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multifandomslxt · 1 year

Text

BLACK ROSES Pt.6

Pairing: Mafia!Lee Jeno x Florist!Reader

Trope: Grumpy x sunshine

Genre: Dark Mafia Romance

Word count: 1.2k

Synopsis:

Lee Jeno is a dangerous man. From going on k!lling sprees for fun to torturing and k!lling his own father. He does it all. In short Lee Jeno is the devil.

Y/N is a florist. She's as pure as they come. Nothing exciting ever happens in her life and she’s okay with that. In short Y/N is an angel.

He was bad and she was good. They were complete opposites.

…Or so they thought

Get your tissues for this one. It's gonna be one hell of a ride

Warnings for this chapter: HEAVY TRAUMA, ABUSE, INAPPROPRIATE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN PEOPLE. etc.

*((((A/N: words in bold are her conscience and words spoken in Korean are in italics ))))*

taglist: @scuzmunkie @devinitysann @luvrboyjeno

@painted-hills @mings-cafe @dreamie-jisung

DM ME IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED<;33

There is no FLOWER OF THE DAY for this chapter. Instead, a riddle shall take its place to prepare you for the things you are about to face.

RIDDLE OF THE DAY: “I am fear, and I am pain, I am the sorrow on your face. I am the burden you carry and the future you brace. But I am the friend whose hand you shall take.”

Once upon a time in a small town, there lived two siblings. An older brother and his sister. They were raised in a loving family, but as they grew older, it became apparent that, the brother, had developed a disturbing and unpredictable behaviour.

His behaviour became increasingly erratic and unsettling as time went on. He would often exhibit signs of paranoia, believing that he was constantly being watched and that everyone around him was conspiring against him. He would lash out in fits of anger and aggression, causing harm to himself and others.

The younger sister was deeply concerned about her brother’s well-being and the impact his actions had on their family. She tirelessly sought help, consulting various doctors and psychiatrists, but finding a solution proved to be challenging.

The younger sister, torn between her love for her brother and the need to protect herself and their family, faced an immense emotional burden. She grappled with feelings of guilt, wondering if there was more, she could have done to prevent her brother’s descent into psychosis.

As the years passed, her brother’s condition worsened. He became increasingly disconnected from reality, living in a constant state of fear and anxiety. His once-promising future turned bleak as he struggled to maintain relationships, hold down a job, or pursue any semblance of a normal life.

After the brother’s diagnosis the family was torn to shreds. The father became a drunkard, the mother, crippled by her guilt sat and did nothing all day and the brother was well…psychotic.

That left the younger sister. Neglected and later…abused.

Despite the hardships, the younger sister never gave up on her family especially her brother. She tried to be their pillar of support, offering a listening ear and a shoulder to lean on. Even though her skin would always end up bruised and her bones broken. She advocated tirelessly for her family’s mental health subsequently forgetting her own.

However, the sister’s unwavering love and determination eventually led them to a breakthrough. Through a combination of therapy (Allowing her body to be used as a punching bag), medication (drugs and alcohol), and a supportive network of professionals (the police who were often called as the neighbors grew concerned about the bruises on her skin), The brother began to stabilize.

While his recovery was slow and not without its setbacks, The brother gradually regained some sense of normalcy. With time, he was able to rebuild trust with his family- mostly his sister- and reintegrate into society, albeit with ongoing support and understanding.

The sister’s devotion and resilience had played a pivotal role in her brother’s healing process. The bond between the two grew even stronger as they faced and overcame the immense challenges together. Or so she thought.

“Mom and Dad are dead”.

Two months after the brother’s recovery the siblings’ parents had died.

No cause of death

No weapon.

Not even the bodies were left.

Just the wedding rings covered in their blood.

The words ‘A love as peaceful as a dove’ were engraved in their parents’ rings.

The sister grew depressed and just as she was there for him, her brother was there for her.

He didn’t cry at the news or the loss.

She thought he was strong and brave.

She adored him.

Pity, the brother would think.

His little sister didn’t know that he had simply become better at hiding his crazy.

Even before his descent into madness the brother was always known to be cruel, dishonest, aggressive, selfish, and manipulative to everyone but his little sister.

He loved her dearly.

‘Dove’ he would call her as she was known for her kind heart, intelligence, and a creative spirit that set her apart from others.

He loved her like a brother should love his sister.

Or…he wanted to…

Unfortunately, fate had an unexpected twist in store for him, for it led him down a path of forbidden love that would test his sanity.

A test that he would fail.

Every night after their parents died the brother would lie in room and think about his 'dove'.

In the very next room, was his sister and the love of his life.

He knew that she didn’t love him the way he loved her.

And even though she would resent him for the things he planned to do, now that their parents weren’t here…he decided he had to have her.

By will or by force.

Every night after his decision he went into her room.

And every night His sister lost a piece of her innocence.

Unfortunately, by force.

She would fight him.

She would scream.

She would cry.

Yet in his eyes she was just being a brat.

‘Dove’ He would call after her smiling as he pinned her hands above her head ‘Don’t try to run from me’.

Before the sister knew it, she had spent her days trapped in a home filled with fear and pain, enduring the relentless abuse inflicted upon her by her own family.

She became desperate for a chance at freedom, she made a brave decision to escape and forge her own path.

One moonlit night, as the stars twinkled overhead, she gathered her strength and resolve. With a small bag containing her most cherished belongings - a dog-eared book her mother loved and her savings of 200 dollars- she tiptoed out of her room, careful not to make a sound that might alert her tormentor. Every creak of the floorboards echoed like a symphony of trepidation, but she knew that the risk of staying was far greater than the fear of leaving.

Her heart pounding, she slipped out into the night, guided only by the light of the moon. And the scent of roses from the neighbouring houses

Oh, how she loved roses.

She ventured into the unknown, her footsteps carrying her away from the place she had once called home. Fear and uncertainty gripped her, but the glimmer of hope illuminated her path.

As she walked, she encountered a kind stranger who offered her a job and shelter.

The stranger recognized the pain in her eyes and extended their compassion and support. With their help, she found temporary refuge and a respite from the horrors she had endured.

But she knew that her journey was far from over. She needed to find a place where she could heal and build a life free from the shackles of abuse.

With determination etched on her face, she pursued education and learned new skills, determined to create a better future for herself.

As time passed, she flourished. She pursued her passions, - working with flowers and learning all about them- embracing the power of her voice and using it to advocate for others and herself.

However, as new as she tried to make her life out to be…she knew that one day, her brother would find her.

With fear living in her heart, she decided that she would not give herself to any man. She feared that they would take advantage of her like her brother did.

However, she met someone.

He made her feel things.

He made her do things she never thought she would.

He was a dangerous man who ironically, made her feel safe from danger.

He was her safe heaven.

And he called her ‘Flower’.

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dollslayer · 3 years

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Fight or Flight

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve comes clean, in the aftermath and shock you turn to the one person who you know you can trust.

W/C: 2,369

Warnings: Implied cheating, angst, swearing

A/N: Hello! I wrote this for @sweetlyscared 's 1k celebration (congrats, it's well deserved!), prompt is in bold. I'm still pretty new to writing and this is my first true Angst fic so any and all reblogs/comments are super appreciated! Please check out my other stuff if you liked this fic!! Cheers!

PART TWO I Masterlist

____

The feeling of everything crashing around you was slow. Like your world was moving in slow motion as you processed the words. Everything else he was saying became distorted, going to waste as he tried desperately to explain himself to you. All you could hear clearly was your own breathing while you tried to will yourself to do something, anything.

Fight or flight is a funny thing, you were always so feisty and eager to fight back, A Bulldog, Steve had affectionately called you. But when he told you he was in love with someone else, that he has been in love with someone else for months, your body couldn’t find anything in it but to walk away.

Your breathing picked up and your eyes searched the ground, refusing to meet his. You felt your legs raise you up to stand and start walking away, unsure of your destination. When you pivoted to leave the room your eyes met his briefly, staring emotionlessly as his desperately searched for anything at all in yours.

“Where are you going? Doll, please, can we talk about this? I’m, I’m so sorry I-”

Whatever else he was saying wasn’t heard over the noise of opening the door and shutting it behind you. You didn’t know where you were going or what you were feeling other than the obvious. You were in a state of shock, it’s one thing to hear awful news and another to understand that it’s true but you were fastly approaching that truth head-on.

You paused for a moment in the hall and heard no movement come after you. You almost let yourself be surprised but he’d admitted he gave up on you a long time ago, so it only makes sense he wouldn’t fight your exit. You kept walking and tried to hold the floodgates of your heart closed for a bit longer.

Flashes of what was said come back to you slowly as reality sets in. “I can’t put this off any longer. I want you to know that I will always love you, but there’s someone else.”

Your head hurt like it would as if you were already crying, the blood pumping in your ears and pressure building in your temples that would no doubt evoke a long-standing headache. Your face felt hot as you stepped into the elevator, maybe you’d go for a walk in an attempt to fend off your tears. Or maybe you’d walk to a safer place to have an emotional breakdown. Whichever is easier.

Brisk gusts of air greet you as you exit the building, making you realize you left your jacket on the arm of the couch. You took a second to evaluate yourself and noticed you’d also walked out in your house slippers and a thin pair of leggings. Trying to evade the cold you tucked yourself in the doorway of a bodega down the street and dialed Bucky.

Two rings and he picked up.

“Hello?”

“Did you know?”

The silence on the line only reminds you of the blood pumping in your ears. The silence tells you everything you needed to know.

“Liste-”

You hang up.

You’re breathing even harder now. Who else knew? For how long? How long was I the joke? You need to find somewhere else to be soon or all these strangers are going to get an eyeful of a grown woman sobbing. You dial the last number you’d expect to at a time like this.

“What’s happening, shortstack?”

You can hear Tony’s grin through the phone and his easy greeting gives you momentary comfort.

“Can I come over? Something happened.”

“I’ll let Jarvis know to let you in” Tony’s tone is understanding, not needing you to explain further, just letting you know you can come to him.

____

Tony’s only seven blocks from yours and Steve’s shared apartment, a fact you’re grateful for when you feel your feet aching every time they hit the pavement. The conversation replays in your head, you try to word what happened in your head and your anger starts overtaking the heartbreak. It’s almost a welcome reprieve from the settling heartbreak but you’re not sure if you’d rather be numb to it completely.

When the elevator doors open Tony’s waiting for you with two tumblers of scotch in hand. You shake your head and move past him to the couch. He joins you on the opposite armchair and sets both his elbows down on his spread knees, resting his face in his hands.

“Would you like to talk about it or not talk about it?” He asks with a sigh.

You don’t make eye contact with him so you don’t cry, choosing to focus on the Iron Man coffee table book you’d gotten as a gag gift for Tony all those Christmases ago. It almost distracts you enough to laugh, the fact that he just has it out. But you need to tell someone what happened and get it all out before you can let yourself feel it all.

“Steveisinlovewithsomeoneelse,” You rushed it all out in one breath afraid if you didn’t get it out fast enough that you’d break. “He has been for months. He said he doesn’t know when it all changed but when he was with her things just clicked,” you paused to collect yourself, “But don’t worry, I’ll always hold a special place in his heart and he hopes this won’t affect the future of the team or our friendship.”

“Oh, and he’s really sorry.” you added.

You laughed bitterly and shook your head in disbelief. His delivery had been so cold but so sincere, very to the point but pained in its delivery. “I just, whatever we had, it’s just gone. Things are just different now, with her, this kills me though, please believe me. You’re still really special to me.” Bullshit. Special enough to act as a placeholder until someone better comes, special enough to cast aside.

You’re broken momentarily from your spiral into anger by the sound of a glass hitting a coaster a little too hard. Looking up, you find Tony quietly seething. He and Steve aren’t close by any means so you figured that he wouldn’t have known, it’s why you called him over anyone else.

He moves slowly to your side on the couch and pulls you into his side. You can smell his aftershave and what you think might be burned grease from one of the many things he’s been tinkering with in the lab, it smells like him, like comfort.

“That fucking asshole. Unbelievable, I don’t even…” He leaves the thought unfinished.

His hands move up and down your arms in a soothing motion and you finally let yourself have it. You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel the tears wet his shirt when you bury your face in. You sniffle up tears and snot when your face heats up.

There’s no way to know how long Tony lets you sob into him, no doubt ruining his vintage Depeche Mode shirt. Somewhere in the back of your mind you make a mental note to buy him a new one later. But for now you’ll just allow yourself to cry and you can deal with the world in the morning.

____

Tony lets you fall asleep on his chest, feeling somewhere between furious and heartbroken by proxy. He thinks about letting you sleep and giving Steve a piece of his mind but figures that’s not what you need right now. Your phone sits on the table and he touches the screen to check the time. No notifications on your homescreen except for a missed call from Bucky and an old photo of Steve making a funny face as your background.

Had Steve not even tried to call you? Had he not even tried to go after you? Why was Bucky of all people the only one to be trying to get a hold of you? Prick.

Selfishly Tony is glad that he has a good reason to be rude to Steve now, he has to admit. You two had always been close but when you and Steve started dating he saw less and less of you. He couldn’t fault you for it though, you were so in love with Steve and you knew that the relationship between the two of them was strained so you kept your distance a bit.

He thought of all the sacrifices you’d made for Steve. You gave up your childhood home in the Bronx that your parents had willed to you to move in with him because he wanted you to be closer to the tower. You gave up a promotion and transfer to DC when you were still just an agent, granted you were an avenger now but it doesn’t matter, he’d made a very big deal out of you turning it down. You gave up the friendship the two of you had.

It was incredible, really. How much you had done for him only for him to turn around and love someone else behind your back. Brave enough to fight aliens and terrorists but too cowardly to break up with you and leave you with some dignity. Did anyone else know about this?

Tony had to stop himself from getting too angry, afraid he’d wake you up. So instead he went back to plotting up schematics for the half-finished suit mod he’d been in the middle of when you called.

____

It’s been a week and you still haven’t properly talked to Steve. After two days on Tony’s couch you need to look at things from a logical stance. Where am I going to stay? It’s not like you had your parent’s place anymore and you didn’t want to sign a new lease on an apartment. You could always move into the tower but that meant a higher chance of running into Steve.

You were thinking about all of this out loud to Tony when he offered you the guest bedroom in his penthouse. You were shocked, he’s always been a generous man but after you drifted apart from him you were surprised he even let you stay these past few days. Maybe now was a good time to rebuild your friendship with him and have some space from work.

What’s work going to be like? You agree and go on a temporary leave from the team, just a month to collect yourself. If you really wanted to you could go back but the thought of seeing everyone that knew about Steve’s affair was humiliating and enraging in one go.

It turns out Sam had been playing therapist to Steve in all of this, Nat figured it out through some sleuthing, and Wanda had inadvertently heard his thoughts about her. And none of them thought to tell you? To save you from the anguish but to let it fester? Steve wasn’t the only one that betrayed you. They all had.

What will I say to him? Should I say anything to him? Turns out the answer was ‘nothing’. You texted him to let him know you were moving out and you’d be by to get your things as a courtesy. You walked into an empty apartment and you were almost relieved.

He’d chosen to not be here but he’d left you a letter on the kitchen counter next to a framed photo of the two of you on vacation last year. You scoff but don’t touch the letter. Every ounce of restraint you have is being used as you leave it untouched. But you don’t need to know what excuses or apologies he has on deck, nothing he could say would exonerate him of his wrong-doings. You had no intentions of speaking to him but secretly you hoped he suffered as he stewed in his guilt and inner-turmoil. He deserves to.

When you pack you leave every gift he ever gave you, taking only what you’d brought with you in the first place. You take one look at the unmade bed and almost go to make it out of habit but then you think of the two of them there together. All the long missions you went on without him, all the times you stayed late at work or went out with your friends. How many times had he been here with her while you were there?

You end up only leaving with two suitcases and a backpack full of things. Tony waits for you in the lobby, understanding you wanted your space when you went to get your things in case Steve was there.

The elevator doors open to him taking a selfie with a couple of fans and shaking hands. He’s all too happy to be recognized but when he sees you his eyes soften. Not out of pity, but fondness, like he’s proud of you for getting out.

He sends you a questioning look with a silent question. Are you okay?

You smile at him and for the first time in days it’s a genuine, non-placating, happy-to-see-you smile. It’s okay, I’ll be okay.

He takes one of your suitcases from you and helps you load them into the back of the car before opening the door for you. The drive back to Tony’s is silent but comfortable. The trust you have in each other is strong and unspoken. Something you’ve always been grateful for between the two of you.

He doesn’t ask you about Steve or what happened, always letting you come to him first, which you appreciate. And when you talk he just listens. No bullshit unsolicited advice about moving on or how everything happens for a reason or getting back out there, just listens.

You know the road ahead is long and it will be difficult, but you have someone in your corner and the knowledge that what happened isn’t your fault and that you’re a badass and fuck Steve Rogers and fuck anyone else that did you wrong in all of this. Maybe you’ll forgive them someday but for now you’re gonna focus on you and work on building yourself back up. You’re ready for the ups and downs, you’re ready to fight.

