#--not symptoms but that's besides the point)

[mamiya-a]

Playing dangerous

Mother Miranda/reader

Warning for explicit content.

Chapter 15: Alone

Summary:

You receive an unexpected call.

It's humiliating. The ugly, uncomfortable, dirty feeling in your body, growing with every passing second. It gathers like lumps deeply within your veins, cutting the freedom of your bloodstream. History is cursed to repeat itself, over and over again, yet why is it that for all the differences in the picture, this sickening feeling continues to rage inside you. It's stupid, it's so stupid. Miranda is not selfish, Miranda is not a man, Miranda is not the one to cheat.... Miranda is not Philip. However her late strange behaviour has started to resemble  your ex-boyfriend's character a little bit too much. The woman who is more loveable than anyone is now as cold as the first flakes of snow, already falling on the bare roads outside. 

Winter brings stagnation and an unpleasant, uninvited change. 

After long days and nights of contemplation, you alone  have come to the conclusion that your professional relationship with the blond woman is now long over. There's no point in shying away. You love her. Your every act is born of the fact that your thoughts are occupied solely by her. More than once you've caught yourself daydreaming of a peaceful life with her where you can call her your own without any problems. And the ways Miranda talks back to you made you think she's just as obsessed with you as you are with her. But that emotion is too twisted for her taste. 

As if guessing your intentions of declaring passionate love, Miranda suddenly changed her demeanor towards you. A few days, maybe a week ago you woke up naked and alone in your bed. The familiar dull ache all around your forehead greeted you instead of a good morning kiss. You could physically feel your brain throbbing with every thought and guess as to why exactly Miranda was gone, despite the clear memory of the night before shared with her. The world didn't exist for you then, time had stopped. There was only Miranda. But just before those fatal words slipped from your lips - the entire room filled with darkness and the face of the woman beside you slowly evaporated from your sight. 

The products of the unpleasant scene revolved around you and Miranda as the protagonists of the tragedy, with the small difference that one had no idea what play she was in and the other skillfully spelled its end. From that night on, Miranda began to behave differently. And that's what annoyed you the most - when she did things without explanation, in those moments you wanted to destroy her. Hate and love fought an uncomfortably long battle every day you spent with her. 

It all started quietly enough. On this gloomy, headache-inducing day, you barely saw Miranda in her own house. She spent her time in the basement, where you didn't want to go. At some point, of course, she came out to make something to eat. You took advantage of her exposed figure in the kitchen to stand behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, and plant a soft kiss on her neck. You wanted answers, you wanted to know why the woman had left you alone. But Miranda just slipped out of your grasp, asking you, not in a gentle voice, to not bother her. That night, she refused to participate in her favourite bedtime cuddles. And you only became angrier. 

Her coldness was strangely resembling Philip's acting the moment you acknowledged his cheating. So then naturally, fear of that exact outcome came to mind. 

In the days that followed, her symptoms of ignoring and distancing only increased. Her gentleness was gone, along with the pleasant voice with which she always spoke to you. Miranda refused to touch you or let you touch her. She reverted to her original behaviour - to that rainy night when you first appeared at her door. She was still domestic, but behind her forced smile was something uncomfortable for both of you - and yet unspoken. The anger was already in the marrow of your bones when you decided to try something as a last attempt at intimacy. 

Her bed was as huge as ever, except you were freezing cold. Of course, you could easily blame Miranda for your discomfort. Winter was coming, in your room -her room there was no air conditioning or any type of heating , and the woman lay with her back and only her back to you , all the way at the other end of the bed. With an irritated grimace you slowly made your way towards her. She didn't flinch when your hands started to wander down and up her body, beneath the covers, yet a hissing sound easily came out of her throat. A fair warning. 

"Are you mad at me for something, Mira?" -  you asked her, not knowing if you liked the way her body shivered slightly, affected equally by the use of her little name and the press of your chest against her tender back. 

"No." - was the short answer, without explanation. At least you were sure she meant it. If you'd done anything to her, she would have told you. You were confident that you knew Miranda well. How wrong you were. 

"Then what's going on? You've been acting strangely for days." - your words caressed the skin of her ear as your hands moved slowly down, finding her nightgown particularly long, uncharacteristic of her. As your fingers slipped underneath it, Miranda turned her head and gave you a mischievous look. Your movements stopped on the soft skin of her thighs. She just shook her head, clearly rejecting you. Your eyebrows knitted together, forming a thin line of displeasure between them. You wanted her, you'd always wanted her, because her feelings were exactly the same, but now... "Are you really all right?" - you pressed a palm to her forehead. - "Are  you sick? You've never refused me..." - and that confused you - she has always been the one thirty for sexual intimacy.Her jaws tightened, clearly showing her discomfort. - "not in the mood...or are you just unable to perform because you're maybe...indisposed?"  

Thinking about it you realized that Miranda has never complained about her period. Nor has she mentioned it. When this time of the month came for you she even looked stunned as if it was the first time she had heard of such a thing or rather forgotten it... She blinked a few times rapidly then turned as if she had never spoken to you and a heavy sigh filled the room. 

"I don't menstruate." - now it was your turn to be surprised. Again, her words are too short and forced to count for anything close to an answer. For your part, however, you react sharply, perhaps even overreact. The way her tone sounded and her body clearly wanting to withdraw from you for no apparent reason finally pushed you over the edge. 

"Oh, I'm sorry." - you hissed in her ear, pulling your hands away from her, already feeling the lack of the warmth of her skin. - "I forgot I was in a relationship with a woman twice my age." - or perhaps triple - she practically never told you. 

Not that it had ever been a problem. Miranda doesn't look a year older than thirty, and though she mostly acts like that of a grandmother from the last century, she clearly still shows her desire to retain her youth too. You regretted your statement only after you took a sitting position on the bed and saw her hands ball into fists out of the corner of your eye. Miranda, however, just covered herself almost entirely with the blanket. 

"If you've stopped insulting me about my age, then  please, let me sleep." - her voice was firm and devoid of any tenderness, but even through her stone cold facade of ignorance you could catch a hint of regret. An emotional both of you felt in that moment. Miranda rested her head fully on the soft pillow, waving a lazy palm at you. - "An old woman like me deserve her rest." - a pause. - "Unbothered." 

You didn't hesitate to leave her bedroom to lie in your own lonely bed. This time Miranda didn't come looking for you, no, that feeling of security she had was gone. You weren't ashamed to let a few salty drops of tears roll down your cheeks, just because the woman you wanted to love so much, and who wanted to love you back, was starting to act like the man who had almost denied you those false feelings. 

That incident was two days ago, a week and a half since her strange behaviour began. The same has been going on for two days now, and a third is approaching, you sleep in separate beds and barely speak to each other - like complete strangers. 

