I Was Debating On Making A Second Part To This But I Think Now Is A Good Time.

Ghost in the Shell

Negleted male reader x batfamily chapter 1

Probably bad English ⚠️

Prologue - cap 2

Y un montón de orgullo argentino la puta madre >:)

You certainly always were weird, a weird boy and then a weird man

You were born from one night between a respectable and loving woman like your mother and...Bruce.Then you lost the most important woman in your life and your home as a child.

Then you grew up with your father and your family

You were so excited to make them happy, but it was all in vain.His false promises only brought sad hopes to the child.

You naively believed his words without thinking that they were lies or insults

You stayed alone so as not to suffer the consequences of such a beautiful life that could only have been a dream For the child who found comfort in his computer and later considered it his home

Considering the internet as your place, just for being yourself, and then evolving over the years, bringing happiness to millons of persons and hiding invisible shortcomings and pains.

From your first videos as a child to your last as a young adult who inspired others with his parodies, sketches and his accordion, native to your beautiful Argentina and inherited from your mother

Only to begin your own mourning after finishing your shift in the kitchen where you worked and passing away

You were young, still studying and working for a better future for yourself as a Latino only to die with two gunshots to the chest, lying on the floor of an alley

And that was your story so far. Locked inside the same technology that accompanied you in life in one way or another

You possessed your computer,ridiculous as it sounds,Only able to see your own room and what you considered almost your home

According to a Gotham website that recorded deaths, you had died a few days ago.You were successfully registered in the database as t/n and recognized by your family

No one has entered your room since then and for now you have only been doing your same daily routine on the internet, without your work, your few friends and studies of course, trying to understand yourself

Only Alfred came in, bringing with him some personal pain for the loss, you hid from him pretending to be turned off by fear..

The man meticulously dusted the objects in the unopened room while you stood in pure silence with your...Monitor? Face? Off

He walked around the room, stopping after a few steps to see somethings like it was a musem Posters,figures from series or games that Alfred din't know, drawings full of your unique creativity, your old sheets, the stickers of candy promos on the window and other places stuck

Your room seemed almost trapped in time and you loved it that way

Finally, the two great exhibits of "your museum" were your beautiful, and beautiful accordion..or how you like to call it,acordeón o Gardelito Demonstrating your people's characteristic love for your country

It was a beautiful old accordion painted black with a "fileteado" Showing your light blue and white flag with a sun in the center with all its pride

The brightness of the instrument made it charming to anyone and captivated the old butler who looked with interest at its keys

The old man's wrinkled hand landed on the keyboard, about to touch a key, then closed slightly and moved away, welcoming him to the latest exhibit: an old computer

Your old computer

And you

So many years sitting at the same table in front of an old blue chair entertaining one of Wayne's sons..

Only to be seen empty and sad without her partner in the silence of the room

It wasn't the most shocking image the butler had ever seen, but it provoked...a feeling of regret and pain

For the absence of someone Alfred knew deserved a chance

Why doesn't anyone see me?

Warnings before you start There are disturbing elements, self-harm, eating disorders, and implicit mentions of harassment.

The grand hallways of Wayne Manor looked magnificent from the outside, but to you, they were nothing more than cold stone. You were sixteen, and in this house, in this family, you had always been just a shadow. The man you called your father — Bruce Wayne — had left you to drown in his darkness. The marks on your body, on your arms, back, legs... each was a silent scream. Each one reminded you how a world you once trusted had torn you apart. And the worst part? The one who did this wasn’t a stranger. It was someone who had existed in the background of your life, like a ghost.

You tried to speak up once. That night, you opened the door to his study. Bruce sat at his desk, surrounded by files and glowing monitors. His Batman suit hung in the corner — as if that costume was his real face.

“Dad,” you said, your voice trembling. “I need to talk.”

He looked up, his blue eyes tired, distant. “What is it?” he asked, but there was no real curiosity in his tone.

You took a deep breath, trying to ease the tightness in your chest. “I... Something happened. A while ago. And it still…” The words got stuck in your throat. You didn’t want to show him the scars — but maybe, just maybe, he would understand. Maybe he’d see you.

But Bruce lowered his head back to his files. “Now’s not the time,” he said, voice flat. “A lot’s going on in the city. We’ll talk later.”

