Nobody Talks About Kiri's Role In Neytiri And Spider's Bad Relationship...

Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul animal Au.

Chapter 8:

Summary: You awake in the manor, to the horror of yourself and the delight of others. What will happen to you now..?

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7.

Happy April fools!!! The joke is my writing schedule!

----

You were surrounded by a cloud. Soft, fluffy sheets swarmed you in its embrace, tugged you down into a gentle slumber.

You could barely make out a few words under the haze of a fever

“..... our… mate…!” One voice whispered, a trace of devotion in its words.

“Calm… vitals………to….okay.” This voice was grounded, trying to comfort.

In comparison to theirs, your own voice was weak, muffled. But you tried anyway.

“What…?” You muttered. The faces turned towards you. You squinted.

“Who…?”

One of the faces reached out. A hand rested on your cheek, stroking it, before moving to touch your forehead.

“Increase…dose.” Was the last you heard.

----

You woke up in a daze. Everything was hazy, and it took you what felt like several minutes to regain any sense of what had happened, let alone where you were. A subtle warmth nested close to your body, like that of a teddy bear. You pulled it closer.

Your head felt like it had been stuffed full with marshmallows. It was a weird mental image, but all you could think of. You reached out, feeling the texture of bandages around your head.

Well. You thought to yourself. That's not good. Your eyes snapped open.

Swiftly, you shoved the sheets off yourself, inspecting for injuries. The only bandage on you rested on your leg. You decided to leave it alone. There seemed to be some cuts and scrapes, which was expected. They were all treated though, which was not expected.

What was even less expected though, was the teen lying next to you on your bed. Strong features were softened by the pull of sleep, from whom you could only guess was Damian Wayne. The both of you were seemingly surrounded by bats and birds. They were all there, all six of them. Wait.. six? Didn't you have seven soulmates? You turned around in confusion, and made direct eye contact with the bat that rested on a nearby desk.

Ah. So that’s where Batman’s soul form went.

You froze, unsure of what to do with this new development. The bat just stared, watching.

You didn't run. You didn't hide. It was paralyzing, that stare, freezing you down to your very bones. What could you do in the face of eyes that saw all?

In the end you decided to gently tug yourself out of Damian Wayne’s clinging arms, inch by inch. It took longer than you wanted, but the method worked. You didn't look at the bat anymore, it scared you.

Done with your self inspection, you turned forward, finding yourself in an ornate room, about twice as big as the room you lived in at home, and triple as expensive. You slowly stood up, beginning to gaze around the room.

Shelves were lined with your hobbies, your favorite books lined the shelves, hell, they were even collector editions. You picked up a plushie that was lying on your bed. You twisted it around some.

“What the…?” You whispered.

It was completely identical to the one you had at home. Every mark was identical, down to the stitches and stuffing. How did they make them the same? …Were they the same plushie?

The worst part of it all was… the room felt like you. It felt familiar, as if it was you that had put it together, that you had designed it. Every detail, down to the colour of paint, felt like it had been designed by you. Just 100 percent more expensive. Well, except for one detail.

There were golden bars on the window.

They were the darkness in the familiar light that was your room. Out of place, as unnatural as the teen resting on your- The Bed. A part of you urged to investigate, the other wary of who you were rooming with. In the end, you came to a simple conclusion. It’d be better to leave the room.

You slowly slunked over to the opulent door, inch by inch, step by step. Your heart began to hammer, increasing its beat with every decrease of distance to your salvation.

You didn't look back. There was no point.

It was only when your hand rested on the handle, ready to pull it down and escape that you relaxed. Muscles unclenching, breathing deeper.

“You’re awake.”

Only to tense right back up. You turned around.

Damian Wayne was awake.

And… so were the soul animals. Or maybe they were already awake, just watching, staring.

His stare was piercing, hiding an emotion you couldn't quite comprehend. He wanted something, something you weren't sure you could give to him.

There was only one thing you could do, at that point.

The door slammed open. Short tight breaths kept you company as you escaped, deep into the darkness that is Wayne Manor.

----

Wayne Manor was a maze. It was a giant, sprawling beast, lined with corridor after corridor, hall after hall. You'd suck into one room to check if there were any escape routes, only to find more barred windows. The next room gave the same result.

These efforts began to tire you, the adrenaline fading out, leaving you alone with the aches and sores developed by the past few days. You blinked away the sleepiness. You couldn't stop now.

Or… Maybe you could actually, as you opened the door and came face to face with what could only be Wayne Manor’s butler.

“Good Evening.” He stated, giving no reaction whatsoever to your disheveled appearance, nor your horrified face. “My name is Alfred Pennyworth. I am the Wayne family’s butler.”

Ah… You paused for a moment. Well that confirmed it, didn't it. Batman was Bruce Wayne. Or at the very least closely tied. For him to be telling you this…Batman must think you'll never get a chance to reveal his identity. You weren't a threat.

You're in too deep. The shallow water you were born in has finally started to drag you down.

You're sinking.

You struggle to focus on what the butler is saying, but you remember some of it. Something about lunch..?

“I.. um, actually Alfred.” You pause, thinking of the right words.

He pauses too, taking a moment to observe you. “Yes? What is it?”

“I was wondering actually, if you wouldn't mind showing me to the exit? I don't think I should be here.” You fake a laugh, as if you could just wave the situation away.

“Ah. I do think that is something you'll have to talk to Master Bruce about yourself. If you'd like, I'd be happy to show you to his office.”

His office?

“Haha….” You smile. It feels as fake as you feel. “No thanks, I'd rather just go to.. um, lunch, was it? I wouldn't want to bother him anyways.”

“I rather suspect he’ll be coming down to see you anyways, now that you're awake.” The butler replied, matter-of-factly.

“...Actually I'm not hungry.”

The butler just raised an eyebrow.

You gave an awkward smile, turning away just as an awful stomping sound rang out, and a body collided with yours.

Your name was shouted, in such a gleeful tone, arms tightening around your waist in a collapsing hug.

“You’re awake!” The face of who could only be Dick Grayson greeted you, his soul animal fluttered down to your shoulder and rubbing its face against your cheek, just as clingy as its owner was.

“Ah. Hi.” You attempted. Oh god.

“I'm so happy to see you!” You attempted to grapple out of his grip, but it was like wrestling with an octopus, he perfectly countered every attempt you made with a grin, until he managed to pin both your arms to your back with a single hand.

“I was so worried for you! You’ve always been an expert at avoiding attention, but even the Joker isn't just someone you can avoid. You aren't still hurt anywhere, are you?” Grayson maneuvered you around a bit, checking you over in all different places. Even the robin was contributing, peering deeply to look for any ‘injuries’. You put a stop to it once he attempted to lift your shirt.

“Excuse me!” You protested. “Can you please stop pawing at me, we just met! And mind you, shouldn't you be aware of any injuries given that I've been treated for them here?!”

He paused, staring at you. You continued.

“Look, I'm sorry for shouting, but I've had a really bad night, and I'd greatly appreciate it if I could just go home.” The end of your sentence turned into a sort of a plea, desperation you were loath to reveal sneaking through.

If you played your cards right, perhaps they'd let you go home. Maybe with extra security or some nonsense, but you could still remain disconnected from this hellish family. That was what you hoped.

“Oh, little one, I'm sorry.” Dick Grayson replied, even more concern seeping into his face. “But you don't have to worry any more. After all…You are home.”

You stared at him for a moment.

“Haha.” You stated.

“You meant I am at your home, right?” You were breaking down. Denial was all you had left.

“No silly!” He replied.

“This is where you belong, where you've always belonged. You were always going to be with us, just as you should be. Otherwise, why would we have your soul animal?”

He smiled. It was a brilliant, searing sun.

It burned.

You teared up. You sniffled.

“Awww, baby.” He cooed, warmly stroking your cheek. “Don't worry. You'll always be with us now. Now and forever.” Soft condescension was reflected in his eyes. You couldn't bear it.

He rested his head on yours, eyes closed with a warm grin. His hug was tight.

The bandage on your leg throbbed.

----

You were not enjoying lunch. Oh sure the food was delicious and the view inside the manor was immaculate but that wasn't that problem.

It was the company.

‘I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home.’ You silently chanted in your mind, feeling sweat go down your cheek.

You had just barely managed to extract Grayson from you, as a matter of fact he was currently sitting right next to you, chair far too close to comfort with a beaming grin.

The atmosphere was very awkward, at least you would say so, as you were currently being stared down by some very eager faces. To your relief, not everyone had shown up yet (although if the butler was to be believed they would all be arriving very eagerly for dinner).

At the table was obviously Dick Grayson, but also Bruce Wayne, and… Tim Drake.

You didn't want to look at him, to face his betrayal, so you kept looking away, although that didn't stop his insistent gaze. Unfortunately your own turning away came with a caveat that was instead locking eyes with Bruce Wayne, which was somehow even worse. You silently wondered how noticeable your shaking was. Grayson’s hand sneakily grabbing your hand from under the table told you that it was very.

You managed to dodge any questions by simply pointing to your food whenever you were asked, an effort that the butler supported you in. It wasn't polite to talk with your mouth full, thank god.

You barely managed to eat enough of the food, it's delicious flavours landing like lead in your stomach.

“I’m finished. Can I be excused? I need to use the bathroom?” And hopefully find the nearest window to launch myself out of, you silently added.

“I’ll take you!” The joint voices of both Grayson and Drake called out, to their own surprise and subsequent glares.

‘Oh boy.’ You silently thought.

“Boys, boys.” The rich voice of Wayne called out, disrupting what was the beginning of an argument. “We can all go, I'm sure it's about time we take them to their room anyways.” Great, you officially had your own room. At least that meant you'd have some expectation of privacy… right?

The walk was just about as enjoyable as lunch.

So it was horrible.

Wayne Manor was an abyss, a dark void that stretched on and on and on. How any of the residents navigated it on any consistent basis was a complete mystery to you.

What was worse was Grayson’s insistent questions and rambles, often countered by Drake’s own questions and counters. It felt less like a conversation and more like a tug of war. It even became a literal tug of war for a bit, as Grayson’s tugging at your hand prompted Drake to do the same to your other.

Thankfully, you arrived at The Room before things got too out of hand.

You stared at it. It was right beside the room you woke up in the morning. That was not a good sign.

Grayson flung open the doors, shouting out a joyous “Welcome home!” that you tried your best to ignore.

The Room was beautiful, was your first thought.

It was like some sort of bird paradise. Countless places for birds to land, pillows lining the room. In the very middle lay a gigantic bed, lined with what looked to be the softest cushions you had ever seen in your entire life.

But the windows were still lined with golden bars. Just like the room you awoke in.

And beside that bed, was Damian Wayne. But for once, a Wayne family member’s attention wasn't fixated on you, instead, it was on his arm, where a little, fluffy, bird rested.

It was a dove.

----

Reader's soul animal reveal AYOOOOO yes I planned it to be a dove from the start, isn't that cool, also the bars on the windows are golden because reader is quite literally a bird in a gilded cage, please clap.

Where was Damian during the whole lunch? Keeping Dove Reader company as well as the other birds. Bruce didn't want to overwhelm and Damian is always particularly concerned with the welfare of animals, so it's like getting two birds with one stone (okay that's admittedly an odd metaphor in this context).

Heyyyyy. So uh, I guess I took a while?

Okay I'm sorry.

I have three excuses. I'm very recently dealing with very unfortunate family matters that sucks. Also, I kinda just fell out of the fandom for a bit because I got sucked into a different one (dude why does Zelda have so many fanfics). And finally I just had writers block, I invested so much time into thinking about the journey of getting kidnapped forever that I just didn't think too much about the aftermath haha.

But! I did write other short Batfam stuff! And I really wanted to post that, but I felt it wouldnt be what everyone wants, so I held off. Now that I've updated, I'm free to! So you hopefully that's fun.

And I think I'll make a short separate post for this, but I'm not going to add any more people to the taglist. It's very difficult for me to manage, and I'll shortly be sorting out my ao3 so people can get update notifications without any faff.

Thank you to everyone who reached out, I am in fact okay, and very happy I managed to write this chapter.

Taglist: @moonchild-artemisdaughter @jjsmeowthie @madine11-blog @xxrougefangxx @hadesnewpersephone @neerathebrightstar @mel-star636 @jaythes1mp @rosecentury @lov3vivian @gaozorous-rex-blog @victoria1676 @vrsin @silverklaus @ryukyuin @kurai-hono-blog @thisisafish123 @isawyourbrowserhistory @ain-t-no-way-bsfr @realifezompire @lunaluz432 @nickey-diano @sukiiluvs @sara0055 @alleakimlala @kdidgg @paperhermits @alishii @emmbny @sirenetheblogger @fantasy-angelo @andrasia @vinnvinnvintage @nyra-42 @armystaysatnct @beyond-your-stars @starsdotalk @adeptusxia0 @jailbimbo @yandereheros @sxftiebee @i-have-three-feelings @toast-on-dandelioms @lyl-3 @sitepathos @pato-spoiler-27 @ghostdoodlen @phoenixgurl030 @problematicreblogger

@sociallyakwardpanda @imaginarydreams @zanzie @yuyuzi-ling @soriansick @f1lover4ever @kiikkey @elizzsush @raincxtter @luoyi85 @yune1337 @erikasurfer @thekingofsimps @chaosbeanuwu @snowy-violets @nommingonfood @yandere-enthusiast @nb-babygirl @demonqueen-1 @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @winter67890-blog

Are there Bridgerton Pride & Prejudice & Zombies AU fanfics? If not, I feel like there needs to be.

Can you imagine Kate and Anthony kicking ass at killing zombies with all that sexual tension?

i.

"Hold still, ma Neteyam," Neytiri chides, dabbing at his little knees carefully. He whimpers at the sting, but obediently holds still, letting her bundle of herbs sop up the blood. She dribbles more water on him, sending faint red droplets running down his legs.

Lo'ak braces a hand on Neytiri's shoulder, five small fingers brushing her collarbone, as he leans down to look at his brother. "Does it hurt?" he asks, eyes wrinkling with curiosity the same way his father's do.

Neteyam puts on a slightly strained smile. "Nuh-uh." Neytiri's noticed this tendency in him recently to put on a good show for his siblings, to be stronger when they can see. Mother says Sylwanin was the same at that age, although Neytiri can't really remember it.

Kiri looks on, thumb in her mouth, and says nothing. She's still talking less than either of her brothers, or even Spider when Norm brings him around. Mother, Jake, and Norm all have their own reasons for why this is absolutely nothing to worry about, and Neytiri has a hard time believing any of them.

"That jump looked super cool," Lo'ak says, eyes sparkling. He has started picking on some of his father's turns of Sky People phrase, and also his father's love for danger.

"And 'super' dangerous," Neytiri shoots back, giving him a Look, before rounding on her eldest son. "What have we told you about jumping between trees?"