#sweetlysad1kchallenge #steve rogers x reader #tony stark & reader #steve rogers angst #angst #implied cheating #marvel fic #marvel au #marvel x reader

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firefly464 · 4 years

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The Real World - Chapter 2

Apparently people liked the last one so Imma continue it :D

Again, the original idea was from @i-have-this-now

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~~~

Tommy sat on top of the destroyed van, staring at a sword in his lap. His head was spinning violently, and it took all his energy to keep from falling onto the ground below.

Several days had passed since he had initially woken up from his injury. Several boring, uneventful days. Sure, people had come to visit him, but they were all busy trying to rebuild from the war. He had felt so useless just laying there, unable to get up and help. He wanted to go and figure out what was going on, not lay in bed.

And so he had done the one thing he could think of. He had raided the van for every health potion he could find and drank them all. After all, Wilbur had told him to drink a potion every day to help heal his wound. Apparently there was a good reason for the slow process. As it turned out, even drinking a single health potion was enough to make one feel slightly woozy. Drinking 5 was enough to make him incredibly nauseous. Sure, it had healed his wound from the arrow, but it had also made him feel miserable.

He shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his brain. Honestly, what was the point of being able to walk around if he couldn’t even think straight? God, Wilbur was going to kill him.

He watched as his friends went around, trying to rebuild L’manberg. It wasn’t very big, but the damage caused by the war was immense. The entrance was nothing more than a pile of rubble. Surrounding it were massive craters, as if it were blown to bits. He shook his head again, remembering exactly what had happened for it to become like that. The way that Dream had blown up a single piece of TNT, setting off a massive chain in the process. At least, thats how it had happened in game. He had no idea how it had happened here. There was no way the Dream would have been able to pull of the same stunt here without months of preparation. After all, he would have had to place all of the explosives by hand, and there was no way Wilbur would have let him do that...

Unless Eret had helped him. He scowls. Of course Eret had helped him, it only made sense. He wondered how Eret’s betrayal had played out in this world. After all, in-game they had all died. But here, everyone was clearly still alive. And based on how scared they were for him, death was permanent.

A voice cuts through his thoughts “Tommy? What are you doing up there?” Tubbo stands on the ground, staring up at his friend “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

Tommy looked down at his friend, not very far below him. In an act of recklessness, he sheathed his sword and jumped down to the ground. The impact sent a slight shock running up his legs and spine, causing the scar from his wound to throb slightly, but other then that he felt no pain from it.

“I got bored,” he told Tubbo, shrugging it off and trying to look casual. Unfortunately, the side effects of the health potions still hadn’t worn off, causing him to stumble slightly.

Tubbo looked at him in shock and disbelief “did you just... are you ok?!” he quickly reached his arms out to catch his friend “Tommy?!”

Tommy brushed off the concern, straightening and brushing himself off “I’m alright. Like I said, I got bored” His words were slurred ever so slightly, likely another side effect of the potion. He prayed that Tubbo wouldn’t notice

Tubbo noticed. “Tommy, you didn’t do what I think you did, right?”

“Depends on what you think I did”

“So if I went and checked on the potions drawer in the van, they would all still be there?” Tubbo knew exactly what was going on. His friend had pulled this stunt before, when he had broken his arm trying to help construct the L’manberg wall.

Tommy’s eyes widened “Uhhh, why would you do that? There’s nothing wrong with them I swear!”

Tubbo rolled his eyes “Uh huh. You’re so lucky I made spares. Wilbur would kill you if he found out you drank the entire supply,” he said, pulling a handful of vials from one of the pouches around his waist. Tommy figured it was the equivalent of everyone's inventory, considering how nearly everyone had them. “Here I thought you had sworn never to do it again, especially after what happened last time”

“Last time...?”

His friend looked at him with confusion and worry. It was a look that Tommy was quickly getting used to, and quickly growing to hate. “Yeah, when we were building the wall? Remember?”

A fake smile formed on Tommy’s face “O-oh yeah! Yeah, I totally remember that. Psh, I was just testing you!” he chuckled nervously.

Tubbo’s brow furrowed. He wasn’t buying and of the crap Tommy was saying, but he also didn’t know how much he should press for an answer. His friend was clearly having a hard time, and he didn’t want to make it worse. But he also hated just sitting back and watching.

“Tommy, you know you can trust me, right? I won’t tell any of the others, I promise.”

“Yeah... I know. I just, I’ve got a lot on my mind and I don’t want to worry anyone”

“Well now I’m concerned” he said with a chuckle “Whats up?”

Tommy leaned against the wall of the broken van and slowly slid down to the ground. “I... I think something happened to my memory...” he says. It was the easiest explanation as to what was happening to him. He highly doubted that Tubbo was going to believe that he came from a world where all this was just a video game, nothing more. Better to tell a concerning lie than a panic inducing truth.

“You... What? What do you mean?” His best friend sat on the scorched dirt next to him. “Like, you don’t remember anything?”

“No... It's more like...” he was silent for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to describe it without causing his friend to freak out “I remember the general information, but none of the specifics. Does that make sense?”

Tubbo nodded “Unfortunately, yeah it does. That's really worrying. When did it start?”

“When I woke up after my injury”

“So then it must have been caused during the duel. Maybe Dream had an enchanted arrow or something? But I’ve never heard of any enchantment that could affect memory like that...” his voice trailed off, a look of deep thought and calculation on his face

“What? N-no I’m sure its not like that!” Tommy said hastily. The last thing he needed was Tubbo to go and demand answers from Dream, when he knew perfectly well that the arrow dream had used had nothing to do with it. “I don’t really care how it happened. I just need you to tell me things I may not remember”

“Are you sure? If Dream caused this then he might know how to fix it.”

Tommy was shaking his head vigorously “I’m sure, I swear. Just please help me out here, ok?”

Tubbo still looked extremely concerned, but he chose to put his worries aside. The thing he needed to do right then was help his friend. “Alright, I can do that. What do you need to know?”

~~~

It had been nearly a week since Dream and Tommy had gone missing, and everyone was getting more scared by the second. Wilbur sat at his desk, watching the clip where he was counting down for what felt like the thousandth time. He had narrowed down exactly when the two of them had gone dark.

As soon as he had said “fire!”, their minecraft characters had stopped moving. They had both gone completely silent. It took roughly a minute before viewers started pouring in from both streams, reporting that both Dream’s and Tommy’s streams had gone offline. Wilbur had initially thought it was just a stupid prank. Nothing more than a harmless joke. That was before everyone reported radio silence from both of them. Neither were answering their phones, but they were both still in the discord call. They hadn’t gone on mute, so Will could still hear background noises coming from Tommy’s house. Everyone else had quickly ended their streams, telling the viewers that it was just a prank. In reality, they wanted to find their friends without the eyes of the world on them.

A week had passed, and the police had still found nothing. No sign of either of them. No sign of either of them even leaving their rooms. None of it made sense. All that Wilbur knew was that his friends were out there, and they needed to be found.

~~~

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foxymoxynoona · 3 years

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I love that you went there. I love the confusion and mixed signals as well as clear signals from Bronwen (to Alyonius). She wants to break up, dude, let her break up. Alyonius (what a dickhead) is acting a fool. That was the biggest shocker for me. Not that she's pregnant but that he really fucking did what he did. I thought he was sus, but not "a condom isn't always needed and I'm just not going to tell you when I don't use one." God, I bet this was a trigger for readers, but I know you'll deal with it with grace in coming chapters. I'm looking forward to seeing Bronwen come into her own element, put him in his place, and dump his ass (for the final time. Yeesh. Hope it sticks...😬).

ALSO: YES, Bronwen you need an impartial friend. Lord, yes, I'm glad you realize this.

If I could say there's an overarching thesis to all your stories, it's: Consent is sexy.

And I know its so sexy because in Amended it was sooooooo sexyyyyyy.

What would you say the thesis of each story is?

🎉

Aloysius-boy is out here trying to walk that fine line of "I'm not taking advantage of her body" while also doing it. This is one of those things that I could *totally* see myself being like "ok well he wasn't trying to be an asshole or take advantage" when I was younger. Now I am definitely like "you put your raw dick near me without asking my explicit permission? Go. Now. Run."

Bronwen does need an impartial friend... and she has one! Closer than she thinks! 😎

I DO think consent is sexy! I think we too often glamourize skipping that consent step without context. But like WHAT is sexier than a guy who can control his passion EXCEPT to respect you? LOVE IT.

Oooooh, thesis for each story, huh? Ok well cut me some slack because I've been out of school for a long time but some of the themes of each story:

Meadow: We can choose how much of our past and present define us, and how much we choose to let it shape our future. Obligation and duty do not equal free love. There are many sources of power; there is not only one way to be strong. Respect is the heart of love. True character growth has to come from within.

Lowlander: Love that is not freely given isn't enough. Trust yourself and your own strength. True love and companionship come from equality and mutual respect. If you don't like where you're planted, you deserve to grow somewhere else. Ultimately it's up to you to claim your own identity, no matter what anyone else calls you.

Amended: Trust and commitment are a stronger foundation for marriage than blind love. Families can be stitched together from anything. We do not have to repeat the mistakes of our parents, and children should not pay for the sins of their family. Trust, once broken, is difficult to rebuild. You can love someone and still deserve better. "We accept the love we think we deserve."

Little Bean: Love can come in unexpected places. We don't always realize how deeply past pains resonate and should be kind to ourselves because healing is a slow process. It is easy to be our own worst enemy, and hard to defeat. Our worth and lovability are not defined by anyone.

Ok, like that? A+? loool I'm sure there are even more to be thought of after I've had coffee.

#meadow #lowlander #amended #littlebean #asks #send asks #🎉anon

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emospritelet · 3 years

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Twisted Fate - chapter 22

Sorry I’m taking ages with fic at the moment. Suffering from an extreme lack of spoons :(

Last time, Belle jumped Gold’s bones and they both enjoyed it :)

[AO3]

Belle decided she could get used to waking up with Gold. She was warm and comfortable, his body pressed against her back and his lips gently kissing her shoulders. She found herself smiling broadly as she stretched her legs, and he kissed the back of her neck, making her shiver.

“Morning,” she murmured sleepily.

“Morning.” Soft lips traced a line along her shoulder. “Did you sleep well?”

“Eventually,” she said, giggling a little. “That was quite a night.”

“Mmm.” Gold paused, pushing up on one elbow. “Are you alright? Was it a little too much?”

“No no,” she assured him, shifting to look over her shoulder. “It was good. It was perfect.”

He smiled broadly, and kissed her full on the lips. Belle pulled away with a sigh of frustration.

“But unfortunately I have to pee,” she grumbled, and he chuckled, patting her hip.

“I’ll make some tea.”

The sun had risen, the day bright and clear after the previous night’s storm, and Gold cooked omelettes with cheese and mushrooms, washed down with tea. Belle was hungry, and followed the omelette with a slice of toast with butter and honey. He watched in amusement as she used a finger to dab at the crumbs on her plate, catching every one.

“I could make you some more, you know,” he said.

“I think it’s enough,” she said, wrinkling her nose as if she was unsure. “Guess we worked up an appetite.”

“That must be the reason I feel as though I was beaten with something heavy last night,” he remarked, sipping his coffee, and she smirked.

“Well, your efforts were very much appreciated.”

He caught her eyes, grinning, and she found herself blushing a little. It felt good to be flirting with him again. It felt good to be a couple at last. She reached for her tea, taking a sip, and set down her cup.

“Are you going back to Storybrooke on Friday?” she asked, and he nodded.

“I have my appointment with Dr Hopper,” he said. “And there are a few enquiries from tenants I may have to deal with in person. Dove keeps me updated, and is very adept at enforcement if necessary, but it’s best to deal with these things before they become an issue.”

“At least tell me you’re not repossessing the flower shop,” she said, in a dry tone, and he pulled a face, his eyes glinting.

“Not this week.”

She gave him a very level look, and Gold sighed.

“Your father has no arrears that I’m aware of,” he said. “He’s managed to pay the rent each month since you left. Albeit at the last minute and with an extremely bad attitude.”

“Hmm.” Belle reached for her cup again. “Wonders will never cease.”

He grinned at that, and took a sip of his coffee.

“Will you be alright here by yourself?” he asked. “Ask Emma and Neal to come over. I’ll make extra food, you can invite them to dinner again.”

Belle hesitated.

“Actually, I thought I might come with you,” she said. “Is that okay?”

He looked surprised, but nodded.

“Of course,” he said. “In that case, why don’t we travel up the day before? It’ll save me an early start. We could take our time, get some dinner on the way, perhaps.”

“With me looking like I did twelve rounds of amateur boxing?” she remarked, gesturing at her bruises. “I was thinking takeout and an early night.”

“Well, I’m all in favour of that,” he said, his grin turning wicked, and she giggled.

There was silence for a moment as she turned back to her tea. Gold poured more coffee, the scent strong in the air, and glanced up at her.

“Any particular reason you wanted to go to Storybrooke?” he asked, and she put down her cup, pushing it across the table for him to refill.

“I thought I’d go and see my father,” she said.

An eyebrow flicked upwards, the only indication of his surprise.

“Alright,” he said, and took a sip of coffee. “How do you think he’ll react?”

“Don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’m going to speak to him. If he chooses to cut me off for trying to build a life with the father of my child, he can at least do it to my face.”

Gold frowned at that.

“You want me to come with you?”

She was shaking her head even before he had finished the sentence.

“I think that would only make things worse,” she said. “I’m going to tell him about us, but I think it’s best if I go alone.”

“Right.” He took another drink. “Perhaps when I have my appointment with Dr Hopper, then.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“It’ll give me something to talk about,” he added, and she smiled.

“You mean to say there’s nothing else you want to mention?”

He returned the smile.

“Maybe one or two other things.”

It was nice being happy, Belle reflected. She and Gold had spent a couple of days doing little but lounge around, eat and make love. They had also been talking, trying to rebuild everything that was broken between them. It was a slow process, but she felt that it was worthwhile. That they would be stronger for it. He had tentatively broached the subject of them getting therapy as a couple, and she had agreed readily, but suggested that they wait until the baby was born. Not that being pregnant was a barrier to it, far from it, but she wanted him to have a few more sessions on his own with Archie before they started delving into their issues. For one thing, she thought, he needed practice in how to open up.

Admittedly he was doing far better on that front, and had told her a little more about his son, and tiny snippets of his childhood. Her heart ached for him, and the son he loved so desperately. She had wished that there was something she could say to ease the pain, some miracle that she could work to find him. All she could do was reassure Gold that his son was safe and well, and urge him not to give up hope. He seemed to appreciate the words, whether he believed them or not.

By midweek, he had decided that there was business in Boston to attend to that couldn’t wait any longer, and had left her with Emma while he visited his lawyer.

“So.” Emma lounged back against the couch cushions, flicking her hair back over her shoulders. “You look better. Still bruised, still with a broken arm, but I’m sensing a thawing of relations with the father of your child.”

“Oh yeah?” Belle sent her a look. “You using your investigative superpowers again?”

“Maybe - dare I say - a heating up of relations?”

She was grinning, and Belle sighed, slumping in her seat.

“Fine,” she said. “We had sex.”

“I knew it!” Emma punched the air in triumph before falling back, cackling. “How was it?”

“Amazing.” Belle reached for the bag of chips between them, taking a handful. “I mean it always was amazing, but now it’s different, it’s - I don’t know. It feels different. Better. More - secure, I guess.”

“Sounds like you two made some real progress.”

“He told me he loved me,” she said, and Emma whistled.

“Mr I-Don’t-Care-About-Anyone said the ‘L’ word?”

“Said he always had, and he’d pushed me away out of fear,” said Belle, crunching chips.

“What a moron.”

“Yup.”

“So you guys are back together, then?”

“Well, we both want to make it work,” said Belle. “So assuming we can do that, yes.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Belle finished the chips in her hand, brushing off the salt and reaching for her hot chocolate.

“I’m afraid we can’t do dinner on Friday,” she added. “We’re heading to Storybrooke on Thursday.”

“You’re going back to Maine with him?”

“Only for the night,” said Belle. “He has therapy on Friday afternoon. We’ll come back Friday evening.”

“Long way to go to see a shrink,” observed Emma, reaching for the chips and popping some into her mouth.

“If he feels comfortable enough to actually sit down and talk to someone, I’m not raising any objections,” said Belle. “I think he trusts Dr Hopper. As much as he trusts anyone, I guess.”

Emma winced, sucking salt from her fingers.

“Well, that’s a statement and a half.”

Belle shrugged.

“Yeah. We have a lot to talk about on that front,” she admitted.

“I guess at least he wants to make it work,” said Emma. “He’s trying, right?”

“He really is,” said Belle. “He meant what he said, I could tell.”

“Well, I’m happy for you,” said Emma, reaching for the chips again. “So, how come you’re going with him? Thinking of moving back there?”

