperate.
"alfred—! i– wait..." the butler turns his head back to look at his young master. hair still a mess, arms limp on his side, he asks:
"... how was (name) when they were— when they were still new here...?"
alfred brow raise, but his once neutral expression softens just the slightest when he hears the name of his favorite kid. the old man nods, and faintly smiles, as he replies, with all the truth in the world:
"... they were good, master dick."
"a good kid born into misfortune."
and with that, he simply leaves, stepping into the elevator and never looking back to the family, all laden with individual thoughts and conflicted feelings about the entire situation.
whether alfred speaks the truth or not doesn't matter right now.
because as long as you're out there, free from the manor, free from their eyes, then they won't stop seeking you in every corner of the world until you're eventually dragged back to where you rightfully belong.
reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.
PLEASE READ: 10.5k words+ teehee. wow! that was such a long wait guys. but don't worry, i'm trying to go back to a consistent schedule and i finally settled with all my insecurities about writing. again, comments and interactions are the only thing that gets me going. especially when you all comment on your favorite parts? or notice the parallelisms (if that's even a word)? that gets me so motivated like no other. so really, what is your favorite line/quote/literally anything in this chapter? any burning theories? new characters you're excited to meet? 'cause despite the countless delays, y'all know i tried :((( so please do comment and send in inboxes but NOT criticism/hate comments. i write for fun, not as a job. second part will be posted soon.
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MY ORDINARY LIFE — prequel: don't romance the NPC.
ft. romantic/platonic yandere batfam! x gn! isekai'd reader x yandere neglected main character (y/n) x other yandere! dc characters
read under the end for an author's note.
tw: no use of names for you (the mc), (y/n) is a character of their own, allusions to functional depression, emotional neglect, and vague implications of cheating.
there is not a story as incredibly unoriginal, uninteresting, and most importantly, so god-damned uninspiring compared to yours.
it sounds like an exaggeration, but let's be real, you're as notable as a faceless side character in a video game: a gray, unassuming block of an unrendered three-dimensional model meant to blend in with the background.
that's how your life was destined to be.
you're a burnt out college student, you have loans to pay, a side hitch at a restaurant working the front. loving, middle-class parents — which is somehow the most interesting part of your boring persona — and you're simply just the picture perfect imagery of how accurate a normal plot could get.
you have interests, yes, heaven forbid you don't because it would imply you're beyond subhuman, maybe even a blank slate, which is a far off worse fate.
but back to the point, you have your likes. you like reading anything from comics to mangas, that's what you tell your friends and other potential (and failed) dates. you like feeding strays roaming around sidewalks. you like staying up late listening to reddit stories and watching short-form content in whichever site piqued your interest that day.
you pretend that romance is beneath you (in truth, your love life as fickle as your personality), but then a secret part of you indulges in fanfiction in the middle of the night, which is only kept between you and your decades old plush toys in your apartment. you have hobbies. you sometimes sing ballads in your showers, you partook in crocheting, even knitting, failed in both. and sometimes, you do a godforsaken activity you found after doomscrolling in the archives of the internet when you've got nothing to do, give up on it too within an hour, start something new, the cycle repeats, which basically means...
congratulations! you're a human being.
that's as much of an introduction that you've needed to get along with your life and your story. you don't travel much, you don't go out to eat as often as you'd like, your life isn't built on overarching goals like finding a cure for cancer, exploring every country, or traveling to space; you only ever thought of surviving college, finding a decent job with a decent paycheck, splurge all your savings on a trip to probably one of the seven wonders of the world after two decades of slaving off. and that's really it.
you're just living and going about the flow in your life. like floating motes of dust and debris scattered in the air.
you're not entirely satisfied, but you're also not depressed.
you're not suicidal, you're not the type to hurt yourself over small inconveniences. self-deprecating jokes, yes, but not to the point of self-harm.
you sometimes wish for something better, for something interesting to happen: a jackpot at the lottery, a surprise baby, an accident; nothing ever happens, but you're not less grateful at the same time.
you convince your thoughts everyday, in the middle of brushing your teeth, in front of your mirror, in front of the mundane sight before you that, "it could be worse."
thank god it wasn't.
(you sometimes hope it was, just to excuse feeling empty despite it all).
you have your fanfiction to read every night, the bi-monthly shopping sprees if you could afford it, your parents who you could turn to when you're feeling down (even if they sometimes feel invisible and distant, even if your messages were sometimes left unread when your nightly rants became too complicated for them to handle). your have friends, both on campus and online (who all never feel enough to provide you any true laughter, who awkwardly smile at you through calls or lunch dates when they see even a single trace of frown on your face— like they didn't expect such a low maintenance person to be... anything remotely negative; when all you've provided are jokes and never honest connections).
all of them are enough for you to not complain about how nothing interesting really happens to you personally.
in the simplest terms, you're what they call... happy.
not satisfied. not fulfilled. but isn't what they call a normal life a happy life?
you're happy. not too much, not too little. just enough to keep living, and that should be enough.