Neteyam lowers his eyes, face dark with shame. "'m sorry, Mama."

"Sorries don't fix a broken leg. You're lucky I caught you in time."  Lucky Mother had been there, too, to soothe her grandson while Neytiri had tried to get her breath back, overwhelmed by the memory of her boy falling, falling, falling...she'd had to do the five things you can see, four you can hear trick Jake had taught her before the roar of flames at the back of her mind had entirely disappeared.

"I know. I...." Neteyam bites his lip. "I wanna show Daddy how far I can jump when he gets back from his trip."

Oh, Great Mother. Neytiri resists the urge to pinch the skin between her eyes. "Your father does not care how far or how high you can fling myself, my son," she says firmly. "He cares, I care, that you are safe. The only thing he wants to come home to is all of his children in one piece, do you understand?"

"Yes, Mama." Neteyam bows his head and Neytiri sighs, leaning down to plant a kiss on his temple. Then more kisses on his knees, the way Mother always used to do when she was the one falling and being lectured. You'll understand one day, she'd said as Neytiri wriggled and whined, not understanding what all the fuss was about, and oh, how she does.

"My sweet, reckless little boy," she whispers in his ear, quiet enough she's not sure his siblings can hear it. "Look after yourself, that is all we ask. Will you do that for us?"

"Yes, Mama," he says again, wrapping his small arms around her waist and squeezing tight.

ii.

"Deep breaths, babygirl," Jake says softly, rubbing his hands over Kiri's slender back. Around them, the walls flutter over so slightly as if in a breeze, only their home was built stronger than that, and there is no wind, and--enough. Neytiri has more important things to focus on right now.

"It's so loud," Kiri whines, hands pressed to her small ears as she rocks back and forth, eyes squeezed shut. "It's so loud, why is it so loud?"

It's not, not that Neytiri can hear. She has sent her sons out to play, she has ordered passing People to be quiet or else, she has covered the entryway against what Kiri describes as a hot, noisy, brightness. She has done everything that she can think of except saw her daughter's ears off and still, Kiri suffers.

"Palulukan packs fighting in the north," Kiri mumbles. "Stupid territories. Stupid mating season." Her hands twitch and pain flashes in Neytiri's skull, there and gone like a ripple in the water.

She sucks in a breath, steadying herself, and presses gentle hands to Kiri's temples. "Hush, ma Kiri," she whispers, rubbing gently the way Mother used to do when Neytiri was small, the way that always soothed her. "It's all right." She leans down to press a kiss to her daughter's forehead.

Kiri growls and jerks away, wriggling out of her and Jake's hands. "I don't want you," she hisses. "You're noisy, too noisy. I want Spider." 

Neytiri's ears go flat to her head, jaw tight with frustration. Spider is a loaded topic at the best of times (his features have already started to sharpen, to mirror the face of a dead man in a metal suit, and hard as she tries the memories keep seeping in), and she can't understand what goes through her daughter's head to make this wriggling, chattering boy with his buzzing little pack seem quieter than her own parents.

Mother and Norm has discussed it, talking about the energy network filling Eywa'eveng that Kiri can feel more vividly than any of them, how Spider's presence--biologically disconnected from Eywa, pulsing with a different, quieter energy--serves as a reprieve from that kind of endless stimulation. No amount of readings and legends and theories can soothe her daughter right now, though, and Spider is far from here.

"Sorry, babygirl, it's just us," Jake whispers, settling down at Kiri's side. "Just your old man and your mama." He tucks a strand of hair behind Kiri's ear, careful not to touch her skin. "Do you wanna tell us about the palulukan fight, sweetheart?"

Kiri groans, hands tapping wildly against the ground. The walls start trembling around them, rippling with each thunk thunk thunk, and Jake shoots Neytiri a panicked look over their daughter's head.

She looks around, seeking something, anything, to make this better....her eyes land on the heap of winter blankets tucked in the corner. She scrambles over and grabs the heaviest one, carrying it back to her husband and daughter.

"Here," she says, wrapping the blanket carefully over Kiri's shoulders and pulling it over her head. Kiri lets out a little gasp and for a moment Neytiri's terrified that she's done something wrong, but then Kiri's grabbing the blanket, pulling it more and more over herself and curling up on the ground, snug and shielded as a little bug.

Her daughter takes a few slow, deep breaths as the trembling comes to a halt, until Neytiri's not entirely sure she didn't imagine it. Kiri doesn't pull away when they sit next to her this time, one on either side.

"Better?" Jake asks.

Kiri hums a reply, wriggles a little closer in Neytiri's direction. "Story, Mama," she whispers.

"All right," Neytiri leans back against the wall, turning the different options over in her mind. "How about...the day Mama saved Daddy from a pack of nantang?"

Jake mock-groans with that, and Kiri wriggles in excitement. Neytiri starts to speak, keenly aware of how her daughter clings on to her every word, listening the way she always does, liken she can see every moment in her mind's eye exactly as it happened. And for all Neytiri knows, she can.

iii.

"That was a pretty sick landing, bro," Spider says, awkwardly shuffling his feet in the doorway. Next to him, Kiri crosses her arms over her chest and bites her lip; the fact that she's not teasing her brother about today's disaster feels more ominous than if she had.

Lo'ak says nothing from where he sits on the floor, one hand pressed to his nose. The bleeding has stopped, but he won't take his fingers away from his face unless ordered, or raise his head. 

"Kiri, go help your grandmother store the new herbs," Neytiri orders. Her daughter nods, shooting Lo'ak's a reassuring smile before heading off. Spider trots at her heels, shooting Lo'ak that bizarre little gesture which Jake refers to as a "Vulcan salute." It normally cracks at least a smile from her children, but Lo'ak's face is like stone.

Now Neytiri is alone with Lo'ak; he hissed when Neteyam tried to help him over the threshold of their tent and Jake had taken the opportunity to guide their older son off, to help him settle his new ikran. Tuktirey isn't back from weaving lessons with some of the other young children and Jake will probably keep her out for a while longer.

Lo'ak doesn't look at her as Neytiri continues dabbing at his bruises, feeling for breaks or sprains. "You're only a little scratched up," she tells him. "You were very lucky."

"Lucky." Lo'ak's voice cuts, sharp as a blade aimed at his own skin.

Neytiri lets out a breath. "Ma Lo'ak..." He still refuses to look up, so she brushes that one ridiculous strand of hair that never stays in place out of his eyes and tilts his chin up to meet her.

"You are very young," she reminds him. Too young. He shouldn't have been performing the ceremony at all, but the Sky People's smoke is still drifting in the distance and a war is coming, even with Eywa's might to protect them, and she'd agreed with Jake--whether she should have or not--when he'd suggested they move the time up. "Older and more experienced warriors have failed their first ikinamaya."

"Neteyam didn't," he mutters, and oh, once again that is the crux of the matter. Neytiri would like to say she was not this bad about measuring up to Sylwanin as a child, but she knows herself better than that. "Kiri didn't even need a ceremony."

"Neteyam is older than you," Neytiri reminds him. "Kiri is..." She thinks about her daughter flying into New Hometree on the night the Sky People returned, Spider clinging on to her for dear life, both of them riding an ikran who had come to Kiri instead of the other way around. Pride, gratitude, and terror--for her daughter, for what else would come along with the Great Mother's gifts--still war in Neytiri's heart at the memory.

"...also older than you," she says finally. "They have experience, advantages you do not--"

"They're older by a year!" Lo'ak snaps. "One little year, that doesn't mean anything--" He pulls himself to a halt "I, I'm sorry, Mom, I shouldn't have yelled. I just..." He shakes his head. "I hate being so weak."

"Enough." Neytiri fills her voice with Tsakarem sternness. "No one calls my children weak, not ever. Not even my children."

Lo'ak opens his mouth like he's about to argue, but closes it at her expression. "Dad's disappointed in me," he mutters.

"Of course he isn't." Not if he knows what's good for him. "And neither am I." She rests her hands on Lo'ak's shoulders. "Are you going to argue with your mother, my son? Or call her a liar?"

"No," Lo'ak says slowly. "But--"

"No 'buts.'" She pulls him close, careful not to press on his injuries, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead before he can squirm away. "Believe me, my love." Please believe me. "That's all you have to do."

iv.

"I hate the sea," Tuk sobs. She's clinging to Neytiri as if for dear life, sharp little nails digging into her arms. "I hate the sea, I hate it so, so fu--" 

"Tuktirey," Neytiri warns automatically--Jake and the older children have been too loose with profanities around their youngest recently, and Neytiri has been too busy to scold them. She adjusts Tuk's weight on her hip, careful to avoid brushing the cluster of red scratches on her daughter's tiny foot.

She doesn't even know what it was, and it makes her feel a little bit mad, the fact that she cannot name the thing that injured her child. Back in the forest, she knew the names of every plant, every creature, every Na'vi, as well as her own. Back in the forest, she would not be feeling the sharp bite of panic as she hurries along the shore, feeling as lost as she did on her first day of Tsakarem training.

"I hate the sea," Tuk rasps. "I hate how hot the sun is all the time, I hate the sand getting everywhere, I hate how noisy the waves are, I hate it I hate I hate it, I want to go home--"  She bursts into a fresh wave of tears, slamming her head against Neytiri's shoulder.

"It's all right, ma Tuk," Neytiri whispers, trying so, so hard not to let her voice shake. She plants a kiss on Tuk's cheek, trying to steady herself as much as her daughter. "It's all right--" She rounds a corner and almost crashes into a swollen green belly, nearly dropping Tuk as she reels backward.

Ronal blinks at her, gaze careful the way it always is when she looks at Neytiri and her family. "I heard you were having trouble," she says; Neytiri almost expects a lecture or a taunt, but her voice is soft then Neytiri has ever heard it.

"I can her, treat her injuries--" She holds out her hands and Neytiri's grip tightens on instinct, Tuk whimpering at the added pressure. Not safe, not safe, the alarm wails at the back of her head, the way it did in the forest when the demon almost stole her children away.

"If you show me what to use, I can do it." Ronal's eyes narrow at the rejection and Neytiri hastily adds on. "I wouldn't want to burden you unnecessarily, Tsahik." The word still tastes strange in her mouth, attached to someone who is not Mother, but many things have been strange since the Sky People drove them here.

Let me have this, she tries to ask the other woman with her eyes. Let me care for my children. Let me be there when they need me, let them reach for me when they are in pain. Let me have this control over my mess of a life, at least. 

Ronal studies her for a second, then nods. "Come," she says, turning away, pressing one hand to her belly in a gesture Neytiri remembers well. "We'll go to my marui and I'll talk you through it."

"Thank you, Tsahìk." For the first time, Neytiri truly means it when she says it to Ronal. She hurries along at Ronal's side, keeping pace with the other woman as best she can without risk of brushing Tuk up against anything.

"Soon, my heart," she whispers, smoothing Tuk's hair. Tuk sniffles, but Neytiri can tell from the look in her eyes that she believes what Neytiri's saying, trusting in her mother like only the young truly can.

v.

Spider sits with his back straight, hands resting lightly on his knees, water and blood glistening against his still-damp skin. It's difficult to read his expression through the mask--it's always been difficult for Neytiri to read the expressions of Sky People, with their lack of ears and tails--but he keeps steady when she weaves her needle through the cut on his chest, jaw only tightening a little.

Kiri had offered to stitch him up, even though her hands had still been shaking; it had started after they got back sure and has continued on and off for a while. But she'd said I can do it, Monkey Boy, positioning herself ever so slightly between Spider and Neytiri in a way that had hurt, somehow, almost as much as the sight of Neteyam's blood still staining the sand around them.

Neytiri had offered to do it before she could stop herself, and Spider had surprised both her and Kiri by saying it was okay. He kneels before Neytiri on the shore, letting her needle trace back over the path her knife had marked, sewing the cut closed like she's down for all her children at one point or another.

All of her children, but never Spider. One of the scientists always tended to his hurts, or Kiri, as she grew older and needed someone on which to practice her Tsakarem skills. Spider got good at looking after himself, too, thanks to years of being constantly at her side, the two of them practically joined at the hip.

Neytiri finds herself wondering who looked after his injuries during his time in captivity, or gave him what he needed to look after himself, if only so whatever injuries they gave him wouldn't fester. She wonders if Quaritch ever lowered himself to what he would most likely view as the undignified task of caring for his child.

Spider's dye is mostly gone now, the last of it worn away by saltwater, and she can see bruises dotting his skin, more vivid than the marks on her (other) children's bodies. Bruises from different times, different places, creeping down his sides, wrapping under his limbs, blossoming on his hips in a way that makes her skin crawl with dark forebodings, things she doesn't have the strength to try and name.

All prints from massive hands, bigger than Spider's. Bigger than hers, too, except for one on his shoulder, the freshest and most vivid of them all.

Neytiri has always valued apologies in action more than in words, and truthfully, she doesn't know what to say. Her memories of the past few hours are, frankly, not that clear, and what she remembers--fear, anger, pain like nothing she's ever dreamed of, not even when Father died--melts together in a bloody swirl.

She knows that she and Spider found themselves on the edge of a very dark place, and she's not sure whether they entirely came back from it. She knows that she lost a piece of her heart and walked a high, narrow edge to keep from losing the rest of it. She knows that the air between them is taut and fractured with a demon's ghost, and speaking might just call him closer.

So she just bends to her task, stitching carefully the way her mother taught her to do with children. It's soothing, in a way, this quiet, healing work, the sense of at least one thing being tucked back into place.

When Spider suddenly breaks the silence, it's almost (almost) enough to make her drop the needle. "I get it," he says, voice soft. Neytiri pauses, holding the needle above his chest.

"I...what you did, I understand. I mean, I don't know, but--I do know what it's like, losing yourself." He licks his lips. "And Kiri...she'll understand why you had to do it, too. She will."

Will she? Neytiri almost asks, but stops herself on instinct, because you're not supposed to let the children see you doubt, remember. So she adjusts her grip on the needle and keeps stitching.

"All done," she says finally, just like she does for her (other) children when she's finished putting them back together. She puts the needle aside, nodding in approval at the tight, neat stitches and wiping off her hands.

"Thank you, Tsakarem," Spider says, bowing his head, and Neytiri...she should remind him that she is not Tsakarem, not anymore, thanks to his father. She should get up and leave, she should tell him to go to Norm when he needs the stitches taken out, she should tell him she only pulled Kiri back into the forest because it was better to save one child than none and she was sure his father would at least treat him well, she should--

"You are welcome, ma Spider," she says softly. His name is strange on her tongue, and she wonders when was the last time she used it.

An impulse strikes her and she plants a kiss on her hand before reaching out, brushing it down his cheek. She can see his eyes widen ever so slightly, but he still leans into his touch, breath warm against her fingers.