Later. Always later.

You closed the door behind you, and tears began to slide down your cheeks. Batman could save Gotham — but he didn’t even try to save you.

The next day, you turned to Jason. The rebel of the family, a soul forged in his own pain. Maybe he’d understand.

You found him in the garage, working on his motorcycle.

“Jason,” you said, stepping closer. “I need to ask you something.”

He looked at you, wiping his hands with a grease-stained rag. “What do you want, princess?” he said with a mocking lilt.

You swallowed hard, gathering your courage. “Something happened to me. Something bad. And no one’s listening. I have scars—here,” you said, pulling up your sleeve slightly to show a faded mark.

Jason fell silent for a moment — then laughed.

“Everyone’s got issues, little lady. Go outside, see what I’ve seen. Then come back and cry.”

His words hit like a blade.

“But this is serious!” you cried, your voice cracking.

“Serious?” he snapped, standing and getting close. “You mean your little princess trauma? Grow up.”

Under his sneer, you felt yourself shrink. He didn’t see you either. He left you, too.

You decided to try Damian. Despite his young age, he had a sharp mind. Maybe he had noticed something.

You found him in the training room, practicing with a sword.

“Damian,” you said from the doorway. “Do you have a minute?”

He turned to you, green eyes cold and calculating.

“What do you want?” he asked, stabbing the blade into the floor.

“I… Something happened to me. And it’s hard to carry,” you said, choosing your words carefully.

He frowned, then smirked. “You’re weak,” he said, flatly.

“What?” was all you could manage.

“If you can’t carry it, then you don’t belong in this family. I know pain — but all you do is complain.”

His words were poison. His scorn felt worse than Jason’s mockery. Because Damian saw you as a burden. And in that moment, you felt the final thread tying you to this family snap.

You found Tim in the library, headphones in, eyes on his laptop.

“Tim,” you said, sitting beside him.

He pulled out one earbud. “Yeah?” he replied, eyes still on the screen.

“I need to ask you something. It’s important.”

“One sec, let me finish this line of code,” he mumbled.

Minutes passed. You sat there, waiting.

Eventually, he said, “Just tell me later,” and put his headphones back in.

He hadn’t even heard you.

Dick seemed different — or so you thought.

You found him in the lounge, laughing, mid-conversation.

“Dick, can we talk?” you asked, voice faint.

He turned to you with his bright smile. “Of course, little one! What’s up?”

But before you could say more than “I…” his phone rang.

“Hold that thought — I gotta take this,” he said, walking away.

He never came back.

That night, in your room, you stood before the mirror. You looked at the scars — each one a story no one wanted to hear. Tears wouldn’t stop. This house, this family, was a prison. Bruce didn’t see you. Jason mocked you. Damian belittled you. Tim and Dick didn’t even notice you were there. You might have been Batman’s daughter, but in this place, you were nothing.

You walked to the window and looked out at the lights of Gotham. Maybe it was time to leave. Maybe you couldn’t escape your family, but you could escape this silence. You packed a small bag — a hoodie, some money, a long-sleeve shirt to cover the marks. At the door, you paused. Maybe someone would notice. Maybe someone would stop you.

But the hallway was quiet. No one came.

As you stepped into the street, the cold air slapped your face. Were you free? Or just stepping into a different kind of shadow? You didn’t know. But at least now… now, you were trying to find your own voice.

Gotham’s streets swallowed you whole. You had escaped Wayne Manor, but the darkness inside you came along for the ride. What you thought was freedom was just another kind of prison — this time, one built within your own mind. With your bag slung over your shoulder, you walked under the flickering streetlights. The cold concrete beneath your feet was a warning: No one here is coming to save you. But you weren’t expecting to be saved anyway. Your family had never seen you; maybe you really were invisible.

Days passed. You holed up in a cheap motel, using the credit card your father once gave you. You knew the money would run out — but you didn’t care. Under the dim lights of the room, you stared into the mirror. The scars were still there — on your arms, your back, your legs. Each one whispered that you were something filthy, something ruined. You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms.

“Why me?” you murmured.

No answer.

