the whole being gay and liking the same gender thing is a lot to take in, person a has been straight most of their life but now it’s changing: because of person b’s welcoming smile. it really surprised them that: they actually like person b, who’s their friend since forever ago. it does make sense because the only thing person a was thinking about is how to make person b happy, all the time; or how they always smile at the thought of person b’s mere presence.

of course, with the new changes in their preference: person a tries to avoid person b, saying that they hate them; when really, they really like them. they thought if they push person b away, the guilt anchor would be raised but really it just sunk deeper into the deep, black ocean of emotions. not only did they hurt themself, they hurt person b, too: and person a wanted to change that, for the better.

;

!

[/]: ok,, so hi. I’m alive and I’m hyperfixated on the mental tentacle man. I had so much fun writing this and as always my wonderful partner and editor helped me — @lilliryth

[]: Love notes. Stupidity ensues.

[]: Otto Octavius x Reader.

[ ]: 5400k words.

[]: Angst with a happy ending. Mental illness mentions, suicide mentions. Overall, it’s really fluffy.

Otto Octavius had always been a man of logic and reason, a man with an inclination for science, and more importantly what made sense—even if the grey abstracts of the field themselves didn’t at first. Because, in the end, an explanation, a hypothesis would be constructed.

However, what doesn’t make sense, what has his brows knitted, lips drawn into a confused scowl is the pink piece of paper in his large, tremulous hands. Both forefingers and thumbs pinch the edges, his pinkies upturned with strain.

The writing glares at him, a sweet innocence contrasted with the bleak anaemia that is his surroundings. And, by extension, himself.

‘I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.’

He’d found the curious note in his diary planner—well, it had fallen out, to be more truthful. It was a surprise to be sure, and from the moment his eyes processed the paper’s hue, he knew it wasn’t his own. Curiosity bloomed, fingers unearthing.

Absent, he shifts in his seat as the chair scrapes against the tiled floor. The distant paranoia, which feels like a lifetime ago, flickers the lights of his mind before the whispers are silenced just as fast.

There’s no more of that.

He’s reformed, even if he does deem himself unworthy of such… a note (it was certainly a note, yes). Even if he does believe it is just that — a joke — one set up to frame him as a laughing stock. There’s no more of that behaviour.

The probability of that occurring, anyway, is slim and, once more, borders on the line of the delusions he suffered from the AI’s influence.

Yet, the thorned coils which had wrapped and solidified their insidious hold around the organ that keeps his body moving, his brain working, year and years ago, won’t let him fumble for the threads of hope; of happiness. It’s too risky. He’s at a standstill, a stalemate with his own self—a meddlesome, pitiful thing. His logical mind screams:

Occam’s Razor.

And so, the natural presumption despite external opinions of himself is that someone is enamoured.

Maneuvering so that his left hand is holding the message, he places a fist against his mouth. His teeth bite into his knuckles with a tender force. His eyes remain fixated on the words, reading them over and over, expecting the mirage to dissipate—a hallucination conjured up by the deepest shadows of his mind, claws of the past.

Who—

“You alright, doc?”

Otto lets out a noise of surprise as his actuators react immediately. Taking up as much space as they can, they straighten out and he swears he can now sympathise with terrified cats.

He feels like a cartoon.

The crash next to him is wilfully ignored. His smile is half-hearted as he looks towards his co-worker, and as if caught doing something rather inappropriate, he shoves the tiny piece of paper into one of his coat pockets.

“Yes! Yes, yes… perfectly fine.”

The co-worker, Matthew, looks at him like he’s grown two heads, or perhaps a few more metal arms, and leaves without another word. It’s to be expected and yet Otto holds his head in his hands, rubbing at his eyes with haste.

They sting with the burden of sleepless nights.

While he’s been in remission for ages, has healed and had his inhibitor chip reinstated, there of course is room — the room being very spacious and able to accommodate an elephant, though a room nonetheless — for doubt. If it’s happened once, it can happen again.

And, in all honesty, Otto agrees.

There’s always going to be the stain of his background, the stain of his mishaps, the stain on his reputation as a scientist. Brilliant but reckless. Impulsive. Harbouring the grandiosity of the greats with nothing to show for…

Yes, this is his burden to bear. He’s never going to be trusted again, not with the mechanical reminder attached to him for the span of forever; and since he’s never gotten his way - such a forever will be a long time.

He’s getting distracted.

Swiping his thumb to uncrumple the paper, a glance downwards determined the reality of the situation.

Real. Very real.

The walls of the establishment with each flickering glance creep towards him. Further and further they close in until that electrifying card of freedom is being wrenched out of his pocket and shoved into the lab’s clock-in system.

He’s taking his break early.

∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ✦ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙

He notices you long before you notice him, the quickened strides you take are enough of an indication of where your head is at, and subsequently, your availability. Something settles in his chest at this conclusion, it’s not painful, though it’s not exactly comfortable either. There’s a heaviness there, a weight that he can’t quite shake.

Such a sensation deepens when you smile at one of your coworkers, making a small quip, he assumes, because they bark a laugh. It’s so surprising to you that your own amusement tangles with their own.

A lone star in the sky, tearing through the darkness with such a pertinacious conviction one’s free will to observe is obliterated. No, you demand attention, his attention, without even knowing, and it’s akin to the biological need to survive.

To breathe.

And now, it’s his turn to laugh. Rehashing poetry he’s been gifted to the local librarian was not a level he would stoop to.

The sigh he breathes is automatic and he drops his stuff in his usual spot, ignoring the holes that sear into him as he passes people by.

Soon, he finds himself in queue at the cafe nestled along the library’s front, glasses up and fixed (thanks to the trusty assistance of Mo), against the bridge of his nose. His research papers take a good chunk of his attention away from the vexing length of the line and the gawking, until the loud drawl from the counter, harbouring a mirrored resentment, interrupts his sinuous arithmetic.

Without looking up, he recites his order. A black coffee, no sugar, and a blueberry muffin. Within minutes he’s tucked away at the back of the library where no one ventures. The noise is rare, the whispers unheard and the halls gloomier.

He likes it that way.

“I always wished I could do maths. Aside from how awful and traumatic the teachers were, it actually seemed fun. Though, you do make it look easy.”

Otto’s eyes widen. His gaze darts from you to the notepad he’d apparently pulled out at some point. Hovering centimetres from the page are one of his actuators with the pen that he stuffs in his coat pocket in case of emergencies. One quick scan determines that his thoughts — which were purely hypothetical — have been transcribed for him.

Ah, the pros and cons of AI.

A smile takes over his surprise, and he shifts in his seat.

“Anyone can do mathematics, no matter the setbacks. There’s always time if you put in the work.”

You roll your eyes and sit on the table, a hand’s length away from his notepad. The movement is so delicate and with such grace Otto’s breath hitches. He tries not to notice the way your grey pencil skirt rides up your thighs, the floral seduction of your perfume so close it coaxes the subtle fluttering of his eyelids.

“Oh, come on. Otto, how long have we known each other now? You know there’s no hope for me.”

“Quite the contrary, my dear. I will admit the education system is very flawed, though if there’s a will, there’s a way.”

“Well, for most, the will needs to be created. And considering you’re loving my muffin so much there needs to be free muffins after math classes. That’s an incentive don’t you think? Muffins and math!” you grin with jazz hands and, to him, it’s near irksome how delightful you are.

Then, your forefinger swipes at your bottom lip and he can practically see the light bulb going off.

“Hell, maybe I should pitch that to my superior. It’ll get more of the kids involved in our programs.”

Once the words process — you had the tendency to shoot sentences like bullets — he gives a soft laugh. He almost wants to tell you how enamoured he is, though his mouth is pinned. The urge comes out in other ways, however, as before he can stop the movement, an actuator is giving you head pats.

Your giggles light up the near-abandoned end of the library.

To his surprise, you’re not scared of him. Sure, he’s known you for a while now, but there’s never been such an intimate form of contact.

Considering all things, it wouldn’t have shocked him if you got up and left screaming. It wasn’t too long ago he was out of his mind — and criminal — and the bad reactions have happened enough times to where he’s sure it’s to happen again in the near future. What would highlight this experience as different, setting the event in bold, red ink, would’ve been the pain. Yes, worst of all, the pain.

“You baked this?” Otto asks, opting to change the subject as he reels in the actuator with a mental tug that looks unnaturally rough—as if it had been held by a string and yanked. He’s just thankful there’s no one behind him, he didn’t want to be accused of being evil again after smacking someone into the wall by accident and ruining half the library…

Anyway…

Watching on with a fondness, your eventual nod is hesitant and shy. Slowly, it gains confidence.

“We’re a family! The staff is all really close so if one of us is having trouble, then we do the best we can to help. I bake as a hobby and I think because of that I’m the only one Olivia trusts to assist whenever she doesn’t have the time.”

“That’s lovely. How kind.”

Your smile has a blissful sway and Otto finds himself falling into it, lingering a second too long.

“I could bake something for you! I know how hard you work, you practically kill yourself.“

Ha! If only.

His lips quirk upwards.

"Oh! There’s just so much to choose from. I could make you tiny cakes! Or some more muffins! Or cinnamon rolls—you kind of remind me of them, actually,” you say, ending in a thoughtful tone.

The smile you wear is beaming, the passion for one of the oldest crafts humanity has engaged in, is inspiring. Words are not enough to measure the warmth he feels.

With what Otto can only pinpoint as a sudden realisation, the fear of coming on too strong about a special interest — which he immediately identifies with — your joy falls, and your eyes widen.

Freezing, your stuttering begins.

The display is adorable and sympathetic. The dull ache in his chest bubbles a series of compulsions, yet never truly do they pop free. Reaching out and lacing his fingers with yours is the most overbearing and he has to physically clasp his own together to stop them. So far, his actuators have not betrayed him and he thanks the heavens.

“Oh— uh— I mean only if you want to,” you waver. “Of course, I don’t want to force you and I don’t want to give the impression that I’m great at it. I just—”

Otto releases a laugh, and he hopes it’s more reassuring than seen as an interruption.

“Darling, I’d love that.”

∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ✦ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙

Curiously, when he gets home and checks his diary planner, there’s another note. The only places he’d visited were the library and his work—meaning the prolific, perfervid poet hovers around either area.

The only thing Otto is sure of is that it’s not you. He’d been watching you the entire time and there’s no possibility you’d slipped under his radar. Either way, the idea that the notes are coming from you is wishful thinking. A hope, a yearn which should have been quashed long ago.

He’s not a foolish, young boy anymore.

It read:

“Holding this poem

Close, like a mirror,

I breathe upon it.

I watch for some sign.

There is a faint mist

Spreading across it.

It takes hold. It clings

To the lean hollows

As the sun rises,

This sun that is going

To burn the mist off.

I give you chamois

To clear the surface.

I give you this sun.”

Otto feels his consciousness, along with his reason, leave his body. He’s now convinced this is personal, the stanzas, to his very limited knowledge of poetry and his inhibited talent despite all efforts of comprehension, call to his deepest sorrows. His regrets. Broken dreams. Still, what he gets from this is redemption, the idea of rebirth—forgiveness through the metaphor of the cloth. Of the sun’s rays signalling anew.

And somehow, it evokes something he hasn’t felt in a long time. The complex coupling of pain and release, the hope for a future. Even if one person has forgiven him, just one, he can live with that. Yes, he can press on and somehow that eases the weight. In the aftermath of all he’d done, awakening from that terrible abhorrent dream — for that’s what it had been, right? A dream? (Some days he’s not so sure) — he didn’t believe he was ever going to forgive himself. It seemed that such a luxury was off the table, not in the cards. Not for someone like him. And now, this tiny piece of paper who has no name, no indication of a presence, is telling him otherwise.

Again, he could always be misinterpreting it.

His own personal bias. Typically human. Typically Otto. Perhaps, he was seeing what he wanted to see because living with the pain is too much.

Heavens.

Solving complex equations, constructing blueprints, calculus.

It’s all things Otto has no trouble with and, in fact, found himself enjoying quite often in his free time. At least you get a straight answer!

This, though?

Of poetry?

Of love?

The trials and tribulations of relation — saying the right things, doing the right things instead of standing like a dumbstruck statue — turned to stone by the infamous Gorgon herself, Medusa?

It’s overwhelming.

He’s never been good at it. Not even with Rosie, who’d had the misfortune of marrying him.

He can’t help the way his thoughts wander back to you, and he notes that their winding, spiralling, tracks aren’t making much sense right now.

At this time of night, what did you do? Did you have a family to come back to? Did you care for your kids with as much gentleness as the ones at the library?

He’s never been to your home, though he can picture you lounging on a daybed by your window, curtains pulled back with the shimmering beams of the moon trickling in. He can see the celestial light emphasising the glow of your features, he can picture it so vividly as if it’s happening right at that very moment; unfolding before his gaze while he floats from the melancholia.

Perhaps you’re the sole one awake in your household, once again — as you’ve recounted many a time — forgetting the importance of sleep, so engrossed by a novel you’re reading.

Every time he looks at you, there’s a new book in your hand. To be fair, it’s one of the many things he admires about you. You have such a thirst for knowledge, a will to learn, bestowing it to those willing to listen. Not once had he seen you bitter, resentful or condescending. You use your intelligence as a tool to help others — a pillar he very much believes in.

His thoughts are no longer focused on the papers he took home. And, like wandering insects, they have a determination of their own, no matter his pacific nudgings.

You, you, you.

It’s time for bed.

That much is clear.

With a puff of a sigh, he sheds his clothes leaving his chest bare while swapping out his slacks with pyjama pants. Once he’s in bed an actuator tugs on the thin chain of his lamp, plunging his room into darkness.

The war against insomnia is a harsh and unwilling one, creeping into the early hours of dawn. The all but few hours he spends sleeping on his stomach is the only solace his back gets.

He’s unsure where he musters up the will to move again.

But, he does.

Swallowing his painkillers with instant coffee, he leaves.

The next few days pass with some ease and it’s something he’s thankful for. There’s an incident with one of the interns, though it isn’t enough to make him entirely lose his temper. All it takes these days is a look. The things attached to his back evoke more from people than what shouting could ever do. The fear of possibility, the fear that he wasn’t who he said he was — recovered and healthy — overtakes anything.

It’s as exhausting as the sideways glances.

By the time his last day rolls around, he doesn’t have the energy to visit the library. Seeing you would have been the highlight of his week. A break between the madness. But, with the ache in his bones, the heaviness of his limbs, the resolve never crystalises.

The sleep comes easier this time, bringing with it the passing realisation that he never received a note that week.

∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ✦ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙

In all honesty, he feels a bit ridiculous.

No different to three kids shrouded in a trenchcoat, incongruous, feigning the certainty and self-actualisation adults possessed (though, honestly, time has taught him this really is a facade), he leans against one of the rickety oak bookshelves, hat tipped downwards, nose buried in what was the nearest book he—

He never did check what he picked up.

One quick glance at the cover and his face falls in horror. With quick fingers, he slots it back into the nearest opening and finds something more… appropriate. From now on, he knows to always look at the titles he picks up—lesson learned.

So far, in the half-hour he’s stood there, no one has passed his table and his quest to find out his ‘secret admirer’ is no closer than when he started. His things lay dormant, calling to him, pleading with him to end this charade.

He’s going to have to think of something—

“What are you doing?”

“Gah!” Otto drops the book he was holding and it falls to the ground with a heavy, reverberating thud. An actuator clamps on the wrist of whoever was about to touch his shoulder and he spins to meet the perpetrator with a scowl.

The techiness vaporises as soon as his eyes land on you. There’s a wince in your expression and he lets go of his hold immediately—he hadn’t even intended to be rough.

“My dear, forgive me! It seems I’m a bit on edge, I’m terribly sorry.”

With the poise of a feather, he takes your wrist in his hand observing the slight indent in the softness of your skin. It’s the first time he’s touched you, the warmth forever imprinted into the coolness of his own. He can’t help but notice how small your hand is compared to his, and following that same train of thought, how your everything is small compared to his.

If only the contact was under better circumstances.

“It’s okay,” you breathe.

There’s a shallow quality to it and Otto quirks a brow.

“Are you sure? Are you hurt?” his voice lowers to a whisper.

One of his worst fears rears its ugly head, slithering from the shadows with a treacherous grin.

It promises torture.

He can’t have you afraid of him. He could not — would not — stand for it. The hammering of his heart assaults his ribcage and for the second time in the span of an absurd couple of weeks, he feels like he’s an animation brought to life.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you reassure him, lips curling upwards into something so honeyed he melts. The soft noise of surprise that leaves him is accompanied by his own relieved elation.

“Oh. Good, good.”

“So…” you begin, sliding your hand back from his. “What’s with the get-up? You look like a spy who’s trying not to give away that he isa spy and is failing miserably.”

Otto shoots you a look before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m looking for someone,” he answers plainly. He wants to elaborate but he already feels nonsensical.

“Ooo a stakeout! I love a good stakeout,” you form your hands into tight circles, placing them around your eyes. “Any luck, commander?”

Otto rolls his eyes and with a huff, he admits defeat. He can’t believe he’s in this situation.

Nonetheless, you’re cute.

“No, nothing.”

“Who are you looking for anyway, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Someone has been leaving me these… notes. And I’m trying to work out who it is.”

“By conducting a stakeout in the library?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Depends. What are these notes?”
Otto feels a fire spreading in his cheeks and his jaw tenses.

“It’s poetry. They’re love notes.”

This is humiliating.

You gasp, hands flying up to your face, voice high-pitched and whiney, “Otto you never told me you had a secret admirer. How very high school!”

“Shush, shush! You’re going to give me away!” Otto whispers harshly, arms raising up in a frantic attempt to lower your voice.

Some librarian!

“Oh honey, you didn’t need my help with that,” your gaze looks him up and down and he squirms. The pet name does not go unnoticed.

“Alright,darling,” he smirks. “I’m asking again, what do you propose?”

He takes a step forward and you have to crane your neck all the way to meet him. He swears he sees you swallow, yet the hues of your cheeks he believes are delusory.

He fights the urge to take you by the chin, choosing instead to lean down.

"I-I— oh. Um. Well, I can keep watch,” nervous laughter punctuates your speech. “I’ll be your eyes and ears!”

With your hands on your hips, the stuttering leaves, “that way you don’t have to dress like a Looney Tunes villain in the middle of mylibrary.”

“Oh, it’s your library now, is it?”

“Yes,” you very innocently exclaim, batting your eyelashes.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” you rock your form sideways, looking beyond him.

“I have important librarian things to do! Besides, it looks like you have a visitor!”

Otto swivels around so fast he can hear the wrinkling of his coat. When his eyes latch onto his table there’s no one there and neither are you when he revolves.

As he reaches his table, he quickly finds there’s another note:

“Love starts as a feeling,

But to continue is a choice;

And I find myself choosing you

More and more every day.”

In the wise words of Sylvester himself—

Sufferin’ succotash.

∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ✦ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙

The stinging in his eyes and the cramp in his hand could perfectly describe the day he’s having. Aching fingers release the pen from its confines and Otto stretches his back.

“Heavens,” he grunts.

He goes to return to his work and yet a tiny part of him screams to take a break, demands to be heard after being snubbed for so long. One quick glance at the pile of paper in front of him determines the small, squeaking voice is right. The dread making its home in the pit of his stomach will not ease with perseverance. Only with time.

A coffee would fix the problem.

Probably.

He’s almost on the opposite end of the library — which in the early hours of the night is a ghost-town, who would have thought? — when he realises he’s forgotten his wallet. Blaming the lack of sleep and his obsessive work ethic he makes a sharp u-turn. The lack of people is a blessing and he tells himself if he’s working late or can’t sleep this would be the perfect place to venture.

No interruptions, no weird looks, no bitter weight on his shoulders.

He’s about to take a detour, to stroll and loosen the ridged hinges of his knees when he spots movement at his desk. It’s unbelievable. Hilarious with the right dashes of irony. He’d wanted nothing more than to catch this anonymous little poet and because of such will, he had never gotten it. Not even close to it.

And now, because he’s not seeking — at least for today — to find what he desires, to solve the riddle which has been haunting him for more than a week now, he’s gotten exactly that.

Time to put an end to the cat and mouse game.

As he steps closer, he can see them better.

The hue of their hair is familiar, their frame, their body, their little idiocracies identifiable even from behind; the fidgeting of their fingers, the rocking on their heels. Movements that highlight the activity in your brain, a big beautiful world in which he wished was laid out before him and he could, with some sort of magnification, watch the magic unfold—real magic.

A childlike enamour. A true love with all the sparks and the hope.

Whimsical.

“It’s you,“ he whispers under his breath and he begins to walk forward, a pilgrim seeking the divine.

"It’s you,” he repeats once more, a means to convince himself or to announce the processing of such a fact, he’s not sure. Perhaps both, sprinkled in with the desire for your attention.

It works.

You jump, knee slamming into the table followed by your shaking palms which fall onto the wood surface. You spin on your heels with a grimace, fast, harsh and evidently disorienting. He watches your form sway, eyes wider than an owl’s, blinking furiously.

He’s sure you’re in pain but you don’t voice it.

“Uh… me?” you grin and it’s tumultuous as you wring your hands.

“You’ve been leaving the notes all along,” he says, inching closer.

“Oh, whaaat? Noooo… no wayyy…” you scrunch your face up in what can only be perceived as a horribly forced look of confusion. “What notes?”

Otto wants to laugh, but he’s swamped by shock.

“But there’s something I don’t quite understand. How did you leave one for me yesterday? I was talking to you the whole time.”

He continues to close in on you.

“I asked someone else to do it while I had your attention. You had your back turned,” you say, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “Not even they noticed.”

You nod towards his actuators and he hums in agreement, the pieces coming together.

“Yes, it seems even they were too occupied with you.”

Otto shakes his head, finally releasing a laugh intertwined with disbelief.

“I agreed to you keeping watch, and all along… it was you,“ Otto muses as he closes the distance between your bodies. Pressed against the table, you look up at him.

The restraint he’d felt in all your interactions evaporates.

His thumb swipes your bottom lip and he watches as it trembles. Your shallow breaths caress the back of his hand and his wrist, its warmth shooting through him as if directly accessing his nerves and suddenly it all makes sense.

The sound of the table creaking as you lean backwards, the scraping of your nails into the wood are enough for him. With a smirk, he leans down, centimetres from your mouth. Otto fails to notice his actuators cocooning you both.

"Not so eloquent now, are we?” He chuckles deeply, pressing his chest to yours when the actuators coiling around your forms tighten. Without looking, an actuator unwinds and the arm brings the new note forward.

He reads aloud.

“I hurt the most when lost, yet also when not had at all. I’m sometimes the hardest to express, but the easiest to ignore. I can be given to many, or just one. What am I?”

Otto quirks a brow before chuckling, “oh? How very highschool.”

He pauses for a moment, already knowing the answer. There’s a vulnerability to it, a hurdle he must cross for beyond is the green grass he’s always dreamt of. The dried weeds of the past have held him back long enough. In this, he realises he does want redemption, salvation—forgiveness. Nothing a God could ever provide, but a choice he has to make for himself.

“Love,” Otto breathes. "The answer is love.”

When he looks back down at you, your eyes are closed. Waiting patiently—just for him.

“Otto,” you whisper with a lull so sweet he groans with fluttering eyelids.

His nose brushes against yours and he’s keenly aware of the way you hold onto him, fingers curled around his arms, nails digging into the charcoal wool of his coat.

“My dear.”

Finally, he kisses you.

Lips in sync, hearts beating, the flitter of his eyelashes against your cheek. Their pairing is as tender as he’d imagined, the light almost hesitant nature of your reciprocation says more than anything he could ask—and he’s glad for it. For he, too, hasn’t done this in a while.

So long, in fact.

Your hands move from his arms and one rests against the fullness of his cheek, while the other travels through his umber curls. There’s a slight tug and he leans into the motion with a whispered, mellifluous moan. You slip in your tongue then, and Otto’s actuators unwind. Two latch onto the carpet with a carefulness to ensure no damage is done, and he assumes they’re reacting to the dizziness he feels, while the other two grip the table in a similar manner. There, he lowers you with a tilt. He hovers over you, kiss yet to be broken as you rest against the wooden surface. While your legs go to wrap around him, Otto pulls away with a lovestruck smile. It’s light and his brows are lifted at their tips, eyes hooded.

“How long?” He asks.

He’s so gentle, he can’t help it—he doesn’t want to misstep, make the wrong move or harm you in any way. There’s such a deep, intrinsic need to keep you safe it’s overwhelming. Suffocating.

Once you open your eyes, delayed as if still soaring from the kiss yourself, he feels the warm giddiness in his stomach intensify. Part of him expects the scenery to change, to morph into the darkness of his room, far from you; without a light.

“Since the beginning,” you confess.

He recalls the early days of his healing. While he had gotten his inhibitor chip fixed, the psychological damage was done. And so, for a long while he struggled. With the looks: suspicious, fearful, disgusted. He struggled with his co-workers’ opinions, the hecklers, the random acts of unkindness. In a way, at the start, it was as if he hadn’t changed at all, the irritability, the impulses, minus the lack of impulse control, were still there. He wasn’t as stable as he is now, he had to get there. And so, logically, this did not make sense, for how could someone love a monster such as he?

“How were you not scared of me?” He says, honestly. Wearing his heart on his sleeve, he hangs on your every word.

“Otto,” you ease, thumb reaching down to stroke his bottom lip. “I don’t believe anyone’s more fearful of you, than yourself.”

He says nothing. He knows you’re right.

With a knowing look, you cup both of his cheeks and he leans down to rest his forehead against yours. It’s easy to get lost while in the entrancement of the library; a gentle giant. It really does feel like they’re alone there, just the two of them hidden in the clearing of the secretive shelves.

“You don’t have to be so afraid anymore,” she punctuates her sentence with a kiss. “You’re so full of goodness. You’ve always tried to do your best.”

Another kiss.

“You’re enough even if you think you’ve lost yourself.”

And another.

“But you don’t have to be alone anymore. We can find that, together.”

Otto is the first one to close the gap this time, and he tries to ignore the trails running down his cheeks which are swiped away by your thumbs.

Always so perceptive and so caring.

That night, he doesn’t go home alone and the blandness of his apartment doesn’t feel so bland anymore. Not with you near it.

And he finds, with you by his side, he falls asleep without difficulty.

lastincurableromantic:

A Doctor Who fanfic

Characters: Rose Tyler, Metacrisis Doctor (Tentoo), Original Character

Pairing:Tentoo x Rose

Genres: hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

Rating: K (all ages)

Warning:n/a

Summary: Still grieving the loss of the Doctor on Doomsday, Rose meets a stranger on New Year’s Eve.

Notes: This idea has been floating around in my mind for years, and I finally decided to write it down. I wanted to get it done by New Year’s Eve… but, you know, life. *sigh*

Auld Lang Syne

Rose slipped out of Vitex’s large, formal ballroom, music from the small orchestra the Vice President of PR had hired for the party following her into the hall. Stopping only to retrieve her coat from the cloakroom, she carefully crossed the lobby on tiptoe, certain that her heels would create an echo if they struck the marble floor of the empty room.