+i.

It hits again after Neteyam's funeral, waves of horror-loss-death sending Neytiri staggering away from the family, pushing inland. Her breath comes fast in her ears, memories of blood dancing slick over her skin and the fire is roaring, roaring, roaring so loud she cannot hear her own heartbeat.

Mother. She wants Mother. But Mother is not here, the distance between them and the rest of the Omaticaya is too thick with Sky People to travel, what kind of daughter cannot bring a mother to see her grandson's funeral? What kind of daughter, what kind of mother, sister, wife, Tsakarem, warrior, hunter, Na'vi, person, what what what--

She finds a rock and it's not the one where her eldest died but it might as well be so she hits again, and again, blood washing off her knuckles and staining her hands. Destroying herself, breaking herself like a bow and a child and a tree and a world, skin torn as bones scrape against each other and there is no words for the sound that spills from her, except for Kìreysì trying to describe a black hole to them once upon a time.

Hitting the rock because she cannot hit the man who pulled the trigger, the man who led the soldiers, the stupid father and foolish mother who could not stop their boy from bleeding out. Battering her own weak, foolish, noisy hands that could not put a child back together this time, when it mattered most.

Mom, she thinks she can hear him call, small and frightened and always out of reach. Mom, Mom, you gotta stop, you're hurting yourself, Mom-- 

"Mom!" Kiri's voice, sharp and frightened, and a vine wraps itself around her wrist, pulls her back. She tumbles, almost falling, but strong arms catch her, five fingers and a teenager's grunt in her ear.

"I've got you, Mom," Lo'ak says, and Spider is catching her head as it slumps back, holding it with gentle hands, and Tuk is tackling up against her, little arms squeezing like she can put everything fractured and scarred back together with a fierce enough hug.

"Mama." Tuk's voice is shaking and Neytiri wants to say sorry, but the words have been crushed from her tongue and all she can do is breathe, and breathe. The heat of their bodies settles around her like a blanket and for a moment she can almost see five children looking down at her instead of four.

Kiri's voice echoes in the distance, ordering Spider and Lo'ak--ordering her brothers--to get her what she needs, guiding Tuk out of the way so she can get a look at the damage. Farther back, Jake's feet thudding, running towards them, steady as the ocean waves echoing in her head.

"Hold still, Mom," and there are salves being smeared over her hands, too quick to sting the way she used Kiri how to do once upon a time. Bandages tied tight, Mo'at's fingers guiding hers through the knots, Sylwanin helping Neytiri practice later on, even when she rolled her eyes and squirmed.

"It's okay," and she should be the one saying that, it's her role, but tonight they are the ones saying it to her as they gather around her, as Jake reaches them and gathers Neytiri up in his arms. There are hands everywhere, touching her, cradling her, brushing sand from her hair.

"Ma Neytiri," Jake whispers in her ear, planting kisses over her tear-slick face. "We're here, love. We're here."

In their marui they give Tuk the task of kissing each bruise better and she goes about her task with the utmost care, little face screwed up in concentration as she plants feather-light kisses over Neytiri's hands. The others all gather around her, propping her up, close enough that she can feel every one of their hearts beating, that she can almost hear the lost one beating, too.

"We should tell stories about 'Teyam," Kiri murmurs at some point. "Does that sound good, Mom?" Neytiri nods slowly, because that does sound good. Their words, their voices, their love holding her together, that sounds good.

"Once when we were little," Lo'ak begins. "Dad was on a trip to some other clans, and Neteyam wanted to practice his jumping. There was a really big jump, and everybody told him to be careful..."

The stories spill from them, one by one, a river of memories flowing into the shape of a boy. And even if it's not enough, not after she's lost, it's still him echoing in her heart, it's still her family refusing to let her slip back into the dark. Close at her side the way she's always been close to them, ready and willing to put her back together however many times it takes.

hello babes! i hope you're doing well.🖤 i don't know if you're taking divider requests (so if you're not please disregard this message), but i fell in love with the first divider on this set and was wondering if i could get it in a dark red? or just a gothic roses set? your choice.🖤🖤🖤

hello my lovely friend! I would love to make it in dark red for you! I picked a couple shades based on the different app modes (and included a few more styles as well!) (but if there’s a particular shade of red you like, I’d be happy to edit!) 💖 hope you’re having a great weekend!

[Free] Masterlist Headers & Dividers!

Please consider liking or reblogging if you use 💕

Spider from James Camerons Avatar moodboard

Bridgerton hero Au:

Two ideas:

-modern hero AU

-regency era hero AU

The first one is simple, the classic modern heroes with the crown ruling over the heroes. Like you have to be recognised by the queen to be considered a real hero and that way have the advantages that being a hero bring. Being a hero is like being a noble. But it's mainly for people with super powers. It's so elite to be a hero that heroes coming from working class are rare. You have the first have powers, then go to the royal hero academy to study among comfirmed heroes and be recognised as a real hero. It's about chance, money and connections.

The second one is when the first super himans appear. In this AU it's more of a shamefull thing to be a hero. It's brand new and most super heroes are working class or low ranking nobles. Since this is all new the Queen insist in having all the super humans close by to be studied by the royal scientist. This fear of super humans is also because when the first super human appear he caused a lot of damages to the palace. In this AU when a child show signs of having super human abilities their families pushed them to hide it. Except for the Bridgerton, When Edmund Bridgerton was alive he was the only super human that the yound queen liked so his family had always been favored and their children were allowed to show their powers.

And it's all I have for now

ch.5 pt 1: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1, chapter five pt 2,

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, typical implications of trauma and emotional neglect, allusions to self-harm.

you had always been a good kid.

you didn't have a consistent a plus, and you most certainly don't always win awards, let alone shower in a streak of gold medals and thick paper announcing your spot as first place. you're not the picture-perfect kid aunties will brag about and compare their other children to. you're not always refined, as a child born into the streets of gotham, bound to be rough around the edges—

but you were good.

and your momma always told you every night, in her hushed whispers and cuddling arms, after her sweet lullabies harmonizing with the hums of your broken fan, that it's alright if you're not the greatest; as long as you're good.

she taught you manners, to always respect everyone around you, your elders, strangers, even children your age, because blessings always come in the form of good faith if you're kind.

you believe her, of course you do, she's the only person you had in your life, the only person you needed. you should've never desired for anything else; what else could you wish for if not her love and presence only?

she's enough for you, and you're enough because she tells you too, with her siren-like eyes softening when she gazes at you with only love encrypted in her eyes, her once seductive smile plastered all over wanted posters now beaming with joy at having you in her arms rather than inauthentic pursuits of attracting men around her.

you always followed through with her words, because you love her and it's no doubt that she loved you more than enough too, too much that she had to continue on with her prostitute lifestyle to provide for your little family, too much that it was the reason why she had to be killed off in the first place.

because of her, you chose to be kind, you chose to lower yourself, to never raise your voice higher than those around you, to be humble, and to never show when you're at your limit, even to others closest to you other than your mother.

you remember so little of her the more you age, you grasp on straws just reminiscing on every moment spent with her.

"a good kid," she says, her voice almost a tantalizing memory threatening to drift away, "won't finish first, but fate will always make sure that they never finish last. so choose to be good, alright, baby?"

"yes, momma," your reply came in curtly, tiny fingers playing with the ends of her hair, without moment's hesitation, or doubt in the meaning of her words.

because her words are god for someone like you, because she is your mother who always knew what's best—

because she is your mother, and you may not like her for who she is as a person, for all the wrongs she did in the past before throwing it all away to raise you; but you love her either way, and follow whichever path she leads you to like a little duckling...

a good kid doesn't finish first, but they'll eventually get what they always wanted, right?

even if they wait for weeks, months, years; fate will find a way...

so why can't you have you have what he have right now?

why, just why, are you always finishing last?

why can't you receive the same attention tim did when he was first introduced?

elegant, poised, a rich boy with millionaire parents who had so much to spend, standing proudly and confidently at the doorstep of the manor, as if he had already belonged the moment he stepped foot into the staircase. thirteen year old, older and taller than you, better than you.

the memory is still clear as day, because it was the same day you had bothered alfred to update you on your offer to hang outside in the gardens with your father, only for the butler to look down at you with the same sympathetic eyes and tired smile, retelling you in his familiar excuse that bruce is busy.

'papa is busy,' the words echo in your brain in a mocking tandem, you wish to bang your head on the kitchen's mahogany doors at another attempt rejected. you wish to rip at your hair like you always do. but you can't, you just can't because alfred is in the same room as you, aged hands patting the delicate strands atop your head. you feel disappointment, you always do, then it's shame; shame because it's always alfred who has to witness your bated breaths and spilling tears at another day wasted alone—!

shame because this always happens, it's like bruce never wanted you in the first place; he probably doesn't even think you exist.

but of course, your young brain reasons, your father's always busy when it comes to you, only you.

his timetable consists of mourning his dead son, handling wayne enterprises and juggling his philanthropist career. when will you ever be worth enough that he places you in the same pedestal as all his other obligations?

and back then, you thought every night he spends missing are nights spent with multiple women— back when you've not known of his identity.

yet the point stands still, his missions do not relate to whatever situation stands before you now.

why?

why is it him to who answers the door to tim, the young boy's piercing blue eyes looking up at your father in a challenging gaze? whilst you stand, restlessly in a corner at the scene that unfolds before you. why is it him, who at first makes bruce hesitate, yet still take in the boy holding the camera, hand on his back to guide him inside, as the boy speaks cryptic words you couldn't fathom as you watch behind arch of the living room?

your blood curdles, heart starts to pound out if its gilded cage, and you feel your body buzzing in pure, unadulterated envy, the sole emotion you feel clawing its way into your vision; you see green, you can't see anything else but the scene before you. shaky breaths, blurry vision, balance barely stable as alfred could only offer a pat on your back and his pitying gaze on you.

no words, not even comfort, the manor seems dark again, everything feels as if it's closing into your body and devouring you whole.

why, why, why?

the questions circulate, the memories resurface all the time at just how easy it was for tim, just how he didn't even need to beg to have your father, yes, your father to keep his eyes on a boy whom he have only spoken once in his lifetime.

tim doesn't need alfred to relay a message, he doesn't even need to hesitate being in the same room as the man who seems always a mile away from you, who could never look down even when your fingers come up to fiddle with the cuffs of his sleeves, just like how you did with your mother's hair, all in the name of getting him to see you.

but you're not tim, you're perfect, you never will be.

it hurts, everything hurts when a stranger, someone like tim had the opportunity to talk to bruce, you never had any—!

even if you're always good, even if you always tried to succeed in your academics, your extracurriculars, your everything, even if you always try...

... the moment timothy jackson drake stepped into the manor, the moment his shining blue eyes, almost twinkling like yours when you've been first introduced, stared analytically at the man you called father, was the moment it piqued his interest; was the moment you knew that being good doesn't equate getting what you always wanted:

the attention of a father who chose to cope with grief in another new robin partner instead.

to be bruce's child first, rather than an afterthought later.

ever since then, ever since tim came into the picture, it was harder to gain bruce's attention. even alfred was divided between you and your seemingly divine... brother who just decided to take your place, who will soon be bruce's third child, erasing your name off of his memory.

being good was not enough, being great didn't even compare— your mother's words seemed easily overshadowed by the gnawing jealousy at just how wonderful your new brother is, at just how similar he is in regards to bruce, but different and also infinitely better than you.

it was the first crack in your fragile, glass heart after it had been wrapped in thousands of bandages from the heartbreak of your mother, it was the first rip at the seams at the already lacerated wounds that emotional neglect has left you.

from the days, weeks, months, you couldn't recall, trying to form some sort of interaction with bruce, dick and now even tim, instead of having alfred be your medium of communication.

from the cold, rainy nights spent with just your thin blankets and fading memories of your mother to soothe you from the nightmares that relishes in your fear.

imagining what it's like having your father speak words of assurances in a dull, almost alien-like tremor (you've never even heard his voice up close before...) comforted you at first, but now it became thousands of hushed whispers wishing you were never born in the first place if it meant your trepidation would end.

and it would've been better, the dread that buzzes restlessly under your skin could've been satiated if tim had even the decency to acknowledge your presence. but just like bruce, god, just like dick who had easily accepted the smart, academically talented boy as his own sibling— you're still amounted to nothing to be even considered worthy.

good, but not enough, not worth the effort of being greeted every morning, not worth the time spending small talks with. even dick, the athlete who once promised to ditch some patrols in bludhaven in passing moment's as an excuse to swat you away, have now opted to bother the newest addition to the family, forgetting that it was you who idolized him the most—

even if it was tim who met him at the carnival first, before dick's parents had died, going as far to dedicate the entire act for the boy— it was you watching him through the broken down television too, legs swinging back and forth on your springy, dusty couch as you doodle him doing stunts, talking to you because he meant the world to you too after you realized he was considered a brother to you.

tim met him first, yet you did so too, but as his younger sibling instead...! so it's unfair, it's unfair, everything is so unfair. tim and his stupid fucking goals of helping your father cope, your father, not his, his parents are alive, your mother is gone, goddamnit—!

it's all unfair. your mother says the world treats good kids like you right, so why...?

... what else could he want? what else does he want to take away from you?

and how could you blame him...?

he was perfect in the sense that you aren't. he was what bruce needed: a reliable pillar of support, stubborn enough to deal with the stress piling up with the loss of his second child, qualities that couldn't be seeked in you even if anyone tries their hardest to squint past that once wide-eyed, vulnerable exterior of yours.

all they could see is a broken child, but not of their own. they could offer you sympathy, pity at just how terrible your past came to be, but that's what every child of gotham goes through. not even witnessing your mother's last gulps of breath would be unique enough to pique their attention. they couldn't possibly see you being part of their family, never.

you learn quickly, that the world has always been unfair, that sometimes, your mother's words aren't always right, not always the best. you need to be better than best, but you couldn't.

so you still chose to be good still, because what else could you do? who else could your identity be outside of the morals she had taught you?

that's who you always are—

that's who you always will be.

always the lesser one. always the forgotten muse and the unspoken poetry.

because that's what good people are, always belittling themselves for others, always allowing the bigger people to step on them like ants. to crush on their hopes and dreams like the crumbs of bread that spill onto the sides of a pavement.

tim is a good person, it was why he wanted to help bruce in the first place, but you couldn't also forget the fact that he's the perfect son for bruce too— that's the main difference between you both. you're worlds apart. he's naturally smart, almost flawless both physically and mentally, and helps slowly but surely fill the hole in bruce's heart unlike you who realizes that you'll only deepen it instead.

and you're a good kid, you're his good child, you wish you were his kid.

you're kind but never the greatest, talented but not good enough.

and that's who you'll always will be.

just a person defined by their worth, by the words of their mother. just a kid with nothing more than a smile to offer, no matter how strained the side of your lips are, no matter if the tears threaten to crawl out your eyes like spiders the longer your presence get ignored—

you're good, but you'll never be good enough.

