#Reconciliation

[aventurineswife]

Angst prompt; Aventurine, Dr. Ratio n Sunday are frustrated over work, someone, etc and reader tries cheering them up but they snap and tell them they’re being annoying

This makes reader all quiet, losing their spark. So reader waddles away sadly and now they’re guilty and try to make up with cuddles, kisses, a home cooked meal or a simple I love you </3

Aching Hearts and Soft Apologies

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Established Relationship, Apologies, Soft Moments, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slight Miscommunication, Reconciliation, Cuddles, Kisses, Home-Cooked Meal.

Warnings: Hurtful Words, Temporary Emotional Distress, Guilt, Insecurity, Slight Self-Doubt, Mentions of Work-Related Stress.

A/N: why does this sound like me? 💔

Aventurine had always worn stress like an accessory—casual, effortless, and hidden beneath his usual playful smirk. But tonight, as he sat hunched over his desk, fingers digging into his temples, you could see the exhaustion bleeding through the cracks.

"Hey, Churin," you chirped, placing a cup of his favorite spiced tea beside him. "Thought you could use a break. Maybe we could—"

"Not now," he interrupted, voice clipped. His eyes flickered toward you, then back to his paperwork.

You hesitated, trying again, your hands gently squeezing his shoulders. "Come on, you know stress wrinkles aren’t a good look on you. Let’s do something fun. Dice game? Or maybe I can tell you a joke?"

The chair scraped against the floor as Aventurine abruptly stood, his hands slamming the table. "For the love of the cosmos, [Name], just stop. You're being annoying."

The words struck deeper than any calculated gamble he had ever played. You felt your heart drop, your usual spark dimming.

"Oh... okay." Your voice was small. "Sorry for bothering you."

You turned and left, a pit forming in your stomach as you shuffled away.

Aventurine stared after you, the weight of his words settling in like a losing bet. Guilt clawed at him. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

Minutes later, you felt a familiar presence behind you. Aventurine knelt beside the couch where you curled up, his arms slowly circling your waist.

"Alright, alright. I was a total bastard back there," he murmured against your shoulder. "I didn't mean it. You're not annoying. You’re... the only person who actually makes this ridiculous game worth playing."

You didn’t respond immediately, but when his arms tightened around you, pressing a gentle kiss to the nape of your neck, your resolve wavered.

"Come back with me? I’ll even let you win at dice." He grinned, tilting your chin up. "...Not really, but I'll make you dinner to make up for it."

His eyes searched yours, genuine regret shining through. With a small sigh, you relented, leaning into his embrace.

"Fine. But you're cooking and doing the dishes."

Aventurine chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Deal."

Ratio was uncharacteristically silent as he stood by his desk, books and papers strewn about in a disorganized mess. You knew better than to interrupt him when he was deep in thought, but the tension in his shoulders, the tight clench of his jaw—it wasn’t just work that had him like this.

"Hey," you said softly, placing a hand on his arm. "You’ve been at this for hours. Maybe a break would help?"

He exhaled sharply, shrugging your touch away. "Not now, [Name]."

You frowned, undeterred. "At least eat something? I made your favorite—"

"Enough," he snapped, turning to face you, eyes sharp and cold. "Why must you persist in interrupting me? You’re being insufferable."

Your breath hitched. The warmth in your chest was replaced by something cold, something heavy.

"Oh... I see." You took a small step back, voice barely above a whisper. "Sorry for... being insufferable."

You turned on your heel and left, too embarrassed to face him any longer.

The room was quiet—too quiet. Ratio sighed, running a hand over his face. He had dealt with frustrating people before, dismissed countless distractions. But this? This wasn’t just anyone.

You were gone, and with you, the light that usually softened his world.

Not long after, you heard soft footsteps behind you. A pair of arms wrapped around your waist, Ratio’s forehead resting against your shoulder.

"I was out of line." His voice was lower now, calmer. "I didn't mean that. My frustration... it was never meant for you."

You swallowed, still hurt, but his warmth was grounding.

"You called me insufferable."

His hold tightened, a rare vulnerability in his touch. "I was wrong. You’re the one person who brings me clarity when everything else feels like noise. I don’t deserve you, but... please don’t pull away."

You sighed, placing a hand over his. "Make it up to me."

Ratio smirked against your skin. "How about dinner? Cooked by yours truly."

You blinked. "You can cook?"

"I will cook. No guarantees on the quality, but it's the thought that counts, isn’t it?"

You let out a small laugh, finally turning to face him. "Fine. But if you burn anything, I’m taking over."

"Fair trade."

Sunday had always been composed, a man of measured words and quiet wisdom. But tonight, as he sat on the edge of his bed, wings trembling ever so slightly, you knew something was off.

"Sunday?" you called gently. "You’ve been silent all evening. Do you want to talk?"

He barely looked up. "No."

You bit your lip. "Maybe some music? Or I can bring you some tea? I just want to help."

His jaw tightened. "[Name]. Stop."

You flinched. "I—"

"You're being too much. I need silence right now."

The words hit like a cold wind, hollowing out your chest. You nodded quickly, swallowing past the lump in your throat.

"Okay. Got it."

You left, shutting the door softly behind you.

The silence he had wished for stretched unbearably. And yet, rather than relief, all he felt was a suffocating emptiness.

Minutes passed before he found you curled up in the corner of the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest. Guilt weighed heavy on his shoulders as he approached, his wings drooping slightly.

"I was unkind," he murmured, kneeling beside you. "You didn’t deserve that."

You stayed quiet, but your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of your pillow.

Sunday hesitated before slowly, carefully wrapping his arms around you, creating a cocoon of warmth.

"Your presence is a gift, not a burden," he whispered. "Please don’t let my own frustrations make you doubt that."

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you just let yourself be held. Then, you sighed, leaning into his embrace.

"You could’ve just said you needed space."

"I know." He pressed a kiss to your hair. "I will do better."

"Promise?"

Sunday smiled, cupping your cheek. "On my name. And to prove it... I'll make you breakfast in the morning."

Your eyes softened. "You really think food fixes everything?"

"No. But maybe love does."

[solelifauna]

Neglectful Batfam & Reader Fic (Commission)

This was a wonderful 23k-word commission for @galaxypillar! Thank you for your patience and your support! I hope you all like this.

BTW, the reader is trans and uses she/he pronouns. I am not trans, and I could never understand the struggles and experiences of trans people. This was my first time writing a trans reader or a reader with any other pronouns other than she/her. i want to do this properly in the future so please, let me know any tips, tricks, things I did wrong, or need to consider!

That's all!

For the first seven years of your life, the world was small but enough. You had your mother, whose warmth seemed to fill every corner of your little apartment, and though money was always tight, she never let you feel like anything was missing. Your life was simple but safe, filled with laughter and bedtime stories. Your mother worked hard, her love more than enough to make up for anything you lacked, and you never thought to question why your father wasn’t in your life. You didn't care, you had your mother, and that was enough. 

But everything changed the day you lost her.

The day itself was blurred in your memory, pieced together only from fragments and what you overheard from police officers and neighbors. Your mother had been at work, like any other day. But this time, a villain struck, an attack so sudden and senseless. The next thing you know she was just–gone, and there was nothing left for you. No goodbye, no explanations, just an emptiness that felt like it swallowed you whole.

Suddenly, you were alone in a world that had once been filled with warmth and safety. And with that came a new fear, one you hadn’t known before: the fear of being put into Gotham’s foster care system. You’d heard stories from other kids at school, stories about children who went in and never came out, about how it was worse than anything else Gotham could throw at you. You lay awake at night, terrified that your life was about to become something even darker than the nightmare you were living.

And then, out of nowhere, a twist of fate arrived. Gotham’s social services had identified a paternal match, and it wasn’t just any match – it was Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s most famous billionaire. The knowledge left you in shock. Bruce Wayne, the man known for adopting so many children, the one with a heart big enough to open his home to anyone in need—was your father? A flicker of hope bloomed inside you. Perhaps, despite the loss, you might find a family again. Perhaps, this new family could fill the emptiness left by your mother’s death.

The day you arrived at Wayne Manor felt surreal. The mansion loomed large and imposing, its vast halls stretching endlessly. Everything about it seemed to emphasize just how small you were, how out of place you felt. Bruce was there to meet you, his face a mask of neutrality. He welcomed you politely, but his eyes never softened, never gave away anything beyond a sense of obligation. You told yourself it was nerves, that maybe he needed time to adjust to this new arrangement, just like you did.

But the days passed, and your attempts to connect with your newfound family were met with cold indifference.

Dick, the oldest, was the most polite of all, but he kept a certain distance, always on his way somewhere, always too busy to spend time with you. Jason barely acknowledged you at all, his expression always guarded, as if you were nothing more than a nuisance. Tim, on the other hand, would give you short, distracted answers when you tried to talk, his eyes flickering back to whatever he was working on, never bothering to really listen. Cass was quiet, and while she wasn’t mean, she simply seemed to act like you weren’t there. And Damian… Damian made it clear that he didn’t think you belonged there. He’d look at you with narrowed eyes, muttering under his breath about you being an “intruder.”

And then there was Bruce. Any hope you had of bonding with him faded as the days went on. He barely looked at you, his interactions brief and distant. If he was in the room, he seemed to glance right past you, treating you like an afterthought, a mere shadow in his world. The warmth you’d seen in his interactions with the others, that spark of fatherly affection, was nowhere to be found when it came to you.

The only person who showed you any real kindness was Alfred, the family butler. He’d sit with you in the evenings, gently coaxing you into conversation, his comforting presence a balm to your aching heart. Sometimes, after a particularly difficult day, you’d curl up in his arms, seeking the solace you could no longer find anywhere else. He’d hold you, whispering kind words, doing his best to fill the void your mother had left.

Still, the loneliness gnawed at you, an ever-present ache you couldn’t shake. You’d watch your father and your siblings from afar, their laughter and camaraderie feeling like a cruel reminder of everything you couldn’t have. You tried to join them, to share in their jokes, their stories, but your attempts were always brushed off or ignored.

You began spending more and more time in solitude, wandering the halls of the manor, searching for something to anchor you, something to make you feel like you belonged. But each room only reminded you of how out of place you were, how you were nothing more than a stranger in a house that should have been your home.

At night, you’d lie awake, tears staining your pillow as memories of your mother washed over you. You longed for her voice, her touch, the gentle words that made you feel safe and loved. In those moments, the weight of grief felt unbearable, a crushing loneliness that made you want to scream, to break the silence that filled every corner of the manor.

But even as you tried to mourn, anger began to simmer beneath the surface. You couldn’t understand why your mother had to die, why a villain had chosen to destroy the one person who mattered most to you. And as your family continued to ignore you, that anger grew. It wasn’t just about the villain who’d taken her life – it was about the family that was supposed to be there for you, that was supposed to care for you, but instead treated you like a ghost.

The desire for justice – or maybe even revenge – took root. You didn’t want anyone else to suffer the way you had, to feel the loss and isolation that had become your daily reality. 

Your resolve hardened each day from the depths of your grief and frustration. Becoming a hero, a vigilante, wasn’t about glory or titles for you. You didn’t care about the flashy costumes or names. This wasn’t some childish fantasy of becoming famous or being lauded as Gotham’s next savior. No, it was something far more personal, something that simmered like a quiet, steady fire in your chest. You wanted every villain locked away, every criminal in Gotham put behind bars so no one else would ever suffer like you did. You were determined to rid Gotham of the cruelty that had stolen your mother from you, to make the streets safer so that no one else would face the emptiness that plagued your nights.

The problem was, you were only eleven. You didn’t have the strength, the skill, or the training. Every attempt to gain it from the family was met with that same dismissive coldness. They saw you as nothing more than a child, someone who didn’t understand the dangers of their world. But they didn’t know how much you understood, how vividly you remembered the night your world shattered.

As you tried to find a way, small clues began to piece themselves together in your mind, painting a picture you hadn’t seen before. Bruce’s frequent late-night “business trips,” often announced at the last minute, struck you as odd. You’d see him leave in his sharp suits, only to catch glimpses of him returning late at night, disheveled and, occasionally, sporting bruises that didn’t match the polished billionaire image he so carefully maintained.

Your siblings were no less mysterious. Dick would often leave for days at a time, returning with injuries he tried to laugh off, though his tired eyes said otherwise. Once, you’d overheard Tim muttering to himself about patrol routes, something you hadn’t thought much of at the time, but now wondered about. Cass and Damian were quieter, yet you’d noticed that Damian had more than a few martial arts books hidden in his room, alongside weaponry you knew a kid his age shouldn’t have access to.

They were always so secretive, shutting conversations down the moment you asked a question that poked too close to the truth. But the final piece came one evening when you couldn’t sleep and found yourself wandering the mansion late at night.

The night you stumbled upon the entrance to the Batcave was like something out of a dream—or a nightmare, depending on how you looked at it. You had been wandering the manor’s halls, sleepless and restless, drawn by some inexplicable pull toward the lower levels of the house. Your fingers trailed along the walls as you walked, taking in every shadowed corner, every faint noise. It was late, the mansion utterly silent, and you half-expected to bump into one of your siblings or even Bruce himself on patrol somewhere in the city. But no one came, and you continued alone, your curiosity getting the better of you.

And that’s when you noticed the clock.

It was an old, broken grandfather clock, set in a dusty alcove and seemingly forgotten. You’d walked by it a hundred times before, but tonight, it felt different. Something about it was… wrong. The hands of the clock were stuck, frozen at a peculiar time—10:48. Strange, you thought, but you shook it off, chalking it up to another quirk of the manor’s decor. Still, something about it wouldn’t let go of your attention, a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that urged you closer.

On a whim, you reached out, pressing your fingers against the clock’s worn, wooden frame. To your surprise, the clock shifted slightly under your touch, revealing a hidden mechanism. Your heart skipped a beat as you gently pushed the clock face inward, and with a faint click, the entire structure swung forward, revealing a dark, narrow passageway leading downward.

A chill ran down your spine as you peered into the darkness. You knew this wasn’t something you were supposed to find, something that was meant to stay hidden from you. But that only made it more tempting. Your heart pounded with a mixture of fear and excitement as you stepped inside, closing the clock behind you as you began to descend.

The air grew colder as you went deeper, the silence almost oppressive, save for the faint hum of machinery somewhere below. Your footsteps echoed softly, and with each step, the realization of where you were headed became clearer. You’d heard rumors, pieced together bits of conversations you weren’t supposed to hear, but nothing had prepared you for the sight that awaited you.

At the bottom of the passage, the narrow staircase opened up into a vast, dimly lit cavern. Monitors and computer screens lined the walls, casting an eerie blue glow across the space. Gadgets, weapons, and vehicles were neatly arranged in various alcoves, a testament to the precision and orderliness that Bruce Wayne demanded. And in the center of it all was the Batmobile, sleek and imposing, a silent reminder of everything your family did in the shadows.

The truth hit you like a tidal wave. This was the Batcave, hidden beneath Wayne Manor, and everything you’d suspected was now laid bare before you. Your father wasn’t just a billionaire philanthropist—he was Batman. And everyone else you’d come to know as family, the ones who’d brushed you off and ignored you, were his protégés, vigilantes who fought the very criminals you despised.

Your father was Batman. And that meant everyone else – Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, and even Damian – were a part of it too.

After discovering that Bruce Wayne—your father—was Batman, the hero and symbol of Gotham’s strength, a world of possibilities opened up before you. The realization that your entire family had alter egos, each of them fighting for justice in their own way, filled you with a sense of urgency and purpose. They didn’t know how serious you were about this, how much you wanted to join their mission, to rid Gotham of the very villains who'd stolen your mother’s life. Maybe, you thought, if you could be a part of this, if you could stand beside them, then Bruce would finally see you as more than just his “unwanted daughter.” Maybe he’d finally acknowledge you, maybe he’d finally see your worth.

For days, you plotted, considering every possible way to bring up the topic, to show him that you were serious. This wasn’t some fleeting desire; this was a calling. If he could just see how determined you were, he might understand. After all, hadn’t he trained your siblings when they were young? Hadn’t he believed in them, trusted them enough to let them fight beside him?

The opportunity finally came one night, when you caught Bruce heading toward the hidden grandfather clock after a long night out. You’d waited in the shadows for hours, holding your breath, every nerve in your body on edge. When he entered the secret passage, you slipped in behind him, taking each step with cautious determination until you reached the cave. The low hum of the Batcomputer filled the space, casting a faint, eerie glow over the room. Bruce hadn’t noticed you yet, his back turned as he began to remove his cowl, the familiar figure of Batman transforming back into your distant, unreadable father.

Summoning every ounce of courage, you stepped forward, your voice trembling but steady as you called out, “Train me.”

Bruce turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on you, surprise flickering across his face before it hardened back into that impenetrable mask. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his tone cold and unwelcoming, but you didn’t flinch.

“I know who you are,” you said, voice steadying. “I know who all of you are. And I want to be part of this. I want to help put these villains away for good.”

Bruce’s expression darkened, a shadow passing over his features as he regarded you in silence. After a long pause, he let out a slow exhale, as if disappointed. “No,” he said, his tone final, his gaze unwavering. “This isn’t a game, and you’re not ready for this.”

Your heart sank, but you didn’t let it show. “I’m not a child, Bruce. I understand the risks,” you argued, stepping closer, desperately trying to convey your resolve. “I need to do this. If you’d just give me a chance, I can—”

“No.” His voice was firm, steely, leaving no room for argument. He turned away, as though dismissing the conversation altogether, as though you were no more than a passing annoyance. The coldness in his eyes, the sheer indifference, made your chest tighten, a sharp pang of rejection piercing through you. He didn’t even give you an explanation, just that single, hard “no” as if that was all you deserved.

But you weren’t ready to give up that easily. This was too important. For the next few days, you tried to approach the others, each sibling one by one. Maybe they’d understand better than Bruce; maybe they’d recognize that this wasn’t some childish whim.

You started with Dick. He was the oldest, after all, and you’d always seen a certain kindness in him, a willingness to give people a chance. He had a way of making everyone feel included, like they belonged. But when you finally caught him in the hall and explained your desire to train, his expression softened with pity, the same way you’d look at a child asking for something impossible.

“(Y/N), you’re… really brave for wanting to do this,” he said, his voice gentle. “But this life… it’s not easy, and you’re still young. You don’t want to rush into something like this.” His tone was warm, almost brotherly, but he was missing the point. You weren’t asking for easy. You were ready for whatever it took.

“Please, Dick,” you pressed. “I know what I’m getting into. Just give me a chance to prove it.”

But he only shook his head, his gaze kind but unyielding. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). But the answer is no.”

Disheartened but undeterred, you moved on to Jason. Maybe he’d understand; he was rough around the edges, not one for formalities. If anyone would appreciate your determination, it would be him. But when you brought it up, he only laughed—a sharp, bitter laugh that made you flinch.

“What, you think this is some kind of club?” he scoffed. “This isn’t for people who want to play hero. Trust me, kid, you don’t want this life.” The dismissiveness in his voice stung, a harsh reminder that he didn’t see you as a peer, or even as family, but as some naïve child poking her nose where it didn’t belong.

You tried Tim next, cornering him in the library while he worked on his laptop. He barely looked up when you spoke, his fingers never pausing on the keyboard. “(Y/N), this isn’t something you can just jump into,” he said in a monotone voice. “It’s dangerous, and it’s… well, complicated. You’re not ready for something like this.” He glanced at you briefly before returning his attention to the screen, and that was it—the conversation was over before it had even begun.

Cass was the least harsh, offering you a quiet, understanding look when you brought it up to her. But even she refused, shaking her head softly, her silence saying more than words ever could. She, too, thought you were too young, too unprepared.

Damian, predictably, was the most dismissive. When you managed to ask him during a rare quiet moment, he simply scoffed, his lips curling into a smirk. “You? A vigilante?” He didn’t even bother hiding his disdain. “You wouldn’t last a night.”

Each rejection was like a punch to the gut, but the worst was the frustration—the sense that they were all talking down to you, looking at you as if you were some clueless child who didn’t understand the world. They couldn’t see the fire inside you, the sheer drive pushing you forward. They didn’t understand the grief, the emptiness that fueled your desire, the need to make a difference, to bring justice to a city that had taken everything from you.

Days turned into weeks, and your persistence began to turn into frustration. Every attempt, every argument, every plea was met with the same dismissive responses, the same “no” repeated like a mantra, as if they were trying to beat the will out of you through sheer denial. But with every rejection, your resolve only grew stronger. You’d do it on your own if you had to, but you’d make them see—one way or another.

They thought they could protect you by keeping you away, that their refusal would dissuade you. But they didn’t know you well enough to understand that their rejection was only making you more determined, that each “no” was pushing you closer to a path they couldn’t control. If they wouldn’t train you, if they wouldn’t see you as someone capable, then you’d prove them wrong, no matter the cost.

The opportunity to make a difference, to protect Gotham, was slipping through your fingers, but you were prepared to seize it by any means necessary.

As the days turned into weeks, frustration gnawed at you, a relentless, unyielding ache. The Batfamily’s constant refusal to let you in, to train you, to even consider your desire for justice was suffocating. Each rejection from them felt like a door slamming shut, and yet your resolve burned brighter with every dismissive glance, every cold “no” they threw your way. They thought they could keep you safe by denying you the skills to fight, by holding you back. But they didn’t realize that every “no” was pushing you further away, closer to a path they couldn’t control.

So, if they wouldn’t train you, you’d find someone who would. You’d learn from someone who didn’t see you as just a child or as an outsider. You didn’t care who it was—you just needed someone willing to show you how to fight, how to protect yourself, and how to finally be a force of justice in Gotham. Gotham was a city teeming with darkness, and somewhere in that darkness, you knew there was someone who’d see your potential.

And that someone came one night, when you were out alone, frustration and anger churning within you. You’d snuck out of Wayne Manor under the cover of darkness, slipping past the staff and making your way into the city’s underbelly. It was reckless, maybe even dangerous, but you didn’t care. The streets were quieter than usual, the night air heavy and thick with the familiar weight of Gotham’s crime-riddled tension. You walked through back alleys and shadowed streets, trying to think, trying to calm the storm inside you, but the darkness only seemed to deepen the ache.

Then, you heard it—the unmistakable sound of fists colliding with flesh, low grunts of pain, and the shuffling of bodies struggling in a fight.

You crept forward, curiosity tugging at you as you moved quietly toward the sound. There, in a dimly lit alley, was a figure you recognized immediately. Azrael. He was a towering presence, draped in his dark, imposing armor, his movements swift and precise as he took down his opponent with brutal efficiency. The man before him—a thug, someone you recognized from the news as a low-level criminal—was nearly unconscious, his face bruised and bloody, barely able to stand. Azrael struck again, his fist slamming into the man’s stomach with a force that made you wince.

You knew Azrael by reputation. Gotham’s citizens called him the Angel of Vengeance, a ruthless, unpredictable anti-hero who walked a fine line between justice and violence. He was both feared and revered, his methods harsh enough to unsettle even the most hardened of Gotham’s criminals. The Batfamily had worked with him before, reluctantly, but there had also been times when they clashed, when he took things too far. You knew he wasn’t someone they trusted fully, but that didn’t matter to you. Azrael was strong, he was relentless, and he knew how to fight. If anyone could teach you, it was him.

Fear coursed through your veins as you took a step closer, your heart pounding. You weren’t sure if he’d help you or simply turn you away like the others, but you were willing to take that risk. You’d come too far to turn back now.

Azrael’s movements stilled as he became aware of your presence, his gaze flickering to where you stood, half-hidden in the shadows. His eyes, fierce and intense, locked onto yours, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. There was something dangerous about his gaze, something that made you want to look away, to shrink back into the darkness. But you forced yourself to stand your ground, holding his stare, even as fear twisted in your stomach.

For a moment, he simply watched you, the alley silent save for the faint, labored breathing of the man at his feet. Then, with a low, almost amused tone, he spoke.

