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a1307s · 5 months

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Lady Todd #1

(Batboys)

[Art is not mine! Credit to haines-mae]

Requested by: OliviaBrady821

Keys:

Y/N: Your Name

Word Count: 6380

Warnings and/or Pre-notes:

Cursing

Mentions of teen pregnancy

Mentions of suicide

———————————————————————

"Hello," an old, tall man says after swinging open a door at least twice my height. The door gives me the creeps. This house gives me the creeps. Gotham gives me the creeps. Honestly, at this point, the list of things that don't give me the creeps is shorter. "How can I help you?"

"Hello. I'm Noah Johnson," my caseworker says, shifting through his briefcase. Noah Johnson was ruled responsible for me by the state of New Jersey until my sperm donor could be located. I'm Noah's first foster care case ever and it's very painfully obvious. "Umm... this is Y/N Todd," he mumbles, holding up my birth certificate to the elder man as he continues to shift through his briefcase in search of a copy of my mom's will.

The elder man looks over the paper before turning toward me with a long blank stare. My mom was a short, blonde-hair, blue-eyed girl. I got my mother's height but other than that she always insisted I was the spitting image of my father. I don't see it but I also don't know what my father looks like, so I don't have much to compare my features to.

"Jason Todd is her father and on behalf of Mia Smith's dying wishes, I need to talk to Mr. Todd about... well... what he wants to do considering Y/N," Noah spills out, managing to find my mom's will and my DNA test supposedly proving this Jason dude is my dad.

The old man glances at the DNA sheet before taking the packet from Noah. "The yellow highlighter is details of Ms. Smith's passing. Green is anything mentioned Mr. Todd, pink is the details of Y/N's inheritance from her mother and blue is any details relating to the placement of Y/N Ms. Smith wished for," Noah says, placing his hands on my shoulders to hide the fact that they're shaking.

String bean grandpa glances between Noah and me before fingering through the packet. He glances through the accident report and death certificate of my mother before getting to her will. "Please come in," the man finally says, stepping aside so Noah and I can walk through the door frame.

The castle of a house echoes with our footsteps. "So is my dad some kind of mafia man?" I ask, looking around the entry. The throw rug alone looks more expensive than the apartment I used to live in.

The old man loses control of the door, causing it to slam shut. "Why do you say that?" He asks, glancing at me before leading us toward the marble staircase in the middle of the room.

"Well, last time I checked the only people in Gotham that can afford luxury is criminals."

"Y/N let's be quiet," Noah says, tightening his grip on my shoulders and letting out a nervous laugh.

"You're acting like Gotham is any worse than Blüdhaven," I mumble, starting to climb up the stairs. Noah's head is constantly whipping back and forth, his grip not loosening on me.

The walk up the stairs and down the hall is silent beside our footsteps and the occasional noises of the old floors shifting. "Wait here," Old Man Gangster says once we're in front of the huge double doors at the end of the hallway.

"I think you should wait out here as I talk to your da- Jason. As I talk to Jason," Noah says, correcting himself halfway through. I freaked out on him the first time he called this mystery man my dad. He's not my dad. He's a random guy that happened to knock up my mom.

"Whatever," I murmur, leaning against the wall before sliding down it to sit on the carpeted ground. "I don't want to stay here," I say, looking up at Noah.

"Well, you don't want to end up in a group home either. Especially one in Blüdhaven. This is your best chance Y/N and at the end of the day I don't get to decide what happens to you, Jason does."

Jason, Jason, Jason. It's the only thing I've been hearing for the last week. It took about three hours after my mom was pronounced dead for people to find out she left custody - with a DNA test to back up her claims - of me to the famous Jason Todd. It buzzed around everywhere I went: the police station, the foster care house, school, everywhere.

All I've heard the past week is how hot and rich and mysterious and ew my 'dad' is. My mom was brutally murdered a week ago and all people cared about was this Jason Todd prick. A stupid dumb prick that high-tailed his ass out of my life after knocking my mom up at 15. Fucking asshole.

"You may enter," Raisin face says, poking his head out the door.

"I'll come check on you in a little bit, okay? Stay here," Noah says before slipping through the door.

Once the door clicks shut, I'm left in complete silence. I don't mind it though. It gives me time to look over the place. I scoot forward, sticking my legs through the railing of the hallway and letting them hang over the edge. There's a big crystal chandelier hanging over the entryway. Honestly, the whole place looks like a torn-out image of Dracula's castle. It's disgusting. No one needs this much fancy shit. I'm sure no one needs big ass crystals dangling from their roof either.

After a couple of minutes of silence, the dust-covered vampire house is filled with the sounds of the front door creaking open. I rip my legs from the edge, folding myself up as I spy on the new person entering. Whoever it is, is wrapped up in a police uniform. Mr. Police Officer is definitely breaking the law. Officers can't just enter your house without permission. Well, unless they got a warrant.

I keep my eyes trailed on the person as they start heading up the staircase. "Bruce? Alfred?" The voice calls out, sparking my mind some. I know this voice but from were. The officer calls out a few more times, giving me more chances to run through all the people I've met in the last week.

The officer turns down the hallway, heading toward me. His eyes lock on mine, his pace slowing down as he sizes me up. "Y/N?" He asks, picking his pace up some.

"Officer Grayson?" I call back, stiffening some as he approaches me. Why the fuck is a Blüdhaven cop here? Why is the Blüdhaven cop that handled my mother's murder here? Last time I checked Dick Grayson was estranged from Bruce Wayne.