*****  Miranda has heard countless interpretations of love and those who experience it. Rarely, of course, has any of these theories stuck with her. However, there is one in particular that is floating around in her head, lost and vague. It is said that there are two kinds of people in the world, those who give love and those who owe love. One side is easy to understand, but the other... it's hard to convert someone's feelings in a way that doesn't hurt them. It takes care and precision, and too often people fail. The tension of owing that emotion spills over into anger and an uncomfortable sense of obligation. When  one does not know how to give love back eventually becomes a resentful prisoner of this paradox. 

Miranda has always been certain in her role within this specific game...now, however, she feels completely lost. Meanwhile everything is too difficult, too irritating, too tiring. Yet the reason stays unclear, or rather too clear, therefore too scary for her, to be acknowledged. Never again. She says to herself over and over and over.. 

A bright beam of light from under the half-closed curtains manages to spill over her frowning face. She murmurs, uncrossing her legs to get up, and after a few quiet steps she  completely covers her windows. Her blue eyes linger on the accumulated snow for a moment. Miranda thinks to herself that her daughters would love to play  outside. But the idea sounds too exhausting to her. Of course, she could call for you, but that would only make it harder in her already bad enough situation. 

With a quick spin, she heads back to her stacked desk. Her laptop is open -  laughing with an evil, luminous grin, and all the papers on the wooden surface are already digging her grave. Preparing for her official entry into the new company is certainly wearing her down. Instead of her usual pack of cigarettes, Miranda finds a vase of flowers in the right corner of her desk. The plants are about to totally lose their lovely colours, ending their life cycle due to the lack of water in their vase - visibly reflecting the woman's neglect of them. Miranda doesn't even know where they came from, only recognising the pleasant smell when she enters her office. She can almost guess they were a gift from you, after all you often give her flowers. 

Miranda grabs the now brown stems of the flowers and drops them into the wastebasket next to her desk in a lazy motion. The moment they hit the bottom, the door opens with a vicious bang. 

"Insolent as always." -the blonde's firmer sounding voice booms through the room to your surprise. You quickly step inside, closing the door behind you, your fingers touching the key in the lock long enough to know that if Miranda really wanted to be alone, she would lock herself in. There's no point in arguing, though, her eternal excuse would always be her daughters. - "Barging in, uninvited," her eyes whiten as she sits down in her chair. - "I think I've told you more than enough times how much I hate being interrupted when I'm working." 

"So you can communicate normally." -  You don't fall for her bait. Try as she might, Miranda can't make you feel guilty. Not when you want her answers so badly. - "Is that what I'm supposed to do, get on your nerves?" -  you take a step forward, the room shrinking, but Miranda continues to stand with her head held high. - "You've been angry with me for over a week... I want to know why." 

"I'm not angry." -  she scoffs in a low voice, almost mocking your satirical guess. She stretches her fingers across the surface of her desk until they make a popping sound. Her lips curl into a thin line and she looks at you with a sharp gaze. Her next sentence is a pure whisper - more for her than for you. - "At least not with you." 

"Then stop this disgusting act." - you allow yourself to raise your tone to her. You watch one of her eyebrows lifts up as you swallow the lump of worry in your throat. 

"This act...?"  

"Oh, please, don't try to lie to me by pretending you don't know what I'm talking about." - anger leads your body blindly. Almost leaning against her desk, you press your hand against a pile of papers to get her full attention. - "Don't act like nothing's going on, like we don't share a bed anymore, like you don't refuse to talk to me or even..." 

"Is it that easy to hurt my little deer?" - you see no point in lying to Miranda or yourself. The way she calls you one of your nicknames makes you weak in the knees. You mentally curse her as you realise how tightly she has you wrapped around her finger. - "I'm just busy, that's all. No need to take it so personally."  

"You're always busy, Miranda." - that is the main reason you're in her  house at all. Your role is to look after her children while she focuses on her work. - "But you've never acted like this. And I care because, Miranda I-" - her eyes bug out, one of her hands immediately rising to close around the base of her neck. As the familiar feeling of nausea sets in her throat- your head begins to throb with tension. After only seconds, you forget your words, breathing deeply. And staring directly at her. - "It hurts me...it hurts me when you act like this, so please, Miranda, tell me what's happening to you?" 

"I think the only thing that's going on is in your head." -  her sentence brings up a sharp memory of sleepless nights spent in fear of the unknown. You've already felt crazy once in this house, you won't let it happen again. Before you can fully come to your senses though, the feeling of her soft palm is already on your lower back, and you find yourself extremely close to the door. - "Why don't you go get some rest, I will allow it." - her hand presses the handle. - "The girls will understand you, and I'll try to finish here quicker so you can-" 

"No." - Miranda can't even finish her thought the moment you decide she has  spoken enough. You know you're physically weaker than her, but in your surprise you manage to push  her arm away and lock the door impossibly fast. The metal key stays firmly held inside your palm. - "No, I will not leave until you tell me everything." - you straighten your back for confidence. - "Only the truth will satisfy me." 

"Darling..." - you freeze. You know she aims to soften you with the usage of your favourite nickname. But it doesn't work as intended - your chest only tightens. 

"Don't do this, not now, Miranda." - her eyes sparkle with understanding. Trusting this magical light however is dangerous. Your body transforms into a solid wall, steady covering the door, not allowing anyone to get out or in. Miranda, eventually, gives in. She murmurs something under her breath before taking an elegant step back. Her heels drag along the floor until her lower legs hit against a  small sofa with curved metal elements as decorations and cozy looking reddish pillows, thrown on top of it. The woman takes her seat, chin boringly placed in her open palm. Her body swings forward and she obtains a position for observation. Her view, however, remains standing before her, eyes burning with unexplainable feeling. 

"Your attitude is truly unmatched." - although there's a playful smirk wandering at the edges of her lips, discomfort can be easily spotted in her body language. The woman can barely sit still. But she endures, for the sake of this conversation. - "If you wish to root out answers that badly...then fine, have it your way."    

Your chance dances around her long fingers, caressing the open hand she spreads, in order to allow you speech. Convincing Miranda is not a hard part at all. However such woman as her mighty self rarely reveals exactly what you want to hear. The battle you're marching into will surely be a hard one. Trying is more than worth it. 

"I wish to know what's going on with you." - you suck in a breath, puffed air occupying your lungs. - "I wish to know what or who is... forcing you to be so distant." 

"I've been thinking a lot lately." - Miranda blinks slowly, clearly showing you she's mostly still in her own head rather than her reality. She then repeats with a low voice, eyes avoiding you on purpose. - "...a lot." 

"Well after almost two weeks I hope you've come up with a solution to your problems." - you cross your hands in front of your chest. A defensive pose. - "or am I mistaken?" - it's at the tip of your tongue to propose your aide, yet you remain silent after the last few words. Miranda's smile dies just as the tension in the room begins to thicken up. It's suffocating. 

"If I asked you to leave here, to forget about everything connected with me or my daughters...would you do it?" - Miranda completely stuns you. To the point you almost drop the key from your already sweating hand. Although you shake your head, almost violently, she just keeps on talking, keeps on asking you...to leave? - "Would you, little deer?" 