Exiting through a nondescript side door, she emerged onto a secluded courtyard that overlooked the Thames, the door making a soft whooshing sound as it closed behind her. There was someone already there, a solitary figure sitting on a bench in the shadows near the courtyard’s far wall. A man by the looks of it, given the fact that the person was in a suit rather than a dress, although that wasn’t a certainty. She had seen several women wearing tuxes that evening. But odds were that it was a man, probably out here to have a smoke, although she quickly realized she couldn’t smell tobacco. Maybe he was waiting for someone, she thought. Or perhaps he was just trying to evade the crush of people inside as much as she was.

Under normal circumstances being alone in the dark with a stranger near midnight might have given her pause, but the only way to get into the courtyard was through the door she’d used. Since the only people there that evening were attending the Vitex bash, he was obviously also a guest of the party.

Not to mention that Jack Harkness’s instructions on self-defense, followed by months of Torchwood’s field agent training, left her able to handle most situations. Even in a floor-length gown and 4-inch heels.

Read More: on AO3, on TSP, on FFNET

Watch Your Step Chapter 14: Unpleasant Realities

Last chapter before the epilogue!

Marcy has a very tough sell ahead of her….

Thanks to @static-stars and @appelsiinilight! <3

Story masterpost

AO3 link

Marcy left the room to get some paper and pencils, setting up on the dining room table.  Colin sat with Thistle in the living room for a few more moments, helping him calm down.  Marcy sat shame-facedly at the table, listening to the hushed voices in the next room, feeling like absolute shit.

After he’d gotten Thistle to stop crying, Colin knelt down in front of his castle.  “Here, take a few minutes in your private space to calm down.  Come out when you’re ready, okay?”

Thistle skittered out of Colin’s hands in a flash, disappearing instantly into the interior of the castle.  He did not even have the wherewithal to close the door right away.  A hand emerged after a second to draw the door shut behind him.

Colin joined Marcy in the living room after that.  Marcy desperately wanted to talk to Thistle, to dump all her thoughts on him at once, to plead for some understanding, but she knew he would only feel better if she left him alone for a little while.

“He saw me doing dissections,” said Marcy, rifling her papers absently.  “I–I guess I just got engrossed in my work and forgot that–that if he saw that, he’d–”

“Doesn’t matter now, Marce.  What happened already happened.”

She wiped her eyes.  “It kinda–I mean I know I should be focusing on how he feels, but it kinda hurts that he still thinks I’d do that to him.”

Thistle heard the two humans continuing to murmur to each other from the next room, crouched in his castle with the door shut.  He’d drawn down the blinds to cover the windows as well, leaving him in darkness.  He spent the first minute balled up in the corner, before he remembered his belongings and sat on the chair he had, which was enough of the right size for him to sit on.  His hands worked at the rubber clownfish like a stress ball.

Was he overreacting again?  He was thinking with his prey brain, and not his person brain.

Marcy was kind and gentle, or at least she tried to be.  She wouldn’t torture small animals unless there was a really good reason for it.

…right?

What could possibly be a good reason to do that?

He thought back to her lab, the place he’d gone to the first night, the bugs held prisoner in the fridge there.  Who had set that all up?  And to what end?  Why had she brought him there, then suddenly reversed course and taken him home?  Nemo had said She studies things…  What exactly, and how?  And how did she intend to study him?

Was he finally going to find out?  And the nagging question of…what if he didn’t like the answers?

He waited until the suspense and anxiety of not knowing became too much to bear, outweighing his fear of facing the humans.  He’d come this far.  He’d survived.  Maybe he could face this, too, and come out all right.

He opened the door and walked out.  From the fishtank, Nemo hovered towards the bottom, hands on the colorful gravel.  He mouthed something at him, but Thistle couldn’t read his lips.

“Shut up,” Thistle whispered.  “You’re not helping.”

Marcy and Colin stopped talking as the drawbridge to the castle lowered, and Thistle walked out, hands clasped together in front of him.  Marcy stood, clearly intending to go pick him up, but Colin quickly hissed, “Let him come to us.”

Thistle stopped once he was in the doorway of the dining room, looking up at them both silently.

“Come on up, bud,” said Colin, tapping the table.  “If you’re ready to talk.”

He leapt up, catching the edge of the table and scrambling to pull himself up.  He sat cross-legged on the edge of the table.  Out of easy grabbing range, Marcy noticed.  She also noticed his tiny frame was still occasionally shaking.

That filled her with a strange sense of pride.  He was clearly still very afraid, which made her sad, but he was brave enough to come up here anyway.  Well, let’s see if we can reward his courage by showing him there’s nothing to be scared of.

Not that this was going to be an easy task.  This was definitely going to be an unprecedented test of her science communication skills.  The voice of professors from years bygone hammering into her over and over that the average American only has an eighth-grade reading level echoed in her skull…  But she’d explained her work to elementary-school children before, at outreach programs.  She just had to take it down one step below that. 

“I’m going to explain my work to you,” said Marcy.  “What I do at work.  Is that okay?”

Thistle nodded mutely.  He vibrated his wings, perhaps as an involuntary reflex to accompany his chest trembling.

Marcy slid a piece of paper over and drew some squiggly lines with a green colored pencil: the approximate shape of trees, bushes, plants.  “You know how humans grow food, right?”

He nodded.  “Farms.”

“Right.  We cultivate–We make a space ideal–we make a space good for plants to grow, and put a bunch of seeds in there, and let them grow so we can eat them later.”

“You do this?”

“Well, not me personally.  Other humans.  They do it for everyone as a group.  Well, in exchange for money, but let’s not get bogged down in details here.  I’m just trying to explain a very simple version of things here.”  She drew some wiggly critters at the foot of the plants.  Worms. Flies. Bugs.  “There are lots of creatures that want to eat these plants, since we grow them specifically to be big and tasty for us to eat.”

Thistle hesitated, then nodded.

“So, to keep other animals from eating them while they grow, we put….things on them.  Poison.”

“Poison?”

“They’re called pesticides.”  She drew some purple drops on the plants.  “These are special chemicals that hurt bugs that eat them, but don’t hurt humans.“

Thistle’s face scrunched up a little.  He tightened his grip on the hem of his shirt.

“Does that upset you?”

It did, a little, but he supposed it shouldn’t….  It’s not like he didn’t kill bugs, or the hive didn’t harm predators who got too close.  That was just nature.  He shook his head.  “We poi, ko… keep others from our food, too.  But–I–I am…”

“Yes?”

“Worried, because…”  He cringed.  “I–ahm–took this food sometimes.”  He ducked his head down, as though he expected her to be mad at him.  “Not much very!  Promises!  Nobody ever notice it, that’s how small I took!”

“Relax,” said Colin.  “Me and Marcy don’t care if you take food from farms.  Like you said, it’s such a small amount.”

“But–But the bugs too take such a small amount, and you kill them.”

“That’s because there’s so very many of them,” said Marcy.  “If we didn’t use pesticides, they would eat practically all of it.  You understand how to share, and take in moderation.  Like you said, nobody ever even noticed.”

“So…”  He flicked his wings.  “So you–you did not catch me from outside because I was stealing food?”

Marcy put her pencil down, reaching her hand out towards him.  He finally, finally didn’t recoil from her touch, letting her take a hand with one gentle finger.  “No.  Of course not, sweetheart.  And pesticides aren’t a punishment for ‘stealing.’  It’s just a matter of business.  We need the food, so we keep bugs off of it.  That’s just nature.”

“My family…” he said, eyes watery.  “Cui ea seuaj? Mais citon?  I take apples to them sometimes.  I…”  He made a chopping motion with his hands.  “…cut for them to eat.  The…babies.  Is safe?  I poison them?  Safe?”

“I’m not sure,” said Marcy.  “If they’ve never gotten sick, I wouldn’t worry about it.  There’s no way to know what effect it would have on them.  But it could be harmless.”

"Harmless?”

“Safe.”

He nodded.  “Okay.”

“I know you’re worried about them, but please don’t blame yourself.  It’s really not your fault.”

“It’s okay.”  He was starting to seem a little more at ease, being pulled out of prey mode by the conversation and the concern Marcy was showing.

Marcy picked her pencil back up.  “Okay, this is where I come in.  So these big groups of humans are all growing all these different plants for us to eat, and using all these pesticides…And there are different kinds, and some work differently than others.”  She drew some blue and red drops on the plants next to the purple ones.  “Does that make sense?”

He shook his head uncomprehendingly.

“Hmm…What I’m trying to say is…  Well, are there things your family avoids because they’re poison?”

“Yes.”

“Can you name some?”

He perked up at this.  Marcy knew he’d spent quite some time poring over the encyclopedia entries about plants, trying to put English names to everything he knew.  “Poison Ivy.  Nightshade.  Inkberry.  Hemlock.  Hogweed.”

“Right,” she said.  “What happens when you eat these plants?”

“Poison Ivy….rash…and I can’t breathe.  Nightshade, you can’t move yourself.  Very sick.  Inkberry, you shake.”

“So they do different things, right?”

“Yes.”

“That’s because they’re different kinds of poison.”

He nodded.

“It’s sort of the same thing.  There are different kinds of poisons, different kinds of pesticides we use on our food.  Get it now?”

He nodded.

“Right.  Okay.  So, we have different kinds of pesticides, and some people claim that the ones theyuse are better than the ones other people use.  We have to have some way to test that.”

“Better how?”

“Well, for example, what we want a pesticide to do is kill bugs that eat the plants, but not harm other creatures.  These poisons can persist in the environment–They can go into the bodies of other animals, and harm them.  For example, if a caterpillar eats poison, then a dragonfly eats it, it can harm the dragonfly.  That dragonfly gets eaten by a bird, and that bird is poisoned now.”

The gears in Thistle’s head were visibly turning.  “But…Why…Why do you care that?  Why do humans care if it kill birds and dragonflies?  Isn’t it for the food?”

“You sound like a Republican,” Marcy muttered, before raising her voice and correcting quickly, “Well, that’s something that humans argue about a lot.  Some of them think it’s fine if other creatures die, but a lot of humans–like me–think we need to make sure we aren’t harming the environment, and all the animals, and ecosystems and whatnot.”

Thistle blinked at her.

“Does that make sense?  Don’t your people also want to minimize the harm–not destroy nature?”

“Well, yes,” said Thistle.  “That is just common sense.  If you destroy your home, you will have nothing.”

“Yes!”

“I just…didn’t think humans…would also feel that.”  He broke eye contact, again as if expecting her to be mad at him.

“Why not?” she said gently. 

Thistle looked over his shoulder, at the living room, at the fish tank.  “I didn’t think humans…would care about others.”

“A lot of us do.  We love nature, and animals.”

“But…You are killing these creatures to help them?”

“Ah!  Okay!  We’re almost there.”  She scribbled out some other creatures, dragonflies, mantises, birds, lizards.  “So the people making these poisons, and the ones using them, claim that they don’t hurt the environment and the other animals.  Some people claim that they do.  It’s my job to figure out who is right.  Because if I prove that they’re poisoning the environment, that gives other humans the evidence they need to make them stop using them.  But if it’s true that they’re harmless, then they can keep using them.”

“So you’re–You’re like a–Kind of a guardian of nature?”

Colin watched as Marcy’s pride swelled her head immediately.  “Sort of,” Colin interrupted before she could get too many grandiose ideas about herself.  “Marce, explain what exactly you were doing with the bugs.”

“Oh, right!  Well, you see, we can tell whether pesticides are harming native ecosystems–see if they’re hurting the creatures around– by seeing if it’s accumulating in the guts of native species–seeing if it’s–If it’s in the bellies of the creatures around.”

Comprehension was dawning on Thistle’s face.  “So you have to…”

“Remove the belly, and the organs, so I can test if there are pesticides in them.  If all the bugs I’m catching are loaded with pesticides, that’s dangerous to the birds, and rodents, and even the people around.”

“Mie keas.  No…You’re killing them to help them.  The sacrifice of a few for the good of the many?”

Marcy put her pencil down.  “Does it at least make sense?  So you know I don’t spend all day killing helpless animals because I think it’s fun?  It’s not like I’m not sad about it–I wish there was a way to do it without hurting them. I don’t like hurting them.  It’s just necessary to do what needs to be done.”

He looked up at her for a long while, then nodded.  “Yes.  It make sense.”

She let out a breath.  “Good.  Good, good.  So, do you feel a little better about it, now?”

“Yes…but…”

“Go on.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

That caught her off guard.  “Huh?  Well, nothing I guess.”

“Then…ni ko…Why did you pick me up?  And take me away from the field?  It wasn’t because stealing food.”  He put his hand on his stomach.  “I still have my belly, so….you’re not interested in…pesticides in my belly.  Why am I here?  What do you want to do with me?”

Marcy tapped her pencil on the desk, chewing on her lip.  “Ah…  Well, well I…I didn’t expect to see anything like you in the field.  I didn’t think you existed.”

“Right,” he said, face darkening.  “Humans don’t really know we’re here.”

“Right.  And well…I just got excited.  I wanted to study you, too, before I realized you were a person and it would be wrong to do that to you.  That’s when I took you home, because I didn’t know what else to do.”

Thistle curled up, his head in his knees.

“I’m sorry, Thistle.  It was a careless, heartless decision.  I was curious, and excited, and wanted to know more.”

It was all an accident.  Somehow, he hadn’t considered that possibility.  She’d ruined his life completely by accident, because she was just a bit careless.  She had the ability to get a little too excited and completely change the course of his existence without even fully thinking through the consequences.  Without even noticing that she was doing it.  It really drove home just how powerless he was compared to the creatures whose hands he stood near.  It made him feel smaller than ever.

His body started to tremble with sobs.

“Come on, bud, it’s okay,” said Colin.  “This is all good for you, right?”

Marcy drew her hand around him.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  If I could take it back, I would…  I…I did try to take you back and let you go outside.  Remember?  But you didn’t want to go.”

Thistle sat up, wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands.  He looked up at her, absolutely fuming, and pushed her hand back.  “Yes, I remember!  Reorun! Esimeoras, kai akorute nevolin predemi io!  Liam didrasis ko ni ne ous ri, ke hoi vi ses mienilin! A ci mao, kiun i faas aci! Ko prie?  They always say, ‘You can’t lead eanto…predator…back to us!  You can’t have them follow you!’  Because of this!  Because you can hurt so, so much even if you don’t want!  What if you were trying? What could you do to my family?”

Marcy withdrew her hand, biting her lip.

Colin leaned over.  “All right, buddy, I think you’re getting worked up again.  You just had a lot dumped on you.  Why don’t you take some more private time to process your thoughts?”

“Fuck you!” Thistle yelled, then his head swiveled towards Colin.  “And fuck you, buddy!”

“Go,” snapped Colin.  “Go to your castle.”

Thistle turned and dashed away, leaping down and sprinting across the living room floor into his house.  The door slammed shut behind him.

Marcy lowered her head down onto the table, groaning.  “Oh, Colin…”

Colin sighed and sat back in his chair.

“I fucked up.”

He patted her back.  “We all fuck up sometimes.”

“Yes, but I’ve never fucked up this bad before.”  She moaned again.

The chime on the front door sounded, indicating someone was coming in.  Marcy propped herself up on her elbow.

Teddy walked into the room.  She had a plastic bag in one hand.  “Mm-hmm,” she said.

“What?” said Marcy.

“Yep, I knew my alarms were going off for a good reason.  I had a premonition that we’d need some cheesecake on the way home.”  She set the bags on the table and unwrapped several plastic takeout containers.  “Nothing miserable people like more than cheesecake.”

****

Teddy and Colin eventually went upstairs to watch TV in their bedroom.  Marcy stayed in the living room.  Dusk settled on the room as the sun went down, the previously unneeded lights still sitting off.  Marcy just sat outside the castle, head propped up on her curled-up knee, staring at the little door, the blinded windows.  The quiet hum of the water filter was the only sound, the lights in the aquarium casting faint shadows in the room.

She so desperately wanted to lay eyes on him, but if she even once broke the sanctity of that space she’d promised was private, he’d never feel secure in it again.

She reached out a hand, hesitated, then moved it the rest of the way to the door.  She tapped on it lightly.  “Ardo?  Will you please come out now?”

The blind in one of the windows went up.  His face peered out from the darkness.

She brushed the tip of her finger against the little saucer she had by her knee, upon which was a piece of cheesecake she had painstakingly cut out from a regular-sized one and whittled down so it was appropriately sized for him.  “I have something for you, if you feel like coming out.”

He gazed at her, then at the proffered food.  Then he disappeared back into the castle, and the drawbridge came down.  He came out, looking haggard and hunted.  But he did have a tiny fork, taken from the set of miniature silverware replicas they’d gotten from the craft store, in one hand.

Marcy backed up a little to give him some space.  He wordlessly crawled up onto the saucer, crossing his legs, and digging in.  Tears filled his eyes after a few bites.  “Oh…”

“Everything okay?” Marcy said softly.

He nodded.  “This is…really good.”  He put his fork down, lip wobbling.

Marcy held her hand out, and he rushed forward into it, hugging her palm.  She gently closed her fingers around him, rubbing his back.  “Shh…It’s all right.  It’s OK.  It’s gonna be OK.”

Thistle pulled back and wiped his eyes.  “Th-thank you.  This is very good.”

She crouched down, trying to get on eye level with him, trying to make herself as small as possible.  “Are you feeling any better?”

He nodded.  “A little.  Yes.  Thank you for telling me about it.  Your work.  It’s more sense now.”

She could still see the shiver up his spine, the fear in the words.  She curled her fingers around him protectively.  “Listen…I know we’ve…Well…I know you’d rather be with your family than with me.  As much as it would pain me to see you leave, as much as I’d miss you….if there is any way I can make that happen, just say the word.  I’ll take you back, I’ll– Whatever it is you need that would fix things for you.”

He shook his head.  “You don’t understand.”

“Iwant to understand.  What is the actual danger?  What do you think is going to happen?”

He swallowed.  “We have always kept away from you.  Humans.  They can dangerous for us.  So if we get seen, or handled, we can’t allowed to go back to the others, because someone could follow us.”

“But…  Surely there must be a way to get around it, right?  You know I’m not going to follow you back to your family.”  Oh God, maybe that was too bold of an assertion to make.  She trucked past it, ignoring the obvious discomfort on his face, not wanting to press it further.  “What if I just put you back down where I found you?  I could leave, and you could make your own way back there.  They don’t need to know we ever interacted.”

“It’s too late, Marcy.”

“But–Butwhy?”

How to explain?  He had more tools to do so now, but it was still hard.  Even if he was sure it was perfectly safe…the guilt would be with him forever.  He couldn’t keep something like that secret from his family.  He had to put their security and safety above his own comfort.  Not only that…but he wasn’t a good liar.  “They will find out.  I am…not good at secret.  And they.  Would upset.”

“But–But Thistle, please understand from my perspective this seems like such a non-issue to –to completely ruin your life about.”

He clenched his fists.  “Just as before.  The sacrifice of a few for the good of the many.  That is our way.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“It does!”  His chest heaved, his hands shook.  “I would do anything to keep them safe!  I would suffer anything!  Torture, if I had to!  I would die!  I would live here forever even if I hated it and you were cruel!  Any risk is…for me is…big no!”

Marcy sat in silence, watching the resolve on his tiny face, the anger, the dedication.  She reached a finger out and placed it on his chest.  “That’s very noble of you.  And kind.  And if that’s how you really feel, I won’t push it anymore.  Just know if you change your mind, I’ll make it happen if I can.”

“Th…Thank you.”

She withdrew from him, laying down on her side, propping herself up.  “Ardo, I…  I understand completely why seeing what you saw me doing would upset you, but…  I have to admit, it kind of hurts that even after all this time, you still won’t trust me.  It’s hurtful that you see me as a big scary monster that would torture you just for fun, and hurt your family.  I can’t believe you still think I would do that to you.  I thought we were past that.”

He broke eye contact.  He was still sitting on the saucer.  He poked at the cheesecake.  The kinds of monsters who would do that to him existed, and in numbers far too great for his comfort.  His kind had to be quick to spot them.  “It is…instinct.  As you say.  Bad things can happen to me.  Very fastly. If I don’t careful.

“But…  What more do you want me to do? I made a mistake, yes, but I’ve done everything I can to try and make it right.  I saved your life, I gave you back the ability to fly, I would make the rest of your life here comfortable if that’s what you want–”

“What?”

“Assuming you wanted to stay here, that is…”

“No, what was that…saved your life?”

“I saved your life?”

“You think you saved my life?”

This one sentence smacked Marcy in the face like someone had just swung a sack of batteries at her.  “Well…Yeah?”

“When?”

“When I found you in the field?  You couldn’t fly?  When we first met?  I know I’m scary, but I thought you might at least be a little grateful for that…”

Thistle raised his hackles.  She’d been congratulating herself this whole time on saving poor little Thistle from death in the cabbage field when they’d first met?  That sent him into a rage he’d never experienced before, because she’d been the last thing standing between him and getting back to the hive.  If she hadn’t scooped him up, he would have made it back to them as soon as he’d crossed the cabbage field and made it into the tall grass.  And she was lecturing him on how he should be grateful for the wing?  That was part of why he couldn’t go back!  Because they’d take one look at him and know he’d been handled, or at the very least demand to know where he’d gotten it from!

“Kia dablo!  Esimeoras, kai akorute nen pemi io!  Lim diaie ko ni ne ous ri, kei vis mienilin!  Aca, i faas aci kiu! Kai prie!”

Marcy stared at him, speechless.

Thistle’s anger boiled over.  It was a struggle to string together sentences in English, while trembling with rage. “I was almost home!  If you’d left me in the field, I wouldn’t die, I would have made it back!”  He turned his shoulder, flickering his wings pointedly.  “And this–these stupid wing you’re so proud of yourself–is why they will know!  They will know you had me!”

“You…you mean I…”

“Kia dablo!  You think you can ‘fix’ me and make everything better, but you know nothing!  Who did you do this?  For me?  For yourself?  Did you want helping me, or did you want to see if you could do it?”

The labyrinth of logic Marcy had put together to convince herself she wasn’t that terrible of a person–That sure she shouldn’t have scooped Thistle up from the field like that and taken him away, but hey, at least she’d saved his life!  At least she’d given him back his ability to fly!–collapsed instantly at this revelation.  She had nothing to defend herself, nothing to cushion the blow, the fall of who she thought she was to who she actually was.  In this ego’s death throes, Marcy could only lash out in anger at what had hurt her.

If you hate your wing so much, then maybe I can just cut it off for you.

Shealmost said it.  She came dangerously close to saying it out loud.  She physically bit her tongue to swallow it, the smarter parts of her brain kicking in to tackle that thought to the ground before it left her mouth.  If she said that,afterthis…  They’d never come back from it.

Thistle watched her face journey, reading the dark cloud descend, the spasm of anger and panic.  He took a step back, his own face laced with fear, as though he knew what she was thinking.

Marcy let out a shaky breath.  “I need a minute.  I need to walk away for a minute.”

Leaving him standing there unsurely, Marcy went upstairs and shut herself in her bedroom.  She took a few minutes to punch a pillow, let out her muffled screams into it.

She lay limply on the pillow she’d just unloaded on, sobbing.  She was frustrated. She did want to study Thistle. She wanted it so badly it ached.  She wanted to know everything about this amazing, impossible little creature she had found. But that very fact made Thistle uncomfortable and scared, so she’d worked so, so hard to reign it in just to make him feel better.  And after that, he acted like she was careless and cruel and stupid?

From her perspective they’d be going agonizingly slowly, letting him set the pace.  It was a far cry from their first day together, before she realized she needed to deny her scientific impulses, because her natural curiosity had led her to kidnapping and imprisoning him.  Hell, the first day they met, she’d almost torn his clothes off just to see what he looked like.  She’d come here from there, giving him all the room he needed, respecting his personal space, letting him rage and feel however he wanted, doing everything in her power to make it right.  Could he really not see that? Did he really not realize the effort she was putting in, the progress she’d made?

But it still wasn’t enough. All it’d taken to destroy all their progress was for her to get just a bit careless while working, because she was stressed out and preoccupied. And it was frustrating, because it felt like nothing she did was good enough.

She let herself wallow for a while.  She didn’t open the door again until she was sure she could interact with Thistle without hurting him.

When she shuffled across the room to open the door, her feet bumped the bracelet and anklet Thistle had dropped on the floor earlier.  She bent down to pick them up, wiping her eyes and holding them gently in her hand, thumbing the beads and tassels.

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, still holding them, when he came up a while later.  She glanced up and saw Thistle on the floor by her dresser, partially behind it, watching her.  His face was splotchy–evidently he’d been doing his own fair share of crying.

She sat up.  Just as that first time when they’d finally come face to face and she didn’t know what to do, she just waited.  Waited to see what he would do.

He cleared his throat.  “Ah…Do you…like them?”

She nodded, already tearing up.  “Yes.  I love them.  I don’t want to make any assumptions…Can…Can I still have them?”

He nodded.

Marcy slipped one on her wrist, then lifted her bare foot up to slide the other on her ankle.  “Thank you.  They’re beautiful.  It’s obvious you put a lot of work into them.”

He stepped forwards.  “Thank you.  They’re copies of mine.  My mother’s mother made them for me…for us…my family…from the tree where I was born.”

Marcy swallowed.  “That’s so nice.”

“I couldn’t make the big ones from the same tree, but…”

He trailed off as Marcy opened her arms, holding her hands out to him.  He hesitated for a moment before finishing the walk to the bed and leaping up, landing in her outstretched palm.

She drew him close to her chest, cradling him with both hands.  “Don’t worry about that.  It’s perfect.”  She sniffled, trying not to let the tears overflow her eyes.  “It’s beautiful.  It’s a beautiful gift that you’ve given me.  I’m honored.”

“I’m sorry for being too hard on you,” said Thistle.  He settled into her hand, snuggling up to her chest, right over her heart.  “It’s only natural to be excited about new and interesting things.  I too am.  If I met someone this much smaller than me, I might mistake the same.”

Finally,finally Marcy had the ability to communicate Don’t be sorry without sounding like she was still mad at him.  She brushed her finger against his jaw, tiling his head up to make eye contact.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” said Marcy.  “Everything you’ve done and said has been a perfectly reasonable response to my actions from someone who’s lost and scared.  I’msorry for how my carelessness has hurt you so deeply.  I meant what I said about doing whatever I can to make things right.  If you truly feel like you can’t go back to your family, I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life if that’s what you want.  As long as I’m around, you won’t have to worry about your safety, or your comfort, or getting food to eat.  I won’t let anyone question your personhood.  I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you can thrive as best as you can, however you want.”

Just when she’d started to think that his little body couldn’t produce any more tears, he started crying yet again.  “It’s frustrating, but I–but I can happy that if anyone was going to pick up me, it’s you.”

She lifted him up and gave him a kiss on the top of his head.  When she drew him back, he was wiping his face.  “Even though I got upset…it is better it was accident.  Because I… ko va…afraid of you having plans.  Wanting to do things to me.  Waiting for something.  Now I know you’re not.  It’s better.  I don’t know if I can ever not afraid totally.  But that’s…how I am.  It is nature.