... so what made you better now? what made you worthy now that all their eyes are now on you?

you wish it was easy to answer, but life's always unfair to a good kid like you.

has anyone ever noticed why the wayne manor has been so dull lately?

why don't the blooms stand so prideful in the gardens nowadays? surely, alfred's green thumb could fix the problem, but it's been months and the most eminent scent that fixes upon their nostrils could only be obtained if they sniff hard enough to smell fresh flowers amongst the scent of mud after rain or wet concrete.

why does titus seem so down these days? damian tried to play tricks with him; his beloved pet only replied with a loud, high-pitched whine in reply and lay languidly at velvet carpets with a bone on his slack jaw. his owner noticed how his tail seemed to wag less the more the days passed by. and damian isn't stupid, but he notices how titus, with the addition of alfred the cat, would often frequent sniffing and lay on a spot damian's familiar with; one he's sure a certain rival of his would only sit upon whenever they'd hide from him.

why have there been fewer homemade baked treats in the pantry? hell, they seem to lessen every single day someone opens the pantry. wasn't it alfred who baked them? was there a thief who had been stealing, or was the steady decline not mere coincidence? nobody else took a hobby to baking, since they've all been frequently absent, prioritizing their patrols and mostly taking the cookies and crinkles at the end of their shift, munching on the treats all for themself. alfred hasn't definitely been taking a break and refuses any offers to, yet the lack of goods was noticable, and whenever alfred bakes, it doesn't quite share the same sugary, or savory goodness the past deserts have been sporting.

why has there been silence, one that so ominous, for months? dick swore he'd often hear someone conversing through doors with alfred. at first he assumed it would be tim, or cass, but with how feeble and meek the voice was, yet talkative and light with an accent he's sure he heard from bruce. yet he dismissed the implication of another presence in the room. but as of current, he misses that strange voice that speaks of stories about highschool drama and friends for terrible influences.

has the rooms been lacking of music lately? tim frequents the soft, buzzing hums his hyperactive form hears from across the living room or near the fireplace's burning embers. sometimes he'd be lulled to sleeping whenever he hears specific melodies. he'd listen so often that he even managed to recognize his favorite tunes with just a single note, eyes slowly closing every time he's in close proximity with that unknown voice, conditioned to finally sleep like a pavlovian dog. tim has been losing sleep these days, eyebags frequent in his eyes. he misses the music, he misses his only saving grace during restless nights with even energy drinks and bitter coffee being ineffective.

why has the dust been collecting off the bookshelves of their library? whenever jason visits the library, there would always be fingerprints he'd find on certain books, one he'd pick up and come to enjoy reading. some were collections of series, others being short novels. the ghost that graces him these recommendations, who sometimes even brings new books, hasn't been in the library for months now, and he's skittish the more he visits the manor each time. the library was his sanctuary for all the moments he'd have fights with bruce, or felt too deep into his traumatic anguishes. the tastes he shares with this lone stranger who visits the library at different lapses than him was now gone, and he's noticed the anger that pangs deep in his chest every damn time dust has been collected off of books, with no fingerprint in sight.

just, why has it been so silent lately? both physically and figuratively. no music dawns their ears, no hinge of the fridge being heard throughout the night, or at least the faint mutters of an unknown whispering.

these were all unsaid questions buried deep in the minds of the people under the roof of the manor. now the only things they could feel were the heavy knocks of the rain on the window and the cold sensation of tiled floors on their already covered soles.

it wasn't noticable by chance, but it could be felt by everyone, both inhabitants and visitors.

and the answers lie simple: it's a secret.

they're the deals you make when you want someone to keep their mouth shut close, they're the things you swear your life to to never confess upon. they're the unsaid statements which helped torment a certain child under the roof of an already lonely and ghostly manor.

sometimes, secrets don't take in the form of someone making one up, but rather, it takes in the form of an unspoken agreement, a pact with your surroundings, an untold promise with nature or the things around you.

you were never particularly secretive with your talents, for arts, baking, or anything that takes in the field of creativity. you kept to yourself, and don't bother anymore to annoy your family to look upon a sketch only to be dismissed, or to taste the treats you hide by a pantry for later consumption; but you loved it still whenever alfred gave you the creative liberty to stroll around the manor to decorate the bleak place into a less melancholic version of a gothic abandoned house by the forest, left with only the legacy of a long-standing family.

it was just, you never find it necessary to tell anyone why there's a charcoal portrait of alfred hanged in one of the uncrowded hallways, or why the colors of the walls change momentarily, or why certain colors of flowers were more present by the garden than other colors— so maybe you could consider that a secret.

and it made you feel less lonely, if even by a fraction. yet you don't know it, but your acts of service to the manor was what made the family enjoy their stay a bit longer, was what made them appreciate the backdrop of a new wallpaper they had thought alfred had chosen, or find the designs of resin furniture adorable.

you don't know it, but you were what made mundane living enjoyable for those who seek to relish in the sheer feeling of adrenaline instead.

when you were first taken into the manor, you were the reason why all their senses were stimulated. tiny, malnourished you couldn't keep your toes in place once you've been exposed to a new, more bigger environment.

back then, the manor carried this atmosphere of darkness, a reflection of bruce wayne's grief after his beloved parents' passing away from his arms. yet you took that pain, and turned it from its bleak, grayish colors, to an intimate, fluorescent glow. a soft, bright light emits from one of the random rooms, with custom-made beads dangling about and glow in the dark stickers that litter the room. it was one not too blinding to the eyes, and felt warm like the touch of a mother to their crying child.

your cooking of sweet treats were the ones they often like to fight over. it was through alfred's secret recipes he bestowed upon you, and your own alterations for your baking, that the kitches would always smell of cinnamon, brown butter, and caramelized sugar. it was because of you that you made the manor smell sweeter, more homey, like what would've smelled of an apartment during christmas eve. you've made them associate the kitchen with both famous, foreign, and local recipes that they came to love. steph loved it whenever she'd stumble upon a cookie decorated with purple, cass finds the ribbons on some cupcakes cute, associating it with ballet.

every time bruce, tim, or dick needs a place to destress, they often visit rooms with sweet humming or the occasional singing. it was sometimes gibberish, others with lyrics, yet pleasing to their ears all the same. it reminds them of their mothers' singing, whenever they'd knit or praise their precious jewelry. it makes bruce's stiff posture slacken, finding that odd voice sometimes sharing his talking habits through the lyrics they sang. dick would always sing along, feeling as if he was back in time with his mother playing with his hair as she sings circus music, and tim would close his tired eyes, laying his head on his hand as he dreams pleasant scenarios for once in his life.

although you never once felt any of their embrace, they've certainly felt yours in their hearts, minds, and sometimes even their body; a spiritual connection they've felt with you without even knowing it. the last time damian touched you was when he pinned your wrists to your side. and even if he tried his hardest to ignore the raging beat of his heart, screaming at him to release you from the tight cage of his grip, he refuses to. out of sheer anger and petty spite, or the desire to feel the skin of his sibling who struggles to let go from his hold, he doesn't know. but he certainly does remember how your palms lack callouses unlike his does, and how warm your touch felt, even if blazing with cold sweat from his threats.

he had remembered the smell of your sweat and even the taste of your tears by accident and committed it to memory.

it was through your indirect care that everyone felt loved and cared for, and find themselves enjoying the sweet, small moments of living within what was once a stuffy manor holding painful memories.

and nobody knows why — with the exception of dick, bruce, and damian now — that despite the batcave being filled with the entire family, it felt empty all the same.

well, not entirely empty, but bleak with color. every hue remained gray in their eyes, the pipe leaks were eminent, heavy breathing was evident all throughout. no music catched on to their ears, and they all remain skittish and rigid.

it seems as if everyone has catched on, that they're all holding their breath together as the leader of the group, batman, looks around to do a silent head count.

after all, he told both dick and damian to update the family that this meeting is urgent, and no one shall even bother ditching, or else they wouldn't get to the bottom of your disappearance without all the help they could receive.

in a race to get you, they need to burn off all resources or god help bruce because he'd run himself crazy searching for you.

alfred doesn't want that happening, but he understands.

you're important, and no one could dispute that fact. after bruce had gone through your all your diaries, your sketchbooks that he had to pry away from damian's possessive hold, and the box of belongings that you left that he stashed away in his office— he knew he couldn't just leave his child out in the streets of gotham.

you're his child, and a damn child of his means his responsibility. either he likes the obligation or not, it's his duty to protect you from the harm of living in such a dangerous city. and you're certainly not a vigilante, he'd already ran through multiple recent investigations before everyone came rushing down to the batcave to confirm you're not connected with any bad guys; which was good, and bad news.

that means you chose not to undergo the same, dangerous path jason chose, or rebel like damian, yet at the same time you must've been incapable of self defense.

and he knows that even if you fight with normal moves; without his guidance against a gallery of brutal villains out to destroy batman or anyone related to bruce, you're dead meat. bruce doesn't want you dead. the only times he wants to hold you in his arms were the ones unconnected to you laying limp with your last breath, no. he wants you alive, and well, and safe from harm.

his precious baby, his treasure. he wants to see your face in one piece, and he wishes cradle you in his arms. just because you're over eighteen doesn't mean he's fully lost you. he's your father, first and foremost, and your hero second.

that's why it's imperative that everybody follows his orders now, with the primary order being that everyone, under the guise of currently not holding a mission, is required to be in the batcave within the first thirty or forty-five minutes of the announcement. no, there's no excuses that should be said, or buts. this meeting is a priority meeting, and as vigilantes who fight for the safety of their city's citizens, they know not to disobey.

and as family members related to bruce's precious second youngest, it's an obligation for them to care as much as bruce, dick, and even damian does for the search of your disappearance.

though apparently, jason couldn't get that message, and didn't bother to update through comms over where he's at the opposite side of gotham, his devices turned off after he had recently gone off in a rebellious tangent yet again about bruce's refusal to mercilessly slaughter the deserving ones.

he'll lecture his second child soon after he reports to bruce, mentioning your safety on the line while at it, but right now?

right now he needs to address the elephant in the room: the overbearing anxiousness and antsiness everyone collectively feels, bruce's stern eyes replicating the anger, the surge of energy he feels to exact vengeance on every crime that litters the street, the same urgency he felt compelled to drown upon right after his parents have died right in front of him.

whilst alfred's knowing ones stare at each and every one of the culprits of your disappearance, all a direct reason why you had left in the first place.

someone sighs, and it's not bruce who speaks up first amongst the crowd of vigilantes.

"so what now, father? are we all just going to stand here, or are we going to address the main issue? or do you want me to be the one who brings them back home? i wouldn't mind finding them before all of you do."

"this is not the time to be... you, damian, we're all....we all need time to think." it was dick who spoke next, with a sense of urgency, as his eyes that tried his damn best to stare at damian softly, with a smile to accompany it, immediately plasters itself back on his phone, spamming your phone with messages damian was sure were all about him begging for you to take them all back. without any fights, without any hesitation.

ever the pacifist, one would think. but everyone could see wide blue eyes, glinting at the screen. begging for mercy for such a lost case, tears nearly rimming his eyelids, lips bitten raw as blood drips down his quivering chin.

cass could read his movements, she knows he's mad. but not even a master of body language is in need to know just how much dick's rage emanates off his body.

fingers clenched on his phone, teeth gritted as he spoke, eyes frantically searching through messages, scrolling up, then down, as if he's waiting for something. for someone no doubt.

tim deduces that the person they're focused on for this urgent meeting was the same person dick was trying to text. 'must've been related or close to us if it means it's this important for everyone to be involved.'

he'll look through dick's phone later to solve the itching case, his fingers twitching to whip out his side in the batcave's screen and make a new case file.

but he chose to ignore it for now, they all do, each one focusing on their primary worries.

"who's them? wait— what even are we gonna talk about?" duke's voice rang loudly through the cave. it at least broke through the tension, bruce's tense shoulders sagging in relief then suddenly reverting back to its old, rigid pose.

everyone noticed the action. they're trained individuals after all.

barbara flinched through her seat at the sight of the man, with her hands readily available to type at the keyboard. though her eyes stay glued at batman, looking deeper and noticing his fervoured state.

it's as if he is lost in thought.

and with just how much thoughts were racing in his mind, it's easy to drown. to get lost in that mirage of memories trying to link an image of you to anything he tries to remember. even now, bruce wants to see your face first and foremost. he wants to see an image of you sleeping in your tiny, creaking bed, and to erase any of those memories to replace it with new luxuries he could provide you in life; a comfort you should've been blessed with the moment you entered the double doors of his manor.

his string of pearls, his little treasure.

"(name). they left, and i need all of you to listen to me, now. rebuttals later."

when bruce spoke up, gruff and domineering, with no room for anyone to speak back, all eyes were now on him.

dick throws his phone across the room, ignoring the shatter of the pure, aluminum branded back of it. his foot was jittering, and his voice was as ready to command orders with bruce.

blue eyes stare, vicious and hungry, impatient at its prime. with the addition of damian's green, squinted ones, and bruce's stern glare, thundering and clouded.

it was a spectacle to witness the same emotions coursing through their veins. as if they're one and the same; vultures feeding off the feeling of need and urgency to actuate what seems to be an already brewing plan on the trio's part.

the rest, unknowing of what had just occurred half an hour ago within your bedroom, listens.

they ignore the gnawing feeling of intuition, of something, right at this moment, going wrong, just to hear bruce's explanation, with dick and damian butting in.

they listen, fascinated about you being bought up, a name so foreign yet familiar, a mystery in their eyes despite having met or seen you occasionally; a glimpse of you running through hallways or painting in the garden.

they listen, and all the individuals let deep, feral emotions fester within them the longer they allow their ears and their mind to devour the words dick says, all syllables a symphony of praises towards you, each vowel accentuating his favor.

they listen, and learned.

whatever happened within the batcave, is also a secret.

you have your own secrets. they have theirs.

except, yours were discovered, and they choose to let emotions brewing deep in their hearts as obscured within public view.

tim wants to search for you, steph joins in on his sentiment too. barbara's already at it whilst she types and listens in on bruce's words, cass ponders about your invisible presence and just like bruce, tries to think of memories of you stumbling by her, and duke just as much attempts to picture your face and remembers something sentimental; one he'd ponder on later once he's alone.

now they all know your secrets, not everything, but a semblance of it. they discover their neglects, and acknowledge the consequences. why throughout their stirring arguments, they all couldn't find your handmade night-lights that they like to look at during the dark, or smell the baked crusts on your home-made pumpkin pie recipe, or the humming of random music through the halls.

because you've never once visited the batcave—

and it was the only room not graced with your courtesy, care, passions, and love.

they listen to bruce's plan, yet they ignore the growing dread.

they ignore why jason is radio-silent all throughout too.

instead, they focus on you, trying to reminisce on old, buried memories they at least spent with you. good ones, not the ones containing your meek begs, and heartbroken gazes. or the ones where you stood in the corner of a room watching them talk. or the times where you all had dinner together and you're left in the wake of silence despite the chatter filling the dining room.