"Why?" - seems like the only reasonable question. As the million possibilities, endless thoughts about the happening start to pour into your mind like a vicious waterfall, your hands begin to shake. The feeling is inescapable. Fear, sadness, anger, or perhaps a bit of everything at once. Too much for the possibilities of a singular person. - "Why?" - you repeat. - "I don't understand...if I have done something at least tell me, don't you...what... don't you want me anymore?!?" 

"You're getting it twisted." - Miranda's head falls down, her shoulders quickly following. While her thin fingers cover her entire face and a sigh leaves her, you can't help but notice how unkept her nails are, implying the idea of her teeth biting at them over and over again. - "That's why I didn't want to tell you." 

"Everything is...going great for us, isn't it?" - few cold drops of sweat drip down your forehead, your words becoming harder to find. You're nervous and it shows. - "Why do you want me to get away, Miranda, I don't understand-" - she doesn't even flinch, solid as stone. Your  next sentence is forced and higher in volume. - "Why ruin it, why ruin us?" 

"The relationship between us is more than simply complicated, my little deer." - that awful nickname again. 

"But we work, don't we? Despite the odds, we are still together and-" 

"I believe I've made a mistake." - Miranda seems unbothered and judging by her absolute harsh tone one might guess the shared debate is at it's end. But you know better. You swallow the moment her back hits the sofa and she glues herself to the furniture, as for needed protection. Then she looks down at you, one hand twisting the fabric of her pants. - "and that's only my fault." - a pause. - "I rushed everything and now...I feel like I'm being punished." 

Furious, you're utterly furious. 

"Punished?" - you roll the disgusting word with your tongue, tasting every drop of bitterness on it, every dark spot spawning in both yours and Miranda's mind. - "Are you really that ungrateful?" - immediately after your unusual outbreak, she looks her head to you, confusing forcing her eyebrows to furrow. - "Yes you're right - you rushed everything. You made me chase you into this...unknown territory, while knowing my situation with Philip and also acknowledging the fact that I've never dated women!" - at the mention of your ex boyfriend's name she scoffs, always hating to hear anything about him. It's funny how she continued to challenge with him, even though she's at the edge of probably breaking up with you. - "And...all I did was try to be good for you, isn't that right? - your arms dance with anger around you, expressing every word. - "and now you're trying to get rid of me!" - as if you're ever going to allow that. 

"Is it appreciation  you're seeking?" - Miranda barks back at you, deeply offended. She would lying if she didn't I admit her back was itching from irritation. She knows this conversation has escalated over small matters. Yet her pride refuses to allow her a steb back. - "Perhaps that darling boy you like to mention so much will give it to you."

Miranda has crossed a line. Both of you realise it too late. 

"You have to right to even speak of him." - your tone is nothing more, but annoyed hissing. - "not when your precious Mia keeps on calling and texting you almost everyday!" - the grotesque scene continues to unravel with the mention of such evil woman. Her name strucks Miranda straight to the hearth. In her defence you've never seen her answer, and since she allows you to go through her phone - she doesn't even bother to check the messages she receives, unless they come from you of course. However, the mere fact that she hasn't yet blocked Mia is enough to drive you insane. And it's currently doing it's work perfectly. 

"Mia...has no longer place in my life, and you know this." 

"Do I have place in your life then, Miranda?" 

"You do, of course you do..." - you have managed to touch something deep inside of her. Sure sign for this is the slight, but noticeable, trembling of her hands. Miranda wishes to pull you closer, to hug and caress you until you fall asleep and hopefully forget everything. You're certain you will indeed follow her desires, that's why you don't approach her. Her manipulative nature will ruin you. - "Forgive me, I wasn't aware you'll succeed in...affecting me in such way." 

"So, am I to assume you wanted nothing more than a plaything, a pet, from me?" - a memory awakens within your mind. Miranda sitting on her bed, graceful as always, while you kneel down in her feet. What an interesting way to describe your relationship. She mentions her past...'pets' and you get upset, believing you're her new one. Then, out of fondness, you allowed this comment to slip past your consciousness, however now...you see right through it. 

"No." - firm, but surprisingly genuinely sounding answer. Miranda shakes her head as if offended. - "I do think... I treated you like one, but darling that's not the case with you." - with each of her words you get more and more certain the woman doesn't really know what she wants. Well, you are definitely something she desires, yet is also afraid of admitting so. How exhausting. - " I often get too overwhelmed from my work and my obligations and there's nothing I desire more than...to just forget about everything for a while." - her eyes lift up to meet yours, her voice melancholic and sweet like singing birds.- "You're a perfect distraction, darling. However as I said before - we're getting ahead of ourselves...and I need to think about it, about us." - she breaths out, breaking the eye contact. Then her real reason hits your hard as a rock. Yet again you manage to match her worries with your own. - "I would truly be heartbroken...if you end up being like Mia." 

In other words, Miranda doesn't trust you enough to allow you to love her. Or allow herself to love again. 

Miscalculated words can hurt so deeply. The cut is instant, bloody and painful. All you've done is show her love and Miranda dares to compare you to that woman with lack of empathy. You force yourself to remain calm, although the nails digging fiercely into your palms are screaming at you to slap the blonde woman across the face and run away. You partly understand her problems, you also worry about her becoming like Philip. But at least she has given you a reason to think about such possibility. Her actions confirm her words - at the moment you feel used, like the darling puppet for distraction she so badly desires. 

"Do you wish to be alone?" - you ask, proposing your aide for the last time. - "Do you wish to deal with this matter alone like you've done till now?" - you bite your lips. Miranda looks like she's expecting more, like she's expecting of you to say 'or' and give her a solution. There is alone silence. 

"Yes..." - she doesn't even dare to stare at you while her truthfully answer echoes around the room. 

"Fine, Miranda." - you push the key back into the lock, turning it and opening the door. - "Be alone." 

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Upset, of course you're upset. You're even sure the word is too weak to describe your situation. The air around your small room is thick with ugly emotions, which you can't stress enough for the life of you. You're angry, yet salty tears of sorrow are still dripping down you puffy cheeks. You're tired, exhausted of everything, yet you still manage to find the energy to impatiently circle in a clear line on the hard, wooden floor, pushing any furniture in your way. So far you've broken a lamp and knocked down a few borrowed items, such as books or even clothes. You know there's no point in loosing yourself to this consuming anger, but you can't help yourself. Once again you begin to devide in two - unexpectedly the stronger part of you wants to release all of the built-up negativity on Miranda, however, there's still this inescapable feeling for the gentleness and love you so cordially desire to pour on top of her. That woman, that evil creature, that magnificent person - currently you hate and love her equally enough. Like always. 