Belle cradled her mug of hot chocolate in both hands, sinking back into the cushions a little.

“I don’t think so. I want to finish my Master’s first.” She took a sip. “Although I have to admit Storybrooke is a great place to raise kids. Maybe in a year or two.”

There was a silence for a moment. Belle put down her mug.

“I thought I’d go and see my dad,” she said hesitantly, and Emma raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah?” She sat forward a little. “How d’you think he’ll react?”

Belle pulled a face.

“I guess we’ll find out,” she said dryly. “I don’t want to cause a scene, but I’m tired of waiting around for him to call. I know how bloody stubborn he is. If I don’t make the first move, he never will.”

“You think he wants to make up?”

“Guess I’ll never know until I try.”

“Maybe he’ll be excited about being a grandpa,” suggested Emma.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Belle chewed her lip, and Emma tilted her head.

“You gonna be okay?”

“He either wants a relationship with me or he doesn’t,” she said simply. “Not much I can do about it but reach out. The rest is up to him.”

“He can’t leave it too long,” said Emma. “The baby’ll be here soon. You got everything you need?”

“I think we’re as ready as we can be,” said Belle. “As far as baby accessories go, anyway. Actually being parents and - and a couple is kind of untested.”

“Just make sure you have your hospital bag packed and ready to go,” said Emma. “Nothing to say the baby’ll wait until May. Henry was two weeks early.”

Belle hesitated.

“Did you have anyone with you when you had Henry?” she asked. “I know Neal wasn’t around, but you weren’t alone, right?”

Emma smiled.

“I was living in Tallahassee,” she said. “Crappy one-bed in a crappy apartment block. There was an old lady called Mrs Bernstein who lived down the hall. She’d had something like eight kids, all grown up and moved all over. She kind of took me under her wing, tried to feed me up every time I stopped by. She gave me some of her grandkids’ things, like the crib and a high chair. Went to the hospital with me.”

“That’s so sweet.”

“Yeah.” Emma looked sad. “She passed not long after Henry was born. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so frightened as I was right then. But I got through it.”

“Trying to raise a kid alone must be so hard,” said Belle. “You think you and Neal will have any more, now you’re settled?”

Emma pulled a face.

“We’ve talked about it,” she admitted. “Can’t really afford it at the moment. Maybe when Neal qualifies, or when I get a decent job. In a couple of years, maybe.”

“There’s plenty of time,” agreed Belle, and Emma nudged her.

“What about you?” she asked. “Gold seems to like kids.”

Belle huffed out air in a sigh.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Let’s see how we do with this one first.”

“Guess it’s early days for you guys.”

“I haven’t wanted to kick him in the balls recently, though,” said Belle. “So that’s progress.”

“Maybe your dad wants to bury the hatchet,” suggested Emma. “Pretty soon you could have more family than you know what to do with.”

Driving into Storybrooke felt like coming home. Belle peered out of the window as they passed by Granny’s Diner, customers drinking and laughing as the waitresses handed around beers and plates of burgers and fries. She wondered how the townsfolk would react when they heard the news that she and Gold were expecting a child. Hopefully better than her father had. The car passed by the florist’s shop, but at this time of the evening it was dark and locked.

They drove straight to Gold’s house and he carried in the small overnight bag they had brought, locking the door behind them to shut out the cool night air.

“Take a seat,” he said. “I’ll get you some tea.”

Belle walked into the lounge, looking around with interest to see what had changed since she had last been there. A few different antiques on the shelves and mantelpiece. A patterned silk shawl draped over the back of one of the couches. She smiled, inhaling deeply and pulling in the scent of beeswax polish. His house smelt a little like the shop, a comforting smell. Perhaps this will be our house, she thought. Storybrooke would be a nice place to raise our child, if I can get a librarian post. Perhaps the town library could open up again.

She shook her head, sitting down on the couch and folding her hands in her lap as she waited for Gold to return. They were a long way from settling down in Storybrooke as a happy family. But at least she knew he wanted to make it work.

They earned the curious stares of the townsfolk the next day in the diner. Belle had decided that it was best to start as they intended to go on, and had suggested lunch at Granny’s. Granny herself served them, doing a double-take when she saw Belle’s rounded belly but recovering quickly.

“You sit down right now, girl!” she ordered, waving them to a table. “Take the weight off your feet. How the hell did you get those bruises? Is the arm broken?”

“Accident at college,” said Belle. “I was pretty lucky, considering. At least the baby’s fine.”

Granny made a noise of agreement.

“Got it tucked up nice and safe,” she said. “I can’t believe Moe didn’t mention you were expecting!”

“Didn’t he?” said Belle dryly. “Hmm. Well, I’ll take a burger and an iced tea, please.”

“No problem,” said Granny, scribbling rapidly. “When’s the baby due?”

“May fifth,” said Gold evenly. “We’re very excited.”

Granny eyed him over the top of her glasses as though she had just remembered he existed, and he showed his teeth.

“I’ll have the same,” he added. “Don’t scrimp on the pickles.”

Her gaze hardened, but she merely nodded, sniffed, and bustled off to the kitchen with their order. Gold pulled out Belle’s chair, and she sat down with a sigh.

“Well, that went better than I expected,” she said, as he took the seat opposite.

“How are you enjoying going public?”

Belle pulled a face.

“So far, so awkward,” she said, and he chuckled.

“Not much happens in this town,” he said. “I’m afraid the gossip mill is going to be working overtime.”

“Good thing we’ll be in Boston,” she said. “Let them say whatever they want.”

The burgers were every bit as good as she remembered, the iced tea sweet and refreshing, and as she ate, she caught Gold watching her with a tiny smile on his face, as though he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

“Do you want to see anyone else while we’re here?” he asked, and she pondered for a moment, dipping her last fry in ketchup and chewing it.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “It would be nice to see Mary Margaret, but she’ll be in school at this hour, and besides, I’m not sure I have the energy for a lengthy explanation of the changes in my life.”

He nodded his understanding.

“In that case,” he said. “How about I meet you at the shop after I’ve seen Dr Hopper? It should only be an hour.”

“Sounds great.”

She reached out to take his hand, smiling and Gold smiled back, his eyes crinkling as he lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles. Belle could feel the stares of the townsfolk around them, and it almost made her want to climb over the table and kiss Gold into a frenzy, just to give them a proper show. She settled for kissing his hand in turn, earning a soft-eyed grin. Storybrooke would get used to the idea.

Belle could feel her heart thump with anxiety as she stared up at the sign for Game of Thorns. Gold had walked her to the shop before kissing her goodbye and whispering words of encouragement. She took a deep breath, squaring her jaw. Well. Here goes.

She pushed open the door of the flower shop, the bell above tinkling merrily. Sunshine filtering through the leaves of potted houseplants threw dappled light across the floor, and she stood for a moment, breathing in the familiar scents of cut stems and fragrant blooms. She could hear noises from the back room, scrapes and rustles, and then the sound of heavy footsteps. After a moment, her father swung into view, a plastic bucket of flowers in each hand. He stopped dead as he saw her.

“Hi,” said Belle.

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes flicking to her belly and back up.

“So,” he said. “You’re back.”

She wasn’t sure if the brief light in his eyes was anger or hope.

“Just visiting,” she said. “Alex drove us up last night. We’re leaving this afternoon.”

He snorted, and set down the buckets of flowers. Belle raised her chin defiantly.

“Gold,” he said, mouth twisting around the name. “Back in your life, is he? I might have known.”

“We’re working things out, yes,” she said. “It’s early days, but he knows how much he hurt me, and he wants to fix it.”

Moe grunted, as though he doubted it.

“He give you those bruises?” he asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped.

“You look like hell.”

“I fell down a set of bloody stairs at college,” she said coldly. “Broke my arm. Thanks for the sympathy.”

“And I’m only finding out about this now, am I?” he groused.

She threw up her free arm and let it fall, aghast.

“You haven’t spoken to me in five months!” she said. “If you were so desperate for an update on my life you could have picked up the damn phone! But as usual, I have to do all the work, right?”

He curled his lip, his expression somewhere between petulance and guilt.

“How’s the baby?” he asked, not quite looking at her.

“The baby’s fine,” she said. “Disappointed?”

Moe waved a hand, looking irritated.

“Oh, come on, I wouldn’t wish harm to the kid…”

“Really?” she said sarcastically. “When in our last conversation you pretty much cut me off because I wanted to keep it?”

Moe looked uncomfortable, shoulders hunching a little.

“That - that wasn’t my finest hour, okay?” he grumbled. “I was angry.”

“I was terrified!” she said, her voice shaking. “I needed you, and you weren’t there. I was alone and - and scared - and you just cut me out of your life like it was nothing. Like I didn’t matter.”

“Thought it might make you choose your own future,” he muttered. “You could have had a life, not been trapped!”

“And you think having a child is like being a prisoner, do you?” she said tartly. “Yeah, that’d be right!”

“I didn’t mean that!” he snapped. “I just meant - I didn’t want you tied to Gold, that’s all.”

“Well, we’re together, you’ll have to get used to it.”

“But he hurt you!”

“So did you.” She met his eyes, glaring until he looked away. “Luckily I’m a very forgiving person. When the apology is sincere. Pretty sure I’ll be getting one of those any moment now, hmm?”

He looked chastened then, shuffling his feet a little.

“Sorry, love,” he muttered. “Just - sorry. Things haven’t been right since you left. Not feeling so good.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her tone more sharp than she intended. He shrugged awkwardly.

“Dunno. Shop seems harder work than usual. Getting tired all the time.”

“Are you taking your medication?” she asked, and he waved an impatient hand.

“Course I am.”

“So what does the doctor say?”

There was silence, and she wanted to roll her eyes.

“You have been to the doctor, right?”

“Haven’t had time.”

“Dad…”

“Don’t nag me!” He waved a hand again. “I’ve been running this place on my own since you left! Hard to find the time for myself.”

“I left to go to college,” she said, her voice sharp again. “Which was always going to happen. Why don’t you get some help? You could afford a part-timer.”

Moe made a scoffing sound,

“You must be joking! We’re only just breaking even. Not like that - that man of yours would cut me any slack with the rent.”

“There’s no reason he should,” said Belle coolly. “Besides, I remember going through the books before I left. There are plenty of profits. It’s all in how you choose to spend them.”

“If you just came up here to tell me what a bloody failure I am—”

“I didn’t,” Belle sighed. “I came here to see if we could make peace. You’re about to be a grandfather, and I’d rather put my energy into getting ready for the baby than fighting with you.”

Moe was silent, and she glanced around the shop, lifting her free hand.

“D’you think we could sit down?” she asked. “Being on my feet isn’t too comfortable right now.”

Moe grunted, pulling the baseball cap from his head and using it to wipe his brow.

“You’d better come through to the back,” he said. “I’ll make some tea.”

Gold’s tread felt a little lighter than usual as he made his way up the steps to Dr Hopper’s office, and he even smiled at the man in greeting.

“So,” said Dr Hopper, when they were seated. “How have you been since we last met?”

“Things have been - good,” said Gold. “It - uh - it feels like progress.”

“That’s excellent news,” said Dr Hopper, and he sounded as though he meant it. “Can you tell me a little more?”

“Belle and I have been talking,” said Gold. “I - I was honest with her about how I felt, and - and why I did what I did. Why I pushed her away.”

“And how did she react to that?”

“She was hurt,” he admitted. “Angry. I don’t blame her, of course, she had every right to be. At first I thought she wouldn’t want to see me. I even offered to move out, get her some help that - that wasn’t me.”

“What was her reaction?”

Gold scratched the back of his head.

“I think she may have called me an idiot or something.”

Dr Hopper pressed his lips together, as though he was trying not to smile.

“So, then what happened?” he asked.

“We talked,” said Gold. “I told her I loved her. That I always had. And I apologised for everything I’ve ever done to hurt her.”

“How did she respond?” asked Dr Hopper, and Gold pulled a face.

“She asked me if I wanted to fix things,” he said. “Said that it was going to take time.”

“I suspect she’s right about that.”

“Yeah.” He dropped his gaze to his interlaced fingers. “It’s - well, things had been kind of up and down since then. Awkward, like we were stepping around each other. But then we had sex.”

“Ah.” Dr Hopper sat back a little. “Well, reestablishing intimacy is important.”

“Yes.”

“We talked about trust at an earlier session,” he added. “That the two of you need to build trust between you. Intimacy is part of that, certainly, but it won’t work on its own.”

“No, I understand that.” Gold rubbed the back of his neck with an awkward hand. “I - uh - I tried to talk to her a little. About my past.”

“I see.” Dr Hopper scribbled something. “And how did you find that?”

“It was - uncomfortable,” he admitted. “But afterwards I felt something like - well, it wasn’t quite relief, but I felt a little easier.”

“When you say your past,” said Dr Hopper. “What period do you mean?”

“A little about my childhood,” said Gold, shifting in his seat. “My parents.”

“Do you feel able to talk about them now?” asked Dr Hopper, and he felt his mouth twist.

“Can we skip past the part where my father never wanted me and blamed me for my mother’s death?”

He could hear the wry tone in his voice, his body tensing as it fought to take him out of his seat and away from the conversation, and Dr Hopper looked up.

“That sounds like something that we should probably talk about,” he said calmly. “But we don’t have to go into it today.”

Gold nodded, dropping his head a little.

“Good.”

“We’re going at your pace, not mine,” added Dr Hopper.

“Alright.” Gold felt himself ease a little, his shoulders lowering from their slightly hunched position. “Thank you.”

“Getting back to your conversation with Belle,” said Dr Hopper. “You said you apologised, and opened up to her a little.”

“Yes.”

“And how are things between you now?”

“Better,” he admitted. “Less awkward. I know that she’s right, and that we have a lot to discuss. But she told me she wants to make it work. And - and so do I. I really do want to make it work.”

“Did the two of you talk about what that might look like?”

“Not in any great detail,” said Gold, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together again. “We’re going to live together in Boston for the moment. The baby is due in early May.”

“Then I suspect the two of you are going to be pretty busy.”

“Yes.” Gold couldn’t help smiling. “I’m looking forward to it.”

#fic: twisted fate #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #my fic #shadowedoracle

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ghostxofxartemis · 4 years

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Prologue of my Fanfic Complete.

I’m just too excited, I want to share. I’m hoping to get an invitation to Archives tomorrow to post the First chapter, as I just completed it. But I don’t want to give too much right away! But here’s my complete prologue!

Author’s notes: Hi everyone, welcome to my first fanfiction for Mass Effect, my all time favourite game! My canon Shepard, is default Shepard, Earth Born, War Hero, infiltrator class, paragon with a few renegade options, like kicking the merc out the window in Ilium and killing Kai Leng with that renegade button quick for Thane. Chose to destroy the reapers, and survived. He also romanced Ashley, and I wanted to delve into their story a bit more. However, most of the story will revolve around their daughter, 25 years later. I believe Shepard’s story is done. But that doesn’t mean that another Shepard can’t come and continue his legacy. Everyone survived except for Mordin while dispancering the genophage cure, Thane while chasing Kai Leng, Legion and EDI. However, EDI will be back (I can’t kill her off completely!)

Another note, I always preferred to write in first person. I know it technically goes against all rules of writing, but I will be switching from John Shepard’s and Alex Shepard’s Point of view.

Also still brainstorming Titles.

Prologue

“The war is over. The Reapers have been defeated.

Against all odds, and in the face of the greatest threat this galaxy has ever known, we survived.

We suffered many losses. The relays are severely damaged, but we won.

This victory belongs to each of us... every man, woman, and child. Every civilization, on every world. Now, as we take our first steps toward restoring what we lost, we must remember what it took to win. This wasn't a victory by a single fleet, a single army, or even a single species.

If this war has taught us anything, it is that we are at our strongest when we work together. And if we can put down our grievances long enough to stop something as powerful as the Reapers, imagine what we can achieve now that they are defeated.

It will take time, but we can rebuild everything that was destroyed.

Our homes, our worlds, our fleets and defenses. All of this - and more.

Together, we can build a future greater than any one of us could imagine.

A future paid for by the sacrifices of those who fought and died alongside us.

A future that many will never see.

And while we still have many challenges ahead of us... We can face them together.

And we will honor those who died to give us that future.”

Gasp. My lungs filled with air, I felt pain, everywhere. In all my years in my career, all those shots I’ve endured couldn’t compare to this. All I saw was rubble. Did it work? Did the crucible fire? Or did I just imagine that? “Shepard!” “Shepard, where are you?! Come on Commander?!” “Shepard?!” I recognized those voices. Samara, Jack, Miranda? But they were on the other side of the battlefield. I tried to move, but movement shot pain all over my body again and I saw stars in my vision. I was on the verge of slipping in unconsciousness. I knew if I did, I may never wake up again. All my medigel was dispensed during the final push, I had to stay awake until someone found me at least. Then they can take care of the rest. I tried again, slowly this time, I moved my head around, looking for something that could alert them where I am. I shot the tube didn’t I? Back at the crucible? Think Shepard, your pistol must be around! With great effort I started to feel around me, God this rubble is heavy! There! I felt the pistol. I aimed in the sky and prayed there were still a couple shots left in the thermal clip. I squeeze the trigger. Bam Bam. Two shots that's it, I hear the empty click. They should have heard that, they must be closed otherwise I wouldn’t have heard them.