(enough to ignore the hazy void in your chest. to bury the aching urge to be more. to be something. to be anything other than a faceless person in a crowd—
but those are bad thoughts, those are depressing thoughts, and sad and bad and terrible thoughts should go away and only appear when you decide it should.)
yet... at the same time.
if you were offered another chance, another lease in life, another attempt to make something out of nothing, you'd take it too.
in fact, you'd take anything.
so when you somehow find yourself opening your eyes after a night of scrolling through an archive waiting for any updates to whichever book you're reading— lying on unfamiliar bedsheets, foreign walls surrounding you, crusty eyelids snapped open and awoken by the honk of a loud car from the buzz of the streets outside; one would expect that after momentary confusion, you'd react along the lines of positivity — jumping up from the bed, yelling "huzzah! what an awesome chance to escape this prison i call my mundanity!" — or falling into despair because you're too comfortable with your previous life.
nope. instead, you facepalm, your fingers feeling the skin of your brows furrowing. you slam your body back into the cushions, and let out an exasperated sigh. a substitute for what was supposed to be a frustrated scream.
that's right.
even the fucking way you transmigrated was boring as hell.
it could've been the catalyst for a decent hook in your character introduction, but who the hell would listen to a story like yours if you told them you simply "woke" up in another world.
not thrown, not prophesized, not dropped.
realistically, for your case, you could've been hit by a garbage truck trying to save a cat with a suicide wish making a run for the streets under heavy traffic. or stabbed from right behind. or killed by your childhood nemesis, pushed from a high drop, swearing revenge in another life with a tragic monologue for how short your life has been lived.
but waking up?!
holy shit, you might as well win a reward for being more generic than those black haired anime protagonists you've watched before.
at least they got something interesting to vouch for. like transforming into a fridge, slime, gaining some magical abilities, or, literally anything other than just waking up in a normal body!
you laugh, sarcastic and bloody dry, like the air around you. it reeks of an amalgamation of black car smoke, bile taken from the mouth of a drunk, and crisp, humid mildew growing on the corners of your boxed room. almost like the equivalent of gotham air and—
wait.
you've read about this exact same description before. in the fanfiction you've read the night before this happened.
last night, before you went to bed.
you hear your socked feet thud to the floor faster than your racing mind could register. you have to confirm something.
your head turns to windows left of your bed, you take a slow, precautionary step towards it, noting the way it frosts over, periodically, like the air itself is breathing with you.
but it wasn't winter, your body feels naturally toasty, your breath doesn't exude any misty coldness like it should. looking around, you see the heater inside your room is turned off, but instead there seems to be a dehumidifier operating and buzzing, as if it could combat the toxic stench harassing your nose.
also, the slight smog misting your windows wasn't your usual colors of bleak and boring grays.
no, your eyes widen, your throat constricts.
"holy shit..."
were your first words in this totally unfamiliar world.
just from your distance alone could you see that the air wasn't colorless or like the greys from a polluted city, as it should normally be—
but it was exhibiting hues of unearthly neon greens and blazing purples.
fuck, it looked like a living, breathing, pulsing plume of danger and uncertainty; a warning to anybody who dares to even open their windows in its cancerous state.
you may be average, but you're not stupid.
as much as you wish to confirm the location you transmigrated to, you wouldn't want to take the risk of opening your windows — looking even closer, you could see it's locked with multiple complex latches meant for an apocalyptic setting; and you're once again reminded that you've read about this before — now backing off, slow and deliberate, as the back of your shaking knees hit the frame of your bed.
your throat constricts, your nose still aches trying to get accustomed to the stench of your new life. shit, you notice the smell of it somehow fills the air too. you want to laugh at the irony, but you're too afraid to even think of anything else in this moment.
if this setting was recognizable enough, then you want to cry because it's simply unreal. if you've read about this, no you don't. you wish you didn't. it's fucking impossible that out of every possible world you'll get transported, you end up in the last fanfic you've read. it's wrong. you gaslight yourself, eyes glazing over the cacophony of mixing colors outside your tightly packed room, knees hitting your chest, like a wounded animal.
yet before you could even fall into the hands of a panic attack, before you found yourself gasping for air, a voice on the other side of your door knocked you out of your thoughts. gentle—
familiar. it calls out your name.