“And what,” he drawled, his voice cold and laced with curiosity, “does a child want with someone like me?”

His words cut, sharper than any blade, but you didn’t falter. You met his gaze with defiance, the frustration and anger boiling within you lending you strength. “I’m not a child,” you replied, your voice steady. “I know who you are, Azrael. I know what you do.” You swallowed, forcing yourself to keep your voice calm. “I want you to teach me. I want you to show me how to fight, how to stop people like… like him.” You pointed to the criminal, crumpled and defeated, his blood staining the ground.

Azrael raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable beneath his mask. “You have no idea what you’re asking,” he replied, his tone dismissive. “This isn’t a game, and you aren’t ready for the path I walk.”

His words echoed Bruce’s rejection, a harsh reminder of how everyone around you seemed to think you were weak, incapable, just a child reaching for something you couldn’t grasp. But you weren’t about to back down. Not now. You lifted your chin, squaring your shoulders as you met his gaze head-on.

“I don’t care,” you said, your voice filled with a conviction you hadn’t known you possessed. “I know what I want, and I know what I’m willing to do to get it. The Batfamily… they won’t help me. They think I’m too young, that I don’t understand the risks. But I do.” Your voice wavered slightly, but you forced yourself to continue. “I’ve already lost someone I loved because of Gotham’s criminals. I won’t stand by and let it happen again.”

For a long, agonizing moment, Azrael said nothing, simply watching you with that same piercing gaze. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, each beat echoing in the silence of the alley. Just when you thought he was going to turn you away, he took a step closer, his presence almost overwhelming.

“So, the Bat has denied you,” he mused, his tone soft but laced with dark amusement. “And now you come to me, desperate for someone willing to break his rules.” He tilted his head, studying you intently. 

You gaped at him, stunned. How the hell did he know who you were? How did he know about your connection to the Bats? You’d been so careful to keep your intentions hidden, sneaking around the manor, watching from the shadows, careful to cover your tracks. But here Azrael was, staring down at you with a knowing, almost amused glint in his eyes.

He continued to regard you with that intense gaze, the smallest smirk pulling at the edges of his mouth. “You’re not as invisible as you think,” he said, his voice dark and almost mocking. “I’ve been watching the Bat and his brood for a long time. I know each of them, their strengths and their weaknesses. And you…” He let his words hang in the air, the weight of them pressing down on you like a lead blanket.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to stand firm despite the fear flickering through you. “So you know who I am,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “Then you know I’m serious. I’m not here to play games, and I’m not here because I want their approval.”

Azrael chuckled softly, a low, dangerous sound that sent a chill down your spine. “I know exactly who you are, child. The daughter of the Bat, denied by her own blood, seeking the power they’ve withheld from her.” His eyes gleamed with a twisted amusement as he continued, “You think you’re ready for this life? For the darkness that comes with it?”

You nodded, refusing to let him see the doubt creeping into your heart. “I don’t care about the darkness,” you said firmly. “I just want to stop them—the villains who prey on this city. The ones who took my mother, the ones who keep hurting people. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Azrael’s smirk faded, his expression turning serious. “Very well,” he said after a long pause. “But understand this: I am not like the Bat. I won’t coddle you, and I won’t save you if you fall. The path I offer is ruthless, unforgiving. If you’re truly ready to abandon everything you know, to fight without mercy, then I’ll train you. But if you’re seeking their love, their approval…” He leaned in close, his voice a low, threatening whisper. “You won’t find it here.”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. But as the fear stirred within you, so did something else—a spark of defiance, a fierce determination that refused to let you back down. You didn’t care if they loved you, if they approved. You were done seeking acceptance from those who refused to see your worth. This wasn’t about them anymore; it was about you, about fulfilling the purpose you felt burning inside you.

“I don’t need anyone’s approval,” you said, your voice hard and unwavering. “I just need the power to make a difference. If that means learning from you, then so be it.”

For a moment, Azrael said nothing, his gaze boring into you as if trying to measure the truth of your words. Finally, he straightened, giving a single, approving nod.

“Then let us begin.”

Training with Azrael was a grueling, relentless journey that stretched over the years, carrying you through the entirety of your adolescence. The first few months were a brutal awakening. Azrael didn’t go easy on you simply because you were young, or because you’d never fought like this before. He was cold, unmoved by the bruises and cuts that covered your skin by the end of each night, indifferent to the fact that you were only eleven. If you struggled to keep up, he didn’t slow down. If you were injured, he didn’t offer you a hand. Every slip, every failure, was your own to bear, and Azrael’s sharp words reminded you that this was the reality of the path you’d chosen.

But you didn’t care. This was the life you’d decided to live, and no amount of pain or exhaustion was going to change that. Gotham was unforgiving, and if you wanted to make any difference, you had to be just as ruthless, just as relentless. Every bruise, every cut, every aching muscle became a badge of honor, proof that you were getting stronger. And through it all, that burning desire for justice kept you going, the memory of your mother’s face propelling you forward.

What hurt more than the bruises or broken bones, though, was returning to Wayne Manor each night, bruised and battered, only to be met with indifference. No one noticed the way you winced when you sat down or the way you limped through the halls. They didn’t see the black eyes, the swollen knuckles, or the way your arm hung awkwardly from a poorly healed fracture. In a family full of vigilantes, it should have been impossible for these things to go unnoticed. But they didn’t care enough to see it.

You’d sit at the dinner table, exhaustion tugging at your eyelids, every muscle aching from the punishment Azrael had put you through, and they would barely spare you a glance. They’d talk among themselves, laugh, share stories of the night’s patrols, while you sat there, a shadow in your own family, barely noticed. There were nights when you were so worn out, you’d nearly fall asleep at the table, your head nodding forward before you caught yourself, but not a single one of them asked if you were okay.

The only person who seemed to notice was Alfred. His eyes, sharp and observant, had picked up on the bruises and the cuts early on, though he’d kept his silence, watching you carefully. It wasn’t until a particularly rough night—one that left you limping, your left arm in a makeshift sling—that he finally confronted you. You’d just slipped in through the back entrance, hoping to make it to your room before anyone noticed, but Alfred was waiting.

He didn’t say a word at first, just looked at you, his gaze filled with a sadness you couldn’t quite understand. Then, gently, he asked, “Miss (Y/N), what are you doing to yourself?”

You wanted to brush him off, to tell him that it was none of his business, that you were fine. But something in his voice, in the kindness and concern that radiated from him, made you pause. For the first time, someone was looking at you, really looking at you, and it made the walls you’d built around yourself crumble, if only a little.

So you told him the truth. You explained everything—your training with Azrael, your desire to make a difference, to protect Gotham from the very villains who’d taken your mother from you. You expected him to lecture you, to try and talk you out of it, just like Bruce and the others had done. But he didn’t. He only looked at you with a deep, understanding sadness, a quiet resignation that spoke volumes.

Alfred nodded, his expression softening. “I understand,” he said quietly, his voice steady and calm. “I’ve seen this path before. Every one of them—Master Bruce, Master Dick, Master Jason… they all chose this life in their own way. I know better than to try and dissuade you.” He paused, then added, almost hesitantly, “But allow me the privilege of tending to your injuries. If you’re determined to do this, the least I can do is make sure you don’t face it alone.”

You hadn’t expected that. But the relief that washed over you at his offer, the warmth of having someone in your corner, was overwhelming. You agreed, and from that night on, whenever you returned home bruised and battered, you’d find Alfred waiting, his medical supplies ready. He’d patch you up, his hands gentle, his words calm and reassuring. He didn’t ask for details, didn’t pry into your training or push you to stop. He simply cared, in the quiet, steady way only Alfred could.

Years passed, each one filled with Azrael’s brutal training. By the time you reached fifteen, you’d transformed. The once-awkward stances and clumsy punches had become fluid, precise. Your body was stronger, leaner, every movement a testament to the grueling hours you’d put in. Azrael’s methods hadn’t softened; if anything, they’d become more intense, pushing you to your limits and then beyond. But now, you could keep up. You could take the hits, dish them out just as fiercely, and stand your ground.

And soon, it wasn’t just training anymore. At fifteen, Azrael took you out into the streets, into the very world you’d been preparing for. The first time you suited up, adrenaline thrummed through your veins, your heart pounding as you followed him into the city’s underbelly. Gotham’s streets were dark, filled with whispers of danger lurking around every corner, but you weren’t afraid. Not anymore.

Azrael’s presence beside you was both a comfort and a reminder of the hard-won strength you’d gained. You moved through alleys, sticking to the shadows, your senses heightened, every instinct honed to a razor’s edge. When the first thug stumbled into your path, you didn’t hesitate. Every lesson, every bruise, every night of training came flooding back as you fought, your movements precise, controlled. Azrael watched, silent and approving, as you took down your opponent with a ruthless efficiency that surprised even you.

The fight left you breathless, exhilarated, and for the first time, you felt like you were truly making a difference. This was what you’d been waiting for—real justice, real action. You didn’t need the Batfamily’s approval; you didn’t need their validation. You had Azrael’s respect, and more importantly, you had your own.

Night after night, you went out with Azrael, each outing sharpening your skills, solidifying your resolve. You became a fixture in Gotham’s shadows, a presence that went unseen, unnoticed by the family that still sat, oblivious, in their mansion. And in those moments, you realized that you didn’t need them to see you. You didn’t need them to care.

You had found your purpose, and that was enough.

Fighting alongside Azrael changed things—not just for you, but for him as well. From the very first patrol, your presence seemed to stir something in him, though neither of you acknowledged it. Azrael was still as unyielding as ever, your training growing even harsher, more relentless, his standards higher now that he knew you could hold your own. Every mistake was met with a fierce rebuke, every slip punished with more drills, more hours of sparring that left you aching and bruised. But there were new moments, subtle ones, that spoke of something shifting between you.

At first, he barely reacted to the injuries you sustained in battle, the bruises and cuts you wore as badges of pride. He would give a passing glance, a critical look, and sometimes a disapproving shake of his head if he thought you’d taken a hit you could have avoided. But over time, Azrael’s indifference softened. When you returned from a fight with a gash on your arm or blood trickling down your temple, he’d sometimes reach out, his fingers brushing over the wound with a gentleness that surprised you. He never said anything, but his eyes held a flicker of concern, a reminder that there was more to him than the cold, ruthless mask he wore.

After a particularly brutal night, when you returned with a deep cut on your shoulder, he wordlessly guided you to sit on an old crate in a forgotten alleyway, his gloved hands working quickly to bandage the wound. His touch was rough but careful, and he barely spoke as he tended to you, his focus solely on ensuring the wound was clean and secure. When he finished, he simply looked at you, his gaze softer than you’d ever seen, before giving a brief nod and turning away, resuming his stoic stance. Yet, something unspoken lingered in the air between you, a sense of understanding that transcended words.

Azrael even began to secretly watch as you made your way back to Wayne Manor after patrols, his eyes tracking your form as you slipped through the shadows. He’d stand in the distance, silent and unseen, until he was sure you’d reached the manor safely. He knew the mansion was filled with people who should have been looking out for you, people who should have noticed the injuries you returned with each night. But they never did, and so he kept watch instead, never letting himself rest until he saw you slip through the manor’s back entrance.

On patrols, he found himself glancing over his shoulder, a habit he couldn’t shake, his gaze searching for the familiar flash of your shadowed figure keeping pace beside him. When you were close, he’d relax, his shoulders easing slightly, the familiar rhythm of your footsteps a comfort in the silence. He grew accustomed to the sound of your voice, the sharp wit and sarcasm that you’d wield even in the middle of a fight. Your quips became a constant, a reminder that you were still there, that he wasn’t fighting alone in the darkness. He’d never admit it, but in some way, you’d become his partner.

One night, as the two of you worked your way through a group of thugs, he caught himself hesitating, his focus momentarily breaking as he looked over to make sure you were holding your own. It was a split-second distraction, but it was enough to remind him of something he hadn’t felt in a long time—worry. Real, genuine worry that something might happen to you, that he might lose you. And he hated it, hated the vulnerability that your presence stirred within him. But he couldn’t deny that it was there.

As the months passed, his concern for you grew harder to ignore. You’d laugh off your injuries, shrugging them away as if they didn’t matter, but Azrael’s eyes would linger on the bruises that marred your skin, on the cuts you’d acquired in your pursuit of justice. He’d bite back comments, his instincts screaming to tell you to be more careful, but he knew that would be hypocritical, coming from someone who’d taught you to be relentless.

He couldn’t help it—there was something about the way you fought, the way you stood your ground, that reminded him of the fire that had once driven him. He couldn’t deny that he was proud, in his own way, of how far you’d come, of the strength you wielded despite everything you’d faced.

But pride was dangerous. Attachment was dangerous. Azrael reminded himself of this every night, yet the habit of watching your back, of ensuring your safety, had rooted itself too deeply. The idea of you getting hurt, of you disappearing from his side, was something he couldn’t bear to dwell on. You were his partner now, in ways he hadn’t intended, hadn’t planned, but there was no turning back.

And so, in the silent shadows of Gotham, the two of you continued your patrols, bound by a shared purpose, an unspoken understanding. You became a fixture in his life, just as he had in yours, two warriors fighting a relentless war in the darkness. Though Azrael would never say it aloud, the sound of your voice, your sarcastic quips, and the mere presence of you by his side had become something he relied on, something he couldn’t imagine patrolling without.

In the end, it wasn’t just you who had changed. Slowly, unknowingly, Azrael had changed too. And as he watched you move through the shadows, his silent protector’s gaze trailing after you each night, he knew he would do whatever it took to keep you safe, to make sure you kept coming back.

Over the years, your presence as Azrael’s partner had grown harder to conceal. The Bats were a perceptive and deeply paranoid bunch, always attuned to the slightest shift in Gotham’s underworld. Whispers of Azrael’s “new recruit” had started circulating, and although you and Azrael kept a low profile, rumors had a way of reaching them. You knew it was only a matter of time before they began digging, their suspicions honing in on the identity of the young vigilante shadowing Gotham’s Angel of Vengeance.

Azrael had done his part to safeguard your anonymity, constructing layers of secrecy around your identity, and ensuring you wore gear that obscured your features, masking your voice and movements just enough. He’d drilled you in maintaining a calm, controlled demeanor, never allowing your expressions to slip. But even with all his precautions, you knew a confrontation with the Bats was inevitable. The city was only so big, and sooner or later, you’d cross paths with them.

And it happened one night, after you and Azrael had finished taking down the last of Falcone’s goons in a deserted warehouse on the city’s outskirts. The fight had been brutal, but you’d emerged victorious, the thugs left groaning and beaten on the cold cement floor. You were catching your breath, wiping a smear of blood from your cheek, when you heard it—the unmistakable thud of boots hitting the ground a few yards away, the familiar sound of vigilantes landing with precision and purpose.

You rolled your eyes, exchanging a glance with Azrael. Of course. It was only a matter of time before they showed up. You turned to face them, your stance casual but ready, every muscle tensed for the inevitable tension that would fill the air. A faint smirk tugged at your lips as you took in the sight of them: Batman, flanked by Nightwing and Red Hood, their dark figures cast in the shadows.

The silence was thick, each side sizing the other up, assessing, waiting. You felt the weight of their scrutiny, their eyes flicking between you and Azrael, clearly suspicious. They knew he’d been working with someone young, but you wondered if they suspected anything deeper—if they’d looked past the armor and caught some glimpse of you, some trace of familiarity. You kept your expression hidden, face covered by your gear, thankful for every layer of secrecy Azrael had drilled into you. They couldn’t know. They couldn’t.

After a tense silence, Batman stepped forward, his voice low and edged with warning. “This stops now. Gotham has enough vigilantes without adding… whatever this is,” he said, casting a dark look toward Azrael. “Both of you need to leave the city, or you’ll be escorted to Arkham.”

Azrael scoffed, unperturbed. “Your threats are as hollow as ever, Batman. My partner and I don’t need your permission to be here.”

You resisted the urge to laugh, watching as Jason—Red Hood—crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. “So, what’s your deal, then?” he demanded, voice dripping with suspicion. “Why are you two lurking around our city, doing what we do but not half as clean?”

You knew he was baiting you, trying to get a reaction, trying to piece together the puzzle of who you were. But you only shrugged, meeting his gaze without a flicker of fear. “Our motives aren’t your business. We’re just here to get the job done, the way it needs to be done,” you replied, your voice cool, almost bored.

They didn’t know who you were; that much was clear from the way they spoke, the way they circled you both like hunters stalking prey. All they saw was a masked figure, young and apparently reckless, partnered with Gotham’s most unpredictable anti-hero. They couldn’t see the truth hidden beneath the armor, the person they’d dismissed and overlooked, now standing toe-to-toe with them.

Nightwing stepped forward, his gaze fixed on you, his expression a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. “You know this path only leads one way,” he said, his voice softer, almost as if he were trying to reach out. “You’re young—you don’t have to do this. You could leave this all behind.”

You met his gaze, your jaw set. “I know exactly where this path leads,” you replied evenly. “And I’m here because no one else is willing to do what needs to be done.”

Your words drew a glare from Batman, and you could feel the tension rising, the unspoken judgment heavy in the air. They thought they had the moral high ground, thought they were the only ones who understood what Gotham needed. But they hadn’t been there when your mother was killed, hadn’t felt the weight of that loss, the anger that still simmered in your heart. They didn’t know the lengths you’d go to for justice.

You’d killed before, after all. You remembered the first time clearly, the weight of that choice pressing on you as you looked down at the blood on your hands. It had been a serial rapist, a monster hiding behind a thin veneer of humanity, one who’d escaped justice too many times. You hadn’t wanted to kill, not at first. Azrael had left that choice in your hands, knowing that everyone’s morals were their own, knowing that it was a line you had to decide to cross on your own. He’d taught you the techniques, but the decision was yours.

When the moment had come, when the man lay before you, you’d felt something cold and sure settle over you, a calm unlike anything you’d ever experienced. You didn’t feel guilty as you wiped the blood off your hands afterward. Shaken, yes, but not guilty. This man had preyed on innocent lives, and you’d simply done what needed to be done, an act of final justice that the system would never have delivered. And after that, it had become easier. You didn’t kill indiscriminately, only those who truly deserved it, the monsters who would only keep hurting others if left alive.

But Batman didn’t know that. Nightwing didn’t know that. They saw you as just another vigilante, perhaps a misguided kid in over her head. And if you were lucky, that’s all they’d ever see.

Batman’s voice cut through your thoughts, hard and unyielding. “The people of Gotham don’t need killers,” he said, his gaze piercing. “We’ve had enough of that. If you continue down this path, you’ll end up like every other criminal in this city.”

Azrael stepped forward, his presence a silent but powerful force beside you. “You don’t decide what Gotham needs, Batman. My partner and I are here because you refuse to see the truth. Your methods allow these monsters to keep coming back, to hurt more people. We’re just doing what you’re too blinded by your own morals to do.”

For a moment, the silence was so thick it was almost suffocating, the weight of Azrael’s words hanging in the air like a challenge. You glanced between them, wondering if the Batfamily would push further, if they’d try to unmask you, to pry deeper into who you were. But they didn’t. They only stared, a mixture of frustration and disgust flickering in their eyes.

Batman’s jaw clenched, and he nodded once, a silent gesture to his sons. “Leave Gotham,” he said, his voice low, final. “Or next time, we’ll bring you both in.”

You met his gaze, unflinching. “Try if you can.”

With that, you and Azrael turned, melting back into the shadows, leaving the Bats behind. You felt the tension bleed out of your body as you stepped away from their scrutiny, your heart still pounding from the encounter. But even as the adrenaline faded, you knew this wouldn’t be the last time. The Bats would be watching, their eyes always on Gotham’s shadows, waiting for you to slip, waiting for the opportunity to end what they couldn’t control.

But that didn’t matter. You were no longer bound by their rules, their narrow view of justice. You had a purpose, a strength that they’d refused to see, and with Azrael by your side, you’d do what they never could.

Let them watch. Let them try. You had no intention of stopping.

But of course, everything goes to shit.

It was supposed to be a routine night, a normal autumn evening with the air cool and crisp, leaves falling in lazy spirals around Wayne Manor. You’d prepared to head out on patrol, excitement and anticipation humming under your skin, but Azrael had cut those plans short, his tone sharp and unyielding as he demanded you stay home. He’d called it a “training break,” telling you to catch up on schoolwork, to prioritize rest. You’d huffed in annoyance, itching for a night in the city’s shadows, but Azrael had rarely given commands so firmly. Reluctantly, you agreed, figuring it was only one night. Besides, he wouldn’t be in Gotham either; he had his own business to attend to outside the city, matters you weren’t privy to and knew better than to ask about.

It didn’t concern you. After all, the Bats had everything under control. You knew they’d be out that night, chasing down some mysterious new villain. Rumors had spread across the city about a figure who’d been making people vanish, one by one, disappearing without a trace. A “doomsday device” was the word on everyone’s lips, whispered through the underworld with the kind of fear Gotham’s criminals didn’t often feel. But as dangerous as it sounded, the Batfamily had dealt with these threats before, conquered worse odds. You’d seen it yourself. They’d be fine. They always were.

But then, they weren’t.

One day passed, and the manor’s emptiness began to gnaw at you. The Bats should have returned by now, or at the very least, Bruce would have checked in, his usual commands and admonishments filling the quiet halls of Wayne Manor. But there was nothing—no word, no message, no updates on the villain’s capture. The entire city fell eerily silent about their whereabouts. At first, you brushed it off as paranoia, telling yourself they’d just gone dark to gain the upper hand, that this was some intricate plan of Bruce’s. They’d be back any moment, probably annoyed that you’d even worried.

But then another day passed, and that silence turned into dread.

You scoured every news source, every back alley contact, searching for any sign of them, any whisper of their location. But the villain was nowhere to be found, and neither were they. No bodies, no traces, just an agonizing, suffocating absence. You told yourself you didn’t care, that they’d ignored you for years, that their lives weren’t your responsibility. But the lie cracked, shattered under the weight of the fear pressing down on your chest.

You cared. You cared more than you wanted to admit, and the idea that they might be gone, that they might never return… it was a pain you hadn’t prepared for. You knew the Batfamily was all you had left, even if they didn’t see you that way.

Desperation clawed at you, and you pushed yourself to the limit, combing the city for any sign of them, using every resource at your disposal. When Azrael returned, his own worry palpable despite his usual stoicism, the two of you worked tirelessly, searching every inch of Gotham for clues. Night after night, you combed the streets, delving into places you’d never dared to enter, but it was like chasing shadows, like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. They were gone, swallowed by the darkness, and it felt like the city was mocking you with its silence.

Finally, in a last act of desperation, you did something you’d never thought you’d do—you reached out to Oracle. You found your way to her, revealing your identity, setting aside the secrecy you’d worked so hard to maintain. Barbara Gordon was Gotham’s hidden eyes and ears, the information broker for every hero in the city, and if anyone could help, it would be her.

When you stepped into her darkened hideout, her eyes widened as she saw you, recognition dawning on her face as you removed your mask. There was a flicker of shock, of disbelief, but it quickly melted into a deep, quiet understanding. She didn’t ask questions, didn’t demand answers. She simply listened as you poured out everything—the Batfamily’s disappearance, the villain with the “doomsday device,” the empty mansion that had once felt like a cage but now felt like a grave.

Barbara tried everything, exhausting every contact, every source of information. You watched as she worked, her fingers moving over her keyboard with a determined urgency, her eyes flickering across her screens as she searched every corner of Gotham and beyond. But even Oracle, with all her resources and her brilliance, could find nothing. The Batfamily had vanished as if they’d never existed, and all that remained was a haunting silence.