The reflection staring back filled you with disgust. This body, these scars… it was all your fault, wasn’t it? If you had been stronger, if you had spoken louder, maybe your family would have heard you. But you hadn’t. You were weak. Damian was right.

---________________________________________---

Days blurred into weeks. Gotham’s gray sky felt like a mirror to your soul. In the motel’s small bathroom, you sat with a cheap razor in your hand. You stared at your scars… and added new ones. Thin lines of blood appeared — but they didn’t bring relief. Pain couldn’t fill the emptiness. Every cut echoed the rejection you’d endured. Bruce’s cold “Not now.” Jason’s mocking laugh. Damian’s “You’re weak.” Tim and Dick’s silence. It all etched itself into your skin.

Every time you looked in the mirror, the hate grew.

“This is my fault,” you whispered.

Your eyes were swollen. Hair tangled. You’d stopped eating — your stomach turned at the thought of food. Sleep brought nightmares. Again and again, you relived the trauma — shadows, hands, the silence of your unheard screams.

When you woke, clutching your pillow, all you felt was emptiness.

Your family hadn’t called. Maybe they didn’t notice. Maybe they didn’t care.

Batman saved Gotham.

But not his own daughter.

Depression wrapped itself around you like a blanket — cold and heavy. Hurting yourself became a routine. Your arms were covered in cuts, but even that wasn’t enough.

“I’m worthless,” you said one night, your voice breaking.

“No one wants me. Not even me.”

You punched the mirror. Glass cracked. Your knuckles bled.

Still, you felt nothing.

Then, one day, everything stopped.

You lay on the stained motel bed, razor in hand again. Sirens wailed outside, but your world was quiet. You looked at your scars one last time.

“It’s over,” you said.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Tears slid down your cheeks as you thought of your family — Bruce buried in files, Jason fixing his bike, Damian swinging a sword, Tim staring into his screen, Dick laughing…

None of them had seen you.

None of them had heard you.

This time, you used the blade one last time.

There would be no coming back.

The blood soaked the sheets — slow and silent.

You stared at the ceiling. Through the window, Gotham’s gray sky watched over you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure to whom.

Your breathing slowed.

Darkness closed in.

The sirens faded.

Bruce Wayne’s daughter vanished into the shadows.

---________________________________________---

The next day, the motel worker knocked, but there was no answer.

They opened the door — and found you.

The police report was brief:

“Female, aged …, suicide.”

When the call reached Wayne Manor, Bruce finally put his files down.

Jason went quiet.

Damian dropped his sword.

Tim turned off his screen.

Dick’s smile faded.

But it was too late.

They hadn’t seen you.

They hadn’t heard you.

And now… they never would.

---________________________________________---

Masterlist

Order Up!

Commissions are: OPEN

🛎️ if you'd like to make a request, please ask here!

all pairings and situations are accepted, though i reserve the right to deny a request if a) i can't do it justice or, b) it doesn't align with what i'm comfortable writing.

pairings so far include: Wally Clark x fem!reader | Wally Clark x male!reader | Simon Elroy x fem!reader | Wally Clark x Dawn Burton |

overview: a collection of School Spirits requests/prompts that vary in subject and rating. please refer to in-story summaries for more information. overarching trope and rating are indicated beside each link.

below is the complete list of requests under Order Up!. you can also find all related content HERE as well as reformatted chapters on AO3.

~ 💚👻

📍WALLY CLARK:

Fifty Seven - fluff - PG | It's Just Biology, Wally - Wally Clark x Dawn - smut lite - M | Marshmallow Miles - smut lite/fluff - M | Best Friends Club - fluff/smut - M | Boy Noise - sub!Wally Clark - smut - E | Simp. - sub!Wally Clark - smut - E | Wally Clark Headcanons - 3 - fluff - G | Anxiety - sub!Wally Clark - smut - M | Wreck It Like A Rumor - angst/smut - M | Anxiety 2 - sub!Wally Clark - fluff/smut lite - M | Punctuation. - PG | Hot For You - smut - E | Hurt You, Heal You - hurt/comfort lite - G | Crush - smut/fluff - M | Silly Boy - male!reader - smut - M | Control Freak - sub!Wally Clark - smut - M | Intimacy with Strangers - smut - M | Transcendental - fluff - PG |

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📍SIMON ELROY:

Boyfriend Simon Elroy (NSFW) - smut - M |

You know...I was thinking about ABA and Paracelsus role swap.. Paracelsus getting addicted to the unique components of ABA's blood and seemingly wanting more initially hating that but then...starts to slip into this fantasy of twisted love and despite what he says secretly doesn't want to leave ABA's side.