It's hell. The lonely, large mansion transforms into your prison for the last time. As if Miranda's home listens to her like an obedient puppy. You're trapped, you're out of air, your blood turns tarry black while your fingernail drag anxious lines along the skin of your arms. You're sweating, which is weird, because the whole house is freezing cold. Yet nor Miranda, or her daughters, bother to check the temperature. Then you burst out. Sharp pain occupies your curled up in a fist hand, with awful periodic throbbing. In a moment of weakness, you've managed to hit the small drawer next to your bed, strong enough to knock down few more items. One of them rolls further away from you, with an alluring sound along the floor, and with that it catches your attention. 

The small bottle of medicaments Miranda has given you so long ago. Months, to be precise. Looking back at the exactly two singular pills left inside of it you can't help but think about all the unusual things happening within this mansion and its residents. Then your mind wanders to another memory. An old man behind a cash register, laughing and looking down at you as if you're his meal. He mentions something about nobody living where you currently are. So what if... you've really went insane. What if Miranda, Eva and Eveline never existed. That's exactly how your so called girlfriend makes you feel. Insane in every aspect. 

Your phone rings, rooting you out of your own memories and thoughts. You blink, to assure yourself reality has hit you. For a moment you fail to locate the path of melody. But eventually your fingers reach the metallic surface of the phone and you do your best to pick up in time, although you get confused by the unknown number. A man stars to explain something, extremely fast - almost too hard to process, in your ear. But once you begin to unravel the mystery behind the soup of sentences, pouring in your system, your eyes widen in surprise and fear. 

You spare only a second after hanging up, in order to save the number, before standing up, almost too quickly as the world goes black. You're out of your depressing, lonely and half broken room without a second thought.  And you run. You run through the long corridor on the second floor. Miranda's bedroom door flies open, handle hitting the wall with a loud tud. However, she's no where to be found. You look around for a while, almost panicking. Until you spot her on her balcony, in her usual chair, unmoving and looking down at the endless forest, surrounding the mansion. You take a deep breath, before opening the glass door to the outside and taking a step closer to her. 

Miranda doesn't move, doesn't greet or even acknowledges you. The woman remains silent and unbothered, even after you take a firm place close to her, eyes scanning the pile of ashes next to her feet and yet another one thick cigarette between her fingers. Her usual sweet aroma replaced by sharp smell of nicotine. You've already guessed she's going to try and drown her sorrows with the help of her favourite poison. But now...you don't feel obligated to stop her. You shiver, feeling exactly how cold the weather has gotten. Miranda doesn't seem to mind it, her clothes are the same from this morning and they don't cover much. Meanwhile you're better dressed, yet still freezing. This fact it's enough to force you wait until she, herself, decides to speak first. It doesn't talk long, perhaps because of her feeling of guilt. 

"Anything you need?" - Marian lazily rolls the words off her tongue, as if her mind has really gotten foggy from all the smoke. Her voice is rather violent, more harsh than usual. She doesn't lift her eyes to look at you. The  horizon is more appealing for her. 

"I've just got call." - you murmur out, placing your hands behind your back. - "A pretty...unexpected one." 

"And?" - she asks, trying to get you to speak more clearly. Meanwhile your nose wrinkles once she takes another puff from her cigarette, more ashes falling down to her feet. 

"It's my father, Miranda." - her eyebrows lift up, as if she's forcing her interest towards the topic. It makes you tighten your jaw. But you refuse to give up to your anger. - "Something happened, but they refuse to tell me over the phone. I'm...scared for him." - finally her head leans to you. - "And I need to leave immediately, so I can check." - she hums. - "You need to understand and allow me to-" 

"Okay." - Miranda rushes to cut you off, her voice calm and calculated. - "That's okay, you can go see him. I'm not the one to forbid you to do so." - says the woman who literally holds you on a leash inside her house. The meaningless, short life of her cigarette finally ends and she throws it down, thin hand already seeking another one. Before she can reach her half empty box, however, your instincts click on and you quickly wrap your fingers around her wrist, holding it firmly. Miranda's lips part, ready to protest, and even after she pulls away, or rather tries to so, you don't let go. 

"You're such a burden, do you know that?" - it's triggering you. Her whole act of playing hurt when she's the one to blame. And yes again, you hate to see her suffer. 

"What more do you need?" - Miranda success in breaking free from your grasp. Only to fall into another trap. Both of your hands get a hold of her face, holding her head straight so she can look you in the eyes while you speak to her. There's something unusual in her blue, infinite oceans, you're not sure if fear if the right term to explain it with, but she's definitely anxiously awaiting for your next move. 

Her eyes stay open even when you claim her lips without a warning. After two weeks of neglect, kissing her feels like pure heaven on earth. One, in which you wish to stay forever. But you know her lines of permission. Soon, too soon for your liking, you pull away. Only placing one last soft kiss at the edges of her lips. Miranda doesn't return your actions, nor she pushes you away. She stays still, solid and , judging by her expression, severely confused. 

"After I return I'll do whatever you want." - you assure her, observing her closely, noticing her hair is not completely slicked back like usual. - "we can go back to casual dating if our current relationship is too much for you." - your thumbs begin to slowly caress the soft skin on her cheekbones. She seems a bit more relaxed, yet still trying her best ro process the happening. - "We can take it slow like you want." - you bite your lips. - "I only have one condition." 

"What do you want from me?" - the familiar question burns your whole nervous system and eventually forces invisible shivers down your spine. The way Miranda leans into your touch doesn't help you at all. You don't understand why she's acting she way she is. However you're too obsessed to let go of her. Something is telling you she feels the exact same way. The sparkle in her eyes almost confirms it. She only looks at you like this when... she's admiring her precious little deer. 

"I can't sleep without you, I really can't." - you're honest. In the past few days, spent in your own bed, you barely got any rest. Just endless turning and squeezing of eyes. You're even certain your dark circles are visible for her. - "Just let me have this, I won't ask you for much." - her hands lift as well, cupping your own, which are still holding her face. - "At least one night a week I can get a good night sleep, please?" 

There's no answer. Miranda only hums. Then she shows her physical power by suddenly pulling you closer and shoving her head in the crook of your neck. Soon enough, her hot breath triggers a reaction as she leans to whisper in your ear. 

"My children adore you, darling." - you feel how her thin fingers travel through your hair, playing with it. - "And I... don't have any desire to search for another babysitter." - with that - she releases you. Although her warning sounds confusing you manage to capture its meaning. To return. To never abandon her. She even played a card with her daughters. Miranda must be serious. She then smiles and waves you off. - "Go on now, don't make your poor father wait for you." 

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.