“I wish I knew how to comfort you.  Yes, it’s true, I could kill you or do horrible things to you.  But that’s also true of me with Teddy and Colin.  We live in the same house, we sleep with our bedroom doors open.  There’s nothing stopping me from grabbing the biggest knife in the kitchen and stabbing them in the middle of the night.  There’s a certain point, for everyone, at which you have to just trust that the people in your life who care about you won’t do everything that they’re physically capable of doing.”

He nodded.  “Right…  You’re right.  Thank you.  And–And I’m sorry about–these wing is good.  Not stupid.”

“Yeah?”

Marcy’s fix of his wing wasn’t perfect by any means…He couldn’t generate enough lift to fly the same way, because the shape was different.  His muscles weren’t strong enough to keep it up for too long, because they had to work harder.  The glue started to pull away if he flapped too much.  And he still got occasional stabs of pain from the wing itself where it was torn.  But all things considered…it was nice to be able to fly at least a little. 

He leaned over and flared his wings, splaying out the two sub-pairs.  “It’s…really cool that you were able to do that for me.”

She wiped her eye.  “I’m glad.”

“And it can happen that something come and kill me in the field.  Somaybe you did save my life.  It could.”

She stroked his hair.  “I’m glad.  I’m glad that I could at least do something good for you.”

“You do many something goods for me.  You make me safe.  And…I miss my family, but…if you don’t pick me up, I would never meet you.”

She squeezed him against her chest, tears rolling down her cheeks.  “You are–You are too–too fucking–too fucking–”

“Breathe, Marcy.”

She sucked in a breath.  “Sorry…  I’m just overwhelmed by you.”

“You’reoverwhelmed by me?”

“Yeah.  You’re incredible.”

They sat in silence for a moment.  Thistle was processing being called incredible.  He had never thought of himself as incredible.  He’d always been jealous of the other pixies who were good at magic, who were the incredible ones in his mind.

Marcy rubbed her nose.  “Well–Well listen, I’m tired.  It’s OK for you to sleep in your castle tonight, of course, but I’ll leave my door open if you want to sleep with me.”

He peered up at the wall.  “I…would like…but there’s one thing.”

“What’s that?”

He pointed to the shelf on the wall, where her collection of preserved insects stood on display.  “They…they make uncomfortable.”

“They…oh.  Because they remind you of what you’re afraid will happen to you?” 

He nodded.

She seemed to think for a moment.  “I’ll take them off the shelf.  But let’s take one last look at them together, and then you won’t have to look at them anymore, okay?”

He nodded.

Marcy set him on the pillow, then stood up and plucked the knickknacks off her shelf.  She sat back down, and Thistle climbed onto her lap, sitting with his legs dangling off her thigh.

“My dad got me these for my sixteenth birthday.”  She picked up the block of resin containing the millipede, its body frozen in a wave, hundreds of legs stopped in time mid-undulation.  “He saw how much I was getting into this sort of thing.  He also got me a subscription to the ESA.  The Entomological Society of America.  I couldn’t really use it for anything, of course, but it made me feel cool.”  She ran her hand over the smooth surface of the cube containing the millipede.

“You did not make?” Thistle said.  He cautiously touched the resin. 

She shook her head.  “No.  Well, this one I did.”  She brought over the mounted butterfly, the one that had so frightened Thistle for its wings’ similarities to his own.  “I caught this one when I was an undergrad.  I worked in a lab that studied reproductive evolution.  The PI helped me mount it and everything.”  

“It’s beautiful,” said Thistle.

“Yeah.  I was…at first I was disappointed that I caught one with a chunk missing from its wing, because I thought it was an imperfect specimen…before I realized the little differences that make each individual unique are just as natural and real representations of what they are as what they’re ‘supposed’ to look like.”

Thistle could see the love in the delicate caress of her hands, her voice, her face.  She cherished these creatures, so much so that she wanted to have them preserved forever.  She spent all her time outside the house working to protect the small creatures around her, even if it meant doing difficult things like killing some of them.  She had done all this out of respect, out of appreciation, because she could not forge relationships with individuals, only the species as a whole. 

“A-anyway,” she said, setting the butterfly aside.  “I always thought the scorpion was a little scary…something about the venom freaks me out…but looking at this one helped me get over the fear.”

“They are fearsome.”

“And the wasp…I got stung by a wasp on the way to the park when I was little…Good thing I’m not allergic.”  She turned it over and took the next block.  “And this stag beetle…it was always one of my favorites.  I tried raising these guys from grubs one time…Didn’t work, unfortunately.  I think I got the wrong kind of soil.”

“I like its pincers.”

She took out a set of three small blocks.  “These ones I found in a thrift store.  Which was really strange.  They don’t normally sell that kind of stuff.  And based on the quality, they look homemade.  I’d be really curious how they ended up there.”

An odd sense of comfort overcame Thistle watching her handle these dead creatures gently, reverently.  This was how she cared for them.  She preserved their beauty forever to admire them.  This was all she could really do to appreciate creatures that did not think, feel, or care about her, that would die in a cosmic heartbeat and decay instantly without even being able to conceive of her existence next to them.

And in her mind, it would be inappropriate for her to do this to Thistle, because that was not how she appreciated him.

No, she appreciated him by doing the things she’d already been doing.  Caring for him, feeding him, keeping him safe, handling him.  He’d been so scared the whole time she’d do something for her own satisfaction, but he’d so completely failed to notice she’d already been doing exactly what she wanted to do to him.  The way she fawned over him was the equivalent of putting these bugs in resin and keeping them on the shelf.  Because to her, they were different kinds of creatures, so they were to be treated differently, and she was simply giving both kinds the highest respect she knew how to.

The pieces clicked together as she set them in a pile off to the side.  “I’ll put them in the trunk in my closet, okay?”

“Wait.”

She had been in the process of gathering them to stand up, but she stopped.

“You…You can keep them out.”

“Oh?  Are you sure?”

He nodded.  “Yeah.”

She put them back, brushing aside the dust, and settled back into bed.  “Ready to go to sleep, then?”

“Yes.”  He crawled under the covers, snuggling under her hand.  Despite the loneliness, the upset, the hurt…he couldn’t help but feel the warmth in his chest, and think that all things considered, this was really not that bad of a place to end up for a creature like him.

The humans he found himself among might not be the family he was used to, but they were becoming family enough.

———————————–

Tag list

@cloudwatchingtoday   @theepiccreatorofmagic-blog-blog  @waitisthatgt @itssmoltime @ratcatcher0325  @alarcomet  @borrowerbecca @crazytinygirl

GHOSTBUSTERS (M)

FratBoys! BTS x Comatose!Reader

Synopsis

For years now, you have loved the Beta Tau Sigma boys. But you thought it was unrequited. Until you were involved in a freak accident and your soul learns that that love may not be unrequited after all.

Main mlist.Previous chapter.

Warnings

Cheating but not really, angst, slight smut and sex dolls, frat parties, use of weed

A/N. To read the safe for work rest of this series, please proceed to my side blog @clutterfield.

YOONGI POV

The lights are low as the bass booms all over the large interior of the Beta Tau Sigma’s after party.

“Oh baby,” Yoongi moans as his cock throbs, pulses inside the woman’s throat, coating her tongue with his hot white release.

What was her name again? Jieun was it? Naeun? Fuck if he gave a damn. The only thing he remembered was getting high on weed and tugging some random chick to his bedroom.

And now here he was about to get laid but why the fuck was he feeling guilt gnawing like a vice at the back of his mind whenever he thought of your pretty face– he frowns as his dick goes limp too fast for his liking.

The woman’s tits come in full view as she attempts to go on all fours with the clear intention of submitting but then something snaps inside the frat member’s conscience and he stops here to her obvious disappointment. “Get out.” He remarks hastily pulling up his briefs and joggers, suddenly angry at himself, at the world for some odd reason or another and the woman squeaks, shocked and mortified as he none too gently drags her out and locks the door behind him once left alone.

He plops down onto his bed, black sheets still messy from a much earlier romp and he closes his eyes in frustration, slinging an arm over them, taking deep measured breaths to calm himself just as his therapist told him to do.

Grasping for his phone, he thumbs through the group chat and curses upon seeing that YN had asked if one of them could pick her up somewhere but didn’t receive any response. “We’re fucking assholes.” He grouses, throat raw as if wanting to cry.

Why did he want to cry anyway? Fuck, maybe he was too high on weed after all.

Where are you? He texts but after a few minutes, you don’t respond and his eyes flutter shut.

He doesn’t notice that the message failed to send.

SEOKJIN POV

“Where the fuck is everyone?” He gripes, in a sour mood as he balances a pan of freshly done tacos on one hand and his phone in the other.

He still had to check on the steak and his kitchen was already a fucking mess– some of the Sigma members had decided to crash his fridge and steal all the bottles of expensive bordeaux they could find and even graciously left stains on the counters -which he would be the one cleaning up for fuck’s sake!

A hand on his crotch surprises him enough to nearly drop the food tray and as he swivels to shout at the person, his lips are almost immediately assaulted with saliva and teeth, a little bit of spunk too. If he could guess, someone already shot their filthy disgusting load into her mouth.

He wondered why he ever allowed himself to eat her cunt once.

“Oppa, Yoongi-oppa was being mean to me…” Her nasally voice sticks to his skin unpleasantly and he shoves her off.

“Don’t fucking touch me. Who’s fucking girl are you anyways? Yoongi’s?”

Another pout and then Jimin and Taehyung jogs through the room, only to spot her.

“Yah, aren’t you Changbin’s?” Taehyung asks.

She shrugs, eyeing them like a feast and the two don’t hide their disgust. “Get the fuck out and go back to your boyfriend. ” Jimin grits his teeth and the girl huffs, heels clicking as she stalks out.

Seokjin merely raises a brow at them. “She’s been fucking everyone here I take it?”

Both maknaes nod and Seokjin sighs, pushing the tray for them to take. “I’ll be in the washroom scrubbing my mouth.”

NAMJOON POV

He remembers explicitly stating that no women were allowed in the house.

Not when YN was coming home any minute now.

They had forgotten to warn her that the Sigmas were having an annual gathering and he didn’t want to give YN the wrong idea that they disrespected her in any way.

She was family (well more than that…at least to him anyway as he couldn’t speak for the others), this was also her house and he wasn’t a fuckboy enough to subject her to what the fuck ever goes on when one of them brings in women.

He sees Jeongguk pass by, a pack of cigarettes in hand and he stops him. “Guk, who the fuck gave that hussy permission to be here?” He eyes Lee Jieun, all dressed up in the shortest little black dress, breasts hanging out and butt cheeks exposed laughing at the group playing poker by the pool.

Jeongguk squints and growls, “Why the fuck is she here?”

Namjoon steps back an inch, surprised at the younger man’s sudden intense dislike for her. “You know her?”

Jeongguk gives a grim smile, “Yeah, she’s the one who keeps on bullying YN at her workplace. ” He then stares at the leader curiously, “So she hasn’t slept with you, huh?”

“What do you mean she bullies YN?” Namjoon frowns, not liking where this was going. “And fuck no. I wouldn’t even fucking touch her with a ten foot pole. She screams STD for fuck’s sake.” He points out just in time as someone’s tongue touches hers in a horrific public display.

Jeongguk grimaces. “Well good for you, hyung. We were all drunk once and bam, my cock’s inside a loose pussy. I don’t know about the others but that’s how it went for me. ” He grunts. “We all had to get tested at some point because of her. Who invited her anyway? should I call security?”

“No need. I got this.”

Both men turn to see Hoseok, obviously having just woken up from his nap on the couch and heard bits and pieces of the conversation. “And Guk, is it true she bullies our YN?”

“Yeah, hyung. I had to step in one time. Looks like the bitch hasn’t learned her lesson at all.” He gripes.

Hoseok’s eyes turn murderous, the deadly quiet daunting. “Well. Whoever brought her in will not be part of the Beta Tau Sigma once I’m done.” He looks to the leader for affirmation, the latter giving his consent.

Hoseok smiles. This will be fun.

JIMIN POV

He furrows his brows. “Hey, Taetae, why is YN-noona asking us to come pick her up? Didn’t she take her car?”

Taehyung looks up from his food, mouth stuffed full like a squirrel preparing for winter. “Yeah?”

Before any of them can even respond to your chat, a piercing screech fills the air and they look out down below to watch as Hoseok grips Changbin’s slut to the gates. A couple of the guards take her from their hyung and shut the metal grates in her screaming face.

Jimin whistles impressed as the rain drowns out her screams.

He loved tits, adored them really and that cunt did have great globes but it couldn’t compare to YN’s soft tender ones, the only time he’d had a chance to touch them was when she accidentally fell on his lap and scramble off.

It was great. She was great. And he missed her.

Was she coming home now?

He would have to lead her through the side entrance so she wouldn’t be privy to the men around here.

Seven of them were enough after all.

TAEHYUNG POV

He hurriedly guzzles down the wine as Namjoon calls for a meeting downstairs.

With a swift look at his twin, they take the stairs one at a time in a leisurely pace, knowing that shit was about to go down.

He however tries to call you discreetly as he lazily watches Changbin plea for mercy from being ousted from the frat house much like his whore had been, and by the looks of it, he knew he won’t be changing his hyung’s mind.

His call goes through voicemail. Strange.

“Your girlfriend was bullying YN.”

Huh? What does that–

“No, she’s not my girlfriend, I swear! She’s just a past hook up!” Changbin bleats nervously. He was on his knees before them, and Taehyung gets even more confused when Yoongi pops out of nowhere, expression feral and decidedly more sober than the last hour he’d seen him.

“Your fucking hook up spiked my fucking drink with drugs you asshole. ” He grumps, wrist swinging a suspicious looking package before throwing it at Namjoon whose eyes narrow as he goes to sniff and inspect the box. “Weren’t we clear on what goes and what stays here? Recreational weed is the limit, none of the other fucked up stuff.”

“Sorry but can we go back to the bullying YN part?” Seokjin pipes up, gliding through the room like the Dionysus he was, eyes so intense that most of the men shrink under his presence.

Changbin seems to zone in on himself as the other guys exchange furtive glances. “I-I can give you a copy of the video someone took.” He offers feebly to save face.

The seven members of Bangtan freeze.

“Video? What video?” Hoseok grouses, ready to throw fists.

“Uh, some people from Uni caught Jieun and her friends throwing coffee at YN–Miss YN,” he corrects himself at the glare he receives, “a few times. I think they wanted to take it to the school board but I heard the board did nothing so it just fizzled out.” He gives them his phone and sure enough, the evidence is plenty as a few people crowd around it.

Bangtan growls when they hear YN hiss, clutching her hands meekly.

It is then that Jeongguk steps forward, cracking his knuckles. He was going to murder them. “Those old bastards, huh?”

Taehyung hums as everyone turns to him, “I know the school director. I can take those copies directly to him.”

Namjoon nods as he tosses the phone to Taehyung. “Do that, Taehyung-ah. In the meantime, what will we do with you Changbin?” He taps his chin in contemplation and as Taehyung beckons Jeongguk to go make copies of the vidoes, they hear a sharp slap echo and then the clanking of broken metal, signifying that someone’s ring had been snapped in half, probably by Yoongi.

“Dude deserves it.” Jeongguk huffs.

Taehyung thinks that was too merciful.

No one hurts you, their YN. Not even indirectly.

JEONGGUK POV

He was fucking spent.

Panting, his hand is thick with his release as he comes down from the best orgasm he had had in awhile.

He didn’t mean to look into it.

It was just there among the videos as he tried make multiple copies all at once.

You were in swim class, in a fucking one piece bathing suit, all pink and soft and peachy, lips tinted with slight gloss (how the fuck did you manage not to look like a drowned rat compared to others?), and he just lost it.

But once he’s come to his senses, he sees green. Why the fuck did Changbin’s phone have a video of you in swim class? Were there others like this being leaked?

If there was, it was a serious invasion of your privacy and he didn’t like it one bit.

HOSEOK POV

It was fucking three in the morning and Hoseok was embarassingly balls deep inside his sex doll.

After the debacle with Changbin and Changbin’s whore, he and the guys had a round of alcohol and now he was fucking horny as hell.

It’s not like he was depraved.

It was just that his sex doll looked a lot like you, his YN.

“Ugh, fuck, baby doll,” he mutters as he cums a whole load, mouth attaching to almost life like breasts – your breasts– hips eratic and wanting for more.

He spends the next few hours calling your name.

He wakes up in the morning sated.

And then he gets up, a horrific realization coming to light.

They had never checked in on you after all that had happened. Did you even get home safe?

He runs to your room and knocks on your door. No answer.

Fuck.

Fuck!

They were in fucking trouble.

wingedcat13:

writing-prompt-s:

You are a supervillain who has just captured your rival’s child. Rather than being afraid, they’re begging you to let them stay.

Frankly, you’d known those idiots had had a kid for years now. You’d pretended not to, because while you’d committed a lot of atrocities in your life, you weren’t willing to face the moral quandary of whether you would knowingly kill a child just to spite its parents.

They probably thought they were being clever though, what with the blaming you for an injury you knew damn well you’d never given keeping one of them out of commission for a few months, then references to what they would ‘leave behind’ or ‘could not follow’ when in the latest death trap. One of them had accidentally pulled a pacifier out of their utility belt once, and tried to pass it off as being prepared for any young children they came across while rescuing.

Idiots.

Still, you had standards. Standards that fell somewhere past war crimes and before common decency, but they were standards.

Keep reading

A thin line

A Malec one-shot

CW - Self-harm & suicide attempt

Alec’s hand trembles as the razor blade slides into his thigh for the first time. It always does, but the pain grounds him immediately, makes his hand a bit more steady, but not much.

It used to, but that was when he was still able to feel his body. He barely does now. He hopes soon, he won’t feel anything at all, just wither away and die. The flowers on his grave will be much more beautiful than he could ever be, full of colour, full of life.

Alec can remember a time when he was like them, turning his face to the sun, eager to grow and bloom. It’s a paled memory though.

He could take a shortcut, could move the blade to his wrist and…

His eyes go to that body part of their own accord. He hates his wrist, hates the promise it holds.

Magnus.

The name of his soulmate in beautiful lettering awaits him there. It’s a gift as much as a burden. He knows someone is waiting for him, but the man can’t really want him. Not like this, a skin-covered sack of bones that still feels fat, with eyes that still see too much in the mirror, no matter what the scale says.

The razor glides into his skin, leaving mark after mark, drops of blood running away, burning and tickling just the same. Alec looks at the thin red lines, and he feels as if he can finally breathe again.

The pain in his heart is scribed in his skin, a monument of him not being as dead inside as others believe him to be.

Alec was never stoic as people claimed, he only kept it all in—the pain, the grief, the fear. His parents were too busy working, his siblings too focused on themselves. Only now that he’s waning, their focus is on him. But he doesn’t want them to look at him anymore. He’s finally in control after years of floating in the shadows.

He runs his fingers over the name on his wrist and smiles sadly. He heard when a soulmate dies young, their name disappears and is overwritten by another. Magnus will carry a new name, one that holds the future.

Tears run over Alec’s cheeks. He doesn’t bother brushing them away. He wants to feel them, wants to know he’s been alive for the last time as red tints the bathroom floor and a crimson line crosses out the name of the one he was meant to make happy.

He’s sure he will. By setting him free.

…

Alec opens his eyes, squints them against the onslaught of white. The monitor’s beeping hurts his head. A razor-sharp pain burns in his throat. He raises his hand but can only move it an inch before the restraint aborts his movement.

He opens his mouth to protest when reality kicks in and sadness washes over him.

‘No,’ he thinks and closes his eyes again. They found him. They shouldn’t have.

He moves his other hand to scratch his nose, but it is fixed just the same, mindful of the thick bandage covering his soulmate’s name.

His eyes roam the room and land on a stranger sitting in a chair, sleeping. His eyes are red and swollen, grey tear tracks covering his cheeks. He’s wearing scrubs.

Alec can’t pull his eyes off the sleeping man, the rising and falling of his chest, the colourful streaks in his hair, the nail polish glittering black.

He tries to read the man’s name on the tag, but his eyes are drier than his throat. He closes them. He doesn’t deserve beauty anyway.

Clothes are rustling and a body shifts, hands rub over itchy skin and then over Alec’s hand that had held the razor blade not too long ago.

Alec opens his eyes slowly, his gaze fixed on the calloused fingers caressing him. He whimpers, and warm eyes meet his dead ones.

A strained smile blooms on the stranger’s lips. “Hey, Alexander,” he says and brushes the hair out of Alec’s face. “How are you feeling?”

Alec fishes for words, but his tongue is stuck against the roof of his mouth. He swallows hard, then freezes. His eyes fix on the name tag, and he starts crying.

No, no, no!

“So sorry,” he croaks.

“It’s okay, Alexander. Your roommate found you just in time. Everything is going to be okay.”

Alec cries only harder. Magnus misunderstood. He’s not sorry for trying to leave this world. He’s sorry for not managing to save him from his fate. Now that he met him, there might be no new name blooming on his wrist.

Magnus fills a cup with water and holds it to Alec’s lips, gently cradling his head. Alec drinks. There’s no use in hurting his soulmate even more by denying his care.

Magnus smiles down at him.

“I sent your sister home. She needed some proper sleep. She’ll be back in the morning.”

Alec breathes a ragged sigh. “Izzy was here?”

Magnus brushes his fingers through Alec’s hair. “Of course. She was worried sick.”

Alec closes his eyes again. It’s all too much.

“As was I,” Magnus adds. “Meeting you in the shock room… Since I’ve been working in the ER I prayed not to meet my soulmate during a shift.”

Magnus’ voice wavers.

“You should have let me die,” Alec whispers.

A sob and the splatter of teardrops hitting his blanket make the guilt weigh even heavier on his chest.

“I tried to protect you,” Alec whimpers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t.”

“Don’t say that. I’m glad you’re still here. I’m glad I could meet you. Alexander, please look at me. We’re getting through this. Together.”

Alec huffs a mirthless laugh. “Look at me. This is not what you want nor what you deserve.”

“I’m looking at you, Alexander. And you’re everything I want. The angels put us together, and I won’t let this illness take you away from me.”

Alec opens his eyes and shakes his head. “Run, Magnus. Maybe it isn’t too late for you, yet.”

Magnus brushes a gentle thumb over Alec’s sunken cheek.

“Never,” he whispers. “All my life I waited to meet you, and I won’t lose you, now that I found the missing piece.”

He presses a tender kiss on Alec’s forehead. “Rest, my love. I’ll guard your sleep.”

Alec nods. He’s too tired to protest. Magnus will see reason, eventually.

…

“Ready?” Magnus asks, sticking his head through the slightly opened door.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Alec says and smiles.

“It brings ill luck to see the groom before the wedding,” Izzy exclaims and shoves Magnus out of the room.

Alec chuckles. “We used up our luck even before we met,” he quips and rights his jacket.

“Don’t say that,” Izzy scolds him softly.

“Why’s that?” Rafael asks.

Alec smiles at his son. “Papa saved Daddy’s life, and that’s how we met.”

“And then, Daddy fought hard to get as healthy as he is now,” Izzy explains, pride lacing the words.

Rafael throws his arms around Alec. “I’m happy Papa saved you.”

Alec smiles and squats down. “I’m happy he did, too.”

He brushes some dirt off his toddler’s cheek and sends him off with his aunt to take their places in the chapel.

Alec looks at his reflection in the mirror. He knows he still doesn’t see his true self in it, but that’s okay. He knows his mind deceives him sometimes. But the thin line crossing Magnus’ name on his skin tells another story. One of darkness and light, of grey shades and colour, of past and future.

Alec’s hand trembles as he traces the line tentatively. He smiles to himself. He’s glad Magnus stuck around, glad that he survived and is healing more with every passing day. He’s proud of the family they built and the promises they will give each other today.

He runs his fingers over his wedding ring. It grounds him immediately, makes his hand a bit more steady. He turns away from the mirror and takes a step, one closer to the man he loves and a room full of people, full of flowers and light.

Good decisions

A Destiel biological BDSM fic

Dean has lived under the pretence of being a switch since he presented as a teen twenty years ago. He gets by, but his body makes ignoring his true designation harder and harder the older he becomes.

Enter Castiel, a dom so different to everyone Dean has ever been with. Can he help him embrace his submissive side in a healthy way?

Read it on ao3.

Hi guys, guess who’s back? Now as some of you may or may not know, my computer was broken for about two week. I got it back Monday but it had deleted the finished chapter 16 so I had to rewrite it. But here it is!!!!!! So for those of you who have been waiting patiently, this my gift to you. Though I do have an announcement: I am sorry to say that the tag list for Broken Angels is closed. I’m very sorry everyone. If you have any questions, suggestion, comments, or just want to talk, let me know. Thank you everyone who has liked, commented, and reblogged. I love you all! Hope y’all enjoy! Peace!

(French, Arabic)

“Are you sure everyone is out of the building? Teachers! Do a headcount! NOW!” Gordon yelled, the rain pouring down in torrents now. The storm that had started that morning, had quickly become a heavy downpour by noon, and by the time they had gotten the call to Gotham Museum, it had become brutal. He could barely be heard over the sound of the storm. The streets surrounding the museum where all blocked. The police had corralled the museum visitors away from the building, trying to make sure everyone had gotten out. With Scarecrow inside, they NEEDED to make sure there was no one inside. Media had shown up not long after they did, but this time, they, thankfully, were staying behind the barricade.

“No, you don’t understand! I need to get my students away from here. One of them is having a panic attack. If she stays here any longer, it’s going to escalate!” a woman shouted, and Gordon instantly recognized the voice. Marinette’s ‘teacher’. Whipping around, he spotting the woman without a problem. She was the only one arguing with his men. Storming up to the woman, Gordon could already feel his temper rising.

“What’s the issue?” he barked, causing both the officer and Bustier to jump.

“The problem is that your … officer, isn’t allowing my class to leave! Lila is having a panic attack and staying here is not going to help!” she hissed, eyes flashing with angry and annoyance. If she thought her ‘teacher’ glare would work on Gordon, she had another thing coming.

“Your student looks distressed at best, not in the middle of a panic attack. And I’ve seen plenty of them to know what one looks like. But if you’re really that concerned, let the paramedics look at her. They’ll know what to do. But we are not letting anyone leave until we know that Everyone is accounted for. Do I make myself clear?” Gordon growled, eyes flashing dangerously, his whole stance screaming authority.

“But …”

“But nothing. Did you even do a head count or did you only assume you have everyone?” he asked, the disdain clear. Bustier was about to answer, though was interrupted.

“Commissioner, we’re missing two students! Claude Chmakova and …” a man, who Gordon recognized as Michel Spinale, one of the main teachers at Gotham Academy and main supervisor for the French class. But a commotion at the barricades cut him off.

“Kid you can’t go back in there!” Hill shouted as he and Hoffman physically were trying to restrain the person.

