problematicreblogger

[problematicreblogger]

[UN]Fail — Chapter I, Prt 2: Me and the Devil.

⸺ SINOPSIS ⦂ It’s my party, and I’ll cry if I want to…

✿⁠ ⸺ Platonic! Yandere! Batfam × Neglenced! Meta! Reader.

✿⁠ ⸺ Chapters Guide! ; Prologue ; Chapter I, Prt 1 ; Chapter I, Prt 2 ; Chapter I, Prt 3 ;

✿⁠ ⸺ Previous ; Next!

⸺ WARNINGS ⦂ Fem Reader ; Use of Y/N; Suicidal themes ; Suicide attempt ; Damian being a little jerk ; Yes girls/boys, Doodle dies ; Yandere themes ; Platonic yandere ; Bullying ; Abuse ; Sexual harassment ; Neglect ; English is not my first language.

✿⁠ ⸺ MDNI !! I'm serious.

✿⁠ ⸺ Words Count ⦂ 10.268

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ This chapter was mainly translated by Google Translate, so if something doesn’t make sense, you know who to blame.

You adjusted the camera a few centimeters, trying to get it to focus. Once it did, you sat back down in the chair, the camera perched on your makeshift desk.

You squirmed a little, unsure how to start.

Clearing your throat, you began. “I… uh… this is my first time recording a video.” You fidgeted with Doodle’s hands under the desk before continuing. “I guess I should start by saying that before this, I used to keep a journal. I mean, I still have it, but I refuse to write in one ever again… Not after finding out what paper is actually made of.” Your face scrunched at the memory of that grim realization.

“Anyway… It took me a while to figure out another way to express myself—something that wouldn’t hurt the environment, you know? And then, while I was messing around in the mansion’s storage room, I found this old camera of Tim’s. It was kind of busted and dirty, but I fixed it after looking up some info on Alfred’s phone!” The memory of your little accomplishment made you smile proudly.

“Okay, a lot has happened lately, so I thought I’d talk about the important stuff. I guess I’ll do it in chromatic order… wait, no. Chrono…? Chrono…? Chronological! That’s the word!” You let out a laugh at your own mix-up and went on. “So… even though I’m still not doing great at school, I’ve made a lot of friends! There’s one in particular—her name’s Molly, and she loves nature too. She’s super smart!” You gushed about your new friend, who was always eager to share her knowledge. “She knows a ton about dinosaurs and told me all about them. They’re so cool!”

“I’m not great in most subjects... except for biology and P.E.!” you added quickly. “I’m really good at those two. In biology, I understand a lot of the stuff we talk about, and I get to chat with Molly and the teacher about it. And in P.E., people say I’m really ‘athletic,’ but honestly, I just like playing! Anyway, the coach made me join the kids’ volleyball team, even though I’m a bit younger than the other girls...” You shifted in your seat, your small smile fading. “I thought it was something cool… but no one in my family cared. Then again, I don’t think they care much about me at all.”

Silence filled the room for a few moments as you tried to organize your thoughts. You wanted to talk about it—everything you’ve been holding in—but it was so much that you didn’t know where to start without tearing up.

You felt your nose start to sting, so you wiped it as a distraction.

“Well… I didn’t see it at first, or maybe I just didn’t want to see it…” Your gaze dropped away from the camera. “But… I don’t think I belong here.”

Memories flooded your mind—every time your family was “too busy for you,” or when they asked you to leave a room so they could do “family activities,” even if you’d been there first. Not once did it cross their minds to include you, to see you as family...

You clenched your jaw, your eyes darting back up in desperation.

“But I just don’t get it...”

“I… I’ve thought about it a lot, and I don’t think it’s something I said or did. Cass and Steph also have villain parents, Jason used to get bad grades like me… and Terry is Dad’s kid too!” you protested, your voice rising.

“I don’t understand what’s so wrong with me...” Tears began streaming down your face. “Nobody wants to spend time with me… I try so hard to be useful, to not be a burden…” You glanced down at your clothes, now damp with tears and snot. “I-I even started sewing and making my own clothes because no one wanted to go shopping with me, and Alfred didn’t have time. I didn’t complain. I just accepted it. My fingers hurt so much, but I did it anyway.”

You were honestly proud of the skill you’d worked so hard to develop. Whenever you told your friends about it, they were always impressed, which motivated you to keep getting better. Even Alfred had been surprised by your talent. At the time, you thought you saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes before pride took over, but it was so brief that you dismissed it as your imagination.

Now, whenever he had the chance, Alfred helped you with your projects—offering suggestions and guiding you when you got stuck on a tricky stitch or needed advice on finishing your work.

The happy memories of working with Alfred eased the ache in your heart, pushing your tears away for a moment.

You grabbed a handkerchief (one you made yourself) and blew your nose, making sure to wipe away all traces of tears and snot—in that order, just in case.

“I think I got a little carried away…” you said, your voice a bit steadier. “I didn’t even explain who Cass or Terry are.”

You took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to explain the arrival of your dad’s new children (who didn’t even seem to like the idea of you calling him “Dad” anymore, at least not in the house). Children who, in turn, made it very clear from the start that they weren’t interested in spending time with you—saving you the effort of trying. Just like Dick. Or your dad…

You replayed those memories in your mind, preparing to share every detail with the camera.

After Jason joined the family, the next to arrive was Cass. As with all your other “siblings,” Alfred told you a little about her before she was officially introduced to the media as another adopted child of your father’s, and thus began living in the mansion.

Like every time before, a flicker of hope reignited in your heart. Maybe this time, you’d have a friend in the house. Sure, things hadn’t worked out with Barbara or Steph, but maybe that was just due to circumstances. Or maybe they didn’t bother with you because they weren’t officially part of the family. After all, Barbara had her own family far away, and Steph still had her mom with her (something you sometimes envied).

But things with Cass were supposed to be different. You had so much in common! For starters, you were both girls, both had villain parents, and you’d heard she didn’t talk much because she’d spent a lot of time alone—just like you! Oh, you weren’t worried about her not talking. You had so many topics stored up that you hadn’t been able to share with your other siblings, and now you finally had a chance to let them out!

The moment had finally come. You were going to have a friend.

When Cass arrived, she took it upon herself to explore the mansion. It took you a while to find her, wandering through hallways and peeking around corners, but you finally caught up to her in one of the endless corridors.

She turned as she noticed your presence. You approached her hesitantly, taking small, unsure steps until you stood face-to-face, holding Doodle tightly in your arms for emotional support.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.”

Cass nodded in acknowledgment, as if it were her way of greeting you.

“And you’re Cassandra,” you added. She nodded again. “I… Would you like to play with me?”

Images of your other siblings’ rejections flashed through your mind. Maybe she was too mature for that, like they were. You scrambled to correct yourself before it was too late.

“O-Or maybe we could talk! You don’t even have to say anything—I’ve been told I’m pretty chatty, so I could do all the talking for both of us! I’m fine with that! Back in my old house, my brothers didn’t really talk to me either, and besides—” You were ready to list every possible reason why hanging out with you was a great idea.

But a wave of Cass’s hand stopped your rambling. She waited until you were completely silent before responding.

Using her hands, she began signing. You racked your brain, pulling together the bits of sign language you’d recently learned, trying to decipher what she was saying.

Oh.

Your heart sank as you finally recognized the signs for No and Bother.

Cass seemed to interpret your silence as confusion. She brought her extended index finger to her bottom lip, motioning for you to pay attention.

“No. Bother,” she said aloud with some difficulty. You guessed speaking and the language itself were still new to her.

You didn’t know what to say. As Cass turned to leave, you instinctively grabbed the hem of her shirt, careful not to be forceful, trying to stop her.

“No…? You don’t want help with your English? I… I’m not great at most of my classes, but I think I could help you a little…” As you spoke, you began signing your words, hoping it would make your meaning clearer.

Cass only shook her head coldly before walking away. You watched her head toward the hallway leading to your father’s office. Of course. He was expecting her.

Defeated, you made your way down the stairs toward your room, doing your best to avoid Alfred, who would no doubt want to know how things had gone.

Key word: tried.

“Miss Y/N, how did it go with Miss Cassandra?” Alfred intercepted you just a few steps from your destination: your room.

You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, hoping he wouldn’t notice the traces of tears on your face.

“I don’t think she’s interested in making friends right now,” you replied briefly, and without waiting for his response, you headed straight to your room.

To be fair to Cass, you realized you had come across as pretty desperate back then. But, to be fair to yourself, having no one to interact with in the mansion except Alfred—and no other outlet to express yourself—was starting to make you feel trapped.

Terry wasn’t much different.

Once again, your heart couldn’t help but flutter with hope because this time, there was something different: Terry was definitely your brother. By blood!

You didn’t know all the details, but Terry was without a doubt your father’s son. Him and his little brother Matt, who was only a few years younger than you. But that didn’t matter! Maybe Matt liked to play “for real,” or maybe Terry, being used to having a younger brother, would take pity on you and spend time with you. Even just sitting in the same room without showing signs of annoyance would’ve been enough to make you jump for joy (mentally, at least).

When there was a knock at the door, you already knew it was Terry, and you ran to open it. Before doing so, you quickly fixed your hair and outfit, hoping to make a good impression.

Sure enough, it was him. You remember the first thing you thought when you saw him was that there was no denying he was related to your father. The same eyes, the same hair, the same features...

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. But that didn’t stop you from greeting him with your best smile and inviting him inside.

Terry looked at you, slightly confused, like he was trying to place who you were.

“You’re Bruce’s kid?” he asked.

“Only within these walls,” you replied, half-joking, half-serious.

Terry raised an eyebrow but chose not to ask what that meant.

“Do you know where I can find him?”

You hesitated for a moment before answering, “I think he’s in his office.”

Terry was already turning to head upstairs when you stopped him with a loud, “Wait.”

“Aren´t...? Aren’t you the least bit curious about me? We’re siblings…”

That’s as far as you got before Terry cut you off.

“Listen, sweetheart,” Terry began, his voice soft but firm, “whatever just happened doesn’t change anything for me. I only have one family—one dad, one mom, and one little brother. Bruce isn’t part of that, and, well, neither are you. Sorry to put it like that.” He placed a hand on your head, as if to comfort you. “But hey, you’ve already got plenty of big brothers around here, right? Probably a relief not to have one more, huh?” Terry joked.

No, it’s not, you wanted to say. But you were too much of a coward to voice it, so you just let him leave.

Were you disappointed? Absolutely. Surprised? Not at all. Part of you had already been bracing for something worse.

You couldn’t help but let out a long sigh you’d been holding as you turned and headed for the garden.

You felt like you were getting better at dealing with it, bit by bit. The subtle rejections from your… housemates didn’t sting as much anymore.

At this point, calling them siblings felt wrong.

“No one’s ever going to say it to my face…” you muttered aloud. “But I know I’m not part of the family. I think they’re ashamed of me…” Your gaze dropped, tinged with sadness.

Memories of Dick shooing you into another room before his friends arrived flashed through your mind. Or that one time you overheard Tim talking with his friends, saying you were “just the butler’s kid.”

Well, you know what? Screw Tim. Since when is being Alfred’s kid some kind of insult? He could go take a hike.

And don’t even get me started on Mr. Wayne.

When you mentioned these things to Alfred, he dismissed them, insisting you were misinterpreting their actions.

You had no doubt Alfred loved you. But he loved the rest of the family too. You didn’t want to push him any further. You were terrified that if the time ever came when he had to choose sides, he’d pick them over you.

“…But I think I’ve figured out the real reason behind all of this.”

“It’s gotta be my powers. Otherwise, I seriously don’t get what I’m doing wrong. Though I wonder who told them about it... Since... Since that day, I haven’t used them.” You swallowed hard before continuing. “But that brings me to my last point.”

“I think Batman is my dad. And the Batfamily is my family.” You revealed to the camera.

“It’s not really a theory; it’s more of a fact to me. I’m not stupid. I’ve noticed how they all sneak out at night and how similar we look. Honestly, it’s kind of shocking no one from outside has put two and two together yet.”

“Sometimes I wonder if that’s why they exclude me all the time. But another part of me thinks I’m just making up excuses to avoid facing reality… I’d like to change things, but I don’t know how…”

You finished recording your video diary entry and switched off the camera, folding it up and setting it aside in a corner of your makeshift desk.

A few hours later, it was dinner time. For your family, dinner wasn’t exactly a moment of bonding—unless there was something worth celebrating in your siblings’ lives or your father’s.

For example, not long ago, you discovered something called a “birthday.”

It happened a few weeks ago, when there was a celebration in the grand hall for Steph. You hadn’t understood what they were celebrating until you asked Alfred.

They were celebrating Steph’s birth!

People did that? That’s incredible! Celebrating someone’s existence? Yours?

For a moment, your heart swelled with awe and hope. You never imagined there could be such a sweet custom in the outside world. But the feeling didn’t last.

Soon, other questions began creeping into your mind.

If it was tied to one’s birthdate, how come you hadn’t known about it before? Your family had so many members, which meant there should’ve been plenty of birthdays, right? Why were you only learning about this now?

You weren’t as clueless as everyone at school liked to think. If they hadn’t done it here, it must’ve meant your family had been celebrating birthdays without you—probably somewhere outside the mansion.

And now that you thought about it, you’d never celebrated Alfred’s birthday either…

You forced yourself to stop that train of thought for your own sanity.

But more importantly—had you ever celebrated your own birthday?

You had one, right? You were alive, weren’t you? That had to mean you’d been born. You should have your own special day… shouldn’t you?

This dinner wasn’t any different from your usual routine. Your family had different schedules for dinner, and only when Bruce explicitly demanded it did everyone gather in the dining room to eat. Even then, they chose times they knew you’d be busy.

You realized this one day when you finished your garden chores earlier than usual, just in time to join them for dinner. But instead of welcoming you, they exchanged glances with each other, and the meal went silent.

They were doing it on purpose—scheduling dinner at times they knew you couldn’t make it.

That night, you cried yourself to sleep.

You still wanted to belong somewhere, to be part of a family. But you weren’t human enough to be sure your friends would accept you if they knew where you came from. If they didn’t outright reject you, it would probably be out of sheer luck. Even your closest friends might start avoiding you, just like your family did.

You knew these fears weren’t grounded in reality, but the mere possibility was enough to keep you up at night.

You weren’t human enough to fit in with them, but you weren’t plant enough to communicate with them either, or for them to want to spend time with you like you used to with your brothers.

In your desperate search for scraps of affection from your family, you ended up neglecting the plants around the house. You didn’t know who the gardener was, but they definitely needed to be fired.

You started noticing how the natural glow of the plants seemed to fade when you got close, the flower buds would close up, and you swore the cactus thorns became sharper when you passed by.

Maybe this was part of your punishment for burning your brothers alive. You accepted it and moved on, but you still tried to show these plants care and love.

You couldn’t help but notice how much your relationship with the plants mirrored your relationship with your family. Maybe both situations were karma for what you’d done years ago…

Or maybe you were just starting to lose faith in forming any real family bonds with anyone in this mansion, except for Alfred.