After nearly an hour, you find yourself outside, fighting with the snow on your shoes, while slowly making your way to the smaller car in front of the mansion. You only have a larger backpack with you, instead of fancy suitcases or unnecessary luggage. If your calculations are correct you should be back quicker than expected. It's not a few hours drive, of course, your father's hospital is far, but you doubt it's going to take you more than a day of travelling. Perhaps two, at most. You open the heavy metal door of your car, making a grimace after realising the inside of it  is colder than the weather outside. You wouldn't be surprised if you end up being sick. Well, there's no turning back now. Yet...your head twists upwards, enough for you to recognise the upper body of a woman, carefully observing your departure. Her honey blonde hair wandering with the waves of wind. She looks beautiful. You suppress the need to wave her goodbye. But then you spot a smaller figure stepping closer to Miranda. The mother, like always, chooses her daughter over you. So you start your car and leave, wishing them a silent goodbye. 

Meanwhile, on the balcony, Miranda panics as Eva breaks her solitude. Not over anything else, but the pile of ashes in her feet. She work fast to cover it, while also searching for a place to hide her box of cigarettes. Only to realise the said object is long gone. She's too focused on her daughter to remember your clever hands carefully stealing her cigarettes and putting them in your own pocket. Denying her from the guilty pleasure of smoking the minutes away while she waits for you. Finally, as her eyes lose visibility of your car in the distant road, she turns to Eva with a forced, bright smile. The little girl returns it and rushes into her mothers embrace. They stay close to each other like this for a while, Eva even manages to climb in Miranda's lap, earning herself a kiss on the head in return. 

"Is she really leaving you?" - the girl asks, tone focused as she looks up to her parenting figure. 

"She knows her way home." - Miranda answers with confidence. 

In the next minute the enjoyment from the calm scene with the two happy family members burst into ruins. Eva begins to cough. Miranda's hand, which was till now playing with the girl's hair, strays away, trembling. 

"Is it starting again, love?" - the woman says, placing the back of her hand over her daughter's forehead. For her unfortunate guess, Eva's skin is differently warmer than it should be. Strangely, her sickness shouldn't be striking her soon. Miranda is even sure the symptoms shouldn't be noticeable at least until next month. This awful curse, usually only appearing in a period of four months or rather three times a year, is getting more and more common. And Miranda is worried. - "How long?" 

"About two weeks now..." 

"And you didn't tell me?" - the sharp comment forces Eva to shut her eyes close, only to feel a kiss to her eyelid a second later. - "You know I have to write down every anomaly." 

Miranda cannot risk to lose Eva again. 

"You were visible upset..." - the girl murmurs, holding strongly at her mother's shirt as she stands up, carrying her inside. - "I didn't want to worry you."  

"You have to always tell me, my love, always." - Eva nods her head. -"now you shouldn't fear anything, we will fix you in no time." - Miranda reassures her. Not afraid yet again to cover her hands with blood, in order to keep her most precious close to her. 

***** 

The hospital is just as you remember it. 

White corridors, sterile hospital rooms. Doctors and nurses wandering at every corner, some pushing around patients in their beds, while others rushing into different rooms, some for emergency procedures, others just to check on their patients. The silence so easily broken every now and then by beeping sound of heart rate monitors, followed by footsteps on the hard floor. The whole place resembling  epitome of health and cleanliness, but yet still feeling cold and unwelcoming. The acrid smell of antiseptic and disinfectants fills the air, assaulting the nose of any who found themselves there. Including you. In fact you can't help but wrinkle your nose once you approach the woman at  the reception. 

Luckily for you, it happens to be an old friend. Maria is her name, if your memory doesn't fail you. Approaching her falls out of the ordinary for you. It's definitely weird, after so many days spent in the consuming company of Miranda, you're definitely struggling to interact with different people. To your surprise, the polite, young woman smiles and waves at you, calling out your name. 

"My god, I haven't seen you in so long!" - she exclaims, laughing immediately after she realising she's a bit more loud than the allowed for a hospital. Once you move close enough for her, she starts taking rapidly again. - "You look nice! But where have you been?" - she extends her arms to grab your shoulders. - "Really I missed you." 

You met Maria in your first year at university. For her - it was her last. You would be forever thankful for her guidance. She helped you with studying and getting to know the scary, large place for the first time ever. After she graduated, however, you never managed to see her again. Now you're happy, a familiar face in the hospital is definitely what you need. 

"Thank you, I'm fine." - you try to keep it simple. Although you would love to stay and chat with her for a bit, you can't stop the eating you from inside worry for your father.  - "Do you happen to know what is happening with-" 

"With your father?" - she smiles. - "But of course! Don't give me that face now, I assure you he's fine." - she clicks something something on a computer in front of her and then you hear a peeping sound from a nearby printer, which immediately starts to produce a document, probably about to be given to you. - "Well he's still... you know." - she makes a grimace, closing her eyes. You don't find it funny, but your or your father's sike you endure the built up anger. - "But - you're in luck. Your old man got transferred into a better hospital!" - finally she passes the printed paper to you. It's merely just an address. You scoff, annoyed. - " Honestly it's so bizarre, the waiting list was practically endless but.... seems like he happened upon a miracle, no?" 

"Thank you, Maria." - changing of hospital, really? Is this why they called you all the way here? Unbelievable, they could have told you on the phone! You place a palm to your face, sighing and clearly showing your disappointment. 

"Don't be all sorrowful now!" - she tries to encourage you. - "They even gave him a new team of doctors, you know?" - she scans the  hospital salon, leaning in to whisper closely to your ear. - "Don't want to get your hopes up, but...I heard they are pretty good." 

"We'll see about that." - you bitterly reply. If you have to be honest with yourself, you're absolutely sick of endless pills and hospitals and these...so very clarified doctors. Yet after all it's your best choice at the moment.  You look up to Maria. Her hair is almost as golden as Miranda's, but she can't even begin to compare. While her eyes...seem empty. Their brown colour is nice, of course, yet it lacks the beauty and sparkle of the dark blue colour of Miranda. You frown, hating how you still think of Miranda even while being so far away from her. Lost in thought, you get startled when Maria pokes your shoulder, repeating your name over and over, trying to get your attention. 

"How about you go out with me?" - you happen to be a little confused. Perhaps she was explaining something else before this question, but you didn't hear her well. She then clears her throat, obtaining back her professional look. As much as she can fake it, that is. - "If and when you have the time, of course, I don't want to force you or-" 

"I'll think about it, Maria." - you take a quick picture of the address, before crushing the paper with your hands. Then you give her a slight smile. - "Have a nice day." 

.

.

.

In your spare time you decide to visit a nearby mall. Since the day it at its end there's no point in rushing to the other hospital. You also checked the address - it's pretty far away. You already booked yourself a hotel room, but you quickly got bored. The mall brings pleasant memories from your time with the girls and Miranda. Although it's not the same building you force yourself to enjoy your journey within memories, while walking around and observing the different shops. You don't feel particularly hungry, besides the food is overpriced so you decide to skip that part. A smile urges on your lips as you pass by a jewellery shop, stopping for a moment to look between the presented necklaces, ring, bracelets... buying one for Miranda is pointless. You woman owns  way too many. The urge to surprise her with a gift is strong, but rapidly thrown aside as you continue your journey. Then, with the corner of your eyes, you catch the illuminated pet store sign. The store windows are decorated with colorful birds in lonely cages. Between them you spot a significant black crow. Although it stands out as different from the others, your attention is completely absorbed by it. You remember the promise to Eva about that birthday present...and how she wanted a cat, despite the fear her mother has of them. 