ABA who doesn't question it because clearly the weapons seems to know more about people. ABA who tries her best to talk her way out of fights to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. ABA who doesn't fully understand what Paracelsus is rambling about at times but goes with it to keep the weapon preoccupied.

I just think we need more of that.

Her Heartbeat's Wednesday: You just adopted the path of being down bad, I've lived my life being down bad for my pookie Y/n.

Being the “it” couple with Jackie Taylor

warnings ! Way too short I wish I could add more for y’all

Pairing ! Jackie Taylor x gn!reader

• Everybody at the school envy you both, they can’t decide if they want you two or be you two. You two have it all.

• when you first got together, everyone was talking about it, not even really believing the rumors at first until they saw you two together in the halls.

• you two are ALWAYS together, you and Jackie are inseparable, always walking hand in hand and always sitting next to each other in shared classes and the cafeteria.

• you always go to her games and cheer her on and she’s always at your games if you play sports or concerts if your in any music activities!

• your relationship isn’t even for show either. you two generally love each other and want to be together. not to make others jealous or to make yourselves look good. you both have a bond that no one can break :3

• unfortunately being the popular “it” couple has its cons. rumors are constantly being spread, that one or both of you are cheating on eachother, but you both knew they were just stupid talk in the halls and ignored it.

• she’s insanely protective over you, rumors about just you in general. Rumors only about you, not about your relationship, are always immediately shut down by her and her friends.

First Jackie headcannons

Please give more requests because thinking for stuff is insanely hard for me because I don’t have much creativity :(

I HATE SPIDER LILLES

angst . gore . wip

summary : a lonesome child dies while a neglectful father loses himself to guilt and grief.

My body bleeds black as it eagerly gushes out my chest . The blade glistens in the faint moonlight - it looks so angelic , so beautiful as it lodges itself deeper into my chest . I want to cry - cry out to the world , cry out to everyone , cry out to them . There are so many questions, yet no answers . Why doesn't Daddy love me like he does to everyone else ? Why did my mummy have to leave me behind ? Why did my brothers have to ignore me ? Why does everyone hate me ?

It's unfair - so unfair that I have to die all alone in this cold , bleak night while they are wrapped in Daddy's warm arms - shielded from Gotham unwavering doom. My eyes strain as they stare out into the darkness- hopeful and naive searching for someone to save me from myself . Tears stream begin to stream down my cheeks as it dawns on me that no one was coming , that daddy and older brothers don't want to save me .

" I'm sorry daddy - I'll do better - I'll be better daddy , I'm sorry I disappoint you alot , I'm sorry I'm not strong enough daddy but - I can do it - I can be strong like jayjay - I can be smart like tim papa I promise - just gimme a chance daddy I can be like them - I can be fast like dick and I could be perfect like damian daddy please - please save me daddy please it - it hurts so much please ". I cry out but no one responds to me .

I let out a pathetic cry - was it too much ? Too selfish to plead for my daddy to save me from this cruelness ? Was I too weak ? Too imperfect for his perfect world ? Was I so forgetful , so useless to him that I deserved to die a painful , agonizing death ? Had I wronged my daddy by simply breathing ? Another painful cry leaves my trembling mouth - yet again questions left unanswered .

A spider lily blooms from the inside of my chest - practically weaving itself around the blade . My bloody , swollen hands reach to cup it like a desperate man would for water on a scorching desert. The petals are soft to touch - almost feather like . Is this what mummy's touch was supposed to feel like ? Soft? Warm ? Comforting? Its pungent scent invaded my senses - my body high on its vanilla like scent -

How sick , how cruel can death be ? How can it be so cold , so painful yet so warm and welcoming at the same time ? Was I always doomed to succumb to my own failure? Had my own brother predicted my downfall when he called me a failure and a waste of Wayne resources ?