"How are you?" Grayson asks, crouching down to be closer to my level once he gets in front of me.

"Oh, you know, still technically an orphan and a ward of the state, so just dandy."

Officer Grayson chuckles some, trying to cover the sadness in his eyes. With him handling my mother's case I've seen a lot of him recently. I've heard a lot about him too. Some of the other officers were poking fun at him for "adopting a fellow orphan". After I quick google search, I found that his parents fell to their death when he was younger than me. It sucks for him, but it's a bit of a comfort to know he's gone through what I'm dealing with.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, shifting to sit down instead of kneeling.

"My case worker is talking to the old man that answers the door and I'm guessing Jason."

"The old man is named Alfred." Grayson says, glancing at me before looking through the railing as well. "So-"

"I googled you already. And Jason. I know you're his brother or whatever," I say, a bit more bitter than I meant. Grayson has been really sweet to me, but it would have been nice to find out he's technically my uncle from him instead of google. "Is the department going to make you drop my mom's case?"

"No, Captain said I could keep working the case." Silence falls between us for a while. Grayson glances at me every couple second, opening his mouth every now and again but nothing comes out. "Do you want some ice cream?" He finally asks, standing back up in his feet.

"I'm an orphan, not an idiot. Of course, I want free ice cream," I half-heartedly joke, crawling to my feet as well.

Grayson nervously chuckles, rubbing his neck before turning away from me. "This way," he mumbles, starting to lead me to the kitchen. Or at least I think that's what he's doing. It would be disappointing if he offered ice cream and then decide to murder me in this spooky ass house.

The way to the kitchen is filled with more obnoxiously fancy things. The walls are litter with picture of I think five different people - six if you count the Alfred guy. All five people have raven hair but only three of the five have blue eyes. The odd balls out have green eyes. Throughout the pictures I'm able to pick out Grayson in most of them but I'm not sure who the others are.

I stop in front of the pictures that catch my eye. Per the stats que of all the past pictures it's a black-haired man but he has a streak of white unlike the rest. It's one of the green-eyed ones too. He's in a leather jacket, propped up by the motorcycle he's leaning on. "That's Jason," Grayson says softly, ruffling my hair some before opening a door for me.

"He looks repulsing," I say, walking through the door to be met by a huge kitchen. The kitchen alone is bigger than any place I've stayed at.

"He's not all that bad," Grayson says, walking around the kitchen to collect dishes. I hum in disagreement, watching as the officer digs around the freezer. "Honestly Y/N he's a really good guy, a very honorable-"

"If he's so honorable, why'd he leave my mom to be poor single mother. Look at this place. This is where Jason has lived most of his life, and yet my mom worked herself to the bone just for us to stay in poverty the rest of her life." This shuts Richard up, the only noise being spoons clinking against glass bowls as we eat our ice cream.

"I'm sorry Y/N. I shouldn't push my image of Jason on to you," Grayson says once our bowls are empty.

The room is silent again as Grayson cleans up our bowls. I soak in the silence, taking in all the dust that seems to cover everything. "Officer Grayson-"

"Please call me Dick," he says, interrupting my thoughts.

"Ya, no I'm not going to call you that," I say, abruptly standing up to walk out, feeling really uncomfortable with the direction the conversation is going.

"No, it's not like that, I swe-"

"I will see you at the station whenever you get an update," I say pushing the kitchen door open and heading down the hallway. What grown man tells a young girl to call him dick? What can of suppose uncle tells his niece to call him dick? What the fuck is he trying to do? Is he trying to get me in bed? What the fuck?

"It's my name. Well, my nick name. It's short for Richard, I swear. I'm sorry," he races out, speeding after me in the hallway.

"You need to start leading with that," I say, stopping in my footsteps.

"Ya probably," Richie Rich says, paired with a nervous laugh and a neck rub. "I'm sorry, I'm coming off all kinds of bad way today, huh?"

"A little," I say, glancing around to plan my exit plan. I'm getting real sick of Mr. Fix it. Officer Gray- Dick goes into a rant of an apology, giving me a distraction to sneak away and find my way back to the hallway I'm supposed to be waiting in.

"Y/N?" Richard says, his voice echoing around the hollow house as I step off the last step. Living here might be terrible but it'll defiantly be easy to sneak around.

———————————

"I hate you," I whisper yell at Noah as he drags me up the Wayne Manor stairs.

"Yes, I know but Jason has decided he wants to keep you, so my hands are tied."

"I'm not a fucking dog you get to decide whether you want to keep are not," I say dragging my feet as much as I can as Noah leads me to the door.

"I know you're not, but like I said there's nothing else I can do for you. You have to at least try it out and if shit goes south and I mean south, then I can pull you." Noah drops to his knee, wrapping his hands around my own. I look down at him, taking in his face. I can't tell if he's sad or angry or what. "I know it sucks. I know, but you'll have a full stomach every night, a warm bed to sleep in, and a roof over your head. You'll be living comfortably - necessaries wise at least. You are so close to being legally an adult. Just tough out the Waynes until then okay?"

I sigh, shifting on my feet. "Fine, I'll tough it out. Food from ignorant people is better than no food."

Noah sighs in relief, laying his head against my arms before standing up. "Okay, you got this. You're perfect," he tells me, glancing at me a few times before knocking on the door.