At the end you find yourself in a bookstore. 

The air is filled with the scent of paper, ink and a hint of coffee. The shelves are overflowing with various titles from different genres, each one waiting to be picked up and discovered. The soft light coming from the ceiling is just enough to navigate through the maze of books.In the back corner of the store is a small nook with a couch and armchairs, where customers can take a break from reality and immerse themselves in a good book. It's unbelievably cozy and you enjoy every step between the many book shelves. 

Naturally you first go to the medicine sector. After a quick observation, however, you note that nothing from the given will help you with learning more than you already have at home. Your own books are rich and with the bonus of Miranda's help you easily cover up all of the needed material. There's a thick atlas of human anatomy practically winking at you to go buy it. You wave it goodbye after seeing its prize. Miranda might pay you a lot, but it doesn't mean you should casually give your money away. 

The children's book section reminds you of Eva and Eveline. You wonder how they are doing, with moody Miranda looking after them. Perhaps your pity should be send for them. You have faith in them,though, you're certain they can handle the blonde woman better than you could ever dream to do so. You smirk mockingly while passing through a section, filled with erotica. You recognise a few titles from Miranda's personal library. Of course she arranges them close to her science books so the girls won't be interested in them. You're not surprised to find out every single one of them lacks male presence. 

At last you move your finger along a line of dictionaries. Variety of different languages reveal themselves in front of you. English, German, French, Spanish...until you stop at a few, explaining in details Romanian rules and grammar. You hum, fighting with your inner self over buying one or not. Eventually you give in, eager to learn something in the language, in order to surprise Miranda or her girls with your new skills. At the checkout, you regard the dictionary in your hand and sigh, realising everything you've done for entertainment still brings you back to that distant mansion. As the night falls you find yourself even missing its residents.  .

.

.

Back at your hotel room, you stare directly in your phone while the non-living object refuses to cooperate. There's no point in waiting. Miranda won't call you or search for you unless you purposely do it first. Yet you're avoiding it. You're absolutely sure she's doing it as well. Both of you too stubborn to admit the clear yearning for the other. Eventually you give in first. You dial her number, waiting for her to pick up and talk to you after a hard day of being alone. But she never does. Oh, well, you're definitely going to fire back at her when you get home. Speaking of home, you lay down flat on the bed, reminding yourself how dependent are you on that place if you even refer to it as home now. 

As you curl up to a side, you make an annoyed grimace. Something is uncomfortably rubbing you from inside your pocket. Naturally you rush to pull and throw it away, so you can finally head to bed and pray for a good sleep, but you stop yourself once you see the object. It's Miranda's cigarette box. You stop to think for a second. You're not quite the smoker yourself, yet last time you shared one of her favourite cigarettes you didn't have a lot of complains. And if it helps her so much with the nerves, why not try it as well. What an awful assumption. 

Only after the few drags from the cigarette you begin to I cough. The taste is completely different. You grab the box again, observing it more closely and immediately finding out Miranda has changed her brand. These are definitely heavier and, to be honest, worst in taste. You think of simple throwing them away, however, as you sense the smell you're yet again reminded of the blonde woman, with who you're so obsessed over. After all you leave the lit cigarette to ignite next to you, holding it between your fingers, without bringing it to your lips. As least the smell can stay. And you're doing her a favour as well - saving her poor lungs. 

Just as the flame of the cigarette reaches its end, your phone light up from a text message. You extend your hand to grab it. It's from Miranda. 

You called? 

You groan. What's the point of texting instead of returning the call? As much as you miss her right now, Miranda doesn't fail to annoy you. Your fingers quickly type a response, a rather sharp one. 

You could have picked up. 

Before she can answer, you correct yourself, deciding you seem too rude, by adding a new message. 

Doesn't matter. Can you talk now?

Miranda takes her sweet time to respond, as if wondering if you're worth it. Once she reveals her true reason, you regret ever getting mad over the situation. As she's clearly not in the wrong. 

Eva is sleeping next to me, darling. She's sick and I don't want to wake her up. Can't we communicate like this? I wish to know how your day went. 

Immediately you start worrying about Miranda's younger daughter. The girl suffers from her periodic illness over and over again without a clear medicine. It reminds you of your father. Miranda has reassured you many times that Eva, despite everything, is mainly doing good. Her health might not be in the best conditions, but she really seems fine most of her days. If must be tiring for Miranda, as a mother. So you decide not to comment on it, instead you aim to answer her question. 

They made me come to the hospital only to tell me they've move my father to another one! 

You know she laughs, back at her home, comfortably snuggled in her bed. You can just feel it. 

At least he's fine, I'd assume?  

Quickly checking the time on your phone, you realise it's getting late. Possibly Miranda is tired. You are as well. So you make it your goal to rush the conversation, without being too rude or awkward.

I will officially know tomorrow. Oh, but they also said he has gotten a new team of doctors. Good ones, or at least they told me so. 

Miranda writes one more final sentence, before both of you turn off your phones. 

I'm sure he's in good hands now. 

Strangely enough her belief, sounding a bit too confident, finds you even in your dreams.

***** 

Morning comes faster than expected. You wake up, unwilling to do anything at all, yet you have a sense of responsibility filling every inch of your body. You get ready fast enough, gather your things, check out of the hotel and take down the road again before lunch hours, which you personally count as a rare win. 

The weather is surprisingly nice and despite the slippery road , the trip goes well. As a neat sign of your already too old car, your radio refuses to work, but you just pull out your phone. Choosing calm music to keep you gripping the steering wheel tight. A few hours later, you arrive at the designated location. 

This hospital is in considerably better shape than the last. First of all it's several times larger and you even manage to park your car in the wide parking lot. Naturally you have  a few  setbacks only with your entry. A bigger and better hospital certainly means more patients. And as follows - the lounge and corridors are filled to the brim. After quite a struggle with the now unfamiliar girl at the front desk, you manage to get the number of the room they put your father in. From there you head in that direction, mentally preparing yourself to see him at his most miserable condition with every step. 

Your father lies motionless on the hospital bed, his body unresponsive to any outside stimuli. His eyes are closed and his breathing shallow and labored. Machines monitor his vital signs and feed him liquids through plastic tubes and IVs that are inserted into his arms.His face is pale and gaunt, the result of being in a state of unconsciousness for extended period of time. To the untrained eye he simply looks like he's asleep, but in reality he is trapped in a deep, unshakeable state of helplessness. 