On one hand, you did want to connect with your real father, but you couldn’t shake the guilt you felt towards Alfred, who’d taken on the fatherly role in your life since… well, since you met him.

Most of the time, you felt like you didn’t deserve him, or his care, or his affection. But you still loved him.

That night wasn’t any different.

Your father wasn’t home. Dick was in Bludhaven. Jason didn’t live with you, and neither did Terry or Steph. You had no idea where Cass was, and you knew Tim was holed up in his room because he’d come to the kitchen to grab his dinner and then leave.

Alfred was busy with his work while you ate your dinner on the kitchen counter.

"Alfred." He hummed, letting you know he was listening. "Do I have a birthday?"

He stopped for a second and looked at you. "That's an unusual question, Miss. But yes, I suppose you do have a birthday." Before he said anything more, he added, "However, we don't know the exact date of your birth. No one has been able to figure out your birthday for certain."

What did that mean? Were you never going to have a birthday? A special day just for you?

A day where you could feel loved…?

Before you knew it, you found yourself wrapped in Alfred's arms, suddenly aware that you’d started crying like the little girl you were.

"Oh, little miss..." Alfred murmured, "Please don't cry. It breaks my heart to see you like this."

You let yourself be comforted by his gentle care, curling up in his arms. But the comfort didn’t last long. Just moments later, Alfred’s phone started buzzing urgently.

He had to pull away from the hug to check what was happening. You could make out the contact picture of your father on his screen and the family chat that didn’t include you. It was something you understood, really; you didn’t have access to personal tech products. The closest you came to them were the TVs in the mansion’s common rooms and the video camera you fixed just yesterday.

You told yourself maybe they didn’t give them to you because you were still too young, and besides, Alfred did his best to keep you away from screens as much as he could.

Alfred apologized and left the room quickly. You wiped your tears and went back to your food, but now it tasted cold and bitter.

That night wasn’t any different.

But from the next morning on, everything changed.

You’d woken up with a better mood the next morning.

You got dressed and, before heading to breakfast and then to school, decided to record in your daily video what you’d been thinking overnight.

“So… Maybe I can’t help in a defensive way, but it occurred to me that I could help in another way.” You smiled at the camera, the difference between how you’d ended the previous video and how you were starting this one evident. “I thought, since Barbara and Tim support the family with communications, I could help by creating gadgets…”

“So far, nobody knows who makes the gadgets for Batman, but I have my suspicions that it might be Mr. Fox. He frequently comes over to our house, and him and Dad lock themselves in his office for long stretches…”

You cleared your throat and played absentmindedly with Doodle.

“I’m talking about biotechnological gear. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to incorporate real plants into battle like weapons, but I think I’m willing to use them in an indirect way, collecting cells and reinforcing certain areas artificially…” In your mind, you already had a ton of almost-solid ideas, only lacking the ability to bring them to life, though you’d need to put extra effort into the design of the gadgets.

Bioelectric gloves, a bioluminescent camouflage cloak, a pheromone detector, a fungal disarming sphere, a viral fiber bomb, and a smart hemostatic patch were just some of the ideas that were more developed in your head. You briefly explained each one’s function and how you’d make that idea possible.

You thought big, yes, and it would probably take years to bring those ideas to life given your current situation, but you really had nowhere else to turn and prayed that your father would be merciful enough to at least let you try once you turned eighteen.

“I won’t lie, most of these inventions were just silly ideas I had at that moment to help my mom. Most of these were originally intended to assist her in combat and defense. I spent a lot of time watching her act in battle and also seeing her develop biological weapons, so I have some basic knowledge about it, but I’ll need to study more…”

The last words reminded you of your busy day ahead. Checking a clock (that, by the way, you’d taken from the mansion’s storage and fixed up) hanging on the wall, you were alarmed at how little time you had to grab some breakfast before heading to school.

You quickly shut off the camera, grabbed Doodle, and shot down the hall toward the kitchen.

Alfred gave you a quiet scolding with his eyes as you showed up looking a little disheveled, but he let it slide and served you a plate full of pancakes. Needless to say, you devoured them like there was no tomorrow, and Alfred occasionally ruffled your hair after you finished one.

“I have some important news for you, Miss Y/N.” You looked up from your plate, giving him your full attention. “Tomorrow morning, another family member will be arriving. Master Bruce’s biological son, Master Damian.” Your mind short-circuited at the words “biological son.”

“What’s he like?” you asked timidly, maybe a little nervous.

“He’s about your age, and his upbringing is... quite particular.”

In the few minutes left, Alfred told you quite a bit about him and his background. At school, you couldn’t stop thinking about him, wondering if the story would be different with him compared to the rest.

But for your own sake, you promised yourself not to force anything if it didn’t happen. You weren’t sure you could handle any more cruel rejections.

The morning arrived painfully fast for your liking. Or maybe it was because you didn’t have enough time to process the situation? You weren’t sure, but as you put the finishing touches on your outfit, you felt, in a way you couldn’t explain, that he was already here.

As you left your room, you saw a new figure standing in front of Alfred. You timidly clung to his leg, peeking at the guest.

You hadn’t set any expectations about what he would look like, but you certainly didn’t expect him to look like this. He was on a completely different level, his appearance well-maintained, exuding both confidence and lethality, and he was a few inches taller than you. The only thing you could say you shared were the eyes—just as green as yours.

You realized that, so far, neither of them had spoken. Similarly, he seemed to be silently assessing you.

Swallowing, you decided to take the first step.

“Welcome home, I’m Y/N…” your right arm, which had been behind your back the whole time, revealed a small plush cat that you had hurriedly made the night before for him, even missing dinner to finish it on time.

A little uncertain, you held it out to him and waited for his reaction.

If you were right, as Alfred had told you, Damian and you were more alike than you expected.

He had been raised to be a weapon; like you, he was an… accident; like you, he had killed people; like you…

If your assumptions were correct, then the family would probably hate him just like they hated you. At that moment, you leaned against your friend Doodle, who, without you realizing, had become a pillar for you in facing your situation. You couldn’t count the number of times you had cried with Doodle in your arms. It was almost a daily routine.

“I heard you like animals…” you explained vaguely.

You noticed Damian hesitated before taking the plush with his free hand, the other carrying his belongings.

“What is this supposed to be?” he snapped, eyeing you sharply.

“A stuffed cat…” you answered as if it was obvious, but then you remembered your first day away from home—maybe he didn’t know what cats were, just like you hadn’t before arriving at the mansion? You wanted to retract the tone of your voice...

But then you witnessed him grab the plush with both hands before decapitating it with just his strength. The seams unraveled, and the stuffing flew everywhere.

Your surprise turned into anger. You yanked the toy out of his hands in a second.

“If you didn’t want it, you could’ve just said so, animal!”

Damian scowled and reached for his sword, which you hadn’t noticed until he unsheathed it. On your part, you could feel your powers surging back rapidly beneath your skin, a swarm of thorns ready to strike.

“Enough!”

You tensed when you heard your father’s voice, clear and angry. You realized that it had been months since you had heard his voice, and years since he had addressed you directly.

A little frightened, you half-hid behind Alfred’s legs. Your father had never spoken to you, and now, after all this time, he was doing so—but only because you had angered him. That couldn’t be a good sign for you.

Bruce assessed the situation with a cold look before speaking to you, clearly annoyed. “Y/N, if you were going to cause problems, it would have been better if you stayed in your room.”

You were shocked by his words, and you tried to argue. "But… I…" you didn’t know how to begin defending yourself, the shock of him addressing you after so many years was so overwhelming that you forgot how the conflict started in the first place.

“I don’t want to hear another word from you for the rest of the day. Go to your room,” Bruce cut you off.

You huffed in anger, but you didn’t want to make your dad angrier. You didn’t want him to stop talking to you forever. Resigned, you ran to your room, not without giving the new family member an angry look. Between the two of you, you both knew it was his fault.

You were so upset that you lost all interest in lunch and locked yourself in your room. Your room, which, by the way, was only a few steps away from the kitchen, and therefore the dining room. From there, you could hear the rest of the family gathering to give Damian a warm welcome, just like they had done for the others who had arrived after you.

You knew no one would say it, but there was no place for you in that welcome meeting, especially now that you had fought with the guest of honor.

You knew you’d have to distract yourself with something else. Your video diary, think about your next outfit to create, maybe make more toys for yourself. But even though you knew it was hurting you, you sat down by the door, listening intently to all the conversation taking place in the dining room.

For a moment, you closed your eyes and imagined what it would have felt like to be welcomed like that when you first arrived. Your head knew that many of them hadn’t been at the mansion before you, but in your world of fantasy, they had.

In that world, maybe you wouldn’t have been the product of abuse, and your dad would have received you with open arms, would have lifted you up and told you he loved you, even if your eye was defective. He would have told you it didn’t matter, and you were beautiful just as you were. He might have even let you use his last name and called him “dad.”

In that world, Dick would have made plans to show you what an Arcade was and would have been with you the whole time.

In that world, Tim wouldn’t hate you for no reason and maybe would play with you. Or that could apply to any of your other siblings.

In that world, someone would have noticed how hurt you were when you arrived and would have helped you do simple things like sit down, walk around the house, or climb into your bed. Basically, anything that involved using your legs. Someone would have pitied you and played dolls with you, or anything else. Anything would have been fine with you. Someone would have taken pity and started a conversation with you that lasted more than three words.

In that world, someone would have helped you decorate your room, someone might have bought you toys like they did for other kids, someone would have walked you hand in hand to your first day of school, someone would have noticed your struggles with schoolwork and helped you, someone would have comforted you when you saw your mom on the news, happy without you, someone would have realized your basic needs like hygiene and clothing, and would have bought you everything you needed and taught you, instead of Molly timidly instructing you on how to groom yourself due to teasing, and you turning the curtains from one of the rooms into dresses because you lacked clothes.

In that world, even if they didn’t know your birthdate, they would have made one up to celebrate it once a year, just for the sake of celebrating that you were alive for another year, celebrating that you were born.

In that world, if you had received just one of those things and died the next day, you were sure you would have died happy.

You opened your eyes, and instead of the fantasy world you had created, you found yourself in your now almost dark room, only lit by the natural light coming through your window, which reminded you that the only lightbulb in your room had gone out a few days ago and needed to be replaced. Your gaze moved from the ceiling to the faded and cracked walls; since your room was on the first floor of the mansion, it couldn’t be remodeled without the risk of the building collapsing. From the wall, you shifted to your bed and to what was under it— a trash bag filled with all your self-made toys.

They hadn’t been there before, but since you brought one to school so proudly and they laughed at you, you were too embarrassed to leave them visible.

Yes, they weren’t like the toys other kids had, yours were made with funny little eyes, wires, plastic or rusted metal utensils, everything taken from the mansion’s storage room. Still, you didn’t understand what was so wrong with them; they were cute and even funny, right?

Now that you thought about it, maybe that’s why you stopped inviting your siblings to play with you. You feared they would mock your efforts too. However, you didn’t have the heart to throw them away. Even though they were a bit defective and made from trash, they were yours, and you loved them. You went from leaving them scattered around the room to putting them in a trash bag under your bed, knowing that someday you would stop playing with them and would have to either give them away or throw them out…

Maybe that’s how your family felt about you? Were you just a funny little toy made out of trash? … Would they throw you away someday?

… Maybe you were thinking too much about it.

You lay down on your bed, ignoring your growing hunger and the lump in your throat. Maybe sleeping would calm you a bit.

You would have liked to say that you woke up on your own, in a normal way, but in reality, it was the strange sounds coming from outside that pulled you from your slumber. Confused, you approached the window to see what was causing the unusual noise.

Surprise! It was Damian, seemingly training with his sword, but the problem was that he was training with the very plants in your garden—the plants you had nurtured so carefully…

You watched, dumbfounded, as most of the taller bushes were cleaved down in a single swipe. You jumped out of bed and ran toward the garden.

The confrontation with Damian was intense. Insults flew back and forth, but eventually, he left the garden and went inside the mansion, leaving you outside with the mess he had made of your plants.

With gentleness, you began gathering the damaged branches of the shrubs, and making sure no one was watching, you used your powers to try to restore the plants to their original state. It was difficult, as you weren’t used to using your powers for anything, but after a lot of effort, you had managed to repair what was broken, carefully placing the branches back and gathering the fallen leaves. Slowly, the garden returned to its pristine condition.

By the time you finished, night had fallen, and you still needed to put the tools away. As you were finishing up, you felt a gaze on you. Looking up, you found your father’s indifferent eyes watching you.

How long had he been watching you? Was he concerned? About you?

You raised your hand hesitantly and greeted him with a small, friendly smile. Bruce didn’t return the gesture, and instead, he walked away from the window, leaving you with your hand raised and a face that had lost its smile.

Disappointed, you returned to your room, but stopped in your tracks when you noticed the door was open.

You didn’t leave the door open…

Quickening your steps, you entered your room, half-expecting to find Alfred, but once again, another disappointment when you found Damian inside.

It was already beginning to sour just encountering him, but what was worse…

Was that Doodle what he had in his hands?

Panic surged through you, and you ran toward him, trying to snatch your friend from his grip. But he was faster than you, pulling Doodle out of your reach.

"Give it back! It’s mine!" you cried, struggling with all your might to take it from his hands. Damn him for being taller than you.

"How can you not be embarrassed to have something like this? You’re a disgrace to the family line," Damian sneered.

"Give it back! It’s all I have left of my mom!" you shouted, your voice shaking with desperation.

Finally, you managed to get it back, giving Damian a quick jab to the shoulder. It wasn’t much, but it clearly irritated him.

"Bastard…" Damian muttered under his breath, starting to take a fighting stance again. But this time, now that it was just the two of you, you didn’t hesitate to show him the large thorns that emerged from your body.

"Touch a single hair, and I’ll leave you as a strainer," you warned him, your voice firm and filled with the weight of a promise.

Damian, realizing he was at a disadvantage, fell silent and stormed out of your room with heavy footsteps. It wasn't until a few long minutes of being on high alert that you were able to lower your guard and shut your door, making sure he couldn't come back in.

You quickly changed your mind. You and Damian? Complete opposites.

You were dumb enough to think that, because you were the same age and had similar backgrounds, you’d get along. But, honestly, you’d thought the same about each of your siblings, and look how that turned out.

By the way, you avoided eating anything plant-based, sticking mostly to animal products, but Damian was a vegetarian... The only thing that kept you both from tearing each other apart at dinner was the fact that Cass was there with you.

Things just kept getting worse with Damian. He couldn’t stand you, and you couldn’t stand him. Alfred had lost count of the times he had to step in when things got out of hand between the two of you.

You just couldn’t understand why Damian hated you so much. Maybe it had something to do with blood, because he didn’t seem to get along with Terry either. You often heard them argue, but Terry always shut it down, deciding to stay out of Damian’s games.

You admired him a little for that; you didn’t have that kind of control. You couldn’t explain it, but whenever Damian provoked you, your impulsive side just came rushing to the surface. At some point, fighting with Damian became a regular occurrence in the house.

Along with the constant scolding you’d get when it happened. They’d tell you that Damian had been through so much and that you needed to be the bigger person, not letting him get to you. Especially Dick, who would defend Damian and tell you how disappointed he was in you for letting him get to you. Yet he never once scolded Damian for starting most of the fights.