“Get down!” “They’re not shooting at us.” “It’s Shepard!”

“Shepard, stay with me, we got you, we’ll get you medic” Miranda’s face appeared in my vision as she spoke, her omnitool bright orange, I started to feel light headed but my pain was slowly diminishing, for now. How much medigel did she give me?! Oh, why does it matter, she knows what she is doing, she put me back together after all! “MEDIC, OVER HERE! IT’S SHEPARD!” I heard Jack yell, before my vision went black.

“Stay with me Shepard!” Miranda again, I was on a gurney, they were running with the medics, Miranda had her omnitool at the ready. Looked like she was scanning the damage, her face, didn’t look right...worried? “Miranda…Ashley?” I tried to reach for her. “Shh, save your energy. Just stay with me okay, you’ll be okay! The Normandy made it out on time, you did it Shepard” I didn’t know whether she was telling the truth about me making it, but it didn’t matter, all that mattered was that Ashley and my crew...my friends, were safe. All went dark.

I woke up again, who knows how long I have been out, and heard beeping noise around me. I searched my surroundings, and noticed a heart rate monitor, tubes in my arms. I’m in a hospital, still alive, well at least I think so? Miranda’s face appeared in my vision, as well as someone else, don’t know who they are though. “Hey Shepard, you got some broken ribs, your left arm is broken, we’re keeping you under a coma for you to recover faster. But you’re going to make a full recovery.” I heard Miranda say to me before she turned around to the other man in the room and said “give him a dose, a bigger one this time, trust me he’ll be fine.” I couldn’t help but chuckle and I saw Miranda’s lip quirk up, I knew she got the same sense of deja vu: the first time I woke up in the Cerberus lab when she rebuilt me. But I knew I was going to be fine, after all Miranda would know best. All went dark again.

I woke up again, and I heard some rustling beside me, and I hand touched mine. “Hey Hero-Man, glad to see you finally awake.” I didn’t need to see who it was, because I would recognize her voice anywhere. A smile spread on my face, I never felt so much joy in my lifetime. Ashley was okay, and she was here beside me! I turned to face her, and tried to speak, but it almost felt like I had no voice. “Shh, shh, you’ve been out a while, just take it slow Skipper.” I had to say this though, and I squeezed her hand, cleared my throat, and with pure will I muttered a raspy “I love you,” she smiled and said “I know” and I fell asleep again.

The next time I woke up, I felt much better. I couldn’t say how much time had passed, I figured maybe about a few days. Next to me Ashley had fallen asleep, she had her head on the bed all the while sitting in the chair she pulled up. I gently ran my fingers in her hair, and I felt her stir under my touch. “Hey pretty lady” I whispered, “Hey” she said back at me as she slowly lifted her head off the bed “You’re awake”. “Just woke up myself. How long have I been out?” I asked her. “Hmm, just about a month now, Miranda’s been looking after you until we could get the Normandy fully functioning again and back into orbit. We got back to Earth as soon as we could and got here. Dr. Chawkas took over your care after that” she replied. A month?! I took a moment to process that, I thought I had been out a few days, but a month?! I was in shock. Normandy fully functioning? What the hell happened?! “Ash...what happened? After I got to the crucible? What happened?” I reached for her hand and squeezed it. I needed to know what happened after everything went dark. “The crucible shot red beams of light, and all synthetic, the Geth, Edi, even the Reapers, they all went dead. The Normandy was hit, we sustained a bit of damage before hitting the relay, we landed on an uncharted world. The crew worked all together to get the Normandy back up. Took us about 3 days, and then 2 weeks to get back to earth. But you did it Shepard - you destroyed the Reapers, the war is done. But there’s one more thing… Admiral Anderson..” she started saying, I nodded my head “I know, I was with him.” “I’m so sorry Skipper” for the first time ever, I saw a tear run down Ashley’s cheek. Throughout everything, Kaidan’s death, even when she was in the hospital and waiting for news on her family, Ashley Williams never cried, and here she was shedding a tear. I took my free hand and placed it behind her neck and brought her forehead to my lips and planted a kiss, and I held her there. She pulled away, and whipped her tears, “I should get Dr. Chawkas, I’ll be right back,” she stood up and walked out the door to get Dr. Chawkas, and I leaned back into the bed and sighed. I felt relieved that the Reapers were truly destroyed. But cords pulled on my heart. Edi had truly died. I was supposed to be dead. I had hoped that the catalyst had lied, but it hadn’t. Now Joker had lost the love of his life.

I heard the door whoosh open again and turned my head in it’s direction, Dr. Chawkas looked at me, a smile spreading ear to ear, and behind her was Miranda. I could see Ashley talking to Admiral Hackett and James leaning up against the wall. I guess I could expect a huge welcoming party after speaking to Dr. Chawkas and Miranda. I was pretty sure there were others there that I couldn’t see. “Glad to see you awake Commander. You’re looking a lot better. I’m just going to run some scans here. I have to say, I’m impressed with Miranda’s medical skills, it was touch and go there for a while” she was saying as she lit up her omni-tool to do her scans.

“Well, if anyone would know my body inside and out, it would be her, it wouldn’t be the first time either” I chuckle, and heard Dr. Chawkas chuckle as well, while I swear, Miranda’s cheeks turned beet red. “I suppose you're right. Scans look commander, you’re healing well. You should be good to go to physical therapy in a few days. But first we should probably get you some food,” she cocked her head in the direction of my stomach, as it made a growl, I swear everyone in the next system heard. “I’ll go get you something to eat, in the meantime Admiral Hackett would like to speak to you,” she turned on her heels and made her way out the door only to stop to speak quickly to Admiral Hackett “he’s all good Admiral, ready to see you” she nodded and Hackett give her a nod back “thank you Dr.” and made his way towards me. “Shepard, I don’t still don’t know how you pulled that off. That wasn’t short of any miracle” he reached out with a hand and I took in my own to give him a hand shake. “I don’t really know what really happened myself, tell you the truth Admiral” I replied. He pulled his hand back and clasped them behind his back, taking on his usual casual stance. “Tell me what you remember.”

“I don’t know where to start Admiral. I reached the beam, and landed somewhere in the Citadel. Somewhere I’ve never been before. They were collecting human remains, and looked like they were gathering them to make another Reaper, maybe. I don’t know.” I pause to sigh and bring my thumb and forefinger to pinch the bridge of my nose for a moment, deep in thought. When I pulled my hand away again, I recollected myself to continue my debrief. “I made my way to the control panel, and Anderson had already reached it. He was trying to open to the Citadel arms. But the Illusive man was controlling him, stopping him from accessing the controls.” Hackett made a noise that sounded like a hmm. “So he managed to learn how to control humans, and not just husks?” he asked. “Yeah...thought he was implanted with reaper technology. He managed to get control over me as well. I tried to pull him out of his revelry, but he made me shoot Anderson, before he pulled the trigger on himself.” I sighed at the memory. I felt guilty, and it must have shown in my expression, for Hackett immediately interjected “It wasn’t your fault Shepard,” “It doesn’t make it any easier, sir”.

It must have taken me about a good 10 mins to explain everything, from the catalyst to the destruction of the Reapers. Hackett had agreed that taking control of the Reapers would have been too much of a risk, what if down the line I would have become indoctrinated and started up another war? Rewriting human DNA is unethical. Destruction was the only way to go, even at a great cost. Peace between synthetic and humans is possible, as I had managed to prove to the galaxy with brokering peace between the geth and the Quarians.

Hackett thanked me for the briefing and wished me a speedy recovery. I knew I would be out for a bit, but thanks to my cybernetics, it wouldn’t be as long as a normal person. Something I was grateful for, to be honest, even after everything that just happened, I still wasn’t ready to retire.

After Hackett left, Ashley came back in followed by James, Traynor Carrying a vase full of “get well flowers”, Garrus, Liara and Cortez. “I brought you some flowers Commander, I’m glad you’re doing better commander, everyone has been worried about you” Traynor said as she placed the vase on the bedside table. “Thanks Traynor.”

“Just couldn’t help yourself from destroying the reapers with a bang, uh Loco?” James chuckled, I just rolled my eyes at him and shook my head. No doubt I’ve just earned myself more “Loco” points. “S’cuse me” Dr. Chawkas was shimmying herself between the crew with a tray of food in her hands, and when she reached me she handed the tray and I reached out and grabbed it and placed it on my lab. I scrutinized what was on the tray, military rations albeit not being the best and tastiest of food, certainly looked more appetizing than the clump of goo that was sitting in front of me. I looked up at Dr. Chakwas, eyebrows raised in a quizzical look “what is this supposed to be?” She shrugged and her expression turned sympathetic, no doubt not wanting to be stuck with this goo and feeling horrible about handing it over to me. “It’s supposed to be oatmeal. Something soft but not too solid yet, have to slowly introduce food into your system. You’ve been out a while Commander.”

I picked up the spoon, scoop up a spoonful, only to purposely drop through the goo back into the plate. “I think I lost my appetite” I grumbled. “We’ll leave you to it commander” Traynor gave a sympathetic look towards my way before gesturing to the others to do the same. Miranda lingered behind a bit “I’m glad your back Commander” and turned towards the door to follow the others out. Only Ashley remained behind. I moved myself a little closer to the edge of the bed and pat the empty spot beside me for her to sit down next to me. She was more than happy to oblige, her smile spreading across her face. She lay down and leaned her hand on my shoulder. “I know it’s not appetizing, John, but you should eat” she said. I sighed, “I know, I just didn’t want to make faces in front of everyone” I replied, and she snorted. I sighed again and took another spoonful and slowly, the food made its way down to my stomach.

The few weeks I spent in the hospital and physical therapy had been slow and excruciating. Not in the sense that my body hurt, it was mostly all healed up at this point, thanks to my upgrades. But it was the fact I was stuck there and hadn’t gotten the all clear yet to get back into the field. Ashley thought I was crazy, that I had more than earned some shore leave. But I wasn’t one to just sit around and do nothing.

I also had ceremonies to attend. I had been given more awards for my part in the war. The Normandy crew had been granted the Galactic Unit Citation for their part in helping win me this war. I had been awarded my second Star of Terra, along with the Star of Sur’Kesh, Silver Dagger, and Nova Cluster. My recognition in this war had gone with plenty of notice.

Eventually I was given the all clear to head back and command The Normandy again. Hackett wanted the Normandy's help in patrolling the system, making sure no one went rogue. With the government in chaos, and the Alliance in scramble right now. And with all the repairs that needed to be done to the mass relays, he wanted to make sure no pirates or mercs decided to attack anyone at random. The Normandy was to escort fleets to other systems so that we can start making the repairs on the mass relays ASAP. I was more than happy to comply.

The welcoming I received was heartwarming. Everyone was glad to see me up on my feet again. New armor had been sent to the armory to replace the one that had been scorched in the final push. Walking up the ramp I plot our first trip to Arcturus Stream for our first escort. “You got it, Commander” was Joker’s voice coming through the speakers. I couldn’t help but smiled as I turned around and headed to the elevator up to my cabin. It was good to be back on the Normandy, and quite frankly, I was looking forward to a night alone with Ashley.

#masseffect #mass effect fanfiction #shepley #post war

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storiesbyladychi · 4 years

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Fic: In the House of Cedar and Pine

Fic Title: In the House of Cedar and Pine

Fandom: 12 Monkeys

Pairing: James/Cassie

Summary: How they got to their happily ever now. A post-finale expansion fic because I loved everything about it.

It doesn’t take much to rebuild her life.

Not that it needs rebuilding, in this timeline. She carries the burden of knowing inside her mind -- knowing what was, what could never be, now. Who could never be. With that knowing, her relationship with Aaron ends quietly. Her practice, she establishes with hard work, taking care of children every single day.

Athan. Athan will never be, not in this timeline. And her body doesn’t carry the signs of carrying him anymore. Once upon a time, her stomach had stretch marks, so did her breasts. James had kissed them, once. She’d held him as he cried, as Athan became real for the first time to him. A reality she’d been living with, a burden she’d been carrying, a hope she’d been harboring.

None of that mattered anymore.

For a while she was numb. Then the pain of it -- of losing everything -- of giving everything up, was a razor in her side that she took with her everywhere.

And then, miracle of miracles, she began to heal. What she lost became a phantom limb -- something she always knew was there, but the loss of it, she’d adjusted to.

It was hard to make friends, living in this new reality. She thought about support groups -- mothers who’d lost children, spouses who’d lost their partners, but in this timeline, in this reality, she’d never had those things. It could be easily proven she had not. So maybe healing was a slower process than it could have been, had she had anyone to talk to.

When the house came up for sale, she hesitated for not even a second. It wouldn’t be torture, she told herself, more of an honoring of what had been before, to restore the house, make it comfortable, live in it once again.

She did as much as she could herself, and she saw his face whenever she did. She remembered painting the living room once before, scrubbing out cabinets with him, with James. The apocalypse had made its people self-reliant. James could, and did, wield a hammer as well as he could a gun, plant crops and harvest them, build fence and live in the wild. Some of those things had come in handy when they were remaking the farmhouse for the first time.

The house of cedar and pine

There was a small room next to her bedroom They’d talked about making it the nursery, painting it a soft yellow. They’d never gotten as far as building furniture or gathering the things they would have needed for an infant. She never had a blanket with his name embroidered in it, had never had a baby shower.

Never got to love him, anticipate him, hope for him, the way she wanted to. Before she’d gotten a chance to do any of that

At any rate, whenever she passed that room in her new house, she laid a hand on the door. It remained closed. She was healing, but she wasn’t there yet. Maybe that wound wouldn’t ever close.

She went to work, she healed as well as she could, she came home. She made herself instant noodles and ate supermarket salads, she watched the sun set, she read books (she’d gotten used to the relative quiet of the 2040s and couldn’t bring herself to watch TV very often), she made notes, she went to bed. She slept on the left side, and laid her hand on the pillow next to hers.

Thanks to Time, she lived.

Jennifer knew he was coming, which was his saving grace. She had more money than she knew what to do with, and so she could make him appear -- in databases, in school records, in the Social Security system. Now it appeared to the world as though he’d been working Markridge security for several years.

“You don’t have to,” she told him, “in fact, you don’t have to do anything. I don’t know if you’re the kind of person who can do nothing, but don’t think you need to worry about a job, or anything.”

She showed him the bank account she’d set up for him, and his stomach had roiled. “It’s too much, Jennifer. It’s way too much.”

“You totally Messiah’d yourself for seven billion people, and this is like, two days worth of income for me,” she told him. “It’s no biggie.”

She’d packed a suitcase for him, the kind of things he’d worn before, the kind of things he’d be comfortable in. Jeans -- not broken in, he’d have to wear them several days in a row for them to really be comfortable. Henleys, plaid shirts, jackets with sherpa fur lining them. Good quality stuff. Enough to get him started, in upstate New York, where Cassie was. In the house of cedar and pine, Jennifer told him. Where she was always meant to be. Where he was meant to be.

“She’s been waiting for you, without knowing she’s waiting for you, if you know what I mean, Otter Eyes.” She’d wrapped him in a hug before she sent him on an airplane north -- the Markridge private jet. She smelled good -- better than she smelled in the apocalypse, but still her. “You’re a good man, James Cole. Even time thinks so.”

He walked down a path that was familiar to him, and had an odd sensation of coming home to somewhere he’d never properly been before. Good shoes on his feet, thick socks. Everything new, everything slightly uncomfortable. He’d taken three showers in three days. Would she recognize him if he was this clean?

He didn’t shave, hoping at least the scruff would help him feel familiar in this world that was familiar but somehow alien to him. He wondered if he would ever feel like he belonged.

Right now, Ramse was just a little kid. Jennifer told him Cassie would remember him, but -- well, it wasn’t that she was crazy or couldn’t be trusted, she always told the truth, but…

He’d survive without her, if she didn’t remember. Or he’d work, he’d show her, he’d fall in love with her again, and again. A blank slate wouldn’t be the worst. Or had they fallen in love with each other because of the grooves time had worn in their souls that matched?

They said good-bye once. In the room with the machine, yes. But in their bedroom first. Slow hands and sweet kisses, making love slowly, achingly. Trying to carve space in each other bodies for the other. Knowing she would forget him. Knowing he would never exist. Trying to become permanent in the face of unforgiving Time.

It’s likely she won’t remember. He tried to prepare for that.

Or maybe -- maybe, they’ll have that sweet pleasure-pain again of finding each other again. He remembers -- after an hour, after a minute, after a second apart -- we can have forever.

And now. With an ending. That makes it real.