“Let me go cretins! She’s still in there!” the anger and fear that rang though the boy’s voice caused Gordon’s heart drop.

“Like hell we’re letting you back in there!”

‘Please God, no.’ Gordon thought, looking back at the huddle of people, desperately scanning for a head of midnight blue hair. Anyone but her.

“MARINETTE IS STILL IN THERE!”

~

Earlier:

“May I remind everyone that we representing our school, and for some of us, our countries. Any and all misconduct will result in a warning. After that, any other offense will result with the individual or group being sent back to the bus. The offense will also go on your record.” Mr. Spinale informed the class as they exited the bus, waiting to head into Gotham Museum. “For the first portion of the day, we will be with the museum’s tour guide. Afterwards, you will be free to explore the parts that interested you the most. It will be in your best interest to listen to the guide and gather information as you will be doing a report. The assignment is part of your grade. If you fail to pay attention, that’s your fault.” He added, not entirely pleased that he had to talk over majority of the French class. Nearly all seemed more interested in the ‘claim’ that Ms. Rossi knew the director of the museum, and that ‘yes, of course she could get them into the more secure part of the museum’ but ‘she didn’t want to misuse her connections’. In all honesty, Mr. Spinale was hoping that that part of the class did something, if only to allow him the opportunity to set them straight. Especially Ms. Rossi.

He knew she was a liar the moment she started spewing tales that sounded to good to be true. As the saying goes, something that sounds too good to be true, probably isn’t. But it looks like Rossi’s class hadn’t learned that lesson. The exception being Marinette. Though, she had been timid all that morning and had refused to release Damian’s hand, not that the boy seemed to mind. Mr. Spinale nor the rest of the class could wrap their minds around what had happened that morning when the two of them entered.

~

The entire class was loud. The students were chatting away in their own little groups. Some of the French students had ventured outside their group and were chatting with various students, though sadly majority of them where talking, more so listening, to the young Italian diva. Mr. Spinale couldn’t help but compare the girl to a spider. The way she would spin her stories was so intricate and fascinating that it drew people in, allowing her to ensnare majority of her class, regardless of the countless holes she left.

It was around fifteen minutes until class was scheduled to leave, and the entire class was there save for two students. While that fact wasn’t alarming, it was unusual. Damian Wayne was normally one of the first students to arrive, though the past week had proven to be an anomaly. So when the classroom door opened, everyone glanced up, many eager with teasing remarks on their lips, only for their jaws to drop.

Striding in with the same manor he always possessed, was Damian. Nothing was out of place with him, appearing as he normally does. The bored yet intense eyes to his ‘I’m-better-than-you’ aura. Just as scary, just as obnoxious and intimidating. The only small difference was the girl attached to his hand.

Marinette trailed along behind him, holding onto his hand like it was the only thing keeping her from running. She looked up once to give them a small smile, only to lower her head again at the sight of everyone one staring at her in shocked horror. Damian, on the other hand, openly glared at the class, especially those from the French class who were the most active in ‘teasing’ Marinette while she was gone. As he guided her to their seats, the entire class watch in shocked fascination as Damian placed himself between Marinette and the rest of the class, glaring at anyone who he happened to see glancing their way. No one dared approach the table, not even Claude. They had never seen him like that, ever, and they could only assume that Protective Damian was Dangerous Damian.

~

Pushing those memories aside to analysis later, Mr. Spinale, along with Ms. Bustier, let their class up the steps towards the giant doors of Gotham Museum. Upon entering, he couldn’t help but smile at the exchange class’s reaction to the architect of the entryway. For all it’s faults, Gotham’s architecture was one of the city’s redeeming qualities. It was absolutely breathtaking! From the cathedral like ceiling and archways, to the beautifully carve gargoyles, to the gothic colours and designs, Gotham was a city like no other.

As the tour guide lead them through the building, providing them with the history of not only the building itself, but also on majority of the displays, Mr. Spinale only had to glare at a select few individuals. The warning in his glares were enough to scare the students into submission. Throughout the tour, Spinale noticed how Damian would tell Marinette bits of interesting, though little known facts about the museum and architecture, always making sure not to speak loud enough for others to hear. He never seemed to leave Marinette’s side, nor did he let go of her hand.

That was another development that shocked him. The fact that Damian was even allowing her to that close to him was a miracle. But when Mr. Spinale witnessed Damian grab the girl’s hand and squeeze it during the tour due to something Rossi and Cessiere whispered, he was seriously beginning to question reality. He had seen Damian use more physical contact in the last three-four hours then he had in the last three years. A strange and unsettling development to be sure, but not entirely unwelcome.

Spinale knew very little about the boy. What he did know was common knowledge. Damian was the youngest of the Wayne family, the only blood-child. He was known to be temperamental, had anger issues that he seemed to be dealing with, was arrogant, and blunt to the point were he would often come across as rude. So to see this change, to see him being gentle with someone, protective of someone, was, well, it was shock. To see a girl who so easily seemed to slip past the walls/ this boy had built up was staggering. The girl had to be magic.

The main tour ended a little after noon. Mr. Spinale released the class to find lunch, with the instructions that they travel in pairs and to meet back in the entrance in an hour. From there they could explore the museum on their own.

~

They had been on the main floor when it happened. Marinette had wanted to take a closer look at some of the artwork on the second floor. Claude, who managed to convince Marinette to let him tag along, seemed content to just fire off dozens of questions on what she was going to do for her assignment, only to explain in detail what he was going to do. It was in the middle of Claude explaining why his assignment was going to be on the Gotham Crystals, that Damian heard it.

“Ugh, look at her. A boy on each arm. How desperate for attention can that slut be?” the red head with glasses, Cesaire, scoffed, send a glare at Marinette before turning to Rossi. “I bet she’s filling their heads with all sorts of lies about you, Lila. The dirty rat.”

“I honestly don’t know what she has against me. I mean, I tried to be nice, but all she does is bully me. I know she’s jealous, but still.” Rossi said, not bothering to lower her voice, seeming to preen under the attention she was getting from her classmates that were with her, all nodding in agreement. “And you can’t be too hard on those poor boys, Alya. She has been living with one for a week unsupervised, and after all, men will believe anything under certain … circumstances. And you know the rumors …” she added, shooting a meaningful look at the girl in question, who had, unfortunately, heard what was said, instantly shrank into herself.

Damian saw red. How dare they! How dare they! As if they hadn’t done enough to Marinette already. They just had to spread slander about her. Here. In his presences. After he made it known that she was under His protection! A snare ripped tore from his throat, catching the attention of everyone in the vicinity. As the French class chanced a look in his direction, he watched with sick satisfaction as fear crept into their eyes. Murder burning brightly in his eyes as he glared at them.

“How dare you attack her honor! I always knew your class was stupid, but I didn’t think you were this idiotic. Spreading lies like that in her presence, let alone mine. But all of you, especially you, Rossi, have shown me a completely new level of stupidity I didn’t think was possible.” Damian hissed, his tone turning mocking as he saw everyone freeze.

“Listen here, brat! I don’t know what that slut told you but …” Cesaire started to say, eyes flashing as she hugged the now crying Italian before she was cut off.

“Shut your filthy mouth, harlot, unless you want to lose your tongue, or worse!” Damian yelled, his voice carrying though out the building. The occupants of the museum, especially those in the immediate vicinity didn’t dare move. The reverberations of angry Arabic echoed throughout the building, shattering the peaceful atmosphere.

“Ms. Bustier, that is a warning for your class. I suggest you gain control. You, come with me.” Mr. Spinale ordered, dangerously close to losing what little patience he had left .

“But Marinette was the one …” Lila started to say, only to be silenced by the Gothamite teacher.

“Ms. Marinette had nothing to do with what happened. You all, especially you two, were not only bullying her, but slandering her name. All of which are not tolerated by G.A. or by me. And you all will be punished accordingly. You should be grateful I am letting you finish this field trip. You will stay with your teacher and away from Marinette. If any of you wander off or harass her again during the duration of this trip, you will have more trouble then you’ll know what to do with. Do I make myself clear?” he hissed, struggling to hold his temper in check. He didn’t need to cause a bigger scene. The shaky, fearful nods he received were enough. Grabbing Damian by the arm, he dragged the boy away from the crowd to a more secluded spot.

“What were you thinking? Before you go off saying I don’t know what happened, yes, I do. I know what they said. I get it, your protective of Marinette. What those two said pissed you off. And they will be punished accordingly. But you could have gotten kicked out. Who would look out for her then? Damian, that girl relays on you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how she hasn’t let go of your hand. That girl is scared and right now you seem to be the one thing holding her together. Claude will only be able to hold her together for so long. Do not, I repeat, do not let yourself get kicked off this trip.” Mr. Spinale ordered. A few days ago, Damian would have taken offense to being order around and reprimanded by his teacher, but now, he was strangely thankful. He seemed to understand, and for that, Damian was grateful.

He was going to state as much, when an explosion shook the building, throwing everything into chaos.

~

“Damian, we can’t let you back in there, you know that!” Gordon yelled over the roaring of the storm. Multiple officers were actively hold the young Wayne back while Gordon tried talking sense into the boy. They couldn’t send anyone in there, not until Scarecrow made his demands known. Not when there were two civilians in there. Minors no less.

“NO! You don’t understand! I promised Jason I would keep her safe! I swore she could trust me to keep her safe!” he yelled, thrashing, or attempting to, though the grip of the three officers didn’t allow for much movement.  The sharp sound of a slap rang through the air, snapping Damian out of his panic induced trance. All eyes snapped to Hoffman as she spoke.

“Listen kid, if Marinette is half as smart as she was at the station, she’ll be fine. One of your classmates is with her right? Then he’ll let her know what to do and what not to. But we need you to take a chill pill. Do you understand? Panicking is not going to do anything.”

“The officer’s right. Panicking will solve nothing.” A voice said as four bodies dropped onto the pavement beside the crew. Looks like the bats were finally there.  “Commissioner, what’s the situation?”

“We got Scarecrow in there with at least four of his men, plus two hostages, Claude Chmakova from G.A. and Marinette Dupain-Cheng, who’s part of an exchange program from France.” Gordon said, taking notice on how the entire bat-clan seemed to freeze for a moment at the mention of Marinette. Red Hood, who seemed to have been the most tense, was the first to snap back.

“I’m gonna kill that damn freak!” he hissed, gripping his guns as he started for the stairs, only to be stopped by Nightwing.

“Hood, we can’t just go in there. We have no idea where they are. You going in there guns blazing will get them killed!”

“I am not gonna wait out here and do nothing while she is in there!”

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it! We just need to …”

Nightwing never got the chance to finish as the ground began to shake, the force throwing everyone off balance. Everyone, especially those with ties to Gotham, felt the very foundations of Gotham groan, as if something was waking up. A sound that could only be compared to the shrieking of missiles, tore through the air, before a fiery, blue light exploded from the building, leaving chaos in its wake.

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Hi everyone! So here’s chapter 15. Sorry it’s so short, but my hand is cramped from painting a house. The next chapter will be longer will have a lot in it. Anyway, I want to say thank you to everyone who like, commented, and reblogged the last one. I think I tagged everyone, but as I said before, I did lose my tag list and I’m still finding people. Again, if you have any questions suggestions, or comments, let me know. Hope y’all enjoy! Peace!

It had been exactly a week since ‘the accident’. The station was no less busy than normal for a Monday, but everyone seemed listless. Apparently the station seemed to lack any sort of internal drama so Hoffman decided to rat out her desk mate who had been playing Galaga on his computer instead of doing his paperwork. That had caused Jackson, her desk mate, to inform the entire department that Hoffman was the one who was responsible for stealing all the unlabeled lunches in the staff room. They still weren’t on speaking terms, but Gordon was thankful for the break in bickering.

One of the Wayne lawyers had come by the station, informing Gordon that Marinette would be staying with the family. They also stated that if Marinette’s class or teacher caused the GCPD any trouble, to refer them back to them and they would deal with it. Unsurprisingly, but the fact still grated on Gordon’s nerves too no end, was the fact that Bustier hadn’t called at any point during the rest of the week. While Gordon knew that the Wayne’s would have let her know of the changes, the fact that the teacher didn’t seem to care to at the very least let the police know about the change was disheartening.

He still had a few of the staff digging into the night Jason was found, looking for any abnormal activity or incidents. So far, the only thing they had come up with was that the culprits were never caught or identified. There were also no witnesses to what had happened. While it wasn’t uncommon for there to be no witnesses in Gotham, the fact that the attack happened in one of the few places that had no cameras caused some red flags. It seemed too clean for it to not be planned. Whoever did it, knew what they were doing.

“No, don’t give them to Hoffman, she’ll eat them all!”

“Oh please! I’ll share, Galaga. You need stop accusing other of crimes they haven’t committed yet. And you call yourself a cop? Yeash.”

“Really? Then let me have some.”

“Never said I’d share with you.”

‘I knew the quiet wouldn’t last long.’ Gordon muttered, shoving the report away before walking out of his office to see what the two stooges where fighting about now. The first thing he saw was something that he knew he would never forget. Hoffman held a box in one hand as high above her head as she possible could, while pushing Jackson away by his face with her other hand, leaning way from him as he tried to snatch the box. Honestly, it looked like something straight from a school yard, only with officers in uniform, completed with the rest of the station just watching but no one attempting to intervene.

The second thing he notices was as much of as surprise, but a more pleasant one. There, dressed in Gotham Academy’s colours, stood Marinette watching the two clowns fight over whatever was in the box, a smile etched on her face.

“Hoffman. Jackson. Can you two idiots try to give this station a little bit of dignity?”  Gordon asked, a small smile barely showing itself at the sight of how both froze mid-shove before letting each other go, muttering a faint apology.

“Marinette, how are you doing? You going to school today?” Gordon asked, turning his attention to the girl. She looked better. Not by a lot, but you could see the difference. The swelling in her face had disappeared. The bruising from the hand print had faded some, blending into the rest of the bruising. The bruising itself was in the process of changing from purple to yellow. In his opinion, the changing bruises looked worse then solid purple. Gordon could see the evidence of make-up, allowing the bruising to look less extreme, not that he blamed her. If she was going to school, the last thing she’d want would to be stared at. The only thing that didn’t seem to change was the discolouration of her eye. Her right eye was still as red as it was the last time he saw her.

“I … I’m better. A lot better. I had just wanted to come by to say thank you. For everything everyone did. And … and I brought some pastries. That … that’s what Officer Hoffman’s holding.” Marinette said, her voice low and gentle, as if speaking too loud would get her in trouble.

“Well that explains it.” He said, humor in his tone as he gave Hoffman an unimpressed glance.

“I … I’m sorry. I didn’t know if it was allowed or not but Jason said it would be fine and I didn’t mean to get anyone in trouble I just wanted to do something as a thank you and …” Marinette stuttered, voice growing slightly panicked as she rambled.

“Marinette, it’s perfectly fine. It’s not against any rules. Ok. Just breath.” Gordon said, making sure to keep his temper in check. If she went off like this right off the bat, whatever damage had been done was deep. As if she would get trouble for being thoughtful. “I just said because Hoffman has a reputation of eating everything that comes in.”

“I can not be expected to work these hours without something to eat. Besides, I’m not the one to worry about. Hill …”

“You want to finish that sentence, Hoffman?” Hill yelled, shutting Hoffman up with the unsaid threat.

Gordon had never wanted to strangle his men as badly as he did now. They were never this relaxed around others. Frankly, it was unprofessional and embarrassing the watch. But with the laugh they were able to extract from the nervous girl in front of them, he was willing to let it slide. This time.

“I can’t stay long. I have school and Damian’s waiting outside for me. I just wanted to drop these off and say thank you. Oh, this one’s for you Commissioner. And Bruce wanted me to give you this. He said it was important.” Marinette said, handing Gordon a separate box along with a rather large envelope.

“Are you sure you’re up for going? I’m sure the teachers wouldn’t mind giving you another day or two.” Gordon asked, taking the box and envelope, surprised by the weight of them.

“Jason said the exact same thing. And while the teachers may not mind, I do. I’ve already missed a week and I’m already going to be in enough trouble as it is. Plus I … I came here to learn.” Marinette said, a smile lighting up her face. “Besides, the class is touring Gotham Museum today and I wouldn’t miss that for anything.”

“Well, if you get too bored, you can always come hang out down here.” Gordon said, half joking. While he was happy Marinette was feeling up to rejoining the class, he didn’t like it. Not after what he had witnessed.

“I’ll keep that in mind. I gotta get going, but I’ll see you later, ok?” Marinette said, turning to head out. Pausing after two steps, she turned around again catching Gordon’s eyes for a moment. “Commissioner, even though you don’t see it, you really are making a big difference. In some ways, even more then the Bats are.”

With those last words of encouragement, Marinette quickly disappeared through the doors of the station just as thunder rumbled through the city.

“She is like a ray of sunshine.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh come on. You seriously can not tell me that you did not feel that. As soon as she came in, everything felt lighter. Brighter. And you got a special box of pastries. If that’s not sunshine reincarnation, then I don’t know what is.”

“Hoffman, we can talk about Gotham’s sunshine later. Now did you find anything?” Gordon asked, agreeing with Hoffman’s description completely. The station had felt brighter with Marinette there.

“Fine, we’ll finalize the stations adoption of her later. And as for your question, no I did not find anything in the files, but I did find something interesting in the emergency call logs.

“Emergency calls?” Gordon asked, ignoring Hoffman’s quip about adoption. Instead, he divided his attention between the contents of the envelope Marinette had given him, and Hoffman’s explanation.

“Yeah. For a solid fifteen minutes, there was a little over forty calls reporting an ‘earthquake’. Almost all the calls stated that air in their houses shifted and that they felt the ground rumble. Freaked them out.  I was listening to the recordings and they were legitly scared, Gordon. Anyways, interesting fact: all these calls came within a three mile radius from where Jason was found.” Hoffman said, sounding pleased with herself

“This is perfect!” Gordon exclaimed, startling the personal within ear shot.

“It better be. My eyes are dry and bug-eyed from staring at the screen so long.”

“Not that Hoffman, but we can still use that. Look into it and see if they notice anything else out of the norm. But this,” Gordon said, waving around the paper as if it was the winning ticket. “This is perfect. We got our permit!”

@mystery-5-5@captainmac6@you-will-never-know-how-i-think@mochinek0@sonif50@zalladane@thebananathatwrites@schrodingers25@kuroko26@miraculousbelladonna@souleaterlicestien@worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry@ijustwannabecanadian@ellerahs@ranger-gothamite@xxmadamjinxx@derpingrainbow@sassy-spocko@vixen-uchiha@mjisntme@iggy-of-fans@violentbisexualprophecywriter@valeks-princess@crazylittlemunchkin@redscarlet95@alexzandria-747@ayuchan07@whomthefyck@rhub4rb@constancetruggle@rikku052@kurogaya913@shizukiryuu@zazzlejazzle@spicybelladonna@emotionalsupportginger@grunklestantheman@my-name-is-michell@northernbluetongue@chez-pezeater@shamefullove@mewwitch@luciferge@goggles-mcgee@gingerdaile@zebrabaker@tinybrie@bluefiredemon@god-is-dead-and-so-am-i@shyestofhearts@darkthunder1589@fridayfirefly@yazi-ing@lunar-wolf-warrior@ladylb@vivilakitty@ghostcryptid@casual-darkness@yamadochie@thatrandomfandomsgirl@mindfulmagics@myriad-of-passionate-pettiness@violatiger8@seraphichana@synnesstra@driftingmoonlitpetals@nataladriana9@ginamarie1512@etheralentity@tritaledkitsune@ki117h3dr4g0n@throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen@ivette0712@calvin1394@liadreyar-dragneel@iglowinggemma28@resignedcatservant@creator-josie@lysslovsanime@fiendsangelical@sam-spectra@clumsy-owl-4178@elspethshadow@imspectralboiii@forestmoon11@mooshoon@littleredrobinhoodlum@eliza-bich@dnsakina@hypnosharkrebeldreamer@two-faced-biatch@queencommonsense@poshplumcot@2sunchild2@particularlygeeky@melicmusicmagic@graduatedmelon@rydellakurancarson@huntressofthenight0516@mortally-strange-candy@tog84@thecatnipmademedoit@nerdy-anime-trash-27@maude-zarella@kristycocopop@tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff@mariae2900@simplysslytherin@miraculous-simmer7@7-sage-7@puffapproved@heredemaquam@unabashedbookworm@danielslilangel@huntressofthenight@lexysama@minty-goose@hecate-hallow@maribat-shenanegins@severelyenchantedwonderland@kiara-rose-blackthorn@friedchickening@dnsakina@cupcakeandkisses@paradoxal-occurance@bamagirl513@littleblue5mcdork@zerotosiki@chaosace@satans-favorite-homo@celestiacq@bee-wrecker@bluerosette23@dast218@theatreandcomicfreak@noirdots@rogueptoridactyl@mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog@caffeinetheory@emjrabbitwolf@doggiediva13@miraculousl4dybug@lizziejay@chocolatecatstheron@fafik7@officallyathiana@fatimaabbasrizvi@tbehartoo@18-fandoms-unite-08@miraculous786

Hi Everyone! Sorry this chapter took so long to come out. The last month was crazy for me, but January looks like things are slowing down so that should mean more time for me to write. (If I don’t procrastinate) So, as some of you know, I lost my tag list, so if you were not tagged, please let me know by either messaging my or sending me an ask. Thank you everyone who has been patent with me and are following Broken Angels, your support means the world to me! If you have any questions, comments, or suggestions, please let me know. And just to let you know, even if i dont respond, i read every comment or ask that comes in, and they always make my day! Anyway, hope ya’ll enjoy! Peace!!

The moments following the explosion were a chaotic mess. At first, they thought the explosion was part of a new fear toxin. But, when no one showed any symptoms, well, that’s when people started to freak out. If it wasn’t the fear toxin, then what was it?

The first cameraman to recover was from GNN. The sound was nothing but static and the picture a little shaky, but Gotham and the rest of the world watched, gaping at the scene that unfolded. The giant windows of Gotham Museum, which had always been considered one of the most beautiful in North America, with its stain glass pigments and unique cuts, were shattered from the inside out. Buildings surrounding the museum were swaying dangerously. The camera spanned out, allowing viewers to witness the crowds of people struggling to pick themselves up. The sight of the destroyed buildings, glass and wreckage strewn about, cars totaled, silenced the horrified audience. The streets of Gotham, from that one camera lens that had miraculously survived the blast, looked like a war zone. The world watched as Gotham reeled from whatever caused the blast, uncertain of how to react. They saw what looked like blue wisps rain down slowly from the buildings, gently running down whatever it touched before pooling on the ground, vanishing into the ground.

Slowly, sound started to filter through the nearly broken mics, instead of static, it sounded more like a garbled mess. As if someone was speaking through a bad connection. For a brief moment, the camera frame caught a group of students, most appeared to be in a daze, as if they couldn’t understand what happened, and one girl in particular was well on the way to full blown hysteria. It caught the dazed looks of the other students before swinging around back to the front of the museum, catching a figure stumble through the door.

~

The pain in Jason’s head was nothing compared to the emotional terror he was experiencing. His pixie, His sister was in the building with a lunatic that took pleasure in the terror of others. His tiny, sweet sister, who couldn’t hurt anyone in the slightest without feeling guilty, was in the same building as that straw-stuffed coward. In the building that just exploded!

He needed to get up. His sister needed him! She needed him, damit! But he couldn’t move. It felt like ever muscle in his body had been electrocuted. But wasn’t a numbing pain, no, he could feel everything. From the layers of grim that was coating him, to the scratches, to his spazzing muscles, to that strange, cool sensation that rolled off him. But. He. Couldn’t. Move!

“…ood? Red Hood, can you hear me?” someone asked, though the voice was muffled as a face came into view. Nightwing’s face became clear, though he was covering in dust and debris as much as he was.

“N’wing, I can’t move.”

“Figures, a few of others are down too, Bat’s included!”

“Nettie. I gotta get … you gotta get,” Jason said, struggling to sit up, stifling the curse as he force his muscles to work. He needed to get Marinette out of there!

Before Dick could answer or attempt to persuade him to stay down , a shout drew everyone’s attention to the front of the museum. Dozens of heads turned to watch a figure emerge from the broken building. Stumbling down the giant stairs of the museum was a teen boy carrying a limp body.

“Someone help, please!” the boy shouted, frantically making his way down the broken steps. As they drew closer, others could see the haunted look in the boy’s eyes. They could see the fear, the concern, the complete panic as the person he was carrying began to shake.

Oh God,

Jason watched as Commissioner Gordon limped towards the two, taking the girl from the boy.

Please no,

“Did she inhale any of the fear toxin?”

Anyone,

“No, s-sh-she was injected with the serum.” The boy said, “Please, you have to make sure Nettie’s ok!” he added tears pouring down his face as a set of medics rushed over to look him over.

But,

“Get me an antidote, NOW!” Gordon barked, gently cradling the girl as he shouted orders.

Her!

At the mention of Nettie’s name, something sparked inside Jason. The pounding in his seemed to double, the only thing he could hear was the blood pulsating through his skull. Everything sharpened into focus into startling clarity as his vision narrowed. That was HIS sister! His sister that was shaking in Gordon’s arms. His sister that looked dead when she was carried out of the museum. His sister that was cry and screaming incoherently because of the nightmare Scarecrow forced her to live. Blood lust tore through his veins with such an intensity that, even in his rage filled mind, scared him. The voices in his head were torn between going in there and killing the monster that dared touch what was HIS to protect, or tearing HIS sunshine from Gordon’s and getting her as far away from here as possible.  The latter almost won, but one part of his brain, the logical, sensible side that was magically still working, reminded him that he was Red Hood right now, not Jason. He couldn’t just go to her. Doing so would not only put her under more stress or shock, but it would also paint a bigger target on her back. And he could not, would not, allow any one to use her in order to get to him.

Looking over at her, Jason watched as Gordon held Nettie close, allowing her to cry as he did his best to calm her down. Watching the two of them, he and the voices both agreed that she would be safe with Gordon until he was done. Right now, he had a scarecrow to unstuff. And the strawman wouldn’t be coming out again for a very, very long time.

~

The soft stroke of the brush across the canvas was the only noise in the room as the artist brought the image to life. Just as his ancestors had done before him. Though many would say the image was too clean, too perfect, he would disagree. Perfection is what his family strove for. Perfection in all aspects of themselves. Though they had sadly, not been perfect for some generations. Something vital was missing, all due to a curse, a restriction placed on them. Yet the family still strove for perfection in all aspects, and he was the perfect heir. All he needed was the last piece of the puzzle, and then, he would reach a level of perfection none in his family had reached in generations, not since the Fall.

Stroke, stroke, dip, stroke. Each stroke was perfect. Ever placement, deliberate. And then he felt it. A slight shift in the atmosphere, powerful, wild, raw, and . . . unharnessed. He missed a stroke. The line went off course, destroying the painting, tainting the perfection of it. A knock was the only warning before the door was opened and a young man slipped in.

“Sir, we have activity. It’s the same reading as before, but this time it’s much stronger scale.”