"— dear, are you alright there?" the voice... it's your dad's! your father, oh goodness gracious, you've never been more grateful before than now, "i heard some noise, figured you woke up to all the chaos outside. i'll go in right now, okay?"
your brain frantically tries to scramble for a reply, you attempt a "sure," but it comes out croaky, weird, and unreachable to the ears. your door opens before you can respond in full, it creaks, and in enters a familiar sight, a homely face. you could cry right now.
instead, you breathe in relief despite just how dry the air was.
your father, meanwhile, furrows his brow at you the moment his eyes reach your body, maybe because there's tears welling in your eyes, your lips are wobbling, and you look just like you've awoken from a nightmare—
or rather, you've awoken to a nightmare.
"bad night, hon?" he asks, stepping over your crumpled pile of papers, scribbled with equations, in the middle of the room. when he enters your line of vision, when the panic has slowly subsided, a closer look at him had you realizing he looked youthful, more composed, the years of stress haven't line his face yet. and hon? the last time he called you hon was when you were in your first years of college.
then that means this version of your dad is... younger.
younger, back when he was more affectionate, the same man who used to lovingly wrap his arms around his wife, your mother, from behind, who'd willingly kiss her cheeks before going to work— not without looking forced, not because it's a formed habit, but because he actually loved her. the present man before you was the same man who he hadn't yet withdrawn himself from you and your mother with the excuse of focusing more on work, on promotions and colleague drama.
he wasn't the same man who left the two of you to fend off for yourselves emotionally, who'd look more and more like a bank account than a husband as the years pass by.
and, well, your mother more or less would rather spend time with the neighbors to gossip about their neglectful husbands, hidden affairs and— that's far from what you want to think about at this moment, not when there's someone waiting for your answer right now.
you want to reply to the familiar stranger standing right in front of you, reassure him that you're fine, even if it's strange how your parents somehow were dragged into the fray of your transmigration; pretend like the normal you. but your mouth suddenly decided now was high time to stay breathless like a gaping fish caught fresh from the sea, staring up at him, at your father who's equally trying to discern your reactions.
he shakes his head, eyes still laced with genuine concern — so warm, it's as unreal as the pulsing fumes from outside — and brings his palms to ruffle your head. he sits at your bed, right beside you at a comfortable distance, both hands found its way to your clenched ones rested atop your locked knees.
his mouth opens, the words that come out are carefully chosen, but natural, as if he's said the same thing to you before.
"hon, i know it is bad, you're probably scared, i won't lie and say i'm not," his index finger points to the windows behind you, both of you look at the ethereal yet damned sight, at the still-aching air, now supersaturated with colors beyond unnatural and reasonable. then it returns to your fists again, in an attempt to ground you, he massages your shivering fingers while continuing to look at you in the eyes. he continues, "but we'll be fine. the joker does this all the time, hon, trying to poison the air with his toxins just to get a good laugh. at the end of the day, you know he'd be dealt with, that's just how the story goes—
"we're safe, as long as the city's vigilantes and the commissioner are in our prayers. so there's no need to be afraid, 'lright?" he ends his little encouraging speech with a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
you only nod at him in reply, biting your lips, eyes still wide at the man, your father, before you. but at least the thumping in your heart has subsided. at least, despite the initial panic, you have someone you can actually turn to, even if there's that nagging fear that your father is secretly a skinwalker imitating the identity of your real parent— but again, happy thoughts.
your father hums, satisfied at seeing your tense shoulders relax, your diluted eyes returning to a normal size. even with your lack of words could he see you're better now. he leans in forward, you flinch but you don't move when he makes the motion of kissing your forehead. in fact, something deep inside aches like an reopened wound instead.
as much as it pains to admit it: you missed this. you missed him.
the past image of your father. you stare ahead after his lips separate from your forehead, afraid that if you look at his kind eyes again, you'll possibly tear up and fall into the hopeless delusion that he wouldn't change, an oddly dystopian setting wouldn't erase his emotional absence by the near future— you still yearn this version of him though.
he didn't mind your lack of reply, you hear your sheets shuffle as he stands, "alright, i'll get out now. your mom's making dinner, your favorite. i'll call you when it's ready—
"oh, also, before i forget, we need to have a talk about your plans for gotham-u later at the table, 'kay?"