That definitely made the gap between you and your family even wider.

The only good thing about Damian was his friend Jon. Jon was the total opposite of Damian. Kind, fun, polite, considerate...

When they first met, your jealousy of Damian only grew. You could never understand how he could become friends with someone as sweet as Jon.

But your interaction with Jon was brief before Damian barged into the living room, shouting at you to get out and leave his friend alone. He didn’t exactly use those words, though. It was a much wider range of insults aimed at you, and he didn’t even call Jon his friend, but whatever.

The next day at school, you felt like something was off.

Most of the people you used to talk to were avoiding you. You didn’t even get to finish your greeting before they moved off to another room. What was going on?

When you got to class, it was the same thing. People were keeping their distance from you, except for Molly.

"What's going on? Did something happen?" you asked your little friend.

Oh no, what if they found out about your eye?

"Y/N... Everyone at school is saying... well... that you're Poison Ivy's daughter..." Molly confessed. "Is it true?"

Your world seemed to stop. You’d always known there’d be consequences if anyone found out who your mom was, but now that it was actually happening, your mind just went blank with panic...

... If you tell anyone that I'm your mother...

What was the right answer to that? Was there even one?

"Y/N...?"

You had no doubt that somehow, your mother would find out that the rumor about her child had spread, but it wasn’t you! But she’d rip both your eyes out before you could explain...

Both eyes? It was bad enough dealing with one and a half eyes, but none at all?

What if that wasn’t enough for her? What if she tore you apart again and threw you in the pit with worms?

"Y/N...!"

You didn’t want to, you couldn’t. She couldn’t. You had Batman as your dad, he’d protect you, he wouldn’t let that happen if you begged him a little.

... refer to me as Mr. Wayne...

... No?

How stupid. He wouldn’t help you, no one would. They’d probably prefer Ivy just took care of you so they could have peace with Damian.

But you didn’t want to die. Why? Why?

Everything started to blur. The voices became echoes, and the floor felt like it was moving beneath you. And... why was everything going dark?

Months passed, and things only got worse.

You didn’t know what was worse anymore—being feared or not being feared at all.

You were left alone in class, an outcast. Even Molly had to distance herself from you because the rumors had reached the parents’ ears.

They had organized a whole movement demanding that you be kicked out of the school. But as long as Alfred, your legal guardian, was still paying the tuition, they couldn’t expel you. Needless to say, your friends’ parents had forbidden them from interacting with you under any circumstances.

Little by little, the fear they had of you disappeared, and it turned into hatred. Suddenly, the bench where you sat was scratched and covered with hurtful messages. Your chair was sticky, and the place where your books should go was filled with soda...

Your things started showing up in the trash, destroyed. As you walked down the hallways, kids would stick their feet out to trip you. And there was a group of boys who took advantage of the teachers looking the other way when it came to bullying, and began sexually harassing you...

Sometimes they’d corner you and try to lift your skirt, claiming that you must be just as much of a slut as your mom.

You didn’t even know what that word meant.

Alfred went to the school dozens of times a week to complain about what was happening, demanding that they do something, but they just kept brushing him off.

Alfred decided that by the end of the school year, he’d pull you out of there and you’d be homeschooled. But for now, you had to endure the mistreatment, hoping that, with time, people would forget about you, just like your family had.

Because of the situation, your grades started plummeting. Before, you could barely stay afloat, but now you were failing most of your subjects.

Of course, Damian never missed a chance to remind you how disastrous and stupid you were at everything. You’d respond by sticking your tongue out and walking away to another room, but secretly, you started believing him.

Eventually, you were back to square one, with your only friendly interactions being with Alfred and Doodle again. You tried to comfort yourself by saying that now you had more time for inventions and clothes, but deep down, you knew you were just lying to yourself.

The bullying at school died down, at least directly. Now, they just avoided you. You knew you shouldn’t be, but you were grateful.

When things finally settled down, the idea of birthdays came back to your mind, maybe as a defense mechanism, without even realizing it. In your video diary, you mentioned that you had decided the day you arrived at the mansion was going to be your birthday. You were genuinely happy.

To make sure everyone knew, you created birthday invitations—nothing fancy, just the date and where the celebration would be held (the dining room), along with a cute drawing of you and the family member the invitation was for. You got a lot of resistance when it came to making an invitation for Damian, but Alfred insisted, saying that if you didn’t, you’d be doing to Damian what everyone else was doing to you. Sighing, you admitted he was right.

With Damian in mind, came Jon, so just in case, you made an invitation for him too. You made sure to deliver all the invitations in advance to everyone’s rooms or offices. For the family members who didn’t often pass through the mansion, like Jason or Terry, you asked Alfred to deliver them for you, and he had no problem doing so.

Fortunately, Jon came to visit a week before your birthday, so you caught him briefly to hand him his invitation.

His eyes seemed to light up, and his cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. "I’ll be there," he promised with a smile.

You smiled back and headed to the kitchen to continue helping Alfred bake cookies, unaware of the pair of emerald eyes that had noticed every detail of your interaction.

You looked at yourself in the mirror once more before heading to school. You used to happily put on your uniform and rush out the door. Now, you just wished the day would end as quickly as possible.

When you arrived at the school, you spotted your locker from a distance, battered and out of place. It had paint all over it, the latch was completely forced open and destroyed, and you could clearly see the marks of heavy blows. The inside wasn’t much better, your textbooks and belongings were broken, wet, and covered in dirt—completely irreparable.

You turned to look at a teacher lazily resting against one of the nearby walls, silently hoping for some explanation or at least a hint of indignation from them. Instead, the teacher averted their gaze and walked away.

You didn’t know how to proceed. What were you supposed to do in these situations?

Your nose began to itch, signaling that tears were about to come. This was the last thing you needed—being seen crying.

You ran as quickly as you could toward the girls' bathroom, taking note in the back of your mind of the older girls already at the sink. You locked yourself in a stall and silently let the tears out.

Well, maybe not so silently.

A few knocks on your door made you stop.

"Hey… Are you okay? Do you need anything? Maybe a tissue?"

You heard the dull thud of a hit followed by a muffled "Ouch!"—someone had reprimanded the girl who had tried to talk to you.

You didn’t know what to do. Words got stuck in your throat, unable to form coherently, but you made an attempt.

"No… I’m not okay," you answered in between sobs.

"Oh… What happened? Maybe we can do something about it," said a new voice, a little softer and sweeter.

You hesitated for a moment before telling them what had been going on.

"They bully me at school. They destroyed my locker and my stuff, the teachers don’t do anything, and my friends hate me." Your voice cracked, and you could feel the tears echoing down the hallway. "And I can’t leave until the school year ends."

You resumed crying, not caring anymore whether anyone heard.

The bathroom fell silent for a long while, except for your sobs. You wondered for a second why the girls had gone so quiet, but assumed it was because maybe they weren’t expecting this much drama from you…

"… Really?" asked a third voice.

You sniffled and responded with a quiet "Yes."

"That sounds really tough, sweetheart. I can’t even imagine what I’d do in that situation," the voice said, comforting you. "But I guess it’s what you deserve for being such a little bitch."

"What?"

You screamed in surprise as the door to your stall was violently slammed open. The three girls, older than you, wasted no time in grabbing your arm and throwing you against the tiles, leaving you crumpled on the floor.

One of them started kicking you in the stomach with force, while another quickly shut and locked the bathroom door to prevent interruptions.

The last girl pulled scissors from her backpack.

"Do you have any idea how much money my dad lost because of your mom’s bitch ass?! Because of her, we’re bankrupt!" she shouted, pointing the scissors at you.

One of her friends stopped her hand and spoke in whispers.

"Abby, what are you doing? If you hurt her, we’re screwed."

"I don’t care! I won’t be in this school by the end of the week because of this bitch and her mom."

The pain left your head spinning, and you were doing your best to keep your body from releasing spikes. You were sensible enough to know that would only bring more problems, and create chaos. Your dad had worked too hard to keep the media from finding out who your mother was. So, powers weren’t an option.

The sharp pull of your hair was enough to drag you back into reality.

"What if we give you a look that matches your insides, hm?"

The next thing you could remember was the sound of scissors cutting your long hair to pieces. You had spent so much time and effort on it because you wanted it to be as long and beautiful as your mother’s. Maybe to feel closer to her after she left you.

Now none of that mattered. Your hair had been destroyed, despite your pleas and tears. They didn’t stop, and no one came to your rescue. When they were done, it didn’t make sense to keep fighting, but before they left, they filled a trash bag with water and threw it on you.

"Remember, sweetheart, this is where you belong. This way, you’re more in tune with your outside," Abby laughed.

You don’t remember how long you stayed there, lying in the bathroom. All that filled your mind were the events of the past few weeks—how everything had escalated so quickly…

Your head barely registered the hours of class you were missing, but to you, it wasn’t a loss. It was a moment of peace after another—moments where you weren’t being tormented by the torturous silence from your friends, another second without hearing Damian’s constant insults about your academic failures and horrible origins, another second where your thoughts about your family’s neglect didn’t invade your mind. Your mother, Alfred, the flowers, the inventions—nothing. There was nothing in your head.

You wondered if this was what it felt like to be dead, if this was how peaceful it was all the time, like sleeping.

It must have felt like this, right? You never imagined it could feel so soothing.

The next thing your foggy brain could register was Damian’s silent figure, observing your pathetic state. You couldn’t make out his face, it was too much effort for your dazed brain, but surely he was laughing, right?

You didn’t know if he really hadn’t said a word this entire time or if it was just your fried brain not processing the sounds into words.

You don’t remember much more of that day in your hazy mind.

There wasn't much that could be done about it, according to the school. Since they didn’t know who the perpetrators were or what grade they were in, nobody got punished.

Alfred told you that you’d be skipping the rest of the week at school. He used the excuse that you needed to plan your birthday properly, to make it special. You knew he was saying that to distract you, and you wanted to thank him for it, but also tell him that it wasn’t necessary.

You wanted to tell him you weren’t thinking about what happened. Honestly, you weren’t thinking about anything. Reality had turned into a slow movie for you, you weren’t the main character, you were just a background extra in your own mind.

But none of those words came out. You just nodded in response.

In the first few days, you lost your appetite for everything. Your routine consisted of drinking water, then sitting in the sun, and then just sleeping. You felt guilty for not working on your responsibilities, but it wasn’t like anyone noticed when you did them, so you figured no one would notice if you stopped doing them.

By the third day, guilt caught up with you, and you asked Alfred if you could help him clean the mansion. He placed a hand on your head, your hair a bit more even now thanks to him, and told you that if that’s what you wanted, he had no problem with it.

Most of the family members were already busy with their daily tasks, which meant it was just Alfred and you. And, honestly, that felt perfect right now.

Your job wasn’t as demanding as Alfred’s. He didn’t want you overexerting yourself, just in case, so your task was to take the trash bags out of the rooms. The garbage truck would come at night, so it was better to have everything ready by then.

Confrontation therapy, you joked to yourself in your head.

But when you entered Tim’s room, now spotless thanks to Alfred, you noticed a red glittering flash in the trash can.

Your gloved hands reached in to grab the colorful piece of paper.

Your heart sank as you instantly recognized it: his invitation to your birthday. The drawing of the two of you holding hands, your messy handwriting, and the glitter you had added as a personal touch—it was all crumpled and dirty, torn in half, right at the spot where your fingers had been drawn joining.

Holding back tears, you left the room and passed by Alfred so quickly that he sensed something was wrong.

You went down to the base of the stairs, where all the trash bags were still piled up to be taken out all at once. You opened each of them, confirming your suspicions. There they were—every single one of your invitations.

Damian, Dick, Steph, Terry… everyone. You broke down in painful sobs after holding in your hands the crumpled invitation of you and your dad.

You left everything—gloves, bags, trash—just lying around. And you ran to your room, grabbing Doodle and jumping onto your bed.

You let out the tears you’d been holding in for days.

You felt Alfred’s figure standing in the doorway, jaw clenched and eyes full of deep sadness. You wished he could apologize for all the damage your family had done to you, but you knew that no one but them could do that, and even then, they wouldn’t be deserving of forgiveness.

“Why, Alfred? Why don’t they love me?”

You lifted your head off your pillow.

“It’s because of my eye, isn’t it?” Alfred could hear his own heart breaking. “I told them I can’t control it!” Your voice trembled at the end of the sentence, choked with a sob.

Alfred did his best to calm your panic attack that day. Poor you, without a family who loved you. But why couldn’t you see that you didn’t need a family if you had him?

To say he was selfish was an understatement. He knew that this improper thinking would bring more and more problems, and that the outcome would be even worse, but something in him made him keep you all to himself. As his only father figure.

Oh, his sweet little flower.

Since you found the reminder of your love and your longing for a family, thrown out in the trash, everything else that followed just stopped mattering.

Whenever you saw your family spending time together, you quietly slipped away to another room. If they accidentally bumped into you or asked about another family member, you'd ignore them like they weren't even there. You even started tuning out Damian's provocations.

Something inside you had broken in a way you couldn't explain. But it brought you a fleeting sense of peace that was always destroyed by something outside your control.

At some point, the peace you managed to find just wasn’t enough anymore, and you realized you needed to eliminate the problem once and for all.

09:34

You checked your watch. Alfred wasn’t home at this hour—he was out getting groceries. It was now or never.

You got out of bed and, walking quietly, made your way to the cleaning closet. You rummaged through the drawers until you found what you were looking for. A bottle.

Pesticide, the label said, along with all kinds of warnings about its use.

So, so soon, everything would be quiet.

“What do you think you're doing?”

The sudden voice in the room startled you, almost making you drop the bottle.

Damian, of course.

You decided to stick to your plan. If you didn’t respond, there wouldn’t be any conflict.

You walked past him, heading toward your room.

“I asked you a question.” Damian grabbed your shoulder.

You shook it off violently, removing his hand from you.

You weren’t falling for it. Not again.

“Oh, at least your brain’s finally doing something sensible.” He kept provoking you, eyeing the pesticide bottle in your hand and the damn Drake doll in the other…

…

“Hey, in that case, you won’t be needing this, right?” He snatched the doll from your hand. “Titus needs a new toy. You don’t mind giving him this one, do you? It won’t be of any use to you where you’re going.”

He dodged your wild swing. Predictable.

He avoided you a couple more times, then ran toward the living room, one of Titus’s favorite spots, completely forgetting about his friend in the house.

The chase lasted just a little while longer until you lunged at him, determined to get Doodle back. You grabbed one side of the doll, and he took the other, and you both struggled for control over the toy.

“What’s going on here?” Jon’s voice suddenly cut through the silence of the struggle, making you freeze.

You loosened your grip while Damian tightened his too much, and as a result, Doodle flew out of his hands, landing right in the flames of the fireplace.

“Doodle!” You shoved Damian away from you and ran to save your best friend, but it was already too late. He was being consumed by the fire.

Jon and Damian stood there, watching as you broke down in silent tears in front of the fire, helplessly watching your only memory of your mom turn into ashes.

Just like your brothers.