It takes a bit but soon enough the door swings open. It's not the old man from the other day. This time it's - you guessed it - a raven-haired, blue-eyed boy, that looks not much older than me. "Oh, hi," he mumbles, glancing at me before very obviously checking out Noah.

"Hello!" Noah chirps out, clasping his hands around me, probably in fear that I'll run. "Is... uh... Mr. Wayne home?"

"Maybe," the boy says, closing the door some.

"Dumb rich assholes," I mumble, crossing my arms and turning my attention to the bushes. Even the front yard looks obnoxiously expensive.

"Who's at the door?" Comes Richard's voice from inside the building. Grayson soon fills the rest of the frame, the door swung open and the smaller carbon copy of him nuzzled between the officer and the door. "Oh! Y/N, you're back. With no bags..." He says, glancing around to look for nonexistent bags.

"No bags, just the backpack," I say, shifting the backpack around to cause the few things I own to jingle together. "What's up with the mini-you? You pull a Jason Todd?" I tease, pushing Grayson to the side to wiggle myself and Noah into the manor of terror.

"A 'Jason Todd'?" Mini-Me asks, looking up at the older boy.

"Tim, this is Y/N. Jason's... this is Y/N." Richard says, rolling over his words before settling on what he wants to say. "Y/N this is your... Tim is Jason's and my... This is Tim Drake." He is really struggling with his words today.

"Hey," I mumble, taking in the entry way again. I don't think I'm ever going to get over the dumb chandler or the fear it'll snap and crush me. "You're one of my donor's brothers I'm guessing," I say, looking over this Drake guy. I think I've seen him on the cover of vogue before. "Do you think Noah is hot?"

"Y/N!" Noah yelps out, tightening his grasp on me. "Manners please."

"He was so obviously checking you out. I just want to know if he's gay or intimidated," I say, smiling a little at the thought of someone being intimidated by a five-six, hundred- and thirty-pound Noah.

"I'm bisexual, actually," Tim says, a hint of a smile appearing on his face. "And you are very aware of things, it seems."

"Ya well Jason is going to be very aware of my-"

"How about Tim shows you to your room?" Noah pipes up, wrapping his hand around my mouth to cut me off. "Sounds like a lovely idea. I'm going to go talk to Mr. Wayne and then I'll pop by before leaving," he says, answering his own question as he pushes me towards Mini-Me.

Drake glances at me before turning on his heels and heading up the staircase. I follow behind, constantly looking over my shoulder in search for Noah. I am going to be a reck when he leaves me here alone. Once Noah is out of sight, I take in Tim's back as he leads me around the manor. He seems really fit for his age. I mean, Richard is fit but he's also an officer. Are they health nuts? Am I going to get dragged out of bed at five in the morning to go running or some shit?

"This one's yours," he mumbles, coming to a stop without warning, causing me to bump into him. "You good?" Drake asks, glancing down at me as he pushes open the bedroom door.

"I'm fine," I whisper, leaning forward some to look into the room. It makes me gag a bit. What is the problem with rich people being over the top for no reason?

"You can go in," my chaperone says, softly pushing me forward by the small of my back. "It's not going to swallow you whole."

I'm not so sure of that. Who knows what creep has or will happen in this horror house. The room is big, almost as big as the kitchen I saw a couple days ago. Big glass windows reach across most of the wall in front of me. The back yard and the Gotham Lake are in full view. Maybe sometimes having an expensive yard is worth it. There an overstuffed white couch tucked in front of the middle window, empty bookcases towering on other sides of the window. The walls are a marble black color, making all the pink and white in the room stand out in an unbearable way.

On the left, there's huge bed, even bigger than a king size, I think. A pink fluffy bedspread has been laid out on it with matching pink fuzz pillows. The frame of the bed reminds me of a princess bedframe, the kind that you can pull currents around. It does have currents - see through bubble gum pink ones. Three's white nightstands on either side of the bed. The left bedstand has a vase filled with pink camellias, and white lotuses. There's a bowl on the right table, filled with apples, peaches, and plums. Tucked in the corner is a vanity set, separated from the bed by double doors. Once again, the vanity is made with light pink wood and a huge mirror, big enough to see most of myself in it. The seating chair is fuzzy pink just like the bedding.

I step into the room, taking in the rest of it. The right side is just as packed as the left but doesn't seem so from the space the room takes up in the world. A huge flat screen tv takes up a lot of the upper wall. Under the tv is a barn styled table, the middle open but the sides covered with mini versions of barn doors. Just like the rest of the room, this furniture is made with white wood. How am I going to keep all this white looking clean? Set on top of the table is two box looking things. One's a vertical white and black thin box and the other is horizontal black box with an X-ed out circle.

To the left of the TV is another door, but this time it's only a single door. To the right of the screen is a - white - desk with three different sized drawers attached to it. I'm really starting to dislike the color white. One the desk is a sleek black box, thinner than the box sitting on the tv stand. Above the desk is two matching - empty shelves. The wall behind me is bear, nothing on it but the marbled color. Another pink fuzzy chair is sat in front of it.

"It's very... pink," I finally say, nervously glancing around the room as anxiety builds in my chest. The room feels too clean with all the white, making me feel dirty. The white looks terrible against the walls. The pink looks even worse. What the fuck did the Waynes do? Google girl and buy any pink furniture they could find?