"mm." you hum, mindless, not really looking at him as he leaves the room, confirmed by the sound of your door clicking shut.
you only stare at the walls before you, at the lined shelves, the desk and you even turn your head back (avoiding the sight of the outside) to stare at your beloved plushies; really taking in the new setting.
your walls are the same color, your favorite one, but it's a different shade. the shelves are lined with a different arrangement of trinkets. even your desktop had a different layout, with foreign but likeable decorations. your laptop still had its personality, decorated with stickers that you know the same you would apply— you're in a place that still screams you, but in a different life.
it's just that this life feels way more dangerous than it lets on. and maybe that's what's different from your mundane life from before; waking up to the news of a nuclear gas invading the neighborhood.
because yeah— if being locked inside this seemingly foreign apartment, with the image your uncharacteristically kind parents from the past, with latches and locks being the only thing protecting you from the nuclear wasteland caused by the joker right outside your house... then maybe being transmigrated in this life sounds way more worth it if it meant removing yourself from the title of the most boring character the gods above have ever concocted.
wait, what?
"the... joker...?
"... gotham university?"
your fingers hastily try to clench the bedsheets in fear of falling off, vision blurring until everything you see before you become inconceivable, shapeless blobs. suddenly, like a beat dying to be heard, your mind races with thoughts, with a memory of the night before:
'(y/n) didn't understand why their so-called family were so determined to keep them locked up in the manor when all they said was that they're going out for groceries. the family all came rushing to them with stupid, dauntless claims that they're safest here, that gotham is currently in disarray because of the joker's bullshit attempt at clogging the city's sewage systems with laughing toxins once more— not like they'd care. they'd rather die than be faced with their condescending nerve to be gallant.'
'yet damian's sword blocks the main doors, ridding them of any chance of running off, a stupid frown on his face. the others are behind them, ready to pounce if they even try to escape. they roll their eyes, agitated, furious, but how are they to fight against a pack of starved vigilantes?'
'even if they have all the love and attention now, it wouldn't erase the fact that back then, when their eyes hadn't yet followed their form, when they was all but mere shadow, they could always sneak out without ever being caught. ever being seen. that was only ever the blessing of the curse bought upon their sad, little life.'
'"c'mon, dad," they say, with vehement contempt, looking back at the view of an equally frustrated but worried bruce. "if this is another one of your attempts to keep me locked up here again, then screw off and let me live in piece and buy some damn groceries!"'
'"language, (y/n).* bruce tries, with furrowed brows, to calm one of his youngest child with a cold, authoritative voice. but (y/n) refuses to back down. their arms cross, as if questioning bruce's authority, chest all puffed and angered eyes staring pointedly at bruce, their damned father.'
'it wasn't until tim drake cuts off the tense atmosphere with a phone and an article shown in its screen, shoved gently in front of (y/n)'s face, who's eyes scan over the title of: 'breaking news! the joker releases a new wave of experimental toxins at the city's sewage systems affecting many of the main districts!''
'after the younger sibling had done a quick read-through of the article, they roll their eyes at a cautious tim, who scratches the back of his head while saying, "my friends dorming near gotham-u told me it smells worse than shit there. like mold and amplified car smoke or something. also, the air's looks all neon over there too. it's real bad but the air can't be seen from here— why'd you think we're all suited up right now?"'
'yet at tim's very sensible statement, (y/n) could only stubbornly tsk, retorting with, "well, i would've known if you people actually allowed me to read the news instead of babying me every damn second.'
'"tsk, you know what? fine. whatever. i'll believe you for now, so go save the city so i can buy my groceries."'
'and with that, they refuse to look at the piercing of their family, turning on their heel and making their way to their bedroom, stomping the entire time. as if that alone would make family hear the melancholy engraved into every sound of (y/n)'s footsteps...'
holy shit, so you did read about this before. and you're in the exact same world in... in a neglected reader fanfic?! when the haze in your mind subsides and you regain your vision, you see your father standing right outside of the door, head peaked inside your room, hand on the knob and a worried stare in the other— how long have you been reminiscing? has time passed that quickly?
"you seem pretty caught up in your daydreams, hon," he says, yet his expression now twists to a fond smile at the silly thought of you getting lost in your thoughts, eyes glazed with affection, "— that should come later, though. dinner's ready."
'okay, calm down, you. don't make yourself obvious.'
"'kay, dad," you respond, letting go of your crumpled sheets, ignoring the slight sting in your palms. "uhm... can i ask you something?"
"yes, hon?"
'don't be too obvious. don't be too obvious. don't be too obvious.' you repeat to yourself, staring at your father who still patiently waits by your door while beads of perspiration start to drip down your otherwise cold skin, anxious.