“Did you track it?”

“We did. They’re in Gotham, America.”

“… Start the preparations. We leave immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

The individual stood in place for a moment, savouring the fading feeling of the power, an almost impeccable smile on his lips.

“I finally found you, little angle, and in a place of demons. Quite … intriguing.”

@vivilakitty@miukiiu@remingtongrimm@mystery-5-5@paradoxal-occurance@monsteralikat19@ash-amg-blog@naclychilli@unabashedbookworm@drarryismylife@imanerddealwith@wingardianleviosa@nanakeid@ranger-gothamite@dast218@miraculousbelladonna@worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry@xxmadamjinxx@sassy-spocko@officiallyathiana@darkthunder1589@casual-darkness@crazylittlemunchkin@queen-annaira@you-will-never-know-how-i-think@emilytopaz@a-complete-fool@luciferge@sonif50@calliemaricats@gimme-more-caffeine@wavydeena@mikantsume@hypnosharkrebeldreamer@persephonescat@mermaidofthelost@elspethshadow@marichat4ever001@bluerosette23@jeminiikrystal@myazael@noirdots@mooshoon@throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen@starwindmaden@indecisive-mess-named-me@marinettepotterandplagg@daminette4life@fertileleaf@trickstermiraculous@witchsblackfox@rouge-fandoms@fontegagrilledcheese@crytallized@my-name-is-michell@asheanomhominem@ladybug-182@ayuchan07@razzledazzle247@nerdy-anime-trash-27@todaylillypads@emjrabbitwolf@theatomicstudentlady2@18-fandoms-unite-08@justconfusedperiod@rosesgonerogue@harukishi81@rianoel@a-star-wtih-a-human-name@ace-aro-agender@thequeenofpotatoeunicornss@mvaree@redfightingdragon@grimlockprime222@whomthefyck@kazjaurelia@hecate-hallow@two-faced-biach@kiara-rose-blackthorn@fandom-fandomm@clumsy-owl-4178@calvin1394@liadreyar-dragneel@shyestofhearts@particularlygeeky@spicybelladonna@constancetruggle@mjisntme@ghostcryptid@fridayfirefly@tinybrie@friedchickening@queencommonsense@driftingmoonlitpetals@fiendsangelical@synnesstra@tbehartoo@frostymoon11@persephonebutkore@goggles-mcgee@soulsinsolarem@bee-wrecker@reyna-avila-ramirez-alreanaldo@doggiediva13@caffeinetheory@miraculous789@thebookish3lf@lady13bug@slytherinhquinn@ethelphantom@virgil-is-a-cutie@charlietheepic7@nixadmos@castielsofficialtoothbrush@heaven428@krispydefendorpolice@northernbluetongue@mindfulmagics@2sunchild2@zalladane@severlyenchantedwonderland@zazzlejazzle@thebananathatwrites@schrodingers25@punstoppablechatnoir@resignedcatservant@kakashixobito@thatoneblogyoufollow@urbanpineapplefarmer@sturchling@acoursedprophetwithasmoothie@justafanwarrior@nataladriena9@domena151@ilovefluffbutsmutisalsogreat@xgxmxtx@aestheticpoetic@motherly-type@trainflavor@queenmj10@captainartsypants@unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine

Hi everyone! So here’s the next part of Broken Angels, and hopefully it answers some questions. I want to thank everyone whose like, commented, and reblogged my story. Reading your comments and theories is always an enjoyment. I tried to tag everyone but if i missed you, let me know. Again if you have any suggestions, questions, or comments let me know! Hope ya’ll enjoy! Peace!

Alfred was not strangers to the sight injures. He was the family’s personal medic, after all. So yes, he had seen his fair share of broken bones, bruising, slices, and even exposed organs. His boys had always been reckless and payed for their mistakes, but they knew how to take them. Injures where part of their job. But nothing could have prepared him for Miss Marinette. When he first saw her face, he felt his heart break a little. But it was her eyes that truly made him angry. Not just because of the discolouration, but for the haunted look that lay buried beneath the blue. A look Alfred remembered seeing every day in the mirror for years after the war. She had the eyes of a survivor. Of someone who had seen death up close. They were the eyes of a soldier.

When she had locked eyes with him, Alfred couldn’t help the strong feeling of … connection wash over him. When she blinked, breaking the connection, Alfred couldn’t help but feel as if he past a test. Between the two of them, Alfred and Jason had been able to convince Marinette to take a shower to relax her muscles, and she consequently ended up on one of Jason’s sweaters.

Aside from bringing them some refreshments and an ice pack for Marinette’s swelling, Alfred had left the two children alone.

When it was discover Miss Marinette was a meta, Alfred had been ready to jump to her defence, only to be pleasantly surprised, though slightly shocked when Damian had spoken up for her. That surprise had turned to pride when Bruce allowed her to stay, though she would have whether he agreed or not. Alfred was not about to allow the girl out of his sight. But the pride turned to dread when Marinette’s voice cut through the room.

All attention was drawn to the door. Marinette stood just inside the frame, her hair disheveled,  falling freely around her face. One hand was rubbing the sleep from her left eye. Her borrowed sweater dwarfed her small frame, the hem reaching almost past her knees while the sleeves where clutched in her hands, preventing them from falling. Ignoring the bruising, she looked adorable, but Alfred could not ignore the bruising. From the looks of it, the rest of the family couldn’t either. When she opened her eyes, Alfred could have sworn that he heard a growl come from Dick. The shock on their faces quickly disappeared into silent, building rage.

“Jason, what’s going on?” Marinette asked, her voice heavy with sleep, but alert enough to know something was off. They were silent for too long.

“ … Family meeting.”

“Ok, but what’s a meta? And why were you talking about it?” She asked again. Her voice was steady, but Alfred could detect an underlying current of panic that was beginning to rise.

“Meta is short for metahuman.”

“And?”

“ … and metas are different from ordinary people.  They have gifts, powers that set them apart. And while some people, Bruce included, have issues with them, he doesn’t hate them. He’s just … cautious.” Jason explained. “Reason being is that Gotham has a way of … bringing out the worst in people. And the knowledge that they are above normal sometimes makes them think they are above the law.”

“Ok.”

“ … And the reason we where talking about them was because I … told them about your gift.” Jason said, and Alfred could pinpoint the exact moment Marinette realized what Jason was referring too. “And before you yell at me, Nettie, just … I’m sorry. I … I know I should have asked you before I said anything. And I know I had told you not to tell anyone about. And you have every right to be mad at me for this. But I trust them.”

Marinette had looked ready to bolt from the room the entire time Jason was talking. The panic that had flashed through her only to be surpassed immediately was both impressive and concerning. The ability to be able have such a tight control on ones emotions took years of practice. She only paused at the last three words Jason had said. Her eyes flashed from Jason to the rest of the family, never holding their gaze for more then a few seconds before jumping to the next. When her gaze came to Alfred, he again felt that slight sense of connection. When she moved on, the feeling of passing a test came back. When she returned to Jason, her body was still pulled taunt, but she had lost the frightened rabbit look.

“ … If you trust them, then that’s enough for me.”

Alfred couldn’t help the smile that came at the sight of Jason visible relaxing at her words. He also didn’t miss the signs of the tension the rest of the family melt away.

“Perhaps now would be a good time for introductions.” Alfred said, subtly reminding the boys of their manners.

“Of course. My apologizes miss. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Bruce Wayne. This is my oldest, Richard Grayson.”

“Just call me Dick. It’s an honour to meet you.”

“My second youngest, Timothy Drake.”

“Pleasure to meet you. And Tim’s fine.”

“My youngest, Damian.”

Unsurprisingly, Damian gave her a polite nod, but nothing else.

“And you’ve already met Alfred.”

“Miss,” Alfred said in acknowledgement, bowing slightly.

“Hello, I’m Marinette. Th … thank you. For having me.” She said, sending them a sweet smile.

“If you’re family to Jason, you’re family to us.” Bruce assured her. “Though I do have to ask, just so we can understand the situation better. What exactly is your ability and what does it allow you to do?” he asked, giving her small, encouraging smile.

Everyone, Damian and Alfred included, gave Marinette their full attention. For a moment, it looked like she might leave or at the very least refuse to say. But an encouraging nudge from Jason had her taking a breath before returning her focus back on them.

“I, it’s kinda hard to explain. I’ve … I’ve always been able to ‘see’ what kind of person someone is. Whether I can trust them or not. That one is always on. I can’t turn it off.”

“And the other one?” Bruce probed, though he waited patiently for her to answer.

“I… with the other one. With what happened … with Mr. Dent. I . . . it comes on at random. It’s … like seeing what their soul looks like. Like I’m seeing who, and what they truly are. But it hasn’t happened since the night that …” she said, trailing off at the end. And Alfred could only guess she was referring to the night that she and Jason were separated.

“So you can see someone for who they are?” Dick asked, thankfully noticing where her mind was going, attempting to distract her.

“Yes.”

“Can you do me? I’m honestly curious how it works.”

“I … I don’t…” she began to say, foundering to come up with an excuse. But Dick cut her off.

“Please?” he asked, giving her his ‘puppy-dog-eyes’.

“… You … You carry a lot on your shoulders. A lot of baggage. You … have a tendency to look back on your regrets and you don’t let yourself move on. You always ask the ‘what if?’ You strive and strive to prove yourself. To make up for something. You cherish the family you have now, but you’re afraid that one day, its all gonna fall apart. So you smile through the pain, because your afraid that if you stop, then everything will disappear.”

As Marinette spoke, Dick’s eager smile slowly faded as his eyes widened in shock.

“But, there’s always hope shining. You also have a big heart. Some say it’s too big. You believe what you are doing is right with everything you are. You love your family to the point where it hurts. You’re trustworthy.”

For a few, painfully long moment, no one did anything. Dick just stared at the girl who had, without any back story or reference whatsoever, summed up his life in a few sentences. Told him fears and insecurities that no one knew.  Slowly, a smile spread across his face, lighting up his blue eyes.

“ … It’s official. I think I’m gonna like you.”

@mystery-5-5@captainmac6@you-will-never-know-how-i-think@mochinek0@sonif50@zalladane@thebananathatwrites@schrodingers25@kuroko26@miraculousbelladonna@souleaterlicestein@worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry@ijustwannabecanadian@ellerahs@ranger-paladinikoe@xxmadamjinxx@derpingrainbow@sassy-spocko@vixen-uchiha@mjisntme@iggy-of-fans@violentbisexualprophecywriter@valeks-princess@crazylittlemunchkin@redscarlet95@alexzandria-747@ayuchan07@whomthefyck@constancetruggle@rikku052@kurogaya913@shizukiryuu@spicybelladonna@zazzlejazzle@luciferge@mewwitch@emotionalsupportginger@grunklestantheman@my-name-is-michell@northernbluetongue@chez-pezeater@shamefullove@goggles-mcgee@gingerdaile@zebrabaker@tinybrie@bluefiredemon@particularlygeeky@2sunchild2@tbehartoo@god-is-dead-and-so-am-i@shyestofhearts@darkthunder1589@fridayfirefly@lunar-wolf-warrior@ladylb@vivilakitty@ghostcryptid@casual-darkness@yamadochie@thatrandomfandomsgirl@mindfulmagics@myriad-of-passionate-pettiness@violatiger8@seraphichana@synnesstra@friedchickening@kiara-rose-blackthorn@driftingmoonlitpetals@nataladriana9@ginamarie1512@etheralentity@tritaledkitsune@ki117h3dr4g0n@throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen@saphiraazure2708@ivette0712@calvin1394@liadreyar-dragneel@iglowinggemma28@resignedcatservant@creator-josie@lysslovsanime@fiendsangelical@sam-spectra@clumsy-owl-4178@elspethshadow@imspectralboiii@forestmoon11@mooshoon@littleredrobinhoodlum@eliza-bich@dnsakina@hypnosharkrebeldreamer@two-faced-biatch@queencommonsense@poshplumcot@melicmusicmagic@graduatedmelon@rydellakurancarson@huntressofthenight0516@ranger-gothamite@mortally-strange-candy@tog84@thecatnipmademedoit@nerdy-anime-trash-27@maude-zarella@kristycocopop@tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff@mariae2900@simplysslytherin@miraculous-simmer7@7-sage-7@puffapproved@heredemaquam@unabashedbookworm@danielslilangel@huntressofthenight@lexysama@minty-goose@hecate-hallow@maribat-shenanegins@severelyenchantedwonderland@dnsakina@cupcakeandkisses@paradoxal-occurance@bamagirl513@littleblue5mcdork@zerotosiki@chaosace@satans-favorite-homo@celestiacq@bee-wrecker@bluerosette23@dast218@theatreandcomicfreak@noirdots@rogueptoridactyl@eve-is-the-dawn@persephonescat @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @nataladriana9@caffeinetheory@emjrabbitworlf@doggiediva13

’

Hi everyone! So here’s the next installment! Before we get started, I have to explain a few things. So, I’ve had a lot of people ask me about the batgirls and when are they going to come in. I know next to nothing about Cass and Steph, so they will not be in this story. Barbara will be coming in, but that’s going to be it for the batfam. Another thing, Hoffman is very much like me in how she tells her stories, so if it’s hard to follow, that’s kinda how I tell someone something. Anyway, thank you all for your support. If you have any questions, suggestions, or comments, let me know. I love reading all of them! I tried to tag everyone, but if I missed you, let me know. Anyway, I hope ya’ll enjoy! Peace!

When Jason arrived he had thrown the station for a loop. But his departure had thrown it straight into a mad house. He had come tearing through the station like a bull, and given the situation, it was understandable. But the way he booked in out of there after the phone call really caught everyone’s attention. He ran like Joker was chasing him. No explanation, excuses, nothing. The chatter of the office grew to the point of frenzy. While normally Gordon would have silenced the needless chatter, he didn’t. His mind was preoccupied with the information Jason had supplied before his sudden departure. While he hadn’t gone in depth, the story appeared very plausible. They needed something more, anything to confirm Jason’s story.

Something else was nagging at the back of Gordon’s mind. He knew it was important, but he couldn’t place it. He was missing something.

“Commissioner?”

What was it?

“Commissioner?”

It was something big.

“Chief?”

Something he knew.

“Chief?”

What was he missing?

“Gordon!”

The shout broke Gordon out of his thoughts. Turning his attention to the speaker, Gordon found Officer Hill holding a file, looking at him in concern.

“Are you ok Chief? You seem really out of it.” The concern in Hill’s voice was palatable.

“Yeah, just tired. Now what do ya got for me?” Gordon asked, running a hand over his eyes as a yawn escaped. Good lord, he needed coffee.

“Chief, maybe you should get some rest. Go home. Get some sleep, or at the very least go to the break room to get a couple hours. We can show you what we got later.”

“I’ll get some soon. Just show me what you got and I’ll get some sleep. I promise.”

Hill studied him for a few moments. Gordon knew he didn’t look good. His hair, which was usually neat, was disheveled, he was wearing clothes that were two days old, and he knew he had bags under his eyes. But he could look at one more file before resting. Sighing, Hill turned the folder over to him.

“We scanned that photo Jason brought and ran it through the program. Take a look for yourself.” He said as Gordon opened it. Inside was a perfect replica of Marinette, minus the bruising and red eye. Honestly, it was scary how perfectly they matched. The program, while it was fairly accurate, it had never produced a perfect prediction.

“How many times did you run it?”

“Four times. Every time it turned out the exact same.”

This was good. This was really good, but he was too tired to deal with it right now.

“I’m gonna go home for a few hours. While I’m gone, I want someone to pull the case regarding the night Jason Todd was found. I want every file from that night. I don’t care what’s it of, I want someone to comb through them for any abnormalities. I also want copies on my desk when I get back. Oh, and Hill,” Gordon said as he was leaving. “You and every other personal whose been here since yesterday, go home and get some rest.”

Gordon couldn’t remember how he got home safely. He vaguely remembered unlocking his door and falling onto the couch before sleep took him. Hours later, he woke up to his phone ringing. Fumbling for the cordless phone on the side table, Gordon rubbed the sleep from his eyes before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hey Dad. It’s Barb. I think your phone’s dead. I’ve been trying to call you for the last hour. Office said you went home. Did I wake you?”

“No, not really. I needed to get up anyway. How’s your vacation? Where are you and the girls now?”

“It’s great actually. We’re on one of the small Polynesian islands. Rach and Alisa are enjoying the sun. Dad, when you either take a vacation or retire, you need to come here. It’s the perfect place to relax.” Barbra said in a mock teasing tone. Everyone knew that Gordon never took a vacation. “But enough about that. I uh, saw something interesting on the new involving you, a very tiny girl, and a truck. Care to explain?”

Gordon couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped. Barbara, bless his little girl, was always voicing her concerns about him.

“Barbara, it was nothing. I’m fine.”

“Nothing? Dad, it was not ‘nothing’. You got hit by a car! And Madison said you left twelve hours ago after spending over thirty-six hours working on the case involving that girl.” Barbara said, a slight edge of annoyance to her voice.

“Ok, the car barely clipped, it wouldn’t even count as a hit. And as for Madison, did she give you any details?”

“Dad, Madison may be a gossip, but she knows when she can’t share information.”

“Good. Then you also know that even if I wanted to, I cannot give you any information either.”

“I know, I know. I just … I was just worried, Dad. Your fifty-five. You can’t do what you did when you were thirty. Just … don’t make yourself sick, ok?”

The worry in her voice was very evident, even over the phone. Gordon could practically see her chewing her bottom lip in frustration.

“You don’t need to remind me of my age, Honey. I’ll be fine. Stop worrying about me and enjoy your vacation.”

“But Dad.”

“Barbara.”

“Ok, ok. I’ll ignore you. I won’t spare you a passing thought for the remaining three weeks I have on my vacation. The only time I’ll think about you is when I’m looking for a tacky and overpriced souvenir for you.”

“Love you Barbara.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

~

When Gordon arrived back at the station, things where a little calmer. They were a lot calmer actually. Everyone was still working, but it wasn’t in that chaos filled way like before. A lot of the night staff were filling out reports while the morning cops who had already received their assignments where heading out. Most of the personal who were involved in Marinette’s case where all congregated around Hoffman’s desk.

“Morning Commissioner.” Hoffman’s overly cheery voice rang over the familiar buzz of the station.

“Why are you not trailing Marinette, Hoffman?”

“Mmm, ok, so I was. And before I tell you this, I did fill out a full report and it’s on your desk. So yesterday, I trailed her like you told me to. She wasn’t left behind, though she was running a late. I honestly don’t know why the teacher had her go to school. I mean that’s just wrong. The bruising is looking really bad by the way. Like, it really looks as if someone beat her. Anyways, she got to G.A. fine. Since I couldn’t follow her in, I just waited outside. It was 11:30 when G.A. let out for lunch. Marinette was waiting on the top of the stair, waiting for someone to come back. Anyway, as she was waiting, two girls from her class approached. You know, the one with the obnoxious hair and the one with the glasses? So, they started talking to her. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I’m guessing it was verbal bullying. Then Marinette said something that I’m guessing insulted them, specifically obnoxious hair, because they looked livid.” Hoffman said, her hands flying as she spoke.

“Hoffman, there better be a reason your telling me this instead of having me read the report.”

“There is and I’m getting to it. So I got out of my car cause it looked like it was gonna get physical and Marinette did not need anyone else to hit her. But before obnoxious hair could say anything, this guy comes up on his bike, breaking quick a few traffic laws, jumps off his bike yelling ‘Nettie!” I’m telling you, Marinette turned around so fast I thought she was going to get whiplash. Takes one look at the guy and launches herself off the top of the stair straight into his arms. The two were a crying mess. I’m telling you, the emotions in the atmosphere at the time made me wanna cry. I was a little too far way and he was talking too quietly for me to hear exactly what he was saying, but it sounded like he was apologizing to her. But of course, obnoxious hair went off in something in French. Whatever it was, it was bad enough to have the guy look up. When he did, I instantly recognized him as Jason Todd. And let me tell you, he flipped! He went from being an emotional mess to down right murderous! And then he started yelling at obnoxious hair in French, but then Marinette stopped him. Todd then put her on his bike and left, so I followed them. He took her to Wayne Manor and I waited outside. After a good eight hours of boredom, HQ called saying that Wayne had called them, informing them that while they appreciated the cop that was keeping an eye on Marinette, that they could go home. That Marinette would be staying there for the night with her ‘brother’. Apparently, he also said that he would be coming by later today to talk you.” Hoffman explained, her hands adding animation to her story. “And like I said, I did do an official report.”

“Hoffman,”

“Yeah Chief.”

“… Remind me to never ask to tell me a story again.”

The laughter that rang though the station made Gordon smile. He was also impressed when Hoffman joined in. At least she could take a joke.

“Sure thing, Chief.” She laughed. “Oh, um, before I forget. The social worker is in your office. She said she wanted to talk you as soon as you got in.”

“Thanks, and everyone, get back to work. You know what you’re suppose to do. And anyone who has anything for me, come in after the social worker leaves.” Gordon ordered, heading to his office as a murmuring of ‘yes chief’ filtered behind him as well as a few playful remarks to Hoffman.

Entering his office, Gordon let out a sigh. Hoffman had way too much energy in the morning.

“I see Officer Hoffman caught you with her story.” The sheer amusement in the voice had Gordon letting out an undignified snort.

Turning, Gordon met brown eyes that sparkled with amusement. Katherine Keene was a twenty-eight year old seasoned social worker. She had worked with Gordon and most of the GCPD before. She was good at her job. Effective, smart, quick witted, and an eye for detail, always picking up on things others missed.

“She doesn’t know when to stop.” Gordon said dryly, enticing a soft laugh from Katherine.

“At least she’s entertaining.”

“Sometimes a little too much. She said you wanted to talk to me?” Gordon asked, sitting down at his desk, taking a swing of his rapidly cooling coffee.

“I did. I went through the drawings, and as I said before, most of them are clothing designs. Very well done. The girl certainly has a gift for fashion. The rest of them consist of landscapes, skylines, and still life. At first I couldn’t find anything. While that is not uncommon, most of the time there is one or two pictures that stand out. These give you an idea of what to look for in the other that could pin-point what happened or a connection to someone who would know. As I said before, at first I couldn’t find anything. But after a while, I noticed something. In every single drawing, every single design, this symbol kept appearing. It blended in so well with the drawings that you would actively have to look for it in order to find it.”

“She was actively hiding it?”

“No. The human mind is very intricate, and for lack of a better term, mind boggling.  In a traumatic experience, the mind will remember everything, but it will shut the memories out in order to protect itself. But your subconscious remember things, key point if you will. Images, sounds, smells, symbols. These things are what cause triggers. If the person is artistic and what they remember is a symbol, their subconscious puts it into their artwork. Which is what Marinette did. It’s the same symbol in every drawing.”

“May I see?”

Opening her briefcase, Katherine pulled out a folder. Sliding it over the desk, she waited for Gordon to open it before continuing.

“I searched it up in the local data base and I came up with nothing. I went national, still nothing. I then went international, and can you guess what I came up with?”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. That brought up a lot of question. How can something that had such an impact on such a young girl, not be found on any data bases.” She said. “The symbol looked ancient, so I sent it a trusted friend of mine who specializes in ancient symbols. He got back to and told me that the symbol is one of the greatest mysteries of ancient history. The symbol has shown up in nearly every civilization. Ones that would’ve had no contact whatsoever with each other. No one knows what means. No one knows where it came from.”

“Any theories on it?”

“This is the really weird about it Gordon. Whenever my friend has tried to talk to his colleagues about, they all shot it down, saying it was stupid and unimportant. These are people who’s lives revolve around studying ancient symbols and what they mean and where they come from. No conspiracy theorist has ever touched this. Its as if the world is ignoring it or is not meant to see it. Only a select few are able to acknowledge it”

Gordon didn’t say anything for a few, long moments. The more he studied the symbol, the more he felt like he was looking at something that was not meant to be seen.

“Keene, I have a feeling we found something we weren’t suppose to.”

@mystery-5-5@captainmac6@you-will-never-know-how-i-think@mochinek0@sonif50@zalladane@thebananathatwrites@schrodingers25@kuroko26@miraculousbelladonna@souleaterlicestein@worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry@ijustwannabecanadian@ellerahs@ranger-paladinikoe@xxmadamjinxx@derpingrainbow@sassy-spocko@vixen-uchiha@mjisntme@iggy-of-fans@violentbisexualprophecywriter@valeks-princess@crazylittlemunchkin@redscarlet95@alexzandria-747@ayuchan07@whomthefyck@constancetruggle@rikku052@kurogaya913@shizukiryuu@spicybelladonna@zazzlejazzle@luciferge@mewwitch@emotionalsupportginger@grunklestantheman@my-name-is-michell@northernbluetongue@chez-pezeater@shamefullove@goggles-mcgee@gingerdaile@zebrabaker@tinybrie@bluefiredemon@particularlygeeky@2sunchild2@tbehartoo@god-is-dead-and-so-am-i@shyestofhearts@darkthunder1589@fridayfirefly@lunar-wolf-warrior@ladylb@vivilakitty@ghostcryptid@casual-darkness@yamadochie@thatrandomfandomsgirl@mindfulmagics@myriad-of-passionate-pettiness@violatiger8@seraphichana@synnesstra@friedchickening@kiara-rose-blackthorn@driftingmoonlitpetals@nataladriana9@ginamarie1512@etheralentity@tritaledkitsune@ki117h3dr4g0n@throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen@saphiraazure2708@ivette0712@calvin1394@liadreyar-dragneel@iglowinggemma28@resignedcatservant@creator-josie@lysslovsanime@fiendsangelical@sam-spectra@clumsy-owl-4178@elspethshadow@imspectralboiii@forestmoon11@mooshoon@littleredrobinhoodlum@eliza-bich@dnsakina@hypnosharkrebeldreamer@two-faced-biatch@queencommonsense@poshplumcot@melicmusicmagic@graduatedmelon@rydellakurancarson@huntressofthenight0516@ranger-gothamite@mortally-strange-candy@tog84@thecatnipmademedoit@nerdy-anime-trash-27@maude-zarella@kristycocopop@tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff@mariae2900@simplysslytherin@miraculous-simmer7@7-sage-7@puffapproved@heredemaquam@unabashedbookworm@danielslilangel@huntressofthenight@lexysama@minty-goose@hecate-hallow@maribat-shenanegins@severelyenchantedwonderland@dnsakina@cupcakeandkisses@paradoxal-occurance@bamagirl513@littleblue5mcdork@zerotosiki@chaosace@satans-favorite-homo@celestiacq@bee-wrecker@bluerosette23@dast218@theatreandcomicfreak@noirdots@rogueptoridactyl@eve-is-the-dawn@persephonescat

Hi everyone! So, I had a lot of trouble on this chapter, but I’m finally happy with it. I hope you guys enjoy it. Thank you all again for your likes, comments and reblogs! Also, I want to say a really big thank you to everyone who encouraged me last week, but I want to say a special thank you to @you-will-never-know-how-i-think  Most of the time, i feel so pressured into putting everyone else’s needs or wants before my own that I forget I need to care for myself. Anyway, here’s the next chapter. I think I tagged everyone, but if I missed you, please let me know and I’ll try to get you next chapter. If you have any suggestions, questions, or comments, let me know! Anyway, hope ya’ll enjoy! Peace!