"Ya... none of us really know how to buy for a girl. We kind of panicked and bought everything in white and pink," Tim mumbles, stepping into the room too. He's closer to me than I'd like, closer than my anxiety likes. "Once you get settled in and such, we'll have a spray paint party or something. Get everything the color you'd like."

"Okay," I mumble, stepping towards the bed to get away from the guy in this room. My room. The guy in my room. This room is gross. I don't want to live within these four walls. I don't want to live in this building. I'd rather starve on the streets of Gotham than feel like I'm a dirty rat pretending to live a lifestyle like this. "Is it okay if I set my bag down?" I ask, eyeing the bed spread.

"It's your bedroom, you can do whatever you want." Tim says, walking up next to me. There's more room between us this time but it doesn't stop my anxiety from sparking. "What are five things you can see?" He asks, eyes locked on me.

"What?" I ask a bit confused, trying to calm my breathing down as I gently set my bag on the bed sheets. I end up moving it to the floor in fear of ruining the bed spread.

"Just humor me, what are five things you see?" Drake asks again, plopping on the bed, spreading out with his arms over his head and his legs dangling off the edge.

"The red flowers in the garden... and double doors that lead to god knows where... and useless see through curtains... and empty bookshelves... and you, lying on the bed."

"Laying on your bed," Mini-Me corrects, closing his eyes as he stretches his back out. "Close your eyes and tell me four things you can hear."

"I don't want to close my eyes," I say, panic spiking in me.

"You don't have too; it just helps your ears focus."

I think it over for a second before softly closing my eyes, ready to snap them open at any sign of Tim moving. It takes a second for me to calm down enough to focus. "I can hear the floorboards shifting," I answer, falling silent again to find another sound. "I can hear the buzzing of the boxes over there," I continue, nodding towards the tv. "I can hear my heartbeat, and your breathing."

"Three things you can smell?"

I snap my eyes open, glaring down at the rich boy laying in front of me. What's up with these questions? Is he making a joke out of me? Is he trying to train me like the puppy everyone sees me as? I take a few deep breaths, running Noah's words through my head. "I can smell the flowers." Tim hums, continuing to stare at the ceiling. He's not stretching anymore. "I smell old spice, I think?"

"Jason wears old spice cologne," Drake mumbles, leaning up to glance at me before going back to the ceiling.

"And I smell the like woody scent of... well, wood."

Drake hums again before ordering me around again. "Two things you could taste?"

"The fucking apples and peaches in the fruit bowl. Kind of tacky of you guys," I snap out, the words coming out pretty harsh. That's not very 'sticking it out' of me.

"And one thing you can feel?" He asks, sitting up and looking at me. His eyes are filled with curiosity, which ticks me off a bit. I'm not a zoo attraction. Stupid rich people.

I glare at the boy for a bit before glancing down at the bedding. I carefully run my fingers over the fuzz, letting it envelope my fingers in warmth. "This obnoxious bedding."

Tim chuckles a bit, sliding over so his outer thigh is grazing my hand. "I suffer from anxiety too. Checking your environment and vocalizing it tends to fill your head and helps you forget you're going to have a panic attack." He smiles at me, tilting his head some as he looks at me. "What color do you want your furniture?"

"It's fine as is."

"It's not. This is going to be your home - or at least where you'll be staying. Your room is supposed to be your safe space. You can't feel safe if you don't feel comfortable."

I think it over for a second, glancing around the room. "Well, I'd prefer for all the wood things to be black. Maybe change all the seating to something not pink. Maybe red fuzz. Well, not the bedding, or the couch. I like the couch being white," I rush out, looking anywhere but Grayson's Mini-Me.

"What color bedding do you want?" Tim asks me. I can still feel his eyes burning into me but from how soft his words are I don't think he means them to burn.

"I don't know. I just... don't like all the pink or the see through curtains."

"Well, once we get you new bedding, we will find some not see through and not pink curtains to match," Drake hums, standing up next to me. He's really close but this time it doesn't cause my anxiety to spike. "So, the door next to the bed leads to a walk-in closet. There's nothing in their but empty shelves and hangers for now. The door over there," He says, pointing towards the tv wall, "is your bathroom. There's nothing in there yet because we didn't know what kinds of soaps and such you like so when we go out later today, we'll get you that stuff too, okay?"

"Are the towels and curtain pink?" I ask, turning my head towards Mini-Me.

"Bruce wanted to get you pink towels but Alfred, somehow talked him into red ones. We forgot to get you a curtain so no there's no pink in the bathroom," he answers, a big smile on his face. "I'm going to let you look around and get settled, okay? My room is to the right of yours if you need me and to the left is... well Jason is to the left, but Bruce said if that makes you uncomfortable, we can move you to a different room," Tim stumbles over the second half, eyeing me up and down as he pushes the words out.

"It's fine," I say, scouting away from Tim. The idea of being alone and having the chance to air out my thoughts is the only relief I've felt today.

Drake hums again, glancing over me before settling on my eyes. "Just come knock if you need anything, okay? Anything," He repeats, doing another glance over before walking out. The sound of the door closing behind my new roomie fills me with both peace and fear. I'm glad to finally be alone for the first time these past couple of days and also terrified of this big, expensive room and the people that are paired with it. Why couldn't I just be happy with the pink? I'm causing unnecessary waves in a house I don't want to be in, for people I don't want to be around let alone get to know.