And now, on top of that crushing failure, you were left with the impossible task of explaining their absence to the world. Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s most infamous billionaire, and all his children had vanished without a trace. You spent countless hours fabricating a story, weaving together excuses and alibis to cover their tracks, to keep the world from asking too many questions. A sudden family vacation? A business trip gone wrong? Every explanation felt thin, feeble against the reality of what had happened. You knew it wouldn’t hold forever, but it was all you could do to keep the curious at bay.

The manor felt like a mausoleum, empty and cold, every echo reminding you of the lives that had once filled its halls. The days turned into weeks, each one stretching out longer than the last, and the hope of seeing them again grew fainter with each passing moment. It was a slow, suffocating realization that they might truly be gone, and you were left to fill the void they’d left behind.

Through it all, Azrael stayed by your side, his presence a steady anchor in the whirlwind of grief and desperation. He didn’t offer empty reassurances, didn’t pretend to know what had happened to them. But he was there, silently supporting you as you navigated the nightmare unfolding around you. He helped you cover their tracks, keeping the questions at bay as best he could, his loyalty to you unwavering even as the weight of the city’s suspicion grew heavier.

When you made the choice to step into the Batfamily’s absence, it was less a decision and more a necessity, a duty that fell to you when they vanished. Gotham needed its protectors, and with Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, and Damian all gone, the city had spiraled into chaos faster than you could have anticipated. You were freshly graduated, barely eighteen, but the weight of Gotham’s safety had landed squarely on your shoulders, and there was no time to hesitate.

The nights were long, grueling. Crime rates surged as the city’s criminals sensed weakness, smelling blood in the absence of their most feared vigilantes. You and Azrael fought tirelessly, your bodies and minds stretched to their limits as you did your best to make up for the void left by the Batfamily. You learned quickly that Gotham was unforgiving in its demands, that the city would take everything from you if you let it. But with Azrael, Barbara as Oracle, and Alfred’s quiet support, you managed to scrape by, each of you covering as many corners of Gotham as you could.

Oracle worked around the clock, feeding you intel and watching over you, her presence a comforting reminder that you weren’t alone. Alfred tended to your wounds night after night, patching you up with a care that never faltered, despite his aging hands and weary heart. Azrael remained your rock, his quiet intensity and relentless determination pushing you forward even on the nights when exhaustion made your vision blur.

But despite the combined efforts of the four of you, it was a losing game. No single person could replace the Batfamily’s six. You moved from one crisis to the next, barely holding the line, and every night left you drained, physically and mentally. The weight of the city’s survival lay heavy on your shoulders, and as the months turned into years, that weight only grew, the toll on your body and mind deepening with every sleepless night.

Then, almost four years after their disappearance, something changed. Allies began to emerge, people you never would have expected stepping forward to help. The first to join you was a fire manipulator named Farley. He was a gruff, unassuming man with a hardened exterior and a chip on his shoulder, but his fierce loyalty and willingness to throw himself into the flames, quite literally, made him an invaluable addition. He was a street fighter through and through, rough around the edges, but his fire manipulation skills gave you the edge you desperately needed. Farley became the first comrade you allowed into your small circle, and though you were hesitant to trust at first, his commitment to the fight was unwavering.

Not long after, another figure stepped out of the shadows—a woman named Prudence Wood. She was a former League of Assassins member, a defector who had once fought beside Tim and who knew the intricacies of the League’s training and techniques. Prudence’s arrival felt like a gift. Her quiet strength, her knowledge of deadly techniques, and her shared connection with the Batfamily made her feel like a piece of their legacy had returned, albeit in a different form. She became a steady presence in the team, her skills complementing your own, and she brought a calm, almost meditative energy that helped ground you during the toughest nights.

The last to join your team was perhaps the most unusual. He was a half-demon, half-human being from the depths of Hell itself, seeking redemption for sins you could barely fathom. His name was Belial, and his origins were shrouded in mystery and shadow. His powers were as unsettling as they were useful, his connection to dark magic giving you access to abilities that no Batfamily member had ever wielded. At first, you’d been wary of him, his otherworldly nature a stark contrast to the grounded reality of your mission. But as time passed, Belial’s commitment to his redemption and his fierce loyalty to the team won you over. He was a powerful ally, and you knew that with him at your side, Gotham’s worst threats had met their match.

Together, you forged a new team, an unconventional collection of souls united by purpose and resilience. Farley’s fire manipulation, Prudence’s lethal training, and Belial’s dark magic brought a new strength to your nightly battles, a power that made Gotham’s criminals think twice. Each of them brought something unique to the table, skills and perspectives that enriched your own and made the team stronger as a whole. And despite the grim circumstances that had brought you together, you found yourself growing close to each of them, a bond forming that you hadn’t felt since the Batfamily’s disappearance.

Over the next three years, you and your new allies became a force to be reckoned with. You shared countless nights under Gotham’s starless sky, your lives intertwined by shared battles and quiet conversations in hidden corners of the city. Farley’s gruff humor, Prudence’s quiet wisdom, and Belial’s strange, dark insights became a source of comfort in the constant chaos. They were more than comrades—they were family, in a way you hadn’t expected. And though the Batfamily was still missing, their legacy lived on through you and your team.

Over time, as the years passed and the hope of their return grew dimmer with each empty night, you began to make peace with the idea that the Batfamily was gone. There was a hollow ache in accepting that they were likely never coming back, that whatever had claimed them had done so completely, without leaving even a whisper of their presence behind. The search, the desperate late nights combing through every corner of Gotham for any sign of them, had faded into memory, the sharp edges of grief dulled by time.

It was a slow, agonizing process, coming to terms with their deaths. You’d spent years hoping for their return, clinging to the possibility that one day, Bruce would walk back into Wayne Manor, that Dick would flash that easy smile, that Jason would saunter in with his familiar swagger, or that Tim, Cass, and Damian would each look at you with something other than cold dismissal. For so long, you’d carried a sliver of hope that maybe, if they returned, things would be different. Maybe they’d finally see you, finally accept you as one of them, as family.

But that dream was gone, buried under the weight of the years that had passed. You made peace with the knowledge that they would never return, that the family you’d once hoped would love you was gone forever. They had died without ever truly knowing you, without ever sharing the bond you’d yearned for. It was a grief of its own—a quiet mourning not just for their lives, but for the connection you’d never had, the family that could have been but never was.

You didn’t resent them anymore. That, too, had faded, the anger you’d once felt dissolving into a bittersweet acceptance. In the end, they’d all chosen their paths, and you had chosen yours. You couldn’t change the past, couldn’t rewrite the years you’d spent as an outsider looking in. Instead, you carried their memory with you, honoring them not as the family you’d longed for, but as Gotham’s protectors, as the legacy they’d left behind.

And in their absence, you had found a new family. Azrael, Alfred, Barbra, Farley, Prudence, and Belial—each of them had become a part of you, filling the empty spaces that the Batfamily had left behind. You hadn’t expected it, hadn’t thought you’d ever find people who understood you, who stood beside you with the same fierce loyalty you’d once hoped for from Bruce and the others. But somehow, in the darkness of Gotham, you had built a new bond, one forged through battles and shared purpose, one that went deeper than blood.

With each passing year, the memories of the Batfamily became less a source of pain and more a quiet strength. You’d come to terms with their deaths, with the family that never was, and you let that peace settle over you like a quiet, comforting weight. You fought for them, for the city they’d left behind, and for the family you had found in their absence.

And each night, as you and your new allies stepped into the shadows to protect Gotham, you carried the memory of the Batfamily with you—not as ghosts haunting your past, but as part of the legacy you had chosen to uphold, a legacy you honored in your own way, with a new family by your side.

Life had finally found a rhythm. You had a home in Gotham’s shadows, a family forged from loyalty and trust, and a love you hadn’t dared to dream of. At twenty-five, you were a seasoned fighter, a sharp mind, and an equal among your allies. The Batfamily was gone, and in the seven years since their disappearance, you’d built something meaningful in their absence. Gotham had remained under watch, protected by you, Azrael, Farley, Prudence, and, of course, Belial. Belial, with his piercing gaze, blond hair, and that quietly intense smile, had woven himself into your life, your heart. Though his half-demon nature had initially caused Azrael to bristle, his love and loyalty had proven themselves time and again. You and Belial had been inseparable, partners on and off the field, weathering Gotham’s dark nights together. Five years with him had taught you a love you’d never known, one deepened by battle and softened by quiet moments stolen between missions.

And on this particular day, life was as settled as it could be. You and Belial were nestled in the Batcave, sifting through case files with the comfortable ease that came from years of partnership. He sat beside you, close enough that his warmth seeped into your side, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he reached for a file or leaned over to read your notes. The hum of the Batcave’s machinery was a familiar backdrop, a steady reminder of the legacy you carried on with your team.

But that quiet moment was shattered in an instant.

Without warning, a portal tore open in the middle of the Batcave, swirling with shades of blue and purple, casting eerie shadows across the walls. The air rippled with an unnatural energy, a hum that sent every nerve in your body on edge. You and Belial exchanged a glance, both of you immediately rising, instincts kicking in as you moved into a defensive stance. You reached for a weapon, your fingers wrapping around its familiar grip, as your heart pounded with a mixture of fear and readiness.

Belial’s hand brushed yours, his gaze intense as he murmured, “Stay close. We don’t know what’s coming through.”

Nodding, you pressed a button on the console to alert your allies, sending a silent distress signal that would bring everyone to your location. The portal twisted and writhed, growing brighter, until the air itself seemed to crackle with tension. You braced yourself, every muscle taut, ready to face whatever threat was emerging from the other side.

But nothing could have prepared you for what stepped out.

The first figure to appear was unmistakable. Tall, dark, clad in the iconic silhouette of Gotham’s legendary vigilante. Your father. Bruce Wayne. Batman. His face was as you remembered it, hardened and intense, his eyes sharp as they swept over the Batcave. For a brief, breathless moment, his gaze locked onto yours, a flicker of surprise and something unreadable flashing across his face.

Your mind spun, reeling from the impossible reality before you. Bruce Wayne was here, in the flesh, standing in the very cave you’d assumed he’d never return to. And then, one by one, the others stepped through. Dick, with his familiar, confident stance. Jason, tense and wary. Tim, his eyes calculating, scanning every detail of the scene. Cass, silent as a shadow, and Damian, gaze fierce as ever.

They all fell into defensive stances, mirroring Bruce’s position as they took in the sight of you and Belial, their expressions a mixture of suspicion, confusion, and—though they tried to mask it—discomfort.

“What—” Bruce started, his voice a low rumble filled with authority and barely veiled surprise. “Who are you?”

His words struck a nerve, a surge of anger and disbelief surging through you. After all these years, after everything you’d done to protect Gotham in their absence, he didn’t even recognize you.

“Who am I?” you echoed, your voice steady but edged with the weight of seven years’ worth of pain, frustration, and resilience. “I’m the one who’s been keeping this city safe since you disappeared. I’m the one who stepped up when you all left.”

Their expressions shifted, flickers of recognition and confusion mingling as they processed your words. You could see the realization beginning to dawn in their eyes, a faint glimmer of understanding that perhaps they’d missed something important in your life all those years ago.

Bruce’s gaze settled on you, his brow furrowing as he took in your stance, your confidence, the strength that had been hard-won over countless nights spent protecting Gotham. There was a pause, a beat of silence, before he spoke again, his tone low, measured.

“(Y/N)?” he asked, almost as though he couldn’t believe it. The name sounded foreign on his lips, a reminder of the years he’d spent without you, the years he’d spent not knowing the person you’d become.

“Yes, Bruce,” you replied, using his name deliberately, the formality almost a barrier between you. “It’s me.”

His face flickered with something unreadable—guilt, perhaps, or regret—but it was buried beneath his stoic mask. The others looked between you and him, expressions ranging from shock to disbelief. Damian, the youngest, had a look of barely masked surprise, while Tim seemed to be calculating, piecing together the years that had passed in their absence. Jason’s gaze was darker, wary as he glanced at Belial, his hand instinctively shifting closer to his weapon.

Belial, by your side, shifted slightly, his fingers tightening around the handle of his own weapon, his eyes trained on the Batfamily with the same intensity they regarded him. You felt his presence like a steady anchor, his loyalty a silent reassurance that no matter what happened next, you wouldn’t face it alone.

“So,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended, as you looked each of them in the eye. “Seven years gone without a word, without any trace. And now you all just… come back, through a portal, like nothing happened?”

Bruce straightened, his jaw tightening as he replied, “It wasn’t our choice. We didn’t want to leave.” He glanced at the portal behind him, as if the memories of wherever they’d been still haunted him. “We were pulled into another dimension—a place we couldn’t escape from until now.”

His words settled in, a quiet revelation that explained the years of silence, the absence that had left a scar you’d learned to live with. But even so, the years hadn’t erased the bitterness, the feeling of abandonment that had lingered in the shadowed corners of your heart.

“And in your absence, we took care of Gotham,” you replied, gesturing to the Batcave around you, to the files and tech you’d been using to keep the city safe. “We kept the legacy going. We fought for this city every night. You were gone, but Gotham didn’t fall apart, because we didn’t let it.”

Nightwing looked at you, his expression softening as he took in the person you’d become, someone who had clearly filled the role they’d left behind. “You… you really stepped up, didn’t you?”

You gave a tight nod. “We didn’t have a choice.”

As the silence settled between you all, Bruce’s gaze drifted to Belial, his expression guarded. “And who is he?”

Belial held his ground, meeting Bruce’s gaze with calm defiance. “I’m her partner. Belial.” His voice was steady, and there was a subtle edge to it, a challenge in the way he looked at Bruce, at all of them. He shifted slightly closer to you, a protective instinct that hadn’t dulled in all the years you’d been together.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, and you could see the silent tension brewing between him and Belial, an unspoken judgment lingering in his gaze. Azrael had never fully accepted your relationship with Belial, and you knew Bruce would likely follow suit. But that didn’t matter to you—not anymore. Belial was your partner, your equal, someone who’d stood by you through the darkest of nights when your own family had been nowhere to be found.

After a beat of silence, you spoke up, your voice steady and unyielding. “You might be back, but things have changed. I have a team now. We’ve been holding Gotham together while you were gone, and we’ll continue to protect it with or without you.”

The Batfamily exchanged glances, each of them processing the reality of your words, the truth of the world they’d returned to. You saw the mixture of shock, guilt, and maybe even a glimmer of respect in their eyes as they looked at you, at the life you’d built in their absence.

They might have been your blood, the family you’d once longed to belong to, but now you knew where you stood. You had a family of your own, one you’d built through trust, loyalty, and love. And if the Batfamily wanted to return to Gotham, they would have to understand that they were stepping into your world now.

It struck you as you looked each of them over—they hadn’t aged. Bruce’s face was still as you remembered it, only a few years older than the day he’d disappeared. Dick’s familiar grin was there, though now softened with an edge of experience. Jason looked as he always had, the same fierce determination in his eyes, and Tim’s face was only slightly sharper, not worn by the years you had endured. Even Damian, who had been so young when he left, had only grown by a few inches, looking no older than sixteen. They looked as if only a few years had passed, as if they’d merely been gone on an extended mission.

Meanwhile, you stood before them as an adult, a full-grown woman of twenty-five, your face etched with the hard-won experience of seven relentless years. The weight of Gotham’s burden had left its marks—your gaze was steadier, sharper, and your stance carried the strength and weariness of someone who had spent nearly a decade fighting to keep the city from falling apart. You had grown into yourself, each year stretching the distance between you and the family you’d once longed for.

The contrast was jarring, and as their eyes took in the person you’d become. They hadn’t been there to watch you grow, hadn’t seen the countless battles, the nights spent in Gotham’s brutal streets. They’d vanished when you were barely eighteen, fresh out of high school, and now you stood before them as a seasoned vigilante, a protector of Gotham with years of hard experience under your belt.

Bruce’s gaze lingered on you the longest, a hint of regret buried deep in his expression, though his stoic mask remained in place. Perhaps he was realizing the years he’d missed, the memories he’d forfeited, the child he’d left behind now standing before him as a stranger.

You squared your shoulders, lifting your chin as you met his gaze without a hint of the insecurity that had once plagued you. “You don’t get to come back and expect everything to be the same,” you said, your voice steady. “Seven years have passed for us. We’ve lived through each of those days, we’ve fought through them. While you were gone, the city was in chaos. I fixed that. We fixed that.”

Dick’s eyes softened as he took you in, his expression tinged with something you couldn’t quite place—pride, maybe, mixed with sadness. “I… I didn’t realize,” he murmured, glancing at the others as if only now fully understanding the weight of what they’d missed.

Jason looked you over, a slight frown creasing his brow. “Seven years… and you took over?” he asked, a faint hint of skepticism in his voice, but it wasn’t derisive, merely… unsure, as if he couldn’t fully grasp the idea of the little girl he’d ignored now standing in the role he’d once held.

You nodded, unflinching. “Yes. We took over.” You glanced at Belial, who stood beside you, his protective gaze fixed on the Batfamily, his presence a reminder that the life you’d built was real, solid, no longer tied to their approval or acceptance.

Tim looked at you, his eyes calculating, piecing together the years they’d lost and the family you’d built in their place. “You… really became a vigilante?”

“Not alone,” you admitted, gesturing toward Belial. “I had help. People who chose to stay, who chose to fight for Gotham even when everything seemed lost.” You spoke with pride, with conviction, knowing that every ally who had joined your side had done so not because of blood or obligation but because they believed in the mission you’d carried on in the Batfamily’s absence.

Bruce’s expression darkened, his gaze flickering to Belial. “And he’s part of that?” he asked, his tone laced with a judgment that grated against you, a reminder of the family’s former refusal to see you, to accept your choices.

“Yes,” you replied firmly, your voice hardening as you met his gaze. “Belial is part of this. He’s been by my side, helping me protect Gotham while you were gone,” you added, reaching for Belial’s hand and lacing your fingers with his, a small but defiant gesture. “A demon.” Bruce says skeptically. “He’s my partner. My choice.” You glower.

The reaction was immediate. Bruce’s jaw clenched, his expression stony as he took in the sight of you and Belial standing together, side by side, as equals. Jason’s eyes narrowed, glancing between you and Belial with a wary intensity, while Damian’s brows drew together, the faintest trace of confusion and surprise in his gaze. But you didn’t care what they thought anymore. Belial was yours, your partner in every sense, and if they couldn’t accept that, it was their problem, not yours.

After a long silence, Bruce finally spoke, his voice quieter but no less firm. “We didn’t choose to leave you behind, (Y/N). The years that passed… they weren’t ours to live.”

You felt a pang in your chest, the faintest echo of the pain that had once torn through you, but you buried it, letting the resolve you’d built over the years take hold. “Maybe not,” you said, voice steady. “But those years are gone. I lived them. I grew up without you. And now…” You glanced around the Batcave, the familiar surroundings now a testament to everything you had overcome, everything you had protected. “Now, Gotham is my responsibility. Ours. If you’re back, you’ll have to accept that.”

The Batfamily exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. You could see the struggle in their eyes, the difficulty of reconciling the image of the child they’d left behind with the adult standing before them now, someone they didn’t know, someone they’d never had the chance to understand.

Dick stepped forward, his gaze filled with something close to admiration, tinged with regret. “You really stepped up,” he said quietly, a faint, bittersweet smile on his lips. “We couldn’t have asked for anyone better.”

You managed a nod, the praise unexpected but appreciated, a sign that at least one of them saw what you had become, what you had done in their place. Bruce held your gaze, the faintest flicker of emotion in his eyes—a silent acknowledgment of the person you’d become, of the strength he hadn’t seen in you all those years ago. “Then we’ll have to find a way to work together,” he said, the words measured but tinged with the unspoken weight of the years you’d both lived separately.

You didn’t respond right away, instead glancing at Belial, his hand still wrapped in yours, his steady presence a reminder of the family you’d built without them. You’d make room for them if they proved themselves, if they understood that Gotham no longer belonged to them alone. But you would do so on your terms, not theirs.

“Maybe,” you said after a long pause, your voice calm, steady. “But things won’t go back to the way they were. Gotham’s changed. I’ve changed. And if you want to be a part of this city again, you’ll have to accept that.”

As they stood before you, silent and contemplative, you knew they felt the shift, understood that the years hadn’t just changed you—they’d transformed Gotham itself, and now, if they wanted to protect it, they’d have to learn to do so in a city you had saved, in a world that was yours to command.

The tension in the Batcave was already thick, a charged silence stretching between you and the newly returned vigilanties. But that silence was shattered as the secret entrance swung open, and your team flooded in, responding to the emergency signal you’d sent out when the portal first appeared.

Azrael entered first, his intense gaze scanning the room, his hand already reaching for his weapon as he took in the unfamiliar figures. Prudence followed, her stance guarded but fluid, her eyes narrowing as they locked onto the intruders, her body ready to strike. Farley was last, his fists igniting with flickers of flame as he took up a position beside Azrael, a fierce, almost feral look in his eyes. Each of them was prepared for a fight, but they paused when they heard you shout.

“Hold!” you called, your voice echoing through the cavern as you raised a hand, stepping between your team and the Batfamily. “It’s… not what it looks like.” You looked at each of them in turn, silently urging them to trust you, to stand down.

Prudence’s eyes shifted to Tim, recognition flickering in her gaze as she took him in, and you saw the surprise reflected in Tim’s face as he looked back at her. Their eyes met for a long, lingering moment, a silent acknowledgment of their shared history, and a faint, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of Prudence’s mouth. But as Tim’s gaze slid from Prudence to Azrael, you felt the weight of everyone’s attention shift.

The room went quiet again as they all stared at Azrael, suspicion and unease flickering across the Batfamily’s faces. Azrael met their gazes head-on, his expression a defiant mask, his posture unyielding. He hadn’t wavered in his commitment to you, to Gotham, but you could sense the animosity radiating from the Batfamily, a history that hadn’t faded despite the years that had passed.

Bruce’s voice broke the silence, his tone hard, edged with years of mistrust. “What is he doing here?”

You felt the weight of his question settle over you, a reminder of the complex, uneasy relationship between Azrael and the Batfamily. You knew they saw him as a loose cannon, someone who operated outside their carefully crafted code, someone who had once clashed with them over his ruthless approach to justice. But to you, Azrael was something else entirely. He was the one who had trained you, who had stood by you when no one else would, who had become your mentor and your closest ally in a world that had left you to fend for yourself.

Steeling yourself, you met Bruce’s gaze, your voice firm and unwavering. “He’s with me,” you said, leaving no room for argument. “Azrael has been here for me from the beginning. He trained me when you all were gone, he fought by my side when Gotham was falling apart. He’s helped me in more ways than I can even begin to explain.”

The Batfamily exchanged glances, their wariness only growing as they processed your words. Jason’s gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing as he looked Azrael over. “So, while we were gone, you decided to bring him into the family?” he asked, his tone sharp, as if the very idea was an insult.

You held your ground, squaring your shoulders. “Yes, Jason. I did. Because when you all disappeared, I had no one else. Azrael believed in me when no one else did. He trained me, supported me. He’s part of this team—my team.”

Azrael remained silent, but you felt his steady presence beside you, a quiet but powerful reminder of the bond you’d forged over the years. He didn’t need to defend himself to them; he’d proven his loyalty to you a hundred times over, in ways they would never understand. And though his expression remained stoic, you could see a faint flicker of something in his eyes—pride, perhaps, or maybe a quiet satisfaction that you’d chosen to defend him, to stand by him despite the Batfamily’s obvious disapproval.

Tim shifted uncomfortably, glancing between you and Azrael, his brows furrowing as he tried to reconcile the person he remembered with the person you’d become. “You… really went to him for help?” he asked, his tone softer, almost hesitant, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

You nodded, your gaze steady. “I didn’t have a choice, Tim. When you all vanished, Gotham didn’t wait. Crime surged, people were dying, and I had to step up. Azrael was the only one who was there for me. He taught me what I needed to know, helped me become strong enough to protect the city.” You glanced at Azrael, a faint, grateful smile tugging at your lips. “He’s family.”