"gotham-u's my final choice, right?" you question him, biting your lips, imagining yourself closing your eyes because you obviously couldn't brace your reactions in real time without making yourself look to suspicious.
your father, meanwhile, only tilts his head in confusion. but he recovers and hums at you, nodding.
"yes...? any problems with it?" he swings the door open, revealing himself in all his apron'ed glory, "we've talked about this before, you said gotham-u was final, hon. any last minute changes? we can talk over it in dinner."
he smiles, as if the words escaping his mouth didn't just aim for a fragile piece of your heart.
god, he's so sweet before, so sweet now that it's painful. it's nostalgic and... you didn't realize you miss this version of him so, so much.
your eyes flit downwards, to your wobbly legs and your shaking palms, scared that if you look at him once more, you'll really burst out into tears.
"no, no," your voice cracks, "i was just wondering about... something, dad. it's nothing bad, i promise. you can go, mom's probably gonna get mad if we take too long... i'll, uh, catch up after i— i fix my room in a jiffy. yeah." you wish the world would devour you whole right now, and you wished your father could just revert to the version of him — distant, clinical, cold — you knew in your present before; so you could stop mourning him right now.
but no, he only hums again. and even in your current state, refusing to catch the smallest glimpse of him and the outside world, you can sense the gentle smile returning on his face and the whispered, "alright, hon," before he ultimately leaves once again.
then you're back sulking, burying your face in your palms.
wondering to yourself if this is all a long, aching, fever dream. no matter how real everything feels.
'i really should've specified my wishes to the world, huh.'
because you didn't just wake up in a normal bed, in another normal life, in a completely normal place.
you've woken up in gotham city.
and not just the gotham city you've read about in comics. not just the gotham city with its iconic vigilantes and the deranged gallery of rogues— but a gotham city riddled with a self-insert going to the same university and you whose existence twists the narrative of every character around them; making everyone obsessed with their presence.
somehow, that fate alone seemed worse than anything.
somehow, the first idea that came into your brilliant mind after a momentary breakdown was to grab a recorder after dinner instead.
after all, what's a better way to make things more interesting if not by narrating your new life in gotham city?
— it's not like this life would pave the way for an NPC like you to actually be part of the spotlight, right?
reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.
PLEASE READ: 4k words. it's 4am. i heavily encourage leaving comments since this is the first major update i've had in a while!!! i love comments guys and i rewrote this prologue for like a hundredth time and somehow this one was the best !! (the others were so corny i want to cry). the next chapters r gonna be funny thrust, this one is just a build up but hey !! i at least learned to put more dialogues in my stories now. uhm i have no other words to say, but just leave comments cause lack of interaction makes me inactive. anyways, that's it !! i hope y'all like the first installment of drtNPC.
the concept i'm writing about is literally a "what if" imagine about a reader who was bruce's "biological" child who'd end up being taken in and lovingly cared for their entire life until it was revealed they actually weren't bruce's and the real child wants in on the family and now you expect the family to turn a full 180 and drop you the moment they meet the child.
except you literally don't give a shit and are actually ecstatic because it meant the family would leave your ass alone once and for all and you'll finally be free enough to live an actual life outside of theirs.
except, you also haven't considered much about their obsession and didn't realize how deep the family truly cherishes your every movement and every breath— how your calm reaction stirred something primal in them to be even more fucked up over you.
because if you cherished them as much as they did you, then you should've reacted more explosively— so it's clear their affection wasn't enough to warrant the reaction they want to see you express.
just imagine dick barging in your room and being all, "heyyy, baby bird!!!" whilst he's on the verge of crashing out over seeing you ignore him in favor of the book you're reading, "iknowthenewkidwillsoonarrivebutipromiseyouthewillneverreplaceyouandiloveyousomuchyouwillalwaysbemyfavorite."
("i know the new kid will soon arrive but i promise you, they will never replace you and i love you so much, you will always be my favorite.")
when he reaches your beside to sit beside you, you just scoff, close your book, and attempt with all your might to hug dick with a small pat on his back and tell him you're not really affected, which just makes him want to cry at how considerate his baby bird is even if you deserve every reason to scream and hate him for thinking (not really) of another person who isn't you.
(he's also really devastated because why can't you just hug him a bit tighter like he does with you? why can't you look at him, your eldest brother, and force him to admit that he's also your favorite?)
and then every other family member's attempt at trying to please you only to end up with your awkward and forced smiles assuring them that it's fine if they focus all their love and attention into the new family member instead of you.
which in turn only has them wishing this newcomer just... disappeared because as more and more time would pass, it seemed you would become even more insistent that you didn't matter, even if you were all that mattered to them.
now imagine all of this chaos featuring bruce's biological child with a sense of competition — trying and failing to prove themself to be a better contender for love, painting you in a bad picture only to end up getting scolded by bruce and threatened by damian for endangering you just because they weren't the one holding out the hot kettle to pour your tea — towards you, the nonchalant soul who literally wants out of this bs and out of everyone's life.