———————————

After a couple of hours I'm a little looser. The pink and white are still obnoxious but when Tim checked in on me he assured me that it'll get changed and that there wasn't an issue fixing it. I still feel bad for coming off so ungrateful.

About two or three hours ago Noah left but promised he'd stop by in a couple days to check in on me. Since Noah left the thought of leaving this room has terrified me. I haven't unpacked or even taken off my shoes yet. I'm sitting in the middle of the room, criss-crossed on the dark red carpet, terrified of touching anything in case I mess it up.

Three soft knocks fill the room, quickly followed by a "Lady Todd?"

Lady Todd? What the fuck is that? I'm not a lady. Well... I am technically a lady but what the hell? "Lady Todd? Are you alright? May I enter?" Comes the smooth voice again.

Anxiety claws up my spine and my breath picks up as I quickly stand. Who's at the door? What do they want? Why can't the Waynes just leave me to rut in this room until I turn 18?

Think of things around me. Vocalize my environment. What do I see? "I... I see... um-"

My whispers are cut off by more knocking. This time the knocking lasts longer and is more panicked. "Lady Todd? Lady Todd? Please answer the door," The voice says, a panicked undertone laced in his words.

His panic makes me panic, causing me to freeze in my steps. "I'm coming in, Lady Todd," they say, slowly turning the door knob and pushing my door open. The doorman from the other day pokes his head in, looking around the room before settling his eyes on me. "Are you alright, Lady Todd?" He asks, straightening up before taking a step in the room.

I glance between the older man and the door he left wide open. How hard would it be to push past him and run away? He's an old man so it couldn't be that hard right? "I'm fine," I peep out, shifting my weight between my feet.

"Well that's good, Lady Todd. You had me worried for a second." The old man takes a couple more steps into the room, luckily leaving plenty of room between us still. I see spookily ass black walls. "I didn't mean to cause panic. I just... I've been reestablishing my familiarity with the American Foster System and I read that while in distress of new situations some young adults have... unethical ways to deal with the situation."

A laugh at this statement before I can stop myself. "Are you asking me if I'm suicidal?" I mange to squeeze out between laughs.

"Well... I suppose so," the old man says, glancing to the side before looking at me again. "Master Drake has informed me of your... overwhelm-ness earlier today."

"Well don't worry old timer. If I decide to die I wouldn't do it in the house. Wouldn't want to ruin the carpets, you know?"

A small smile crosses his wrinkly face but pity is still very evident in his eyes. "Your consideration is appreciated Lady Todd, but please don't harm yourself." I hum in response, crossing my arms and glancing around the room. "I've made a pot of tea for Master Drake - it helps with his anxiety. Would you like a cup?"

"I'm not a big tea drinker."

"Perhaps hot cocoa then? And maybe a sandwich. You've had a long day, I'm sure you're hungry."

I think about it for a second. The promise of food and the hunger that's been rattling around my stomach overrides the fear of leaving the room I've been planted in all day. "I could go for a sandwich, I guess," I mumble, shoving my hands into my pockets and shifting my weight again.

"Well then I'll show you the way to the kitchen, My Lady," the man says, turning on his heels and heading out of the room.

I fall behind, making sure to keep a few paces between us. "So Lord-" I start, a bit confused as the word tumbles out.

"Alfred, just Alfred," he says, glancing over his shoulder at me.

"Well why are you 'just Alfred' and I'm not 'just Y/N'?"

"Since you're so directly related to Master Wayne, you inherit his title along with being in line to inherit the Wayne family properties, and the fortune too, of course. If you want to get technical, since you are the only lady of the manor - and family line - you're mistress of the house but I think lady is better suited for your age."

I roll the words over in my head, a bit stunned. I thought Alfred was being nice, not that it was an actual title that I supposedly have. "So like what happens if one of Bruce's other sons have a girl? Would I lose my title of 'mistress'?" I ask, carefully watching Alfred as he props the kitchen door open for me.

"At the moment the only way you would lose your title and simply be a lady of the manor is if Master Wayne married. Down the line, upon Master Wayne's passing, Master Grayson would become the Master of the manor and once again, you'd only lose your title upon him getting married."

"So like it's an age thing that only gets over ridden my marriage?" I ask, walking through the door and being met with the semi-familiar uncomfortably sized kitchen.

"Pretty much so," Alfred says, letting the door swing shut behind him. "Please take a seat."

I obey, sliding into one of the stools sat in front of the coffee island. "So let's say in a bazaar turn of events Grayson gets married tomorrow, then would I lose my title?"

"You would not since Master Wayne is still the head of the house. So, if for whatever reason Master Grayson gets married tomorrow, you would not drop down to just a lady of the house until Master Wayne dies and Master Grayson becomes head of the manor."

"Oh," I whisper, watching as Alfred starts pulling out stuff to make my sandwich. "I can make it myself."

"Absolutely not. You are a lady of the house. It's mine - along with the Masters' - job to ensure you're needs are fulfilled and that you're every beckon call is answered," Alfred says, a bit of a huff following his words.

"My every beckon call?"

"Every beck and call," He repeats, opening the fridge and looking around.

"Say I want, I don't know, 50 blue feathers at three in the morning?"

"Then me or one of the Masters would go find 50 blue feathers. What kind of sandwich would you like Lady Todd?"

"I don't care what kind," I mumble, looking over the older man. This is insane. I'm suppose to believe that ever man in this house's sole purpose is to serve me? What kind of backwards ass sexist shit is that? "Isn't that like the opposite of the world?" I finally ask, watching as Alfred carefully crafts my food.