“She said what!?!”

The sound of Dick’s voice echoed though the room, bouncing off the walls. Jason was never more thankful for Alfred, who had insisted that they have their ‘discussion’ in a private room away from Marinette. If they hadn’t, Nettie definitely would have been woken up by Dick’s shouting. As more of the story unfolded, the more the family became agitated. When Damian added what had been said after the duo had left, they looked ready to pay the class a ‘visit’ themselves. Unsurprisingly, it was Alfred who refocused them on the issue at hand.

“I have a feeling there is more you’d like to tell us Master Jason.”

“Nettie didn’t tell me anything explicated. No names, reasons, nothing.” Jason informed them, running a hand through his hair before continuing. “She didn’t say much of anything really and that’s why I know its bad.”

The questioning looks the rest of the family caused Jason to struggle with his next words. He had never talked about Nettie before to his family, or anyone for that matter. Trying to talk about her now, even though she was very much alive, was hard. Telling them about her quirks, things only he would know about her felt almost like he was betraying her in some way. It felt wrong. Like if given half an opportunity, any information he told them would be used against both him and Nettie. That it could be used to take her away again. The more he thought about the ‘what ifs’, the more panicked he became. Shaking those thought out of his mind, he focused on the question at hand. He had to. For Nettie, he could push past this. For his sister.

“Nettie doesn’t like talking about … messy emotions or . . . bad experiences. Depending on how bad it is, if its brought up she will just shut down. Especially if someone was abusing her. It happened before. Back when I first met her. There was this guy, he was around sixteen, who lived in the same building as us. I, I was gone most of the time … working. Whenever I would see them, he was always talking with her. Whenever I would ask about him, she would shrug and just say he was a friend and change the subject. If I tried to push it, she would clam up. I didn’t like him at all. I didn’t trust him. One day I came back earlier then usual and I heard shouting, and Nettie crying. When I opened the door, that bastard was holding her by arm, hitting her.” Jason said, just the memory of it made him sick.

He could still see how small she had looked trying to pry her arm away as that scum hit her. He remembered how something inside him had snapped, the sound of something breaking as he punched the guy. How something destructive whispered in his ear, telling him he needed to protect what was his. Only for the voice to be subdued by Nettie’s pained whimpers. He settled for growling a threat at the monster before turning his attention to Nettie.

“I later found out he had been doing that for around a year before I met her. He would take what little money she had and if she didn’t have enough, he would beat her. He told her it was payment for living next to him.” Jason said, unconsciously white-knuckling the edge of the table. “That’s why I know the situation is abusive. If it wasn’t, she would tell me. This … this had to have been going on for at least a year. And if the teacher is allowing it, and placing the blame on her, Nettie definitely wouldn’t say anything. Not if it involves someone she views an adult.”

For a few, long moments, the entire family was eerily silent. They may not have even officially met this girl, but no one, no one should have to go through that. While their concern spiked to new height, they also felt a small twinge of fear. They had known individuals who had suffered less then this girl and had been driven to insanity. Had broken under the pressure. If she hadn’t broken already, she wouldn’t be far from her breaking point. That knowledge, coupled with the facts that both Jason and Damian had provided, hardened their resolve.

“She’s staying here.”

Bruce’s statement held so much conviction that even Alfred seemed impressed. Relief flooded through Jason. If Bruce was already in protective mode, then Nettie was going to be fine.

“Bruce, not to burst your bubble, but you can’t do that.”

“What are you talking about, Tim. She’s a Gothamite. He has every right to and Gordon will back him up on this.” Dick exclaimed. His hands moving in rhythm with his speech.

“Was. She was adopted. Internationally. The adopted child then takes on the citizenship and nationality of their parents, revoking their right to their native country and vi versa. This is done to protect the child in the event that something goes wrong and the child’s native country tries to force them to come back. Unless otherwise stated in the adoption forms or something wasn’t signed, then she is not an American citizen anymore. Nulling Bruce’s right to claim guardianship over a suspected abused minor and tying Gordon’s hands in any investigation.” Tim informed them, his voice straying as he tried to keep himself from yelling.

“Then it’s a good thing I have a couple friends in the French embassy who owe me a couple favors. I’ll be able to get us a couple days at least. That’ll give us enough time to find that flaw in the forms, there’s always one.” Bruce said, and for a moment, the boys could see the business side of him. “We’ll also get our lawyers to nail that girl with slander and defamation. We’ll lay more charges as they become available. They’ll also be drawing up lawsuit papers. Tim, I want you looking into that class. Find out everything you can about their relationship with Marinette, and any other claims this Lila’s made. Damian,” Bruce said, pausing as he addressed his youngest. Through the entire conversation, Damian hadn’t said much, which was unusual. He always had something to add. It usually being a snarky remark, but he hadn’t said anything. “Damian, I want you to watch over Marinette at school. Don’t let that class get near her again. Enlist help if needed, but don’t leave her alone.”

The only affirmation Damian gave was a curt nod, but it was more then enough. If Damian had a problem, he would have voiced it by now. He would have her back.

“…  There’s one more thing I need to tell you. About Nettie.” Jason said, taking a second to breath before explaining. “Nettie, Nettie’s different. She’s special. The kid, she’s insanely smart. Like rivaling Tim smart. She’s … an analyst. If she stays here, heck, if she gets to know you for any length of time she will figure you out. I just … you need to know that if she stays here, she will find out. She may not say it, but she’ll know.”

“We’ve handled analysts before. The only people who have figured our identities out, aside from Tim, took years. Three months is not going to be enough time for her to figure it out.”

“When she was six, she saw Harvey Dent at a press conference. She locked eyes with him for a second. Do you know what she told me after? She said he had two different faces. That his soul was tainted, and that his scared faced was going to win. That was a year before his accident. A year before Two-Face made his debut.” Jason said, locking eyes with Bruce.

While Jason knew it was a risk saying that, he needed them to know. He didn’t want to tell them, but he couldn’t keep it secret. They would find out anyway and Jason knew it would turn out better for everyone if they found out from him. He also wasn’t about to allow Bruce to disregard his sister or her intelligence.

“Is she meta?”

Bruce’s question echoed through the room. Everyone knew his stance on meta-humans in Gotham. All eyes turned to Jason, each waiting for his answer.

“She’s insightful.”

“Is she meta, Jason?”

“… she’s harmless, Bruce.” Jason whispered.

If it was possible, the room grew quieter at the confirmation. No one knew what to do, or think for that matter. Metas and Gotham was never a good mix. If one when rogue, it spelt chaos. But they couldn’t not do anything.

“Father, one thing I have learned from you and living in family is that we help anyone who needs it. Regardless of who they are. If they need our help and protection, we give it. If we turn her away on the account of what she is, something she has no control or say over, then perhaps what I learned was wrong. Though regardless of your final decision, I am still helping her.” Damian said, shocking the family, especially Jason.

Everyone, Alfred included, stared at him like he had sprouted horns. They would have been less surprised if that happened.

“Why?” Bruce asked, carefully keeping his expression blank. Damian didn’t hesitate for moment before answering.

“My instinct is telling me to help her. It’s never wrong. She needs help and I’m going to give it.”

Jason could kiss the little demon right now! Of all the people to back him and Nettie up, he never thought it would be Demon Spawn. Turning his attention back to Bruce, Jason still found his blank face, though he could see the calculating look in his eyes along with a spark of pride.

“It’s good to know you have taken something to heart, Damian.” Bruce said, a small smile playing on his face. “Jason, while I don’t like metas, that doesn’t mean we’re not going to help your sister. We’ll just keep a closer eye on her. And we’ll make sure this information does not get out.”

If Jason hadn’t felt like crying before, he did now. He had been ready to grab Nettie and get the hell out of the house and Gotham if Bruce had shown any form of hostility towards her. Instead, Damian had come to her defence and Bruce had agreed to let her stay. He agreed to let her stay!

Forcing back the sudden lump that had formed, Jason sent Damian a grateful smile before turning to addressing the rest of the family, but a soft voice cut him off.

“What’s a meta?”

@mystery-5-5@captainmac6@you-will-never-know-how-i-think@mochinek0@sonif50@zalladane@thebananathatwrites@schrodingers25@kuroko26@miraculousbelladonna@souleaterlicestein@worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry@ijustwannabecanadian@ellerahs@ranger-paladinikoe@xxmadamjinxx@derpingrainbow@sassy-spocko@vixen-uchiha@mjisntme@iggy-of-fans@violentbisexualprophecywriter@valeks-princess@crazylittlemunchkin@redscarlet95@alexzandria-747@ayuchan07@whomthefyck@constancetruggle@rikku052@kurogaya913@shizukiryuu@spicybelladonna@zazzlejazzle@luciferge@mewwitch@emotionalsupportginger@grunklestantheman@my-name-is-michell@northernbluetongue@chez-pezeater@shamefullove@goggles-mcgee@gingerdaile@zebrabaker@tinybrie@bluefiredemon@particularlygeeky@2sunchild2@tbehartoo@god-is-dead-and-so-am-i@shyestofhearts@darkthunder1589@fridayfirefly@lunar-wolf-warrior@ladylb@vivilakitty@ghostcryptid@casual-darkness@yamadochie@thatrandomfandomsgirl@mindfulmagics@myriad-of-passionate-pettiness@violatiger8@seraphichana@synnesstra@friedchickening@kiara-rose-blackthorn@driftingmoonlitpetals@nataladriana9@ginamarie1512@etheralentity@tritaledkitsune@ki117h3dr4g0n@throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen@saphiraazure2708@ivette0712@calvin1394@liadreyar-dragneel@iglowinggemma28@resignedcatservant@creator-josie@lysslovsanime@fiendsangelical@sam-spectra@clumsy-owl-4178@elspethshadow@imspectralboiii@forestmoon11@mooshoon@littleredrobinhoodlum@eliza-bich@dnsakina@hypnosharkrebeldreamer@two-faced-biatch@queencommonsense@poshplumcot@melicmusicmagic@graduatedmelon@rydellakurancarson@huntressofthenight0516@ranger-gothamite@mortally-strange-candy@tog84@thecatnipmademedoit@nerdy-anime-trash-27@maude-zarella@kristycocopop@tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff@mariae2900@simplysslytherin@miraculous-simmer7@7-sage-7@puffapproved@heredemaquam@unabashedbookworm@danielslilangel@huntressofthenight@lexysama@minty-goose@hecate-hallow@maribat-shenanegins@severelyenchantedwonderland@dnsakina@cupcakeandkisses@paradoxal-occurance@bamagirl513@littleblue5mcdork@zerotosiki@chaosace@satans-favorite-homo@celestiacq@bee-wrecker@bluerosette23@dast218@theatreandcomicfreak@noirdots

Hi everyone! Sorry I didn’t update early. This week has been kinda hard for me. From time to time, I suffer from depression and it causes me to withdraw. But I’m doing better now, so hopefully you’ll have more updates faster! Anyway thank you all for for your likes comment and reblogs. I tried to tag everyone, if I missed you, let me know. If you have any questions suggestions or comments, let me know. Anyway, I hope ya’ll enjoy! Peace!

The silence that followed the duo’s departure was almost amusing. Everyone, including some of the teachers who had come out to investigate the noise, were still in shock trying to process what they had witnessed. Damian could feel his amusement grow. The French class had no idea what they had unleashed. It was one thing to lie about a Wayne, but it was another to insult one, official or not. And Damian had a suspicion that Marinette was going to become an official part of the family, sooner rather then later. Another thing he knew was that Todd was no where near done with the Italian, and he was looking forward to the show.

“… Did that just happen?”

Claude’s question seemed to echo through the crowd. Everyone looked at each other before slowly turned to look at the French class. The silence lasted for all of 30 seconds before the student body exploded. The Gotham students who had understood French where trying to explain what had happened to the rest of them, while the French class was torn between comforting the crying Italian and talking about Marinette and the ‘weird guy with white hair’.

“That it did. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have damage control.” Damian said, turning to leave before pausing. “Claude, thank you for helping her.” He added, leaving a chocking Claude and even more freaked out student behind.

He hadn’t gotten far when the liar’s voice broke through the crowd.

“I, I was j-j-just trying t-t-to w-w-warn her.” She cried. The red head from before was back to comforting the girl, assuring her that Marinette was in the wrong and the ‘Lila was too nice to her’. But what really caught Damian’s attention was when some of the class, he did bother to remember their names and barely spared them much thought, said that if Marinette got hurt, then it would be her own fault. After all, that guy looked like ‘he had just gotten out of jail.’ He couldn’t be safe and how could Marinette to that?

“Marinette is safer with Jason more then she ever would be with any you. Judging someone on the their appearance alone is immature at best. His style is more ‘street’ or ‘biker’, not criminal. Seeing how you claim to a consultant to the head of Hearts Fashion House, you would know something as simple as that. Furthermore, if you continue to insult my brother or my family I will lose my civility with you.” He growled, his eyes narrowing slightly. While he may not like Jason most of the time, Damian really did, deep down, care for his brother. Being in the Wayne family for the last few years taught him the importance of family. They always had his back, and now was a time to have one of theirs.

Not bothering to wait an answer, Damian stocked off in search of the headmaster. Anyone on his path scurried out of his way. Everyone knew never to get in the Ice Prince’s way when angry, not unless you had a death wish.

~

When Damian finally arrived at the manor, he was not happy. Explaining what happened to the headmaster was simple, putting up with the exchange class wasn’t. None of them were stupid enough to approach him the rest of the day. So they settled for throwing glares his way, and whispering behind his back. The liar learned to keep her mouth shut about both Marinette and the ‘biker guy’ after being outright laughed at by a few students.

When he entered the manor, the first person he met was surprisingly his father. With Dick and Tim behind him. They all looked like they were waiting for him.

“I’m sure you are well aware of what happened, seeing as the Jason showed up at your school to take the girl who happens to part of the exchange program in your class.” Bruce asked, arms folded, his face not quiet readable.

“I was unaware that she was even in the class until this morning. I spent 3 hours trying to contact Todd in order to let him know. What happened after that wasn’t my fault.”

“So you didn’t think that Jason would come as soon as he heard the news?”

“I speculated, yes. Now why the questions. I already did damage control with the school. They are expecting a call for you later Father, to confirm.”

“Confirm what exactly, Damian?”

“That Todd and Marinette knew each other when they were younger, and that they haven’t seen each other in years. He was worried when he saw her again due to the footage on the news. And that Marinette will be coming back to classes as soon she is able.” Damian said, mimicking his father’s posture, “Now why all the question? Why not just ask Todd?”

“He’s hiding.” Dick said, a small pout in his voice.

“Then why not ask Alfred where they are?”

“Because Alfred won’t tell us where they are. He made it quiet clear that he would only inform us where they were when all of us are present.” Tim informed him, slightly tired and very irritated.

“That I did Master Drake, and seeing as you all are here, you may follow me.” Alfred said, seemingly to appear at he mention of his name. “Now I feel it prudent to warn you that the injures Miss Marinette are very evident. Please try not to draw attention to them. She had enough to deal with as it is.” Alfred instructed them, leading them far into the older part of the house and into one of the rarely used sitting rooms. Inside, a fire was burning softly and curled up on the couch facing the door was Jason and a tiny girl wearing what appeared to be one of Jason’s old hoodies. The girl was curled against Jason’s side, her entire body tucked under his arm. The girl appeared as if she was sleeping. Her face was relaxed, her breathing even.

Damian, who had seen her bruising before, could help but think that the glow of the fire made it look worse. Before the bruise just looked purple, but the firelight made her face look black, almost like an infection. She looked horrible.

The older Wayne’s stiffened at the sight of her. One quick glance was all Damian need to see the looks of shock and anger filter across their faces. Dick looked about ready beat whoever did it. Tim’s face had gone blank, his eyes sparking with furry and no doubt planning his own investigation. No one get bruises like that unless they where in fight or an abusive relationship. The person who hit her did not hold back. Bruce, well Bruce seemed be channeling his inner Batman. Silent anger shimmered around him and the aura that would send common criminals running. But there was also this strange air of fondness at the sight of Jason gently stroking the girl’s dark locks. If they reacted like this to just her bruises, Damian almost didn’t want to see what they would do when they saw her eye.

Turning back to the duo, Damian had to admit that they look a little strange together. Jason was big. He was made of solid muscle, standing 6’2”.  His personality was loud and confident. The girl, Marinette, on the other hand was so tiny. Damian guessed that she stood maybe 5’ 2”, weighing 95lb or less, with a personality more along the lines of a rabbit. Timid. But that could be due to whoever gave her the injures.

“If you guys wake her, I’m going to be seriously tick. She just fell asleep.” Jason’s voice, quiet as it was, snapped all of them out of their own thoughts.

Snapping his attention back to the pair, the group found that Jason wasn’t even looking at them. He was just looking down at the girl tucked against him with what could only be described as the look of a dotting and worried older brother. A look that none of the family ever thought they would see on Jason Todd’s face. While the look was strange, it appeared natural. It almost looked like he had found himself again. Everyone could only remember how he had always pushed them way, never letting them get too close. Even after he had come back, while he had relaxed more, he had never displayed this side. It almost felt like they were witnessing something sacred.

“Bruce, we need to talk.” Jason said, his tone serious as he finally turned his attention to his family who still stood in the entrance.

“What happened to her?”

All eyes turned to Dick as he stepped closer, studying her face. No one missed the slight tightening of Jason’s arm around her, nor the flicker of protectiveness that flashed through his eyes. And for a split second, Damian could have sworn that he saw a spark of green flame leap from the corner of Jason’s eye.

“That’s what we need to talk about.”

@mystery-5-5@captainmac6@you-will-never-know-how-i-think@mochinek0@sonif50@zalladane@thebananathatwrites@schrodingers25@kuroko26@miraculousbelladonna@soluleaterlicestein@worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry@ijustwannabecanadian@ellerahs@ranger-paladinikoe@xxmadamjinxx@derpingrainbow@sassy-spocko@vixen-uchiha@mjisntme@iggy-of-fans@valeks-princess@crazylittlemunchkin@redscarlet95@alexzandria-747@ayuchan07@whomthefyck@rhub4rb@constancetruggle@kurogaya913@shizukiryuu@rikku052@spicybelladonna@zazzlejazzle@luciferge@mewwitch@emotionalsupportginger@grunklestantheman@my-name-is-michell@northernbluetongue@chez-pezeater@shamefullove@goggles-mcgee@gingerdaile@zebrabaker @tinybrie@bluefiredemon@tbehortoo@god-is-dead-and-so-am-i@shyestofhearts@darkthunder1589@fridayfirefly@lunar-wolf-warrior@ladylb@vivilakitty@ghostcryptid@casual-darkness@yamadochie@thatrandomfandomgirl@mindfulmagics@myriad-of-passionate-pettiness@violatiger8@seraphichana@synnesstra@friedchickening@kiara-rose-blackthorn@driftingmoonlitpetals@nataladriana9@ginamarie1512@etheralentity@tritaledkitsune@ki117h3dr4g0n@throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen@saphiraazure2708@ivette0712@calvin1394@liadreyar-dragneel@iglowinggemma28@resignedcatservant@creator-josie@lysslovsanime@fiendsangelical@sam-spectra@clumsy-owl-4178@elspethshadow @imspectralboii @forestmoon11 @mooshoon@littleredrobinhoodlum@eliza-bich@dnsakina@hypnosharkrebeldreamer@two-faced-biatch@queencommonsense@poshplumcot@2sunchild2@melicmusicmagic@graduatedmelon@rydellakurancarson@huntressofthenight@mortally-strange-candy@tog84@thecatnipmademedoit@nerdy-anime-trash-27@maude-zarella@kristycocopop@tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff@mariae2900@simplysslytherin@miraculous-simmer7@7-sage-7@puffapproved@heredemaquam@unabashedbookworm@danielslilangel@lexysama@miny-goose@hecate-hallow@maribat-shenanegins@particularlygeeky

Hi everyone! Guys, I have reached 449 followers! That is insane! Thank you everyone! I know I’ve said this before, but this story wouldn’t be what is it without all your encouragement. I may write this, but you guys are the breath behind this. All your comments are read, so have made me laugh and squeal with happiness, and others have made me cry. One of the asks I received honestly made me cry. I have so grateful that my story has helped and hopefully inspired a lot of you. Anyways, this chapter was suppose to come out yesterday, but work was short on staff. So, here’s the next installment. I tried to tag everyone, but if i missed you, I’m sorry it was an accident and let me know and I’ll get you on the next one. Again, if you have any questions, comments or suggestions please let me know. Hope ya’ll enjoy! Peace!

For years, Jason would have these dreams. Dreams where he would find Nettie, where he would be holding her, only for her to be torn away again. Whether by someone physically tearing her away or her just ‘disappearing’. The worse ones were when she died. The method always changed, but the outcome never did. He would always be forced to watch. Never able to do anything. They were always so real that sometimes, he thought they were. But this, this was real.

Dream Nettie was never this warm. She was never this small. Dream Nettie was never this strong, hugging him as if he was the one that might disappear. She never smelt so ‘Marinette’. Jason had spent years trying to identify her scent, though nothing ever came close. He could never describe it to someone. If he ever had to, he would say it was calm, underlined with something powerful. Something not quite discovered. And that relaxing, intoxicating scent, that no dream could ever fabricate, filled his senses as he nuzzled his sister’s hair. She was real. She was real! Jason wanted to laugh and shout it to the world that she was real. He could hardly wait to show her off to Alfred and everyone! They would love her just as much as he did. If they didn’t, then he and Nettie would leave. Jason had enough money saved to support them for a while. They could get a real apartment and he would make sure Nettie got actual schooling this time, and …

His planning was cut short when he adjusted his arms, his hand lightly brushing the side of her face. The flinch and whimper of pain snapped Jason back. Pulling away, Jason tilted Nettie’s face up and his stomach dropped. The small utopia he was imaging was shattered when he saw her face. It was almost like looking at a prettier version of Two-Face.

The left side of her face was normal, a little pale and thin, but normal. It was Nettie’s right side that turned Jason’s blood into fire. The first thing he noticed was her eye. Her eyes, that were always so large and expressive and bright with that unique bluebell colouring, was maimed. The right eye had turned blood red, only a small section of white remained closer to the bridge of her nose. Her bottom lip, which had always been full, was swollen and he could plainly see where her teeth had gone straight through. The red glare of the hand print screamed at him, as purple bruising bloomed around it and her eye. She looked like two totally different people.

Gently cupping her face, Jason brushed his thumb across the underside of her eye, barely skimming. The slight wince and hitching of breath confirmed just how much pain she was in. Just how hard was she hit? Better yet, who would have the gulls to do something like this to Nettie?

“Nettie, who did this to you?” Jason asked, keeping his voice soft and hands gentle as he cradled her face. He saw the same look filter through her eyes that he had seen in so many other victims: hesitation. Something or someone had dug their claws in so deep, that his pixie was afraid to say what happened. Leaning down, Jason gently touched her forehead with his, just letting sit in that position. Providing them both with comfort from the familiar gesture. “Please tell me who did this to you, Pixie-pop.” Jason prodded again, nearly begging. He needed to know who dared to hurt her. He needed to know who to kill.

For a few heartbeats, Marinette was silent, her large eyes studying him. He held her gaze, trying his hardest to express everything he was feeling into them. She slowly blinked, keeping her eyes closed slightly longer then necessary. Jason could’ve sworn she was going to answer, but then a very annoying voice cut through their bubble.

“What are you doing Marinette? Snuggling up with Gotham’s lowlifes? I hope you’re careful, wouldn’t want you to make a ‘mistake’. Mind you, I guess that would run in the family.”

The sound of the girl’s voice would have been enough to grate on Jason’s nerves on a good day, but today was not a normal day, and that fact alone made it much, much worse. How dare this … this snake insult Nettie like that! The laughter of the other students and how Nettie curled up, shrinking away from their taunts fanned his anger to the breaking point.

Turning his eyes from his sister, Jason cold, anger filled eyes found the group that dared, not only to interrupt them, but to also slander his sisters name. As soon as his fire filled eyes locked onto the group, most of them seemed to freeze. Many of them had the sense to look afraid. Anyone in their right mind would, but some of them apparently didn’t. The snake included.

One look was all it took for Jason to know she was a manipulator, and in this instance, a threat. Her skin was darker, tanned to perfection. She had sickly olive green eyes, hooded by blunt bangs. Two short ponytails fell on both sides of her face and the rest of her hair was pulled back into a long, low ponytail. She was queen of her class and she knew it. Her eyes held so much malice and anger and a sick sense of satisfaction as she continued to bad mouth Nettie to the red head beside her.

“What did you just say?” Jason growled, tucking Nettie closer to himself.

The anger radiating off his voice caused the rest of the student body, which were all trying to disappear into the back-round, to freeze and watch the drama unfolding in a morbid fascination. They all knew who Jason was and while they didn’t know the black-haired beauty with him, they knew she was someone special. And no one messed with someone Jason Todd-Wayne deemed as his. It always ended badly for the other person.

The girl, hearing him, turned with the beginnings of a sneer on her face.

“I’m sorry, what was that? Unlike some people, I don’t speak criminal.” She said, her eyes glancing at Nettie, who had curled up tighter into Jason’s chest.

‘She’s f*cked’, was the only thought of every student who understood French. Those who didn’t know could only guess what she had said to make the others grow that pale and Jason that angry. Everyone could feel the kill intent coming off the young adopted Wayne, and they all took a step back. The snake seemed to feel it too. Her eyes widened with uneasiness. Her next words stuck in her throat.

Jason’s blood was on fire. She called him a criminal. The very people Jason spent countless nights stopping. Now, he might, might have let it slide, but she had called his Pixie-pop a hooker! And she was gonna pay for that.

“Takes one to know one.” Jason hissed, eyes flashing dangerously.

Everyone, especially the snake and her group, were shocked and a little unsettled that Jason understood and spoke French. What were the chances of a guy that dressed in leather jackets, ripped jeans, and combat boots would be able to know French? Before the girl could attempt to flounder with a comeback, Jason cut her off.

“If you think you can get away with call me a criminal, fine.”

“Jay.”

“But if your stupid enough to think …”

“Jay,”

“That you can call Nettie a hooker Or a mistake and get away with it …”

“Jay-Jay!”

Nettie shouted over his, her voice sounding so desperate, cut Jason off his tirade.

“ …Just, let it go. Please?”

“But …”

“NO! Please, let it go. Please, Jay-Jay, let it go.” Nettie begged, pulling her face slightly away from his chest. The desperation in her face and the fear in her eyes made Jason clamp down on his anger. He remembered the last time he had seen her scared, the last time he heard her beg. And he never wanted to see her do that again. He would stop. For now. But right now, he needed to get her away from all the prying eyes.