... and once they couldn't muster anything up, they figured on creating new ones instead.

warm.

this place feels so unnaturally warm, that it seeks shelter under your skin. warm, yet welcoming at the same time.

...where are you?

your bleary eyes slowly open, blinking gradually, squinting out the streaks of white in your vision. it's always a hassle to wake yourself up. sleep has never been peaceful for you: always awoken by nightmares, or tormenting paralysis, sometimes mere insomnia causes you to lay awake and sweating in your tiny room. and your dreams always has to involve your family, one way or another; of course it's always about them, they've been your only source of life despite never being there for yours. but now? now you feel like you've had a complete 9 hour cycle of sleep, with no hint of fatigue in your body.

you've never had any proper sleep. ever since you saw... you saw her dying that it never registers within your mind just how deprived you are of rest, constantly haunted by memories you wish you just could... forget. but you couldn't, not when your beloved mother is the only precious reminder you have in life to stay alive.

your arms, arms that were always sore, in twisted positions, bruised and with faded scars from all the times you felt too impulsed to hurt, the only way to forget the mental torment you've gone through; now lay atop cozy sheets with no pain bared, no extra sheen of sheen on sweat. your fingers stretch, you caress the pillows your head lays on, cold to the touch against your warm, uncrying face.

it feels nice, feels crisp against your skin. your ears don't burn and you don't feel the need to flip your pillow to the colder side.

a yawn slowly escaped your lips. you lick them, they're not chapped, nor dry. they don't feel bitten, nor streaked with blood. you lick again, there's no familiar sting, nor the taste of blood that seeps against cracked skin.

'this is strange.'

you feel unusually relaxed, your breathing's oddly steady. there's no scent of smoke and pollution invading your nostrils, no shadow of doubt cloaking your mind.

you don't feel like dying today.

it feels so nice, the weather's so weird... pleasant. but this? it's not normal, gotham has never felt so quiet today. there has never been a time where you wake up feeling so... human. this is not routine. you're not used to this. god, everything's so strange and yet...

it's been so long since you last felt like you were... home. wispy streaks of particles dance under the soft light that beams outside of crooked, wooden windows. it casts an angelic glow on your surroundings, unlike the shrouded darkness you're accustomed to.

your eyes do a double take, churning mechanically at an angle where you can clearly see the glass panes.

"hm?" windows that always fog up with polluted specks of dust, now clear, and bright as day. it feels like the sun is kissing your skin through the light that enters the glass, you feel the at ease as your bones crack comfortably, and your muscles stretch without ache.

and you...

you're laying in a thick mattress that buries you in deep burgundy sheets. blankets wrapped around your body like a welcoming hug, you're reminded of your mother yet again.

your heart thumps rhythmically, not erratically this time, no— you've never felt so invigorated. it's been a while since you slept in a comfortable bed, in a comfortable setting, with a comfortable atmosphere. not the sound of blades hit your ears, nor the honking of cars, or ringing of phones. wherever you're laying didn't feel stiff like cardboard back in your apartment, the pillowcases are cool to the touch. your clothes don't encase you uncomfortably tight, there's no random thread that persists on irritating your skin.

it feel so oddly peculiar, so comforting, and you want to cry.

you feel light, airy even. there's nothing but the buzz of empty warmth that encapsulates your entire body. you're not used to this, this disgusting feeling of comfort, you don't think it's real.

only one response enters your mind, the only thing you're accustomed to.

'i don't deserve this.' your thoughts drown you into a deep sea of anguish, but the dichotomy of comfort and pain stirs you into satiating confusion. this is the first time you felt blessed, the first time you wish you were good enough to feel like you're worthy of deserving such goodness in your life.

suddenly, you feel like crying, but no tears escape your eyes, and your heart refuses to beat out of its cage. you're in a trance that refuses to release you from its comforting hold.

the hazy tune of birds chirping snaps you out of your deprecating reflection of your life.

when you squint and look out the windows once more, you make out a faint reflection of green, dominating the entire view second floor view of what is supposed your home.

for the first time, you don't feel fear reminiscing on that earthly shade of color.

you're in a... forest.

your nose picks up on the scent of the damp, green, grasslands. your eyes makes out the scenery outside, droplets of water slowly dripping on tall leaves, the rivulets travelling from blades of leaves to nourished, wet soil. it produces this stimulating smell, one you haven't been able to experience for months living in the polluted air outside the windows of your apartment.

petrichor.

you don't know what, or how, or why this is happening.

all you know is common knowledge, something perceived through senses and observations. you're in a cottage, yes, the interior layout is filled with personal trinkets you know you would've bought with money if you even had it, and furniture suited to both you tastes and your mother's... but otherwise, nothing else.

other than memories of a fantasy you shared with your mother, back when you were innocent to the cruelty of the world, of gotham and its merciless passions.

"XX/XX/XXXX, entry no. 23.

i remember one conversation i had with my mother.

it was about something related to where would we choose to live if we had the choice. she asked me that, out in the random, and that took me by surprise to say the least.

huh, during that time, i never knew her intentions for my answers.

i answered her sincerely, told her that, well, i wanted to live in a comfortable cottage, with two floors and a spacious bedroom for me, with hers right beside mine; so she can keep all the monsters away when i got too scared living by my own.

i wanted fairy lights strewn on the roof of my room, and matching glow in the dark stickers of stars and constellations with hers, just like the ones we have in our quaint apartment. i told her it wouldn't be complete without the mini figurines on top of raspberry colored cabinets, the ones that i loved to collect whenever we thrifted at stores, and most importantly the picture frames of us together.

she giggled at my reply, and told me it was such a 'me' thing to choose what i had said. but i retorted and told her she'd choose the same thing. and she said i said what exactly was on her mind.

thinking about that memory now, i feel warm despite the fact that bruce forgot to attend another parent-teacher conference again this week. every memory of my mother... tugs at my heart, both painful and nostalgic. i miss her.

if my momma was here, she wouldn't even hesitate to pull out of whatever side hussle she had for a job at the first second i'd mention something about my school. she always prioritizes me as her only child. it makes me feel special, and loved, and cared for— i haven't felt that in a long time. i won't lie that alfred's presence helps but a mother's love precedes all essence.

i love her so much. i wish i never took her for granted.

now that i think about it too...

if my momma was here, we could've been in that cottage right now, living our lives, carefree, without nothing to worry us. whether it'd be food in our plates or money to pay the bills. we'll always be happy with mushroom foraging and sitting by the warm fireplace i pictured, with her homemade hot chocolate by the table. she'd be nestled beside me, keeping me warm. that's enough to make me happy, enough to dismiss the heaviness in my heart as i write this.

i wish we were at that cottage right now, forever actually. i don't need a big family, all i need is my mom. and sure we'll have some arguments along the way but it wouldn't be as bad as, well, damian threatening to draw his sword on me and stab me at the heart every second i made him mad, which is always...

funny thing is... fuck, i never noticed how she was saving up money and starving herself whilst simultaneously keeping me well-fed so she could pursue my dreams of actually getting a cottage. i was so oblivious to everything that i just, i never noticed that she was earning all this, to build my dreams, so we can escape from gotham and live new lives with each other by our side.

she was doing all this, for the sake of my comfort, my happiness, my everything. she lives her life with no breaks, and retired from her previous job as a... sex worker just so i can live normally, so i wouldn't be ashamed of being her child, of seeing her as my mother. she was everything i needed in my life. she sacrificed, and i took it for granted.

and i wanted to scold her so badly; doing this for such a lost cause as me. it hurts to think about it now.

so what if i wanted a cottage? what about it if i'm now living with my father, huh? i don't care about living comfortably at all, if that meant i didn't have mother by my side, to support me, to actually love me, then what is a house all worth for??? all i wanted and needed was her, just her. and they took me away from my mother.

my mother.

your heart breaks at the seems whilst you write that faithful night, the grip on your pen near to leaving dents on your finger. if it draws out blood, then so be it. your handwriting turns unintelligible, strokes not knowing where to end. what once was clean, white sheets of paper now crumpled by your despair, by the tears that escaped your eyes, by your fists balling at the paper, all your emotions boiling down to mere grief.

if bruce mourns for jason, you do so too for your mother.

yet you continue to write, and write, and write. it's the only medium of comfort you have, the only means to treasure memories long gone, heartaches and comfort all a coagulation of your retreat to the real world.

if dreams can come true, then you wish the fantasies of your mother being with you comes alive, that she'd be by your side, taking your pen away from your hands, kissing your sweaty forehead and matted tresses, assuring you she's fine. she'll smile with crinkling eyes, and set your quivering hands to a stop, then wrap you in her arms, shielding you away from the burden of living without her.

if you were her flower, then she is your hearth. the only warmth you'd feel in such a cold manor, the only one capable of dipping her hands into your chest, taking your beating heart, and melting off the frigid locks that kept your love in place ever since her death.

only then can you say that dreams do come true, only then can you rest; close your eyes without praying for a dreamless slumber, without nightmares, without swords piercing your body, or the dismissive turn of your family's back on you.

but if dreams do come true, what does that say about nightmares?

only reality can tell.

or you can tell.

at you current state, seated restless on your tiny room with barely any illuminated moonlight guiding your tired body, tormented by both past and future, writing endlessly on journals soon to be forgotten— wouldn't that be considered a nightmare? to be subjected upon unwanted isolation, from the very same people who promised their lives to protect lives such as yours.

your family, your father, brothers and sisters. through empty promises alone; all enough to destroy you inside out.

talentless, worthless, out of place.

yet even if your diaries were all torn apart, pages seeping with both blood and tears, you still write.

you write, and you continue through your endeavors. what once were fond memories were the same monsters chasing you through barren halls and empty rooms.

after all, it's the only way to honor her passing, even if it kills you all the same.

you continue, wiping at your sullen cheeks, and brushing away ripped strands of hair; pen inseparable from stubborn, swollen fingers.

now i'm living here, in this big manor, with nothing going on for me. i have alfred, and he's like a father figure right after mom, but it doesn't change anything... it doesn't change the grief i feel, the sorrow, the unwaning depression. nothing. i couldn't even get myself to stand up from bed because i'm so fed up with everything.

if i didn't try so hard in the first place, i would've never been left this destroyed.

i want to give up, i want to die and just disappear off the face of earth. no one would notice, and at least after i die, i would be reunited with her— but I can't. why?

i have to remind myself everyday. i just can't give up and let all her efforts go to waste. she doesn't want me dying, earlier than her age, too. she told me i couldn't just let go so easily, that life is beautiful if you try to find its hidden beauty. i'm still trying to find meaning in all her wise words, i can't just take her honor for granted, especially since i know that despite everything, she has her own anguish and regrets.

does she regret having me?

right now, i feel a spark of motivation. she's been saving up, just for me, and i want to honor her memories at least. if i can't feel like home in this manor, then i'll make myself a home. to honor her, and to build upon both our dreams.

i don't know when, or how i could even engage in this impossible goal. but for momma? i'll do anything for her, even if it means working myself to death. because at least that means proof that i tried, and she'll be proud of me in the afterlife. god, i hope she would be.

we'll get that cottage soon, momma. i promise."

thinking about it now, that was ten entries right after your breakdown during your birthday. it was at a period of time where you fully accepted that you'd never be loved by your family, that you never belonged, and matured just as quickly after taking a break from writing self destructive diaries.

you sigh, looking down at your clenched palms and indenting fingers on skin. you really wish she was here. it could've made everything better, you would've been better if she was by your side.

a knock ensures before your door, and that alone snaps you out of your thoughts. you jump in shock yet feel no pang of panic in your heart, but before you could reach out to defend yourself, the door opens after the prior knock, and your...

your mother enters.

angelic, glowing, beautiful.

she's decorated in a white dress, with a pearl necklace decorating her neck, glinting like diamonds, soft in its assertion. like an angel, rather than the devil she's portrayed to be in the newspapers she hid from you.

she looks beautiful, as always, breath-taking to the point it makes you wonder how you share the same genes as her.

but her beauty now precedes her beauty from when you last saw her bleeding in the cold tiles of your apartment. now, she looks old, yet ethereal. wrinkles flecked her skin, her eyes drooped at the lids, her hairs displayed streaks of white in some areas.

you've never seen her like this.

she had you very young, and you've lost her young. yet she looks as she's rebirthed now, living yet aging like fine wine.

she is happy, and content with her smile, and looks at you with a radiant grin, smile marks on her sunken cheeks, like you mean the world, walking towards your seated form as she hugs you weakly, yet lovingly.

warm, like the spring's gentle blooms, like the feel of petals rubbed against your fingertips.

you're caught breathless.

"momma...?"

beauty that is true, that is honest, and speaks of history. beyond the barriers of photos you see in her at her prime, when she was known as a 'man-eater', a lustful creature that steals from rich to survive.

you've never lied when you said your mother is always going to be the most beautiful woman in the world.

at least, in your eyes. because if she objectively was, then your father could've, should've stayed with her, for the sake of his pride and reputation at the very least. he could've had her by his side, even through a loveless marriage, if it meant it ensured her safety.

you dismiss the bitterness the brews inside you, and opted to focus at the strange, yet welcome circumstances beforehand.

your hands find a way to wrap around her crouched figure, fingers lingering on the once sinewy bones of her spine, now healthy even through the sagging skin.

"my baby..." you look up at her, her hands holding your head so tenderly, cradling you side to side.

"momma..." she kisses your forehead, then both your cheeks, and takes a seat beside you. when she did, you felt a surge of energy and warmth burst throughout both your body and heart. for once, you felt giddy, solitary confinement all but a dream in this fantasy land.

you don't let her hands go for even a second, fearing this moment will be taken away from you. there's warmth emanating off the fingers intertwined with yours, you wish this moment never ends.

the questions that almost left your silken throat took hesitation. you just can't ask why she's alive, where you are and why you're here in the first place; for fear she'll be taken away from you, that you couldn't see her beyond the conjured and brief memories you had of her.

you wish to cry once again, this time, you let out a small hiccup and feel saliva bundling on the back of your mouth. she hums in resounding worry, her other hand swiping away at the hair covering your wide eyes. the softness in her eyes doesn't falter, and she hums a familiar lullaby: one that triggers nostalgia, that reminds you of the days spent without electricity in your tiny apartment with her lighting a candle just so she could read you another one of your favorite stories, huddled beside her.

the last you've heard of her voice, it was parched and inaudible. she always sacrificed for you, and drinkable water was a privilege in the shady parts of gotham.