"I suppose so. The Wayne Masters have always believed the only people superior to themselves are the ladies of the house. After all, without the ladies of the manor none of them would be here. Blind obedience and love for women of the bloodline is something Master Wayne - and his father before him - live their lives by."

"Live their lives by?" I ask, watching the maid - maybe? - place my plate in front of me.

"Yes, Bruce's father never made a single decision without the permission of his wife, whether it be what socks to wear or to sign a new business partner."

"I don't want to make those decisions," I say, my anxiety spiking up again as I bite into my sandwich.

Alfred chuckles a little before starting to clean up the left out sandwich supplies. "Well since you're the granddaughter of the head of the manor and not the wife your role will be quite a bit different."

"How so?" I ask between bites. I didn't realize how hungry I actually am until I started eating which is a bit depressing if I think too much about it.

"Well, you'd be more of an advisor than anything else. Someone to bounce thoughts off of," Alfred tells me, glancing at my plate before opening a few cabinets. “If I’m honest with you Lady Todd, with three uncles and your father being ahead of you in the inheritance line, you’ll probably spend your life being pampered and getting to do as you please with your life.”

“No one gets to truly do what they want,” I answer back, my tone a little snippy.

“You do,” Alfred says, opening a bag of chips and dumping some on my plate. “You come from a family with unlimited resources to everything in the world. A family who’s blood line’s whole purpose it to serve you in anyway you want. Nothing is impossible when it comes to you.”

I eye the grandpa standing in front of me, his face suddenly so hard. I mentally roll my eyes, picking at the chips on my plate. “So if I tell Bruce I want to go on a date with Kid Flash he’d just make it happen?”

“Of course, though I’m sure Master Grayson wouldn’t be too thrilled about that.” What the fuck is that supposed to mean? This guy really wants me to believe that Bruce Wayne knows kid flash? I’m stuck in a house full of weirdos with service kinks.

“Pennyworth? Is Todd’s girl here yet?” A voice comes from outside the kitchen door. Following the words, the door is quickly pushed open. A smaller version of Drake stands in the door way. Mini-Me’s mini-me doesn’t have blue eyes though, he has green eyes. What the fuck is up with Wayne’s obsession with mean mugged raven-haired boys? “Oh, hello Todd.” I should have ran when I had the chance.

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#dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #redhood #tim drake #red robin #damian wayne #dc robin #dc oneshot #dc comics #bruce wayne #batman

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misterewrites · 1 year

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The Grounded Detective (In Hope’s Shadow)

Hi there! E here with a new story idea and project cuz I have problems and my friends @disney-n-stuff and @hains-mae keep enabling me! It’s about time i use this blog for the original purpose haha

So this is In Hope's Shadow, supernatural gothic horror mysteries and such. Honestly it was more ideas i couldn't fit in to the other stories and my friends were like "Juuuuust make it a stand alone adventure!" and I'm like "This is why I can't have ideas."

So set a few decades after Welcome to the Underground! and waaaaaay before Mirror's Edge (which is several thousand years in the future set in a present day style) We tackle a new place, new characters and more usual E insanity.

In case you haven't heard i had laptop troubles and basically the company went "We didn't see anything wrong here!" and I'm like no still not working right so I'm gonna fight it but in the meantime I got another computer i can borrow so at the least there's that. I am going to try to update often but since the laptop belongs to someone else, they're gonna need to use it from time to time *obviously*

Some set up: We're in Nightveil Valley, a quaint forest where vampires, werewolves, zombies, spirits and all sorts of supernatural creatures call this place home. Most people are left to fend for themselves outside the protective safety of the three walled cities of Northbrook, Stonemire and Hope's Landing (ahhh). This story is a slightly darker hue, taking cues from good old mysteries both regular and the murderous kind and general gothic horror ascetics (Sleepy Hollow, Innistrad for you magic players, Dracula etc etc) but not so much more darker than my usual stuff.

Our two heroes are Rozalin Eloise, a twenty something detective well versed in crimes of the human variety but lacking supernatural experience and Rictavio Frye, a very idealistic, freeform monster hunter who gets caught up in the moment.

That's it for me. I hope you all have a great time reading it, it was fun to write. Dunno how often this will get updated but I say that all the time haha. Be safe, stay safe, take care of yourself and your loved ones. Get the booster for the love of god. It's not over as much as I wish it is and it's better to have protection than to play the odds. and keep the more vulnerable members of society safe. Take a moment to just exist and just be. have fun. keep your spirits up! you need it even if it's not this humble little story. But hey if you like it leave a comment, pass to your friends, reblog. Every bit helps and I appreciate it all.

E is out for now! have a great week and be safe ya'll! stay sane! next update is probably Mirror's Edge

If you wanna read my other work which includes some Red Hood X reader, Legend of Zelda, Soul Eater, Legend of Korra and others you can find my work right over here

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/pseuds/MrE42

Have a good one ya’ll!

Summary: Within a valley nestled in the shadow of two mountains where supernatural creatures lurk around every corner, dark mysterious forces conspire to consume the region for a malicious purpose. Far beyond than the usual cloak and dagger plot, it falls to a grounded detective and a dreaming monster hunter to prevent calamity. Can they find what hides in the shadow of hope?(Set in between Welcome to the Underground! and Mirror's edge cuz i have problems)

-----

“The murderer is the Count himself.”