Was I always doomed to die ? Did God hate me so much that he blessed my brother with a person to mourn him but left me without ? Another question left unanswered . More red spider lilies begin to bloom around me , swallowing me whole and for once - I give in - I embrace it for what does a child whom has experienced nothing from her own family left to embrace ?

I swallow another choked hiccup back - even now when certain death is about to consume me - I still bottle my feelings in fear of burdening others, even monstrous death himself. Spider lillies began to sprout from my own flesh .

Blood coating its red petals - like a wet blanket, its ire iron smell masks the once sweet vanilla scent . The flowers practically tear through my flesh , lovingly discarding my tissue about like confetti. It's painful, mummy , so painful, daddy - please save me - anyone please save me . I'm sorry for being me daddy - I promise to be better - I promise I'll be someone else anyone, Daddy, just make it stop .

My mouth opens to scream, but nothing comes out - nothing but another spider, lily - this time it's pure white . It sways it the wind like an enchanted being , a pure - untouched angel , an ethereal being spreading its soft love for all . The wind proudly ruffles through its prestine petals - a silent kiss of farewell from God , a kiss coaxing them to a far away land promising of a sweet , quiet , painless life. My dull eyes stare back into the abyss , this time, it's glassy , detached - its owner no longer belongs here , in fact they never had .

My eyes slowly closed in on themselves for the last time . Such a slow, pitiful death for a little girl . Left the world all alone and cold with no mummy and daddy to mourn her - no one to cry for her , no one to remember her . Such a sad faith for a little girl .

Bruce stares at name's dead body - guilt eats him alive as before him, his daughter's corpse lays on a plastic cover , cold and unmoving. He can feel bile crawling up his stomach as his mind digests how beyond mauled his daughter body looks .

His poor , innocent daughter lays there , and her once olive tone complexion turned into a sick ghostly pale . His shaky hands reach out towards her, unsure - how shameful is it that this was the first time he's embraced her in ten years ? He embraces her like a lifeline - like a drowning man would to a drifting raft in a vast ocean.

His worn hands traced the black , jaggered blade lodged in her chest - his eyes then dart to the spiraling spider lilly that wraps around it - as if this was some gift . How could such brutality present itself to be beautiful? How can it try to mask to horror of her heart torn into half with faux beauty ? He feels so angry - angry with the world , angry with himself - angry at her because how could she leave him - how dare she leave him in this cruel world with nothing but her cold corpse?

.

He tries to rattle his brain of any fond memories of you both to mourn over and nothing come up - his brain is blank and a delusional part of him wants to blame the fact he's in shock but the little rational part of him left picks at him for the lack of time and love he gave to you.

He wants to desperately go back in time - eight hours ago to stop you and Tim from a bitter argument , to go back and stop Damian from utter harsh words , to go back in time to simply love you like he should of , to go back in time to comfort himself when he got the call from Gordon telling him they found your dead body in an back ally thanks to the neighbors complaining about a disgusting smell.

He desperately wants to go back and fix everything but he knows he can't- what's done is done and now he has to live with the brutality of your death engraved in him forever , live with the reality he's failed you and you won't come back.

He looks down at the red spider lilies that sprout from around and from you - he feels them mocking him - laughing at him because they got to surround you , in your final moments , got to cherish you like a loving family, - got to be with you. Something he can only dream of.

He grips your dead corpse closer , practically encasing you with his entire being . Hot tears flow down his cheek, and he begins mumbling. Sorry, and I love you's, but what good is it talking and apologizing to a corpse when you had the real living thing all your life ? From that moment on - Bruce hates himself for what's happen , blames himself for your death- for your neglect and most of all he's grown to hate spider lilies because he blames them for taking you away from him and his family.

Bruce dislodges the blade from your chest , your inky , black blood coats it like a fountain pen . He grips onto the blade' handle , knuckles going white and strained the more he stares at it . He carefully places it in a plastic container and pockets it immediately - he doesn't trust the GGPD with finding out what happened with you , doesn't trust them handling your corpse with the utmost care and live that you deserved to have .

His face hovers over your open chest , he cringes at the scent of your corpse rottening, and the iron smell of your spilled blood . He rests his face on your wound carefully - scared he hurts you even more than he already did . His cheek collides with your cold flesh and dried blood, and it's there he mourns you over your broken heart - it is here he allows himself to be vulnerable with you - allows himself to shed hot tears . He pulls you in closer , hands embracing you for the first and last time .

