#writetober

Another look at your phone to check the notifications and you got up and got dressed. Given the time you knew that you still had enough time to join your adopted siblings for breakfast, but even Alfred's amazing pancakes and french toast could to move you into the kitchen. Deciding to just nap something from your friends during lunch break at school, you grabbed your bag and jacket before quickly making your way through the manor. Like almost every morning you silently prayed that you wouldn’t come across anyone on your way to the front door. Eighty per cent of the time you were lucky, fifteen per cent you were just ignored and the other five per cent you found yourself stuck in painfully awkward small talk with the people who lived on the same floor as you. People who were supposed to be your closest friends and confidants. People who weren’t that. People who were more akin to strangers.

Today you were in luck as you managed to slip out of the giant house you hated to call home without having to talk to anyone. Getting onto your scooter, you made your way to the school, enjoying the air in your face through the helmet and the feeling of freedom that only came to you on rare occasions. 

The school was still fairly empty when you arrived - as was expected - so you had the honour of walking through the empty halls like you owned the place. A sentiment that some of your schoolmates even believed. You wanted to tell them that you had no need for your Guardians money, no interest in his family’s name or his family’s reputation. Bitter thoughts filled your mind, leaving a taste of anger, of disappointment, of anguish on your tongue. They weren’t helped by what you saw when you stopped in front of the trophy showcase. There were pictures of some of the best former student-athletes that had attended the school, and the most recognizable was a picture that was proudly displayed right on eyesight. It was at a sporting event that had happened some twenty to thirty years earlier, one that was still held bi-annually. The winners of different disciplines were smiling proudly into the camera, arms around each other. 

Taking the spotlight was a man that every proud Gothamite would recognize as a young Bruce Wayne on one side, a different boy who people tended to overlook based on his less noticeable features and the lack of fame he had, and in the middle of both of them stood Bruce’s former best friend. Your mother. Your late mother. 

She had been a beautiful, stunning, talented woman. Everyone who had ever known her told you that. You tried to take some solace in the fact that they told you how alike the two of you were, both in looks and in personality. It did nothing to quell the underlying pain though, the pain still boiling inside you, pain that over the years had turned into anger. You weren’t angry with your mother, of course, you knew that she had not chosen to fall sick, that she had not chosen to succumb to cancer. She had loved you with all her heart and only ever wanted you to be happy. This is why, when your grandparents died in a shooting shortly after her diagnosis, she put it in her will that after her passing you were to be taken care of by her lifelong friend Bruce Wayne. After all, he already had kids and he was rich, just like she and her parents had been - money and estates that now waited on you to turn 18 to take charge of - and he’d be surely able to give you the life and the love she always wanted you to have. 

Sadly, your mother had not known Bruce quite as well as she had believed she did. She had no idea that he spent his nights as the infamous Batman, or that the kids he adopted had been turned into fighting machines - sometimes even killers. She had no idea that he was not the amazing, loving and attentive father figure she had wanted you to have. Not even close. 

You suppose he had tried at one point. When you were a young child, grieving the loss of your entire family and everything that you had known, he had taken you in like one of his own and assured you that from then on he’d protect you. Back then you had believed him. After all, your mother had told you so many great things about him, why should she lie. And with elder brothers and sisters, a Butler who made sure you had your favourite foods whenever you felt sad and a man who tried his best to be the father you never had. They did lots of work to spend time with you and to pay attention to you which would ensure you wouldn’t notice their weird habits and absences. But of course that couldn’t work forever. After a few months, you found out about their best (and somehow at the same time worst) kept secret and as you walked through the Batcave by Bruce’s side everything changed. He didn’t directly offer to train you, but he did insinuate that it was an option, though you declined. You couldn’t see yourself hurting others. You wanted to help like your mom had helped, by volunteering, bettering the world peacefully. Bruce had assured you that that was a completely acceptable decision and that it wouldn’t change anything. But he had lied. Perhaps knowingly, perhaps not. Maybe some of both. 

Once you were aware of their second life, they didn’t put in the effort to pay enough attention to you to make you unaware of their secret. At first, they still spent time with you, but over time it seemed like you were blending into obscurity like a special bottle of champagne that was planned to be open on a special occasion only. Just that the bottle was usually remembered after the occasion had passed in annoyance. You weren’t. And as you phased out of their minds and into oblivion, you made peace with your place in the family. An outsider, a stranger inside their house, just waiting until the time had come for you to finally live your own life. 