He sees Cassie before she sees him. And his heart leaps up in his throat and his stomach is in knots. Another time, another place, he’d seen her first. He’d been a little in love (nothing like he felt now), sure that he was going to ruin her life. There’s no promises now, but there’s a pleading in his mind, a hope for one last gift from the universe. Please, please, please….

Death can be undone. Love cannot.

Surely across time, across space -- surely they’d bound their hearts so securely to each other -- tethered them there, that -- please.

She’s sitting on the porch, surrounded by flowers. Flowers she’d grown because she had time and inclination and skill. Things she’d never had before. On the porch, comfortable furniture. The door is painted the bright green they’d always talked about.

Is there a spot for him?

Oh, Time knows, Jennifer had said. But it also knows -- it owes you one.

But is the one another shot? Or is the one a shot with all of the things he’d never really dared to hope for, the dreams he’d kept so precious he’d never even told them to Cassie. A home. Regular access to food and clean water. And security enough to hope for children, fatherhood, not to dread it because there’s nothing in the world but pain.

She sees him. She stands up. And on her face…

Recognition.

Hope.

Love.

Learning each other again -- it takes some time. They’re used to it, they have a quick shorthand -- do you remember this? Do you still, are you…?

Questions answered, questions asked. She takes a day off of work and they open up the room she hasn’t yet, and they make plans to paint it yellow.

In hope.

She goes back to work. He takes a little more time. Works on the house. Watches YouTube videos about plumbing and wiring. Thinks he might someday have to have a job, a regular one, where he shows up and works regular hours. With his credentials, he could do anything. He’s been a factory worker, a survivalist, in this world, he’s supposed to have worked security. He’d like to give up the guns, all of it, but it’s what he’s good for, what he was designed for, like Cassie was designed to be a healer. He’s always been a soldier of some kind.

The local police force advertises that they’re hiring. Cassie doesn’t love it, but she loves him, knows he feels like he still owes a lot back to the world.

He takes the job.

They slow dance to These Arms of Mine in front of a Christmas tree they’ve decorated. He holds his breath all day. Cassie isn’t pregnant. They haven’t talked about trying yet -- only in vague terms.

What she does ask is if he’s ready for her to stop… preventing it.

He says he is.

And then he goes to town and buys her a ring. Not because they need a wedding, but because now that he has something closer to a lifetime, he’d like to promise it to her, if they have a child. Or if they don’t.

When it happens, when she conceives… they both cry. He kisses her cheeks, her palms, her stomach. Loves her thoroughly.

“What do we do if it’s a boy?” Cassie asked, tears in her eyes. “What if it’s Athan?”

“We’ll know,” James says, all the certainty of the universe behind him. “If it’s Athan, we’ll know. I think… I think in some ways, he was meant to be. Maybe this child will be him. I’d sure love a shot to know him. To raise him.”

She nods, too. But not knowing is breaking her heart. The ultrasound confirms… it’s a boy.

They get home and she collapses to the floor, taking him with her. She lost Athan, and now she has him again, but the loss never really goes away. They live in this state, where they get to know him, and they didn’t get to know him and lost him, at the same time.

Nothing is ever simple.

James paints the room yellow. They look at baby furniture on the internet.

Jennifer sends them a stuffed unicorn.

A package arrives from Jones -- someone with whom they’ve yet to have any contact in this life. It’s a blanket, with Athan’s name embroidered in blue thread.

Cassie goes into labor on a Tuesday in the middle of the day. She’s later than her due date, which she told him had happened before.

He holds her hand, breathes with her, listens to her as she labors. It’s nothing like TV. She does groan and moan, but she doesn’t curse him, doesn’t blame him. She’s a warrior, his Cassie, and this is her mission, her sole concentration on the moment at hand, bringing their child into the world.

She falls back against the tub, and the midwife hands her their son and it’s looking down at Cassie, looking at Athan that James thinks… oh. Oh. There you are.

Cassie is crying and Athan is crying and James is… in awe.

And also crying.

Fatherhood… something he’d been denied before. Now that he’s had the privilege, he’s even angrier than he was before, against people long dead and who won’t ever exist. He didn’t know what he was missing, the way Cassie knew what she was. She’d had a mother, and a childhood… he hadn’t really. But now he gets to be on this side of it. Gets to walk the hallway when Athan is fussy in the middle of the night. Change the diapers. Watch Cassie nurse him. Give him kisses and love him so entirely, with every fiber of his being that he wondered how he ever thought he knew what love was before.

He takes Athan out on the porch as the sun is setting. It’s chilly, so they won’t stay long. “This is our house of cedar and pine,” he tells his son. “We’ll have our perfect moments here. And our imperfect ones. And we are so very, very glad you’re here.”

#12 monkeys #cassie/james #post-finale fic #i loved it so much y'all

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connorssock · 5 years

Note

I don't know if you do follow up prompts, but if you do could we see more of the aftermath of Trust Again please? It's one of the most painful DBH fics I've read, and I'd love to see the others dealing more with the repercussions/consequences of what they did as they try to fix what they've broken with Gavin

I absolutely do take follow-up prompts! They might simply be slow at times because I can’t always find the time or inspiration to hop straight to them. But with this one? I was craving a little more bitter comfort after Trust Again, so have another snippet/chapter!

Chapter 2

Gavin wasn’t sure whether he was insulted or relieved that his request to transfer to New York had not been processed. On one hand he was at an utter loss as to what to do, he didn’t really want to go back there but at the same time, staying in Detroit felt too raw. On the other hand, Fowler had willingly ignored his request yet again. It didn’t sit well with Gavin, he felt trapped and alienated beyond the usual.

After he returned to work, tail between his legs and unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes, there was a marked change to the precinct. Suddenly, people were vying to be best buddies with him. Saccharine sweet enthusiasm soured each greeting and both Tina and Chris were falling over themselves to prove they were still friends. The only problem was, Gavin didn’t know whether he wanted to be friends anymore. Friends didn’t turn on each other at the murmurs of rumours. They didn’t trap each other in the locker room in an attempt to bring the justice they saw fit on unsuspecting victims.

Partners didn’t do that either in theory. But Nines had. He’d been on Hank’s left hand side, looming over Gavin with palpable disappointment. Now, on cases he was deferential to everything Gavin said. Even went out of his way to drive them to Gavin’ favourite cafe when they were sent out on cases. He didn’t seem to understand that Gavin didn’t want to be given special treatment. That was something he’d already experienced in one direction, he had no desire for either positive or negative attention. All Gavin wanted to was return to how things used to be before the stupid assignment.

“Hey Gavin,” Ben waved at him in the breakroom. “I was experimenting with something last night, made a carrot cake, that’s your favourite, right?”

Gavin plastered a smile on his face as he nodded and took a slice. They were trying and trying really hard too. It didn’t matter that he loathed carrot cake. It didn’t matter they didn’t remember that. Ben had tried and Gavin couldn’t face the prospect of being an asshole and rejecting his attempt at being friendly. Even when it wasn’t needed or wanted. It certainly beat the other extreme.

Each evening, Gavin toyed with the idea of forcing through his request for a transfer. He hadn’t even bothered unpacking the boxes he’d hastily piled his things into those frantic evenings. At least he’d phoned the estate agent in New York and said he wasn’t going to take the flat he’d seen after all.

No apology was enough to wipe the hurt and fear from his mind. Hank’s hangdog expression as he stumbled through a heartfelt and somewhat rehearsed speech about being wrong and how he’d failed as a superior fell a little flat. Once upon a time, Gavin would have revelled in having Hank in such a position, having power over him. Now, it felt hollow and left Gavin with only a bitter taste in his mouth. Apologies weren’t enough. They didn’t magically rebuild trust. Neither did cake or coffee or forced friendliness towards him. The fake smiles and over done enthusiasm made Gavin recoil more than anything else.

Slowly, the attempts faded. Gavin could breathe easier in the bullpen when it didn’t feel like everybody was looking at him, trying to figure out his next step and how they could prostrate themselves in order to make his life easier. It was a relief, in a way. Gavin could try to get on with his life as he wanted. A little less brash, certainly a lot quieter but the routine of police work didn’t change and he still knew how to follow procedure even when he no longer knew what to do outside of protocol.

It seemed that Nines had dialled back on the subservient shtick too. The visits to the cafe lessened, he was less likely to pick up and file reports that Gavin usually complained about and slowly the sarcastic comments filtered back into their interactions. The first time he told Gavin to “belt up” he looked so ashamed and apologetic, Gavin lost all the will to even snort in amusement.

People didn’t seem to think that Gavin noticed all those small things. They acted as though that had been the way things had always been. Like Gavin had been the office favourite who everyone adored. It made Gavin a little sick if he was honest. He knew well enough that he was an abrasive ass half the time. Most people tolerated him, heck, even Nines took a few months to warm up to him beyond cordial formalities.

Perhaps the most indifferent person in the whole thing had been Fowler. He apologised once, took Gavin off the case then got on with things as if nothing had happened. In a way, it was a relief because Gavin didn’t want to be singled out by his boss for preferential treatment. Yet it still stung that Fowler, the one who had been the cause of all his misery could brush the incident off so easily. Logically, Gavin knew that Fowler couldn’t be seen as weak. It wasn’t how leadership worked. But it would have been nice to feel a little more appreciated and protected.

In a way, it helped that Hank seemed to know what was going on. As a result, he was butting heads with Fowler a lot more, angry meetings he either stormed out of or left behind a furious Fowler in his office. That helped Gavin the most. Because he knew that while not all of the arguments were about him, it at least meant that Hank was trying to be certain that such a thing didn’t happen again.

“Could I offer you a lift home?” Nines asked Gavin out of the blue one day. The morning had started out as sunny but by the afternoon, a cold chill had settled and Gavin was regretting choosing to walk in with just a light jacket.

Tentatively, he nodded and allowed Nines to walk him out at the end of their shift. The ride home was quiet, Gavin had nothing left to say. Truth be told, he didn’t speak much at work anymore. While before the incident he was more likely to insult someone than offer them a friendly word. But everyone had grown used to the fact that that was just how he was.

At his home, he got out with a mumbled “thanks”. He was half tempted to invite Nines in but at the same time, he couldn’t quite forgive him yet. What Gavin couldn’t decide was whether he was punishing Nines or genuinely hadn’t put the events past him just yet. In the end, he closed the car door with a sad half smile and went inside. Maybe next time he’d feel more generous.

From then on, Nines offered him lifts more often. Some days Gavin accepted, other days he pointblank refused. Even when it was pouring it down and he got home looking like a drowned rat. On those days, a delivery driver tended to turn up at his door with some warm takeaway that eased the chill settled in his bones.

“The Sergeant test is coming up, I want to put you forward for it,” Fowler announced as soon as Gavin answered his summons to his office.

“Sure, whatever you think is best.” Gavin shrugged it off. Before, he’d asked about taking the test and had always been all but laughed out of the office.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” the rebuttal stung more than Gavin had anticipated. So Fowler still didn’t think much of him and it was purely a way to keep Gavin in line. Something bubbled over in Gavin.

“Fuck it. I will do it and then you’re going to accept my request to transfer. I don’t care where. Buttfucknowhere in Alaska is better than here at this rate.”

Unfortunately, Gavin didn’t realise the door had been left open. It definitely wasn’t by chance that Hank stuck his head through the door and glared at Fowler.

“The fuck you messed up now?” he growled.

“None of your damn business,” Fowler snapped back. The way Hank stood next to Gavin, pulled to his full height and arms crossed over his chest made for a foreboding image.

“Like hell it isn’t. I don’t know what’s happened to you recently Jeffrey but you’ve sorely fallen by the wayside.”

“If you think you can do a better job,” Fowler’s voice was low and threatening, “then how come you aren’t the one sitting in this chair?”

“You were a great leader while things were on edge. You’re a war room captain but a shit leader in peace. It’s why I’ve recommended you be promoted.”

There was a glint in Hank’s eyes and Gavin marvelled at his deviousness. With Fowler promoted out of the precinct, it left the captain’s role empty. It wasn’t common knowledge that Hank had already done the exam for the role some 10 years back but never found the incentive to reach for the promotion. But now, there was reason. He turned to Gavin.

“You’d make a great sergeant,” he clapped Gavin on the shoulder. “Take the test then come see me for a chat before pushing for that transfer.”

Gavin could only nod as he was amicably ushered out of the office. He didn’t even realise he’d been summarily dismissed until the door closed behind him and yelling started up.

Back at his desk, Nines smiled up at him and for the first time in a while, Gavin was tempted to return it, unforced and heartfelt.

#dbh: gavin reed #dbh: hank #dbh: rk900 #dbh: fowler #prompt fill #fowler is an ass

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inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years

Note

Am so in the mood for some fics where John helps Sherlock through detox/cravings/danger nights, anytime throughout the series. Bonus points for Sherlock being scared John will be mad at him or turn away, but John being supportive and understanding!!

anonymous asked: Do you know of any Sherlock fics that include self harm? Thanks

Hi Guys!!

Since these are… SORT OF related, I’m putting them together! I don’t have many re: self-harm, so I thought I would add all the drug use, poisoning and the like fics together as well. They’re for both John and Sherlock, so I hope that’s alright! Hope these suffice!!

SELF-HARM

See also Alexx’s Lists:

Drugged Non-con sex

Drugs & Recovery

Mycroft deals with Sherlock’s drugs

Helping Sherlock With Drugs

Sherlock Drugs & Addiction

Angsty Drugs & Prostitution Fics

Teenlock & Drugs

The Signs of Loss by LitLocked (NR, 1,103 w. || Post-TSo3, Pining Sherlock, Self Reflection) – Sherlock’s internal monologue after he comes back from the wedding.

Clarity by socomessnow (thoughtfulwishing) (NR, 1,283 w. || Post-HLV, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Tarmac Scene, Stream of Consciousness, URT, First Person Present Tense) - During-and-post-HLV piece tracking Sherlock’s thought process from his phone call with Mycroft to his return to the airfield.

The Two of Us Against the World by slashscribe (T, 1,617 w. || Post-TAB, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Anxious Sherlock, Angsty Fluff) – John is there to take care of Sherlock as he comes down from his overdose in The Abominable Bride. Set immediately after the tarmac, back in 221B.

Loudly Unspoken by Mount_Seleya (M, 1,871 w. || Post-TAB, Love Confessions, Vulnerable Sherlock, Frottage) – John confronts Sherlock about the words he left unsaid on the tarmac. Set immediately after TAB.

They’re Taking My Wisdom by whitchry9 (K+, 1,939 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Drugging, Dentists, Friendship, Anxious Sherlock, Humour) – Sherlock goes to the dentist. Of course, being Sherlock, things have to be complicated. Oh and drugs. They’re always fun.

Stay by sussexbound (M, 2,067 w. || Post TAB, Suicidal Ideation Mention, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, Love Confessions, Frottage, Coming in Pants) – “Why? Why did you do it? Hmm…?” He takes a deep breath, waits, lets it out again. “Look at me.” There’s no denying him when he takes this tone. “Why did you kill him? Hmm…? For her? After…” A muscle twitches in the corner of John’s eye, and he clamps his jaw down tightly, swallows and sniffs a little before continuing. “For her? After everything she’s done?” “For you.” Before he can even stop himself. Just like that.

Coming Full Circle by KCS (K+, 2,358 w. || Alternate TGG, Friendship, Drama, Violence/Death References, Drugging/Poisoning, Kidnapping, BAMF John, Moriarty POV, Introspection) – Moriarty had John for almost six hours between his abduction and the showdown at the pool - more than enough time to implement a Plan B for his escape should Sherlock call his bluff with the fake bomb vest.

Thief by KendylGirl (M, 2,430 w. || Rev. Reich., Heavy Angst, Regret, Grief / Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Implied Drug Use, Self-Flagellation) – John has been gone for four months, and Sherlock is not dealing well with it. When he finds a personal item of John’s, the situation reaches a crisis. Part 3 of When to Let Go

The Battersea Bridge by pininglock (M, 2,585 w. || MCD, Angst, Grief, Unhappy Ending) – A life without John Watson isn’t a life worth living.

Unspoken by PipMer (T, 2,770 w. || Drugged John, Mutual Pining, John’s Missing Wednesday, Fluff & Angst, Canon Compliant, Gap Filler) – Sherlock wanted to test a hypothesis. About John. He wanted a question answered that he couldn’t just ask, at least not under normal conditions, because John would never tell him the truth about that.

After the Bombs by VampirePam (T, 3,337 w. || THoB AU, Drugs, John’s PTSD, Panic Attack, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – In which the drugs Sherlock used to dose John trigger a severe episode of PTSD. When terrors old and new cause John to fall apart, Sherlock must rectify his mistake and pick up the pieces.

Bolt Holes by PostcardsfromTheoryland (T, 4,177 w. || H/C, Angst, Drug Mentions, Pining Sherlock) – John asked, one evening, if Sherlock liked her. To which he grudgingly had to say yes, and John said he was glad. Because John was going to propose to her.