Bruce’s expression hardened, a mixture of disbelief and frustration flickering in his eyes. “Azrael’s methods have always been… extreme,” he said, his tone laced with the judgment that had kept you at arm’s length for so many years. “He’s not—”

“He’s not you,” you interrupted, meeting his gaze with a defiance you hadn’t shown him before. “And maybe that’s what Gotham needed. Maybe that’s what I needed. I had to grow up fast, Bruce. I didn’t have time to sit around and wait for you all to come back. Azrael gave me the strength to protect this city, to carry on when everything felt like it was falling apart.”

The Batfamily fell silent, their eyes flicking between you and Azrael, the unspoken tension hanging thick in the air. Prudence stepped closer to you, her hand brushing your shoulder in a silent show of support, while Farley stood beside Azrael, a hint of defiance in his stance as he faced the Batfamily.

It was clear that they didn’t understand, that they couldn’t grasp the loyalty, the bond, that had grown between you and Azrael over the years. They saw him as a weapon, a force they couldn’t control, but to you, he was family—a mentor, a partner in every way that mattered. He’d filled the role they’d left empty, and he’d done so without question, without expecting anything in return.

Bruce’s gaze shifted to Azrael, his expression unreadable as he took in the man who had stepped into his place, who had shaped the person you’d become. “So, you trained her,” he said, his voice a low murmur that held both accusation and reluctant acknowledgment.

Azrael met his gaze, his own eyes steady, unyielding. “I did,” he replied simply, his tone calm but resolute. “Because she needed someone who was willing to believe in her potential, someone who didn’t see her as a child.” He glanced at you, his expression softening in a way that was rare for him. “She’s proven herself, time and again. She’s more than capable, and I would trust her with my life.”

The weight of Azrael’s words hung in the air, a testament to the bond you’d forged, to the trust that had carried you through the darkest years. For a moment, the Batfamily seemed to falter, a flicker of uncertainty crossing their faces as they absorbed the reality of the person you’d become, the family you’d built in their absence.

Nightwing broke the silence, his tone softer, filled with a hesitant respect. “It sounds like you did good,” he said quietly, his gaze steady as he looked at you. “Even if we don’t fully understand it… you kept Gotham safe. You stepped up.”

You nodded, your voice steady as you replied, “I did what had to be done. And I’m not the person I was when you left. Azrael is part of my family now, and if you want to be a part of my life, you’ll have to accept that.”

The Batfamily exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. You could see the struggle in their eyes, the tension of reconciling their memories of you with the person you’d become, the life you’d built without them. But for the first time, they seemed to understand that they weren’t stepping back into the family they’d left behind—they were stepping into a new world, one where you held the reins, one where you defined the rules.

Bruce gave a slow nod, his gaze lingering on you before shifting to Azrael, a silent acknowledgment that carried the weight of years of history and judgment. “Then we’ll have to find a way to work together,” he said, his voice quieter, less certain, but laced with an acceptance he hadn’t shown before.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you, the recognition of a new beginning, a tentative bridge between the family you’d once lost and the family you’d found in their absence. It wouldn’t be easy, you knew. The past wouldn’t vanish overnight, and the tension between the Batfamily and Azrael was still palpable. But for the first time, there was a glimmer of hope, a possibility of blending the old with the new.

As the Batfamily stood before you, taking in the person you’d become and the team that surrounded you, something unspoken simmered beneath the surface, a puzzle they were only beginning to piece together. You could see it in their eyes, the glances they exchanged, the faint looks of suspicion they cast your way. Something about you, your stance, the quiet confidence you exuded, was triggering old memories. Memories of nights spent chasing shadows, hunting down an enigmatic young partner who had fought by Azrael’s side years ago—a partner whose identity they had never been able to uncover.

In those days, you had operated under their radar, your true identity carefully concealed as you trained under Azrael’s brutal mentorship. You’d learned to mask your movements, to cover your tracks so meticulously that even the Batfamily, with all their resources, hadn’t managed to pin you down. They’d called you many things over the years—a ghost, an enigma, the young shadow who had stood by Azrael’s side with a fierce loyalty that they couldn’t understand. To them, you had been a mystery, someone they couldn’t fully control or predict, and they’d spent countless nights trying to bring you in, to discover who you were and what drove you.

But now, as they took you in, realization began to dawn in their eyes, piece by agonizing piece. Tim was the first to falter, his eyes narrowing as he looked you over, his sharp mind already piecing together details that others might have missed. The stance, the controlled posture, the barely visible scars tracing your arms—familiar but unplaceable until now. You saw the flash of recognition in his gaze, the widening of his eyes as he finally made the connection.

“Wait… you were…” Tim’s voice trailed off, disbelief flickering across his face as he glanced between you and Azrael. “You were his partner?”

You held his gaze, neither confirming nor denying, letting the weight of your silence speak for itself. The truth hung heavy in the air, the realization settling over them like a slow-building storm. The enigma they’d spent years hunting, the partner who had been a constant thorn in their side, had been you all along. The person they had tried so hard to track down, to bring to justice or at least understand, had been right under their noses, living in the same house, watching them as they went about their missions, unknowing of the life you were leading in secret.

Jason’s expression shifted, a mixture of shock and irritation twisting his features as he looked at you, then at Azrael. “Are you kidding me?” he muttered, his tone sharp, almost incredulous. “All those years, we were chasing you? We were trying to figure out who this ‘mystery vigilante’ was, and it was you?”

You shrugged, allowing a faint, almost amused smile to cross your lips. “You never really gave me much of a choice. I had to work in the shadows, away from you all. Azrael… he was the only one who believed in me enough to let me fight.”

Bruce’s face tightened, a flash of something that looked like betrayal flickering across his features. He had dedicated nights, weeks, perhaps months, to tracking you and Azrael, believing the two of you to be rogue elements disrupting the carefully maintained order he’d established in Gotham. He’d sent teams after you, had pulled strings to uncover your identity, always coming up empty-handed. And now, standing in front of him, was the very enigma he had hunted, the daughter he had left behind.

“You,” he said slowly, his voice tinged with a mix of anger and disbelief. “You were the one working with Azrael. You were the one we were hunting down.”

Your heart clenched at the hint of hurt in his tone, but you pushed it aside, refusing to let his reaction shake you. “Yes, I was,” you replied, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. “Because while you were gone, I didn’t have anyone else. I didn’t have the luxury of waiting around, hoping you’d come back. Gotham was falling apart, and someone had to step up. Azrael gave me that chance.”

Nightwing, usually the peacekeeper, ran a hand through his hair, looking at you with a strange blend of admiration and disbelief. “All this time,” he murmured, a faint, rueful smile tugging at his lips. “We thought you were some kind of vigilante ghost… and it was you, hiding right under our noses.”

Damian, who had once viewed you as an outsider in the family, stared at you with a newfound respect mingling with suspicion. “You really fought with Azrael all these years?” he asked, his tone quieter, almost reluctant to admit that he was impressed.

You nodded, a faint smile playing at your lips as you glanced at Azrael, who stood tall and unwavering beside you. “Every night. We kept Gotham safe, fought the battles you weren’t there to fight. And yes, we made decisions you might not agree with. But we did what we had to.”

The Batfamily exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and a slow, reluctant respect. The person they’d dismissed as a child, the person they’d ignored and brushed aside, had been the very vigilante they’d spent years hunting. And now, they had no choice but to acknowledge the reality of who you’d become, of the life you’d led without them.

Bruce’s gaze shifted to Azrael, the tension between them palpable, a reminder of the long-standing animosity that had simmered beneath the surface for years. “And you encouraged this?” he asked, his tone hard, accusatory. “You brought my daughter into a life of violence and danger, knowing what it would cost her?”

Azrael met Bruce’s gaze unflinchingly, his voice calm, unyielding. “I didn’t ‘bring’ her into anything,” he replied. “(Y/N) made her own choice, and I respected it. I trained her, yes. I taught her to survive, to protect herself. Because she had the strength, the determination, and the will that none of you ever saw. I simply gave her the tools to become who she already was.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the truth that the Batfamily hadn’t wanted to see. You had been left alone, a child in need of guidance, and when they hadn’t been there, Azrael had stepped in, offering you the mentorship and support they had denied. He hadn’t forced you into this life; he’d simply recognized the fire within you, the desire to make a difference, and had given you the chance to prove yourself.

Jason’s face softened, a reluctant acknowledgment flickering in his eyes as he looked at you. “Guess you did good, then,” he said, a hint of grudging respect in his tone. “You kept Gotham safe. You kept… us safe, even when you didn’t have to.”

Tim nodded, his gaze shifting between you and Azrael, a mixture of regret and admiration in his eyes. “We underestimated you,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “I… I underestimated you. I thought you were just a kid, someone who didn’t understand what this life takes. But you’ve proven us all wrong.”

You felt a flicker of satisfaction at their words, a sense of closure that had been a long time coming. You had spent years in the shadows, fighting alongside Azrael, working tirelessly to protect the city they had left behind. And now, standing before them, you knew that they finally saw you for who you were—a fighter, a protector, someone who had risen from the ashes of abandonment to become a force in her own right.

Bruce’s gaze softened, the faintest glimmer of remorse in his eyes as he looked at you, truly seeing you for the first time. “You kept Gotham safe,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “And you kept… my legacy alive. I should have seen it sooner.”

You met his gaze, a mixture of emotions swirling within you—bitterness, pride, and a quiet acceptance. “Maybe you should have,” you replied, your voice steady, but softened by the years of distance and pain that had settled into something like peace. “But that doesn’t matter now. I did what I had to do, and I don’t regret any of it.”

The Batfamily looked at you, no longer with the wary suspicion they’d once held, but with something deeper—a reluctant admiration, an acknowledgment of the strength you’d earned through blood, sweat, and unrelenting resilience. They finally understood that you were no longer the child they’d left behind but a warrior in your own right, someone who had carved her own path in the shadowed streets of Gotham.

And as you stood there, flanked by Azrael, Belial, and your team, you knew that you had proven yourself, not only to them but to yourself. You were no longer the enigma they had hunted, the partner they’d misunderstood. You were a force of your own, a protector of Gotham, and the family you’d chosen stood beside you, ready to defend the city they’d fought to keep safe.

“So,” Dick broke the silence, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced between the Batcomputer and the war table, his tone uncertain. “What exactly are we supposed to do now?”

You exhaled hard, dragging a hand down your face. It felt like you’d aged another seven years in the last ten minutes. Your brain was already churning with logistics and impossibilities: Gotham’s legal system, Bruce’s estate, the sudden reappearance of not just one billionaire but six high-profile individuals—most of whom had been declared legally dead. Not to mention the return of Batman and his entire team of vigilantes after nearly a decade of silence.

This was a mess.

A mess you were now responsible for.

Your gaze drifted to Dick, who now looked almost exactly your age—maybe younger by a few months. That alone made your head spin. You were once a teenager desperate for his attention, for any sibling-like bond he might throw your way. Now you were his peer, even more seasoned in some areas. Older. Harder. And definitely more tired.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and muttered, “I’ll— I’ll get Alfred down here. He’ll help figure this mess out. He’s better at this.”

Before you could move toward the comms, Bruce raised a hand. “Hold up.”

You turned to face him, but your patience was already razor-thin. “No. I’m going to stop you right here,” you said, voice flat and sharp. “You’ve been gone for seven years, Bruce. Seven. Gotham is not the same place you left. The streets are different. The alliances are different. Hell, even the laws are different.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt, letting you speak.

“You can’t just pop back in and pick up where you left off. None of you can. You’ll need help—and time—integrating back into this world.” You folded your arms, leveling your gaze across the room. “You’ve missed everything.”

“I assume that means we won’t be able to patrol,” Tim said quietly, though it was clearly more statement than question.

You nodded. “No, not yet. Not for a while. We need to get your civilian identities sorted first. Bruce Wayne’s reappearance alone is going to break the internet. The public thinks you're dead. Your assets are frozen, your accounts legally inactive. You’re going to need new paperwork, a proper reentry strategy. And even then, we’ll have to be careful.”

Bruce nodded, stoic as ever, but at least receptive. You could see him already calculating, that old strategist brain whirring behind his eyes.

Damian, however, made a sharp noise of denial, stepping forward with narrowed eyes. “That’s ridiculous. I’m ready. I’ve always been ready. I’m not going to sit on the sidelines like some weak civilian while Gotham bleeds.”

“Damian,” you said, tone calm but firm, “you don’t know this Gotham anymore. None of you do. You were gone long enough for people to move on. For new threats to rise. New dynamics. You can’t just walk back in and expect the city to fall back in line. It’s not going to work like that.”

Jason scoffed under his breath. “She’s not wrong.”

“I know I’m not wrong,” you shot back. “And trust me, I’d love nothing more than to hand the reins back to someone else and get a vacation for once. But we don’t have that luxury. The world kept spinning without you. Gotham changed. I changed.”

You looked at Bruce, gaze softening just a little—not out of pity, but out of truth. “I want you back in the field. I do. But we have to do it right. Or it’ll fall apart faster than it did the first time.”

Bruce studied you, his eyes sharp but no longer combative. “Then we’ll do it your way,” he said finally.

That caught even you off guard. You blinked, feeling the weight of the moment settle in your chest.

“Alfred’s coming down,” you said after a pause, your voice quieter. “He’ll help. He always does.”

And in your heart, you hoped that maybe—just maybe—Alfred could help you make sense of the fact that the past had just walked through a portal into your present… and now you were the one holding the city’s future.

Alfred arrived faster than you’d ever seen him move, a rare urgency in his normally composed steps. The usual quiet dignity he carried was frayed around the edges, replaced by something rawer, deeper. You didn’t need to ask why—Alfred had never truly recovered from losing Bruce and the others. He had held the manor together after their disappearance, held you together in your early days with Azrael, but you’d seen the cracks in his composure over the years. The empty places at the dinner table. The faint pause every time he passed by their old rooms. He hadn’t just lost the family he served—he’d lost the children he raised. His boys. His girl.

And now they stood before him, alive and flesh and real.

The moment Alfred stepped into the Batcave and laid eyes on Bruce, his posture broke. The tray of supplies he carried was lowered carefully to the floor, forgotten entirely as his expression trembled.

“Oh… oh, my boy…” Alfred whispered, voice catching, cracking under the weight of a thousand unsaid things.

“Alfred,” Bruce said softly, and it was the most human you’d heard him sound in… maybe ever.

They crossed the space like the ground itself didn’t matter. The hug was tight, not stoic, not brief. Bruce clung to Alfred like a son who had finally come home, and Alfred’s eyes closed as he held him, silent tears running down his face.

You watched it for only a moment before your throat tightened.

You turned away.

They needed that moment. They belonged in it. You didn’t. You were part of this place, but not that part. That was their story, their bond. The reunion of a family shattered and stitched back together by time and fate. You were just the one who'd kept the lights on while they were gone.

You walked back to where Prudence and Farley stood off to the side. Their expressions were mixed—surprise, discomfort, maybe a little awe.

You gave them a small, tired smile. “You guys can leave if you want. I get it. This… isn’t really your moment.”

Farley didn’t even hesitate. “Thank God,” he muttered, already making his way toward the exit with the hurried gait of someone who desperately wanted to escape the emotional gravity in the room. “You know I don’t do the whole ‘group hug and cry’ thing. This is all you.”

You snorted despite the ache in your chest.

You turned to Prudence, who hadn't moved. She stood still, arms crossed, her gaze trained on the Batfamily with an unreadable expression. When you met her eyes, she only raised an eyebrow.

“You staying?”

Her eyes flicked briefly to Tim, who was quietly speaking with Cass on the other side of the room. “We’ve got history,” she said simply, and you could see it—her curiosity, her caution, and maybe… hope. She wasn't a sentimental person, not really, but you knew Tim had meant something to her once.

“Alright,” you murmured. “Just… don’t stab anyone unless they stab first.”

“No promises,” she said dryly.

You chuckled and turned to Azrael, who stood in his usual silent place behind you like a wall of conviction. He hadn’t moved an inch since the moment the Bats returned, but you felt his gaze on you, watchful as always.

“You could leave too,” you offered gently, though you already knew the answer.

Azrael didn’t speak, just gave you a look—a long, unwavering stare that said more than any words. I’m not leaving you.

You gave him a tired nod, your shoulders relaxing just slightly. “Didn’t think so.”

And then there was Belial. Of course, you and he lived in the manor now. You slept in what was once one of the guest wings, made it your home. The idea of suddenly having to explain that—to a freshly returned Bruce Wayne—was… daunting, to say the least.

“I suppose,” you muttered under your breath, glancing between the tender reunions and the mess they were about to leave in your lap, “we’ll have to tell them about us at some point.”

Belial, who had appeared silently at your side like a devilish shadow, raised a brow. “You mean the part where we live together?” 

You blinked at him.

“…Yes.”

He smirked, leaning closer until only you could hear. “Let’s save the second part for dinner, shall we?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, quiet and bitter-sweet. This was a mess. The storm of emotion had finally started to settle. The reunions were complete—or at least, the most intense parts of them. Alfred was still lingering near Bruce, fussing over him in the way only he could: equal parts doting and chastising, hands on Bruce’s shoulders like he couldn’t quite believe he was real. Cass had tucked herself under Alfred’s arm like a child too afraid to admit she missed home. Dick had hugged everyone twice, Jason had begrudgingly allowed it once, and even Damian had accepted a tight, silent embrace from Alfred that left him looking a little shell-shocked.

You waited at the edge of it all, hands in your pockets, awkward and unsure. This wasn’t your moment, but you were the one who had to take charge again. The emotional wave had crested, and now everyone was looking around, uncertain, raw, and… hungry.

You cleared your throat softly and stepped forward, your voice a bit too loud in the quiet that followed. “Your rooms are, um—they’re still yours. We didn’t touch them.”

Everyone looked at you. You felt their eyes, and suddenly you were a teenager again, small and trying too hard, your words clumsy on your tongue.

You pressed on.

“Right. So, um… dinner. We’re all quite starving, right?”

“Yeah,” Dick said, rubbing his stomach with a sheepish grin. “Yeah, definitely. Jet lag across dimensions, who knew.”

You nodded too fast, grateful for the humor. “Right. It’s a bit late, I know—I can order takeout. If that’s okay?”

Bruce nodded. “That’s fine.”

“Yeah—sure,” Jason added, arms crossed, but not in his usual defensive way. Just tired. Worn.

“Any preferences?” you asked, pulling out your phone, thumb hovering over your delivery apps.

Tim perked up. “Uhhh… is that Mexican place near Fifth Street still open? The one with the hole in the wall?”

You blinked. “Yeah—yeah, it’s still there. We can get that.”

“Cool,” he murmured, relaxing for the first time since stepping through the portal.

“Cool…” You echoed, feeling the silence stretch again as you placed the order.

Then Dick, who had never been good with silence, chuckled softly, looking you over as if seeing you for the first time all over again. “So… you’ve grown.”

You froze.

Oh god. So you were doing this. Small talk about how much older you looked. Fantastic.

“Well, yes,” you said dryly, giving him a deadpan look as your fingers tapped out the order on your phone. “Time does that.”

Jason smirked. “You’ve got his sarcasm now, too,” he muttered, nodding toward Bruce.

“I’ve had a lot of time to practice.”

Belial chuckled under his breath beside you, and you elbowed him lightly in the ribs before glancing back up at them. They were all watching you again—but this time it felt different. Not like they were seeing a stranger. Like they were trying to piece together who you were now, instead of remembering who you were then.

“Food’ll be here in twenty-five,” you said quietly. “We can eat in the dining room, if that’s okay. Or the cave. Whichever.”

Bruce nodded again. “Dining room’s fine.”

Alfred smiled at you warmly, placing a hand on your shoulder as he passed, heading up to set the table like no time had passed at all. And maybe, for a few precious moments, that would be true.

You exhaled slowly, trying to brace yourself for the second wave—the real conversations. The hard ones. The identity talk, the Gotham logistics, the life you’d lived without them.

But for now? Dinner was enough. A quiet meal in a house that was both haunted and alive again.

And maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t such a bad place to start.

One by one, they all began to file out of the Batcave. Quietly, thoughtfully, some casting glances back over their shoulders as if still trying to convince themselves that they were truly home. Bruce lingered a moment longer with Alfred, speaking in hushed tones, while Dick and Cass headed up the stairs together. Jason muttered something about needing a real shower and maybe a bottle of something strong. Tim and Prudence exchanged a brief look before he followed the others, and even Damian trailed off eventually, his steps slower, less confident than you’d ever seen them.

You let them go.

They needed time—time to clean up, to settle in, to wander the rooms of a manor that had become something entirely new while they were gone. You didn’t begrudge them that. They had lost years too, years in another world, in another time. Years they couldn’t get back. You could give them the space to breathe. After all, you’d had seven years of figuring this out on your own. They were only just now waking up.

With a soft exhale, you turned and headed upstairs with Belial, your pace slowing once you reached the living room. It was dimly lit, warm in a way the cave wasn’t, and after the night you’d had, it felt like the only place in the world you could melt into.

You collapsed onto the couch, limbs heavy, your body finally giving in to the emotional exhaustion.

Belial followed, sitting beside you as he watched you closely. His hand found yours, fingers gently threading through yours with practiced ease.

“You okay, darling?” he asked softly, his voice the grounding warmth you’d come to rely on.

You stared ahead for a moment, eyes fixed on nothing, before admitting quietly, “...I—I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” he said, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. “This… this is a lot.”

You turned your head to look at him, a tired smile barely tugging at your lips. “Well, at least this means we finally get to have that vacation.” You leaned your head against his shoulder with a tired sigh. “Give or take a couple of months.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm as he brushed a kiss against the top of your head. “We should probably focus on patrol tonight first.”

“Yeah… probably,” you murmured, eyes already drooping. “But I am gonna start planning the itinerary. It’s only fair.”

“Oh, absolutely,” he grinned. “Bali or Cancun?”

“Bali, for sure,” you said instantly. “Cancun’s nice, but I want waterfalls. Peace. Quiet.”

He smirked. “So you want the opposite of Gotham.”

“Exactly.”

You both sat there in comfortable silence, the only sound the soft ticking of the manor’s antique grandfather clock. For a fleeting moment, everything felt stable again—chaos held at bay, ghosts tucked into bedrooms, and the future wide open.

Maybe, just maybe… you’d finally get to live in it.

Dinner was… awkward, to say the least.

Everyone sat around the grand dining table, most of them in freshly changed clothes, hair damp from hot showers, the weight of years—missing years—still hanging around their shoulders like lead. You sat at one end of the table with Belial beside you, his hand resting on your thigh under the table in quiet reassurance. Azrael, of course, sat silently a few chairs away, more imposing than ever despite being out of his armor. Prudence lounged with one arm slung over her chair, watching everything with the silent poise of a bored cat.

You’d expected the dinner talk to revolve around them—where they’d been, what they remembered, how the hell they got back. But once the food had been passed around, and the chewing had dulled the immediate tension, the questions… started falling on you.

“So,” Dick said around a bite of rice and grilled chicken, “did you ever go to college?”

You blinked, caught mid-sip of water. “Uh… no, I didn’t.”

He paused. “Oh. Right, I guess… with everything going on, that would’ve been hard.”

You gave a small shrug. “Yeah, Gotham kinda took precedence.”

Jason snorted. “No kidding.”

Tim leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “What about your civilian life? What… what did you do for work? I mean—before everyone knew about you as a vigilante.”

“I didn’t really have a civilian life,” you admitted. “It wasn’t safe at first. Once I started working with Azrael… things got busy.”

You felt the room shift slightly. The moment you said his name, their expressions changed—especially Bruce. You glanced his way, catching the subtle twitch in his jaw. He was grinding his teeth.

Weird.

Dick gave a short laugh, trying to ease the tension. “So wait—you really started training with him? Azrael? When?”

You glanced toward Azrael, who was calmly cutting his food like the questions didn’t involve him at all.