Not sparing their spectators a glance, Jason scooped up Nettie. The squeak and smile that left her was worth the adorable glare she sent him.

“Jay-Jay, what are you doing?” Nettie asked, squirming in his arms. For a moment, Jason was brought back to when he would carry tiny her to bed when she insisted she wasn’t tired. Smiling at the memory, he just adjusted his hold on her so she would be more comfortable.

“We’re getting outta here, kiddo.”

“I, I can’t just leave, Jason. I have school, classes … my teacher.” The last part was whispered so quietly that Jason almost didn’t catch it. The way she said it was like she was expecting repercussions.

Pushing that thought to the back corner, Jason turned his head slightly, catching sight of Damian. Their eyes locked for a few moments, and a message passed between the two brothers. A faint nod from Damian was all Jason needed to know that he would have his back. Looking back down at his sister, Jason smiled.

“Don’t worry. Everything will be ok.” He said softly, placing a feather light kiss on her forehead.

Striding over to his bike, Jason only put Nettie down to strap his helmet on her. The feeling of protectiveness washed over him again just by seeing her wearing his helmet. It wasn’t a possessive feeling. Far from it. It was more like what a knight would feel when the princess he was protecting wore his colours. It was a sense of pride, and loyalty, and the overwhelming desire to protect. Putting her on the front of the bike, Jason climbed on behind her, wrapping her in a protective cage.

“Where are we going, Jay-Jay?” Nettie asked as Jason started the engine. The roar startling the gawking students, causing Jason to smirk. Before taking off, Jason shot the snake’s group one last glare, flashing the middle finger at them over Nettie’s head.

“We’re going home, Nettie.” He whispered, before tearing off, the sound of screeching tires filling the air.

 @mystery-5-5@captainmac6@you-will-never-know-how-i-think@mochinek0@sonif50@zalladane@thebananathatwrites@schrodingers25@kuroko26@miraculousbelladonna@souleaterlicestein@worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry@ijustwannabecanadian@ellerahs@ranger-paladinikoe@xxmadamjinxx@derpingrainbow@sassy-spocko@vixen-uchiha@mjisntme@iggy-of-fans@violentbisexualprophecywriter@valeks-princess@crazylittlemunchkin@redscarlet95@alexzandria-747@ayuchan07@whomthefyck@constancetruggle@rikku052@spicybelladonna@zazzlejazzle@luciferge@mewwitch@emotionalsupportginger@grunklestantheman@my-name-is-michell@northernbluetongue@chez-pezeater@shamefullove@goggles-mcgee@gingerdaile@zebrabaker@tinybrie@bluefiredemon@tbehartoo@god-is-dead-and-so-am-i@shyestofhearts@darkthunder1589@fridayfirefly@lunar-wolf-warrior@ladylb@vivilakitty@ghostcryptid@casual-darkness@yamadochie@thatrandomfandomgirl@mindfulmagics@myriad-of-passionate-pettiness@violatiger8@seraphichana@synnesstra@friedchickening@kiara-rose-blackthorn@driftingmoonlitpetals@mooshoon@nataladriana9@ginamarie1512@etheralentity@tritaledkitsune@ki117h3dr4g0n@throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen@saphiraazure2708@ivette0712@calvin1394@liadreyar-dragneel@iglowinggemma28@resignedcatservant@creator-josie@lysslovsanime@fiendsangelical@sam-spectra@clumsy-owl-4178@elspethshadow@imspectralboiii@forestmoon11@littleredrobinhoodlum@eliza-bich@dnsakina@hypnosharkrebeldreamer@two-faced-biatch@2sunchild2@melicmusicmagic@thewheezingbubbledragon@queencommonsense@poshplumcot@graduatedmelon@rydillakurancarson@rhub4rb@hunteressofthenight0516@mortally-strange-candy@tog84@thecatnipmademedoit@nerdy-anime-trash-27@maude-zarella@kristycocopop@particularlygeeky@yazi-ing

Hi everyone! Thank you all for your support! You guys have been amazing and I love you all! So here’s the next installment, but before you read, let me explain something. The last chapter I posted when I was half asleep and I was suppose to post it after this chapter. So this one should answer your guys questions on how Jason ended up at the school and such. Anyways, I tried to tag everyone, but if I missed you, let me know. If you have any comments, questions, or suggestions, please let me know, I love reading them all! Hope ya’ll enjoy! Peace!

Gordon should have paid better attention to the signs. If he had, this may not have happened. The station was still noisy and busy, but it was suspiciously quiet in the lobby. No reporters or random civilians in sight. That in itself should have set off red flags, but for some reason, that fact just didn’t click. He would later blame his inattentiveness to lack of sleep and too much coffee. After spending all night in the office poring over Marinette’s files, Gordon was sure that he alone had consumed well over 7 pots of coffee. He had been awake for nearly 48 hours, running on a little over 3 hours of sleep he had managed to get when he napped on some files.

Hoffman had left on her assignment at 6:00 a.m., but so far hadn’t reported anything in.  Which was good and bad. Good in the sense that Marinette was alright, and bad because they where looking for a solid reason to intervene.

Both Spencer and Jackson had given Gordon the files he had requested, though Jackson was still gathering information. Spencer had provided Gordon with a 30+ page dictation of everything that he and Marinette had talked about, what the doctor had said when she visited, and what the teacher and class had said. Reading what those plain clothed villains said was enough to make Gordon’s blood boil.

“Oh my gosh, look at Marinette’s face!”

“Wow Als, you got a good swing.”

“Yeah, I think I made an improvement. Though to eye looks really creepy.”

“No kidding, Marinette looks like a freak!”

“She was already messed up inside, and now she’s just as messed up on the outside.”

“Do you guys think we should’ve done more, I mean after what she did to Lila I think that letting her off with that small bruise isn’t enough.”

“Are you kidding, Marinette isn’t getting off that easy. The next time we do it, it’s gonna be fun.”

“Oh, you guys are so sweet to stand up for me. I just feel bad that she caused such a ruckus down here just for attention.”

“Attention whore.”

“Marinette, I expected you to act better then this. You know you’re suppose to set a good example for the class, and instead you do this! You destroy one of your classmates projects, you start a fight, and then you run off! And you have the police call me down here to come get you. The class had plans for this afternoon and we had to cut them short on your account. You need to apologize to Lila and the class right away. Marinette, you need to learn that the world doesn’t revolve around you. I already informed the school of your behaviour and I will be calling your parents, young lady.”

Gordon hadn’t realized how anger just thinking of that transcript made him until his mug off coffee shattered when he slammed it on his desk. Gordon knew they had them on verbal abuse, but again, they didn’t have enough to warrant an investigation. If they requested it, the only thing the government would do would be to file it and maybe report it to the French government. And all they could nail on them right now would be verbal bullying.

The social worker was still studying Marinette’s drawings, though they had commented on how halve of them were of clothing designs. Jackson had pulled everything from Marinette’s immediate files, ranging  from her adoption papers to every foster home and parent she had for those sixteen month, and he was working on getting her more in-depth files. Gordon had only very briefly skimmed through the stack of files, most of them outlining her life in the system. Though her last I.Q. test score before her adoption had caught his attention. At nine year of age she had scored a 128 on her I.Q. test. That was a very unusually high score. If she was that smart at 9, Gordon wanted to know what she was at now.

The sound of yelling and pounding feet was the only warning Gordon had before his office door was thrown open, nearly getting yanked off its hinges.

“WHERE THE HELL IS MY SISTER?”

A very angry Jason Todd stood in Gordon’s office door, looking ready to tear something apart. Gordon had known the adopted Wayne for years. Barbra was an unofficial member of the family and would share titbits of information. Gordon himself had been over to the Wayne Manor multiple times. He had seen them all in varying stages of anger, but nothing this bad. Jason looked like he hadn’t slept for days. His eyes had taken on the glassy look that someone would have when they had been crying. His hair, which had always been in some form of disarray, appeared both limp and excessively wild.

“I’m sorry chief. I tried to stop him, but he barged in.” Hill said, but neither of them seemed to hear him.

“Jason, I don’t know what your talking about, but I have work to do and I don’t know where your sister is.” Gordon informed him, assuming he was talking about Barbra.

“ THE F*CK YOU DO! YOU SAVED HER! EVERYONE IN GOTHAM SAW YOU!”

Most of the office were now paying the two of them full attention. No one knew what to do, or what was really going on.

“What are you talking about?” Gordon shouted back, his temper far to short from Marinette’s situation and lack of sleep to deal with anyone acting like this.

“I’M TALKING ABOUT NETTIE! MARINETTE! MY SISTER, GORDON!”

~

Jason hadn’t meant to come in yelling, but that idiot at reception told him that Gordon was busy and wasn’t seeing anyone. He had been arguing with her for nearly an hour before he snapped. Honestly, he was impressed he had lasted that long. Mind you, he had promised Alfred that he would attempt to be civil when he left, but he had his sister to find. Forcing his way past her, Jason ignored any and all attempt to stop him before throwing Gordons office open. The yelling match that resulted was entirely his fault, he wasn’t going to deny it, but he was at the end of rope. He need answers and he needed them now.

Slamming his hand onto Gordons desk, Jason slid the only picture of him and Nettie towards Gordon. Taking the photo, Gordon spent a few long, painful minutes studying the photograph. Jason willed himself to breath, giving Gordon time to study the picture.

“That’s the only picture I have of her. It was taken Christmas of 2010. She was 7 at the time. It … It was her Christmas present to me. She said she wanted me to have something to be able to look at and remember that time by.” Jason said, choking at the last part. Shaking his head, he moved on. “I know you have a program that can scan a person and show you what they would look like in 5-10 years. Use this and I guarantee you that she’ll look the same, minus the swelling.”

Jason watched as Gordon handed the picture off to Hill to scan, before turning back to Jason.

“Jason, assuming what you’re telling me is true, I need you to tell me everything. How you met, I’m assuming that’s what happened because you two look nothing alike. Any distinguishing attributes or marks she has. And how you two got separated. I want to help her as much if not more so then you do, so I need you to answer everything. Do you understand?” Gordon asked, leaning forward as he rested his hands on the desk.

Jason didn’t hesitate before launching into the exact same story of how they met that he told his family. Gordon listened without interrupting, only asking for clarification on some key points.

“And how did you get separated?”

The question, though he knew it was necessary, made him sick at the memory.

“I … I had ripped off the wrong people I guess. They came looking for payment and Nettie was with me. It was dark and I didn’t see them until one of them hit me in the back. One went to grab Nettie, but she’s stronger then she looks, dirty fighter too. I tried to get up, I was gonna help her. I was gonna grab her and run, but then I felt a sharp pain on the back of my head, and … and Nettie screaming. I woke up in the hospital three week later and I couldn’t find her anywhere.” Jason said, giving what was needed, but nothing more. What went on that night was something Jason was determined to keep as little known as possible.

“Ok, that’s good enough for now. But we are going to need more details later. Now do you know of any distinguishing traits or features she has? One that wouldn’t be well known.” Gordon asked.

For a second, Jason froze. He knew of one, of two actually, but he was hesitant to tell Gordon, not sure how he would react. Hell, Jason still didn’t know what to think of it. But is was his best way of proving his story true.

“… She’s got two. Both are behind her right ear. Both are brand marks… One is of two snakes intertwining with each other and the one right bellow it is a symbol. I don’t know what it is. I tried looking it up, but I cant find anything even similar.”

“Someone burned her?”

“I don’t know how it happened. They were there when we met, and she didn’t remember who did them or how they got there.”

“Do you think you can draw it for us?”

“Yeah. I uh, I scanned it on my phone, hold on.” Fishing his phone out of his pocket, Jason turned to back on only to find over two hundred missed messages and 14 missed calls from Damian.

“What the heck?” Jason said, disbelief leaking from him. Demon Spawn never messaged him unless absolutely necessary. Highway Too Hell blared through the station, Damian’s icon illuminating the screen. Regardless of their relationship, Jason knew something had happened to make Demon Spawn call him.

“What?”

“Oh finally you answer! I’ve been trying to call you the last three hours.” Damian snapped, the sound of school chatter filled the back round.

“Look Damian, I’m in the middle of something right now. If it’s not life threating, it can wait.” Jason growled. Of course the brat would take now of all times to call.

“It’s not, but it is important, I swear. You know the class I was telling you about. About the student that was missing yesterday. Well she’s here.”

“This is what you called me for? To gossip?”

“No, Todd. Listen. The girl’s, Nettie. Pixie-pop!”

 @mystery-5-5@captainmac6@you-will-never-know-how-i-think@mochinek0@sonif50@zalladane@thebananathatwrites@schrodingers25@kuroko26@miraculousbelladonna@souleaterlicestein@worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry@ijustwannabecanadian@ellerahs@ranger-paladinikoe@xxmadamjinxx@derpingrainbow@sassy-spocko@vixen-uchiha@mjisntme@iggy-of-fans@violentbisexualprophecywriter@valeks-princess@crazylittlemunchkin@redscarlet95@alexzandria-747@ayuchan07@whomthefyck@rhub4rb@constancetruggle@rikku052@kurogaya913@shizukiryuu@spicybelladonna@zazzlejazzle@luciferge@mewwitch@emotionalsupportginger@grunklestantheman@my-name-is-michell@northernbluetongue@chez-pezeater@shamefullove@goggles-mcgee@gingerdaile@zebrabaker@tinybrie@bluefiredemon@tbehrtoo@god-is-dead-and-so-am-i@shyestofhearts@darkthunder1589@fridayfirefly@yazi-ing@lunar-wolf-warrior@ladylb@vivilakitty@ghostcryptid@casual-darkness@yamadochie@thatrandomfandomgirl@mindfulmagics@myriad-of-passionate-pettiness@violatiger8@seraphichana@synnesstra@friedchickening@kiara-rose-blackthorn@driftingmoonlitpetals@nataladriana9@ginamarie1512@etheralentity@tritaledkitsune @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen@saphiraazure2708@ivette0712@calvin1394@liadreyar-dragneel@iglowinggemma28@resignedcatservant@creator-josie@Iysslovsanime@fiendsangelical@sam-spectra@clumsy-owl-4178 @elspethshadow@imspectralboiii@forestmoon11@littleredrobinhoodlum@eliza-bich@dnsakina@two-faced-biatch@queencommonsense @hyponsharkrebeldreamer @kill7h3dr4g0n

Hi everyone! I’m sorry i didn’t get a chance to update yesterday. I really hate morning shift. But here’s the next installment. I’m sorry if it’s not as good as the others, I was a little tired writing this. Anyway, thank you all again for the likes, comments and reblogs, you guys are the sweetest. I tried to tag everyone, but if I missed you, let me know and I’ll try to get you in the next one. If you have any questions, comments, or suggestions, please let me know. Hope ya’ll enjoy! Peace!

Marinette hesitated outside the classroom door. The sound of happy chattering and laughter filtered through the open door, begging Marinette to come join. But she didn’t want to go in. Lila was in there. Lila had been there for a day without Marinette. She had been spreading her lies to the new class who would be eating out of her hand. They would jeer at her, ignore her, hurt her. Marinette started to turn around, intending to hid out in the school’s library, in a back corner where no one could find her and just draw, when she felt a gentle nudge on her thigh. Glancing down, Marinette got caught up in Tikki’s gaze.  Concern, worry, love, understanding, and encouragement as seemed to shine in them, all in a pool of support. Tikki didn’t say anything, there was nothing that she could say. All she did was give her chosen a slow nod of encouragement, hold her gaze until Marinette nodded back.

Squaring her shoulder, Marintte took a deep breath, entered the room, and froze. One of the other student’s had seconds before shouted something, pointing at something in the front of the room . Over three dozen sets of eyes followed the gesture, all of them ended up landing on Marinette. For a few long tense seconds, no one did anything and Marinette fought the overwhelming urge to turn tail and run. She watched as their expressions shifted from amused, to confused, to shock, and finally … recognition? Marinette felt more then saw them stare at her face, more specifically, her bruising and eye. She had been rushed at the hotel again this morning, slept through all her alarms and would have slept longer if Ms. Bustier hadn’t sent Alix up. Whether it was because of what happened yesterday or not, was still to be answered. Though due to the late wake-up call, Marinette barely had enough time to slip into the uniform she was provided with before running down to catch to bus. She hadn’t been able to put on any make-up and she had no idea how bad the bruising had become. All she knew was that her whole face was hurting, and she knew her eye was still red. The doctor had said it would take a couple weeks for the colour to return to normal.

“Oh my gosh, you’re the girl from the news.” One of the boys said, breaking the silence.

This caused more confusion for Marinette before it quickly turning to horror. She had been on the news. Everyone saw her almost getting killed by a truck. Her panic attack, her face, everything. They knew, Everyone knew.

Her panic must have shown, just as she was about to bolt, the boy who had first been talking interrupted her.

“Hey, are you ok? What am I saying? Of course your not ok. What I meant was do you think you should be coming to school? I mean, yesterday looked pretty intense and, and traumatic and shouldn’t you be resting? Do you want to go to the nurse? I’m sure that Mr. Spinale will give you some free days. And . . “

“Claude, please allow the girl time to breath. Unless Ms. Marinette is severely ill, she must attend classes or she  …” another voice, Mr. Spinale, said, walking in. He turned to address her, but pulled up short. “My God, what happened?”

As those words left Mr. Spinale, the entire class, mostly the real class, erupted in not quiet whispers. Mostly on the fact that Mr. Spinale swore. He never swore, and heaven help anyone who he caught using ‘vulgar language.’ But as the information filtered through their minds, they seemed to catch onto the fact that he called her by name. By the last name of the student that wasn’t in class yesterday due to being sick, according to her teacher.

“I … I … I …” Marinette stammered, trying to formulate an answer. But she was saved from answering when Mr. Spinale turned abruptly to Ms. Bustier.

“I thought you she was at your hotel yesterday, ill.” He asked, his tone dropping into the danger zone. He didn’t bother waiting for an answer before cutting her off. “If that is so, then explain what happened to her.” The order wasn’t veiled in the slightest.

“She was, at least that’s what I had thought. She left, and you saw the news. I had to pick her up from the station. She must have run into trouble and panicked. I didn’t find out until much later that she had left the hotel. At least now Marinette, and everyone else, will think twice before running off.” Ms. Bustier said, her voice sounding exasperated. ‘So that’s the excuse that she used.’ Marinette had vagally  wondered how Ms. Bustier explained her absence, that is, if anyone had asked.

“Did you have any medical treatment, Miss?” He had turned so abruptly back to her, that Marinette automatically braced for a blow. She didn’t notice the spark of anger flare in Mr. Spinale’s gray eyes nor the flash of understanding and anger in Claude’s. Relaxing after a second, Marinette hid her embarrassment and pushed back the lump that formed in her throat.

“Y-yes. They had a doctor come look at me at the station. They said I was going to be fine.” Marinette said, her voice faltering slightly.

Mr. Spinale was quiet for a moment before turning to his desk. Rummaging through one of the drawers, he pulled out a stack of paper. Quickly signing two, he tore one off before offering it to Marinette.

“It’s a hall pass. I want you to go visit the nurse. I know you said you already had it looked at, but I would feel better if the nurse had a look at it. That way she can gauge how well your healing. She could also give you something for the pain. Claude, you go with her.” He said, fully ignoring Ms. Bustier who made a move to protest.

Claude didn’t hesitate. Once the slip was in his hands, he grabbed Marinette’s hand and dragged her out of the classroom. He held it loose, giving her to choice to pull back. Claude didn’t say much while they walked, in fact he didn’t say anything at all. His face was grim. Marinette thought it almost looked angry. The only time he spoke was when the nurse, a young man in his mid-twenties, demand to know what happened. As the nurse, Mark, was assessing her, Marinette couldn’t help but notice how he kept glancing at Claude, who was just leaning against the office wall, silently watching them. Mark quickly distracted her with question of her medical history for her school files. She gave him as much as the could remember, starting from when she was put in the system. There were a few notable hospital visits, but if he notice, Mark chose not to say anything. He just wrote her information down. By the time he had finished assessing her, taking her history, and given her something for the pain, nearly two hours had passed.

“Marinette, if you need anything else, just drop by.” Mark informed her, giving both of them notes before sending them back to class.

“Why did you come to school today?” Claude’s question caught her off guard. It was the first time he had spoken to her since Mr. Spinale had interrupted him. Turning to look at him, Marinette met his gray eyes, her right eye throbbing slightly.

“… I … needed a sense of normality. Some … semblance of routine.” Marinette said honestly, her voice wavering slightly.

Claude didn’t respond, He just nodded in understanding before opening the door. Mr. Spinale briefly glanced at them from his lecture, nodding once before continuing. Marinette scurried to the back of the room, into the far corner as far away from everyone as possible. She needed to be alone. Shuffling beside her caused Marinette to panic. Glancing to her left, she found Claude sliding into the seat beside her, putting a barricade between Marinette and her class.

“I always wanted to see what it was like back here.” He whispered with a shrug, turning his attention back to Mr. Spinale. Though his attention was on his teacher, he did catch the small, grateful smile Marinette gave him.

Class ended far too quickly for Marinette’s liking. As long as she was in class, Lila couldn’t bother her. She had some sense of safety in the room. But now, she had two hours of free time. Two hours of trying to avoid her classmates. Claude made her promise to wait on at the front of the school for him. He had to grab some friends and they were going to head to a small café across from the school. He claimed they had the best sandwiches.

She had only been waiting on the steps for five minutes when her class came out, Lila in the center.

“Oh, Marinette. What are you doing? Waiting for someone to take pity on you.” Alya sneered

“With a face like that, pity will be the only thing anyone would have for her. Though I must say, your new look suits you. The swelling really added to your face. And the bruising pulled together that beaten puppy look.” Lila commented, her voice light, almost friendly sounding to those who where listening. “Mind you, what can we expect from a chink.”

“Biǎo zi” The word was out of her mouth before Marinette even knew it was there. She hadn’t meant to say it, but she couldn’t feel bad about it, not after what Lila called her.

“What did you say?” Lila growled, eyes flashing in anger. Alya and the rest of the class, glared at Marinette with anger, they knew it was an insult, they just didn’t know what it meant. Adrien, well, Adrien stared at her like she had summoned a demon from the depth of hell.

“Biǎo zi” Marinette repeated herself, offering no translation. There was no way she was going to tell them she had called Lila a bitch. She had panicked and her mouth had moved on its own, but they wouldn’t listen to that. Lila wouldn’t hit her here, would she? There would be too many people. They wouldn’t attack her again. They wouldn’t, would they?

They were drawing a small crowd, many of them looking skeptical at the French class. But no one was sure how to intervene. Lila opened her mouth but whatever she was going to say was cut off.

“NETTIE!”

Freezing, Marinette’s mind brought her back to the last time she had heard someone call her that. Same voice. Same desperate tone. Turning, Marinette’s gaze locked with a 23-year-old man at the bottom of the stairs. First thing she notice was that he was tall.  He stood about 6’2”, well built, and his whole vibe eluded to danger. Black messy hair with a streak of white along the front fell in a carefree, messy way. But it was the eyes she recognized. Those green-blue eyes that she remembered would sparkle with laughter and grow soft and cloudy when she cried. Eyes that promised safety and love. Eyes that could only belong to one person.

“Jay-Jay?” Marinette whispered, her voice so quiet she was sure that he couldn’t have heard her, but the way his eyes light up told her otherwise. “JAY-JAY!”

Leaping off the top of the stairs, Marinette collided with him. Catching her, Jason stumbled back down the stair, clutching her tiny body close. The sob that left her shook her entire frame as she gripped him. Afraid that she was only dreaming. That he wasn’t there. She had seen the blood. She had been there. He wouldn’t wake up. He hadn’t woken up. There had been so much blood.

“Nettie, Nettie! Oh God, please tell my you’re real! Please tell me your real! I’m so sorry Nettie! I’m so sorry! I tried … I tried so hard to find you after … after … but I couldn’t and I thought … I thought …” Jason said, before breaking. Burying his face into her hair, Jason let go of the dam, crushing Marinette in a desperate hug as the tears fell. Both their legs gave way as they sank to the pavement, clutching each other, too afraid to let go.

 @mystery-5-5@captainmac6@you-will-never-know-how-i-think@mochinek0@sonif50@zalladane@thebananathatwrites@schrodingers25@kuroko26@miraculousbelladonna@souleaterIicestein@worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry@ijustwannabecanadian@ellerahs@ranger-paladinikoe@xxmadamjinxx@derpingrainbow@sassy-spocko@vixen-uchiha@mjisntme@iggy-of-fans@crazylittlemunchkin@redscarlet95@alexzandria-747@ayuchan07@kurogaya913@shizukiryuu@spicybelladonna@zazzlejazzle@luciferge@grunklestantheman@my-name-is-michell@northernbluetongue@chez-pezeater@shamefullove@goggles-mcgee@gingerdaile@whomthefyck@rhub4rb @constancetruggle @tbehartoo @god-is-dead-and-so-am-i@shyestofhearts@darkthunder1589@fridayfirefly@lunar-wolf-warrior@ladylb@vivilakitty@casual-darkness@yamadochie@thatrandomfandomgirl@mindfulmagics@myriad-of-passionate-pettiness@violatiger8@seraphichana@synnesstra@friedchickening@kiara-rose-blackthorn@driftingmoonlitpetals@nataladriana9@ginamarie1512@tritaledkitsune@ki117h3dr4g0n@throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen@saphiraazure2708@ivette0712@calvin1394@liadreyar-dragneel@iglowinggemma28@resignedcatservant@creator-josie@Iysslovsanime@fiendsangelical@sam-spectra@clumsy-owl-4178@valeks-princess@emotionalsupportginger@particularlygeeky@2sunchild2

a-different-equation:

It’s epistolary time. After all, where’s the fun in writing a story set in a (dead) letter office and not writing an epistolary!fic?

ChapterTwo of Then All The World Would See (How Much in Love We Are) includes:

• Text Chat between Sherlock Holmes and Mycroft Holmes; or, The Holmes Brothers being chatty. It’s all about The Work, and Alan Turing. A Story in Five Parts.
  
• E-Mail exchange between John Watson and Mike Stamford; or, Cupid is on a mission. His name is Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes. A Story in Two E-Mails.
  

Readhereor from the beginning

---

Then All The World Would See (How Much In Love We Are)by@a-different-equation:John Watson (33) meets Sherlock Holmes (28) and falls in love instantly. However, Sherlock looks for a different kind of fix and John is an ex of many things and people. Also, he’s his boss.

A story about warzones beyond Afghanistan, second chances in life, and how to not be a fuck-up anymore. Told in (dead) letters, notes and texts. It’s a Johnlock love story, elementary. (BBC!Johnlock, mature, ca. 25k)

---

Thanks to @doctornerdington&@redscudery for hosting @sherlocksundaysummerserial!

Keep reading

Chapter Two is Up. And OMG does it look differently now. It took ages but hell, I know why I *love* epistolary. There’s not much more fun than “spying” on the Holmes’ brothers bickering & bantering (which they would deny, of course) :D

Read it for yourself here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15210941/chapters/35498841

a-different-equation:

“It’s a nice room, this.”