Experiment by Gwen’s Blue Box (K+, 4,222 w. || Non-Con Drugging, Hurt Comfort, Friendship) – Of course John has always known about his flatmate’s irregular sleeping habits, especially when they’re on a case. This time, however, the case is taking longer and longer, and soon John starts to worry. But there’s not much he can do, is there? Because drugging Sherlock isn’t an option. Not yet, maybe, but will it be soon? {{CW: John drugs Sherlock without his consent}}

Afghanistan in Baskerville by Amaya Ramiel (K+, 4,357 w. || THoB Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drugged John, PTSD / Panic Attack, Hallucinations, Worried Sherlock, John’s Past, Friendship) – What if John hadn’t seen the hound when Sherlock trapped him in the lab? What if instead, his very real nightmares of the war had materialized all around him? Trapped and drugged, John can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. How will Sherlock react?

Very Good Indeed by StillWaters1 (T, 4,531 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Doctor John, John Whump) – John Watson was a doctor, trained to observe details; a fact Sherlock had never been more aware of than when a drugged John’s lifesaving instructions were based on an unlabeled syringe and an unconscious murder suspect’s body.

Not The Hands That Kill by You_Light_The_Sky (M, 6,201 w. || Winglock, Whump, Mentions of Drug Use) – Having wings does not make Sherlock Holmes a guardian angel, not in the way that John Watson is his.

The Dying Detective Remix by SailorChibi (K, 6,563 w. || Friendship & Family) – No one hates admitting illness or wounds more than Sherlock… perhaps that’s why no one believes him when he actually gets sick. Fortunately, when he can’t do it himself any longer, John and Lestrade are there to pick up the slack. Features Paternal!Lestrade and Gen John and Sherlock. One-shot.

The Hours Before Midnight by Lady Sam Mallory (T, 7,773 w. || TGG Fic, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Torture / John Whump, Kidnapping, Drugging, Alternating POV, Worried / Protective Sherlock) – Moriarty doesn’t play fair. John must deal with hours of torment from Moriarty before going to meet Sherlock at the Pool at the end of the Great Game and Sherlock must deal with the consequences of his boredom.

A Dangerous Mix by thebakerstreetgirl (K, 8,077 w. || Angst, Whump, Drugs, Hurt/Comfort, Overdosing) – During a case, John gets attacked and Sherlock and Lestrade find him with a mysterious drug running through the army doctor’s veins.

Never Been This Swept Away by estalita11 (T, 8,531 w. || Post-TAB, Mary is Not Nice, Drug Use, First Kiss, Love Confessions) – Set immediately after TAB, Sherlock visits his brother to definitely not apologize about earlier and ends up finally learning a few things that would have been nice knowing about months ago. Mycroft never wants to deal with lovestruck idiots ever again.

The Five Stages of Mourning, Plus One by SunnyRea (T, 10,557 || MCD, Pining / Grieving Sherlock, URT, Heavy Angst, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Drug Use, Graphic Death, Depression, Unhappy Ending) – Sherlock did not want this, did not want another stalemate with John in the middle, a gun in Jim’s hand. This cannot have happened without a sign. There has to be something he missed anything which said today is the day I kill for real.

Obsession by storylover18 (K+, 15,213 w. || HC, Case Fic, Friendship) - Dr. John Watson wakes up ill one morning but it is not the 24 hour flu he thinks it was. Soon he lands in hospital, quickly deteriorating and Sherlock must work to find out what has happened to his blogger before it is too late. Case!fic mixed with sick!fic / No slash.

Brief Conversations with the Woman by May_Shepard (E, 21,906 w. || Pining, Love Fairy Irene, Filler Fic, UST/URT, Drug Use, Clueless Sherlock, Relationship Advice, Angst w/ Happy Ending) – Sherlock has a puzzle to solve, and his name is John Watson.

A Love with No Name Series by aceofhearts61 (G to M, 49,955 w. across 20 stories || Asexual Sherlock / Straight John, Est. Rel, Queerplatonic Relationship, Romance, Cuddling, Fluff, Platonic Romance, Domestics) – In which Asexual!Sherlock and Straight!John are platonically in love life partners.

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (NR [E], 54,437 w. || Post S3 || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world … and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w. || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him. {{HAVEN’T READ THIS FIC YET, READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION}}

To Light Another’s Path by BeautifulFiction (E, 128,654 w. || Post-TGG, Sick Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drug Addiction / Recreational Drug Use, First Time / Kiss, Case Fic) – Teaching John to observe seems to be a losing battle, but when Sherlock falls ill and submits himself to John’s care, will he realise that there is more to life than the science of deduction? Meanwhile, there is a murder to solve, and John must try and convince Sherlock not to sacrifice his own health for the sake of the case.

Ten Days by Engazed (E, 137,208 w. || Rape/Non-Con, Post-TRF, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Torture, Case Fic) – Sherlock Holmes has been dead for forty months, and John is at last beginning to live his life again. But just when he believes he might be happy, his world crashes back down around him. John is named a missing person. Someone is pointing DI Lestrade in the wrong direction. And as the days pass, his situation only grows more dire. It seems like the disappearance of his best friend is the only thing that can bring Sherlock Holmes back from the dead. Part 1 of The Fallen

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction (E, 151,907 w. || Friends to Lovers, Gay Bar / For a Case, Drugs, Pining, Case Fic, UST) – When Sherlock infiltrates a club in order to track down a serial killer, his altered appearance is enough to make John question his assumption that Sherlock is beyond his reach. However, is he the only one who appreciates his flatmate’s charms, or is Sherlock at risk of becoming the next victim? {{centres around drug use, but not necessarily John or Sherlock’s}}

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #drugs cw #self harm cw #drug use #angst fics #danger nights #my fic recs #madeofawesome12

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noxilicious-ish · 5 years

Text

Okay but Peter and Stephen bonding in their mutual grief and sense of loss following Tony’s death. Like, it’s not the same. Peter has lost more than enough father-figures and replacing Mr Stark like that would make him a miserable excuse for a human being and Stephen, though he had a similar journey to Tony - going from a highly acclaimed, wealthy, self-centered asshole to a broken man then finally finding a new purpose and caring about the bigger picture - well, he’s not as far along this journey as Tony Stark was, hasn’t learned how to and who to let down his walls around and ultimately, he is not Tony Stark. Though he does not condone Peter being a superhero at sixteen and repeatedly attempts - by various magical and otherwise means - to prevent him from doing anything remotely dangerous, once Stephen resigns to his inability to stop Peter from doing anything he puts his mind to, their partnership/mentorship is much different. Stephen does not sugarcoat things, he lays things out for Peter as harshly as needed to get the point home, either to protect Peter’s own wellbeing or that of those around them. If Peter’s a liability, he’s not afraid of telling him so.

And although he comes to care (quite a lot) for Peter, he oftentimes puts him in danger if it’s something only Peter can help with. Later on when he’s tending to Peter’s injuries (which are very much Stephen’s fault) he’s slowly dying inside, and it keeps him awake at night, but Stephen knows that protecting this reality, this world, their city, is something only they can do, that it’s their duty and doing anything less than what’s necessary, including sacrificing their lives for it, is not an option. Peter’s the one who initiated many of their first interactions after half the universe was resurrected and things were beginning to calm down into the massive, but slow process of rebuilding everything that was lost in those five years. At first he’d tell himself that making sure that the doctor had a sort of support system around was something anyone with half a heart would do, that it was for the greater good, but he’ll admit that at least part of his reasoning was that Peter himself needed it.

Being the one shouldering the crushing weight of Tony’s legacy, Peter looked for someone who’d feel Tony’s absence as he does and thought of the doctor who’d accompanied them on their impromptu trip to space. He could have gone to Miss Potts (though he’d missed the wedding, so maybe it’s Mrs Stark now, but it hurts), but the woman had gone through more than enough and had her own daughter (Tony’s real child) to worry about. Of all of the people involved in the war and the aftermath, the doctor was the only one likely to understand him. Most of the Avengers didn’t really know Peter all that well, and tended to patronise him. They also accepted that Tony’s sacrifice was necessary and promptly moved on with the rebuilding efforts.

Stephen Strange was the one somewhat responsible for ensuring Tony Stark’s death. Yes, it was Tony’s choice and it might have happened without any sort of hint from the doctor’s part anyway, but Stephen was the one who took measures to guide their timeline in the direction of that particular future. Some blame him for this, but none more so than himself.

So they built this rapport between the two of them, both incredibly reluctant and wary, stepping on each other’s toes more often than not, but indescribably growing attached, to one day suddenly find that there are piles of Peter’s books and homework stacked on a coffee table in the Sanctum between Stephen’s mug of stale tea and some medical journals, and that Stephen has Aunt May on speed dial and knows the names of all of Peter’s friends and as well as highschool enemies. It’s not always good. Stephen is still pretty shut in and tends to hide things from Peter - most of them concerning the doctor himself rather than Peter - and he pushes Peter away on bad days (when the chronic pain gets more intense than usual, or when the guilt and sense of failure overwhelm him) because he knows he’s not what a role model should be - and really, how does Peter even rationalise this, he’s been Spider-man longer than Stephen has been a sorcerer, Stephen’s no mentor, and he can even less compare to Tony Stark - and Peter deserves better. Peter too often feels guilty for bothering Dr Strange with his teenage drama all the time even though he knows better than to believe Stephen’s long-suffering sighs and unimpressed silence, and he sometimes catches himself comparing Dr Strange and Mr Stark and missing all the things he could only do with Tony that he can’t do with the doctor, then hates himself for being so unfair to the sorcerer, then hates himself for hating himself for missing Tony Stark and it goes on forever. They’re both stubborn, and they have a temper, though Stephen has learned to control his better, and they are incredibly bad at talking about feelings, at least when it comes to the two of them.

In spite of all this, they can be very good at holding silent conversations, which drives everyone else crazy because they don’t even realise they do it. Their trust goes unsaid but shows itself in the little things. Each thinks the other is a heathen/old fart/uncultured swine etc. for their taste in music but they are slowly introducing one another to their respective favourite genres. Stephen will meditate and pretend being interrupted by Peter arriving at the Sanctum bothers him, but he will enjoy the sound of Peter’s animated storytelling as he goes about his day. Peter will read his assigned copy of George Orwell to the surprising warmth and the slightly incense-like smell of the Sanctum, curled up in an armchair that’s likely as old as it looks. and at the end of the day, the Cloak will move on from petting Peter’s curls to draping over him when he inevitably falls asleep not even half into the book. And even though Peter really needs to have finished that book by Wednesday for that quiz, Stephen will let him sleep and instead give him the sparknotes version the next day, because a boy his age needs much more sleep than he’s getting in order to grow healthy and also because Stephen’s an incurable sap and doesn’t have the heart to wake him when he looks so adorable, though he’ll never admit it. He’ll still take a photo and send it to May.

#doctor strange #peter parker #supreme family #doctor dad #stephen strange parenting peter parker #stephen strange #spider-man #mcu #marvel #avengers infinity war #avengers endgame #headcanons #fanfiction #i guess

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letgraysonsheart · 5 years

Text

The Cats Cradle

Selina just wanted to steal a pretty diamond, instead she finds a dying bird.

A/N: This fic has an alternate ending posted separately (spoiler alert! it’s the more happy one),you can read it on tumblr hereI also have to say a massive thank you to @liathgray who listened to all my rambling about the fic and helped me with editing, grammar and the title! also thanks to @schweeeppess for advice on how to post this mess.

She is careful as she makes her way through the empty street. There has been yet another Arkham Breakout. Most people have already vacated the grim and dirty main road of Gotham. Smart people. Selina didn’t catch all about what had happened. The blonde news-lady with the pretty lipstick had said something about the Riddler with a dash of Scarecrow. Fun.

For her, it had been the perfect timing.

The Gotham Historical Museum had managed to get their hands on a very special, and very big, diamond. She has had her eyes on it since they first announced on TV that they would be showcasing it in the main hall. The owner had been bragging about it on Gotham Today of all things. How someone had willingly loaned it to a museum in Gotham, she could not comprehend. Rich people and their carelessness, she could only shake her head over it. Then use it for her own gain, of course.

The guards of the museum might be on high alert because of the breakout, but she isn’t worried about them. Their training is.. not that great. They’re only middle-class men only trying to make a living, and she is a master of her craft. It seems the museum never learns to hire better guards even after all the break-ins. Maybe that is the very reason they can’t afford too.

It’s an especially gloomy night in Gotham. The fog laid over the city is like a thick blanket, and there’s no clear sky in sight.

It is almost a dream come true, a perfect heist. Her only worry is Batman, who has a knack of turning up out of nowhere when she least wants him too. The fog is a favorite weather of his to practice his over-dramatic entrances. She has put all her trust in the breakout to slow him down enough so that he will arrive only for her to have already snagged her prize.

Through the fog, she can just barely see the majestic wooden doors of the museum. It is quite a wonder that the museum keeps rebuilding. Especially in that same expensive and historical style. She has lost count of every time it has gotten ruined in some attack or intrusion. There’s been quite a few. Another reason they can not afford better guards, even after gracious donations from Wayne Enterprises.

It seems like the battle has already been in this particular street. There is a crashed and abandoned car, and parts of the pavement are broken or missing. There is, thankfully, no pools of blood, it would be a shame for her boots to get dirty. She isn’t wearing those that work well with anything wet, like water, or blood.

There is nothing to be heard either, besides distant rumbling. It is in no doubt some rogue ruining some building, and Batman trying to stop them, which means she is alone for now.

She wonders what Bruce will say once he sees the news of the stolen diamond. Hopefully, it will be after he has put the escaped villain back into their cell. When everything has quieted down. Her little jewel theft will not be covered in the news as much as the Arkham Breakout, yet she has no doubt the bat will get ahold of it anyway. He has a way of knowing about all crime that happens in Gotham. She is still trying to figure out exactly how he does it.

Bruce will know it was her, but he won’t come after her. They have an understanding of some sort. She has, after all, been in his kitchen sipping tea with Alfred Pennyworth. Whatever it is they have, must have been going on for years by now. Since Batman had his first Robin, running around in small green shorts and pixie boots. He would not break their weird relationship now unless she did something unforgivable. Something which she is not planning to do, she would rather avoid the wrath of the bat.

There is not a person in sight, but Gotham is covered in fog tonight, so that doesn’t mean there isn’t anyone hiding somewhere. Her goggles do help a little though as she slips them on and secures the strap. The tech in them makes things a tiny bit clearer.

She goes to cross the street and head towards the back of the museum. It is so pathetic-level guarded that she’s considered sending the poor museum some notes for consideration on how easy it is to break into.

A horrible sound interrupted her trek, freezing her in place. A pained gasp, a sound she wishes she didn’t recognize. A sound she wishes she hadn’t heard so many times before, enough times to know what it is. It sounds like a dying animal. It’s a dying human.

Her eyes linger on the vent she was planning to use as an entrance into the museum. She thinks about all the money the diamond will give her. Funds that will go to help that family she has hoped to help out for a while now.

Another pained sound, more like a sob, comes from the alleyway on her right. She walks up to it and tries to peer in, but she can’t see anything through the dark and the fog. Even if she squints, the only thing she can make out is some lumpy form on the ground a couple of meters away. It might be a body, but she isn’t sure.

She sighs and gives the museum one last longing look as she starts walking into the alleyway. Maybe it will be some criminal that she can make a fast process with. Perhaps a civilian she can call an ambulance for and then disappear again. That is if the hospital even has any ambulances that aren’t already in use considering there is a breakout.

After all her time on the street, she’s sure to have her back against the stonewall of the apartment building at all times. She doesn’t feel like being bothered by some low-life ambushing her from behind right now.

Her foot hits something, and she steps over a bag of trash. The lump she had seen before. It’s rather concerning that her mind had initially jumped to the conclusion of it being a body instead of abandoned garbage.

Whatever had made the sound is further into the alleyway. She knows because the person is obviously trying to be quiet, and failing. They must have heard or seen her coming, could have been when she had rustled the trash by accident. Their breathing has picked up and they’re shuffling around.

What first falls upon her eyes as she walks into the dead-end of the alley is the unconscious body of some goon. The man is still breathing, but bleeding from a head wound and not giving any sign of waking up any time soon. It looks like the wound is superficial, so whoever hurt him had no intent to kill. They had only wanted to incapacitate him. Yet she does not envy the killer headache he in no doubt will be sporting once he wakes up. For good measure, she slips out a pair of spare handcuffs from her bag and secures them on him.

She lets her eyes travel to the corner, where the apartment-building meets the brick wall ending the alley. There is someone there, sitting, no, leaning, against the wall. A black arm with blue finger-stripes laid protective over their stomach.

It’s one of the bat-brats. None other than Nightwing, the first one of Batman’s proteges.

He is making some awful gurgling sound. When she moves closer she can see that there is blood dripping from his mouth and chin down onto his chest. It’s slicked onto the arm he is holding over his abdomen too. He’s practically sitting in a puddle of it.

She could leave him, considers it for a second - he isn’t her responsibility. The bat himself, or any of his annoying sidekicks, are most likely already on their way. She could leave, and finish her job in time to pop by some fast food shack for a late dinner.