Of course, you knew you could have it worse. You had enough money to fulfil every wish you had as long as it was material, always had something to wear, something to eat, and somewhere to sleep. The only thing you didn’t have was love. But especially in Gotham you knew that you got away rather luckily with that, so while you were deeply angry towards the people who had promised to treat you like family, to love you, you also tried to just get on with your life. 

It would have been easier if it wasn’t just so hard to look at your so-called siblings as if you didn’t resent them for the way they treated you, compared to one another. Somehow showing any interest in you or attempting to spend any time with you was a chore, but somehow Jason and Cass could have a little book club, Jason and Dick could go out for lunch at a cat-cafe, Steph, Cass and Tim could have Spa-days and all of them could have an occasional movie night together. It wasn’t explicitly stated that you weren’t welcome, but you had seen how they acted when you were with them compared to how they acted when you were hiding behind the door listening in. They seemed so much happier without you. As if your mere presence ruined the mood. So you started rejecting their invitations to join and it only took one of two attempts of them to stop asking completely. 

You might have been able to cope better with the obvious dismissal of your existence if it had been because you hadn’t been part of the family when they had forged their close bond, but somehow, even when Damian joined, acting like a complete asshole to everyone around him, they managed to include him and when he warmed up to them he joined their close group. 

So your newness surely could not have been that big of an issue right? Even Damian, completely new to the family and surely aggressive towards all of his pseudo siblings, seemed to know you were less than the others since he didn’t even bother to insult you, instead opting to ignore you. Completely. A glance spared, looking you up and down, and he had decided you were not worth it and his opinion seemingly still hadn’t changed. Sure by now you had talked with him a few times, but you could say the same about the fucking mayor of Gotham so you were sure that did not really count. 

Sometimes, you lay in your bed at night, wide awake, wondering just why you were worth so much less in their eyes. What you had done wrong. Two answers usually presented themselves before you. Either it was because you weren’t a vigilante, something that you might even have been willing to accept, or it was… you. Just you. And for some reason, that was the answer that seemed more plausible to you. Maybe you were just unpleasant to be around, not fitting enough for their family. Not interesting enough, not Wayne enough. 

And so you were cursed to live your life like a ghost in what is supposed to be your home. Going in and out every day, just waiting for the day to come when you could move into the penthouse your grandparents had bought you before they died, which would become your legal property in just a few years. You’d start anew. Maybe one day, after a long time and probably a lot of therapy, you’ll be able to start your own family. One that you’d promise not to fuck up like Bruce had. Until then though, you’d go on like always, spend as little time in that Manor as possible and try to distract yourself from your reality. 

You really did spend very little time at the manor. For one, no one in that house cared when you left or when you came back except maybe Alfred, but even he either knew that you could properly use the freedom or he was too busy to care. Probably a mix of both. And along with that, you had started a very active life outside of your family. You had a lot of friends, though you were not ready to call any of them close friends, always knowing about how many of them were after the publicity of your actual and current family name and the money and fame connected to it. But they were nice enough and they distracted you so you didn’t mind. Especially because you used said popularity to help the people in town. You managed to get a lot of your friends to volunteer alongside you in different homeless shelters, though a lot of them tended to post dozens of pictures which made you feel a bit icky about them trying to profit from helping others, but you knew you couldn’t complain because it did help the shelters. The shelters told you so themselves. 

Most of your ‘pocket money’ was donated and the rest of the time was spent doing different activities, be it arts, sports, parties or just wasting the day away. You did your best to cram as much into your day-to-day life as you could to keep you from thinking too much. To stop you from thinking too much about how messed up you were now, how you couldn’t even confide in any of your friends, how you didn’t even really manage to call them your friends, because you couldn’t allow yourself to let anyone close to you anymore, because you knew you weren’t worth it, because you knew you’d be disappointed and hurt again. 