Your eyes are full of salty tears, but you make no attempt to stop them. You let them roll down your cheeks, falling down, wetting your blouse at the end. The sight before you is heartbreaking, and the fact that you can't do anything about your father's condition is almost enough to rip your heart out. During another heavy sigh, you jump startled, feeling someone's hand on your shoulder. 

You turn to see a middle-aged man in a medical uniform. He smiles at you, handing over a folder of papers. After a rather quick explanation, he walks away, leaving you alone again. You are told that the given documents  contain all the information about your father's now changed treatment, plus his new team of doctors. Everything seems normal enough. But you can't stop wondering why all this important information should fall into your hands. The previous doctors didn't even bother to tell you exactly what pills they were prescribing him. 

The answer is revealed to you the moment you start reading the fine details. The group of professional medics is small, you can't distinguish more than ten people, but right at that moment your body freezes. The first name on the list is not anyone's, but Miranda's to be exact. If that's not a big enough surprise, the next one makes your jaw hit the floor. Just below hers, stands your own. 

Only she knows about your dreams to finally graduate and start treating your father properly. Only she knows and... only she can achieve it. Only Miranda can bring you on a silver plate what you desire most. 

You close the folder of papers and glance at your unmoving father. Your cheeks burn, and at the moment, with all your fixed emotional screaming in your head, you try to decide between absolutely killing Miranda or making love and her until she passes out. Both options sound good, but can in no way even reach your new level of wonder mixed with happiness and partly confusion, about how she managed to sneak you into her team. Hell, how she even managed to get a hold of your dying father? It doesn't matter, at least not at the moment.All you know is that you want to go to her instantly and do whatever she wants. To thank her. Gods, how will you ever manage to do that? 

Without a second thought, you immediately run to your car, ready to go back home. Ready to break your loneliness and get lost in your dreams, together with Miranda. 

[cluster-b-culture-is]

Questioning AsPD culture is fitting the DSM criteria but not relating to everybody else with it?? I guess I also don't check the box for no remorse or guilt (I still fit the criteria for that section tho) so maybe that's why?? I'm so confused??? Starting to wonder if I'm over exaggerating on accident or something.

.

[paranormeow7]

steaming hot take but there are just some things self diagnosed people just can’t talk over professionally diagnosed people about

[llatimeria]

just doing some thinking about the adderall shortage

[ajxrn-archive]

I’m going to. rip my fucking hair out.

[ephemeral-winter]

time for my nightly meltdown i guess

[waitwithwaluigi]

I think the funniest(/s) part of of how medicalised things are becoming is that being a good values or compassion is being written off as being part of your Childhood TraumaTM.

Like yeah, Bethany, me helping out someone is ONLY because of I wasn't treated well as a kid. I have major hero complex and I am trying to save myself as a kid. Fuck empathy am I right???

[clamorybus]

stop putting posts making fun of eds on my dash challenge

[theanonymousninja247]

My reaction to this comic. I literally waited ALL day to come home from work to take this picture because this was just too real and raw for me not to be real myself to show how much it shook me

so face reveal sorta?

I can’t tell you how much closure I’ve received watching this 😪🙏🏼🫶🏼🧡

✨Note to self: Isolation is not the answer✨

This ended up way longer than I originally anticipated but I have no regrets, I also got carried away in one too many shots and regret none of it

Enjoy!

part1 | part2 | part3 | part 4 context: 1 / 2/ 3 / 4

After calming down the two of them just sit down and talk about it, Oneion explains everything more calmly, all the messures his brothers have taken to prevent him going into Survival Mode along with the ways they've find out to snap him out or fully stop him

(From then on Sprout has a high voltage taser intalled on his prostethic, just in case)

This is pretty much it on my part for the whole OneOne-Toast fight aftermath situation! Ell did a thing with One and Poptart too!

I also have some more Sprout and Oneion doodles, they are not connected to this event but I might post them over the weekend

[lunamothghost]

people (me) will have the wildest coping mechanism (rewatching high school musical 2 and drawing 284718 pictures of goodtimeswithscar secret life)

[californiaquail]

i really can't stop thinking my cat is going to die and it's going to be my fault

[hiisheart]

( ok so i'm home today. but at what cost? )

[swaggy-phrogge-boi]

Ended up in the ER today lol

[jeongin-lvr]

🎼 ─┈┈ hubby heeseung ̩̩͙˚ ᩙ ⠀

husband! heeseung with the fattest crush on you literally ever. he worships the ground you walk on; he practically kneels before you, awaiting every need and command you bring to him. he’s so serious when he says he’d take every star out of the sky and give it to you as a gift if you asked. which also includes in bed when he has your face buried into the messed up, unkept bedsheets, whispering i love you’s as he kisses your g-spot with his fat cock. or when he has you in the shower, bent between your legs on his knees as water rushes down his back because you looked too pretty with soapy hair and skin. he mumbles against your clit as he does so, gurled by water but his point still comes across, “the prettiest girl... and you’re all mine, thank you...“

husband! heeseung who recites his vows as he fucks you in a mating press. its crazy but he does it every single time he has you all curled up, knees beside your head, too fucked out as buckets of his cum leaks out of you and stains the sheets. he’s telling you every promise he made on your wedding day and more. he’s reminding you it really is till death do you part. he doesn’t realize he’s doing it; it’s probably just because he gets so worked up, so full of love. every thrust into your flutterung hole is heaven, and all he can think about is how badly he loves you and how badly he wants to get you pregnant.

husband! heeseung who finds you the absolute sexiest when you’re wearing your glasses and his big t-shirt, bare legs, messy hair, rosy cheeks. it’s perfection, he can’t get enough. if he sees you like that fully expect to be completely ruined within the next hour. he fucks you with the glasses on, an dyou’re confused because he doesn’t get crazy like this when you actually dress up or put effort into your appearence, and all he has to say is, “this is the you that turns me on.“ he’ll pin your hands above your head and press your knees into your chest as he stuffs himself inside of you, loving the way the fabric of his shirt bunches at your hips. you weren’t even wearing any panties anyway, what did you expect <3

husband! heeseung who kisses your wedding bands whenever you two are having intimate, lazy sex. lifting your wrist and hand to his lips and pecking your knuckles, kissing on your shaky hands until his lips trace the cold metal, humming with a smile at the way your gaze flickers to his. its the cutest thing, immediately making you smile when you see the sparkles filling his gaze. its so obvious he loves you so much. he even promises to buy you more rings because, “you deserve it,“ and he never fails to fulfill his promise. the next day he somehow comes home from work with a new band, something new for your growing collection.

husband! heeseung who is the first to bring up kids and is very serious about wanting at least two. he’ll casually bring it up into conversations and its adorable... until he’s lifting you onto the counter and lifting your skirt because you’re ovulating and it’s, word for word, “the perfect time to get you pregnant.“ he says it sneakily, with a wink and a cunning grin. you can’t say no, especially since the idea of him being the father of your children was almost perfect. you’re both young but it doesn’t hurt to try does it? so he’s waking you up to his cock filling you up in the morning, or when you’re just watching a movie he ends up sitting you on his dick and filling you up. you have no complaints. just shaky legs and a nice, warm creampie.

husband! heeseung who finally gets you pregnant and is somehow even more obsessed with you. he’s doting on you hand and foot. every craving you get he’s finding every ingredient. every symptom you experience he’s researching diligently, telling you cures or remedies, scheduling doctors apointments to get an experts opinion. and on days when all you wanna do is be near him, feel him, feel sexy with him, he’s so perfect at being exactly what you need. he worships your body; praising you on how pretty you look full of his baby, how you’re glowing, kissing your ankles or your tits or anywhere you might feel a little unsure of.