“I was eleven,” you answered.

The silence that followed was palpable.

“Eleven,” Bruce repeated, voice quiet and sharp. His eyes flicked to Azrael for a half-second before looking back to you. “You were eleven when he started training you?”

“He didn’t start me,” you corrected, gently but firmly. “I asked him to. I begged him to.” 

Bruce’s jaw was tight again. You could tell he didn’t like it. That he was angry. At Azrael. At you. At himself. You didn’t know.

“So,” Tim cut in, trying to reroute the tension, “your team. Who’s on it?”

Ah. Right. The team.

Belial arched a brow beside you like he knew exactly where this was about to go. You shifted slightly in your seat.

“Well, there’s Prudence,” you gestured to her, who gave a small salute with her fork, “Farley—he’s a fire manipulator. Azrael, of course. And Belial.”

You could feel Bruce tense before he spoke.

“You have metas. In Gotham?”

Here it comes.

“I do,” you said, voice steady.

Bruce sat up straighter, his fork resting on his plate. “We had a rule—”

“And I repealed it,” you interrupted, not unkindly, but firmly. “That rule was outdated. I get why you made it. But Gotham changed. We changed. I only work with metas who prove themselves trustworthy. Farley’s been with me for years. He’s never crossed a line.”

“Metas complicate things,” Bruce said coolly.

“So do traumatized orphans in capes,” Belial muttered under his breath, earning a sudden cough from Dick and a choked laugh from Jason.

You tried very hard not to smile. “Belial.”

“What?” he said, totally unapologetic.

Damian scowled across the table. “So what is he, then?” He gestured at Belial with his fork. “Some kind of meta?”

Belial grinned, far too pleased with the attention. “Half-demon, technically.”

Cass’s eyes widened slightly. Tim looked like he wanted to say something, but no words formed. Jason just raised a brow.

Bruce? Bruce looked like he was going to fall through the floor. Or combust.

You cleared your throat. “He’s also a better medic than most ER doctors and speaks six languages. I think that earns him some points.”

“Seven,” Belial corrected.

“Right. Seven.”

Bruce leaned back slightly, and while he said nothing, you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes. He was trying to parse it all. You. Azrael. A half-demon.

They were perceptive. You knew that much before they ever came back—hyper-observant, trained to spot patterns, shifts, tells, tension. You had no doubt that by now, after only a few hours, every single one of them had already clocked your relationship with Belial.

You hadn’t exactly been subtle. The quiet conversations, the protective glances, the way his hand had barely left yours since the moment the portal opened. Even now, during dinner, his thigh rested against yours beneath the table, his arm draped comfortably along the back of your chair. Not possessive—present. Familiar. The kind of closeness that only came from years of love and war alike.

Bruce hadn’t said anything, but you didn’t need him to. You could feel it in the way he glanced at Belial when he thought you weren’t looking, the slight bristle to his shoulders every time Belial so much as spoke. He hadn’t figured out why it got under his skin yet—whether it was the demon blood, the sarcasm, or just the simple fact that someone like him had managed to find a place at your side—but whatever it was, it made his jaw clench like clockwork.

Dick… well, Dick’s smile hadn’t reached his eyes since you’d confirmed the relationship. He was trying, you’d give him that. But there was something tight in his expression, something protective and disapproving in the older-brother-you-never-had kind of way. He didn’t like it, not one bit. But he knew he had no say in it.

Jason had already given Belial the once-over three separate times, and would probably make it four before dessert. Tim was even worse—he hadn’t said anything directly, but he was watching everything, every exchange, every word. Calculating. Cataloguing. Making some damn file in that brain of his.

And Damian… Damian just didn’t like people. He hadn’t said a single thing about Belial that wasn’t laced with vague disdain. That was probably the most normal reaction of the bunch, to be honest.

“So… you live here?” Dick finally asked, fork half-suspended in the air as he looked across the table at Belial, trying for casual. Failing.

Ah. They’d either overheard earlier, or Alfred had gotten to them.

You cleared your throat, stiffening just slightly. “Er—yes, he does.”

A beat of silence.

“You two are…?” Jason asked, tone dry, a brow raised.

You exhaled slowly through your nose. “I’m twenty-five, not sixteen. Yes, we’re together.”

“Right, right,” Tim said quickly, offering a smile that was more awkward than reassuring. “That’s… nice.”

You resisted the urge to rest your head on the table.

“So how did you two meet?” Dick asked, too casually again, his grin a little too tight. “Was it on one of those rogue mission arcs? Some dramatic rooftop rescue?”

You opened your mouth, unprepared for how to explain that particular chapter—but thankfully, Belial beat you to it.

“We met on a mission actually,” he said smoothly, setting his glass down. “About six years ago. A smuggling ring that turned out to be running ancient cursed artifacts. She got there first and punched a guy through a wall. I was… impressed.”

Jason blinked. “That tracks.”

Belial smiled, unbothered by the scrutiny. “We ended up working together more after that. One thing led to another.”

You leaned back in your chair, letting his voice take over, letting him answer their questions with the ease only he could manage. His voice was calm, steady, almost charming in the way he navigated their probing without ever giving too much, but always enough.

You needed the break.

The day had been long—too long. Your emotions had whiplashed in every direction, and you were starting to feel it in your bones. The walls of your childhood home didn’t feel like yours tonight. The chairs at the table were full of people you’d mourned and outgrown, now suddenly back and sitting across from you like no time had passed.

So you let Belial take the wheel. You reached for your drink and let his steady voice wrap around you like a buffer, talking about a mission in Prague, a rooftop stakeout in the Narrows, how you made fun of him the first time you saw him trying to disguise his horns under a beanie. You could hear them asking questions, laughing lightly, filling in gaps they hadn’t known existed.

You didn’t answer. You just sat there quietly, Belial’s arm brushing your back every so often, and thought about how strange it was—being surrounded by the people you once begged to see you… while the only one who truly had was the one they didn’t understand.

Dinner ended with the clink of silverware and the quiet scrape of chairs being pushed back. No one said much. Everyone exchanged small, stiff goodnights and retreated into the house, the air heavy with something unspoken—something you could feel gathering behind every look.

You knew that air. It was the kind that came before something—a confession, a conversation, a plea.

Prudence was the first to leave, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze before murmuring, “Call me if you need an excuse to escape.” You gave her a ghost of a smile.

Azrael left not long after, giving you a simple nod, nothing more. You didn’t need words between you and him. There never really had been.

You lingered behind with Belial near the hallway, the soft lighting of the manor casting long shadows across the marble.

“I’ll meet you in our room,” you said, quietly, your voice low enough not to carry. You didn’t look at him because you didn’t want to see the worry in his eyes.

He didn’t argue. He rarely did when it mattered. “Call me if you need me,” he murmured, voice brushing soft and certain against your ear. His hand lingered at the small of your back for a beat too long. And then he was gone.

You stood there alone for a breath. Then two.

And then came the footsteps.

You didn’t have to turn to know it was them.

“(Y/N),” Dick said first, his voice tentative. Almost gentle.

“Dick,” you replied, keeping your tone neutral. You turned slowly, facing him—and the rest. They’d stayed behind, just as you expected. Bruce stood in the corner, silent as ever. Tim shifted awkwardly near the mantle. Jason leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Damian stood further back, face hard to read. Cass was the only one who didn’t look away when you met her eyes.

“You—We—We’re so sorry,” Dick began again, the words spilling out awkwardly, his hands gesturing helplessly like he didn’t know how to hold them.

You blinked, thrown. “Dick… it wasn’t your fault you guys disappeared—”

“No,” he said quickly, cutting you off with a shake of his head. “No, not that. We’re—we’re sorry about everything else.”

You stiffened.

“We didn’t realize,” he continued, his voice cracking just slightly. “Not until we were gone. Not until we came back and—and saw all of it. We missed everything. We didn’t just disappear from Gotham. We disappeared from you.”

You looked down, throat tight.

“Dick—”

“He’s right,” Tim said quietly, stepping forward. “We didn’t treat you well. Before the portal. Before any of this. We didn’t make space for you. We didn’t try. And you… you didn’t deserve that.”

Your chest tightened, the words twisting like something sharp. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t already told yourself. You’d grieved it years ago. Accepted it. Let it harden and then soften again, buried somewhere deep. But hearing them say it—finally—was something else entirely.

“No,” you said softly, meeting their eyes. “No, I didn’t.”

There was a long silence.

Then Jason, voice lower than usual, said, “We want to be part of your life. We know we haven’t earned it. We know we don’t deserve it. But if you’ll let us… we’d like to try.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You weren’t sure what to say.

You’d already made peace with your place in this family. You weren’t angry anymore—not really. The bitter, adolescent version of yourself that had once screamed at locked doors and cold shoulders was long gone. You had outgrown her. You had survived without them. Found people who stayed. Built something real, even if it looked nothing like the blood family you once hoped for.

This was all making your head spin.

“We know it’s not fair to ask,” Tim added quickly.

“It’s not,” you said, a little sharper than you meant to. But no one flinched.

“But we’re asking anyway,” Dick murmured. “Not as penance. Not to ease our guilt. But because… you’re ours. You always were. And we didn’t see it until it was too late. Please—let us be in your life. In whatever way you’re willing to have us.”

You looked at each of them then. Really looked. At the older versions of the people who once walked past you in hallways like you didn’t exist. At the ones who had dismissed you, forgotten you, avoided you. They were standing here now, not asking for forgiveness, but for a chance.

“You all feel this way?” you asked, quietly.

“Yes,” came Bruce’s voice at last. Low. Steady. And unlike anything you’d ever heard from him.

You sighed, long and slow. You felt older than your years. Worn thin by the weight of too many nights spent waiting for words like this. Words that had never come. Words that didn’t change the past—but maybe, just maybe, could rewrite a little of the future.

Maybe a younger you would have said no. Would have lashed out. Thrown every memory back in their faces.

But you were 25 now.

There was no anger left in you.

Just the cautious ember of something new, something healing.

“…Okay,” you said at last, your voice small but firm. “But you don’t get to walk back in and pretend nothing happened.”

“We won’t,” Dick promised.

“Good.” You paused, then gave the smallest of smiles. “I’ll let you know when you’ve earned movie night.”

Jason huffed a breath of a laugh. Tim smiled. Damian muttered something in Arabic that sounded vaguely annoyed, but not unkind. Bruce… Bruce looked like a man who had been holding his breath for seven years and had finally exhaled.

And in that moment, you realized—this wasn’t you giving them your trust again.

This was them earning it.

It was awkward at first. Beyond awkward, honestly.

You were 25 now—older than Tim, older than Damian, just barely older than Dick—and it showed. Not in the way you carried yourself necessarily, but in your eyes, your routine, the way you moved through life with a rhythm they hadn't learned yet. They had disappeared while you were still a teenager, trying to earn a place in a home that never quite made space for you. Now they were back, dropped into a timeline that had long since moved on, into your version of Gotham.

The initial weeks were stiff, tentative. You didn’t know what to do with them. They didn’t know what to do with you. You were the head of the house now, the leader in the field, the one who made the patrol schedules and signed off on tactical decisions. They deferred to you in the cave—and you could tell it made them feel weird. Out of place. Lesser, almost. But there was no way around it.

You had a routine. A life. And adding them to the mix, no matter how well-meaning, disrupted the balance you and your team had built.

At first, most of your conversations were case-based. Tactical. Logistics. You’d speak in mission briefings, work together at the Batcomputer in the cave, assign roles for com duty while you and your team took to the streets. They weren’t allowed to patrol yet, not until Bruce and Alfred were sure they were cleared physically, mentally, legally—and that left most of them with energy they didn’t know where to place. So they helped. Cass took com duty often, seemingly content to listen in on your team’s chatter. Tim and Jason got invested in casework. Dick bounced between trying to be helpful and trying not to step on your toes.

It was tense. Tolerable, but off.

But slowly, painfully slowly, that began to shift.

The first dinners were quiet. Then not as quiet. The silences filled with someone asking for the mashed potatoes, a joke from Jason that made Damian roll his eyes. You trained with Dick and Jason more frequently—Jason in the early mornings, often unspoken but companionable, and Dick in the late afternoons, his laughter easing the awkward air between you.

You still flinched, sometimes, when he called you “kid,” and he always looked guilty afterward. But he stopped saying it. You both adjusted.

Then came Damian. He'd barely spoken to you the first few days—grunts, narrowed eyes, suspicion. That was his love language, you supposed. But when Alfred mentioned Titus in passing, you caught the way Damian’s posture shifted. How his hands stilled. You didn’t say anything at first. You waited until later, pulling him aside.

“I thought you might want to visit him,” you’d said quietly, offering him a ride to the small grave on the edge of the property. You didn’t expect him to say yes. But he had.

It was a quiet visit. Damian didn’t cry. He stood still, hands in fists at his sides, jaw clenched until it trembled. You didn’t speak—just knelt beside the headstone and let him exist. It was oddly civil. Oddly peaceful.

After that, he didn't avoid you anymore.

Then came the hard part—reintroducing them to the public.

You and Alfred worked tirelessly to sort out the legal mess that came with the sudden return of Bruce Wayne and his entire family from the dead. Media outlets swarmed. Conspiracies cropped up overnight. You held a press conference, coordinated cover stories, danced around timelines. It was exhausting. But somehow, you and Alfred pulled it off.

And after the smoke cleared, something finally started to settle.

You started doing coffee dates with Cass and Tim. Cass was quiet, as always, but being with her was easy. She didn’t expect you to fill silence, just shared it with you like it was sacred. Tim came too, even though he hated coffee. He drank hot chocolate and stared at your black espresso like it personally offended him.

You helped him apply to Gotham U. Something he’d wanted to do before the portal took him away. You sat next to him through forms, essays, mock interviews—helped him find something normal to hold onto. He never said thank you, not directly. But he’d started texting you cat memes, so… that was something.

Bruce remained the strangest presence in your life.

Not cold. Not harsh. Just… odd. He hovered, like a satellite—on the edge of rooms, the edge of moments. There were soft gestures: a cup of tea left by your notes in the cave. A hand briefly on your shoulder after a long patrol. A glance that lingered just a second too long before he looked away.

It was like he wanted to say something. Reach for something.

But didn’t know how.

And maybe you didn’t either.

But you were trying. You all were.

The walls hadn’t fully come down. There were still boundaries. Wounds that hadn’t yet scabbed. But the awkwardness was softening. The edges were dulling. And for the first time since the portal opened, it didn’t feel like they were ghosts in your house.

It felt like family.

A new version of it.

One slowly finding its rhythm again.

It started slowly—too slowly, like everything else since their return.

At first, no one said anything. But you saw the looks exchanged between them when Prudence casually called you “he” during a debrief, or when Belial switched between “she” and “he” depending on how you carried yourself that day. It wasn’t said with confusion or disdain—just quiet observation. Question without words. Uneasy curiosity. They were a perceptive group, and you’d known this conversation was coming. You’d just hoped it could come later. Maybe not at all.

But the thing about avoiding things in the Batfamily was… they always caught up to you.

The longer it went unspoken, the heavier it felt. You could feel it in the space between moments—when Tim’s brows knit together during a mission recap, when Damian’s eyes narrowed, thoughtful and unreadable, or when Jason paused like he was about to say something, then didn’t. Even Bruce had taken to glancing at you sideways, like he wanted to ask but didn’t know how.

You knew that look. You used to wear it on your face every morning in the mirror.

So, finally, one night after patrol—after everyone was tired and a little too full from dinner, lingering in the living room like people who didn’t quite want to say goodnight—you cleared your throat and stood in front of the fireplace.

“I, uh…” You swallowed. Your hands flexed uselessly at your sides. Belial, who had been reading on the couch nearby, gently set his book down and looked up. That was all the cue you needed.

“I need to talk to you guys about something. Something… that I guess you’ve been wondering about.”

The room shifted. Subtle. Quiet. But attentive.

Tim tilted his head. Dick straightened slightly. Bruce didn’t move, but you felt his focus lock in like a spotlight. Even Cass turned to face you fully, her eyes soft.

You took a slow breath.

“Over the past seven years, I’ve… grown a lot. Learned a lot about myself. And—one of the things I had to confront was my identity. My gender.”

The room didn’t react, but you could feel the tension build behind every quiet breath.

You pushed forward. “It was something I struggled with since I was a kid. Something I didn’t have the words for, not really. After you all disappeared, it got worse. I didn’t feel right in myself. I didn’t feel like ‘girl’ or ‘woman’ fit me all the time. But I didn’t feel like a guy either. It was confusing. Exhausting. Like I was walking around in skin that didn’t always belong to me.”

Your hands were trembling. You clenched them to stop it.

“It wasn’t until Belial sat me down one night—just made me talk through it—that I realized… I’m trans. Not just one thing or the other. Some days I feel more feminine. Other days I feel more masculine. Sometimes neither. It took me so long to even say that out loud, but when I did…”

You smiled faintly. “My team—Belial, Prudence, Farley, Azrael—they accepted me. They just… accepted me.”

That part still warmed something deep in your chest. You’d been so afraid of Azrael’s reaction the most, knowing his faith, his rigid sense of right and wrong. But he hadn’t flinched. Had simply placed a hand on your shoulder and said, "Your soul is the same. That’s all that matters."

So when your family started hearing your team refer to you with both “he” and “she,” sometimes fluidly within the same sentence, you knew it had made them look at each other. Wondering. Confused. Cautious.

Now they had their answer.

You cleared your throat, arms folding across your chest—not defensive, just bracing. “I’m telling you now not because I need anything from you. I’ve lived this way for years. I’m okay. But… I know you’re noticing. I figured you deserved the truth.”

Silence.

Then:

“So… do you prefer ‘he’ or ‘she’?” Tim asked gently, his voice hesitant but not unkind.

“Depends,” you said with a small smile. “Some days one. Some days the other. I’m okay with both.”

Dick blinked. “How do we know which one to use?”

“I’ll let you know. Or you’ll probably just… pick it up. It’s not that hard.”

Jason grunted. “Right. Makes sense.” He looked at you for a beat longer, then added, “You’re still you. So whatever.”

Cass offered you a quiet nod, eyes kind. “Still proud of you.”

And then Damian—who had been quiet the whole time, arms crossed, expression unreadable—spoke.

“I assumed.”

You raised a brow. “You did?”

He shrugged. “Tt. The way you move shifts depending on the day. Clothing choices. The team uses different pronouns around you, yet you never correct them. Only meant one thing.” He paused. “It changes nothing.”

You blinked. “Thanks, Damian.”

He scowled. “I didn’t say I like you. I said it changes nothing.”

You smiled.

Then finally, Bruce looked up. He hadn’t spoken once through the whole thing. His gaze met yours, quiet, steady, unreadable as always.

But then he nodded—just once—and said, “Thank you for trusting us with that.”

It wasn’t emotional. It wasn’t flowery.

But it was enough.

And maybe—just maybe—that was all you needed.

And after that conversation—after you’d finally spoken your truth aloud and they'd listened—things only got better.

It didn’t happen all at once. The change was gradual, like the slow thaw of winter into spring. But it did happen. And that was more than you’d dared to hope for when they first returned through that swirling portal.

The tension that once hovered in the manor halls like fog began to lift. It wasn’t just them treating you differently anymore—they were trying with your people too. And that meant more than you could say.

They tried with Belial. Really tried.

It started slow—little conversations in the cave, shared mission planning, tech banter. But surprisingly, it was Tim who connected with him first. Maybe it was their shared love of overly complex magical theory and obscure historical tomes. Maybe it was the way Belial once beat him at chess and then insisted on a rematch every other week. Or maybe it was that Tim, of all of them, saw how Belial looked at you, like you hung stars in his sky.

Whatever it was, Tim came around fast. And once he did, the others started to ease up too.

Jason would never admit it, but he appreciated how Belial knew when to shut up and when to throw down. Dick started including him in team recaps and even let him pick the music once or twice on movie nights. And Bruce… well. Bruce was still Bruce. But there were fewer stares and more quiet nods. More acceptance in the silence.

And Damian?

You expected that to take the longest. But then Belial showed up one day with a gift.

A puppy.

Well. A hellhound puppy.

Tiny, slightly see-through, glowing faintly red around the paws, with smoke curling off its nose when it sneezed. Belial placed it calmly in Damian’s arms and said, “He’s yours. I made him bite-proof.”

You had never seen Damian look that soft. Or that confused.

Bruce and Alfred were not thrilled at first—Bruce stared down the hound like it might set the curtains ablaze, and Alfred spent the first week side-eying it like it might try to eat the furniture. But the little beast was… undeniably cute. It followed Damian everywhere, napped beside him during study breaks, and barked at people who stood too close to his tea.

And—most importantly—it made Damian smile.

So that was that. The dog stayed.

You didn’t say anything when you found Alfred sneaking it treats. Or when Bruce started calling it “the creature” instead of “the abomination.”

Progress.

And life?

Life started to look up for you.

The manor no longer felt like a house full of ghosts. It felt like home. There were movie nights every Friday, where Belial always brought the best snacks, and Dick refused to let anyone pick horror because “we already live in Gotham, thanks.”

There were patrol nights again too—at first with your team, with the Batfamily on coms, guiding, learning the new rhythm of the city. But soon, they were back in the field with you. Bruce at your side once more. Jason covering your flank. Cass gliding silently above. It felt like the city was whole again.

You even had family outings now. Picnics in the garden. Trips to the local fair. A disastrous attempt at an escape room where Damian nearly broke the door, and Prudence solved the puzzle in ten minutes just to end the suffering. Belial got banned from two amusement parks in one weekend for “unintentionally summoning low-tier demons.”

It became normal. Your normal.

Two families, one patchwork tapestry. Yours. Entirely yours.

And as the year carried on, through laughter, late nights, and soft, strange moments of peace—you started to believe something you hadn’t in a long, long time.

That you were allowed to be happy.

That this—chaotic, complicated, healing—this was family.

And you belonged here.

Exactly as you are.

[fortuneaday]

[eubybubble]

slytherin boys after an argument

ft. Tom, Mattheo, Theodore, Lorenzo

Theodore Nott

Realization hit him hard after a prolonged silence. The air felt thick, and he felt nauseous as he shifted his gaze from a small crack on the wall under his fist to your face. He just swallowed and left the room without a word.

He was terrified of himself, didn't he promise to never raise a hand on loved ones? Technically, he hadn’t, but it was too close. Thoughts flooded his mind as he rushed up the stairs in a desperate attempt to breathe fresh air. It wasn't surprising that he instinctively headed to the Astronomy Tower – your favorite place. Reaching the top, he stood there and retrieved the cigarette pack with trembling fingers. After hesitating, he lit one. Everything seemed to remind him of you. It was never that serious, you just wanted to help him.

Now, he felt like a total fool. Leaning against a wall and sliding down, he pondered over the the relationships. You were too sweet, he couldn't let you suffer near someone like him. With that, he set his mind on ignoring you and breaking up with you because "that'd be better for you." It seemed like you would only agree, he didn't consider any other possible answer.

In the next few days, he deliberately skipped meals and tried to ignore your questioning gaze in halls. However, you heard a slight cough from behind after the lunch.

"May we discuss something?"

"Well, if it isn't Theodore Nott! What—" he didn't let you finish.

"Let's break up." you froze, staring at him in disbelief.

"Nott, are you insane? Didn't you think to ask me?"

"I'm doing it right now."

"Really? It felt more like you just stated a fact and I can only accept it. It was really low of you to avoid me." Your eyes became shiny as tears started to accumulate involuntarily. Theodore noticed it, and despite the cold agenda he planned, he rushed towards you, wiping the tears.

"You wouldn't want to be with me," he mumbled.

"What? We could've talked! We've always talked about how important communication is, but how come we don't practice it? I know you, and I know myself; I wouldn't give up on our relationship that easily. And more than anything, I know that I want to be with you. Why would you do that to me?" you sobbed, clutching onto him as if you were afraid that if he left now, you would never see him again.