These dark thoughts were kept inside, slowly eating at you like termites, while on the outside you kept on being the happy-go-lucky Gotham personality that people loved to follow. Though you didn’t post a lot on your own social media, your friends and people around you did, which the public loved for some reason. And so you kept up the act, because what else could you do? Let people know you’re hurting? So they could ridicule you for your rich people's problems? Or keep out of the public eye? And have to face the lonely darkness that was your life? No, you’d rather keep on pretending like you had been for years now. Even if it meant being a piece of entertainment for other people who could turn on you at any second. 

The day at school was mostly uneventful, only a short moment of passing by Damian ruined your mood as your classmates did their usual shtick of asking if that wasn’t your brother and you trying to shrug them off, after all, how do you explain that your brother treated you like air not worth breathing? So you changed the topic by announcing that you’d go help out at a local shelter after school and asked if anyone wanted to join. Some excused themselves but a few agreed, which led to a group of five of you coming into the shelter a few hours later after some mandatory selfies so keep your friends placated. There was a bit more traffic inside than usual - a few people definitely not in need of help - which was probably because one of your friends posted your plans on their socials. That was something that you had to begrudgingly accept. You couldn’t afford their anger, so you made a compromise with them that they could post stuff like that, but that they couldn’t post the exact location (which in your opinion was just common sense, but it seemed not a lot of people shared that).

Ignoring the people only there to see you or be near a Wayne, you focused on helping those who needed your help, though aware of the effect you could have on the shelter business, you helped out in the kitchen where people couldn’t see you. You didn’t mind, you liked cooking and you and the fellow kitchen staff had a sort of harmonized rhythm. It even helped you get lost in thoughts that didn’t make you wanna cry, so when you got interrupted in your flow, you almost jumped in shock. One of the organizers had tapped on your shoulder. 

“Y/N, there’s a man outside that wants to talk to you,” Marcus told you and nodded towards the door to the front.

“They still haven’t left? I’m really sorry Marc, if you think it’s better if I leave, then I will,” you sighed, annoyed by the turn of events. 

“No, it’s not a fan. At least I think, he’s- well, he claims to have something really important to talk to you about. He gave me this to show to you, said it’ll show you he’s serious,” Marcus shrugged and held a picture out to you. It was an old Polaroid of a young couple smiling into the camera. Your breath hitched. 

“Is he the guy in the picture?” you asked with a newly found seriousness.

“Yes, at least he looks like it. Is the woman-”

“Yeah, could we use the office? Only if you’re okay with it, of course.”

“Sure, no problem, go ahead, I’ll bring him to you in a minute.”

“Thank you,” you earnestly smiled at Marcus as you made your way to the door that led to the office. You were used to being nervous, but not quite as nervous as you were then. This could change a lot of things, everything if it was what you imagined it to be. You looked at the picture in your hand again before sitting down behind the desk and putting it down on the desk. There were steps behind the door coming closer, so you took a deep breath as you wiped your hands on your pant legs. The door opened and in came a man who looked just like the guy from the Polaroid. He seemed familiar, not just from that snapshot of the past, but something in his face rang a bell in your memories. You mustered him, trying to keep a stern exterior as you didn’t know if this was going to be what you thought it would be. 

Marcus gestured the man to sit down on the other side of the desk, before giving you an encouraging nod and closing the door as he left. 

“Hello,” you greeted the man, hands intertwined before you on the desk.

“Hello,” he responded alike and you could feel his curiosity burning through you. Had you misinterpreted this? Was this just another weird fan?

“This picture,” you looked at it again before sliding it towards him, “how do you know my mom?”

Yesterday, I thought, why not participating in a artistic-october challenge this year again? I’m an illustrator, sure, but I don’t feel like drawing everyday for a whole month when I’m already working on a big project… And then, it hit me: Why not only writing for a change? It can help me improve my skills after all ;]

So here I am, with my very own list!

Everyday, I will write over 500 words about the prompt of the day, and post it on ToyHouse (and sharing it here too cuz why not) for everyone to read! Then, everyweek I will make a quick post showcasing some part of the daily stories in case some new people stumble upon my work!

A breeze swept through the orchard, flooding the quiet with a susurrus of rustling leaves. Michael unfruled his wings, to feel the wind against his coverts; his snowy feathers gleamed in likeness of a pearl. Did he belong here, among such delicate beauty of unnumbered starry blossoms, and their tender, beguiling scent?.. He, with his hands soaked in blood, ever-clad in armor?.. His calloused fingers reached towards a flower, only for his pulse to leap in alarm.