Jon started to move as if to comfort you, but Damian grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him out of the room, knowing that right now, both your emotions and your powers were a ticking time bomb.

Nothing. You didn’t have anything left of your mom. The only thing that wouldn’t go away were the scars she left on you, but somehow, that didn’t bring you any comfort.

You didn’t think anything ever could.

The rest of the week dragged on for you, but you eventually made it back to school.

You tried to ignore the whispers about your new appearance and walked straight to your classroom.

Unfortunately, it was Literature, a class you shared with Damian. And as luck would have it, Professor Lars always seemed to arrange the seating based on what she thought was best, and she always paired you up with Damian.

“The best student must sit with the worst one to maintain balance,” she’d say as her justification.

Damian was already sitting at his assigned desk, waiting in silence. Neither of you spoke throughout the class, but when you hesitated on how to answer a question about the book, Damian decided to break the silence.

“You’re an idiot,” he began. “Crying over a crappy doll…”

“Call it a ‘crappy doll’ one more time, Damian, and I swear, there’ll be a thorny root crossing your jugular,” you threatened.

“Hmph, your lack of arguments and your increasing violence just prove me right,” he smirked. “But then again, what else would you expect from the daughter of an unbalanced criminal?”

You slammed your pencil on the desk with a loud thud. “That’s it.”

Without wasting another second, you lunged at Damian.

“Take it back!”

“Never!”

The other kids crowded around, shouting “fight, fight, fight!”

Neither of you had the upper hand. Both were restricted by the crowd— you couldn’t use your powers, and Damian couldn’t use his moves without exposing his questionable abilities for someone his age.

From a distance, you could hear Professor Lars’s shocked gasp.

“Damian! Y/N! To detention!”

It was a total miracle they were able to separate you.

Professor William, your gym teacher, grabbed both of you by the arms and threw you into the detention room.

“You two will stay here until I fill out both of your reports and call your respective tutors, got it?!” he barked.

You both nodded. Then, the door slammed shut.

It only took three minutes. Two to make sure Professor William was far enough, and one to double-check.

And then you went back at it, this time, nothing could hold you back.

You extended your arm, letting it morph into a long, thick limb, more like a swarm of vines and thorns, and pointed it at Damian. He dodged it with the skill of an Al Ghul, jumping over desks and scaling walls with surprising speed, but you weren’t impressed.

Damian leapt to attack, but more roots sprouted from your legs, ensnaring one of his feet. With a flick of your hand, they yanked him down to the ground, slamming him hard.

You wasted no time and climbed on top of him, pinning him down.

“You don’t try!” you screamed. “You don’t try at all! But I do! I do it every damn day!”

You started to struggle with him, fighting for dominance.

“You’re horrible! You treat everyone like crap for no real reason! You don’t care about anyone but yourself, you and your stupid bloodline!”

You regained some strength and shoved the upper part of his body back into the ground.

“Then… then why…?” you trailed off.

“Why does everyone stick by your side? Why do they love you...?” Thick tears began to fall. “I see it! I see how you treat them!”

“But then why does Dick keep favoring you? Why does everyone give you all their love and attention? Every whim you’ve had, they’ve given it to you, but you don’t appreciate any of it.” You started hitting him in the chest. “I have to fight to get Dick to remember my name! I tried everything to talk more than three words with anyone in the family, but they just act nasty to me for no reason! I have to make my own clothes, fix my own stuff, and make my own toys from their trash because no one gives me anything!” You didn’t notice when Damian stopped fighting back, lying still on the floor. “I have to invite them to my own birthday, and still, they don’t show up! In the winter, no one notices when I disappear because I’m hibernating!”

“I could be dead, and if it weren’t for Alfred, no one would even know!”

You remembered your first winter at the mansion. There was a hole in your window, letting the freezing air in. You hadn’t realized that this time you would need more energy because of your injuries, so you slept with the usual amount of energy you always consumed. If it hadn’t been for Alfred, you would have woken up dead.

By now, you didn’t try to hide your sobs.

“You’re the product of something horrible, like me. Your mom’s family is horrible, just like mine. You’re a killer, like me. You’re broken, like me!” Your hits started losing strength. “But Dad loves you anyway. He won’t even let me call him ‘Dad’…! I… I… What am I doing wrong?”

“You get good grades, you have a whole kingdom to yourself, you have luxuries, pets, the best friend in the world, you have a huge family that loves you, even your own mother loves you! Mine tried to kill me more times than I can remember! How the hell can you feel so miserable, Damian?! Why do you insist on making my life miserable?!”

You didn’t notice the tears beginning to form in Damian’s own eyes.

“Is it the inheritance? If you haven’t noticed, detective, I don’t carry Mr. Wayne’s last name! The idea of being associated with me disgusts him!”

You took a breath before continuing. You could already predict you’d be hoarse the next morning.

“You don’t want me to be happy at the mansion, you don’t want me to be happy at school, and you don’t want me to be happy on my own terms! What the hell do you want from me, Damian?!” You gripped his shirt tightly, now stained with your tears. “If I die, would you be satisfied?! Because if that’s the case, just do it! I don’t care anymore!”

“Not anymore…”

You had no more words to lash out with, and if Damian had any to say, he kept them to himself and remained silent.

The only sound in the room was your sobbing.

Without you realizing it, Damian’s hand regained some strength and moved toward your face. You didn’t stop him and braced yourself for the worst, but against all odds, he gently wiped your tears away with the tips of his fingers and moved behind your head, pushing it against his chest, holding you in an embrace.

“Sorry.”

You opened your eyes, and your crying intensified.

Since you’d left your prison, autumn had never felt so warm.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ God, it took me a long time to write this chapter, the exams really hit me hard these past few weeks, but I hope the wait was worth it…

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ I read a lot of positive comments on the previous part, I just want to thank everyone for the interactions! I really appreciate them a lot! <333

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ About the tagging list, I’m not really sure what’s going on, but there are some people I can’t tag. However, if you want to be tagged, just let me know! Anyone who’s already tagged in this part, consider yourself tagged in the upcoming ones too!

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ I think that’s everything. I’ve got an event right now, but when I get back, I’ll answer some asks you guys sent. Sorry for the delay, by the way! The exams are taking up most of my time. Anyway, don’t forget that every interaction is welcomed! Love you all <3

Edit: I just realized I didn’t make the taglist—seriously, I’m so sorry! I completely forgot when I posted it. ⊙﹏⊙∥

✿ Taglist ;; @nervousalpacalady ; @bunbunboysworld ; @arevvv ; @pato-spoiler-27 ; @chibiduck ; @lostsomewhereinthegarden ; @qxuanii ; @tatsuri-zomushiki ; @minkyungseokie ; @delias-stuff ; @hellcatsworld ; @eyeless-kun ; @tacendxx ; @numbu5 ; @amisupposedtomakesenserightnow ; @lilyalone ; @cynniee ; @randomlyappearingartist ; @gamocity ; mydarlingelena ; @horror-lover-69 ; @totired0-0 ; @sayorine ; @kiarst ; @space1crow ; @max-axnina ; @welpthisisboring ; @teabutnerdy ; @mintynilla ; @kore-of-the-underworld ; @pix-stuff ; @d3sperate-enuf ; @unknownloner1345 ; @qardasngan ; @cooki3dough ; @degenerates-posts ; @lonely-nerd-sodaholic ; @lilithskywalker ; @rissareader ; @qetigasitashvili05 ; @sydneyyyya ; @lunaissleepy ; @joana7654-blog ; @melonmochi ; @redkarmakai ; @scarletdfox ; @lunamonkeypower ; @its-a-dam-blue-brick ; @lostsomewhereinthegarden ; @hoshi-is-ult-bbg ; @lumiqou ; @jjsmeowthie ; @yukinaabutlazy ; @casspen-starlight ; @fantasyhopperhea ; @pansyitcanton ; @vrsin ; @gabbiegabbie24 ; @toadtoldtragedies ; @vanessa-boo ; @shycreatorreview ; @wizzerreblogs ; @kitkatkitmeow ; @couldeatthatgirlforlunch ; @justanerd1 ; @totallynotanagent ; @sugerqueenxoxo ; @beepyboopbop ; @confused-they ; @shadowytravelerlover ; @bunbunboysworld ; @dodora-kkkjkjjjj ; @aryuunachigiri ; @ceramic-raven ; @orilei ; @shamelesspalacebailiffllama-blog ; @wpdarlingpan ; @d3nnji ; @f0rtunej

[problematicreblogger]

[UN]Fail — Chapter I, Prt 1: Lonless Girl.

⸺ SINOPSIS ⦂ Your life couldn't be worse than before. It was supposed to get better now, right? Right?

✿⁠ ⸺ Platonic! Yandere! Batfam × Neglenced! Meta! Reader.

✿⁠ ⸺ Chapters Guide! ; Prologue ; Chapter I, Prt 1 ; Chapter I, Prt 2 ; Chapter I, Ptr 3 ;

✿⁠ ⸺ Previous ; Next!

⸺ WARNINGS ⦂ Fem Reader ; BatFamily acting like idiots ; mention of sexual abuse ; detachment of a body part ; use of Y/N ; English is not my first language.

✿⁠ ⸺ MDNI !! I'm serious.

✿⁠ ⸺ Words Count ⦂ 7.109

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ This chapter was mainly translated by Google Translate, so if something doesn’t make sense, you know who to blame.

Edit: Sorry At the time of publishing this I didn't realize that there were a few parts in Spanish 😓

The orphanage caregivers tried to wake you up, but when you uncurled from your previous fetal position, they noticed the horrible bruises on your face and body, your clothes tattered beyond recognition. They were horrified to see your left leg swollen and covered in green, yellow, and purple splotches—especially purple.

After the initial shock, they quickly called the GCPD and an ambulance. Carefully, they attempted to lift you, but it seemed you were on the verge of regaining consciousness.

“Mom… Mom…?”

The carer carrying you felt his heart break at the sight of your lost gaze searching for your mother. Your voice was obviously hoarse, clear signs that you had strained it for hours with your screams and cries. How long had you been sitting there crying? How did they not notice?

Poor you, you looked so fragile, and you definitely weighed less than what was healthy for your age. He had seen many cases of neglect and abuse, but this was undoubtedly the worst he had witnessed in his years of service here. Your skin was several shades paler than it should have been, making you look almost dead. There were scars all over your body, from bites, tied joints, and carefully made incisions…

He didn’t want to know what hell you had been trapped in for so long.

With the sleep finally fading from your body, you had enough awareness to realize someone was carrying you to an unknown place, and you panicked. You struggled in their arms so energetically and forcefully that the carer had to juggle to keep from dropping you.

He understood your reluctance to be carried, and with help, he carefully set you down on the ground.

You didn’t want to go inside that house. What if your mom changed her mind and came to look for you, but couldn’t find you because you were inside? You’d lose your chance to be with her again…

Even with your aching body, you leaned against a wall to steady yourself and decided to stand firm like a post at the entrance of the building, waiting for your mom, who would come for you soon… or so you hoped.

Oh, what if she had come for you last night but didn’t pick you up because you were asleep?

Oh no…

Last night, you had been so overwhelmed that you couldn’t help but cry. All the events from just a few hours ago were fresh in your mind and soul, and you were starting to come to terms with what you had done.

All your siblings, the ones who had comforted you when your mother punished you, the ones you curled up with as they rocked you to sleep, who kept you company with their presence while you talked about crazy nonsense for hours, and with whom you had played and shared your life…

You killed them, all of them. You incinerated them to ashes, and your mother surely had to hear their screams in her head, powerless to stop it.

If you were your mother, you would have tried to kill yourself too.

Your powers were undoubtedly weaker than your mother’s; you didn’t have that psychic connection with your siblings. For her, the loss must have been so much worse. And because of you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall; you couldn’t, you shouldn’t.

Your siblings were burned to the roots because of you. Your mother had to hear them, unable to stop their suffering, and you were the one crying?!

You couldn’t. You had no right to do so.

You tried as hard as you could to hold it all in. You attempted to distract yourself with your surroundings, but it only made it worse.

The outside world wasn’t what you had imagined. It was dark, gloomy, very cold; you were scared, and you were alone.

The illusion that had motivated you hours ago had died upon facing the reality of the world. It wasn’t the incredible place you had imagined in dreams and fantasized about with your siblings. You hated it. If you had known it was like this, you would have never wished to leave your home with Doodle.

It was all so overwhelming for you that physical and emotional exhaustion had inevitably caused you to fall deeply asleep.

Now you regretted having done it; you had lost the chance to be with your mother again. How little idiot you were.

The attendant noticed how your body tensed and started to shake; he knew your mind wasn't with them now, he recognized a panic attack when he saw one, but he didn't quite know what to do; he didn’t know what was causing it, but still…

"Hey" the man next to you touched your shoulder, trying to get your attention. "Do you like animals?"

The question caught your attention. Yes, you had heard about some, and the only ones you had seen in person were a few birds flying overhead while you and your brothers were sunbathing. Your siblings…

You tried to clear your mind and nodded shyly.

“I only know about birds,” you told him, and made a confused expression upon hearing your own battered voice.

“And what about cats?”

You frowned. “What’s a cat?”

The man made a surprised grimace for a second, then told you to wait there and disappeared into the building.

You took advantage of this brief moment alone to wipe away the snot that had started to appear and to dab at the small traces of tears. A few seconds later, the man returned with a fluffy orange ball in his arms.

You frowned and tilted your head in confusion at this.

He kept his distance from you but knelt down to your level and carefully placed the fluffy ball on the ground.

The “fluffy ball” began to take on another shape in your eyes as it stood up. You could then identify the form of its ears, paws, and tail. It was something new for you, but you wanted to get to know it.

“This is Garfield. Garfield, this is…” The man fell silent, realizing he didn’t know your name to introduce you.

“Y/N!” you quickly indicated, but upon realizing how high and hurried your tone was, you tried to correct yourself. “My name is Y/N…”

“That’s a nice name, Y/N. I’m Liam, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You slowly extended your hand toward the big cat, who initially backed away before you could touch it, so you withdrew your hand.

"Let it smell you first. Animals often sense threats through their sense of smell. This way, it will gain confidence by knowing what it’s up against," Liam said.

You processed his words for a moment and nodded, trying again, stopping your hand near Garfield but not touching him.

The animal gradually approached your hand and sniffed it. You watched as his pupils dilated considerably, and he let out a small meow before coming closer and purring. You pulled your hand back at his (to you) unfamiliar behavior, but that didn’t stop him. He sashayed over to your right leg and rubbed against it, seeking all the contact he could get.

You just tensed up, unsure of what this meant.

“Is he vibrating… is he going to explode?” you asked the adult, rigid with fear.

He just laughed at your expression and gently shook his head. “He’s purring; it means he really likes you and enjoys your presence,” he explained.

He? Enjoying your presence…?

“…Really?” Liam nodded slightly.

You smiled at Garfield, and your whole body relaxed to the sound of his purring. The carer helped you sit carefully on the steps, and then Garfield seized the moment to hop into your lap.