Let’s say you’re working for Penguin, delivering things here and there to fellow other crime lords and what not.
Bruce first meets you while staking out a warehouse he learned Two Face would be doing business with Penguin. *little dose he know, you’ll be filling in for your boss*
In walks you with a package under your arm and an envelope in your hand, apologizing for your boss getting caught up with loose ends and not being able to make it.
Bruce is instantly weary of the new found player in Gotham’s underground, having not come across you before.
Bruce sits and waits as you and Two Face talk business, cutting to the chase pretty quickly.
As you two are starting to wrap up your dealings, Batman bursts in through a window taking out Two Face and his men. Giving you time to get away.
When he’s done with them he heads after you, hot on your heels until you reverse uno his ass and end up getting away.
Bruce isn’t pleased with this so makes damn sure to research everything he can on you, EVERYTHING.
He finds out as much as he can, ends up trailing you afterwards, memorizing your schedule and where you live.
Has some of the Batfam trail you when he can’t.
You end up getting a call from Penguin about some info you need to deliver to some vague address.
You head there only to be met with the Dark Knight himself looking all broody as always.
“What do i owe the pleasure of meeting you again, Mr. Bats”
“Never had a first meeting to begin with”
Turns out Penguin struck a deal with Batman and that info you were to deliver was about you.
Ends up just wanting to talk, as weird as it is to just “talk” with Batman and not end up getting the shit beat out of you in the process.
Wasn’t the worst time you’ve had but you wouldn’t really want to do it again (little do you know)
He then let’s you leave out the way you came without any incident.
As time goes on, Batman’s presence becomes a norm for you, especially when you’re out and about before or after business deals and what not
Sometimes he talks with you, and sometimes he just stays nearby, the latter more so if you’re just wandering about Gotham late at night.
Ends up becoming somewhat friendly, especially after learning you’re not full of ill-intent, or wanting to watch the world burn.
You eventually open up about why you started working for Penguin (not like he didn’t already know that.)
You even open up about how you kind of looked up to him and what he stands for (okay, that he didn’t know.)
You show him that even though you’re a “criminal” that doesn’t mean you’re all bad.
He’s understanding but voices his discontent with your choice of “occupation”
You begin to feel a sort of friendship becoming prominent between you and the Dark Knight (and so does he)
He’s grown attached to the Criminal who got away, becoming protective and jealous.
He enjoys your company and your guys’ talks (even if you do most of the talking) So when sees/hears you talking to or with anyone else, especially fellow criminals, he becomes jealous and annoyed. Not that he’d show it of course. He’ll be petty towards that particular criminal when he’s out kicking ass.
He wants you to talk to him about your day and vice versa. He doesn’t care for you being chatty with others, even if it’s only business.
If you chat up a fellow hero or Batfam member he will be a little bit petty about it later on, not with you but with them.
He will follow you (without your knowledge of course) to drop offs, deals, and whatever else you have to do for your Boss.
Doesn’t like it when you’re out by yourself whether you’re working or not.
Is fearful that, due to who you work for, what deals you end up having to workout and him always being by or near you in some sense of the word, Joker or another villain will take you away, hurt you, or worse…
He doesn’t want you to know how much he really worries about you, but he will make damn sure you fet to and from where ever safe and sound.
He enjoys having a friend of sorts (even one that’s a criminal) but he is weary at times, that you may betray him or become a target because of him.
And you may be on edge of him just one day grabbing you and taking you to the GCPD or taking you straight to Arkham or Belle Reve.
He may push more for you to stop working for Penguin or any other and live a more crime-free life. Maybe even getting a job at Wayne Enterprises.
He would totally hire you on the spot (not that you’ve found out his true identity yet) but he would be more at ease if you put Gotham’s criminals and everything behind you.
A real, true, genuine friendship could blossom then but if not, there will always be an underlining doubt between each other.
You’re a renowned horror author. Writing some pretty crazy detailed works of pure nightmare fuel. Having been a huge horror fan yourself, it was your dream come true to write things that'll make the bravest of men need to sleep with a night light, all the while hiding under the covers.
It's no surprise Joker is a fan of your work. Loves the creativity you put in your writings. The gory, explicit, graphic, and vulgar detail. He lives for it.