"you're probably wondering where you are and why we're here, aren't you, sunshine?" she cuts her singing off abruptly, your eyes snap open to look up at her through your eyelashes.

"... y-yeah," your reply comes in, voice barely whisper. unsure and insecure of where this conversation will go, you chose to bury your head in her shoulder. she smells of ripe strawberry and cherries, unlike the mixture bold perfumes mixed with the stench of booze she comes home with after another night of restless endeavor. yet you don't acknowledge the memories of the past, you're here with her now and it's all that matters.

"where are we, mom? am i... dreaming? please, i- i miss you." this time, your tears come out in a steady stream, but your throat doesn't constrict in itself, and you don't feel the urge to rip at your hair at anymore.

now you're just terribly sentimental rather than bitter. no more was the jealousy that aches, or the panic rushing through your veins. it's just you and your mother, and the memories of her passing that buries you at the hilt of your sadness.

"well... you're in the realm between life and death, my little angel," she states with lidded eyes, as if it is a matter of fact. her hands move to scratch your scalp, she hums and swings your crying body side to side, akin to a mother cradling her newborn baby.

you felt particularly reborn, the sudden change affecting you more than you'd like to admit. the light outside your window casts her in a sheen of white, glimmering like rays of the sun, or like the twinkle of the moon.

even if she was old, and grey and wrinkly, she's always been ethereal.

and you're convinced that she's the angel instead.

"you've been through a lot, haven't you?" her questions brought you out of your tearful stupor, she brings her lips to kiss at your forehead and wraps her palms on the sides of your face, wiping away at the waterworks refusing to cease.

all you could do was nod, and feel the warmth reflecting off her body, transferring all to you. even in the plane of death has she always been generous.

"i-i... i don't want this to end, momma..." you utter, gazing at her ever-smiling face. there was a faint translucency in her body, as if her form is slowly disappear. and for a second, you feel fear that she'll disappear. fear that dissipates just as quickly when you hear her heavenly chuckles.

"...baby, i'm here with you right now in because i want to remind you to choose the path to live. it's too early to die right now, it's too early for my baby to join me in the afterlife." her words are too complicated to comprehend with how muddled your thoughts were, her saccharine actions feel like a forbidden touch, and you just couldn't comprehend why, just why does she want you to live...

when there's nothing else left for you in the realm where she's not around.

"but i... i don't understand...? why can't, why can't i be with you, mom—?"

"because unlike me, baby, you have so much to do. i've nothing left of me to offer when i died, baby... at least now, at least you'll find that you're still always loved, even when i'm not with you."

she cuts you off with a hush, pinching your cheeks before another wave of tears and quivering hiccups escape your befuddled body.

but you can't afford to let her go a second time, you can't go back—!

you don't want to be back in that damning structure you call a manor, you don't want to watch your father from a mere corner shrouding himself in the pits of darkness you know you couldn't carry, you don't want to return to begging for dick's attention as he turns a blind eye, you don't want the pitiful stares from tim when he's in the same room as you, or duke, cass, and steph's hushed whisper whenever you pass by, plans being made without your knowledge, without acknowledgement of your presence. you don't want to be blamed by damian for even being born in the first place. you don't want anymore uncelebrated and silent birthdays anymore, or milestones celebrated with just a fucking cupcake and a pat on your head...!

you want your mom, you don't want your other family, not anymore...

even if... even if your disappearance paved the way for a new shift in interests in your family's mind, even if you're now unknowingly the center of attention after months of the manor's solitude without you; just like you had always wanted— you're tired, and you've long since given up and grown from selfish and unrealistic desires of a completely healthy family.

if you could even call them that wretched title.

if you could even consider them as one like how they never did you.

the tears return just like the pain you were temporarily barred from, now it's a waterfall that threatens to throw you off of your escape from the reality of life, stinging your eyes and falling on crumpled sheets as your fingers grip uncontrollably for a sanction of control. from what? from the fear that now is the moment that you'll truly never see her again, not even in your memories.

"... momma, please, stay—!"

but right before you could reason out, desparate words crawling and jumping out your heaving chest and into the spiraling room, right before you could beg her to stay closer with you with her flickering warmth for just a second further as her body slowly dissipates from her hold on you, as your vision darkens and you hear that faint, familiar murmur of gotham's bustling motorcycles and alleyway screaming—

her last words, full of assurances, just like the day she tucked you in that little closet and made you promise that you'd stay silent for her, sacrificing her life just so she could protect you; it grounds you into your spot, restless, broken, and chasing unsaid words to tell her before you lose her once more, and destroys any and all hope for complete, and utter happiness you forced yourself to truly believe.

"... i love you, my sweet angel. be good for me, alright...?"

and just like that, your eyes blearily open to find itself into a completely foreign surrounding yet again.

and this time, it is real and unwanted.

'jason todd, a good soldier,' were the words marked and engraved on his tombstone. buried under the healthy soils of the manor, he felt as if his presence was forgotten all the same.

it was true, he was a good soldier. always obedient, always listening and mirroring bruce's orders, even though he grew up in the ratty streets with a drug-addicted mother and an abusive father, when he was picked up by bruce and lead into the vigilante life with the beaming potential to combat even dick; jason was always the good kid, who, even if he became a tad bit rebellious on the years garnering on teenage life, died honorably for the safety of his biological mother who betrayed him.

jason todd, always the boy portrayed as a warning sign for all the future robins, always the child remembered as just that: a soldier of batman, the kid of bruce who died unfairly; the truth of his death, the truth of joker's fucked up foil to destroy the bat's mentality even further all for a good laugh, hidden beneath restricted case files and bruce's suppressed emotions— all left unattended, just for him to be replaced by another new robin; a telltale signal that felt like bruce was trying so hard to repair the broken fixtures jason left behind.

the implication itself felt as if the world is laughing at his heroic acts, never acknowledged beyond the faults that lie on his stubbornness; a learnt trait all robins grew into once they've been taken in bruce's care.

he must've never been a good kid if life decided to take him away, when his youth was at an all time high, when all he wanted to do was meet his real mother, and to save her even when she had left him to die with explosives laid beside his beaten body.

was it his fault that all he ever wanted to do was to make his father proud? what was wrong with being a hero, being robin with his magical passions?

jason was never the spiteful man everyone assumed him to be. he was never rebellious, or thirsting for vengeance, or came to hate bruce as much as what everyone else thought of when they'd first hear his name.

even when he was revived in that sunken pit of hell, nineteen with a seventeen year old soul, feeling his once lanky body too tall, too big for him to flex his fingers, to kick with his now muscly legs, crying and screaming under all the madness of forcefully having his soul be reunited with his body after two years of peaceful rest.

and when he had returned to his senses, when he discovered that there were two new children running around the manor, one a product of a one-night stand, the other donning the identity of a new robin, did jason become the spiteful image everyone imagine the young boy came to be from when he was just an impulsive teenager.

becoming alive once more, reliving betrayal after betrayal, watching in the background: never the full story, but enough to feel like he's been replaced— it became his sole duty to torment, to do to criminals what has been done to him, just to teach the bat that his moral code was flawed, was what caused a thousand other souls to be lost under the hands of the puny joker.

all this, just to feel a sense of right in a life constantly wronging him.

yet under all the blood-soaked jackets, the aluminum amoury, under clenched teeth and resentful, dead blue eyes stood a boy who loved. who stole tires to provide for his small family who never truly loved him: a father who beats at his body nightly, a mother who dismisses him in favor of her favorite substances. who read books of all genre— classic his all time favorite, jane austen his beloved author, he loved school, loved learning, jason always came home with an A+ in all his subjects, eternally grateful despite the years of betrayal, of heartache, of shredded photos and shattered picture frames.

who advocated his young life fighting crime, kicking ass beside his vigilante partner and a man he came to call his dad, even though he had all the opportunities in the world to turn rotten like the crime infested streets of gotham. because he was a good kid, too, and a soldier the next.

he was never the violent kind. he was the kid who loved above all else. idolizing dick, bruce, all the good people in the world with shining ambitions that should've never been stained so early. he even told bruce he always wanted a little sibling to care for. he wanted to teach another young, unfortunate child what it's like to share kindess in this shithole of a city.

jason todd was a ball of pure joy, loved by bruce to the point his father could've never moved on from his death, never acknowledging the next traumatized child that came after him, and also tim, too, who he always mistakenly call by jason's name.

jason couldn't see beyond the surface of what he knew, masked by hatred for what had become after two years, questions spiraling hid head that accompanies a darkness he never knew could shroud him like a cloak. bruce used to hide him under his curtain of a cape back when he was a small, manourished kid, his vision overtaken by pure black; but now the older version of him knew what true darkness is like without needing his vision disrupted.

death feels like eternal darkness, a void that devours your vision of all colors, no physical form, no thoughts, but unmoving with the feelings grounding you in place, like hell. and with the shadow of doubt that he was never truly cherished by a man he loved to call his father, that no vengeance took place after his death, jason couldn't fathom the pain greater than what he experienced in that cold, dark warehouse; spending hours hoping that he'd be saved.

how long did it take for bruce to replace him? days, months, weeks?

how long did it take for bruce to move on? was he just an afterthought to the man? was he just a good soldier in bruce's eyes?

and why, just why, does he also blame himself for his own doom? for being stubborn enough to pursue chasing after a clown smarter than him, why does he

... if he had never died, things would've never escalated that far, it wouldn't have created a domino effect that ruined not only his life, but his angel's too.

if he had never died, you wouldn't be bleeding in his arms like he did too in bruce's.

... except unlike him back then, you want to simply die now.

jason's passing was not only his guilt or bruce's, it also marked the start of your treacherous journey of thirteen and a half years living in silence, in fear and in constant yearning after your mother's death, for a love so passionate from bruce like the one he gives to all his other children but you.

for a love he had given all up for jason that he never had any to spare to you.

bruce never gave you what you wanted, what you practically needed. all in favor of mourning the passing of his second child, his son who achieved more than the levels you knew you'd never reach. you were never the desirable child, because as good as you were like jason, as nice as you could be, or talented— nobody could replace the hole that jason left within bruce from when he left the world.

you both were good kids, but jason was infinitely better.

when you were first introduced to the manor, jason assumed you and tim replaced him, he watched secretly after his resurrection, with grim prayers for your downfall 'cause he couldn't attack you like he did tim in the tower because of your civilian status, your involvement towards batman was close to zero.

you were a young child, you knew nothing, and he hates you.

he regrets hating you.

all because he hates seeing himself in those young, glinting eyes. he never realized what he felt was fear, fear that someone like you could end up like him, when he had first obsessively did research on your buried past. your world could've been so easily destroyed by the tips of his finger and he had done so mercilessly until it was too late.

he really hated you at first, but he couldn't do anything to hurt you without trespassing the manor and triggering all the signals and alarms he's sure have been updated by the new, puny little robin. he hated you so much for reasons he couldn't pinpoint, blinded by sorrow, and grief, and every piling resentment built on years of animosity he should've only directed only towards bruce, and never someone as innocent, as uninvolved as you.

you, who he calls his angel after the years of torment you've unknowingly and obliviously suffered under him.

but he was so angered, the darkness in his mind clawed him deeper in a frenzy for revenge, that it overpowered the empathy he felt for when he first saw you, standing alone in the kitchen room with an apple in your hand and a blunt knife in the other. not ready to defend yourself at the sight of him, not even pointing it at him, but inviting the man to eat with you your favorite abomination of apple slices and peanut butter— as if you didn't care about the gun in his hands and the window cutter in the other.

you didn't understand why it was so easy to ignore you. it had been years since you have talked, let alone find yourself staring at a person, that you never cared for your safety as long as it meant that... well, you could have someone to finally talk to, with your parched throat from all the moments of unuse, excitedly addressing him as mr. ghost.

he couldn't do anything, couldn't even stare at you for longer, so he ran away at first glance, and failed to see the heartbroken sigh from you agter and the tears that welled up having your hopes raised up only to be shattered once more.

that sight of you standing under the moonlit night triggered conflicting feelings within him– but it was always the strive for vengeance that took over his life, didn't it? even though meeting you bore solid evidence that you were none the wiser, that you didn't deserve anything coming from you; it was through his sheer dedication to destroy all things cherished by bruce that he never once realized that you were merely nothing to bruce— that he ruined an innocent person's life over nothing.

he resorted to praying for your demise if it meant he couldn't physically hurt you. he focused on tormenting you indirectly before the fire in his raging heart was eventually extinguished.

he was the man you see by the hallways, the monster you thought raptured knocks on your window in the middle of the night, the reason for why some of your old childhood toys would be missing eyes, had loosened stitches, or had their stuffings removed and displaced somewhere hidden you couldn't reach.

a cryptic message that made you run and bury your head in alfred's suit, asking the old man to spend the night with you after another one of your toys was ripped apart. a reaction that made jason scoff at your immaturity; as if the inner child in him wouldn't react the same way.

you were only a few years younger than tim, despite arriving in the manor before him, and jason was stupid enough to assume you had been raised well by bruce that you'd be mature at your age, he was such an idiot to think that you wouldn't be as emotionally affected but rather paranoid of the sudden paranormal activity surrounding you. that the cookies you baked were all left to be crumbs, after just leaving them to cool off for a few minute, the pens you used for journalling wouldn't have gone missing— he thought surely, you'd be broken mentally...

but never this... emotionally.

what he didn't expect were breakdowns right after, hair pulling, the biting of skin and panic attacks after panic attacks.

wide eyes staring at the ceiling, perspiration on your skin clinging on to blazing bedsheets at the lack of ventilation, sporadic breathing, bleeding scratches on your skin like a wild animal.

you cry like one, unashamed of how loud your sobs were for such a parched throat, at how long you've been wailing alone whilst hugging your too-little body, eyes closed and misty, as if it would rid you the images of your wrecked bedroom and missing journals.

yet jason never stops to wonder why no one had came running in your room to save you from destroying yourself even further.

he never wondered nobody bothered to acknowledge your crying every night, continuing on his tangent to destroy everything you loved just to prove a point, that you couldn't be worth the effort for bruce to care enough about, despite the internal conflict he felt ruining an innocent kid's life.

and he didn't even need to prove anything, because you were never worth anything. the longer jason went on without bruce's acknowledgement, the more everything felt wrong, the more he felt like whatever he's doing is torture, not retribution.

he's terrible for what he'd done, and slowly resigned to watching over you instead to ensure you'll slowly calm down after months of his monstrous presence looming over you.

but the damage was already done, and you're left to even smaller, shattered pieces.

and here he is now, watching as you bleed out in his arms, crying and babbling at the pain, yet begging under your breath to "please, please don't call batman, don't call bruce... please leave, please, please, please don't do anything stupid, jay..."