You took the leap to pet him. It felt like petting a cloud! (Not that you had ever petted a cloud before, but it should feel like this.) And it seemed Garfield really liked it because he kept pushing his head against your hand. He snuggled into your chest and let you hold him in your arms, though with Doodle between them, you had to juggle to hold both.

You definitely loved cats.

Time flew by with Garfield, but soon it was impossible not to notice the huge cars that had parked in front of you.

Two adult men got out of the black and white car—one had a friendly demeanor and brown skin, while the other had white hair with some orange highlights and was wearing glasses.

You heard the last man exhale a low, “My God…”

You weren’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

Meanwhile, from the large white car, two other people dressed in light blue rushed over to you. They hesitated for several long seconds, exchanging a glance before trying to lift you.

You looked to the carer for any instructions or at least some information. He simply said, “They’re here to help,” before heading to a secluded spot with the men from the black-and-white car.

As for you, the helpers introduced themselves as healthcare workers and proceeded to explain each procedure and what it was for before doing anything. You were grateful for that; it helped calm you down and build trust. They even let you listen to your own heartbeat!

“Let him smell you first…”

“That way, he’ll gain confidence by knowing what he’s facing…”

Mr. Liam was very wise, you thought. He could have gotten along well with your brothers, the trees. No doubt, if Liam were a plant, he would be a great tree.

After a few minutes, the man with brown skin approached you to… take your saliva? Odd…

You saw him talk to the man in glasses once more before getting back in the car and driving away. You shrugged it off, downplaying the situation.

Time seemed to pass very slowly for you. The men in light blue and the man in glasses, who had now told you to call him Officer Gordon, asked you many questions. You could barely keep up with them to answer everything.

Even though you were just sitting there chatting, you felt very tired, as if you had been playing for hours. You wanted to take a break, you wanted to…

You just wanted to go home…

Alfred knew that Master Bruce was more irritable than ever.

It had only been a few days since a new crime lord had appeared in Gotham, one who was interested in taking Black Mask off the map and continuing his business under new rules. Now, gang wars, power grabs, and crime lords were nothing new for Batman to face regularly.

However, this individual had managed to evade every trap set by Batman, escaping numerous pursuits in such a specifically planned manner that Master Bruce had started to become paranoid about this new criminal.

Dick had been called in as backup to catch Red Hood, and Tim had been suspended from his duties as Red Robin until further notice after sneaking out last night to help Batman.

Red Hood had been showing clear signs of hatred specifically toward Timothy, which is why Nightwing and Batman decided to keep him out of patrols for his safety, but Tim had disobeyed that order last night.

And speaking of that… Batman had finally managed to decipher Poison Ivy's plans after she had been missing from Gotham for just over six years. But the mission had gone worse than expected, leaving the Batmobile with some damage. Alfred could almost feel Bruce’s migraine with just a quick glance.

Alfred wanted to help Master Bruce with everything he could regarding domestic matters and resources to lift some of the burden off him; he really wanted to.

But the moment he received a call from the GCPD announcing that Bruce Wayne's biological daughter was at one of the "Martha Wayne" orphanages, he knew that Master Bruce's day was going to be longer than expected.

He took the car keys and headed to the designated location. He didn’t bother to inform his master about his brief departure; Bruce Wayne would surely receive the same information from Commissioner Gordon in a few minutes.

Upon arriving at the location, Alfred didn’t need to ask about the child; she was the only little girl surrounded by so many adults at the entrance of the orphanage.

If he had any doubts about the legitimacy of this supposed child of Wayne, the moment he looked into her eyes, all uncertainty vanished in an instant.

She had exactly the same eyes as the late Mrs. Wayne, but the state the little girl was in certainly worried him.

She was practically covered in more bandages than clothing. There was a gauze on her cheek, her arms and legs were diligently wrapped, and he noted the cast on her left leg.

In speaking with the commissioner, he had been warned about the unfortunate conditions of the girl and her house arrest imposed by her mother. He could see it in her anxious behavior; although she tried to maintain her composure, the implicit fear in her actions revealed how scared she was to be in society, with so many people around her.

He assured the commissioner that everything would be fine and that they would take good care of the girl. The officer let them go after signing a few papers, just the essentials, agreeing that this child needed to rest.

Since the DNA tests came out… or was it DMA? Either way, from that moment on, people seemed relieved around you.

Everyone told you that you were Bruce Wayne’s daughter, as if his name had to resonate in your head in some way. When you asked who he was and if they knew him, many people began to sing his praises and talked about how lucky you were to be his daughter. They assured you that everything would be fine, that you would be in good hands.

To be honest, you had a vague understanding of the common family dynamics among humans. You knew that most children had a mother and a father. Even your own mother had some.

But you weren’t like most kids. Naturally, you thought your mother had created you like the rest of your siblings, even though she had once told you that you were made from an egg until you were old enough to come out of it. Your mother had said you were a gift.

But now, you were aware that your mother had lied to you about some things…

“… If you can do that, no one will be able to harm the plants or us. And we will stay together, forever…”

In many things...

Simultaneously, Alfred thought you had been quiet for longer than usual. Considering that you had been chatting enthusiastically with the orphanage staff and the paramedics about botany and the essential care needed for houseplants, he assumed you were a talkative person.

Alfred had dealt with four traumatized children before; he knew what words to say to comfort a child like you or at least coax you out of your shell.

Through the driver's mirror, he noticed the small, mostly destroyed Red Robin doll that was cradled in your arms. That doll had certainly seen better days.

“Maybe when we get to the mansion, we can do something for the young masked one,” Alfred began, glancing at you through the rearview mirror.

His voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and you followed his gaze to Doodle, realizing he was referring to him.

“Maybe…” you murmured. “Doodle didn’t have a good night.” You added, trying to justify his poor condition.

Alfred chose to ignore the latter part of your statement, not wanting to rub salt in the wound by asking you about your night; the authorities had probably exhausted you with questions already.

“Doodle?” he repeated the name, hoping you would continue talking about it. “That’s a very peculiar name for a doll. I must confess, it’s the first time I’ve heard it.”

He observed how your smile faltered. “Yeah… I named him that because it sounded funny…” It sounded as if you were trying to justify why your friend had an unusual name.

The butler immediately noticed how your tone began to drop on the last syllables, and you squeezed the doll even tighter against your chest.

Returning his gaze to the road, he continued speaking. “Uncommon things, like, for example, names, aren’t necessarily bad or strange. They’re special. They’re unique.”

Though you could no longer see his expression in the mirror, you had the feeling that Alfred wasn’t just referring to Doodle.

You wondered if Alfred was also an old tree.

After being approached by so many people who spoke wonders about your father, you hoped it would be him waiting to greet you upon entering the mansion.

But you were met only with an unsettling and cold silence. The mansion, though large and beautiful, felt tremendously lonely. Not in a peaceful way, but in the sense that something bad was happening.

Alfred seemed to sense your disappointment. “I’m sorry he couldn’t be here to meet you, but Master Bruce is very busy at the moment. Perhaps he can meet with you at dinner,” he tried to comfort you. You simply resigned yourself and nodded.

“In the meantime, how about we look for a room for you?”

But before you could move on to that, you heard the footsteps of at least three people. Your heart raced with excitement as you saw a well-dressed, handsome adult man descending the grand staircase. Somehow, you sensed it was your father.

He was better than you could have ever imagined! And the best part was that he had made time in his schedule to come and greet you! You!

Even though you could barely stand without Alfred's constant support, you tried to take a few steps toward him, reaching out to go into his arms. But he moved ahead of you, quickening his pace and slipping past you without stopping.

You froze for a few seconds, arms outstretched, waiting for a hug that never came. Disappointment washed over you, and with great effort, you turned to see Mr. Wayne talking to Alfred about something that had nothing to do with you, completely ignoring your presence.

After a brief exchange of words with Alfred, he turned and headed for the exit, giving you only a sidelong, critical glance before passing through the door.

You stared at the door for a moment before turning your confused and helpless gaze back to Alfred, who didn’t seem pleased with his master’s behavior.

“Miss Y/N, I apologize, but I need to step away for a moment. I must discuss a few things with Master Bruce.” The way he said Bruce sent chills down your spine. “I trust that Master Richard can show you the rooms on the first floor.”

Behind you, he looked toward the young man who was standing by the stairs, silently ordering him to accompany you.

“Of course, no problem at all,” Dick assured Alfred.

Once at your side, Dick gave you a somewhat tense smile.

“Hey there, little one! What’s your name?”

Even though he was addressing you, it felt like he wasn’t really paying attention, more focused on the other boy who was coming down the stairs with a scowl.

“Y/N…” you murmured so softly that you weren't sure he heard you. You were about to correct yourself when Dick interrupted with an enthusiastic, “What a beautiful name!”

Both of their attention turned to the third individual who had come down the stairs. A boy a few years older than you, who didn’t seem interested in being friendly, judging by the critical look he gave you.

You hugged Doodle tighter to your chest and nervously let out, “I’m Y/N.”

“I didn’t ask,” was his response.

A knot formed in your stomach as you watched the older boy nudge him lightly in reprimand. With a nervous laugh, he tried to justify it.

“Sorry, W/N, he’s a bit anxious to get outside; I promised to take him to the arcade today.”

Your ears buzzed with excitement at hearing the name of that wonderful place you had always fantasized about. Before you realized what you were saying, the words tumbled out of your mouth.

“Can I go with you?”

“Oh…” Dick looked at Tim, uncomfortable. “I don’t know, honey, wouldn’t you prefer to take it easy and, I don’t know, take a shower?” Dick left the comment hanging, but it made you realize your deplorable, ragged appearance.

Your cheeks heated with embarrassment, and you could only look away and nod, fearing that if you answered with your voice, it would break into tears from how embarrassed you felt.

Before leaving, Dick pointed out the darkened hallway where the old rooms of the mansion were supposed to be. He instructed you to choose one that you liked and make yourself comfortable.

On the other hand, Tim looked at you one last time, paying attention to Doodle before lifting his head and muttering a low “Hypocrite,” before he left and left you alone.

You stayed in your spot for at least 3 minutes, processing in your mind the number of significant events that had happened in such a short time.

“May I know what you intend, sir?” Alfred confronted Bruce once they were a considerable distance from the mansion. “I understand that Miss Y/N’s presence might not be comforting to you right now, but nothing can justify your inconsiderate behavior towards that girl,” he shot back. “I had thought I raised you better than that…”

Bruce sighed and ran a hand over his face, revealing the exasperation he had been holding back since he learned that the butler had returned home.

“What did you expect from me, Alfred? My son came back from the dead and is already a confirmed killer, and things are going from bad to worse with Tim. What makes you think I have time for another child?”

The news that Jason had somehow returned from the dead, with more thirst for revenge than ever, had robbed Bruce of sleep. And lately, he had lashed out at Tim, throwing in Bruce's face how quickly he had replaced him.

Even though he had strictly forbidden Tim from being Red Robin for a while, he disobeyed and snuck into the mission Bruce was on last night, and not only that, he was discovered by that same girl, and Gotham was nearly populated by half-human, half-plant beings.

He put the mission at risk and also jeopardized his safety. To top it all off, although they captured Ivy, the explosion caused several pieces of glass to fly out and severely damage the Batmobile. If it hadn’t been for Dick, who arrived at the last minute in the Batplane, they would have had significant problems figuring out how to get the Batmobile back to the cave.

The argument they had upon arriving was tense, to say the least. Without Dick, it would have probably spiraled out of control.

To be honest, he couldn’t sleep either, and Alfred knew that, so right now the migraine was killing him. But things came to a head when Jim Gordon called Bruce Wayne to inform him that… his daughter? was at one of the oldest orphanages in Gotham, lost.

At first, he firmly believed it was a mistake; he was in a deep state of denial. It was impossible for him to have biological children. He was aware that his "Brucie" persona was reckless, but that didn't mean Bruce would take it to the extreme of not using protection in his sex life, especially when he had to keep up appearances.

But Gordon handed him the DNA test results, and there was no way to refute that. It was his DNA; there was no doubt. When he looked at the other half of the DNA results, he had to read it one, two, even three times to convince himself that the name Pamela Isley was indeed on the other part of the report.

This couldn't be happening. He had never been with Ivy in either of his identities—there was no way...

At least, not one he could remember.

Batman quickly glanced at the photo of the little girl, recognizing her as the one who had been with Ivy the previous night. More than anything, he focused on finding her date of birth or an approximate age. She was just over five years old. That must have been why Ivy had disappeared from his radar for so long.

At that time, Ivy had been out of Arkham, but she showed no signs of being pregnant...

Unless...

Batman typed and sifted through the security footage from Arkham six years ago. As he suspected, it was during a breakout when Ivy had managed to drug him and then...

God...

As if dealing with Talia hadn't been enough, a few months later Ivy had repeated the act, and he couldn't remember anything, leaving him unsure of how deeply Ivy had abused him and in what way.

This time, it wasn't Batman who needed a break, but Bruce Wayne—the man behind the mask who had been victimized—and he couldn't recall any of it...

Maybe, just this once, ignorance of the events felt like a blessing.

And now the fruit of that cursed day was on its way to his home, likely crossing the threshold of that door with Alfred. He didn't want this—why did he have to have her?

Should he celebrate his mistake as Batman? With the potential risk that Isley might know about his secret identities?

“I wasn’t expecting anything, sir. You know that. But that little girl was waiting to be welcomed by a father when she walked through that door.”

"She has no notion of most of the things around her, remember?" In that last sentence, Bruce said, "She doesn't have the slightest idea of what a father is, Alfred." He hurried to refute Bruce, aware that he was losing his composure and starting to act irrationally. "I just…" he brought a hand to his face. "Ivy… She… I… God."

Bruce felt his legs fail him, and he thought he was going to fall, but of course, Alfred would not allow that.

The aforementioned individual thought it was time to go to a more private place to talk. Carefully, he placed his young companion in the back seat of the car and headed toward one of the alternate entrances to the Batcave.

By the time night fell, Alfred understood that Bruce wouldn't want to know anything about you for a long time, much to his regret. Although he understood where that feeling came from, he couldn't help but feel sorry for you. You were caught in the crossfire of two adults.

But they could not ignore the fact that you needed an identity, yet Bruce showed no signs of wanting to acknowledge you as his daughter anytime soon. But it didn't matter; he would do it when he was ready, but until that moment, you had the surname Pennyworth at the end of your name.

Days passed. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months for you.

Despite the long time, you still couldn't define what life was like with your new family… The line between family and strangers was too blurry for you. There were situations where you were left wondering if you had done something wrong on the day you met them. Did you perhaps stain the carpet with your dirt? Or maybe without realizing it, did you make some expression or action that annoyed them? … Or perhaps they found out about your eye?

On the day you met your family, you justified them thinking they had a bad day. It's nothing! Your mother also has bad days sometimes, where you learned the hard way that it was better to leave her alone. Maybe this was the same.

The next day you tried again to approach your father. You were fortunate that he came down the stairs to go to the living room (it remained impossible for you to stand for long periods, and even more so to go up the stairs, so you only stayed on the ground floor all day).

When you got close enough to him, you gently tugged at the sleeve of his shirt a few times, trying to get his attention. He, in the meantime, tensed when he saw it was you and took a few steps back, but still, you tried not to let it affect you.