Will sometimes orchestrate his newest plans of terror around his current reading of yours. Whether he targets someone with the same name, appearance, or background as a character you've written. Or he illustrates your graphic detailing on his newest victim/victims.
He will break out of Arkham and make a bee line for your residence. You better hope you don't live with anyone else or he may use them as inspiration to show his true devotion to your work.
100% Thinks you are like him. You gotta be psychotic to write the things you write. Who else would think of stuff the way you do? He's been clinically diagnosed as a psychopath and he can't even dream up half the things you write about. And he loves it!!
He wants to be the inspiration for your stories. He wants to read about himself from your point of view. Oh he thinks it'll be a hoot!!!! Seeing what you think about him and all his ways of showing how your books resignate with him.
He especially loves the ones where the killer, murder, psycho, or whatever perpetrator gets away and they're never found and brought to justice. Those ones really get him feeling some type of way. How the surviving victims and their loved ones don't get the closure they desperately want. Being left with the opposite. Fear, paranoia, and the lingering feeling of never being safe again.
Totally wants to be your best friend and share his chilling, gory, and graphic thoughts and ideas with you. Wants you to write his ideas and read them from you're point of view, seeing how you change, twist, and tweak them.
Watches whatever interviews you do religiously. Has a phone just to follow all your social media to stay updated. Reads any and every article about you. Will threaten any blogger or critic who doesn't give your works a fantastic review.
Will go to any and all of your book signings, dressed in a, probably flashy, laughable disguise. You'll know who it is without a doubt, keeping your mouth shut and going along with it.
You learn pretty quickly to just go along with whatever he wants to do with you. Whether it's hanging out, eating take out watching some horror movie he picked out or home movies he's made for you while committing unspeakable crimes. Or he's taken you out to witness his next big sha-bang.
You've gotten use to being around his presence. You don't really mind him breaking into your home anymore. Having been already desensitized to gore from your own writing, his thoughts and ideas don't even give you nightmares anymore. He really is good inspiration.
Once he's back in Arkham, he'll tell everyone the synopsis and plot of your newest book. He'll brag about inspiring your ideas for the killer. No one will cross his path without knowing about your books and novels.
God forbid he finds out Scarecrow reads your books too. He may have to make an example out of Crane. There can only be one #1 fan of your work and it's Joker, no one else.
Most killers will typically go after the survivors that came from their respective world or, if they have multiple, the ones they are typically associated with: Michael and Laurie, Trickster and Yun-Jin Lee, etc. As there is usually some sort of connection between the killer and survivor that makes it easier for The Entity to manipulate the killer's feeling towards the survivor.
This is especially true with killers like Pyramid Head, Wesker and Michael Myers for example, as those three would only go after the survivors from their respective worlds for different reasons.
Pyramid Head pursues James Sunderland due to the very nature of it's existence is being his punisher, this can go many ways as The Entity can alter the parameters of the punishment to a degree.
Albert Wesker only has fixation with the former S.T.A.R.S agents and the people who got in the way of his plans back in their universe Leon, Claire, Ada and Sheva. So he just wouldn't care for the other survivors, believing them to be unworthy of his attention and energy outside of the mandatory tasks of the trials.
Michael Myers is already canonically obsessed with Laurie Strode because she is either his sister or 'the one that got away', except this obsession is a little less murderous than it is in canon.
On the other hand, not all killer obsessions are set in stone, variations can occur depending on the lore of a character and whether or not they have a set survivor.
For instance, the Huntress's obsession would alternate between survivors like Cheryl, Nancy, Mikaela, etc. Basically anyone who could fit in with her lore of kidnapping young girls because she wants to raise a little one herself. Meaning that most of her yandere relationships would typically fall into a platonic/familial catagory.
Another would be how the original four killers (Trapper, Nurse, Wratih, Hillbilly) would alternate or share the original four survivors (Dwight Fairfield, Meg Thomas, Claudette Moral, Jake Park) due to how long they have known each other within The Entity's realm. While they could go after the different survivors and other killers are allowed to go after the Dwight and the gang, but they typically gravitate towards the four that have been with them the longest in the Fog.
Alternating obsessions also decreases the chance of 2 vs 8 trials as The Entity has to be careful on who gets paired up as it is possible that a survivor can get multiple yanderes at a time. Which doesn't last long due to the amount of infighting it could cause over an extended period of time and the fact that The Entity also wants to have at least one yandere per survivor. So no one is safe from being so adored? and loved, surely that is a better alternative to being killed all the time isn't it?
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The Entity gets a bit bored of feeding off solely from the same old trials. Deciding to try the type of pain and horror that comes from being chased and trapped by someone that doesn't want to kill you but keep you.