"Shush, principessa, I'm so sorry-" he didn't expect such a reaction from you. As you hid your crying face in his chest, his heartbeat only became faster. What an idiot he was for even thinking of such a thing. "I'm so sorry. For everything I've done and said. I'll work to be better for you," he rambled quietly. "Do you trust me? Are you ready to give me another try?" His voice cracked slightly as he asked the last question. You just nodded, and he chuckled at the sight. "Tesoro... I'm so sorry. I promise you it won't happen again." He gave you a forehead kiss, and he really meant it. Even though he didn't say anything about it, he decided to quit smoking. Yes, it won't be easy or a short process, but at least he found a far better addiction - you.

Tom Riddle

From the moment you saw Tom, you thought it could have worked out. At least, you hoped so. It all felt dumb. All those times when your friends told you to break up or said that he didn’t care about you - you refused to believe them. And now, it got you here when the most precious person told you were some troublesome trivia. In the past, you and Tom would at least talk during lunch or sit next to each other in Potions where he patiently helped you, but now, he skipped most lessons, and if he attended one, he’d sit alone. Everyone noticed it, and you became the target of their whispers and snickers. Some even went as far as mocking you in the halls.

“Well, if it isn’t the one Tom Riddle dumped. What, did he finally realize that you’re pathetic?” you tightened your hold on your books and tried to leave hurriedly until the blonde boy from the group shoved you into the wall. “Aren’t we talking to you? Why are you leaving so suddenly?”

It was a pretty loud encounter, so Tom, who was walking nearby, heard it and stopped in his tracks. To tell the truth, he didn’t even want to break up. He invented this silly excuse to protect you because he was afraid of his own actions. He hoped you’d be stubborn and come once again, but you didn’t. That’s when he knew he messed up, but his pride held him back from going to you. And now, someone was bullying his treasure.

But they underestimated your power. You didn’t want it to escalate into violence, but they started it first. With a swift movement of the wand, you threw them off with a big blast. Not even bothering to look behind, you paced up and bumped into someone.

“Oh.” As he put his hands on your shoulders to steady you, he eyed the unconscious group behind. “Using a spell of such power at this hour?” he mumbled nervously.

“Care to explain why you care? Get off, Riddle.” You tried to shove him away, but his grip was strong.

“What’s going on with you? I didn’t even do anything to make you that mad.” You nearly choked at these words.

“Tom.” He hesitated. “Do you think I’m that dumb to fall for your words? Move out of the way.” But he just stood there without a change.

"Don’t leave. I was just... I was afraid I’d hurt you," he whispered as he clutched onto you. "I was afraid of my own plans, of my own thoughts. But please, promise me never to leave, even if I change. I won’t hurt you, just stay by my side. I never expected to fall in love..I had everything planned ahead in a neat way, but you came in like a surprise. Yet, here we are, and it's you. There's no turning back now" You never saw Tom being so vulnerable, and you could do only nod. You cupped his face.

"Hey, I’m here. Everything’s gonna be fine. I’ll be here," you softly reassured him, not noticing how easily he drew you right back.

Mattheo Riddle

You had hard time absorbing everything Mattheo said. It was already dark outside, but you didn’t care to turn on the light or illuminate the wand with “Lumos”. You sat on the bed and went through the box with a glossy eyes. You couldn’t believe that he saved every gift, every letter, note - even those that you gave him before dating. Quiet sobs escaped your chest upon finding the promise ring at the very top. Why does it feel so awful when you believed you made the right choice?

As if on cue, your roommate entered the dorm room. "Hey, look what everyone’s talking about in school- oh, are you okay?" She turned on the lights and noticed your teary face. Quickly wiping everything away, you pretended to be busy, gathering everything back into the box. "Yeah, my eyes are sore from reading in the dark," a lame excuse, "what were you gonna tell?"

She knew you disliked having your privacy intruded upon. "So, three students were caught for an outrageous duel and a series of mobbings in Hogsmeade! Surprisingly, it was two Gryffindor students and one Hufflepuff. That fits into the ‘don't judge a book by its cover' narrative. I wonder when the stereotypes about the houses will end. Remember when everyone didn't doubt that it was Slytherin?" she sighed.

As if it weren't enough of a heartbreak, you discovered that everything you had ever suspected Mattheo of was all filthy lies and gossip. Suddenly, you felt dizzy.

You didn’t care about decency or dignity as you rushed to Mattheo’s dorm. He, too, was struggling. Despite everything, he regretted speaking harshly and leaving the memory box. What if you never returned and tossed it away? His heart clenched at the thought.

Feeling too irritated and unwilling to join others in the common room for a card game, he was all alone for now. In futile attempts to fall asleep, he heard a light knock on the door.

"Who’s that?" he groaned, too lazy to open the door.

"Hey, can we talk?" His muscles tensed upon hearing that familiar voice. Rushing to the door, he unlocked it immediately. "Oh, hi," you blushed and stopped mid-sentence, staring at his torso. He glanced down, realizing he forgot to put his shirt on.

"Shit. Sorry, one second," he shut the door in embarrassment and put on a random sweater. "What do you want?" he still held a grudge against you.

"I wanna... apologize. You have every right to shut the door, but I wanted to tell you that our relationship isn’t a joke to me. I love everything about you. I was just so stupid to believe all the gossips floating around Hogwarts, but that doesn’t matter. I came here to tell you how insane you make me feel. I mean, these days when I tried to collect my thoughts and was avoiding you, I was thinking of you non-stop. Mattheo, I’d fight the world to be by your side." As you rambled on and on, his gaze softened, and he pulled you by the waist.

"That’s my girl. I felt terrible when you acted the way you acted, but I hope it won’t be the same in the future?... I also apologize for saying unnecessary things."

"That’s okay, you had every right to be mad. What about I’ll order the food and we’ll watch a movie?"

“Gladly” he was grinning now. It wasn't necessary to tell him that you were also ordering a new broomstick, the perfect one for the perfect boy to make it up. It was the least you could do now. As you scrolled through the list of new films, Mattheo coughed.

"So, uh, can I get my box back, please? You didn’t go through it, right?" a light blush covered his face.

“Actually, I did, Matty. I didn’t know you are so sweet” he groaned at this comment “but I’ll return it to you. Sure.”

Lorenzo Berkshire

The moment Lorenzo received his numerology exam back, he couldn't believe the mark he saw. 70, satisfactory. Many would pray for such a grade, but he had studied and sacrificed too much for this.

As he walked to breakfast, he scanned the Great Hall but couldn't spot you. The previous day's argument flared up in his memory, and he wrinkled his nose as he sat down to eat. As predicted, a white owl sat on his shoulder, delivering a letter with Berkshire's family logo.

He run his eyes over the text. “disgrace..wasting time..bad influence” and blah blah blah. Nothing’s new, except the threat that ordered him not to come home until he got back on the track academically. He's been following his parents' wishes for too long; he was too afraid to ruin the perfect son image that he completely lost hold of his priorities.

Oh, how he wished to be in your embrace now, to listen to your soothing voice and nuzzle up to you in the dark. But he ruined it single-handedly.

He stood up and went to lessons, scratching an apology note for you in the meantime. At DADA, the only class you two took together, he tried to sit next to you and apologize, but that place was taken by a Hufflepuff girl, to which he could only frown. Throughout the lesson, you felt his gaze on you, but never once did you turn your head back at him. If he needed a break that much, he could get one. After all, you got tired of constantly begging him to relax and spend time with you and felt like a total fool.

After the lessons ended, you were the first one to leave the classroom, but he's not an idiot either. You felt someone gently taking hold of your wrists and pushing you into the empty classroom. The door closed behind.

"Can we talk and communicate like grown-ups?" Lorenzo inquired.

"You said everything you wanted last time. I have to go, Hermione's waiting for me in the library," you blatantly lied.

"Oh, really? Because when I last talked to Hermione, she told me she would be with Ron," he calmly stated, stepping closer. "I don't really remember things I've said, but-" You didn't let him finish.

“Enzo, you needed break and I’m giving it to you” his jaws tightened in frustration at your unwavering stance. “You told me I was a burden and you know what? I think you were right because lately, that’s what I felt like in relationships with you. It’s like I’m begging you to spend time with me. Maybe it's best to return to being friends” you mumbled. But he just shook his head, moving nearer once more until he stood right in front of you.

"I'm sorry I made you feel this way. It's not an excuse for my behavior, but I've been stressing about..something," he sighed. "You don't deserve to be treated like that, but trust me, I'll be better." He gently reached out for your arm. "I need just another chance. The only one. I've already written back to my parents, and I hope they will get off my back. I've also told them about us," his voice got quieter. "I hope you won't mind." Your breath hitched. He had always been postponing this, even if you wished for it. There was a minute of silence and apprehension before he wrapped you in a hug. "I hope you can forgive me, sweetheart. How about we go to the cafe you like this weekend?" he mumbled, peppering your face with kisses.

a/n: I apologize if it's not the way you imagined, but hey, I tried my best. Also, I think they were super careful and sweet afterwards!

taglist: @lilanxietysstuff @nopedefe @marina468

[eugenedebs1920]

What a shame it was when the “conservative” (not sure exactly what they conserve honestly) sect of American society chose a, we’ll call it, unconventional candidate in 2016, the progressive sect also had an unconventional candidate (unconventional in a not insane or malignant narcissist kinda way like the rights candidate though) as well.

The difference is, the right let their self absorbed, racist, batsh*t crazy, compulsive liar win the nomination. The left, they felt a Jewish man with socialist tendencies was too extreme and went with a candidate who could be the very definition of the establishment.

How did that turn out?…….

Bernie Sanders has been fighting for the working class for decades! A no nonsense, straight shooter with fabulous sarcasm. Just dry, subtle and absolutely amazing cynicism.

In this speech he points out some good figures. Hey maga! Listen up because y’all keep defending this sh*t instead of your fellow working class Americans or the Constitution overall.

Elon musk possesses more wealth than the bottom 52% of the American earners. More than likely that’s the vast majority of maga, I know I’m included in that bottom 52%, as are many who have the misfortune of reading this.

The top 1% of American “earners” possess more than the bottom 93% of the Americans workers. I can say with certainty that is anyone reading this. That’s fkn CRAZY!!

While 60% of us are living paycheck to paycheck, just a handful of people own all but 7% of the available capital.

You gotta look at it like this. There’s only a certain amount of money to be made in the U.S. If there was an infinite amount, the dollar would be worthless. Let’s break it down into hundreds. There’s a hundred bucks to split between one hundred people. One guy gets $93 and the other 99 of us split $7.

I think the top 10% can pay a higher percentage than the 40% tax rate 93% of us do.

Call me crazy. Call me dumb. But they can afford to pitch in more to our country. 🇺🇸

[starshapedoasis]

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Mini Gossip Girl 2

~ Izzy Burrow might be the bane of her dad’s existence, but also his saving grace

dad!joe burrow x baby mama!reader

TW: language, implied smut, potential pregnancy, jealous!joe, desperation, talkative kid, insane pining, baby fever?, happy ending

“Thank You TikTok” | Main Masterlist

... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ..

˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ Next Fic <3 ~ i wanted a happy ending, so i wrote a happy ending :)

1st Part ~ 3rd Part

[nocasdatsgay]

A Lesson in Heartbreak

Part 3 of 3: Where You’re Supposed to Be

Pairing: Azriel/Eris/Reader!F | Rating: T | word count: 6458

Neapolitan Bonds Masterlist | Part 2 | Read on AO3 Here

Summary: Eris and Azriel talk. You come back to Autumn and the three of you have to face each other and mend the heartbreak between you.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, Depressive thoughts, reconciliation.

A/N: Hi… this is a long time coming. I was depressed and this was emotionally hard to write. I apologize for taking so long. I doubt it will come off as angsty as it felt writing it but I finished it. I hope you all enjoy it.

Tagging: (I am hoping I got everyone): @myromanempiree @pit-and-the-pen @lilah-asteria @crazylokonugget @st4r-girl-official @thisblogisaboutabook @paleidiot @div94 @tele86 @chaos-on-stand-bi @bobbyisbored @ysmtttty @romantasyreader28 @azrielsshadows42 @stargirlrchive @scarsandallaz @paintedbyshadows @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @acourtofbatboydreams @ninthcircleofprythian @secret-third-thing @theicarustoyourcertainty2 @hieragalbatorixdottir @daycourtofficial @prythianpages

Eris woke with a pounding headache. His forehead throbbed so hard he could barely open his eyes. He also felt a weight over him that wasn’t a blanket. Despite the pain, he forced his eyes open. Beside him was Az, still seemingly asleep. Eris didn’t want to wake him but also didn’t want to lie there much longer. Of course when he moved out from under him, Azriel made a noise, his wings closing and he looked over at him. 

“Morning,” he whispered and rubbed his eyes. 

“Morning.” Eris groaned as he pushed himself up. He was silent for a moment and whispered, “I thought I dreamt you came back.” 

“Of course I came back.” He looked over and saw Azriel rubbing his own eyes. “I didn’t even drink and I feel like shit. Where’s that tonic Edith makes?” 

Eris gave him a withered look. “There would be some in the cabinet if someone didn’t take it every time they felt terrible.” Az rolled onto his back and glared at him but didn’t respond. “I’ll get some brought up.” 

“Then we talk.” 

Eris tried not to wince when Az said that as he got out of bed. He simply nodded. It was the least he could do. Eris looked down at himself and realized he was still in yesterday’s clothes. He would need the bed changed and made up before you came back- if you came back. Head still pounding, he grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote a note to Edith, sending it away with magic. By the time he had returned from the bath and changed, there was a tonic waiting for him on the table. Az seemed to have taken his, if the empty bottle next to it was any indication. 

Eris took it and sighed as the pounding faded, leaving him with a mental clarity and a knot in his stomach. He went over to the table and wrote another quick note to Rowen, asking to take over whatever meetings he had for the next few hours. The paper returned with a quick confirmation and Eris braced himself to leave the bed chambers. Az was waiting in the sitting room, looking out the window from his chair. Eris couldn’t remember the last time he felt like this- nervous; a foreign word to someone who has been through what he had these past centuries. He took a seat across from Az and waited. There was a moment of silence between them, before Az finally looked over at him. 

“Did you mean what you said?”

Eris forced himself to look him in the eyes. “Yes.” 

The hurt on Azriel’s face made his chest ache. He shuffled in his chair, wings behind him tightening into his back. 

“I would have never asked for any of that if I had-“ 

“I know,” Eris said quickly. 

The pain in Az’s gaze did not lessen. “Why didn’t you say something?” 

“I can’t bring myself to tell you no. You were so enamored with the idea of a third mate. I eventually became numb to it.” 

Azriel’s eyes searched his own, a question without asking. “You regret it.” 

He shook his head. “Regret isn’t the word I would use.”

“Then what do you call it?” Az snapped back. 

Eris opted for honesty. “I thought you’d leave.” Az went very still. “Elain said there was a third bond. She never said it was for both of us. I was shocked when it snapped for me too.” 

“Why would you think that?” 

“I didn’t deserve a second mate.”

“And I do?” Az’s voice raised, still dumbfounded at what Eris was saying. 

“More than me.” He shrugged. “You made that very clear last night.” Az recoiled and Eris raised his brow. “Did you mean it? What you had said?” 

The shadows came out, as if hearing the slight challenge in his voice. Az thought for a moment and looked him in his eyes. 

“I did. When the bond first snapped for us, I didn’t want it. Being who we are, who we were, it was hard.” Eris could see the glint in his eyes, shadows wiping away the tears that threatened to spill over. “And I meant what I said when I came back. I mean it. I will always choose you. Because I do love you.” 

Eris ignored the burning in his own eyes. In a soft whisper, he replied with those first vows he took. “Til the end of our days.” 

A moment of silence and Az whispered. “We said that to her too.” Guilt welled in Eris’s chest. “If we want her to come back, we can’t just push her away.”

”I know,’ his tone was harsher than he intended. “I know that.”

“Then why do you act like it’s so hard?” 

It was Eris’s turn to recoil at the accusing tone Azriel used. 

“It just is.”

”No, it’s not.”

”Not for you,” Eris’s tone was cruel, so much that the shadows raised and arch like they would strike him. 

“Then explain it.” Az demanded back. “Do you even love her?”

“Of course I do! That’s the problem.” 

“Then why would you say that?”

“You don’t understand how difficult it is. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Can you try?” 

They sat in silence for a long time. How could Eris put into words the problem was he loved both of them so much it hurt. He felt like he couldn’t even breathe half the time he looked at you. Azriel, he was more used to- but there were moments he’d see his mate out of the corner of his gaze and his heart still stopped in his chest. It was ridiculous and childish. And with you- with you it was so much worse. Eris could feel the heat in his cheeks.  

“When the bond snapped between us it was familiar. I knew exactly what to expect and how to handle it.” 

“So with y/n you can’t?” Az looked at him skeptically. 

“Azriel, I can’t even look at her without wanting her.” 

“That’s because she’s our mate.” Eris shook his head and Az looked dumbfounded. “It’s hard for me too, you know. It’s only been, what? Two years since accepting it?”

“Three.”

“Do you remember what it was like when it was just us?” Eris scoffed and Az frowned. “You were a new high lord on top of it. Blew out the fireplaces way more times when we first mated than when we mated-“

“You don’t have to remind me.” Eris winced, shoving down the embarrassment. “But I pushed you away. You gave me space. We controlled ourselves.”

“We had a decade and a half to do so as mates.” 

”I should have more control-“

”We have two mating bonds each, Eris. One is still fresh.” Azriel scoffed and shook his head. “All this because you’re acting like a mate should.” 

“I am a High Lord,’ Eris snapped. “I cannot afford distractions. I gave myself one year, which was what I gave us. It’s unacceptable for me to be acting like this.”

”It’s just dinner.”

”Not when I want to fuck her on the table.”

Azriel’s eyebrows shot up. He looked Eris over and his scent shifted just slightly. Eris couldn’t be bothered to be embarrassed. 

He finally asked, “should I be jealous?” Eris didn’t reply. “You never tried to fuck me on the dining table.” 

“Normally I want you under it.” Eris ignored Az’s jaw twitch. “Like I said, It’s easier to ignore it with you.”   

Az’s brows furrowed. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.” 

“I told you that you wouldn’t understand.” 

“You’re right. I don’t. Because if I want to fuck, I just do it.” 

“Because you can. I cannot.” Eris stood in frustration, arms crossed and fingers gripped into his own biceps. “I’m High Lord of Autumn.” 

Az laughed. He laughed and leaned forward onto his knees, rubbing his eyes. Eris ignored the pang of hurt in his chest. He knew Az wouldn’t understand but to laugh? 

“Eris,” he said, catching his breath and wiping his eyes. “You’re right. You are High Lord. You can do whatever you want.” 

Eris frowned. “I have an obligation to the court-“

“You have other people to do these things, Eris.” Azriel was now on his feet, hands moving and shadows whirling as he talked. “You don’t have to be at every single meeting! You don’t have to look at every itinerary. You purged the rot out of this court. I know because I helped you do it. If you can’t trust the people you hand picked to help run this court, then we need to reevaluate the court.” 

Eris frowned. “I’ve done that. It’s not- it isn’t about running the court.” 

It was true- he’d let go of his court duties to throw himself into his work for this upcoming summit. It mattered to him greatly that this went well. Azriel’s hand dropped to his side, head tilted and brows furrowed. 

“Then what is it?” 

“You wouldn’t understand.” He repeated. “You are my mate but you are not High Lord. The Autumn Court isn’t like the Night Court.” Az recoiled a little. “I do not mean that disrespectfully.”

Az frowned but didn’t reply. Eris hoped he would leave it be. Eris glanced out the window and he finally spoke again. 

“Did you get a letter from her? While I was gone?”

“No.” A pang of guilt echoed in his chest. “Her friend replied. Said she would give her the letter but wouldn’t pressure her further. She will return when she’s ready.” 

Gods, did Eris hope his own words were true. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You spent two more nights in Summer. You wouldn’t leave the room. Samira came to see you throughout the day so you won’t eat alone. The third day she barged in and demanded you have breakfast with her. The moment you stepped out of the room, a lone shadow crept up your body, curling under the collar of the loose shirt you were wearing. You had immense guilt for making it wait outside for three days with no access to you. Yes, you needed the space, but that didn’t make it better. 

Tarquin was waiting for you both in the small dining room. She neglected to mention he would be there. You cut your eyes to her and she shrugged with a grin. It was the first time you’d seen him since arriving. Dressed in a deep blue and white robe, he had not changed since you last saw him. He greeted you warmly and offered a chair near him and across from Samira. 

“Thank you, Tarquin.” You said softly, taking your seat. “Your hospitality is greatly appreciated.” 

“You’re always welcome in Summer. Though I wish it was under better circumstances.” He replied with a warm smile. 

You winced at that.  “I owe you a great favor.” 

“You owe me nothing. You are Samira’s dearest friend. She’s learned by now I’ll give her almost anything she wants.” He added with a chuckle. 

“Almost is the key word in that sentence,” she added. 

“I still thank you for your accommodation.” 

“And you are welcome.” Tarquin gestured to the food. “Shall we?” 

The perk of staying in summer was the food. Fresh melons were always served no matter the time. The greens were leaner than Autumn’s hearty root vegetables. Seasonings were drastically different. You took a poached egg with spinach and red sauce onto your plate along with what you were certain was a cheesy bread. Though Samira made you eat something, this was the first full meal you’d had in days. 

“Have you been to the new south wing?” Tarquin asked. 

“Not yet.” Samira answered for you, cutting her eyes at him. 

“It’s okay,” you couldn’t help but smile at your friend’s defensiveness. “This is the first time I left the room.” You admitted. 

He gave you a soft smile. “I see. If you are up to it, you should go visit it. We started a gallery for the schools. Students decorated it with their works.” 

“That sounds lovely.”

A rustling of paper beside you drew your attention. You looked just in time to see the tail end of a wisp slither under the table. The envelope beside you was the one you’d received the night you arrived. The one you’ve been ignoring. You rolled your eyes and snatched it up, ripping along the fold to open it. 

“Apologies,” you said to Tarquin and Samira, “someone is impatient and will not let me eat breakfast in peace.” 

You knew you looked ridiculous, scolding something they couldn’t see. But you knew the shadow heard you, if the cool touch around your ankle was any indication. You pulled out the paper. It smelled like Autumn. It smelled like Eris. You ignored the pang in your stomach and unfolded. 

Love. I do not fault you for leaving. I ask for you to return when you are ready. This is not something that can be resolved through letters. I know you are safe in Summer. I simply request that you let us know you are well. Azriel is beside himself; his shadows cannot get to you. Another pang of guilt hit you. As is your right. You could feel the pause before the next sentence in your mind despite there not being a gap. It’s disingenuous to apologize here. You deserve an apology in person. Until then, I will push out the timeline of the summit- 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you said aloud. You blinked and flushed looking over to Tarquin and Samira. Tarquin looked away; Samira gave you an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry.” You took a deep breath. 

“Is that?” Samira looked at the paper and then back to you. 

“Yes.” You cut your gaze to Tarquin. “Tarquin have you received any cancellations for the summit?” 

Tarquin’s eyebrows raised. “Yes,” he said slowly. He looked as if he was still processing your question. He added, “Well, I just saw a letter this morning from Eris. I can assume it was about the summit.”

“I see,” you pursed your lips for a moment. “Tarquin. I thank you for allowing me to stay. And for providing such good accommodations.” You sighed. “It appears I’m needed in Autumn. They will not be postponing this summit if I have anything to do with it.”

You stood, stuffing down your true anger to keep your head in the moment. You stood, grabbing the letter and envelope. You frowned at the feeling of the shadow curling around your left ankle. You knew it wasn’t its fault but as it was a part of Azriel, you still were annoyed at the touch. 