As she steps closer, just to look, she tells herself, she steps on something. It crunches under her foot. She curses herself and her own lack of awareness. She is supposed to know better. The sight of the usually smiling Nightwing so beaten and broken has rattled her more than it should.

When she crouches down, she sees that what she’s stepped on is some kind of electronic device. With closer inspection, she can see it’s a com-unit. She has seen Bruce use it to call off his kids often enough, those times when they have met on rooftops without really planning too. She has even seen him throw his own off in a haste the few times they have made it to his bed. This one, in contrast to Batman’s black one, carries a blue earpiece. It was probably already broken before she stepped on it. There is certainly no saving it now.

Crap. There goes her diamond heist. She can’t leave the kid here not knowing if he has called for back-up or not. If there is one thing she can not be responsible for, it’s Nightwing dying. That is one of those things the bat would never forgive.

A painful sounding cough brings her attention from the com-unit back to the former Boy Wonder. He is trying to cover his mouth with the hand not cradled over his stomach, but blood is still bubbling through his fingers. Internal bleeding. He’s in the eleventh hour. She has no idea how long he’s been there, judging by the amount of blood he’s lost - too long.

He is slumping over, about to fall down onto the unforgiving ground. Without thinking, acting on instinct, she is moving, running. She catches his shoulder before it hits the pavement, and lowers him down.

At first, he’s resisting, he may be fearing that she is someone who’s come to hurt him. A bat in peril, no matter which one, is something many criminals dreams of stumbling upon. His attempts to escape from her grip is shaky and feeble. He wouldn’t have stood a chance against the weakest of low-life criminals.

“It’s just me,” she hears herself saying as she pushes her goggles off to rest on the top of her head. She hopes the younger man will calm down once he can see her face.

Half of Nightwings domino mask is missing, and a blue eye blinks open to look at her. He furrows his brows in confusion.

“Selina?” he stutters, and she uses her sleeve to dry some blood off of his chin. Her boots are already a lost cause. They got seeped with blood the moment she stepped in to save the boy - which he still is, just a boy - from crumpling to the ground.

“D-did Bruce-” his words are interrupted by yet another harsh cough. He spits more blood, it lands both on himself and the pavement.

“Did Bruce send you?” he asks again, once his breath has calmed down enough from the coughing fit. There’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes. She knows it is a hope that Batman knows what has happened. A hope that his dad is coming. Perhaps a newfound hope that he will survive this.

She smiles sadly at him and shakes her head. If Dick is as bad off as he looks, the skin not covered by blood stark white, and Bruce knew, he would have already been there.

“I was in the neighborhood, tending to other business,” she settles on replying. If the situation was any different, if Richard wasn’t half-conscious and bleeding out, he would be prodding her about said “business.” The boy has always been too curious for his own good.

When he was younger and still Robin, he had been a teen filled with crude remarks. He would always question her. She had thought his look on the criminal world naïve, he saw it like everything was black and white. Why the bat never had corrected it, she hadn’t understood.

Back then, Dick had not understood the relationship between his mentor and herself. Most likely because she was a known criminal. It could be he still didn’t understand now, but how he looked at her had still changed. There was no venom in his eyes anymore whenever they would stumble upon each other. That’s including that time they’ve never spoken about when Selina had come stumbling out of Bruce’s room at around 4 am. At the same time, a drunk and underage Dick had stumbled up the stairs to his room. They had looked at each other, nodded, and then gone their separate ways.

Besides, that was before the Bat had all the other little bratlings. Before Dick had stepped up as his own hero and as a big brother to the newer bats. It was before a lot of pain had come to the bats’ makeshift family. Before Richard’s eyes had been forced open to reality despite Bruce’s attempts to shield him from it.

Now, Dick’s eyes are slipping shut. His blinking is slowing as if it takes too much energy to keep his eyes open.

“No falling asleep,” she says as she shakes him by the shoulder. She feels bad when he winces, but his one visible eye opens once again, looking a bit clearer than before. She knows she needs to keep him talking, at least until the bat shows up. If he does.

She doesn’t wanna think about what will happen if Batman shows up too late and finds her leaning over his dead son. She can’t think about him not showing up at all. She doesn’t want to live in a world where Nightwing is dead, again, either. Both for the world’s sake and for Bruce’s.

“Can you list your injuries?” she asks instead of voicing her fears and to grab Dick’s attention again.

“Hmmm..” Dick starts, and it looks like he is struggling to find words.

“Concussion,” he says, after half a minute, and Selina can’t help but snort. It earns her a small bloody grin from the teen, and she counts it as a win.

“I messed up my leg, it hurt like a bitch at first, the pain has dulled now though,” he continues. It’s the longest sentence he has said since she found him. She looks at his legs and oh - yeah. She had missed it in the worry of oh god he is coughing up blood but his right leg does not look good at all. It’s wrangled in a way she didn’t think a foot could ever be. It will be a long time before Nightwing is up and walking again, if ever. She doesn’t tell him that.

“Anything more?” she asks switching topic, knowing he has missed something quite vital.

“There is also a bit of a stab-wound in my abdomen. Maybe some internal bleeding,” he says, pretending it’s no biggie. The waver in his voice tells Selina otherwise. The boy is worried too. “That doesn’t hurt too much either anymore” he continues. Now he doesn’t even bother to hide the shakiness in his words.

“I guess that’s not a good thing,” he looks up at her as he says it and she is surprised by how coherent he looks. Their eyes meet. God, there are visible tears in the eye not covered by the domino. Selina is not prepared to deal with that.

She opts not to say anything, again, she doesn’t know which words to use. So instead she tries to pry his arm away from the stab-wound. She needs to take a look at it, and then apply more pressure. Dick’s arm is weak, and there is barely any resistance as she lifts it up off the wound.

It ‘s.. not pretty. Far from. It looks deep, no surprise considering how the kid has been coughing up blood. Luckily there doesn’t seem to be anything left of whatever inflicted the wounds still in there. It hasn’t stopped bleeding, though it’s not going as heavy as it looks to have been earlier. She has no idea if that is good or bad. Good right? The blood is staying inside? Or does it mean there is too little blood left? The uniform around the wound is torn. Unnatural pale skin is shining up at her from where the blood has yet to get to. Usually, Dick is one of the tannest in his family with his darker skin and all.

She drags her leather jacket off her shoulder and puts it over the stab-wound. She’s going to miss it, it was a personal favorite. She’ll make the boy wonder buy her a new one if he survives this. When. When he survives this. Dick gasps at the sudden pressure, both arms clawing at her to stop her, but they are still too weak. Selina thinks to herself that it’s good the boy still feels the pain because then there is still hope.

“Can you manage to hold it there, while I take a look at your leg?” she asks and doesn’t wait for an answer before putting both of Richard’s hands over the jacket again.

“Apply pressure,” she commands when his hands just fall limp over it. She sees the muscle tighten in Dick’s arms, and she figures that is as good as she is going to get.

She takes one look at the leg and knows she can’t do anything with it. It’s twisted in an off-putting way. If she were to rip off the tight costume covering Dick’s leg, which by some miracle is still intact, she knows she would be looking at bone. The suit is probably the only thing keeping the bleeding in. It should be set straight and held secure, but she can’t do any of that here. Not alone. Especially not when Dick is barely awake and coherent as it is. The risk of sending him into shock, or him bleeding out even faster, is too big.

The risk of Dick getting any lasting nerve damage is one she is willing to take, as long as he survives. She hopes the boy will agree, as daring flips off of rooftops and acrobatic moves fills her thoughts, and moves away from the leg.

“It is bad, isn’t it?” Dick asks when she settles beside his upper-body again. She puts her hand back on the jacket covering the wound and leans over to apply more pressure. He grits his teeth when she puts her weight on it. She only nods, not one for sugar-coating anything.

Silence, or as much silence as Dick is capable of with his rattling breath and badly concealed whines, falls over them. She is thinking of something to say, to keep Dick’s attention on her. Dick is shaking. The temperature has been falling steadily for the whole night, and it doesn’t seem to be stopping. Even her, with her suit fully intact, is starting to feel the chill. Could it be that some ice villain had broken out of Arkham too? It wouldn’t surprise her.

“Do you have a way to contact Batman? Or anyone else?” she asks. She refuses to believe that the com is the only way of contact Bruce has given his little sidekicks. Maybe she should have asked about it when she first arrived at the scene, maybe Bruce would already be here then. It is too late to think about that now.

“Emergency beacon,” Dick rasps. “In my belt, it should have gone off automatically when my vitals dropped. My hands..” he once again has to stop to cough and his concentration is slipping. “My hands… too much blood, too slippery,” his sentences aren’t really sentences anymore. They are more like mumbled words, each one sounding more painful to say then the next. It’s so wrong. Dick is usually always talking, he’s known as the chatty one of his family. He always seems to be teasing his siblings or taunting whichever villain he is facing. Dick is one of the few people she has ever seen without a glimmer of fear tease Batman.

She looks at his utility belt, there is blood where Dick most likely had tried to find the emergency button. If it had gone off or he managed to push it, someone must be on their way. Then there’s someone who knows that Dick needs medical attention, stat. Someone who will relieve her of this awful duty she has stumbled upon.

There is a faint blue light coming from under a shield in the belt. She sees it when she tips her head slightly sideways, parallel to Dick’s upper body. The light is only visible when looking downwards towards the feet of the wearer.

“Is it the one glowing? A blue color?” she asks. Dick says something, she can’t decipher it.

“If it’s..” he starts, “it’s blue?” he asks instead. His brows are once again furrowed.

She nods, “yes.”

“Shit,” he whispers. He leans his head back, and he looks up at the sky which still is nothing but fog.

“It’s.. not..,” he mumbles, his eye is closed and the single lens of his domino that’s left has become a thin slit.

She taps his face, rather hard. His eye blinks open again, although they look too hazy.

“Huh?” he asks.

“The emergency beacon, it’s blue. Does that mean it hasn’t gone off?” she asks, dread filling her stomach. Dick doesn’t have much time.

“Emergency?” is Dick’s answer, he looks confused, resembling more the young boy she once knew and not the man he has become.

“Blue means safe,” he then says, confusion still evident on his face. He looks like he is barely awake, his skin is cool to the touch when she taps his face again when he looks to be drifting off.

“Your emergency beacon, we need to turn it on, now,” she tells him when he looks up at her. She gives him as much of a stern look that she can muster. He needs to hold on long enough to tell her how to activate it. Then she has at least done everything she can to save the boy.

“Dad will be here,” Dick says, his one visible eye half open. He doesn’t seem to completely be with her anymore, and she doesn’t know what to answer his little statement with.

She regrets not taking Bruce up on that emergency com-unit he had offered her a few months back. She had been too afraid to say yes, even after all these years. Coms are too easy to trace. Too big of a commitment.

“Dick, your emergency beacon, how do I activate it?” she tries to keep her words clear, hoping they are filtering through Nightwings ears. One thing at a time, she tells herself.

“‘’s jus’ a button,” Dick mumbles, head lolling a little to the side. She grabs both sides of his face and forces him to look up at her.

“Which button?” she asks, but there is no response. Dick blinks up at her, but it looks like he isn’t actually seeing her.

“NIGHTWING!” she yells and shakes him a little, not even sorry for jostling him and the pain it causes. His eye focuses on her again, he blinks.

“Where is the emergency button?” she asks, not losing eye contact.

“Beside the l’ght, just - small,” he whispers, a drop of blood escapes the corner of his mouth and makes its way down his chin. She regrets it, but she has to let go of Dick’s face. Has to let their eye-contact go.

She looks at the utility belt. With the help of the claws on her gloves, she manages to pry the protective shield covering the blue light off. She pushes her goggles down again, and they help her get a closer look. There is, in fact, a small button placed half a centimeter from the little light. She pushes it in, hard.

For one too long second, her heart is in her throat.

The light switches to a glowing red.

“Hey, it’s red now, that means it’s activated, right?” she asks, still examining the little beacon. It’s a steady red, not blinking, just like the blue light had been earlier. There is no sound emitting from it. Then again, on the battlefield, anything playing sound might attract unwanted attention.

She looks up at Dick’s face again when there is no response. His head is to the side, mouth slightly open, and his eye is closed. His arm is completely limp now, laid over the leather jackets weak attempt to stop the bleeding from his gut.

Dread is filling her stomach. It starts at the bottom of it and fills up her lungs and throat and makes it hard to breathe. For a few seconds, it feels like too long, she is frozen. She wishes she had turned earlier, gone the other way, followed her original plan. Then she wouldn’t be sitting here. There wouldn’t be a bleeding and limp Nightwing by her side. Her maybe boyfriend’s oldest son would not be dying in front of her.

She puts two fingers on his neck, between the gap of the high-necked Nightwing suit and his chin. There is a pulse, but even her whose only medical knowledge comes from the street can feel that it is too damn slow. When she stares at his chest she can see that he is still breathing. His chest is still moving up and down, if only ever so slowly. It is too shallow, the movement too small.

She doesn’t know what to do now. This isn’t the first scene like this she has seen. People have died in front of her before. She has seen people laid dead and forgotten on an unforgiving ground too many times before.

But this is a kid she watched grow up. A once ten-year-old who she teased for his choice of uniform. A twelve-year-old she ate ice cream with, while they waited for Batman to show up. A teenager barely turned sixteen who she taught about sexual harassment when Bruce was lacking the emotional understanding to do it himself.

She knows she shouldn’t move him, considering his injuries, his bad leg, but she can’t let him lay there either with his head resting on a pillow made of dirt and asphalt. Medical reasons be damned, he is not going to die thinking he is alone.

A whine escapes his lips, even if he doesn’t wake up when she grabs his shoulders and drags him onto her lap. Both of them are damp, from both the moistness of the fog and all the blood which should’ve been inside Dick’s body. The inside of her jacket, still laid over Dick’s wound, is dark, filled with blood, and doing little purpose now. The wound itself is barely bleeding anymore. She does not want to think about what that means.

She softly hushes him when another whine escapes his lips. She uses her teeth to drag one of her black gloves off, and combs her now naked fingers through his hair, away from his face. The hair has grown stiff and matted because of all the blood and grime.

He is still breathing. His poor heart is still beating, desperately trying to pump blood through his system. The skin of his hand feels too cold when she touches it.

His breath hitches. His face falls. It goes slack. The furrowed brows ease.

Her heart feels like it is going to burst out of her chest. She holds her breath.

He takes a shuddering breath, and so does Selina.

Now he is completely limp in her arms, more so than before. He isn’t tightening his muscles in pain. His body feels more like jello than muscle and bone. When she looks at his face, the pained grimace is gone.

He is slipping.

She looks at the red light on his belt, which is still attached around his body. She wants to take it off, it’s digging into her hip. It can’t be comfortable for Nightwing either to be laying on it. But she knows the bats. They have their traps, especially on their weapons. She is not up for an electric shock, even if she could probably manage to dismantle it if she had the time. She has seen Bruce do it often enough.

She wonders why the damn emergency beacon hadn’t gone off in the first place. Nightwing’s vitals must have been far from good before she even arrived. They have only deteriorated since. She cradles him a little closer as a gust of wind follows the alleyway and sends chills down her spine.

When she lets her head dip back, and stares up at the sky, she can see that the fog is finally lifting. The night sky is almost peeking through.

She hopes she will see the blur of a cape up on the rooftop.

There is nothing of the sort.

She uses the glove she took off to wipe the blood off of Dick’s face. Half of the domino mask is still on. With gentle movements, she manages to peel it off. There’s no point in him wearing half a mask anyway, anyone who knew Dick would recognize him with only one eye covered. The area where the mask once sat is red and irritated. Some blood has seeped in under it while it was on, and now it’s dry and crusted. She wipes that away too.

She looks down at the young man’s face. He is still handsome, even when pale and supporting a busted lip and a darkening bruise on his left chin. He would have made a great cat if he wasn’t already a bat and Selina liked to have sidekicks. His jaw is sharp, and his body lithe and smooth while still muscular and strong. She thinks his Nightwing uniform resembles Catwoman’s more than Batman’s. The play on his body he uses is much like her own, she has thought about it many times before. It had been one of the reasons she had agreed to sit down and have that talk with him, all those years ago. Plus, watching Bruce squirm had just been too amusing

She and Richard could have been a good team if faith was different. She could have molded him quite nicely.

He is so young. She wonders how Bruce, who she knows sees all the little bats as his children, can let them do this. How can he let them run around, risk their own life, on a daily basis? How many will have to die before he puts an end to it?

Then again, none of the bats ever seems to stay dead.

If she is too loose Nightwing tonight, she hopes he isn’t the exception to the rule. Or do they all only get one resurrection? She doesn’t know the laws of death, who works in more mysterious ways than Batman himself.

Dick is deathly still in her arms. She would be sure he was dead if she didn’t have two fingers on his pulse. It is a miracle that he is even alive, considering the blood-loss he has suffered. But then again, Bruce has always complained about how stubborn his eldest is.