Influencing the killers to become more affectionate and possessive towards the Survivors. This obsession can vary between each survivor and per trial as types of love range between romantic and platonic.
Trials grounds are altered to become more like an escape room and the sacrificial ritual hooks are changed to shackles of some sort.
Items and abilities are also changed to fit the theme better as well. Syringes filled with drugs, tampered healing items, obsession based perks, etc.
Survivors having to contend with their yandere constantly coming after them while also stressing about wellfare of their teamates.
The potential scenarios are:
Everybody is the Obsession and have to play an elaborate game of playing keep away where the attention of the killer have to be juggled between all of them.
One person or two if it is 2v8, is the Obsession and it is up to the team has to work on escaping as the killer thinks the others are trying to "steal" their darling.
Another incentive is that if the Entity is pleased enough, then it will allow for a killer to keep their survivor for a little bit to play house before everything is reset.
Heck if a killer peforms adequately enough times then some memories would not be erased and they could have their own one-on-one personalised trial with their chosen darling survivor.
Essentially adding love in all it potential twisted glory as a new ingredient for the cocktail of emotions The Entity feeds off.
Hello! I love the self aware roblox au quite alot! I was wondering would anything ever make them want to come to the real world to actually be with you? Surely after a while they'd get anxious to actually interact with you? Also how would they react if we had a mental breakdown while playing roblox like full on sobbing? (has happened to me personally way too many times.)
Going with "we have a mental breakdown while playing Roblox", cus we've now done builderman coming to the real world (and there's a part 2 in the works lol).
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I think that something like this does depend on what it is that caused the breakdown, but for the most part, pity. They hate to see you sad, no matter what it's about. They'll try to make it right as much as they can (well you know, except for changing their behaviors).
If it's something in game and/or another player, just know that the avatars are on there way. The admin avatars will essentially Auto ban the user (if they try to appeal the ban, builderman, telamon, Roblox, Mr. Doombringer, and John and Jane doe, will just not even look at it and not approve the appeal). Meanwhile during the time that the player is still online (for what, the 1 minute before they get banned?) 0o7, c00lk1dd, and 1x1, are all on this guy's ass, and absolutely making the game there playing unplayable.
If it's something outside game, they'll all try to give you unsolicited advice. Parents making you upset, stop talking to them. You don't have "irl" friends, who needs them, you have us. Work getting you down? Quit! Meanwhile your sitting there, tears in your eyes like. ,0_0, "shut the fuck up, all of you.."
If it's because of, you know, their behavior. You're in for a world of manipulation. John and Jane doe have the best victim act (abit, it's less of an act since emotions are not their strong suit).
C00lk1dd is ACTUALLY trying the victim act ( it's not working he was just throwing someone off a platform before any of this).
0o7 is trying to convince you that, it's actually not as bad as you think, and that it can always get worse (he means this in more of a "well I could make your games unplayable with all the textures changes" but it can be seen as "my obsession with you can always get worse, be happy we haven't reached that stage yet").
Mr. Doombringer is the least manipulative, since he's on your side. Yes their behavior is unacceptable. Don't worry, he'll will do something about their behavior- but oh no, if you say something about mr. Doombringer too, oh the tables have turned. What! Me? But he's only try to count you, off Roblox. His behavior is NOT the same as the other self aware avatars! Hmph.
Roblox will just stand there, knowing. He knows that his and the others obsession are intense to say the least. But Roblox won't say anything. His obsession won't falter, and they aren't going to give you false promises.
Telamon is a big baby. Fine. You don't like him courting you? He'll leave (he's gone for AT MOST like two hours, and then goes- na you don't really mean that, right [player]? Let's go blox some noobs! -as he loads sfoth.)
1x1 "Tries" to stay calm, Knowing you are crying about them. They WERE ready to pwn the bastard that did something wrong for you, but knowing it's them. The reason that you're crying is because of them. Makes them mad. They haven't done anything. They've been good to you, and ONLY YOU. And yet you feel the need to weep because of them. No. They won't take this.
Builderman knows that you just need more time to adjust. Builderman is patient when the others aren't. But he must admit, it hurts him to see you like this, because of him. He loves you and he tries to show you that every day. But this. It isn't a comment, it isn't you being mean, it's unfiltered sadness and frustration for the situation you're in. Builderman can see that, even if he didn't mean to, he's made you. Upset. Nothing will change after this event. But builderman will coo, and type sweet nothing in chat while it is happening, trying to calm you and show that even if he's caused this, he'll always be here. Just tell him your problems. Please.