"Hello," you greeted, trying to sound as best as possible.

"Hello…" but your father didn't seem to notice. "Is there something you need?"

You bit your lip, realizing that maybe you should have thought of an excuse before bothering him. How silly.

Timidly, you held Doodle up in front of you. “Do you like to play?” You offered him a smile.

“No,” was his reply, as blunt as Tim's, and it made you feel anxious.

"Ah… that's okay. Mom didn't like to play either," you said, trying to reassure him, but he didn’t seem worried at all…

Before you could think of anything else to keep him there, he was already turning to leave.

“Dad…!” He stopped in his tracks, and you feared you’d said something inappropriate.

Bruce glanced around before kneeling down to your level.

“Listen, I know this afternoon you’ll be going with Alfred to get your things…” You nodded enthusiastically, and before you could start rambling about how excited you were, he raised his hand as a signal for silence. “So there are some rules you need to know.” You nodded. “The first is that you can’t tell anyone I’m your father, okay?”

"Listen to me well, little killer. If you tell anyone that I'm your mother, and I swear to God I'll know if you do, feeding you to the worms will be the lightest thing that happens to you."

Your smile faded, and unknowingly, a crack formed in your heart, but you nodded anyway. Bruce continued.

“Outside the house, refer to me as Mr. Wayne. Do you understand?” You didn’t nod, but you didn’t shake your head either. You just looked at him with sad eyes. “Do you understand?” Not very convinced, you nodded. “Then say it.”

“... Mr. Wayne.”

“Again.”

“Mr. Wayne.”

“Once more.”

“Mr. Wayne!” you exclaimed, annoyed, and Bruce realized he had pushed you too far. After a few moments of silent assessment, he seemed satisfied with your response.

He turned and walked away. This time, you didn’t try to stop him. You headed straight to your room, completely forgetting that you had gone out because you hadn’t eaten anything in a few days, but strangely, you had lost your appetite.

Whenever you were in your room, you couldn't help but marvel at how big it was and dreamed of decorating it. But this time, you couldn't; your mind was elsewhere. You kept replaying everything you had done since you entered the mansion, but you didn't think you had done anything wrong…

You looked at Doodle in your arms before rage took over and you hurled him with all your might to the other side of the room.

“It’s your fault! Because of you, my dad doesn’t love me!” Before you could stop yourself, thick tears started to form in your eyes. “You told him something, didn’t you…? You’re the only one who knows…” Your voice broke, and you collapsed backward onto your bed, suppressing the part of you that knew Doodle was just a toy.

You didn’t see Dick or Tim again for several weeks.

Tim only left his room when he went to a place called school, and when he came back and you tried to play with him, he didn’t respond or would just say, “Stay away from me.”

You told yourself many times that he might just be having a bad day, but seriously? Is he going to have so many bad days in a row?

You started to think there was something wrong with you, but you didn’t understand what.

Alfred encouraged you to keep trying by doing things like bringing him food in the living room or to his room, and you did! But when you asked him what he was doing or if you could join him, Tim would just give you a nasty look, and that was enough to make you retreat back to Alfred.

You had been told that Dick didn’t live in Gotham, which is why you didn’t see him very often, but when he was around, it seemed like he was here for everyone else except you.

He spent a lot of time with Bruce; sometimes, they even went out with Tim to places where they didn’t bother to invite you. They showed up at parties and other events. Sometimes, you heard Dick giving words of encouragement to Tim, and you would daydream about him saying those same things to you, about having what they had. You wished you could go places and do things with Dick, that he would tell you the same things he told Tim, that he would hug you and pamper you like he did with everyone else.

But you couldn’t get him to remember your name. In all your encounters, you noticed he got nervous when he spoke to you and called you W/N. That made you realize that your family didn’t talk about you at all.

Months after your arrival, you met Jason. Alfred said he had a fragile relationship with Bruce at the moment; apparently, they had a big argument in the past but were trying to work things out.

Alfred always talked a little about each family member so you could try to get closer to them, and you really tried. When you found out that Jason liked to read novels, you first asked your dad if he could teach you to read. He dismissed you, saying he already had activities planned with Tim for the week, and by the amused look Tim shot him, you knew it was a lie.

Resigning yourself, you asked Alfred if he could teach you to read. You didn’t like burdening him with requests; you knew firsthand how exhausting his daily work was. You helped him every day with shopping and cleaning, but he assured you it wasn’t a burden, and he gladly taught you to read.

You read the first pages of the books that Alfred told you to read; the truth is that you didn't manage to understand much. The language was complicated for someone your age, and it confused you a lot, but when you met Jason, perhaps you could ask him to read them together!

But your first encounter was disastrous. From behind, you tried to get his attention by pulling his hand, but with just a touch, Jason gave you a very strong elbow to the head, causing your eye to detach from its place and roll away from you, but close enough to Jason for him to notice.

"What…?!"

You bent down to blindly search for your eye.

"Don't worry, sometimes it pops out of the socket, but it can go back in…!" It was fortunate for you that you were too busy looking for your eye to see the disgusted look on Jason's face.

"Ew, that's so gross."

"…I can’t control it," you murmured under your breath, sure he couldn’t hear you.

By the time your eye returned to its place, Jason was no longer in the library.

After meeting Jason, you met Barbara.

She wasn't your father's daughter or anything, but she seemed to be part of the family even more than you. You tried to console yourself by saying that she had known them much longer than you; don't worry, the time will come when you'll be as close to them as Babs!

Maybe the first encounters with your siblings had a few hiccups, but with Barbara, it could be different; she was a girl! You loved spending time with Alfred, but to tell the truth, you also missed some femininity in your environment.

When you met her, she was working in the living room on a computer.

Alfred had shown you an old photo of Barbara, where she was with Dick during their college days. So it caught your attention when you saw her in a very strange chair for you.

You stood by her side for a few seconds, waiting for her to get used to your presence and for another incident like the one with Jason to happen.

"Hi, I'm Y/N."

She turned to you for a second, nodded in your direction as a greeting before continuing with her work. "I'm Barbara."

"I know, Alfred told me a bit about you! What do you do?" With nothing but childlike curiosity, you tried to look at the computer screen, but Barbara didn't let you, nor did she give you any excuses about it.

You tried not to feel hurt by this, convincing yourself in your head that it was nothing personal against you…

“Can I ask why you're in that chair?”

Barbara turned to you with a cold expression. “No.”

A knot formed in your stomach, and your palms began to sweat. “Then… can I help you with what you're doing?” You wanted to grasp at anything that might lead to at least a small conversation with her.

Barbara sighed and rubbed her temples. “Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

Your heart sank, and you unconsciously muttered, “No…?”

“Well, that’s not my problem. Find someone else.” She turned back to the computer, ending the conversation.

“Yes, ma’am…” You turned away and walked heavily toward the kitchen, where Alfred would surely be.

On your way, you overheard Barbara speaking to someone on the other end of the line.

“Was it her?… Yeah, I met her.” She sighed. “Is she always like this?”

She was probably talking to someone in your family. You wanted them to talk about you, but not like this…

Not long after, you met Stephanie. By now, you had gotten used to being rejected and sidelined, so you weren’t surprised when she turned down your offers to do something together, like going to the park or the garden. She’d rather spend time with your siblings than with you.

You genuinely wanted to hang out with them, and even Alfred scolded them in front of you for constantly excluding you. That same day, they had to let you join them in the recreation room. They gave you a controller (which was disconnected) and tried to convince you that you were playing along, but you noticed the characters on the screen moving without you pressing any buttons.

It didn’t go unnoticed how the previously lively atmosphere of teasing faded when they agreed to let you join. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the screen, and only the sounds of the video game filled the air. Even though it was your first time seeing a video game and the closest you’d ever been to one, the experience was uncomfortable, to say the least.

It was clear to you that they didn’t want you there. You wanted to spend time with them, but you didn’t want to force them to include you; you wished they would want to on their own…

After about 15 minutes of being there, you set the controller down on the table and excused yourself before leaving.

You heard Steph speak as you exited the room.

“Seriously, what the hell? She gets all hysterical and makes a scene just to leave? That girl needs help.”

You gathered all your strength to avoid turning around and shouting at them. That would only prove Steph's point, and you refused to give her that satisfaction.

Eventually, you found yourself alone with Doodle most of the time. Of course, you had Alfred (without him, you probably would have died of boredom). Most of the time, you helped him with household chores, but there were things you couldn’t assist with because of your age, so Alfred offered alternatives like practicing your reading, writing, or drawing.

Once, he suggested watching TV, but when you turned it on, the first thing you saw was a news report about your mother and a successful heist at a lab. She looked just as you remembered her—beautiful and bold—and she looked good… She looked happy… And without you.

At that moment, all those months of suppressing your feelings and thoughts about her came rushing out, and you swore you were falling apart in tears. Did she not miss you at all? Really?

Alfred had to gently pull you away from the TV; you had been crying in front of it for at least thirty minutes. He stayed by your side until you fell asleep, and even in your dreams, you mumbled things about your mother. He decided it was best for you to stay away from screens until you were older.

That brought you to your current situation: writing and drawing in your journal. You thought it was a good opportunity to express some things that had happened regarding your family—things you didn’t dare to share with Alfred, or even with Doodle. Things about your mother, your disconnect from nature, the excitement and nerves that came with your first day of school.

You recounted how you had asked Dick if he could accompany you on your first day, but he said it wasn’t a big deal and that you would be fine. He ruffled your hair and walked away. You wanted to believe him, really, but lately, you didn’t trust your family as much. Not their words, nor their actions.

When the day finally came, nerves got the best of you, and you secretly brought Doodle in your backpack as a form of support. Surprisingly, many kids tried to interact with you. Kids your age, who also liked to play and talk, unlike most of your family. You felt like a fish in water, even though you didn’t understand most of what was being said in class.

It seemed like luck was finally smiling on you…

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ First of all, I want to start by thanking everyone for their likes, reblogs, and comments. I never thought this story would receive so much support and popularity in such a short time! Really, thank you so much, especially to those who left comments about the story and reblogged it <333

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Now, on the other hand, I had a lot of plans for this chapter, but the ideas came crashing in like an avalanche. So, to make something of quality while also including all the content I originally planned, I'm going to have to split it into 3 parts. It might take me a little while to upload a new chapter since it's exam season where I am, and classes finish at the end of this month. There are a lot of exams in a short amount of time, and I need to focus on that, but I’ll do my best to get the next chapter up as soon as possible!

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ By the way, I mentioned in a previous post that I'm working on a materialist. I might upload the chapter guide for this story along with ideas for some other ones I have in mind but won't be working on just yet. So if anyone wants to be tagged in it, please let me know in the comments!

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Speaking of that, there’s also a taglist to be notified about new chapters, so if anyone wants to be added, just let me know! But please be clear about which of the two taglists you want to be added to; if you write to me without specifying, I’ll add you to both lists. That’s all

✿ Taglist ;; @nervousalpacalady ; @bunbunboysworld ; @arevvv ; @pato-spoiler-27 ; @chibiduck ; @lostsomewhereinthegarden ; @qxuanii ; @tatsuri-zomushiki ; @minkyungseokie

[problematicreblogger]

[UN]Fail — Prologue: Use ful less Child.

⸺ SINOPSIS ⦂ In your attempt to help your mom, everything goes as wrong as it possibly can.

✿⁠ ⸺ Platonic! Yandere! Batfam × Neglenced! Meta! Reader.

✿⁠ ⸺ Chapters Guide! ; Prologue ; Chapter I, Part 1 ; Chapter I, Prt 2 ;

✿⁠ ⸺ Next!

⸺ WARNINGS ⦂ GN Reader ; English is not my first language ; Use of Y/N ; Neglect ; Violence ; Dark Content ; Torture ; Death ; Explicit Content ; Altered Reality Perception ; Gore (?) ; Ivy is a terrible mother.

✿⁠ ⸺ MDNI !! I'm serious.

✿⁠ ⸺ Words ⦂ 6.429.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ This chapter was mainly translated by Google Translate, so if something doesn’t make sense, you know who to blame.

When you were little, you used to talk a lot to the plants whenever you could. This habit mainly started because you wanted to imitate your mom, believing that by doing this, maybe, just maybe, you would earn some points, and she would start talking to you with the same sweetness and love she gave to your siblings.

You never complained about this; your siblings lived shorter lives than you, so naturally, your mom was going to pay more attention to them than to you. You just waited your turn, something you realized too late wasn’t going to happen.

The habit that started to please your mom ended up genuinely liking you. You'd share your random thoughts with the carnations, swinging the vines back and forth like Tarzan or sometimes using them as swings. The huge leaves of the unusually large ficus, along with the strong vines, teamed up to create an improvised cradle just for you, inviting you to climb in and rock yourself to sleep, trying to ignore the screams that seemed to come from the next room. You didn’t worry too much because you knew those weren’t your mom’s or your sister’s screams; it was actually them making the noise.

Your mom would be way too busy dealing with work to make a crib like this, especially for you, so that tiny part inside you that started to accept that your mom didn’t have any special preference for you is the one that began to understand why she cared so much for them.

You started to realize how these beings had their own actions, like tucking you in, their own lives—lives just as valuable as yours. From your mom's perspective, their lives were even more valuable than yours.

Little by little, you started to accept that your mom would never have time for you; she needed space to keep working on her big project (which, by the way, you were proud to say you were a part of!). So, gradually, you began to pull away from her skirts and replaced the silent chasing after your mom with interactions with your siblings.

You used to fight mindlessly with the cacti, just because they poked you when you tried to show them affection. But then you’d forgive them, telling yourself it wasn’t intentional—they couldn’t change what they were. So as quickly as your anger came, it would fade away. You started asking the wise, old trees questions when you climbed their branches. You began to chat aimlessly while feeding the sunflowers.

You didn’t like chatting with the red roses, but when you felt sentimental, you’d whisper your confessions to them about how you envied them for sharing the same colors as your mom. Sometimes you’d grab a strand of your hair and compare it to the almost fantastical reddish hue of your mom’s hair—nothing like your own color—or how your skin tone had nothing to do with her healthy, greenish hue.

More than once, you whispered your doubts about your appearance to the ficus, wondering where those features had come from. You confessed how you felt different from him and the others, knowing he resembled your mom more than you probably ever would.

Oh, but she loved you (not quite the same way she loved the others, of course), but you were sure she did!

She would pat you on the head when she saw how you took care of and watered your siblings, or she’d tell you what a great job you were doing when you helped her with her big project!

When you brought up your concerns about your appearance and where it came from to your mom, how you felt different, she would just dismiss it with a wave of her hand, telling you that you were the prettiest girl she had ever seen. She’d give you a kiss on your chubby little cheeks, and then there would follow a long silence, ending the conversation. You took that as your cue to leave the room and let your mom continue her activities, but after a few hours, the question would come back to your mind like a nagging itch.

But it wasn’t just that you didn’t look like your siblings; you realized you had different needs and care than they did.

For example, your way of being fed. Your siblings only needed a bit of water at their roots and sunlight to grow healthy. But a few times a week, your mom would lock you and your siblings in an old, dark room when it was time for you to eat. The first time this happened, you asked your mom about it.