The crowd responded much as it always did by descending into various emotional states: Shock, disbelief, even outrage and the odd nod of agreement snuck in among the faces. People whispered to one another in conspiratorial tones despite the fact everyone present was doing the same thus defeating the point. All eyes fell on Count Decan Marshall the accused and herself the accuser.

One would think that after a few years of detective work one would be used to this level of attention but Rozalin could never get her head around it.

Decan, an older gentleman growing closer to his fifties every second, chuckled darkly “Miss Eloise I admire your dedication to your hobby but perhaps your pretty little head has taken it a step too far.”

“Nonsense.” Rozalin answered calmly “That was prelude. Now I shall take it several steps too far.”

Outwardly Rozalin’s face was the picture of stony of indifference but inward she fumed.

Pretty faces did not make pretty minds it seemed.

Mid-twenties with several highly prolific cases under her belt and a model citizen of Hope’s Landing did nothing to diminish her features. Perhaps it was natural given she was the daughter of an elegant noble lady who was the definition of poise and refinement and a charming yet impishly playful bard. Both mother and father passed their good looks to her but she found it more a hinderance than anything else: Green eyes vibrant as forest leaves, cute button nose and freckles splashed across her cheeks. Her brown hair was tastefully cut short and curled (More out of habit than anything) with a white streak on one side. She purposely chose practical clothing in hopes it would help curve the biased towards her appearance but the white collared shirt tucked into a dark blue vest covered by a matching coat and ankle length black dress skirt with hiking boots did nothing but add to her attractiveness evidently.

At least she wisely decided to use her middle name Eloise instead of her family’s last name. If word gotten out who she really was she’d lose even more respect.

She was no songbird, she was a hunter and it was time to trap her prey.

The Count’s face broke into a rageful snarl “You dare to accuse me of murdering my wife?”

“No.” Rozalin replied simply “You dare to deny it. I am simply revealing what you wish to keep hidden.

“I have nothing to hide!”

Rozalin picked at the nonexistent dirt in her fingernails “You don’t hide many things. Your affairs for one and the fact you’ve been using your company’s finances as your own personal bank.”

Decan’s faced contorted clearly appalled but Rozalin continued without paying him any mind “You threw this lavish party yet last I checked your business was in the red. You recently laid off 30 workers under the pretense of lessened profits this last quarter.”

“Your point?” Decan asked with barely contained venom.

“Your suit” Rozalin gestured professionally “Brand new. No discoloration from use, not a single thread frayed. A Burkes and Habberdash original and those are only made custom order.”

Decan struggled to keep his temper in check “Perhaps I haven’t had the right occasion to wear such fine clothing until tonight.”

“Possible but improbable. You are aware each outfit Burkes and Habberdash make has a unique numbering tag hidden within the right sleeve?” She motioned to her right arm “For patch jobs. Each uniquely tailored piece of clothing requires unique touches for the person who ordered them should the clothing be damaged from use or age. The price of individualism is having no one to hide behind.”

“Fine! I bought it today! What does that even prove?”

Rozalin’s smile widened mischievously “That you are a liar. And the charming young lady who made her abrupt exit from the premises will further prove that. I suppose she pushed for you to leave your wife. Again.”

“N-no. Nothing of the sort.” Decan spoke quickly, eyes darting back and forth to see if anyone was believing what was said “Just a disagreement between friends is all.”

Rozalin clicked her tongue thoughtfully “Oh. I’m sure she would be relieved to hear that. I’m sure she has a friend or two here willing to pass the message along to her.” She leaned in closer “So there’s no misunderstanding of course.”

Decan’s face paled, the rage draining out of him gloriously “I…yes. Yes of course. No need to muddy the waters anymore. Now if you would please…”

“Proceed?” Rozalin cut in expertly “As you wish. Let’s go over the basics.”

She took center stage for her grand performance. She glided effortlessly across the smooth marble tile, putting distance between herself and the Count as everyone waited for the final act.

Rozalin drew in a deep breath “Roughly two hours ago Mrs. Marshall was found murdered in The Count’s study, time of death unknown but no doubt at some point during the party. The loud noise and constant distractions made it ideal to help conceal any noise that may have been made if she had fought back. First point of interest is that she did not.”

Rozalin expertly pivoted to address the crowd “For such a violent, horrendous act the crime scene was rather neat. Clean even. Books stacked away in an orderly fashion, chairs and stools pulled to the far wall as not to obstruct walking. Not one single piece of paper on the desk she lay. It’s odd no?”

“That my mother raised me properly?” Decan sneered.

“No though I suspect she may have some words about you bedding women not your wife. I was told by the staff you were working in your study. Before the party started correct?”

“Yes…” Decan narrowed his eyes suspiciously “Working on some last minute business deals: Operations finances, reallocating resources, proposals. That sort of thing. But!” he added hurriedly “My wife was seen about finishing party preparations! Never in my study.”

“True.”

Decan gave a victorious grin.

“But outside it is a different matter entirely.”

Decan’s face darkened at the implications.

Rozalin continued with her explanation “Someone saw her knock on your door to inform you of a development with the party. I won’t say who in case you wish to retaliate but they mentioned you rushed out with your work laid out all over your desk. You failed to return before the party proper started.”

“I. Well. One of the servants must’ve cleaned it for me. One of my servants who work for me. It’s only natural they pick up after me that’s what I pay them for.” Decan tried to speak calmly but it was clear the Count was riled up.