whilst pushing him away, as if scared of him, as if you'd rather death than... than to see bruce dismiss another relayed message regarding you.

even if you're dying, you refuse to undergo the same pain of neglect. even if you're dying, you don't wish to ruin their movie night plans just because you were stupid enough to drink yourself to near death to distract yourself from dick's messages.

all because you've taught yourself that you're never worth the wait, and jason takes blame in partaking the destruction of your optimism.

under the flickering light of the lamppost, your swollen eyes and snot-ridden nose don't pose the same satisfaction he felt when he first ripped your plushie apart, not anymore. all he felt was dread now, that you're bleeding, his angel is bleeding and everything happening is very much real.

he feels a hidden awe, too, at just how ethereal and warm your body feels, despite the light leaving your eyes, the fight slowly being replace by another one of your panic attacks. he holds you still, and stabilizes your body with his strong arms to prevent anymore bleeding, despite the wobbly legs and your losing consciousness.

jason couldn't afford to let you die in his arms, he couldn't fathom just how much he misses your presence.

and now he realizes just how much he hates it when you fear him throughout the entire procedure of calming you down. how you shiver in his gaze, how he feels the pricks of your goosebumps against the thick fabric of his gloves.

you never once feared him when you first met him, it was through your lack of it that he bonded with you, keeping the torment he put you through a secret. even though he makes short and sometimes brash comments with his unfiltered mouth, you'll always find joy in his words because he was the only decent guy around the manor, despite his presence being scarce and sometimes nonexistent.

you cherished him, and god, he never knew how much he cherished you too.

but now you're sobbing and mumbling incoherently about how you wish it was never him who saved you, that it could've been someone else, or you prefer to be left rotting in the damn corner, dead and discarded, if it means it wouldn't be him saving you, for damn reasons he doesn't even know.

why do you hate him so much now...? why does his precious angel look at him in a tearful daze, all desparate to push him away despite the soreness of your body, despite the blood dripping from your lower stomach all the way down to the floor in a swirl of nauseating crimson mess?

why does he see himself in you?

why does he see the same broken child who chooses to care for others than themself?

as much as jason hated to admit it, as much as he said he never wanted to die for the sole reason that he cherished the moments with his father at most—

jason wished he could've turned time back right now, at this instant. he wished he could've been stronger, could've been far more resistant of that damn explosion, that he never was stupid enough to fall for one of joker's traps—

if it meant he wouldn't be suffering from the gripping ache on his chest, from the dreaded claws you call paranoia at the sight of your ice-blue lips and dimming eyes from all the blood loss, your arms still trying to push him to a considerable distance despite him wishing to hold you oh-so tightly, as his fingers, shivering from a familiar panic he felt, try to wipe away at the river of tears collecting at the edges of your dirt-stained chin and wobbly lips, his helmet pressed atop your forehead as if to reassure you, mostly himself that you'll all be alright—

that you wouldn't go through the same route as him, scarred and traumatized after this moment under the moonlit night that watches jason wrap his gloved palms on the back of your neck despite the remaining fight and adrenaline in your body, the other bulky mass of muscles under your feet.

the polluted air bares witness to his hasty breaths, the protective hold that refuses to let go, body automated to run to his motorcycle, stepping carelessly on the bloody carnage of the alleyway's floor (they deserve torture after what they put you through, hell, he'll make sure their burial will be damning to both the police that failed to search you even though they were in close proximity to where you screamed, and the other related lackeys involved in this wretched smuggling crime), to bring you to doctor leslie for an immediate surgery.

jason hopes that instead of hate, you'll still feel a semblance of any remaining love for him instead of aching nostalgia after all this time.

he hopes you could forgive him as it is only now that he realizes how vulnerable you truly are, that despite jokingly calling you his guardian angel, he should've been the guardian, the knight, the man who protects you from all evil as what he calls his morals to be.

why were you even out in the first place? just why were you absolutely wasted? why, why, why does the image of your resigned, and tired eyes the only thing flashing and looping in his mind, filtering out the speeding motorcycle cutting through wind and traffic lanes, ignoring red lights and the loud beeps of the other vehicles before him, the pump of engines similar to the wild beating of his heart, as he speeds through shortcuts after shortcuts to take you to immediate treatment before it was too late.

he takes short breaths, too aware of his surrounding, too deep in thought, he couldn't waste any moments thinking about anything but his angel.

he wishes he could've changed so many things. but you couldn't change the past anymore, you couldn't change the grueling form of torture you call silence for a child who wanted the same type of love bruce had for when jason was alive, who had to deal with the aftermath of jason's death.

and now, as the ripe age of eighteen, still too young, and still bleeding, at the mercy of death.

it never occured to him just how interconnected your lives were together. just how much it was through his passing that affected your life.

he was the first brother who saw you without the need for your cries of attention every lonesome passing of time in the ghostly manor.

and you were the first who stared at him through tear-stained cheeks and diluted irises. not out of fear, not out of haste to warn other members of his growing family of jason's (a stranger in your eyes, no less, with armoured chest plates and a crimson helmet glinting mercilessly in the dark, lightless room only illuminated by the wretched moon, with guns loaded with bullets in his holster) sudden trespass within the kitchen windows, not out of every negative emotions he expects of you; but out of sheer shell shock that someone had finally caught you through your nightly sneaking.

out of genuine whiplash of someone finally looking at you eye-to-eye, head faced to one another, your cold fingertips pressing against the swell of your eyebags from restless nightmares and anxious paranoia triggered from academics, as if to tell yourself that this was all mere hallucination.

you matter so much to him, even if he tries to overcorrect his sins, trying his damn best to notice your presence whenever he visits the manor, even if his brash words sting your heart sometimes, even if he couldn't properly show you affection he should've given you—

it's not enough.

it was never enough, that even his gentle words spoken to you whilst he speeds through his motorcycle felt entire foreign. that despite unconscious and limp on his body, you're still flinching and the tears couldn't have enough time to dry. jason could've done so much more for his precious little sibling, he could've been the best older brother in the world like he promised himself to be back when he was an oblivious little child, just like how he sees you right now.

everything he did was not enough, but the doubts that circulate his mind didn't fester in his mind much anymore; because he turned it into motivation, he looks at you through the mirror of his motorcycle, vulnerable, aching with the need for affection (that he could provide, he could give to you infinitely...!) and transforms the regret into motivation.

to be better, to be the one you look up to, not with thoughts of how or when you'll be able to spend time with him, but with confidence and preference for his time. that he'll be the first you choose to look for.

jason promises you his undying loyalty, to protect you from the danger of this world, to savor the light and the warmth that emanates off of your presence. despite the heartache you felt because of him, because of all your tormentors— you were still kind, like an angel who had fallen from grace, but chose to grace the world instead with their remaining salvation.

if you manage to survive throughout it all, through the surgery and the anaesthesia-filled stitchings, with jason's scarred hands wrapped around your fists, daintier compared to the muscles in his. if by the end of this night, jason would have you alive (he will, he'll refuse anything else, even if it takes you being resurrected in the lazarus pit, then so be it) in his arms and resting peacefully in his apartment and not under bruce's roof, out of respect from your sheer insistence that you'd rather anywhere but the manor.

jason swears on his life that he'll make it up to you.

he'll be better for you, for his angel, to atone himself for all the sins he committed upon you.

and even if it means ripping the world upside down at its seems, even if it takes decades for you to feel comfortable within the confines of his arms, unlike the dread that claws at your body earlier, pushing him away, pushing your older brother away— he's willing to undergo even the same torture from joker if it means making up to you.

as long as he has you in his sights.

all this, just to see the fear in your eyes replaced by genuine happiness at the sight of your big brother, ready to do anything for you the moment requests spill out from your benevolent lips and gleaming eyes.

you truly are his saving grace, his angel in disguise.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 14,200+ words. no beta, we just cry. "i am good, but not an angel. i do sin, but i am not the devil. i am just a small child in a big world trying to find someone to love." it's a quote that inspired this half of the chapter partly. apologies to anyone if jason seems a bit religious here??? he's not, but i'm trying to establish connections on why he even calls you that nickname in the first place (and totally not me relating it to the flashpoint comic where he becomes a priest 😭). again, bit of a boring chapter, but no hate please haha, instead leave comments if you enjoyed reading it!!! more interactions = more content.

there are many lyrics and song references scattered about the paragraphs, can you guys spot it all for me 🫦? i'm a musically inclined guy, and there's also lots of not implicitly stated songs too, i lost count honestly. tysm for all your patience, because writing through my hectic schedule is honestly a struggle.

as stated, there are a lot of jason todd and mc parallels, i love hearing you guys' thoughts about me expanding upon this. they're very different but also share so many similarities, and i like to explore deeper on every character just to make the yandere element more obvious and distinct.

and like my previous announcement too, please please please do not copy off the scenes i wrote. although my writing is mid, it doesn't mean it should be stolen word by word or the entire scenarios or scenes i've written should be taken in and written into your own fanfics too. my potrayals of each and every characters are a bit more unique takes too (i like to make myself believe), so as much as possible, please credit me. i appreciate you all 🩷

yet again, leave comments, interactions, what you think of this chapter (but not too critical comments, or pure hate please). idk what to feel about my writing, i hate it a lot sometimes but oh well! merry christmas, this is my early gift for all of you guys and for the second part, i'll try to post as soon as possible (i need to generate more spotlight to ensure they get equal attention ofc).

taglist: @neerathebrightstar, @ghostdoodlen, @prince-nikko, @daisy-spot, @strawberryglass, @h0neybun-was-here, @confused-they, @weirdcore-fantasy, @mystyque234, @marssthings, @notwhoy0uthink, @aliengutzstuff, @lilyalone, @luffyadolover, @punpunsonny, @lazyemmy, @questionthegrapevine, @oh-nowo-i-got-uwu, @winter-world, @zavavas-dungeon, @budijojo, @altruisticbeauty, @dopepursebasketballplaid, @the-holy-pigeon, @red-phantom-0, @em-draws14, @thypplover, @cens0r3d-blog, @yl90, @sadeem575, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch, @maicenitas, @kiiyoooo, @flyingpansaurus, @farmerboywakatoshikun-blog, @rogueofbullshit, @earlqurl, @dotomuses, @sheep-from-rad, @tsuniio, @thesm1l3yface, @nosochek-3o, @radiantharu, @iwasveronica, @kdjhubby, @ashstwin, @thetreefairypersonalblog, @se-rae2, @0ut0fsweets, @notwhoy0uthink

Random scene I would like to see in the upcomming Avatar movies

Spider is with the Sully's in Awatulu, he's trying to adapt but it's proving harder than with the Omaticaya.

More Tsireya and Lo'ak being lovey dovey together

Lo'ak processing the death of his brother as well as he can while refusing to truly open up with his family

Kiri sneaking away to connect to Eywa because she's not allowed to anymore.

Tuk getting closer to Spider after neteyam's death as a way to cope with the lost of her brother

A flashback so we can see how Neteyam and Spider relationship was before they grew apart

Maybe a scene or two where Spider and Neytiri interract alone

Like hust one or two scene where they are alone for only a few moments and the atmosphere is uncomfortable

Jake trying to be a dad to Spider and Spider not knowing how to react

Aonung and Lo'ak actualy becoming friends

I can be a better father

Pair: Tsu'tey x Child y/n x Child spider

Warning: Sad, jake being a bad parent, tsu'tey being the peer we all love. Neytiri being a sweetheart.

Note: I had a previous version, but I wanted to make this one from scratch. But if you want to read more about "bad dad jake" HERE. I hope you like it a lot, I really enjoyed making this oneshot.

Request: (anonymous) Idk if your the one who did Jake having a daughter from a one night stand thing and him and her having a strain relationship , I was thinking if Tsu'tey is alive and him seeing her and Spider being literally outcast and kinda neglected by the humans for one reayor another he kinda adopted both of them as his own ( and proybe bit petty for Jake being the way he is he do things better) Like reader just call Jake Jake and not dad but have a good relationship with their half siblings ( they call Tsu'tey dad and he may be rough he dose care about his kids )

Avatar masterlist | Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3

If there was one thing tsu'tey liked to do in the afternoons, it was to go hunting alone. Walking through the jungle, with his bow and enjoying the silence that the jungle provided. He was very comfortable in various branches and bushes, the austrapede was right before his eyes, standing still while eating grass. Just as he was about to shoot, he saw the animal raise its head in alertness and run away. At the same time, he heard a noise coming from his feet. Looking down, he found a small creature. Little Y/N. He relaxed his shoulders, and lowered his bow. Watching as the girl was still literally sitting on he feet with a fruit. The girl was moving the fruit up and down and tapping it on the ground in order to break it.

"y/n" tsu'tey speaks softly, watching as the little girl looks up to see her favorite person. "Tsu…look!!!" speaks the little girl, lifting the fruit in the air. Tsu'tey laughs a little, and kneels down so that he can be at the same height as the little girl. The girl gets up from the ground, and automatically approaches the na'vi. Showing her the fruit. " I want….hunger" y/n speaks, in a very basic na'vi language. The poor thing was trying to learn to speak na'vi and English at the same time. Tsu'tey takes the fruit in her hands, the fruit was very big for a little girl. "What are you doing here alone?" asks tsu'tey stroking the little girl's hands, noticing that she had some scratches and her clothes were all dirty. Out of nowhere, a noise calls her attention…looking up to some bushes ahead. Tsu'tey takes the girl by the arm. Hugging her in order to protect her. "Y/N!!! LOOK…I FOUND MORE!!!" shouts spider, running to the direction where the girl was. Tsu'tey's heart calmed down, as he saw the other human child passing by in the village.

The child run, and bumped into tsu'tey's arm which had them reached out for the child to hug him. "spider…what are you doing here?" asks Tsutey, he knew that spider spoke the na'vi language better and was more extroverted than y/n. "We were hungry and went out hunting" says spider, playfully gesturing with his wooden bow, which tsu'tey had given him as a gift a couple of months ago. "you guys are hungry…wow" says tsu'tey, watching as y/n settles more on his chest. Tsu'tey noticed that spider was also dirty and his tired little face was showing. "Are you tired?" asks tsu'tey, wiping some of spider's hair. They both nod their heads. "How about we go to my hut and I help you cut this fruit?" says Tsutey, the children got happy and started jumping up and down. Tsu'tey stood up and began to guide both little ones home. He didn't have to worry much, both children knew the way very well.

It was not the first time tsu'tey had encountered these two human children. Left alone in the jungle, without parental supervision. This made him uncomfortable and annoyed him. He knew that spider was the son of the man who had hurt his clan, his planet. And he also knew that Y/N was the daughter of jake, well…of the human version of jake. He knew the whole story, neytiri had told him. At first it all seemed strange to him, but with time he could understand. What he couldn't understand was why jakesully didn't love you and always rejected you in some way. Y/n was still his daughter…whatever it was. But apparently he didn't understand this, which caused the man to care much more about the young children. They were both 5 years old, and he could not stop worrying about the welfare of both children. At first it was difficult for him to get close to the two children, but he got used to it.