“Uhm… Mommy?”

“Hm? What’s up?” She stopped looking around the room to look at you.

“I… I’m a little plant, right?” You started fiddling with the hem of your loose clothing.

Your mom rolled her eyes. “What else would you be, silly?”

“So, I’m not supposed to need light to grow?” You were really confused.

“But you’re not that kind of plant, sweetheart; you grow in the dark.”

Your mom closed the topic right there while leaving you locked in that dark room, all alone.

You couldn’t understand how this was good for you, but you weren’t going to go against your mom; after all, she knows what’s best for you. You shrugged off her actions, downplaying them.

You rummaged through the old basement for something to entertain yourself with until you found some pretty old newspapers and magazines, already dusty from the passage of time.

You didn’t know how to read, so you just looked at the pictures inside. On most of the covers, there was an image of a man dressed as a bat alongside a very colorful child. One of them caught your attention: in the photo, the two were on a very high platform, receiving something that looked like an award—a key?—while everyone around them seemed to be congratulating them.

They must have done something really good, you thought. Your mom only congratulated you when you were useful or when you had done something 'good,' so seeing so many people crowding around them just to congratulate them gave you a sense of what they had accomplished. Their parents must be proud of them.

Soon, as you flipped through other covers and photos, you realized these people performed similar acts. Like capturing people who looked bad or dangerous.

You didn’t know what to call those people; your mom had forbidden you from going outside, and if visitors came to her home, she made sure to hide you from them, putting your siblings as guards at the doors.

Your knowledge of the world outside your home was almost nonexistent; the little you knew came from what your mom would rant about into the void when she was upset, but even then, she didn’t give you much to speculate on.

So you just referred to them as the 'nice guys.' Whenever your mom locked you in the basement, you would spend hours looking at and relooking at the photos of these figures, asking yourself questions about them and about the outside world.

Your enthusiasm only grew when your mom returned from one of her trips to the outside world and brought you a plush toy of the colorful boy. But unlike how you had seen him in the photos, he had a mostly red suit, and the toy was a bit dirty, but you didn’t mind.

You thanked your mom many times for the gift and happily showed it to all your siblings. When you finished, your mom called you into the main room, where your sister was resting. She wasn’t the oldest; in fact, you were older than her, having helped your mom create her, but she was definitely the biggest of all of you, and that was saying something since she was just a newborn!

Your sister didn’t have a name yet; your mom was still thinking of one, but she paid more attention to her than to all your other sisters or even to you. She was definitely her favorite, which is why you never approached her to talk.

This was the project your mom was investing all her time in.

"What’s happening, Mommy?" you happily settled next to your mom. "Did you have a good trip?"

"Uhm? Oh, yes, sweetie, it went well. It was just sooo boring because I couldn’t be with you." Your mom picked you up and rocked you close to her chest. Your heart soared with joy.

"When will I be able to go out with you?" you said, part question, part complaint.

"Very soon, sweetheart. If you help Mommy do her job well, you and I will soon be free to go wherever we want." she promised.

Your eyes lit up, and the excitement of finally seeing the outside world with your mom was enough to make you wish to do whatever it took to make that happen.

"How can I help?" you asked excitedly. Your mom seemed to smile at this.

"Well… When your sister opens her petals, some people will likely come to stop her. What you need to do is distract them—just enough, sweetheart, so your sister can open her beautiful petals." Your mom pressed her forehead against yours and looked you in the eyes. "If you can do that, no one will be able to hurt the plants or us. And we’ll stay together, forever."

"But why would anyone want to stop your project? You’ve worked so hard on it!"

Your mom let out a chuckle.

"Because there will be people who want to hinder your path to greatness, or simply won’t tolerate you doing good." You processed her words and then nodded, understanding what she meant.

"In a couple of days, people will understand what it’s like to be in our shoes."

The next day, you showed your new friend your home, introducing him to your siblings, while your mom gave an exasperated gesture when you presented her.

You explained the rules of the house: what could and couldn’t be done.

Like not going outside, no matter how curious you were! Or being careful when playing, as he might accidentally hurt some of your siblings, and your mom would lock him in the well for days as punishment. You emphasized this last part, making sure he followed your advice, and then you showed him how you and your sisters were fed.

You talked, swung, and played. In your eyes, your new friend was a great companion, a good listener.

Even if he didn’t answer your questions either, you were okay with that; after all, your siblings didn’t respond to you either, so…

Anyway! Your friend helped you look for new magazines or newspapers to have fun together. Your collection of the cool guys was large, but you had seen those photos so many times that you could probably draw an identical one from memory, you know.

Rummaging through old shelves, you found some ancient photos and recognized one of the figures as the former owner of this residence.

A flash of memory hit you, reminding you of that day.

You were glad you had been even smaller at that time because if not, those vivid memories would still haunt you to this day.

The body of that now-aged man, with limbs positioned in such a way that even at your age, you could tell it was unnatural. Where the man’s eyes should have been, there were only two holes of blackened flesh. His nails were no longer where they should be, revealing beneath them the living flesh and blood that bathed his already wrinkled and bony fingers, like the fragile tips of a tree's branches.

His clothes were almost in tatters, and beneath them were large, fresh wounds inflicted by your mother and sisters, revealing layer upon layer of skin and then muscle. Your mother didn’t hesitate to sprinkle white powder on those wounds if the man didn’t respond properly.

The body of that man was so battered and fragile that you felt even your slightest touch could break him in two. His body was worn and bony; you didn’t know a human body could be so delicate until you saw him.

Even from your distant position, you could hear the cracking of his legs and the sharp screams of that old man. You realized how he almost had no strength left to do it, his throat was already torn and you were sure that the blood coming out of his mouth was not something that had to happen.

The initial intensity of that man's screams was reignited when your older brother, one of the oldest trees that had been with your mother and who could now grow limbs resembling those of a human and move like one, extended his wooden fingers into large claws and began to thrust them into the man's bony face.

Your small body trembled, and you covered your eyes as quickly as you could.

Finally, when your mother said he was no longer of any use to her, they threw him to the ground. A part of you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, naively believing that it was all over and they would leave him there.

How silly.

Your eyes widened, and your body froze. You could feel your temperature drop to alarming levels as your brother pressed the man's head with his sturdy foot, continuing to play with the intensity of his stomp until finally…

Pop!

You couldn’t keep your gaze on the scene for long before you vomited the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. Luckily for your taste buds, your diet consisted of water and sunlight, so there really wasn’t much to throw up.

When you finished, you became aware of the judging look your mother was sending you, while behind her, your brother dragged the body decapitated of the old man, leaving behind a trail of blood, fluids and some unknown pink mass…

You called that place the well, and it was where your mom sent you when you misbehaved.

You liked to think you were well-behaved because you were a good girl, not because you were afraid your mom would do the same to you or throw you back to the worms that devoured the man in the well.

To a normal human, you knew this fact wasn't that frightening, but for you, with your physiology being partly plant… well…

You left the stack of photos where you found them and stepped away with your friend, feeling uneasy with the vibe it now gave off.

"Uhm… maybe later…" you suggested to your friend, taking his silence as agreement.

You slowly backed away from the hallway that led to that room, then ran toward your sisters without looking back.

With only hours until your mother's project was complete, you couldn't shake the feeling inside you that something was wrong. Is this what your mother called a bad feeling?

You had no idea what it felt like to be watched. But you brushed it off and began to ponder what could be causing it.

Maybe it was because of your visit to that man's chamber yesterday. "Yes, it must be that," you convinced yourself.

On the other hand, your mother looked radiant today. You noticed how her eyes sparkled with ambition and joy, and her good mood was infectious.

You tried to stay positive; soon you would be able to go outside! You were filled with excitement at the thought of exploring the city where you and your mother lived.

She had once told you about an 'arcade,' a place filled with bright lights, video games, and machines to win prizes. It sounded like a dream to you! You often asked your mother what the video game machines were like, what kinds of games there were, and how to play them. She would respond vaguely if she wasn’t busy. She also talked about restaurants, the delicious and extravagant food you could find outside, amusement parks, movie theaters, and parks.

The outside world sounded amazing! You felt so sad about not being able to go out.

But right now, your mother was very busy with your sister, and anyway, after today, you and your mother would be free.

With silent steps, you approached the entrance of the house and crossed the threshold as quickly as you could.

You and your friend explored the surroundings like two intrepid adventurers! In your search for a prehistoric creature in the sky, you spotted a shadow in the darkness of a rooftop. It moved so quickly that for a moment you thought you had imagined it, but when you focused your gaze again, you caught the movement of a black silhouette.

You had no idea how long that... person? Creature? had been there, but the fact that it had been lurking since the beginning sent chills down your spine. Your mind suddenly connected it with the nice guy dressed as a bat in the newspapers, and you wondered if it could have been him.

You decided it was time to stop playing and head back home.

Anyway, your fun had ended about two minutes ago when your mother noticed you weren’t home anymore.

When you reached the entrance, she was already waiting for you, and she didn’t look too pleased.

She didn’t say a word; she simply stepped aside to let you obediently enter through the door, which you did.

As if the burning glare wasn't enough, the slam of the door behind you was more than enough indication that your mother was upset with you.

"Y/N, can you explain to me why you were outside? Especially when I told you it was dangerous for you and that I need you in here now more than ever?" she asked through clenched teeth.

“Doodle wanted to go explore…” you said shyly.

“Doodle?”

“My friend,” you pointed to your newly named plush buddy.

“Oh, I guess Doodle’s being a bad influence on you. That’s not good.”

Before you could process your mom’s words, she had already snatched Doodle from your arms.

“Mom, please don’t! It was my idea, not his!”

“In that case, I’ll punish you both.”

She grabbed your arm with a grip so strong you were sure it would leave a noticeable mark by morning.

In that moment, you started to fear for your life. Desperate, you began to struggle against her, trying to free yourself from her tight hold, but nothing seemed to work.

Your mother was getting closer and closer to the room where she had dug a massive pit and disposed of the previous owner, and the last time you checked, his body was already in advanced decay, with the worms and larvae having little left to eat.

If your mom decided to chop off your legs again and throw you into the pit with that man, the worms and larvae would feast on you, feeding on your living body, crawling under your skin through any hole they find or decide to make, devouring you from the inside out; this time, there wouldn't even be any eyes left. You were sure of it.

The pain in your arm had been forgotten. It would be nothing compared to being eaten alive by larvae slowly. You started to cry, plead, and scream; at that moment, you didn’t think that could make your situation worse—nothing could honestly make it worse.

“No, no, no, no, please, Mom, not the well! I’ll be good! Please! Please, please, please!” Your mother turned a deaf ear to your pleas, and when you realized she wasn’t going to listen, you started screaming louder, hoping someone would hear you. “Help, please! Mr. Bat! Mr. Bat!”

Your mom stopped dead in her tracks and turned to you with a look of panic.

“Bat? You let Batman see you?!” Her grip tightened even more on your little arm, and out of fear, you confessed that you had, explaining about the silhouette on the rooftop.

Your mom’s mind seemed to be racing; you couldn’t even imagine what she was thinking.

For better (or worse), your mom started moving away from the room that held the pit and headed toward a small broom closet. Without a second thought, she carelessly tossed you inside, and a moment later, Doodle met the same fate.

"You're going to stay here. If I happen to hear even the slightest noise from you, I'm going to give you real reasons to scream."

"B-But I want to help you, Mom. I want to be useful."

"Believe me, little brat, I can think of plenty of ways to use you as a distraction or bait, and none of them would end well for you."

You were doing your best not to cry like you wanted to, but your sniffles and hiccups were clear signs you weren't doing a good job. Your mother's words echoed in your head over and over, like a scratched record. You didn't have the strength to respond; if you opened your mouth, your voice would probably break in the middle of the sentence and you'd start saying unintelligible things, so you just focused on trying to hold back the tears.

Your mom started examining the small room, taking note of the tiny window set a bit higher than the door, and right in front of it was the broom closet. With a bit of effort, even you could climb up the closet and escape through the window that leads to the hallway.

It's too much risk for your mom to ignore. But now she doesn't have time to look for another room; Batman was already here.

“There’s no other way…” she murmured more to herself than to you. You could barely hear what she said.

In an instant, your mom lunged at you, sitting on your chest, with both legs beside you, pinning your hands down with her weight. With one movement, she grabbed your left leg with one hand and covered your mouth with the other.

“Take a deep breath,” she commanded, but you didn’t get the chance before you heard a…

Crack!

Now you understood why she had told you to take a deep breath. As your mom broke your leg, the air in your body escaped in one strong exhalation. It hurt so much that even your brain temporarily forgot how to breathe, and without that air, you couldn’t make a sound.

But once your lungs filled with air, the crying came quickly.

Tears streamed down your temples to the ground, where they vanished without a trace.

For the sake of your life, you tried to cry as quietly as possible, but damn it, try doing that with a broken leg.

Your head was all fuzzy from the mixed feelings and thoughts swirling around, combined with your sobbing.

You didn’t get where her good mood from that morning had gone. But one thing was clear—ever since you mentioned Batman, your mom had completely lost it. You couldn’t imagine why, but it was all her fault.

Your mom loved you, but because of her, she had become even more violent than usual.

It was her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.

You couldn't believe you had ever admired those guys. They were supposed to protect and defend good people, like your mom and you. Guess you were wrong about them.

But more importantly, if Batman and company were here, it meant they were after your mom. They were the ones who were going to stop her from completing her grand plan. They were going to hurt your mom and sister.

You weren’t going to let that happen.

You could prove you were still useful. You could show that, if you weren’t good as a daughter, you could serve as a guardian for your siblings.

Whatever she wanted you to be, you would be. You just wanted to be by her side; was that too much to ask?

With your last bit of strength, you tried to stand, but you couldn’t until you grabbed one of the brooms from the closet and turned it into a makeshift cane to help you walk.

Even with a broken leg, that didn’t stop you. With the help of a couple of buckets, you managed to climb out of the closet and squeeze through the window.

You let out a small scream when you landed on your broken leg. Luckily, your mom was busy tending to the guests.

“You’ve gone too far this time, Ivy.” You heard Batman. It was just the two of them, face to face.

“What’s gone too far is humanity’s ignorance,” your mom shot back. “Maybe now, turned into plants, they’ll have some empathy for the environment if they want to live.”

As your mom and Batman continued to argue with each other, you noticed a shadow behind the motor that powered the huge blue pole.

“Ivy, you’ve tried this before. Do you want me to remind you how it ended?”

“That was before. Back then, I didn’t have the missing component for the formula, an important variant for the equation. But now it’s different.”

Batman squinted. “Are you talking about that girl?”

“Touché! I see you’ve met my little one.”

Your internal alarms went off when Batman's partner pulled out a knife, clearly intending to hurt the engine. You decided to come out of hiding before it was too late.

“Mom! Behind you!” you shouted.

She turned around, now noticing the Wonder Boy trying to jump to attack her. Your mother's plants wrapped around him before he could do anything, but it didn’t last long before Batman tossed his smoke bombs.