A presence... Behind him.

He spun around, hand clutching the hilt of his sword, to meet a pair of inky, doe-like eyes.

„Easy there, Commander“ the Antichrist purred, flashing him a grin „It‘s just me.“

She stood leaning against a tree, arms crossed over her chest, her golden hair ruffled by the breeze... A wreath of blossoms adorned her head, as though picked right here, in the garden. He stared at her, stiff in bewilderment.

The vision could not be truth.

„Is this a dream?“

Foolish question... His kind did not know the bliss of sleep. He watched her approach him, graceful as a prowling feline in her step. Wrapped in a white shawl, she shone in the moonlight, causing his knees to tremble before her beauty.

„Does it matter?“

Michael shook his head, his teeth gritted.

„Elena...“

She grasped his hands into hers – her warm, velvet-soft touch filled his mouth with the taste of sweet wine.

„I wished to see you“ she murmured, holding his gaze „Besides“ her fingertips brushed against his cheek „I‘m always with you. You made sure of it.“

He leaned into her caress, herr image blurred by his fluttering lashes. Her perfume washed over his senses, staining his lips in the luxurious aroma of jasmine. His eyes sank shut, when his nose brushed against the silken scarf, fastened around his wrist.

You groaned, struggling in Belphegors grasp. The sound of the rain was still slightly present. It was early. You tried to remove yourself from his embrace, but he couln't let go..

"Don't go" he mumbled sleepily.

"I have to get up, Belphie"

You tried once again to push him off, but he just held you as if nothing happened. He buried his face in your necks curve and tangled his legs with yours. You could feel his warm breath on your neck, as if he was ready to cover it with hickeys again.

"Belphie, I'm hungry"

"Mmm then call, Bel"

"Then let me get to my phone"

Your eyebrows furrowed. Your phone was still carelessly placed on the nightstand - yesterday's mistake you made by wanting to quickly get in boyfriends embrace. You squirmed around, waking him up again. He gave you a tired look, as if he was about to scold a disobedient puppy.

"What."

"I need to pee." There went your best exuse. He huffed, annoyed, finally letting you go. Walking away, you saw his figure hugging a random pillow, turning his back at you. It was obvious he already missed his favorite one. You had to move fast.

You quickly ran down the stairs to the kitchen. In Saturday mornings it was empty and all yours - until the rest of the brothers came down, demanding a shared breakfast. But today was only for you and Belphie.

The room was warm and inviting. A soft, light spilled through the windows from the setting sun, casting a golden glow across the room. You could hear the water still taping, from old gutters outside. You didn't rush while making breakfast. Even if you knew, your boyfriend was getting impentiant, the fresh coffie and bacon was all you though about in this moment. You moved effortlessly between the stove and the counter, tending to the food with practiced ease. Soon enough the food was ready. It made you proud, especially when you could feel someones eyes following your form at every move.

"What are you doing?" A raspy voice of your boyfriend greeted you. You rurned around. His hair was messy and eyes half open. He was standing there shoeless, still in his pijamas - with the long soft tail, tucked in one of his pants sleeves.

"I made breakfast! Look there's toasts, bacon, eggs, oh and do you want some coffie with it? I can also make you tea"

"I want you" He grinned at you while stepping closer. He rested his forehead against yours, his horns blocking your view.

"What"

"you heard me" You could feel a slight blush flush on your cheeks. His eyes landed on your lips, while he slowly licked his.

You didn't have a chance to answer when he quickly picked you up. Slight chuckle left his mouth at your helpless state.

"Belphegor, put me down this insant!"

"Why don't you make me, master"

"You know I can do that!"

"Nahh, you're too soft. Besides-" he skillfully took the plates in his hands "if you make me drop you, I will also drop the food you made, right? Oh, but you worked so hard on it!"

He laughed at your miserable expression. Carring you back to his room didn't take time at all. He layed the food on the table and threw you on the bed, joing right after. His arms held you tightly, while he showered your face with kisses. You could feel the blanket covering you both again.

"Oh, come on, let's eat food before going back to sleep at least!" You struggled to say as he stole another kiss from your lips

"Mmmm, no thanks. I have a better snack right here."