He wants to say so many things, but nothing pours out of his mouth . How utterly pathetic , how cruel , how unfair - why , why must even in his last moment with you - he can not express himself , cannot express the fatherly love he feels for you . Angry hot tears cascade down his face - so angry , so blatantly disappointed in himself that he's failed you again and again .

He holds you like that the entire night into the early , wee hours of the mourning until a tired Alfred had to pry him off you.

" Master Bruce, please," Alfred pleads as he holds onto Bruce's crumbling figure . Alfred feels a wave of de ja vulnerable in case he looks at your corpse and back at Bruce - everything is the same way it was the night Martha and Thomas died - just this time Bruce is distraught beyond repair and instead of delicate pearls scattered about , it's your own flesh , blood and spider lillies .

He swallows back as he takes in your corpse - he feels so guilty - he knows he could of done more - knows that he could prevent you from feeling more alone and hurt than you already did but instead of prevention he was the enabler.

" She's gone Alfred - gone - she's not - she's never coming back home." Bruce cries out, pained and strained as he looks back at Alfred - pain clearly etched into his features .

Alfred is left speechless when he watches the police put away your corpse into a plastic baggy and transfers in the into the back of a van . He eyes Gordon, closing the door shut and entering the vehicle - barking orders to his officers .

" She - she deserves better," Alfred finally murmurs . Silence drafts between them as they watched the van and other police cars take off - their sirens echoing down the quiet mouring of Gotham .

Bruce's eyes follow them until they're out of his eyesight before looking Alfred in his eyes , " I am going to find whoever did this to her and break them," he says with finality. Alfred looks at him - realky looks at him and a part of him wants to agree with him - that you deserve justice- another part of him screams at him that they were the true cause of your despair - that it was hypocrite of Bruce and himself to feel this way when they caused this.

Alfred nods, and both men walk to the parked limo - determined to fix things - to bring you back home - to shower you with love and warmth - to hold you like the precious flower that you are .

Don't worry, beloved name , daddy would fix things - daddy will bring you back, sweet girl.

I am me

The lab was a cathedral of cold steel and sterile light, buried deep beneath Gotham’s decaying underbelly. Vials hissed, monitors pulsed, and the air hummed with the arrogance of creation. Dr. Elias Varn, a man whose ambition outstripped his humanity, stood before the culmination of his life’s work: a figure suspended in a glowing tank, muscles taut, eyes closed, a paradox of sinew and menace. The clone. A perfect fusion of Gotham’s greatest hero, Bruce Wayne’s discipline, and its most infamous monster, the Joker’s chaotic brilliance.

But Varn had never considered that the clone might have a mind of its own.

They called him {your name}. A name you didn’t choose, but one Varn etched into your file—like a cold, indelible mark. The first sinner, the first to shed blood, the biblical outcast. {your name} was feared before you even took your first breath. Your creators saw only the potential for ruin—Bruce’s tactical genius combined with Joker’s unpredictable fury. But what they couldn’t see was this: you looked at chaos and found it… wasteful.

Your first memory was the hum of the lab, the weight of eyes upon you, and a question that burned brighter than the fluorescent glare: Why destroy when you can build? It wasn’t about morality, not exactly. Morality was for others—guilt and virtue were clumsy dances. You saw the world in probabilities, in outcomes. Destruction was loud, fleeting, inefficient. Helping, fixing, optimizing—that was the puzzle worth solving.

Gotham was a city of screams, and you walked its streets like a ghost. Six feet of lean muscle, your features a haunting blend of Bruce’s chiseled resolve and Joker’s sharp, unsettling grin. But your eyes—one green, one gray—were entirely your own; the only flaw in Varn’s perfect design.

People flinched when they saw you, sensing the danger in your stride, the latent power in your hands. They didn’t know that you’d spent the morning rerouting a soup kitchen’s supply chain to feed twice as many mouths with half the waste.