"Ok…sit over there…and I'll help you cut that fruit" says tsu'tey watching the children running around the hut. Laughing and playing as they sat down where tsu'tey had ordered them to. The man reached for a container of water and a cloth. He had to clean the children up a bit, it pained him to see them so careless. He sat down next to spider, while y/n sat on his lap. "Tsu…I want a giant piece" says spider, yelling a little. Tsu'tey tapped him on the glass of his mask. "Spider…don't scream…I'm right here beside you" says tsu'tey laughing as he watched the boy get up to start playing with some toys tsu'tey had. He made some wooden toys for when they would visit him at his home. "Let's see…you know what you have to do. Hold your breath, pull up your mask and put the fruit in your mouth" says tsu'tey handing a piece to y/n. She was sitting on his lap all this time, quietly.

After the children eat their fruit, he cleans the children. Cleaning their hands, face, combing some of their hair. He even put some beads in their hair, according to him to make them look more of the clan. "How about if I make you some new clothes?" said tsu'tey. The children were so happy, spider grabbed y/n's hand, inviting her to play with him. Tsu'tey enjoyed the view, watching the children play and run around the hut. This felt so good, he always wanted a family. It all seemed so far from reality…he had gotten the idea that he was never going to find his mate. And that he would never have a family. So he enjoyed these moments with the children. After a fun afternoon for him, he decided to take the children to their respective homes. That was the ugly place which humans called 'laboratory'. Tsu'tey had the children carried in his arms, spider was on his neck holding his head, while y/n was on his left arm. The child was holding a little flower she had found on the road. "Y/N!!!" a somewhat loud voice was heard from the distance, tsu'tey watched as jake approached him. The man approached tsu'tey, and tried to take y/n in his arms. But the little girl clung to tsu'tey's arms. "Come here…we have to go home. Where had you gone?" asks jake, his tone of voice sounding annoyed. "They were in the jungle…both children" says tsu'tey holding both children tighter. "I think they ran away from me and…" jake started to give an explanation.

"There is no excuse…you have to be more aware of them. If you don't want y/n, at least watch out for their safety," tsu'tey says even more annoyed. Jake remains silent, he knew his friend was right. Jake did love you, but he didn't have the same connection he had with his children. He was never there during your pregnancy, or in your first years of life. So to him…y/n was just another child. Tsu'tey carefully handed both children to jake. "Take them to a safe place…please" tsu'tey talks, while releasing the little ones. They didn't want to get away from him. Spider was whining and y/n was starting to cry. Tsu'tey gave him a little kiss on the crown of his head and said goodbye to the children. Watching as jake tried to soothe them. It broke his heart, how he wished he could stay with them. But how could that be possible? He could pick up spider, he had no one. But y/n? She had her father…he couldn't go and ask her…that would never happen.

That same week, the children continued to hang out in their hut. Playing and spending all day with him. He practically had two new little tails. He would feed them, which was a difficult task because of the oxygen masks. He also taught them what they needed to know to survive in Pandora. And he gave them lots of love…who would have thought that a man like tsu'tey could be so loving. He combed and cared for his children. He liked to think of them as his…his little babies. Everyone in the clan was surprised to see tsu'tey with two human children, treating them as if they were his own. They talked and said comments but he didn't care. Someone had to take care of these two orphans and he was doing it. While jake and norm were in their own worlds…neytiri noticed tsu'tey's new behavior toward the human children.

Unlike jake, neytiri cared about you. She always tried to take care of you, when you were in the family hut. After all, you were half-sister to her children. It was the middle of the day…and she was sitting in the hut, looking after and watching her young children play. And in that group was y/n…playing with lo'ak. She watched as the little girl ran up, screaming. "'Dad…daddy!!!'" says y/n. Running toward the entrance, neytiri turns around expecting to see her mate. But she was surprised to see tsu'tey standing in the doorframe. The man had a basket full of vegetables, and was kneeling down waiting for the little girl's hug. The girl hugs him with all her heart, as he lifts her into the air, settling her in his arms. Walking to where neytiri was. "Hello…neytiri. I brought something for the family" says tsu'tey, he seemed to be very happy. "Thank you…I am grateful" says neytiri, accepting the basket and watching as her friend sat down next to her. All the children went to greet them, he lovingly greeted them one by one.

Neytiri appreciated the treatment and love tsu'tey had for her children. That's how it should be…after all he was practically her brother. After greeting all the children, Y/n hugged tsu'tey again and settled on her lap. "my pretty flower…how are you? Have you eaten?" asks tsu'tey, adjusting the girl's hair. "Yes… neyney gave me a nice meal" says the little girl lifting up her dirty shirt to show her stomach. Both adults laugh, neytiri reaches over and touches the little girl's stomach tickling it. She liked that nickname the little y/n had given her, neyney….sounded so adorable. "That sounds perfect…look I brought you something?" says Tsutey, pulling something out of a little pouch on his waist. Neteyam had come over, sitting right next to you on tsu'tey's lap. "Is that clothes?" asks the little neteyam, squeezing his sister. "yes, it's for y/n…it's just like kiri's" says tsu'tey, untangling the clothes. Stretching it out to show it to everyone, neytiri was surprised. It was small, but it was very beautiful. With feathers, and very delicate stones.

" My,my,my!!!" y/n speak, raising her arms so she could take her clothes. "Kiri…why don't you help your sister change" neytiri says, while kiri took y/n's hand. Behind the two of them, there was neteyam. "We have to put a bracelet on her" shouts the boy, both adults laugh. Tsu'tey was surprised at how attached the children were to y/n, even neytiri. So the problem was…jake. "She calls you dad," neytiri says, not mincing words. As she looked at what was in the basket. "She just calls 'jake' to her father…" neytiri was about to keep talking, when tsu'tey interrupts her. "Neytiri… being a parent is something you earn. And I think I have done an excellent job with those children." Tsu'tey says, he was proud of his words, for he knew they were true. "I know… and I am very proud of you. I'm aware that my partner doesn't give her the attention that child needs… so you've earned that title," the woman speaks. They both stand in silence for a while.

"I think I would be a better father to her? And also for the boy?" speaks tsu'tey, neytiri now looks at him with concern. She didn't know what to tell him now, this was a difficult situation. "You mean…you want to adopt them?" asks neytiri, she wanted to be sure she had listened well. "Yes, I want them to be my children. I will take complete care of them and Jake won't have to worry about anything…they will be in good hands."

Neytiri knows deep down that this is for the best. Although it was hard to believe, tsu'tey had accepted the presence of those human children. Maybe he felt sorry for them, since they spent all day alone. If Y/N was not with neytiri, she was alone with spider doing what things. She knew tsu'tey would be an excellent father, and she would support him. "I'll talk to jake…but I'm not promising anything" says neytiri, seeing how on tsu'tey's face a big smile was drawn. "She will still come and she will be with her brothers…I just want her to be safe" tsu'tey tries to convince neytiri. The woman puts a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Calm down…I will do what I can" neytiri speaks. They both looked up, when they heard the children approaching. Y/N had the na'vi clothes that tsu'tey had made for him. She also had a few accessories that her siblings had put on her. Y/N runs to neytiri, wrapping her small arms around her neck. "Let me see…you look very pretty. Do you like it?" says neytiri, arranging several pieces of the outfit. "Yessssss!!!" shouts the excited little girl. "Mom…did you see that I put my bracelet on y/n…it looks better on her" says neteyam, arranging more of the piece on her sister's arm.

"They did a great job," tsu'tey says. Neytiri fixes the girl's hair, while her brothers play with her. "Hey…how do you say?" orders neytiri looking at you with a serious look. "Thank you" y/n gets shy, while thanking tsu'tey. The latter reaches over and caresses a cheek of the little one. He could already feel the excitement, hopefully jake would accept. He felt grateful to know that someone cared for her, neytiri was doing a great job in taking care of her. And if he kept the little girl, he would bring y/n every day to spend time with her. He could tell they had a nice relationship. After a while, the man said goodbye to everyone, neytiri told him that she was going to stay with y/n and not to worry. He had to go to the lab to look for spider. He had also prepared an outfit for his little boy.

When he got to the lab, he knocked on the door. Norm let spider out, the man took good care of him. But not well enough, children need to be given love and time. And these people weren't doing that. He waited patiently for his boy to come out. According to Norm, Spider was asleep and he had to get him up. After about 5 minutes, the little boy came out, sleepy. Tsu'tey carries him, and the little boy hugs him. "I brought you a surprise," says tsu'tey, lowering the boy to the ground. As he pulled out a bundle, in which his new outfit was wrapped. Spider was so happy, tsu'tey's eyes lit up at the sight of the little boy's face. So excited, for such a simple gesture. Spider took the gift and ran inside the lab to change. "Wait for me here!!!" shouts the boy tsu'tey laughs and sits down on the metal stairs to wait for the boy. He is convinced that it was a good idea to create their own na'vi clothing, this way they will be cleaner and feel more comfortable.

The day happened just as he had planned it. If everything went well…Jake would agree to let him stay and take care of y/n. If he was a smart man he would agree to let him stay and take care of them. If he was a smart man he would agree right away. Tsu'tey began to clear away the mess he had in his hut. There were a few toys that the children had left in the morning, he was so happy. After a while, he heard someone enter his hut, "Hello…" tsu'tey spoke, noticing that it was Jake who had arrived. He quickly interrupts him. "You think you can just go to neytiri and ask her for me to give y/n to you. That's not how it works" says jake, he was a bit annoyed. This put tsu'tey on alert, how dare he complain to him if he didn't even want to and didn't even pay attention to y/n. "Are you listening to yourself… I'm the one who takes care of those children. I'm the one who feeds them, takes care of them and watches over them. You don't even pay attention to y/n" tsu'tey raises his voice, he is so upset. He wanted to hit this man right now, but he was controlling himself. Just then, neytiri arrives at the hut. She was agitated and you could see her worried face.

"Norm lost the children!!!" says neytiri worriedly. The woman had taken y/n to the lab in the afternoon. She handed her over to Norm, since y/n couldn't sleep all night in the hut, the oxygen wouldn't last long. But couple of minutes later, lo'ak came running to his mother saying that when he went to play with his sister and didn't find her and that norm was looking for her. And that with her was spider. Neytiri quickly tried to explain everything to the men in front of her, she felt that she had interrupted something that was about to end very badly. Hearing that spider and y/n were lost, he quickly ran, pushing jake aside and going to the lab area. Neytiri didn't even look at Jake and took off after his friend. Jake followed some time later.

Tsu'tey arrived at the lab upset, norm was in his avatar body holding a flashlight. Tsu'tey grabbed norm's shoulders, he had to tell him where the children were. "No…they said they were going to play nearby, they said something about some flowers" norm spoke quickly, tsu'tey could be quite an intimidating man. As soon as norm mentioned flowers, tsu'tey knew where both children are. He relaxed a little, but not at all, the road to that place could be quite dangerous at night. Tsu'tey started walking, ignoring some complaints from jake and some questions from neytiri. They decided to follow the man without any protests. The path was quite close, it was a place where tsu'tey used to take the children to play. A nice meadow that had a lot of flowers, bright. It was a beautiful place, but it could be a bit dangerous for two five year olds.

Arriving at the meadow tsu'tey saw two small figures in the dark, he approached slowly accompanied by jake, neytiri and norm. "And what are you two doing here?" speaks tsu'tey with a calm and sweet voice. Causing both children to look up, running a little towards the man. Tsu'tey wrapped his arms around them, sighing with relief. "I thought something serious happened to you guys…you shouldn't be here at night" says tsu'tey, looking annoyed at the children. "We're sorry!!!" says both children, holding hands. Jake walks over to where the children are, carrying them. "Well…we have to go" says jake, neytiri stood next to tsu'tey…she knew he was upset. She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "I tried…but he's kind of stubborn" neytiri speaks. "He doesn't know how to take care of them…. y/n. He…" tsu'tey turns away from neytiri and starts walking home.

He could feel several tears running down his cheeks. He felt anger and insufficient… he only wanted the best for these children. He himself felt strange, to feel compassion and affection for human children. He arrived at his hut, and quickly lay down in his hammock. He had to get used to the idea that he could never have his own family, that he would never be able to take enough care of these children, because they did not belong to him and although he did not like the idea, they already had their own parents. He settled down, trying to relieve himself of his feelings. He almost got his sleep, but finally after a long time he was able to sleep. The night passed quickly, and as usual he got up early. Wiping his face, not noticing anything else around him.

Out of nowhere he felt someone moving something in his hut. Turning his eyes slowly, he saw a spider looking in the basket where the toys were. Then he saw y/n sitting down, she was playing with one of the wooden ikran. He couldn't believe it, what was going on? Why were the kids here so early in the morning? "Norm said he'll bring you an oxygen capsule later…so the kids can sleep in there" speaks jake…he was on the other side of the hut. Sitting on the floor. Tsu'tey is surprised, and pulls back. "What?" tsu'tey was surprised, he didn't understand what was going on. ""You're so right….I'm a bad father to Y/N"" speaks jake. Both men talk, and begin to set the record straight. Jake knew that he wasn't the best thing for Y/N, and that he neglected her too much.

He had talked to neytiri at night, she talked to him. That it was best for Y/N to be with tsu'tey. Jake had been thinking about it all night, it was the best thing to do. Besides, he wouldn't be far from her…besides, his daughter didn't call him father. To her, her father was the man in front of him the one who had taken care of her for the last two years. Like Y/N, Jake talked to Norm…he told him that Spider should go with Tsu'tey, that he was the best thing for these children. Jake said goodbye to both children, and walked away without looking back. Although he didn't want to admit it, it hurt him a little to admit that he was a bad father and that it was too late now.

Left alone with both children, tsu'tey sits still stunned by the situation. He could not believe it, eywa had heard his prayers. His heart wanted to burst out of his chest, he was so happy. The little girl approaches her father, and hands him the toy. She had a cute smile on her face. "You know you will stay with me…I-I will be your daddy" says tsu'tey, taking the hand of spider, who had come closer. Both children nodded their heads. "I promise I will take care of you…I promise" both children hug their new father tightly. Even though they always knew…that he was their father.

ps. Thank you for leaving your request, I know it took me a long time to reply. I have had some problems with my laptop, but I will be answering them this week little by little. But don't think I have forgotten you.

So you're telling me that it was never that Norm COULDN'T raise Spider from lack of time but rather he just didn't want to?! 😭

Oh Spider no one in this franchise deserves you except maybe Kiri (platonicly)

WHAT DO YOU MEAN NORM HAS TWO KIDS AND A WIFE!¡!