Rozalin made a show of frowning thoughtfully “But they were told to never touch your study. You get rather crossed when they move a single thing out of place.” She snapped her fingers dramatically “I believe it is actually part of your policy. Express rules you enforce heavily.”

The detective resisted eyerolling at the sudden gasp emanating from the crowd.

“I still don’t see how that proves anything.” Decan fumed.

“How did your room get clean I wonder? Perhaps during a heated debate between yourself and your wife mid-party.”

Decan remained silent, his glare deathly.

Rozalin pressed the offensive “She liked to keep busy when she was upset. Cooking, cleaning. I bet she didn’t mind working the stables if it meant keeping her mind off your spats.”

“Now hold on a…” but Rozalin pushed on, too caught up in her thought process to be stopped now.

“She saw you talking to the young woman who stormed out. Young, beautiful and, of course, interested. This wasn’t the first time you faltered but I’m willing to bet this was going to be the last. She confronted you.”

“Watch your step.” Decan threatened openly but Rozalin was no stranger to idly threats from the desperate.

Rozalin’s face scrunched in righteous fury “Upset, she starts tidying up your study. All the while calling you out for your unfaithful nature. Again she says. You did it again. Time and time and time again. And each time she forgave you, tried to make it work…”

Decan growled “Stop or else I’ll…”

“Kill me?” Rozalin taunted with a knowing smirk “I’m not your poor wife. Back turned and unsuspecting the danger she was in or you with your waiting to plunge the knife into her. She knew you were a rotten soul but even she did not assume you were capable of ending a life. Sadly the first one you decided to take was hers.”

Decan lost it, bellowing with unrestrained fury “WHERE IS YOUR PROOF? All you’ve done is spin a fantastical and scandalous tale. You have nothing. YOU ARE NOTHING.”

“Wrong.” Rozalin shot back cooly “I am a detective and I have one last question.”

“ENOUGH! GUARDS!”

She gave an impish smile “When did you get that cut in your fancy suit?”

Decan stopped, shock overtaking anger “I-I…what?”

“That is a new suit.” Rozalin emphasized as she creeped closer “You said so yourself that you bought it today. All nice and clean with not a single frayed stitch loose. I did neglect to mention torn which it is. Right there on the left side.”

She gestured to the coat he wore. Sure enough there was a faint tear in the clothing and staining the fabric was dried blood.

Rozalin beamed cheerfully “Must’ve happened when you leapt out the window. Smart idea not throwing your body through it first but glass cuts sharp regardless how you chose to go through it. No one to hide behind mister special.”

Decan remained silent only for a moment. He let out a spiteful roar without warning and charged directly for the detective.

“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!” He snarled, hands outstretched with murderous intent.

Rozalin saw this coming: She took a step to the side, avoiding the madman’s grasp. Before he could turn around, she placed her hand on the back of his head and pushed downward with a mighty shove. Losing his balance Decan fell face first onto the floor, scraping his chin against the smooth tile. He whirled about only to find a boot connecting directly to his face. Tumbling backwards, he laid sprawled on the ground as fading adrenaline left him weak and drained.

Rozalin stood triumphantly above her defeated foe “Unfortunately for you my parents remember how many people would hound my mother incessantly. They made sure I was well prepared to ensure I did not deal with the same issue.”

The police, whom she had called earlier, finally broke through the spellbound crowd and began taking control of the situation: they helped funnel the partygoers outside, ensure the perpetrator was restrained and began to secure the area.

Case closed with nothing left to be done.

Or so Rozalin thought.

-----

The peacekeepers had just taken Decan outside when a loud commotion rang out from the upper floor landing. It sounded like raised voices and scraping of metal against everything.

“Strange.” Rozalin tilted her head curiously as she turned to face the nearest constable “I thought you had cleared the manor of party guests?”

The constable glanced uneasily towards the noise “I….was under the impression of the same thing.”

Before either could inquire further, a body flung itself over the second floor railing and went into a free fall. The figure landed on their feet effortlessly and cracked the fancy tile beneath as if they carried an impossible weight. They whirled around towards Rozalin and the officer with fangs bared as blood drenched their elegant clothing.

“v-v-v-va-v-v..” The constable stammered uncontrollably while Rozalin drew a dagger from within her coat, the only weapon the guards has missed when they checked her at the door.

“Yes a vampire.” Rozalin lightly scolded as she placed herself in between the petrified keeper of the peace and the supernatural predator before them “I thought you were practiced in dealing with supernatural threats?”

The constable stammered nervously “Y-yeah but no one ever uses them! Supernatural threats for the Moonlight Guard to deal with, not us!”

Rozalin rolled her eyes “Be sure to let him know that. If you aren’t going to function please make your escape from the vicinity. I have little experience in dealing with such supernatural threats and cannot promise your safety.”

“Da!” A new voice called from where the vampire had fallen “Over the railing!”

Rozalin could hear hurried yet steady footsteps approach as a older voice answered “Aye son, up and over!”

And up and over someone did, hopping over the railing which more grace and finesse than the vampire. Rather than landing on his feet, however, the older gentleman dove headfirst and tucked into a roll, using his momentum to safely rise to his feet.

“This is going to be a long night.” Rozalin mused to herself as she took notice of the weapons in the famous monster hunter Julius Frye’s hands.

#Original Work #my work #original story #In Hope's Shadow

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