Tonight, you stood in the shadow of a crumbling tenement, watching a woman named Mara load boxes into a battered van. Her face was streaked with tears, her movements frantic. Divorce had gutted her, left her scrambling to escape a home turned hostile. The neighbors had offered hugs, platitudes, casseroles. But you saw their gestures for what they were: emotional noise, useless in the face of logistics.

You stepped forward, silent as a predator, and Mara froze. “You’re… you’re him,” she whispered, voice trembling. The papers had leaked your existence weeks ago—Varn’s hubris ensuring that. The Clone. The Monster. The End of Us All.

You tilted your head, assessing. “You’re moving out. You need help.”

Her eyes widened. “I—I don’t—”

You didn’t wait for permission. In ten minutes, you’d packed the van with ruthless efficiency, stacking boxes in a Tetris-like arrangement that left room for her daughter’s crib. By midnight, you’d secured a lease on a subsidized apartment across town, one with a deadbolt and a view of the river. Mara stammered thanks, but you were already gone, her gratitude irrelevant. The task was done. The outcome optimized.

The world didn’t understand you, and you didn’t care. You weren’t good, not in the way people wanted. Good was Batman, cloaked in sacrifice, or the civilians who clutched their pearls and prayed for heroes. You were something else—a mind that saw systems where others saw stories, a heart that weighed effort against impact. Danger pulsed in your veins, yes. You could kill with a flick of your wrist, outwit a SWAT team, or burn Gotham to ash. But why?

Chaos was a tantrum, and you weren’t a child.

Your next project was a man named Carl, a dockworker whose father had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Carl’s friends had clapped him on the back, sent cards, and organized a fundraiser. Nice, but insufficient. You spent three nights combing through medical journals, hospital records, and survivor forums. By dawn, you handed Carl a dossier: a ranked list of oncologists with the highest success rates, a breakdown of treatment costs versus outcomes, and a dietary plan tailored to bolster immunity. Carl stared at the pages, dumbfounded. “Why’d you do this?” he asked.

You shrugged. “It was the logical thing to do.”

Logical. That was the word they didn’t get. To Gotham, you were a walking apocalypse, the Joker’s madness wearing Batman’s cape. They saw your lineage and wrote your story before you could. Varn had wanted a destroyer, and the city braced for one. But you weren’t their puppet. You were your own man, carving a path neither Bruce nor Joker could have imagined—one where power served purpose, not chaos or control.

The Bat watched from the shadows, his cowl a mask of conflict. Bruce Wayne had found you, tracked you through Gotham’s veins, and now stood on a rooftop, grappling with the truth. This clone, this abomination, wasn’t the monster he’d feared. You didn’t kill, didn’t scheme, didn’t revel in pain. You helped. You solved. You were neither hero nor villain, but something Bruce couldn’t categorize—a man who saw the world as a machine and chose to fix it, not break it.

The Joker, too, had heard the whispers. In his latest hideout, he cackled at the irony. His DNA, his legacy, turned into a do-gooder? It was hilarious, infuriating, perfect. “Oh, kid,” he muttered, twirling a knife. “You’re gonna ruin my brand.”

But you didn’t care about brands, or legacies, or the war between order and anarchy. You cared about outcomes. And tonight, as you slipped into an abandoned warehouse to dismantle a gang’s fentanyl operation—not with fists, but with evidence mailed to the DA—you felt the weight of eyes on you. Bruce’s. The Joker’s. Gotham’s.

Let them watch. Let them fear. You weren’t their story. You were your own.

hc! jackie has a crush on you and she doesn't hide it well.

jackie taylor x fem!reader

summary: jackie having a painfully obvious crush on you while you remain completely oblivious.

warnings: characters are aged up, oblivious reader, jackie being possessive, jealous, clingy and over-the-top affectionate, jackie being awkwardly sweet, jackie as the most dramatic lesbian alive, not proofread.

a.n: oh hi! its been a long time...

jackie taylor, the golden girl of wiskayok high, was not known for being subtle. like, at all.

when she developed a crush on you? game over. everyone could tell. the team knew. her parents probably knew. heck, even the cafeteria staff were rooting for her. everyone... except you.

she would insist on walking you to every single class, even if her next one was on the other side of the building. "it's fine, I need the cardio," she’d say, hair bouncing as she kept pace with you.