“I hope to see you both again under better circumstances. The summit preferably.” You knew your smile was tight and forced but couldn’t do anything about it at the moment. 

“I’ll go with you and see you off,” Samira gave you a sympathetic look. 

You nodded and gave Tarquin a nod. 

He nodded back. “Hope to see you at the summit as well.” 

You then turned and left, moving faster than intended in an effort to get to your things. And to get out the excess energy your frustration had caused you. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tarquin watched you leave the dining room and Samira stood to join you. Her hesitation had him glancing over to her. She was staring at him skeptically. 

“You have not received any such letter,” she whispered. 

Tarquin shrugged. “She doesn’t need to know that.” 

“Who’s side are you on,” she put her hands on her waist, her dark braid flipping forward over her shoulder. 

“If you were to ever run away to Autumn, I would like to think Eris would return the favor.” Tarquin could not hide his smirk. 

You were equally if not more stubborn than Samira. He knew you would have stayed for a month without the right motivation. And from what Samira had told him- it only seemed fair. She gave him a stern look. 

He added, “she is more than welcome to return, Mira. I promise.” 

He reached over and took her hand to kiss her knuckles. That softened her stance. 

“I’ll see her off. But if she returns even more upset, I’m blaming you.” 

“Understood my sunrise.” He bit back a smile watching her leave. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Your anger dissipated the second your feet landed in Autumn soil. The crisp air filled your lungs, relaxing you immediately. You stood before the entrance to the house, sun shining through the trees and leaves casting shadows. In those shadows you saw movement. Az’s shadows swarmed up to you, swirling at your feet. Worse than the hounds, they swirled up and around your legs, presumably excited you were home. You shoved down the sadness you felt knowing they missed you. Which most likely reflected the state your mates were in. 

You stepped through the wards, magic washing over you. Shadows dispersed and another step forward the doors flew open. 

You inhaled sharply, gaze locked as Az stumbled forward. Your chest tightened and eyes watered. You willed yourself not to cry. Az stopped at the steps and Eris walked up beside him. Gods you wanted to run up those stairs right to their arms. You refrained. Instead you held your head high and blinked the tears away. They watched in silence as you walked up the steps. 

“Where are the guards?” You asked, breaking the tense silence. 

You didn’t ascend the stairs.

They both stared at you. 

“We weren’t expecting anyone,” Eris' voice was so soft you almost didn’t hear it. 

A flicker of motion at Az’s side had your gaze dropping. His hands squeezed into fists. Just as quickly his shoulders slumped and wings dropped. You glanced back to see silver lining his eyes. He whispered your name. It felt like he reached into your chest and squeezed. 

You shook your head. “Don’t.” Your resolve was failing you but you forced your voice steady. “Let me come in. Then we talk in the small common room.”

Azriel’s face crumbled with hurt but Eris understood. He gently pulled at Az, guiding him back inside. You nearly collapsed the second they were out of your site. You didn’t know how you would get through this if just seeing them made you want to double over in tears. You wiped your eyes and sniffed. You can do this. You told yourself. You took a last deep breath, grounding yourself before you took that first step up the stairs. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Az was drowning. Or, at least it felt like it. 

You were right there- at the foot of the steps, still in summer clothes, the smell of the sea carried up on the wind from where you stood. He didn’t believe it until he felt the wards move. He was in such a rush, he didn’t even winnow. He pushed at least two dignitaries out of the way to get through the halls. Now Eris was leading him away, deliberately warm hands the only thing grounding him. Az didn’t realize they were in the common room until Eris clicked the door shut. 

“She was right there,” he whispered, vision blurring again. He blinked profusely and crossed his arms. He looked to Eris who was watching the door. “How do we even know she’s coming?”

She walks towards us. A shadow reassured him. 

His heart was pounding in his ears while his gaze focused on the door. A moment later it opened and his heart leapt into his throat. You slipped inside, rogue shadows swirling around you while you clicked the door shut. You were so close; he could see the darkness under your eyes and guilt twisted in his gut. You looked between him and Eris. 

“Sit, please,” you said. 

Azriel didn’t want to sit. Shadows shoved him and forced him to move. It was ironic that the three of you sat in this room five years ago. You were a stranger then. Az didn’t even have to beg Eris to meet with you. Deep down he knew you were the one he was looking for, what he thought Eris was looking for too. He tried to not let the truth taint the memory. You remained standing, arms crossed tight against your chest. He could hear your heart beating with how silent the room was. You finally dropped your arms, and stood straight. 

“You canceled the summit?” You asked and glared directly at Eris. 

“No,” he replied curtly. 

“You said in your letter you would. And then Tarquin told me you had sent correspondence.” You pursed your lips like you always did when angered and added, “Recant the letters. Like hells I’m going to let you cancel this after the mess it’s caused.”

Azriel glanced at Eris who looked as confused as he did. Azriel could hear the lift of Eris’s brow as he responded. 

“I did not send any letters to Tarquin. All of my letters were diverted to your friend.” 

Now confusion etched itself in your face. “But he-“ you looked off thinking and then scowled. “He fucking lied to me, that asshole.” 

Az snorted. He couldn’t help it. Tarquin lying was unheard of. And to lie in Azriel and Eris’s favor? The notion was ridiculous despite that being the logical answer. You cut your eyes at him and Az stilled, waiting. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you shook your head. “I only came back because I thought you canceled the summit.” 

“What?” Az felt like a knife twisted in him.

“I,” you crossed your arms and clenched your jaw. Defensive. “I should go.” 

“No.” Az was out of his chair and went to grab you. A warm hand grabbed his arm. Too many emotions were swelling in his chest. “Please. You just came back.” 

“And I shouldn’t have.” You whispered. 

There was pain there. It made the bond to you ache. He tried to claw at it, to force you to open your side. It didn’t work. 

“How can you say that?” His own voice cracked but he didn’t care. He tried to pull his arm out of Eris’s grasp but his mate held fast. He turned to him with a glare. “Let me go, Eris.”

Eris ignored him. “You don’t have to stay,” he said softly. “Not if you don’t wish to.” 

Siphons flared again as Az wildly turned to Eris, teeth bared “No.” 

“I will not hold another female in this court against her will.” Eris hissed back. “My mother was held captive here for half a millenia. I won’t allow it to happen again.” 

Az knew he was right but the bond in his chest squirmed. He looked back at you. You took a step back, probably out of fear. Shame replaced the emotions warring in him. 

“Please.” 

In the span of a moment, your stance shifted. Magic started to hum around you. Azriel flinched. You were angry. Very angry. 

“Why!” You tightened your arms against your chest. “Why should I stay? You don’t need me. I don’t even know why you’re pretending like you even want me here.” Az felt frozen in place, like he couldn’t breathe. Angry tears fell down your cheeks. “Why spend time with someone you don’t want or need?” 

Az fell to his knees, Eris’s hands still tight on his arm. His shadows had disappeared- to where he didn’t care. 

“Baby, please.” He would beg. He would grovel. He didn’t care. You couldn’t leave. Not again. He muttered your name and tears fell down his own cheeks. “Please. We need to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you wiped your eyes. 

“This is my fault.” Eris let go of Az’s arm, stepping in front of him. “I shut you out. I thought it was the right thing to do. I’m clearly wrong.” 

“What did I do?” You sniffled and wiped frantically at your face more. “What did I do wrong?” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, love.” Eris stepped closer and Az held his breath waiting. 

“Clearly I did! I’ve been going to bed alone for months!” The sob you let out cut Az’s heart nearly in half. “I barely see you. I barely talk to you. Neither of you so much as touch me. I thought you both needed space but when you promised, you promised, to meet for dinner neither of you showed.”

“And I’m sorry.” Az whispered. He had no excuse. Not really. A fact he had to face now that you were here and hurting. “I thought-“ 

���You thought what?” Your anger resurfaced. “That I would be fine? Or did you even remember I existed?” 

He winced, dropping his gaze to the floor. What could he even say to that? 

“It’s my fault.” Eris repeated. “Be angry at me.” 

“I am!”

Az finally forced himself up. You stepped back again at the movement. He forced himself to focus, to shoved down all noise in his head.

“I don’t know what else to say to make you believe that I’m sorry. That we’re sorry.” His voice was shockingly steady. “I can’t force you to stay if you truly don’t want to.”

He expected you to leave. To be even more aggressive. He could weather it. 

He didn’t expect you to fall apart. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You couldn’t take it anymore. 

Eris and Azriel both stared at you, silently pleading with their fucking eyes. You tried to be strong. To hold your ground. Even when Az was clawing at your bond. Even with Eris begging you to place the blame on him.  

But it hurt too much. You caved in on yourself, sobbing in the middle of the fucking receiving room. 

“You only want me here because of the bond,” you choked out. “You don’t. You don’t need me. You don’t.”

Az grabbed you. 

You cried harder at the sudden feeling of his arms wrapped around you. He let you sob into his tunic, his scent already calming you even if you didn’t want it to. You felt the shift- he winnowed you somewhere. His hands moved lower and lifted you up. When was the last time he’d held you? You didn’t fight it. Shadows blocked your vision as he carried you a few steps before turning with you to sit down. He held you in silence, while your tears tapered off. Occasionally his hand would rub your back. Gods did you miss him, this. But this wasn’t what you planned. You wiped your eyes and forced yourself up. Hazel eyes you hadn’t looked into in days met yours. 

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Gods, would you ever stop crying? Your face felt swollen. You probably looked like a mess. “Where…”

You looked around. You were in your rooms. He had sat you both on the bed. Something inside you relaxed. Then your gaze found amber, bright and steady at the end of the bed. You suddenly felt shame- for losing your cool, for crying on Azriel. You moved off of him quickly. 

Eris got to his feet. “Don’t. Love, please. It’s alright.” 

You stopped and swallowed hard. You glanced between them both. Eris blocked the way out. Az moved to sit up properly on the bed. You were cornered and your eyes watered again. Eris relaxed his stance but held out his hand. 

“I can run you a bath.” Your bond to him ached. You missed his soft tone. “Or we can go to the sitting room and talk.” 

Talk. 

What was there to talk about? But his eyes pleaded with you silently. You nodded but didn’t take his hand. A slight you couldn’t remedy in time as he lowered it, fingers balling into a fist. You followed him out, Az behind you. The scent of them, of your rooms eased the tension in you. Now all that was left was sadness. You went straight to your arm chair, arms crossed tight against your chest again and legs tucked up against you. Az and Eris remained standing. The silence was heavy like the closed bonds in your chest. Eris and Az were looking at each other. Like they always did. Talking with their eyes in a way you couldn’t and hadn’t mastered. You couldn’t even bother to be angry about it. 

“I’ll go get some tea. It’ll help with,” Eris trailed off, looking at you with his sad eyes. “I’ll be back.”

“No.” Eris stopped before he started, looking back at you puzzled. You scoffed. “Make Az do it.” You cut your gaze to your other mate. “Go make tea. Since you follow orders so well.” 

“Y/N-“

“No. You were going to make tea while Az stayed here and calmed me down. Am I wrong?” Neither of them spoke. “Then you won’t have a problem with Az going.” 

“Okay,” Az said, defeat in his voice. 

Eris clenched his jaw and after a moment Az left, shadows trailing behind him. Now you were alone with Eris for the first time in months. The silence between you was even heavier. He finally sighed,  and looked at you directly. 

“Y/N, I am-“

“Sorry?” You supplemented quickly. He frowned but did not move. For some reason that made you angrier. “You say you’re sorry as if it matters.” 

“It does matter.” He said harshly. “What do you want me to do, Y/N? What can I do to prove to you I am sorry?“

“Tell me what I did wrong.”

You wanted to be angry. You wanted to spit out those words with venom. But all that came out was more tears and a meek tone. 

“Love, you did nothing wrong.”

“Then why don’t you love me like you love Azriel?” You sniffled. 

“Y/N.” He fell back into a chair as if you’d actually struck him. 

“I’ve tried so hard to be someone you wanted. And nothing I do is good enough.” Your eyes were hurting from how much you were rubbing them. “I’ve spent three days trying to figure out where I went wrong, what changed.”

“Nothing changed. That is the problem!” You blinked, shocked that Eris had yelled at you. He leaned onto his knees with his face in his hands. “Neither of you understand how hard this is.” 

You curled up in the chair and watched him silently. More still from shock than fear. He finally wiped his face with his hand, pushing it into his hair as he sat back up. His eyes were tinged red, like he wanted to cry. 

You’d never seen Eris cry before.

His gaze met yours and he scowled, jaw clenched. You still didn’t speak. He finally relaxed his shoulders and spoke. 

“It’s not,” he paused again. Looking up and away, like he was trying to keep himself together. “Five centuries of hiding affection doesn’t go away in a decade. Azriel is different because he,” Eris took a deep breath. “I can push him away. I can let the hardened mask stay on even after the room has cleared. I can push away this,” he held his hand over his chest like he was touching his own soul, maybe the bond. “Want. I can hide it. I can tame it. I could the moment the bond snapped. But, the cauldron has damned me because with you I can’t.” His voice cracked. “And that is terrifying.” 

What could you say to that? He sighed again, wiped his hand over his face again.

He added, “I’ve always gotten caught up in my work. It’s safer that way. It was always safer that way.”

The Mother was looking out for you, or maybe Azriel had been waiting for the right moment. Either way, he entered with a tray of tea and cups. He looked wearily between you and Eris while he sat the tray down. He made you a cup, putting exactly what you liked in it, and handed it to you. You hesitated- but not on purpose. You muttered your thanks and took it from him. The silence was heavy between the three of you as Az took his seat. He nor Eris reached for the tea. Az leaned onto his knees and sighed heavily. 

“So can we talk about it?” He asked, looking at you directly. 

You sipped your tea letting the warmth of it wash through you. Azriel looked so tired. They both did. Guilt started to churn in your stomach. Mostly because of Eris’s confession but partly because this whole situation was your fault. You held your cup tight like it was the only lifeline you had. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. You stared down at your tea, unable to look at either of them anymore. “I shouldn’t have left. I just thought you wouldn’t miss me.” 

Cool shadows came in from your peripheral, wrapping up your arms. They did that when they thought you were upset. You were too tired at this point to be upset anymore. 

“Why-“ Az stopped himself, clenching his jaw when you glanced at him. “Y/N, you’re our mate.”

“These past few months haven’t felt like it.” 

They wanted to talk. You spoke the truth. Your words struck them both hard. You put the cup and saucer on the table beside you. Least you lose your grip on it. With nothing to hold you crossed your arms against your chest. The shadows moved but didn’t leave you. You continued. 

“I didn’t think I was a female who needed time or touch. Not until you both stopped giving it to me.” Guilt still swarmed in you. “I should have told you sooner.”

“You tried to tell us, we did a poor job of listening.”

Az tried to crack a joke. The corner of your lips twitched a little. A glance at Eris told you he wasn’t as amused. Az sighed heavily, drawing your attention back to him. 

“Do you really think we don't need you?” Az looked so hurt, you felt sick from it. You did that. 

“I-“ Gods the tears were back. You blinked profusely. “You’ve been together for so long. Just because I’m your mate doesn’t mean I fit into your lives. It’s… obvious I’m still a disruption.” 

Shadows recoiled from you, the solid dark wisps whipping around like they would hiss if they could. Azriel whistled to try and reign them in. They went semi- transparent and lowered themselves back down onto you. Gods you wanted them off. In a burst of over stimulation, your magic flared and pushed the shadows away from you. Az stiffened where he sat, watching the shadows slink back to him. 

“I’m sorry. I-“ By the cauldron could you do anything right? 

“It’s okay.” Az whispered.

The air was thick again- silence heavier than before. None of you were getting anywhere with this. Your mind became a quick tangle of worries- rapid thoughts one after the other, making you tense where you sat. You should leave. You weren’t needed. You should tell Samira to just make you a permanent resident of Summer. Ignoring a bond would be easier than breaking one. 

“Y/N.”

You inhaled sharply, when warm hands touched you. You had stood up during your frantic thoughts. You were breathing heavily. Eris was in front of you- not unlike how he’d been when the bond snapped. His hand reached up and cupped your face. His thumb wiped away more tears. 

“Let us in.”

You felt two gentle tugs in your chest. A lot different than the pulling and clawing from earlier. Reopening the bonds you kept shut for so long felt terrifying. Movement to your left caught your eye. Az was now beside Eris. 

“Please?” Az’s eyes begged just like his tone. 

You didn’t realize Eris was exaggerating his breath, breathing with you to calm you down. Slowly, breathing in and out gently, open your bonds. You would have collapsed if Eris hadn’t held onto you. Letting yourself feel them both, even slowly was too much. Your cold heart was suddenly flooded with warmth you hadn’t felt in months. Love. Love you’d forgotten was even there. 

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed. You wrapped your arms around Eris’s neck and dug your fingers into his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t speak, he didn’t have to. He carried you to bed, Az following behind him. The rest of the day was a blur of more tears and soft confessions, being held between your mates. You learned more about them in those hours than you had the last five years of being with them. You each had your weakness- you bottled up your grievances and let your thoughts rot in them. Eris did the opposite. He bottled up his love, hiding from you and Az when he didn’t have too. Burying himself in work to not seem weak. Az admitted his complacency, with how he would let things go unchecked. Just rolling slights and not addressing them fully. 

You all agreed after a long warm bath that closing the bonds wasn’t working. It helped keep you all focused, but what good was that when you couldn’t feel your mates and them you? Even leaving them open a little wasn’t enough. You'd have to learn to function with it open. Eris only asked to wait until after the summit. He brought it up as he sat behind you, braiding and drying your hair. You’d changed into a soft nightgown and kept a cold towel pressed to your eyes. 

“I do not need Az sending how he feels about me arguing with other high lords down the bond in the middle of a meeting.” 

“It was one time,” Az was somewhere to your left, clearly offended. “I can’t help it, you're hot when you use your high lord voice.” 

You snorted. Azriel wasn’t wrong. Eris muttered something behind you that you didn’t fully hear. Fingers pulled at the towel and you winced as the room came into view, lights and all. Azriel dipped the bed where he sat, shadows taking the cloth away. 

You asked, “Do I look better?” 

“You never looked bad,” Az smirked. His eyes ran over your face. “Your head shouldn’t hurt in the morning. If it does, we'll get Edith’s magic tonic.”

“Edith is going to revoke access to that tonic if you keep taking it for every little thing.” Eris tied the end of the first braid. 

“Then it’s a good thing it’s for Y/N,” Az said with a sass in his tone. 

You missed them. How could you ever think- you shut it down. No more tears for the night. For now, you let Eris start his second braid in your hair while Az spread out on the bed with his head in your lap. Exactly where you all were supposed to be. 

[sedesapientiae]

I need prayers very badly.

I’ve had low level control issues when it comes to alcohol for a while now but now i compulsively reach for it and have for at least two weeks straight now.

i havent been to mass since christmas, and before that hadnt been since before advent

i havent been to confession despite struggling with habitual mortal sin

the only time i actually find myself engaging with god is at a protestant prayer group

i want to come back to life but i am just so depressed i cant even get out of bed for reasons apart from basic survival. ive become suic*dal

please pray for gods mercy to cover me and that i would find the courage to go to confession or at least tell my priest everything thats been going on.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Ok, so, more of my thoughts about the peace summit having done the timeline/roundup.

I think the Sussexes leaked. Charlotte Griffiths, Victoria Ward, Page Six, People Magazine, and Tom Sykes are all Sussex friendlies, and that Page Six and Victoria Ward were on it so fast tells me that there was definitely maneuvering from the Sussexes to try and spin it to their favor. Also Charlotte Griffiths having the exclusive about Harry being in Angola too…this is a Sussex leak.

Though not all the coverage and commentary is included in the timeline, you can see the real-time shift in spin, especially once critical commentary began:

Reconciliation and peace talks

Poor Harry, he just wants his family back

This wasn’t reconciliation, this was a business trip, nothing to see here.

“I didn’t do it!” cried Harry.

Wait, where’s William?

BP took this meeting as a professional courtesy and a professional courtesy only.

“No, really, I didn’t do it!” Harry insisted.

This really was just a business trip, reconciliation wasn’t on the agenda.

This is a PR tactic, and a very obvious one. BP and KP see right through it.

William and KP had nothing to do with this.

Shit this bad, let’s reset the narrative with my mother’s iconic landmine walk and my fears for Meghan’s life.

“Harry who?” says Kensington Palace.

Reconciling wont be as easy as Harry wants/expects it to be. He’s going to have to take accountability for what he did.

“Waaahh but my dead mother!” Harry sobbed, while collapsing in a heap on the floor.

Ok, so maybe the last one hasn’t happened yet. And notice that once people started calling this out for the PR stunt that it was, Sussex PR went completely silent and Harry reappeared in Angola. It could be a coincidence. It also could not be. You decide.

I think we can also see the spin too from BP, starting with how they hedged their bets and Charles being loosely interested in reconciling with Harry first to saying they took the meeting as a professional courtesy and calling the Sussexes out for the PR stunt it was, especially once people started asking where William and KP was.

But at the same time BP is spinning down this meeting, they’re also taking great strides to emphasize that this is between Charles and Harry only; no William, no Camilla, no Kate, no other members of the family. To me that sounds like a) it’s all about Charles and b) Charles is King so it doesn’t matter what anyone else says because his word is final. It’s an interesting juxtaposition because BP/CH/Charles is clearly worried about what William thinks because their spin started as soon as the criticism and commentary put William into the narrative. It strikes me as very much “ok so the door isn’t open but I’ll leave the back window unlocked and you can get in that way” kind of hijinks.

Wilson’s belief that William’s not talking to Harry will bring about death and destruction a republic is overly sensationalizing this. If the monarchy is fragile enough that Harry’s hateful jealousy and drug-induced bitterness can bring it down, then it wasn’t strong to begin with. Because a) the skeletons that Harry knows about belong almost entirely to Charles. William cut Harry out in 2018 but they’ve been distancing since at least 2014 (if not earlier) when Harry started complaining that William never wanted to go out with him anymore. and b) by Harry’s own printed confession in Spare, he’s not a reliable or trustworthy narrator because of his substance abuse and mental health. All William or William’s staff has to do is remind people that Harry is a confessed liar, much like Meghan is also a known liar (see: Oprah), and it discredits anything they have to say.

So in other words, I wonder how much the Sussexes paid Wilson for that op-ed.

[aventurineswife]

Reader flinches during an argument😩🤚

You cna make it just flinching or them actually accidentally hurting reader, whatever you're more comfortable with

Characters: Jing Yuan, Aventurine, Dan Heng, Kaveh and Therta (get it? Cuz The Herta can be shortened to Therta... haha... ha)

Trust Reforged in the Quiet

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Kaveh x Reader, The Herta x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Emotional Vulnerability, Arguments, Flinching Reaction, Apologies, Reconciliation, Romantic Tension, Communication, Soft Moments.

Warnings: Emotional conflict, Raised voices, Accidental intimidation, Mentions of guilt and emotional vulnerability. (No physical harm or abuse.)

A/N: yeah... I totally got it, ahahaha.. ha 🧍‍♀️

The peaceful glow of the Luofu was overshadowed by the tense atmosphere between you and Jing Yuan. The General stood in his study, his eyes fixed on you, frustration flickering behind their usual calm. The argument had started small, but it spiraled into something you hadn’t anticipated.

“You don’t understand the weight of these decisions,” Jing Yuan said, his tone sharper than usual. “Every action has consequences—not just for us, but for the entire Alliance.”

“I’m trying to help you!” you shot back, voice trembling. “But you keep shutting me out like I’m just an outsider!”

Jing Yuan ran a hand through his long hair, visibly exasperated. “It’s not about shutting you out—it’s about protecting you. Don’t you see that?”

When he suddenly stepped closer, his voice louder than before, you instinctively flinched, taking a step back. His eyes widened, his anger evaporating in an instant.