Amidst the thick smoke, you tried to get to the engine and your sister before they tried to attack them again. You walked as fast as your leg would allow, using your siblings as a guide to reach the spot. In the middle of that, you could already hear your mom and the intruders fighting. Occasionally, there were stray batarangs flying by, or you’d hear some grunting or an explosion.

You decided to ignore all of that and keep going with your goal.

But you didn’t expect Batman’s partner to block your way. A large baton unfolded from his weapon belt and…

“Hey, doesn’t he look like Doodle?”

Now that you thought about it, you had left him abandoned in the broom closet. Great, now you were also a terrible friend.

You got distracted for a few seconds in your thoughts, which Red Robin took advantage of to attack you with his baton.

You barely managed to react, dodging his strike and using your makeshift cane as a defense, but of course, that meant sacrificing your balance. And, for God’s sake, this guy didn’t miss a thing—he seemed to know exactly what was happening to you.

He just needed to exert a little more force to take you down, which made sense considering he was twice your height and probably weighed three times as much. The poor five-and-a-half-year-old you, who only drank water to survive, couldn’t stand up to an experienced vigilante like him.

You tried to drag yourself along the ground, backing up until your back hit the large motor. Damn. You were cornered.

Your breath quickened, as did your heartbeat. You couldn’t let this cheap knockoff of Doodle catch you. You couldn’t allow him to damage this motor, and you couldn’t let him hurt your sister or your mom. You weren’t going to let that happen.

The preteen ran toward you with the intention of ending this absurd fight. He didn’t have time to waste on you; Batman needed his help, but first, he had to destroy the motor before the disperser activated and Gotham turned into a giant botanical garden, and you were just delaying him.

When Red Robin got close to you, your mind went blank in the panic. You simply put an arm in front of your face to shield yourself and closed your eyes, waiting for the impact. But it never came. Instead, you felt a new part of yourself, completely unknown, spreading in all directions.

When you opened your eyes, Red Robin was already far from you, in the same position—or something like it; you really couldn’t see him well, as your attention was drawn to the long, sharp thorns protruding from various parts of your body. You hadn’t expected this, and you had a feeling that Red Robin hadn’t either.

You felt it as a victory when he got up from the ground, and after one last look at you, he ran off.

With the threat now far away, your thorns began to retract back into your body, returning to normal. Your sense of glory faded as you felt a cold liquid running down your back. You stood up as quickly as you could and assessed the state of the motor, which now looked more like Swiss cheese than anything else. You didn’t think that was a good sign...

You had to back away several meters to avoid getting splashed by the peculiar-smelling liquid. You had no idea what you had punctured, but now the motor’s gasoline was gushing out like a fountain, splattering everything within a considerable radius.

You started to panic when the outlet it was plugged into began to spark. You moved away as much as you could, and your surroundings were enveloped in an unsettling silence. You could no longer hear the sounds of the fight or the voices of the adults; all that could be heard was the electrical crackling, a prelude to something truly bad about to happen.

The sparks finally hit a puddle of gasoline leading to the engine.

Boom!

You were thrown back by the explosion and lost consciousness right away.

Hiedra watched in horror as the explosion obliterated her grand project and set it ablaze mercilessly. She could hear it; she could hear the screams of her beloved children, calling for help, begging to be rescued.

Soon, the explosion reached one of the trees, and it was only a matter of time before her other children were painfully consumed by the flames. She could see them thrashing in agony, trying to put out the fire unsuccessfully, and then finally stop showing signs of struggle and die. The stench of their charred, fire-scorched bodies hit her. Nausea washed over her in that moment, but she couldn't react.

Everything around her was crashing down. Five years of hard work thrown to waste. Blood spilled in vain.

All that was left from all of this were the ashes of her children and her efforts. There was nothing left. And soon, this property would crumble to pieces as well.

She had to get out.

It was then that she seemed to remember your presence. You.

With a quick glance around, she found your unconscious body lying amidst the flames and chaos, and what was more alarming, the soles of your feet were starting to catch fire. She rushed to extinguish the growing flames before picking you up and getting out of there immediately. In the middle of the street, she saw shards of polarized glass scattered and some motor oil staining the pavement.

Ha, at least the damn Batmobile didn’t come out unscathed from the explosion. If she had the strength, she would surely laugh about it, but right now, she was not in any condition to do so.

Shortly after, she saw your body twisting behind her, with obvious signs that you were beginning to regain your memory. She remained in place, continuing to contemplate the disastrous ruins of her plans.

You slowly sat up on the asphalt, feeling disoriented and sore all over. A few meters away, you noticed a small black and red silhouette; you recognized Doodle immediately and dragged yourself until you had him in your hands.

You hugged him close to your chest, very happy that he had survived the explosion. Or did your mom take him out with you?

Speaking of her, you probably needed to apologize for this…

You struggled to stand up, and soon you felt a new sharp, burning pain in the soles of both feet, but you ignored it; that was nothing compared to the pain of your siblings being burned alive to death. And it was your fault.

You hopped on one foot, trying to maintain your balance until you were behind your mother.

“Uhm… Mom?”

She didn’t respond, nor did she make any gesture to indicate that she was listening, but you were sure she was.

“I… I’m really sorry, Mom, it was an accident…” you tried to explain. Your heart was beating so loudly that it resonated in your ears, a huge knot formed in your throat and in the pit of your stomach, and your palms wouldn’t stop sweating, causing you to fidget with your clothes (more like rags now) to try to dry them.

You didn’t see your mother’s strong slap coming, and you felt the full impact, causing you to roll several meters away from her. Something tore from your face, and you were sure it was your left eye.

In your experience in the pit, a worm had crawled through your eyelids and made its way to the back of your eye, eating the nerves that held it in place.

Your mother explained that that worm had eaten very delicate parts of your eye nerves; they were too complex for your young body to efficiently regenerate, so your body, as an immediate solution, only rebuilt a small part of those nerves to hold your eye, like thin threads supporting a bowling ball (even though you didn’t know it was a bowling ball, you assumed it was something heavy).

Now, if you hit your head hard, those little threads would snap, and your eye would detach from your face.

You dragged yourself across the pavement with the help of your forearms, feeling the broken glass digging into your abdomen and thighs, the cold pavement counteracting the burning sensation from the scrapes left by the explosion, not helping much with their healing.

When you managed to catch your eyeball, you quickly placed it in your empty underwear, making sure your mother wouldn’t see you; you knew how repulsed she was by your defective eye.

“Did you do this? Did you cause this?” your mother’s voice sounded nothing less than chilling. She approached you with short, patient steps, like a predator stalking its prey, savoring your fear before tearing you apart.

You were scared to answer; all that could be heard was your sobs.

“I ASKED YOU A QUESTION!” your mother shouted, gripping your fragile neck tightly and lifting you until your feet didn’t touch the ground.

You were scared to answer, but you were even more scared of what your mom would do to you just to make you speak.

You could feel the effects of the lack of oxygen and how your mother’s grip was getting stronger with each passing second. You knew she had enough strength to break your neck, and she was more than willing.

You nodded vigorously, confessing to your crime.

Your mother let you go, letting you fall to the ground. You didn’t notice the furious expression on her face; your head and lungs were too busy trying to recover from the oxygen deprivation.

She grabbed your hair and didn’t care to drag you down the street amidst your whimpers and pleas.

“Mom, please stop! You’re scaring me!”

“My legs hurt so much; I can’t walk!”

“Mom, please forgive me! Don’t hurt me!”

Every plea you made fell on deaf ears. You remembered walking a long way until you reached a tall building; there were a few stairs leading to the building’s doors, and your mother dragged you to them.

The entire way, she didn’t say a word, and now she was about to turn around and leave you there.

You didn't want that. You didn't want to be alone.

With your last bit of strength, you held onto your mother's legs and begged with your broken, worn-out voice.

"Please, please, please, Mom, don’t leave me. I can change, I can be better, I promise I’ll be better, I can be useful to you. Mom, please don’t abandon me, please, please, please."

"Please, I’ll cook, I’ll clean, I’ll do whatever. Please, Mommy, don’t stop being my mom."

Your mother pressed her hand on your head, trying to push you away from her.

"Don’t. Touch. Me!!"

With one final shove, she pushed you away.

"Please, Mommy, I love you! I love you so much!"

"I don’t love you! Who the hell could love a useless little brat like you?!"

"But… But…"

"'But… But…' Listen to me well, little killer. If you tell anyone that I'm your mother, and I swear to God I'll know if you do, feeding you to the worms will be the lightest thing that happens to you." She grabbed your face harshly and brought it close to hers. "I gave you life, and I can take it away." She pushed you away from her with one last rough shove and glanced around twice before striding off.

You curled up, crying in a corner, wishing your mother would regret her decision and take you with her, just like you had always dreamed.

"Mom… Mom…" you couldn't care less about the pathetic image you were presenting. "I just wanted to help… I just…"

You were living a nightmare. It had to be.

You just needed to sleep, and the next morning you would wake up, and everything would be like it was before…

It wasn't until the next morning that the caretakers at the orphanage realized you were at their entrance.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Honestly, a lot of this chapter was just made up as I went along, and I didn't plan most of it, but I still think it's a solid prologue. Sorry if you were looking for more BatFamily moments, but no worries, the next chapter will dive into Reader's time with them!

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ I still don't really get Tumblr, but I'd really appreciate any comments or hearts! <3

[problematicreblogger]

Thinking about how Bruce Wayne fucks in two ways. One, is to help him focus on some case, you look down at him and you can see the gears actively turning in his brain while he eats you out. You'd think this lead to bad sex but it's quite the opposite. While he can't figure out where Riddler is hiding he can at least make you come. The second way happens when you are all he can focus on. This is one is really you're fault. You just had to wear that dress to the gala, the one with a slit slightly too high and a plunging neckline but kiss and make up, I guess, although there is no way you'd be walking in the morning.

[problematicreblogger]

Will has such a pretty princess face that even with Matthew I still picture him being fucked lol. Specifically looking kinda detached and out of it like "well fine, I guess"

[problematicreblogger]

Every time a star falls, Hannibal wishes he had a womb. You can't change my mind. Hannigram is the only ship where I read fanfictions with mpreg tag because it's practically canon.

[problematicreblogger]

The Batfamily had always been distant, but after your latest mission, things changed. You returned to the manor, bloodied, exhausted, but alive. It was the first time in a long time that anyone had shown any concern.

Bruce approached you first, his words measured, his tone even. "Are you alright?"

But his gaze wasn’t concerned—it was assessing. He was making sure you were still useful.

Dick was next, offering to take care of you, offering comfort in ways that made you feel like a prize, something he needed to protect and possess.

Tim followed, always calculating, always watching. “You shouldn’t go on these missions alone. You know that, right?”

Jason was the worst of them all. He didn’t offer comfort. Instead, he just stared at you, dark eyes full of frustration and something far more twisted. “You’re ours now,” he growled. “Don’t forget that.”

They were suffocating you. After years of being invisible to them, they had finally noticed—but it wasn’t out of love. It was out of need, obsession. They were desperate to keep you under their control, to claim you in ways they had never cared to before.

As they each tried to pull you closer, trying to make you feel like part of the family, you only felt more isolated. You didn’t want their attention. Not now. Not when it felt like a trap. But no matter how you pushed, no matter how much you tried to slip away, they wouldn’t let you go. Not again.

[problematicreblogger]

Quick 1 hour study 🫶 you may start to run from the rain, Hobie

[problematicreblogger]

your boyfriend, damian wayne’s instagram

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tim drake is next! still taking requests :)

[problematicreblogger]

Bruce is so important to me

[problematicreblogger]

How to avoid White Room Syndrome

by Writerthreads on Instagram

A common problem writers face is "white room syndrome"—when scenes feel like they’re happening in an empty white room. To avoid this, it's important to describe settings in a way that makes them feel real and alive, without overloading readers with too much detail. Here are a few tips below to help!

Focus on a few key details

You don’t need to describe everything in the scene—just pick a couple of specific, memorable details to bring the setting to life. Maybe it’s the creaky floorboards in an old house, the musty smell of a forgotten attic, or the soft hum of a refrigerator in a small kitchen. These little details help anchor the scene and give readers something to picture, without dragging the action with heaps of descriptions.

Engage the senses

Instead of just focusing on what characters can see, try to incorporate all five senses—what do they hear, smell, feel, or even taste? Describe the smell of fresh bread from a nearby bakery, or the damp chill of a foggy morning. This adds a lot of depth and make the location feel more real and imaginable.

Mix descriptions with actions

Have characters interact with the environment. How do your characters move through the space? Are they brushing their hands over a dusty bookshelf, shuffling through fallen leaves, or squeezing through a crowded subway car? Instead of dumping a paragraph of description, mix it in with the action or dialogue.

Use the setting to reflect a mood or theme

Sometimes, the setting can do more than just provide a backdrop—it can reinforce the mood of a scene or even reflect a theme in the story. A stormy night might enhance tension, while a warm, sunny day might highlight a moment of peace. The environment can add an extra layer to what’s happening symbolically.

Here's an example of writing a description that hopefully feels alive and realistic, without dragging the action:

The bookstore was tucked between two brick buildings, its faded sign creaking with every gust of wind. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of worn paper and dust, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee from a corner café down the street. The wooden floorboards groaned as Ella wandered between the shelves, her fingertips brushing the spines of forgotten novels. Somewhere in the back, the soft sound of jazz crackled from an ancient radio.

Hope these tips help in your writing!

[problematicreblogger]

i know you want me freak

[problematicreblogger]

crazy how fanfic authors drop the most beautiful and gorgeous pieces of work ever, leaving you speechless and sobbing at three in the morning as you quietly contemplate the masterpiece you just read

and they don’t get paid for it they just do it because they’re having fun and they want to share their joy with you

like I would literally die for all of you fanfic authors out there reblog to swear your allegiance to fanfic authors

[problematicreblogger]

[problematicreblogger]

If you think about "hunting styles" when it comes to Will and Hannibal, there are some notable differences. Hannibal hunts like a predator. Sits in the tall grass, observes for a long while and one day he decides to attack.

Will on the other hand, hunts the same way he fishes. He never attacks. He always lures people right into his arms. He lured Hannibal. He lured Freddie into his shed to make her part of the plan. He lured Chilton into getting himself fried. He lured Chiyoh into killing the prisoner.

This is definitely something to explore in the post twotl fics. Hannibal and Will learning about their differences when it comes to killing.

[problematicreblogger]

"Do you not feel holy, Father?”

With a sigh, Hannibal hesitantly confessed with an almost instinctual bow to William, “I’ve felt myself turning towards sin recently, my Lord, despite my better knowledge.”

“What sin is that, my child?”

Hannibal swallowed firmly with a mouth suddenly barren of moisture. “I’ve considered breaking my vow of chastity. I met a woman in the neighborhood, a church goer. She was kind and we conversed well. She asked me over for dinner tonight. I admit, my intentions weren’t completely innocent when I accepted her invitation.” ----

Like Hannigram? Religious symbolism? SEX??? (and betrayal, of course)

Then you might like my first fanfiction, Glory of the Lord. I will be updating it weekly/monthly, with new chapters soon to come!

[problematicreblogger]

my emotional support fathers are framing each other for series of murders