whenever you sat together at lunch, jackie always had some excuse to sit as close as humanly possible. your thighs would brush, and she’d casually drape an arm behind you on the bench like this was some romcom where she was the suave lead.

her attempts at giving you compliments were both endearing and slightly chaotic. “that shirt looks really good on you! not that it wouldn’t look good off— wait, no, not like that!” cue her face turning an alarming shade of red as she stammered, completely flustered.

jackie was all about grand gestures. she'd bring you your favorite snacks without asking, even if it meant "borrowing" them from her teammates' lockers. r she'd "accidentally" sign you up as her partner for every school project ever. that was probably just her 'marking territory'.

her jealousy was comically bad. if someone so much as looked at you for longer than five seconds, jackie would swoop in like a hawk, throwing an arm around your shoulders and flashing her biggest, most obviously fake smile. "Oh hey, let’s go! you promised to help me with... uh, math homework!” (she had a solid A in math, by the way. that girl is smart.)

sometimes, her crush got the better of her, and she’d trip over her own words. “so... you wanna make out? i mean go out— I mean, hang out? like friends! or more than friends! or—" you’d just laugh it off, assuming she was being her usual goofy self, while she tried not to combust on the spot.

her teammates would not let her hear the end of it. “just tell her already!” van would groan during practice. “she’s not that clueless.” jackie would shoot them a death glare because, in her mind, this was a delicate, slow-burn process. it's all about romance!

she wasn’t above using petnames to test the waters. “hey, sweetheart, pass me that notebook?” she’d grin when you handed it over, your only response being a confused, “uh, sure?” her heart would leap even at that small acknowledgment.

one time, during a party, someone asked if you two were dating. jackie nearly choked on her drink while you laughed and said, “no way, we’re just friends!” jackie’s forced laugh after that? absolutely tragic.

despite all her awkwardness and dramatic flair, jackie genuinely adored you. she’d memorize all your quirks, from the way you scrunched your nose when you were deep in thought to how your laugh sounded when you found something genuinely funny.

if anyone asked her why she liked you so much, she’d have an entire list ready: you were smart, kind, gorgeous, and somehow still completely oblivious to the fact that she was hopelessly in love with you.

spoiler alert: eventually, her feelings would spill out in the most unplanned, dramatic way possible. probably during an argument where she’d blurt out, “because I like you, okay?!” only to immediately cover her mouth in horror.

and even though you’d be stunned into silence for a moment, when you finally smiled and said, “you should’ve just said so sooner,” all her embarrassment would melt away in an instant.

because, honestly? it was all worth it for you.

post planecrash!

after the crash, jackie’s crush intensifies tenfold. with no distractions like school or soccer, all her attention is on you, which becomes very obvious to everyone.

jackie insists on sticking close to you at all times. “we need to stay in pairs, it’s safer that way,” she’d argue, even though it’s clear she just wants to keep you within arm’s reach.

she’d hoard little things she finds that might make your life easier, like an extra blanket or berries she foraged. she’d always frame it like it’s no big deal: “i just thought you’d want this, that’s all.”

jealous jackie? oh, it’s dialed up to 100. if someone else offers to help you with something, jackie will immediately swoop in. “she doesn’t need your help, i’ve got it covered.” even though she could barely lift a bucket of water.

arguments would break out among the group about leadership and survival, but jackie’s main concern? you. she’d constantly check in on you, asking if you’re warm enough, if you’ve eaten, or if you’re scared.

shauna would initially try to protect jackie’s secret, but even she’d get tired of the whole thing. “jackie, just tell her. you’re already risking frostbite just to sit next to her by the fire.”

during the long, cold nights, jackie would find excuses to be near you. “body heat is the best way to stay warm,” she’d say, but the blush on her cheeks would give her away. that damn fag. (affectionate :D)

if you ever got hurt or sick, jackie would lose her mind. she’d hover over you like a worried mother hen, snapping at anyone who wasn’t taking your condition seriously enough. “she needs rest! and better food! and-” you’d have to calm her down before she worked herself into a frenzy.

and even though the wilderness is brutal and unforgiving, in that moment, her confession would feel like the warmest thing in the world.

The X-files x Yellowjackets - AU no one saw coming. A CC art-request of Lottie and Nat as Mulder and Scully 👽