John waved around, his aim unclear, but Sherlock understood anyway. He nodded shortly. Then, he went and put a box of letters on one of the already overflowing tables and put off his coat as well. John turned and saw THE letter Sherlock had pinned at the wall.

“Is that…”

“Oh, yes,” confirmed Sherlock. “It is the letter, the one that started it all.”

Silently, as if there was a secret bond between them, they started to reread the now familiar lines. Instantly, as if it was their letters, their story, their love, Sherlock took over Gilbert’s part and John voiced Gordon. For a flicker of a moment, they were not unsung anymore, they came to live, bright and full of hope, fierce and proud, two men out of time:

   “Darling, Darling”, Gilbert said, “We are in a pretty ghastly time, I know. But we are in for it together, my dearest love. I want to be with you, always, and it is all going to be okay and we have each other and love each other more. Won’t we? Won’t we?”  

   “Yes”, clinging to him, Gordon said, “we will, won’t we. So that something rather wonderful will come out of it all.”  

“I promise you, it will”, Gilbert said, “You will see. As long as we together.” “That’s right,” Gordon, said, “Being together is everything.”

For a minute or two, there was silence, not awkward or tense; it was companionable. As if they had been old friends, even maybe more than that, life partners, incarnations, going back decades or even centuries, and that it had been always been like that: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson in 221b Baker Street in London, sitting in two chairs in front of a fireplace.

Then John cleared his throat and asked “How did you get hold of the letter?”

“I got someone to duplicate it for me. Do you remember when we met?”

“We had a row, didn’t we?”

“We did. In fact,” Sherlock said, “there is scarcely an occasion in which we have met when we haven’t got a row. Why is that, do you suppose?”

“I guess I’m rather defensive.”

“For a rather long time I rather thought you simply disliked me,” Sherlock heard himself admitting. His voice sounded odd to himself, quiet and unsure, a mirror of his inner workings.

“No, you rather got under my guard.”

[…]

And before Sherlock could explain, reply, whatever, John had pulled down his hand and put it against his lips. Everything Sherlock had ever felt, every frisson had just be a preparation for this moment when his hand melted against his lips. Presently, he found himself leaning over him. He still held his hand like a talisman. Sherlock took John’s face between his hands and kissed John, hard, on his mouth. Sherlock felt that he came alive under his lips. Then he let John go.

“Don’t think I should ask you to forgive me,” Sherlock said. “You have no right to let this go by, John. You are damn to particular to do it by half. I’m your man and you know it.”

---

Chapter Four of “Then All The World Would See”: Sherlock Holmes, in the language of his insufferable brother, was ‘definitely intrigued’ about his job at the dead letter office. At twenty-eight, he had outgrown the horror of drug addiction, which was so characteristic of his younger years. Enter one John Watson, a fuck-up who doesn’t want to be a fuck-up anymore and also wants to fuck Sherlock Holmes. That he’s Sherlock’s boss happens to be the least of their problems. A story about warzones beyond Afghanistan, second chances in life, and how to fall in love. Told in text, notes and (dead) letters.
It’s Johnlock, elementary.(BBC!Johnlock, so far: ca. 15k, explicit).

Get your hankies and kleenex ready, this one is for the heart. I got all teary eyed when I wrote and edited it.

Keep reading

At last, an all-new chapter of ‘Then All The World Would See (How Much In Love We Are)’. It’s time for first kisses, love confessions… and drama. Those two idiots in love…

Read it here on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15210941/chapters/36128232

Thanks@doctornerdington&@redscudery for letting me participating even it’s… ehm, not summer anylonger *hust*

spidaerman:

ao3:

me:

This is literally me.

Earth’s Fall

☆

Dr. Phlox x GN! Reader

The last episode of Star Trek Enterprise hit me sorta hard, and since Phlox is one of my comfort characters, I thought it only right to work out some of my feelings through him.

⚠️TW⚠️

Spoilers, Death, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

☆

You trusted Johnathan Archer with your whole life.

You had followed him to the end of the Earth and farther. You were now willing to go with him to the ends of the universe.

Everything was fine. Completely fine.

You were incredibly important on Enterprise, working closely with T'pol and Hoshi. You were in charge of research, making the Human Database while updating the Vulcan Database.

You would observe each species, take notes, attempt to find out more, and then type your findings into a computer.

You had been working with Hoshi, putting in information about her new telepathic friend you had run into about a week ago. She was telling you all she remembered about his race and how his telepathy worked.

That was until you were called into sickbay.

Considering you were close with T'pol, The Captain, and very close with Phlox, you were often called in when things went amiss.

You were someone for Phlox to bounce ideas and worries off of. You would sit on a medical cot as he paced, talking more so at you than with you.

Not just that. You were his partner. Someone for him to relax and joke with. You often went to movie nights together, talking about the movies in detail afterwards (as T'pol would snap at the both of you for talking during the movie).

When you’d entered, you’d expected something small, a concussion or virus of sorts. You weren’t expecting for your captain to be in the state he was in.

Phlox’s face had been thoughtful, grimly so. Not the usual beautifully thoughtful face. Lips pursed as to the side, eyes downcast but still full of energy.

No, his eyes had been dull, lips more a frown than pursed, eyebrows pulled in.

He had explained the situation, and you had let a curse out under your breath.

He often stayed in the med lab at night, unless he needed to catch a few hours of sleep or you were lonely and were not in favour of sleeping on the medical cots that night.

But that quickly changed.

You would spend nights tiredly drifting off, head in your hands, pj’s on, sitting in your boyfriend’s bed as he paced up and down the room, frantically muttering under his breath.

Hoshi had told you about her hullcinations, Phlox saying they were common on his planet with stress. But most importantly, she told you he mentioned he never really held much in.

You suppose he held in much more than he thought.

He had always been an open book, telling you how he truly felt and what was going on, but he never showed much. He was always so optimistic. If you didn’t ask about his day, he wouldn’t tell you. But asking about his day? What you got from that small question was worth more than gold.

He would give you one of his lop-sided, shy smiles, his eyes bright and bold in contrast. He would describe his day in detail, everything he observed, every worry he had about a crewmate. Everything.

Not anymore.

He was focused on Archer now.

Every waking and sleeping moment spent thinking over his condition, another crewmate’s illness and what it could become, or you.

Despite his worry and panic, he still made time for you.

Holding you at night.

You knew, though.

You knew that whenever he thought you were asleep he would get up and go over to his desk.

He didn’t know you knew he was skipping meals, both of his and his pets. You had begun to feed them most days.

Phlox had always worked well under pressure. But this wasn’t stress, it was the weight of humanity. On only two people’s shoulders, it seemed.

Phlox knew that without Archer, things would look much more grim. He took it on himself and only himself to heal your Captain.

T'pol had taken it upon herself to stop the end of humanity, help Archer, organize the ship, keep everyone in high spirits. It was impossible.

Eventually, she grew tired of the morning meetings they had.

She insisted that she continue them, but you made the point that Archer wouldn’t remember anyways, and it was only logical to take a break.

You had begun to help Archer walk Porthos in the mornings, helping fill him in on the days.

You had gotten him a notebook, writing down what had happened. Everything that was going on. Every time you would get new information, it went into his notebook.

You had a separate notebook with logs of when he had showered, eaten, walked Porthos, gone to the restroom.

You had begun to write reminders on his arm.

You would sit in his quarters for hours on end, letting him help you work.

Anything to help him.

Anything to help the crew.

At night you would go to T'pol’s quarters, talking through the day with her. Her worries, her emotions.

Before bed used to be your favourite time of the day. You would sit in med bay with Phlox and talk to him about anything and everything. You would help him feed the animals.

But now you dreaded it.

Now it was a time for you to realize just how deep of trouble the human race was in.

One day, you broke down.

In the middle of one of you and T'pol’s sessions, things just got to be too much.

T'pol never let you back in her quarters past nine again. Any digging into her emotions would end with her on a different end of the ship.

You had taken on Travis and Hoshi’s issues too.

At one point you asked chef if he could synthesize some alcohol. Cheap wine would do.

He admitted he had already made some for himself.

You hadn’t shown up in Phlox’s quarters that night.

You were too busy watching over a hammered Travis Mayweather and Hoshi Sato.

Phlox questioned your absence. You blew off the question.

Malcolm always seemed sad, forlorn, mopey, even. But this wasn’t him.

He was depressed. Either not interested in weapons and fighting, or extraordinarily violent.

Trip, having already lost his sister, was in the best shape, as surprising as it was. He was determined. Each mistake, each death, made him more determined.

You found it dangerous.

He called it hope.

Dead bodies of crew members stacked up, and so did the doubt.

Against Archer’s wishes, you stopped telling him about what was going on. You took the notebook once. And then you shoved it in the back of a drawer.

Some days you would tell him that you had won, that you were going towards a planet you had , in reality, made up.

It was cruel, and you knew that. But to see how proud he was, to receive that hug and the childish glee that came with it, it was intoxicating. You wanted him to be happy too.

But he wouldn’t be happy as long as he was sick.

At least you could try.

One day, he asked to be taken up on the bridge. Shown this mystery planet.

When you refused, he knew something was wrong.

You knew it was coming. You knew he wouldn’t remember it after.

It still hurt.

Him yelling at you, as you started blankly at his bed, legs crossed and hands in fists.

You didn’t want to hurt anyone. You just wanted a moment of happiness.

You made the grim realization that I this time and place, you were happy or everyone else was.

That lecture ended with a confession on your part, Archer’s understanding, a hug, and several hours of silence.

The next day, both notebooks were on his desk, and no one showed up to help him walk Porthos.

Not that he would know.

Three days later, you started helping with the walks again. He had looked so overjoyed to see you, until you explained the current situation.

Some days you wpild even tell him about lying to him.

This would be met with an arm around your shoulder, a pat on your arm, a smile, and a quiet promise that it would be okay.

You didn’t believe him.

The destruction of Earth didn’t come as a surprise, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

Phlox had been oddly quiet the first week.

He had sat beside you and hugged you as kissed your forehead as you cried until you puked.

Your time together had become much more macabre, both sitting together in silence.

As silent as it could get with the sobs that filled the room.

Some nights you both wouldn’t sleep. You would sit in his lap as he rubbed you back and hummed, and you would do the same for him.

One night, you had entered T'pol’s room without her permission, using the emergency system.

She had not been happy. She had ordered you to get out.

You had not left, and soon your days with Phlox were much like your days with T'pol. Sitting in silence and crying.

Hoshi and Travis were a couple. Something that you disapproved of silently. They shouldn’t have gotten together because they were the only people who could comfort eachother during this time of grief.

They should have gotten together when things were happy.

But it was too late.

You were just happy they had one another now.

After what remained of the human race was moved to a new planet, Phlox had proposed going to Denobula. He insisted that he must leave and try to find a cure for Archer back on his home planet.

You didn’t want to leave anyone, but he was all you had left.

You talked to T'pol.

She insisted you go.

Should the new planet be found, you would be safe.

You called yourself a coward.

She called you logical.

You went with Phlox to Denobula.

It was fine, but not good. Things were different.

When you asked Phlox about his day, it was nothing but failure.

When he asked about your day, you ignored him.

He didn’t blame you.

As time went on, things got better.

Phlox hadn’t pushed you at first, knowing things were raw, but had convinced you to go to counseling.

Phlox had gone to counseling too. He had gotten it for himself, telling you that you were not alone.

You had met many of his family members. Wives, children, husband’s of wives. They all seemed happy that Phlox had a partner, all completely fine that you were different.

Some had asked about what happened. Phlox reprimanded his children on the invasive question, and awkwardly answered the adults.

Well, the adult-adults.

Time relaxing with him had become easier.

When asking about his day, it was a bit more happy.

You actually answered now.

You had stayed in contact with Enterprise to the best of your abilities, but it was hard considering their current state.

You would both sit down by eachother every night. You wouldn’t talk like you used to, not most of the time.

Occasionally you would bring stuff up, or he would.

You were both more open about your experiences on the matter.

You let it slip about lying to Archer one day.

He told you everyone had done it once, before pulling you into a hug and rubbing your back.

You both knew that Archer was what was keeping that ship together. But he was gone. Not fully, but still gone.

He had come up with a cure.

You hadn’t seen him that excited in years.

His ear-to-ear smile and bright eyes. Chipper voice as he pulled you into a nearly bone crushing hug.

You would both be heading back to earth soon, or what was left of it, at least.

The trip there was fine.

Getting to see T'pol and Archer was wonderful. Getting to see the crew? Awful.

They were older. You and Phlox were too, you knew, hid hair longer and just starting to grey.

But you missed them, and started to question going with Phlox again.

You didn’t talk much with them. You didn’t want to.

Phlox could tell.

He took you with him.

When you found out that killing the parasites was changing the past too, you were elated.

But Trip wasn’t. And Malcolm was violent.

You decided to defy them. Captain Tucker didn’t sound good anyways.

Archer came up with a plan to kill the rest of the parasites. You went with it.

You saw your boyfriend, a healer, with a phase pistol in his hand.

And you saw him get shot.

And you saw him hit the ground.

And you went to help him.

You thought it was so cheesy, in the movies, when they screamed.

But now you knew it was real.

You screamed as you slid to his side.

He was the last thing you had left.

Then you saw white as pain flashed through your body.

Your vision blury, you saw T'pol fall.

Then Archer got hit.

Put he didn’t fall.

And then he did.

And then you saw black.

—

You had woken your with the bed empty, but you weren’t worried. That happened a lot.

You got up, joints awfully stiff, and something nagging at the back of you brain.

You supposed it was a forgotten dream.

You took a shower, got dressed, and headed to the med bay, where you always went before your first shift.

You went through the doors, met with Phlox’s smile and a quick kiss to the head. You grabbed his wrist and gave it a quick, loving squeeze.

“Good morning, by beloved!”

“Mornin’.”

“Tired?”

“Yeah.”

The chuckles, informing you that the Captain is up, a'okay, and on the bridge.

The anomaly had only caused a minor concussion. Just what you had thought when you were called into the room.

You bid your boyfriend adieu, and headed to the bridge.

If you see Archer on the way there, and hear him mention how good of a nurse T'pol would be, as well as asking you about Phlox with a wink.

Well, nobody ever got good rest in med bay.

The Dignity of His Choice (3)

Brand, Part One(seepreviousorseries)

[Minors DNI, 18+ content, implied smut, canon level violence, angst]

How this all started…

They stopped a terrorist cell.

From intel retrieved at the leader’s residence, a small team immediately dispatches to a warehouse within ten kilometers where explosives are suspected. Steve and Bucky sweep the facility first since they could also escape the fastest were anything triggered. They split up. Bucky takes the large spaces while Steve clears a short labyrinth of offices and storage closets.

Bucky gives the all-clear to the team outside. Steve confirms “no explosives” over the channel before catching his friend’s eye and waving for him to follow. Steve doesn’t say a word until the door is shut to the windowless room. He even takes out his comms.

From Bucky’s wide eyes, Steve was right to bring him in immediately.

Bucky removes his earpiece, too, then flips the volume up on his walkie and orders, “I want the warehouse handled but then await further instruction. No other rooms. Got it?”

“Acknowledged, Sarge.”

Steve holds up several papers from a makeshift desk littered with files. His skin crawls in panic. “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is, Buck.”

Among the papers are photos, dozens of photos of just one person: you, including a picture of you out celebrating your promotion months ago, one of your friend Gracie’s birthday party from just last week, and one of a particularly disturbing nature inside a dressing room. He can’t tell when that’s from; he doesn’t recognize the clothes or the walls. The papers detail all kinds of things, thorough tracking your movements and records of your preferences of everything from food and drink to skincare and feminine hygiene products. Steve’s gut knots itself entirely when he comes across a file containing medical records and an accurate calendar of your menstrual cycle. He’s gonna be sick.

Bucky doesn’t have to say anything. The intent is obvious enough.

“Looks like kidnapping,” Buck mutters anyway. “You don’t do this level of recon just to poison or kill. My guess is leverage over you.”

The papers are like heavy knives in his hands. His tact suit feels excruciatingly tight, and Steve’s brain is on fire with rage.

“Down to her fucking period,” he blurts, low and violent. Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up at the language but an air of holding his tongue has Steve more nervous. “What?”

“A pregnant woman would be even more valuab—“

Steve punches the table so hard the plastic buckles, toppling to one side, stacks of surveillance intel sliding to the floor. His jaw locks. The thing is that there is nothing for his rage to stand on because Steve doesn’t understand how this could be happening.

“But we caught them all, right?”

His voice is tight, Steve admits, weaker than he hoped. There’s no confidence in it. There’s less than none when Bucky speaks.

“Today was one of the leaders, yeah…” His friend rubs the back of his neck.

Steve’s hands sink deep into his hair as he weighs options. “How many more?”

Bucky slides his walkie back up to his mouth, eyes fixed on Steve’s barely contained meltdown. “Torres, come in.”

After a beat, “yeah, Sarge?”

“I’m gonna need a crate brought to the back hall here. Just leave it there and we’ll pack it up.”

“You got it. Looks like we’ll be finished here in twenty.”

“Okay. Crate now, and we’ll be ready by the time you guys are done.”

A minute later, a hollow thump from beyond the door signals the drop-off.

With an armful of files, Bucky turns back to Steve. “I’ll handle the box myself. No one will see these,” he assures, opening the door and dragging the solid-sided, black bin inside. He drops in his armful, and just as he straightens, he sighs, “but we need to think of something, pal. This investment? The time they’ve spent? They won’t let her go.”

Steve worried Buck would say that, but then he never answered the question.

“How many?” Steve throws the force of a punch behind each word, and by the unblinking look on his friend’s face, Steve is already unprepared.

“Compiled list is thirty-five members—” Bucky puts his finger up before Steve tries to ask “—and that’s the ones not crossed off yet.”

Steve takes his rage and frustration out on the files until Bucky stops him from destroying evidence. Steve uses every ounce of his training, focus, and serum-laced enhancement to not show any agitation outside of the room.

On the return flight to HQ, he settles into a stoic—but very edgy—version of his normal self. His mind races at the speed of light. One of his first decisions is to not tell you because he doesn’t actually know anything yet. With so many enemy operatives still unaccounted for, he has to proceed under the assumption that some of that mountain of intel was fed through sources inside the Initiative. To allow Bucky time and distraction to haul the crate to his own quarters, Steve oversees unloading and takes point at the debrief.

He only becomes more paranoid when he gets back home. As you speak about your day, you mention at least two names he doesn’t recognize, so he pries, harder than he ever would before. You tease him about being jealous and swear that Tom the Barista only has eyes for Jake Hudson from your lab. Tom even came as Jake’s date to Gracie’s birthday party. You tell Steve he’s met him.

Steve shifts leaning forward on the couch while you casually lounge in his rocking chair. “Who? Thomas?”

“Yes,Steven,” you sass, twirling a finger through the chain of your necklace, a gift from your lab group given for your promotion (that dozens of nefarious scumbags have a picture from), “that’s generally what ‘Toms’ also go by.”

Steve considers how long that means you’ve been watched. He considers it for too long.

“Are you feeling okay? You’re very twitchy.”

“Tired.” Steve isn’t lying about that, and since he knows he’s a crappy liar, Steve has to be more careful.

“Go have a shower, love.” You kiss his forehead, running your fingers lazily through his hair. It makes his skin crawl again, painfully exhilarating and terrifying all at once. “I can bring dinner back here if you want.”

His grunt and sigh suffice as an answer.

Steve never was a stealth operative (well, not for anything longer than sneaking into a building), so he only stops obsessively over every product you kept in the bathroom—on the counter, in the drawers, and in the cabinet—when you peek in to ask if he wants sweet or savory sauce for his egg rolls.

Your curious look turns into a smirk. “What? Not liking the way I smell now?”

“Uh…” He blanks.

You pluck the jar of cream out of his hands and replace it with a tube of balm.

“Better for your dry elbows,” you hum with a smile and pat the meat of his bicep. “I’ll put out all the sauces. Just take your time, Sketch.” You shut the door behind you.

Steve knows he will throw up if he forces himself to eat his normal amount of food, and since he’s a super soldier and doesn’t get stomach bugs or food poisoning (or lose his appetite for any other reason), he is forced to do something he has never, ever done before. Steve fakes getting a call from a team member and leaves the apartment for a while. He walks the whole tree line around the complex in the dark and then returns to say not to worry, they had food upstairs. He gets away with this because there is food up in the lounge right by the main conference room; he just doesn’t fill in the part where he didn’t go anywhere near it.

The only thing that settles his stomach is to be near you, as near as humanly possible, so that night when you two make love, Steve holds onto you a lot tighter, his face never more than an inch away from yours. He pushes your hips against him and grips the back of your neck. You respond to his intensity with extra affection, which leads to a second-round where Steve was nothing shy of overbearing and possessive. He knows you sense a change, but you didn’t ask. You never ask for details after missions, and he usually likes that you help keep those things separate. You always wait for him to be ready to talk. He will never be ready to admit what kind of danger you were in.

So he spirals for hours. Each time he closes his eyes, he sees the photos. He sees you going about your everyday life not knowing you’re being watched. He sees you, twirling and biting at your necklace, deep in thought. He wishes he never scolded you for that nervous habit. He wishes he’d been nicer about the bear on it (even though he’s right and it is actually the same as the California state flag), but you love it anyway. He can’t take any of it back now. All he does is stare at the metal chain laying against your softly rising chest, pendant settled just between your breasts, and he feels helpless.

The next day, when he gets a chance to speak with Bucky far away from HQ on their run, it only gets worse.

The reason someone would want to kidnap you is to control him. It doesn’t take the brain power of anyone over the age of five to notice Steve will do anything for his wife, and the biggest problem boils down to the time it takes to tick off all the names on that list. Of the listedthirty-nine, four are already captured or killed as of yesterday’s mission. However, the Team only started acting on intel for this group a week and a half ago. They currently have leads on seven more, but the info ranges from “we know he lives right here” to “I heard someone talk about seeing him in this other country a year ago.” Tracking, verification, and takedown of thirty-five targets could take…well, it’s impossible to estimate.

Keeping you in hiding is an option, but you’d be out of work for who knows how long (and pissed about it). Bucky is fairly certain Steve would not be able to join you in hiding either, so you’d be alone and pissed and he’d still be afraid. You could have a heavy security detail, but that’s no good because some of that research came from HQ; at the very least there’s a data leak, but there could also be an operative working amongst them. Even if Steve up and quits, retiring from the Avengers, he’s still capable of being wielded as a physical or political weapon, and just because he isn’t fighting on the Team, doesn’t mean he can’t influence the Avengers (and several world governments) anyway. There is no clean path forward. All options require coordination and too many resources.

Eventually, it’s Bucky’s suggestion that offers the quickest and most efficient solution. If Steve dies, no one has use of you as leverage. Steve now wants to throw up. He doesn’t like the idea of being stuck away from you indefinitely, but he soothes himself by comparing this to any other mission. In fact, he wills himself to calm down since this mission is entirely for your safety, but he can’t fully accept it. He just keeps feeling sick.

A vague semblance of a plan is discussed. Bucky has a safe house from his time on the run (left unfound because of how useless the location is for fieldwork), but it is remote—can’t find it on a map even when it’s marked with an x remote—and in a wilderness surrounded by tundra. No electricity, no running water, no satellite signal. Nothing.

A new leader will take over the terrorist cell. That could take some time, but not much, and Steve and Bucky can’t coordinate an elaborate rouse on their own. With each person they’d bring into the fold, or each prepared part of the deception, they risk whoever is feeding information from inside knowing Steve is still alive. Worse yet, their plan to take you might be moved up if the group knows that he suspects. Steve and Bucky agree to tell absolutely no one. They have to go by opportunity with knee-jerk reactions as their guide.

Steve spends half of each night watching you sleep, memorizing your body, stroking your hair and hip. He reminds himself not to behave differently. He can’t savor your touch more or convince you not to spend a day with your sibling at port that week. He catches you watching him sadly a few times. You sense something still, but he convinces himself over and over that it’s for the best. Nothing helps him sleep.

Ten days later, Bucky, Natasha, and Steve are all sent to dismantle an Inhuman fight club that acts as a rendezvous for two names on the list, theoretically. Steve never gets to see their faces. One of the Inhumans can explode and then reintegrate, so there’s basically a bomb moving around the place that can go off as many times as it wants. It only takes one shared look between Steve and Bucky to know: this is it.

Steve tosses the shield at the man as he’s triggering, drops his comms where he stands, then sneaks back to the jet, hiding, while part of the building collapses. After the Inhuman and his associates are captured, Bucky behaves like he’s looking for Steve in the rubble. Nat finds the shield, scorched so badly the color’s gone off, and her distraught announcement to send a cleanup crew, one that should expect human and superhuman remains, sounds genuine because it is. Nat thinks Bucky is being quiet and brooding because he’s in the field and she wouldn’t expect him to slip into an emotional scene no matter how epic the Brooklyn boys’ bond. Steve hides for almost two and a half hours until Bucky and Nat finally return to the jet. Once in the air, Steve hears muffled voices, then yelling, and then Buck calls his name. If Steve didn’t know Nat so well, he’d swear she barely blinks as he steps out of his expansive cargo locker onboard, but she’s upset.

All Steve has to say, though, is that you’re being targeted, and Nat springs into action, finding any supplies that can be overlooked as missing or a regular inventory discrepancy. A certain number of rations. Some first aid supplies. Ammunition. Two of Bucky’s (many) knives and one of her own guns. Steve notices Bucky smiling at his gal fondly several times and feels a stab in his own gut for how much he already misses you. Bucky packed his own go-bag with several helpful additions (including clothes and an extra duffel to carry it all in) and wrote down extremely thorough directions to the cabin, directions which Steve is to destroy as soon as he gets there.

Natasha raids every locker and storage area onboard for liquor (which covers up the evidence of removed supplies) and splashes some vodka on her chest after a few swigs. She insists Steve and Bucky drain every bottle, too. Finally, she explains that any extra time the jet is in the air and doesn’t return to HQ will be chalked up to her and Bucky wallowing in their own unique way. Steve adores Nat’s genius at that moment, but he half-wishes for Thor’s refilling container of Asgardian ale—the only thing he and Bucky can really get drunk on—because Steve already hates what’s about to happen.

They fly the jet in stealth mode as low and as close as possible without wavering from a reasonable flight plan. It’s the one time Natasha doesn’t mind Steve jumping out of her jet; she’s a pragmatist and knows it’s necessary. It still takes Steve about twenty-seven hours to find the damn cabin, a needle among needles in a needle factory, but that’s why Bucky’s the best.

And then all Steve can do is wait.

(Next part coming this Friday!) Don’t hurt me, dearies /o\

@im-a-slut-for-fluff@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@shinkamiweek2021 Day 6: Angst

Base on /that/ one scene from The Amazing Spider-Man 2, except Hitoshi was able to save Denki because I love these two too much I can’t take a mcd qhshsdgshhd

—

Here’s the original panel that I decided to cancel because ughhfhdb i’m not cruel and I’m a weak human

[Playlist]