She hopes he gets the chance to complain about it again.

The roar of a powerful motor a couple of blocks away makes Selina tighten her grip on Dick. She tries to scoot them both backward further into the shadows, to safety. The man from before is thankfully still unconscious on the floor. She does not want to deal with some enraged criminal while Nightwing is still dying on the ground.

Dick was lucky before, when the only one all his not so subtle noise attracted was her. They might not be so lucky if someone else were to stumble upon them now.

A heavyset of boots falls from, seemingly, the sky. When she looks up from the alleyway floor, it’s into the glass visors of the Red Hood. Before saying anything to her, he is turning the man she found in her entrance to the alleyway over. He kicks him slightly as if to make sure he is out.

“Better to be on the safe side, right?” the Red Hood’s metallic voice says while turning to look at her again.

She knows that the Red Hood is supposed to be on the good side now and that it’s Jason Todd under there. She knew him, at least kind of, back when he was Robin. It was before he died and became.. whatever this in front of her is. Still, she is unsure. She has never been one to throw trust around. He must sense her hesitation because the next thing he does is reach back, behind his head, and with a swift click take off his helmet.

“I got the emergency alert,” he says when she makes no move to speak first. He isn’t looking at her face anymore though, or at her at all, but at the man still lying limp in her lap. His brother.

He steps forward and crouches down in front of them.

She lets her grip slacken a little, to let Jason get a good look off his dying brother.

“They got him good, huh?” he whispers.

“He’s lost blood, a lot of it, and his leg-” Selina says. Jason’s eyes move from the drenched leather jacket to Dick’s broken foot. “- his leg’s ruined, plus he’s got a concussion,” she continues.

“His breathing hasn’t been right since I got here. Jason,-” The Red Hood flinches when she uses his real name, and she files it away for a later time.

“He’s going to die,” she says.

Jason shakes his head, “Bruce is on the way, he won’t let him die,” he argues. Funny, because she is pretty sure Bruce was too late to save Jason. Then again, Dick had only a few minutes ago said something along those lines himself. He must have known he was on his deathbed as he proclaimed his belief in the bat.

Yet a glimmer of hope fills Selina, even if she doesn’t want it too. Bruce, Batman, is on his way. He is going to save Nightwing, do what Selina couldn’t. She won’t have to bear this much longer.

With help from Jason, they lay Dick down between them. Some irrational part of her wants to keep on holding him, just in case Dick slips away. But Jason wants to look over Dick himself, wants to be sure of what he’s dealing with, and Selina cannot deny him that. Instead, she settles on holding one of Dick’s white, almost blueish, hands tight in her own.

Dick’s heart stops beating one minute and thirty seconds before Bruce arrives.

When Batman runs into the dirty alley, the sky is clear above him and the moon is providing him with a pale shimmery light. The first thing he sees is Jason. And then - Jason, desperately trying to revive his older brother. Dick.

There is no sight of Selina, who had left the moment Richard’s heart stopped. Bruce didn’t even know she was there until Jason told him later.

Four weeks later, and Selina has heard nothing. She’s unsure if that’s good or bad. There hasn’t been anything in the underworlds rumor mill either. No one has seen or heard from Nightwing. She can’t say she’s surprised. There have only been wild guesses about the vigilante’s sudden disappearance. Nothing real or from a believable source.

The bat-sightings have been scarcer than normal too. She knows they’ve been doing their usual patrols though, minus Nightwing. She’s seen them. Every time she’s spotted them, she hasn’t been able to muster up the courage to confront them.

There hasn’t been anything on Dick Grayson either, besides a small notice of him traveling abroad. She hasn’t seen anything on the rest of the family either, besides the usual gossip tales of romance and heartbreak. If only real life was that easy.

Now she’s standing up on a rooftop, their rooftop. It is still a couple of hours until the sun will start to make its way up.

It is an olive branch if there ever was one. She is in his territory.

She hears Bruce before she sees him, the ruffle of his cape, the sound of his boots as he walks over the rooftop. He isn’t trying to hide, he wants her to know he’s there. She wonders if he’s trying not to spook her? It’s funny, as she is the one who initiated contact.

Selina doesn’t turn to look at him as he walks towards her. He comes up and stands by her side without a word.

They stay like that, looking over Gotham, for a couple of minutes. The moon is shining just like how it did when the fog lifted that night.

“You left,” Bruce says, finally breaking the silence.

Selina finds the power to look up at him. He has the cowl on, but even with his face half hidden, she can see that he looks tired. His uniform looks a little worse for wear like it hasn’t been on his mind, or anyone else’s, to patch up the small rifts in it.

“There was nothing more for me to do,” she answers because it is the truth. She could not bear to sit there and do nothing, and only look on as Jason Todd tried to revive his only older brother.

Her stomach hurts with a pain that doesn’t come from anything she’s eaten. It fills all of her. She wants to ask, to know. The teen has been on her mind too much the last few weeks. She has to ask now, or she will never have the courage again.

“The boy?” she is suddenly all too aware of how quiet it is. How it is as if even Gotham is holding her breath, waiting for Batman to reply.

Bruce shakes his head.

Selina feels sick as she tries to force the tears away from her eyes. Some part inside of her knew that it must have gone like this. Still, she had held onto a sliver of hope. The hope Jason Todd had given her, hope in the caped crusader, in that he would arrive on time. She grips the railing off the roof, her hands hidden under her new pair of gloves. Her last ones had been drenched by blood beyond saving. Just like Richard.

She almost wishes she hadn’t ever asked. It would be better living in uncertainty until the news broke for the rest of the world, rather than being told by Bruce himself like this. By Bruce, and his broken voice.

“Only the family knows,” Bruce says. It is obvious he is working very hard to keep his voice unemotional and detached.

“Did he say any-, what was, I -,” it’s painful to hear Batman stumble over his words.

Selina wishes she had something meaningful to say to him. That Dick had proclaimed his love for his family or found the words to make his death easier on everyone - but he hadn’t. His death, like most deaths in their line of work, was filled with pain. His last moments awake had only been filled with desperation to survive.

“I.., he just.. said where the button for the emergency beacon was,” she says. She’s surprised when she manages to keep her voice steady.

Even if she knew Dick when he was Robin in his childhood and early teen years, she had little to do with him once he grew up into a man. Still here she is, crying over his death.

“He.. he did ask if you sent me, to get him, when I arrived,” she adds as an afterthought, unsure if she should say it or not. She doesn’t know if it will do more bad than good.

“The vital-reader, in his suit, it malfunctioned. It.. broke, while he was fighting, judging by the timestamp it stopped transmitting,” Bruce’s voice is filled with bitterness. “I didn’t even know how bad it was before I got there, and all that time he just… laid there,” his voice comes close to cracking. It hurts to hear this. It hurts to hear Batman unravel.

She thinks about telling Bruce that his son wasn’t alone. She wonders if she should tell him that she held his son in his last moments. That even if his family wasn’t there he at least must have known that someone was there. Someone held his hand as his heart stopped.

Maybe she should tell Batman that his son had faith that he would arrive on time. That he held on to the belief, even as his life was slowly ebbing out in time with the blood pouring out of his gut. That Dick had still, at a point where he must have known he was going to die, believed his dad would come for him.

She can’t bring herself to get the words out. It hurts too much, and she doesn’t know if it will help Bruce anyway. Bruce has a way of turning everything that happens into something that was his fault, his mistake. It would be too easy for him if Selina were to tell him some of Dick’s last words now. She doesn’t know how to say it in a way he will understand.

It seems to be a theme with the two of them, never finding the right words.

When it becomes clear to Bruce she has nothing more to say, that she has no more comments on how much Dick suffered in his final moments, the man leaves. He jumps over the ledge, grapnel gun in hand, and once again disappears into the night.

A dark cloud covers the moon as Selina makes her way down from the rooftop. Her new boots make almost no sound as she moves down the stairs. As she slips into the shadows again, it feels like Gotham is suffocating from holding her breath waiting for the first Robin to come back.

ALso@liathgray explained the title like this; “cats cradle has been associated with innocence vs corruption and situations that become increasingly complicated” and i just found that very very perfect and fitting

again, theres an alternate ending available on tumblr here

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ultimateearworm · 2 years

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It’s been 13 days of zero contact with him. Sometimes he’s all I think about. I realize this lack of contact with him has allowed me to grow. A new door has opened with the breakup and graduation around the corner. I hope this period has also allowed him to grow. He has me blocked on all social media platforms, so I dont know if he is.

Life is beautiful and always finds away to make no opportunities from pain. I am thankful for him, because the pain he gave me allowed me to have the courage to grow into the person I always wanted to be. I hope the breakup helped him as well. At the end of it all, I had no regrets falling in love with him. I miss him to this day, but we couldn’t work out as partners anymore. I’d want to restart everything if he decided to reach out to me. Start our relationship back to “Hi, my name is Emily! Let’s be friends!” And grow slowly from there. Once trust is broken its a hard and slow process to rebuild if both parties ever wanted to.

#ex #thoughts #moving on #feelings #breakup #healing #recovery #mental health

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whichwitchami · 6 years

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Month of Spreads 2 Day 10

Give Me Clarity Spread

I have a feeling this spread is going to be highly personal. I asked for it though, with the specific situation I wanted clarity on.

My signifier is the Queen of Cups. She represents me, someone who has gone through her share of darkness, who has trusted herself to get through, and who now uses that knowledge to give others guidance and advice. I’ve been through a lot lately, and what I need clarity on is if I’m ready to move forward, or if I need to sit back and rest a bit longer.

1. The situation from my point of view. Four of Pentacles

As a four, and as a pentacle, this is a card of intense stability. Everything is tightly controlled, there is no room for error. Error equals pain, regrets, being vulnerable. In this card, the natural flow of the universe is dampened, by trying too tightly to control it, we create stagnation.

It’s been 6 months since the break up. I’m trying to move away from it in my daily life and my readings, but the truth is its still affecting me. Not necessarily in a ‘woe is me’ pain/ pity type thing like it was at first. I’ve worked hard on healing, but I’ve been spending a lot of time on self growth and self love. These are good things to focus on, but if I stay here my life will become stagnant. While pentacles usually represent money, I see this card representing my heart, my trust. I’ve kept it so close to the chest, tight in a box, scared to let the universe flow naturally because the fragile pieces might shatter once again if I do.

Putting this in the context with the Queen of Cups, I’ve definitely built a lot of walls. My trust is fragile, I know exactly where and why that happened. I need to change my mentality though, away from the thoughts of someone who is broken, to someone who is healing. I can’t move forward if I keep seeing myself as damaged. Sure, the cracks may never fully repair, but if I am to move on, I need to focus on where I am strong, and not on the ‘what ifs’ of whether or not everything will shatter again.

2. The situation from an outside point of view. The Sun

The ‘core meaning’ for this card according to the book is: Clarity that brings joy. I find that a bit funny considering this is a spread about clarity.

Put simply the Sun represents happiness for the sake of happiness. It’s not a complex card. It’s being happy and enjoying life.

I don’t really know what this means. Am I happy? I do think living on my own and the self-care I’ve been working on is doing me good. I’ve seen myself grow leaps and bounds since this relationship ended. I’m taking the lessons I wanted to learn and the ones I didn’t want to learn and am letting them shape me into something new, something stronger.

At the same time, this is the situation from an outside view. Does that mean I appear happy when I’m really not? Is this a ‘fake it till you make it’ situation? Am I faking it but haven’t quite made it? Or is it the opposite, where I’m ready but I’m not seeing it myself? Others see me as happy and ready to move forward, but my doubts are holding me back?

With the Queen of Cups, someone who has been through her fair share, who knows that you can rebuild...I think it leans towards me being happy on the outside, but not necessarily that I’m faking it, just that all things have to balance. If I am to move forward, I need to feel the happiness as it comes, remember to enjoy it, but also remember the things that hurt me, that built the walls in the first place, so that history doesn’t repeat itself.

So, from an outside perspective, I think this means that the situation shows that balance, that I am happy and ready to take on something new, but also that its going to take time. There may be setbacks, may be moments of unnecessary caution, but ultimately I’m happy.

3. Outright facts or dominant energies that are present. The Tower

We all know what the Tower means, we all dread seeing this chaos, destruction, instability come up in our readings. The outright fact of the matter is that this break up was devastating to me. Not only was it as sudden and as out of the blue as the Tower might suggest, but it was as painful, earth shattering, and reality shattering, as the card indicates. I was a wreck after the break up. This guy did everything he could (intentionally or not) to exploit every insecurity I had in the relationship, from the fear of his best friend being more important than me, to the fear that I had placed my trust in the wrong person. In the end, it wasn’t the fact that he turned to her, or the fact that his mental health was unstable, that hurt me most, it was the fact that he KNEW from the moment we met how important trust was to me, and he still chose to lie, to betray that trust. More than anything what hurt was that once again, my trust was in pieces on the floor. That’s the facts of the break up.

Pairing it with the Queen of Cups makes the most sense in this reading, since the Tower in this situation, the break up, is what got me where I am. Fighting through insecurities, through mistrust, through pain, all caused by “the Break up” plus other instances of having my trust betrayed in the past is what got me here. I’ve been scared to move forward because I’m afraid of facing another Tower. Another heartbreak, another complete destruction of the now even more fragile trust I have. Whomever I date next is gonna have to be real patient. I don’t expect them to fix my trust for me, but they’ll have to deal with every instance of me doubting them while I work through my own insecurities. The Queen is a reminder of how far I have come though, how I can use what I’ve been through to navigate the energy of the Tower to handle things better next time.

4. Hidden truths or obstacles. The High Priestess

The Priestess symbolizes truth, wisdom, and understanding, but a kind of knowing that just is. There’s no receipts, there’s no proof, nothing concrete for you to point to and say “this is why I know I’ll be able to move forward.” Instead its a truth in the heart, the soul of who you are, that just feels right. Only experience can tell us what we need to know. Not what we want to know, but what we need to know.

“Something that can only be understood through experience”

This card is telling me the truth that I need to hear, but don’t want to hear. The only way I’ll know if I’m ready to move forward, is if I put myself out there. Take the risk of another Tower. There is no switch that flips and proves I’m ready. Only experience will tell. So I have to put myself out there, be vulnerable, and see how I react if and when I get hurt again, or something tests my ability to trust.

The Queen of Cups tells me I’m better equipped to recognize potential danger. I’ve lived through it once, I’ll recognize it now, and if need be I’ll live through it again. Whether or not that means I’m truly ready to have those boundaries tested, can only be known through having them pushed and seeing how I react.

5. What I ultimately need to know or understand. Page of Swords

The Page of Swords represents someone who is prepared, but not exactly patient. A bit reckless, they wanna take things and run with it, but they’re confident it’ll work out well, and everything is planned out, even if it seems spontaneous or careless. Every step of the way with a Page of Swords will require explanation, questioning everything, and analysis of the situation.

“Someone who is ready to try something new in relation to ideas, systems, or communication.”

I think this represents who I am going to be, the reality of who I am moving forward. Deep down I am the Queen of Pentacles, but to repair my wounds and get back there, I have to go through the Page of Swords. Going into a new relationship, if and when that occurs, I will question everything. I will hate myself for it because I don’t want to be the one with trust issue, but until those issues are challenged and proved wrong, I won’t heal. Healing comes from hesitantly trusting, questioning the trust, and seeing that the other person is being truthful and not trying to break my heart. It’ll be a slow, painful process, but the Page of Swords is here to help me along the way, to remind me that communication no matter how blunt or tactless, is key. If I go into a situation with distrust, I need to clearly explain why, and that I am healing through this.

6. How I should proceed. Three of Wands

This is a card of anticipation, of adjusting vision, thoughts, feelings, actively doing what you can while you wait. This card IS the law of attraction. This tells me that my efforts to heal as much as I can, to love myself first, and to care for myself are paying off. I’ve healed as much as I can on my own. Now is the time to keep fine tuning and working on myself, while putting out to the universe that I am ready, that I realize things will be tough, but I’ve already put in so much effort, and I’m not gonna stop now, so bring me what you can. I know it’ll be a journey of its own, but I’m ready to take that step.

7. Ish. Wrapping it all up.

there’s a lot happening up there, but the bottom line is I am ready to move forward. I know that being ready means vulnerability, opening myself up to the possibility of realizing that I’m not actually ready, but I won’t know until I take the risk, until I try. I can’t finish healing until I put myself out there. So bring it on Universe, bring me something to help me move forward. I’ll be here waiting, continuing to work on myself until the time is right.

#MonthOfSpreads2 #month of spreads challenge #tarot challenge #tarot community #for bad days #honestly this has been my favorite spread so far #and the most insightful

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lamgrace1993 · 4 years

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What Is It Called When You Save Your Virginity For Marriage Eye-Opening Unique Ideas

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Can You Stop Divorce After Signing Papers

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How To Save A Marriage After 25 Years

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#What Is It Called When You Save Your Virginity For Marriage Eye-Opening Unique Ideas #Save Marriage C

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