“Wait…” His voice softened. “Did you just flinch?”

You looked down, ashamed. The moment hung heavy in the air. Jing Yuan’s heart ached at the sight of you retreating from him, and he cursed himself for letting his emotions overwhelm his judgment.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently, his hands hovering before dropping to his sides. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He took a step back himself, giving you space. “I would never hurt you.”

You hesitated before nodding, your eyes still wary. Jing Yuan took a deep breath, his usual calm returning. He walked to his desk, retrieved a cup of tea, and set it down in front of you.

“Let’s talk—properly this time,” he said, his voice steady but laced with remorse. “I want to listen to you, truly.”

And for the first time that evening, you felt safe enough to let him in.

The opulent office felt suffocating as Aventurine paced back and forth, his normally suave demeanor unraveling. You had challenged one of his high-stakes decisions, and he hadn’t taken it well.

“You think I didn’t calculate the risks?” he barked, his voice sharp as a blade. “You think I don’t know exactly what I’m doing?”

“I’m saying it’s dangerous, Aventurine!” you shot back, your voice rising to match his. “You can’t keep gambling with people’s lives like this!”

His eyes burned with frustration. “You don’t understand the game I’m playing! Every move I make is—”

When he spun to face you, gesturing emphatically, you flinched, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. The slight recoil stopped Aventurine mid-sentence. His hand, frozen mid-air, dropped to his side.

For a moment, silence reigned. Then, his voice came out softer, almost unsure. “Did I… scare you?”

You didn’t respond immediately, and that was answer enough. Aventurine’s usually confident mask cracked, revealing the guilt underneath. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his tone devoid of its usual bravado. “I let my temper get the better of me.”

You crossed your arms, your voice shaky. “I just want you to see that I care, Aventurine. You don’t have to face everything alone.”

He chuckled dryly, his smile weak but genuine. “It seems I’m the one who needs a reminder of that sometimes.” He reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing yours. “Can we try this again? No shouting this time.”

You nodded, and as he led you to sit beside him, the gambler seemed determined to show you he was more than just his sharp words and risky strategies.

The gentle hum of the Astral Express felt distant as you and Dan Heng faced off in the library. He rarely raised his voice, but tonight, his frustration was palpable.

“You can’t just rush into danger like that!” Dan Heng exclaimed, his voice uncharacteristically forceful. “Do you have any idea how reckless that was?”

“I was trying to help!” you defended, equally upset. “You always act like I can’t handle myself!”

“Because you don’t see the risks!” He stepped forward, his hand clutching his spear. “What if something had happened to you? Do you think I could—”

When his voice rose further, and his spear clinked against the floor as he adjusted his grip, you flinched, taking a step back. Dan Heng immediately froze, his sharp eyes widening in realization. The air grew heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

“You…” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He set his spear down, his hands shaking slightly. “I didn’t mean to… I would never—”

You looked away, biting your lip. “It’s fine. I just… wasn’t expecting you to—”

“No, it’s not fine,” he interrupted, his voice steady but filled with guilt. “I lost control. That’s on me.”

Dan Heng lowered himself to sit on the edge of the table, his posture uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I don’t want to push you away. I’m just… scared of losing you.”

You hesitated before stepping closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m scared too, but we need to face this together. You don’t have to carry everything on your own.”

He nodded, his usual calm slowly returning. “You’re right. I’ll… do better.”

In that moment, you saw the real Dan Heng—not the stoic guardian, but the man who carried the weight of the past and feared losing the one person who made him feel safe.

The grandiose living room of Alhaitham's home felt oppressive as your argument with Kaveh escalated. He stood in the middle of the room, his expressive eyes alight with frustration. You had challenged one of his decisions, and his idealistic nature didn’t take it lightly.

“You don’t understand what this means to me!” Kaveh exclaimed, his voice shaking. “I worked my entire life to make a difference through my designs! And now you’re questioning that?”

“I’m not questioning your work, Kaveh,” you said, your voice tinged with desperation. “I’m worried about you! You’re pushing yourself too hard, taking on too much—”

“Because I have to!” he shouted, his hands flaring in an animated gesture. “If I don’t, who will? Do you think anyone else cares as much as I do?” He stepped closer, his tone growing sharper as he continued. “Stop acting like you—”

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up. You flinched, taking a small step back as his voice rose and his movements became more animated. The action stopped him in his tracks, the weight of the moment crashing down around him like a crumbling structure.

His arms dropped to his sides, and his face fell. “Did… did I scare you?” he asked, his voice suddenly quiet and laced with regret.

You didn’t reply immediately, your throat tight with emotion. “I—I didn’t mean to—” you started, but Kaveh shook his head, cutting you off.

“No,” he said firmly, his tone filled with self-reproach. “This isn’t on you. I… I shouldn’t have yelled like that.” He took a step back, giving you space, his eyes filled with guilt. “I never meant to make you feel unsafe.”

“Kaveh…” you began, your voice softening.

He turned away briefly, running a hand through his hair. “I let my emotions get the better of me. Again. It’s just… everything feels like it’s falling apart, and I’m trying so hard to hold it together.”

You stepped forward hesitantly, placing a hand on his arm. “I know you’re trying, Kaveh. But you don’t have to do it alone. You don’t have to carry this weight by yourself.”

He looked at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I just… I don’t know how to let go. But I don’t ever want to hurt you, not even by accident.”

“You won’t,” you assured him, squeezing his arm gently. “But you need to let yourself rest, Kaveh. Let yourself breathe.”

He nodded slowly, his usual dramatic flair subdued by the gravity of the moment. “You’re right. I’ll… I’ll try. For you.”

And as the tension eased, you saw in his eyes the vulnerability he often tried to mask with passion and idealism—a man who cared so deeply, it sometimes consumed him.

The sterile halls of Herta’s spaceship echoed with the sharp edge of your argument. Herta stood before her console, her fingers tapping impatiently on its surface as she glared at you.

“Do you even understand the magnitude of what I’m trying to achieve here?” she asked, her tone biting. “This isn’t just some experiment—it’s a breakthrough!”

“I do understand,” you replied, your voice raised. “But you’re so focused on the outcome that you’re ignoring the risks!”

Herta’s eyes narrowed as she whirled around to face you, her movements swift and deliberate. “Risks are inevitable in science! If I stopped every time something was dangerous, we wouldn’t even have the Simulated Universe! You—” She gestured sharply, stepping closer as her voice grew louder.

The suddenness of her movement made you flinch, your shoulders tensing as you instinctively stepped back. The reaction was subtle but unmistakable. Herta froze mid-sentence, her eyes widening in realization.

She stared at you for a long moment, the tension in her posture dissipating. “Wait… did I just… scare you?” she asked, her voice unusually soft.

You looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean to.”

But Herta shook her head, her usual detached demeanor cracking. “No, it’s not fine,” she said, setting her clipboard aside. “I might be a genius, but that doesn’t give me the right to… intimidate you like that.”

You glanced at her, surprised by the remorse in her tone. “Herta…”

She crossed her arms, avoiding your eyes as she spoke. “I get so caught up in my work, I forget about the people around me. I’m sorry.” She sighed, her sharp wit returning slightly. “It seems even I have room for improvement.”

You chuckled softly despite the tension. “You think?”

She smiled faintly, stepping closer but keeping her movements slow and deliberate. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll explain everything properly this time—no yelling, no dramatics.”

You nodded, the knot in your chest loosening. “I’d like that.”

As she guided you to her desk, the usual confidence in her demeanor was tempered by a quiet sincerity. For the first time, you saw the side of Herta that wasn’t just a genius or a scientist, but someone who valued your trust more than any experiment.

[fortuneaday]

[cheerfullycatholic]

[pratchettquotes]

"Firstly," said Lord Vetinari, "I have just drafted a proclamation for the town criers. The news is good."

"The war is officially over, is it?" said Carrot.

"The war, captain, never happened. It was a...misunderstanding."

"Never happened?" said Vimes. "People got killed!"

"Quite so," said Lord Vetinari. "And this suggests, does it not, that we should try to understand one another as much as possible?"

Terry Pratchett, Jingo

[vsurg3-c]

I'm over you(not)

𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧'𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐱 𝐅! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You've been always, and always trying to get your fellow squad member to like you, but with the man masked with a skull having walls placed around him, you began to lose hope, thinking that he'd never feel the same way.

Until he shows up at your quarters one midnight, drunk and vulnerable.

Warnings: MDNI, Cursing, Alcohol-Taking, Very short.

For nearly a year, you’d tried to break down Simon's walls. You’d looked for every crack in his guarded silence, tried to coax him out of his steel shell. But he kept you at arm’s length.

He was never harsh, but always guarded, like a fortress unwilling to let you in. And slowly, it broke something inside of you, a small ache that grew with each brush-off and silent stare, she felt like it was a sinking ship, never meant to go further than whatever it just reached.

Each effort turned into hurt and eventually, you stopped trying. Feeling lost in the turmoil of each interaction you and Simon did that ran through your head, trying to think of times that he just outright just showed you that he wasn't interested, but it was a mix of yes and no's, and it just got too much, so she just stopped.

Stopped asking him about his favorite‘s.

Stopped looking for him in the hallways. Stopped lingering in the mess hall hoping for one of his rare half-smiles.

The looks, the small gestures, the unspoken connection; it all faded as you pulled back, leaving whatever had sparked between you to die in silence as you hide your growing storm inside your room, every sleepless nights, every tear shed into the difficult analysis of how would she get over it? Even worse, how would she face him?

But tonight, as you sat alone in your quarters, lost in the comfort of solitude, a sudden knock shattered the quiet. You froze as a muffled, slurred voice drifted through the door. Simon.

“Please… open up, [name].”

You recognized that voice. Heart pounding, you swung open the door to find Simon on the other side of the door.

He was visibly intoxicated, swaying slightly, eyes glassy and unfocused beneath his mask. His hands trembled as he reached out to brace himself against the doorframe, shoulders slumped, his usually commanding presence crumbling.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered, words thick and slurred, his voice heavy with regret. He slumped lower, almost falling to his knees, clutching the doorframe as if it were the only thing anchoring him.

He looked up, eyes meeting yours, and the pain in them nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

Every wound he’d unknowingly carved into you was raw and open again.

“Please… don’t shut me out. I can’t—” His voice broke again, desperation flooding his words as he reached for your hand, grip clumsy but desperate, fingers cold against your skin.

“Please… don’t leave me like this, l’m begging you.”

"Simon.." She stared at him with narrowing eyes, though it was out of conflict rather than pure anger.

He made her have many sleepless nights, crying herself to sleep, in a spiraling abyss that she didn't even think she could've gone out, and just as when she thought she did, he drags her back in it once more.

"You're drunk."

He took another wobbly step towards you, his hand still heavily on your shoulder, his fingers digging into your skin. He stumbled again, his balance completely off, his eyes unfocused, the smell of whiskey heavy on his breath.

"No," he insisted, voice slurred but firm, "Need to... talk. Can't take it... anymore."

He leaned further into your frame, trying to steady himself, his fingers gripping you tighter, as if he was scared you'd try to leave.

"Simon please- its late." She insisted, her hand grasping his wrist, the touch felt electrifying, and she yearned his coldness, as much as she despised it. She needed him, but could she really fix it with him? Could he just fix it with drunken apologies?

His voice caught in his throat as he felt the touch of your hand on his wrist, a sharp inhale followed by a shiver that ran through his body.

He leaned further into you, his body pressed against yours now, his head nearly resting on your shoulder. In his drunken stupor, his defenses were shattered, his touch no longer distant or cold.

"Please," he murmured, his breath hot on your skin, "Please... I need..."

He didn't or couldn't finish his thought, his hand gripping your shoulder tighter as if he was afraid you'd disappear.

And so she succumbs.

It was always the same fucking thing every time.

Now she laid on the bed, while he clutched desperately against her frame, head hidden between the crook of her neck, fast asleep from the alcohol, holding like a damn sloth on a tree for dear life.

Oh how was she in so much turmoil right now.

He slept deeply and with near-childlike vulnerability, his body pressed against yours, his head tucked into the crook of your neck. He held onto you tightly like a child clutching a toy, his fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt, his breathing slow and steady.

Despite being in an intoxicated state, the tension in his body seemed to melt away in your embrace. His features, normally hardened and stoic, softened in sleep, and for once, he looked utterly unguarded.

It felt like a dream, a twisted, painfully yearned-for dream.

Staring at his sleeping form for a while, she soon as well let herself be grasped by sleep.

Waking up to an empty bedside the next day.

The next morning, you woke up to find the space beside you cold and empty.

Ghost was gone, as if he had never been there. The only evidence of his presence was a slight indent on the mattress, a silent reminder of his absence.

The memories of the night before flooded back to you, the drunken ramblings, the mumbled apologies, the desperate grip of his hand on your shoulder. But where was he now?

Only a message on her phone gave her just a wee-bit of explanation from him.

——————————————————————————

[Simon]: I want you in my quarters after the debriefing.

[Simon]: Its about time I come clean.

[Simon]: Please.

[candywife333]

Do It Like Me

Pairing: Jungkook singer x chubby y/n

PART 2 of Places You Never Were

(I will also be writing a continuation if you guys want one, but otherwise, this is the last official part😆) Not edited as usual

Triggers: sad feelings, crude words and description, intense unrequited love, mild yandere activity?, smut, twist at the end

I was going in circles, mentally. Was it even necessary that I care about him at this point? That something in me still felt bad even after everything he did to me. All after he used me, made me a shriveled husk of myself , and then dropped me.

I remember the last time I saw him in person at that award show a while back. He looked prideful at the time, dark eyes glinting with latent arrogance, maximal self assurance in who he was and what he had achieved as a singular entity . He had acted as though I had never existed. He had not even acknowledged that some person in his life had gone the extra miles for him to become who he was that day onstage.

I thought I had a choice in the matter. Unfortunately, I was still tight with Jimin and he came into the studio as he occasionally does one day. He ran in, eyes rimmed with red and slightly damp, "Did you hear what happened to Kook Y/N? He's in the hospital and we are all so scared. What if he can't recover? He has broken his legs Y/N!! Tibia fractured in multiple places". He looked so distraught , lips downturned in a pout as though he were going to start balling right this minute.

Sighing, I got up, ambling over to give him a hug. "He will be alright Jimin, he always is. It may take him a long recovery time, but don't doubt that he will recover. You guys should be there for him at this time". Jimin nodded vigorously, tears still dripping from his eyes as he wiped them with his hands. His arms encircling my waist to hug me back. I patted his back gently. His muffled cries died down as I continued to cradle him in my arms, rocking rhythmically back and forth ever so slightly to soothe him.

"Y/N, why do you always give the best hugs? It always feels like coming home". I get startled at his candid assessment. "Umm, not sure" , I chuckle. "I am glad you feel that way. That I can be some comfort to you".

Jimin smiled a watery grin, "You are the only reason I have a career this big. I never dreamed of it you know. You made a far-off dream for me, a reality". I smile back at him sheepishly, "Don't keep praising, you know I hate it. Especially when most of it was your own efforts anyway--your artistry and skills".

His embrace tightened around me, his breath ghosting my bare midriff. I froze, my shirt had actually lifted up as I had gone in for a hug. He didn't move away. His lips almost touched my bare skin. I shivered as the faint imprint of his lips seared my skin. He murmured, "It was all you. If you never believed in me, if you never came into my life--I would have nothing, would be nothing. And it really doesn't help that I found you so sexy and gorgeous from the time I first entered the studio to record the album. You wouldn't believe what I have done without you knowing. I feel guilty about it at times, but the temptation of you is too much to resist".

I was so taken aback, I croaked out in bewilderment, "What have you done that you feel guilty about"? He turned his smooth cheek towards me, his soft face indented into my rounded bare belly, making me gasp aloud at the sensation, his plump lips burrowing into my belly button. "What are you doing Jimin", I yelped in shock. Shock and something else--a feeling I couldn't place a warm treacly feeling spreading through my pelvis.

He said in a rather matter in fact tone, "I feel so guilty because ever since I saw you, I attempt to forget your face because you pop up in my mind every time I try to go to sleep, every time I am randomly going through my life. On stage, at a cafe, when I am recording, when I am at dance practice. And you know what? This slow torture, I don't want it to end. I want to be thinking about you all the time. Want to submerge myself in you, become one with you. And you know how you let me into your house one time to water the house plants when you were away"?

I nodded, remembering the time I had a meeting with producers in America, leaving him responsible to keep track of the house plants. He continued stuttering," w-w-well", gulping again to wet his mouth , "I may have stolen some articles of clothing. sp-pecifically your cherry studded panties".

I stand there in a stupor. What was he confessing to? "You...took them for what reason"? And that's when I felt his hands unzip my skirt slowly...cold a/c air hitting my thighs as his lips dragged down my skin from my belly button down to the elastic band of my panties. He mouthed out his response onto my skin, "Because I am addicted to your scent. Because I am addicted to you. Your smile, your body, you. And I wanted to know what you smelled like down there. I always catch your scent when I hug you or sit next to you and after getting high on that..obsessed with that.....I wanted to know what the woman I love smells like in the place that I want to be solely mine, only mine".

I shake, teetering on a fine edge when his teeth skate across the fabric of my panties. "And you know what Y/N , I became obsessed with that scent as well. And now if I don't get my fix, I lose it. So easily. I need to breathe you in because you are the only thing that makes sense in my life".

I try to pull away, put distance- "but Jimin, you don't know me that well. And how can you get addicted to something you smelled one month ago , on one occasion. Not to mention how gross an invasion of ". Before I could finish , he cut me off, his plump pink lips nestled at my nether lips, mouthing into the fabric of my panties, "Why did you think I always seeked you out at your house after that? Coming over to eat food with you , needing help with music composition. I needed to be close to you. I still crave you so badly. I used those panties up, getting off to your fragrance every day for a solid week. But I am done sneaking around, taking a trip to your dirty laundry basket to steal your panties. I want it from the source now, not anywhere else" .

And with that statement puncturing the tense air, he gently dragged his mouth down my panties and smothered my nether lips with his pillowy lips, dragging them into his wet mouth, sucking at my folds. I groan , "Jimin don't". But he doesn't comply, nibbling at my folds like he's eating at a five star buffet. His lips suctioning my clit as he squeezes my fleshy hips gently, "It's mine Y/N let me have it. I have been dreaming about it for a whole year now. Make my dreams come true again, please".

I moan helplessly as he devours me.

A strange detail hits me, "Jimin, were you the one who randomly deposited money into my account, 100k dollars throughout this whole year? The amounts that randomly showed up in my account "?He chuckles , his rumbly low voice making me even wetter frustratingly enough, "Wouldn't want my woman to feel tight on money. Now would I? I know you earn well enough now for yourself. But I wanted you to go on that vacation to the Maldives you have been planning for a while now. Wanted to make sure you have everything you could possibly dream of".

And the merciless thought tore through my psyche, when was the last time someone had cared about me and my dreams? I couldn't however maintain a coherent stream of thought as he lavished my core with attention, slurping, sucking, licking -teething at my folds as though he couldn't ever get enough. Like he wanted to drown in me. He gripped me like he couldn't bear the thought of me leaving him.

I fell apart, my knees failing me, as he lowered me into his lap, and he continued sniffing at my neck as he grips me in a tight vise. Licking his lips, he looks me straight in the eyes, "Delicious darling. Let me have that every morning, and I can a die a happy man". Still in a torpid state from his sexual attentions , obsessive declarations , I beseech him ,"You do know how Jungkook used me right? I don't know if I can go through that again Jimin. I can't trust men anymore".

He lazily grinned, "Don't trust men darling. Trust me. I won't let you go, I can't". His eyes shine with a beguiling glint, "He was a fool to lose you. But I am so glad he did. Because I couldn't make you mine otherwise".

And somehow, he convinced me to come with him to see Jungkook in the hospital. As we walked in, I saw Jungkook cringe in pain as a nurse was cleaning one of his wounds. His legs were both wrapped in long casts as he lay on the bed. Jungkook looked at me in surprise, a momentary smile blending into a frown on his face, "I didn't think you would want to come see me after all I have done to you".

I walked to his bedside, sighing I proclaim ,"Regardless of what you did, you were severely injured. I wanted to come to see and reassure you. You can recover from this Jungkook, as difficult as it may feel in the moment".

As I stood in front of Jimin, I didn't see what I should've seen. Jimin smiled as he said with a peculiar look in his eye, "Exactly what Y/N said Kook. You can recover from this". He paused as he continued, "And don't worry about Y/N. She has me now to take care of her. She always did, she just didn't know it before".

Jimin looked at Jungkook with an imperceptibly cold glint in his eyes, "Should've been careful Kook , would've avoided this accident if you were more mindful of your actions".

He whispered inaudibly to himself, "If only you knew your fate was unavoidable". A half smile lingered on his face. Jungkook and I didn't notice anything amiss as I walked over to cut some fruits for Jungkook to eat.

Jungkook conversed with Jimin as I cut the fruit. "When were you into Y/N Minnie? I didn't see this coming". He asked the query with a curious lilt. Jimin replied casually, stroking my hip as he responded, "Some of us realize our dreams once we meet someone pivotal in our lives. And that was Y/N for me".

Jungkook pushed on with a strange intensity in his eyes, "And when did you meet Y/N"? Jimin now gripped my hip possessively as he smirked, "I met her before you met her. When she was helping grade our composition assessments as trainees".

I chortled in surprise, "I don't remember you Jimin. How did you remember me? I must've barely been there, that assessment lasted half an hour that time. Plus I was dressed in a dumpy black hoodie".

Jimin looks at me with all the fervor of someone in the throes of joy, as if he was reminiscing something only he knew, " I remembered you Y/N because you were the single most beautiful and warm hearted person I had encountered in this city till then. And that hasn't changed Y/N".

I smiled back at him, he was so sweet, so kind and giving. I walked out of the room to use the bathroom ,excusing myself as Jimin kissed me briefly on the lips.

The door closed behind me.

Jungkook pressed on, "And how did I end up in the hospital Jimin"? Jimin nonchalantly poured himself a glass of water. "What are you saying Jungkook? You know how you ended up here. You were drunk and driving".

Not even glancing around the room once, Jungkook continued with his dark eyes narrowing, "Tell me Jimin. How did I end up here"?

Jimin smiled mysteriously, "You should know that better than me Jungkook. Just like how you should know how you fucked that dancer behind Y/N's back when you guys used to date. Just like how you know you cheated on her".

Jungkook looked like he was about to hyperventilate, give into hysterics-- like he had finally pieced something together that had evaded him for years, like it clicked all at once.

"Jimin, why did you introduce that dancer to me at the time when you knew I was with Y/N. Why did you tell me that I should experience new things. That I didn't need a long term girlfriend at that stage in our careers. That we should taste the rainbow before settling".

Jimin beamed at him, leaning in to drawl, "Temptation is ever present. I never forced you to take my suggestion. Not my fault you decided to succumb. So much for your fidelity".

Jungkook's face contorted into fear, "You planned this, didn't you? This was all part of your elaborate plan to get Y/N for yourself".

Jimin sniggered, "Plan? Me? I don't plan Jungkook, I dream and execute. And you know what Jungkook? Mere dreamers aren't winners. You have to fight for what you want. What do you think I dreamed of since we joined as trainees"?

Jungkook's mind was swamped in confusion as he asked ,"What was your dream"?

Jimin wrinkled his eyes into a wide grin, "My dream was always Y/N. Whatever I dream of, I always get it. Fame is a cruel mistress, but my Y/N isn't. I was in the background of her life, but not anymore".

I came back into the room, smiling at them, not sensing the strange tension that had developed. "What were you speaking to Jungkook about Jimin"?

Jimin got up to move closer to me and Jungkook's knuckles clutched the hospital bed sheets so hard they turned white. In a calm, intimate tone he says melodically "I was just waiting for you darling. Like I always do". He looked at Jungkook briefly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lush lips.