[starlit-mansion]

I've been rotating me and my partner's owlbear fantasy oc universe like a rotisserie chicken, and the funniest thing about it is that the universe is exclusively npcs for a campaign that doesnt exist. They all have major ties to the various unresolved plothooks of the world: organized crime (the level 1-5 issue), an evil wizard with a saw trap dungeon (level 5-10), a major celestial war that's spanned decades (endgame), but none of them really do anything about it. They just have like. Jobs. It effects them about as much as the major problems of the real world, which is directly, but not in a way that demands action. Someone should really do something about that torture dungeon, but the guy who got cursed by the wizard before he rose to full power and the lady who bested the whole dungeon and got a prize from the wizard and the guy who started to go through it and dipped to the feywild and got into a bunch of scrapes before clawing his way back to the material plane don't want to go back to it. However, they would tell their story about it to anyone with a sufficiently decent persuasion check. Turns out the middle aged gay caterer with weird eyes isn't just another local teifling, but an aasimar who broke his paladin oath rather than getting dragged into the celestial war that killed his mother, but like. You've gotta do a little digging to figure that one out

[dcxdpdabbles]

Danny reincarnates as Tim's twin. The only problem is that his ghost powers act up in the womb from either the gross ecto in Gotham or an artifact that Janet handled while pregnant. Because of this only Tim is 'born', the Drake's either assume one was miscarried or never knew they were twins.

Tim meanwhile grows up with a brother his parents ignore more than him. It takes Danny an embarrassingly long time to realize what's going on and fix it but by then the twins are around 4 so can't really explain to the rest of Gotham.

When they become Robin, either Nightwing and Batman are almost convinced he's like Harvey with how many times they've found him talking and discussing plans with himself. Or with how bad their collective mental health was at that time think they're going crazy.

Only Alfred knows what's going on because he's Alfred.

Tim Drake is a strange child. Ever since he was little, he would point to empty air and interact with it as if someone was standing there and responding.

At first, his parents thought it was cute that he had an imaginary friend, and Mrs. Drake even shed a few tears when Tim proclaimed that it was the brother he had at birth. The second son of the Drakes had been growing healthy in her stomach until the very end of the first trimester when he simply vanished.

Not died, not stop growing- vanished as if he was never there.

The doctors and the Drakes had no idea what happened. Test after tests were done, but in the end, they could only conclude that the second baby was gone. It was theorized that Tim may have devoured his brother in the womb, though there had been no symptoms that Janet suffered from.

When Tim was born, Janet had nearly died with a false labor that happened only ten minutes after giving birth. The nurses and doctors had been panicking because they could not understand where the contractions originated. False labor was contractions during pregnancy, not after labor, so there was nothing the body could confuse for the urge to push.

They ruled it as a freak false labor since the only other match was Janet entering second labor. Still, as much as the nurses and doctors were ready for a monochorionic monoamniotic twin, nothing came out. Eventually, Janet passed out, and her body finally finished doing whatever it was doing.

It was no surprise that this experience ended up giving Janet postpartum depression. She tried to connect to Tim, but something in her just never clicked, and Jack was beside himself, trying to care for his child while his wife drifted further and further away.

A therapist suggested Janet return to work, which seemed to do wonders for her. She took part in multiple digs and went on many trips, but eventually, Jack felt like she was never home. Worried his wife wouldn't return to him, Jack jumped on a plane while leaving Tim in the capable hands of the housekeeper.

He said it would be a short trip just to get Janet to come back and get treatment.

Jack ended up helping at the dig site, extending his stay to his once again bright and loving wife. Seeing her back to her usual self led to him booking them another trip.

Then another, and another, and antoher. Before long, the Drakes rarely spent time in Gotham, and Tim grew bigger in their absence. Janet loved Tim, but seeing him only brought back guilt that she could not love him like other mothers could so quickly. She was so excited for their baby and had loved him with her whole heart while he was inside of her, but now, seeing those big blue eyes blink up at her, all Janet wanted to do was run.

She drowned in guilt, and sometimes, it felt that she was only breathing because Jack was there for her. He dragged her back to the surface only long enough to take a breath and be dragged under again.

She missed his first steps, his first words, and his first laugh. That's why hearing him call out to Danny was so jarring. She had stopped outside his room, carrying gifts in the form of toys, hoping they would make up for the fact that she had only seen him a handful of times for a solid year.

He was playing with blogs, babbling to "Danny." She had picked out the name of her other son when she found out she was having twins. The only person Tim could have heard that name from was the housekeeper.

Janet fired her after wiping her tears. She would hire a replacement that wouldn't mock her two-year-old son. She let Tim keep his imaginary friend, figuring he would outgrow it.

Tim didn't.

Over the years, Tim became increasingly convinced Danny was with him. He even started turning in classwork under the name Danny, and when a teacher would call him, he would respond with "I don't know. Tim is better at this than me."

Sometimes, when he acted out, Tim would be the one responsible. Tim was the one who got bored quickly in class, needed to be challenged more, and preferred to follow whatever hair-brain idea he had. Photography, skateboarding, and actual crime shows were what made Tim happy.

Then, he became Danny when he showed effort in school but struggled to keep his solid, slightly above-average results. This side of her son preferred astronomy and baking and seemed confused by their wealth. Almost as if he was new money instead of the old wealth the Drakes had. Janet also heard that Danny seemed to stick his nose in whenever a bully targeted a classmate, confronting them with a bravo she could not associate with Tim.

Tim was more like her. They dealt with their opponents through clever planning instead of confirmation, which Jack preferred. He talked to himself a lot, too. The Drakes weren't even in Gotham, but their family's whispers echoed through the gala halls anyway. As young Tim walked by, there were rumors and speculations.

The elites would gossip as Tim continued arguing that the decor was worth the money and that they couldn't steal it, no matter how much food it could buy people in their charities.

He whispers, yelling at the air as Janet watches from across the hall, her stomach turning with love and repulse.

Years after his birth, she could not bring herself to stand before him for too long. Jack followed because he worried she do something to herself if he didn't.

She could not deny it now that Tim was nine. Janet realized, after a while of reading reports involving her son, that he likely suffered from a split personality disorder. Seeing it in person was entirely different.

They'll likely have to have him instituted, and the thought almost has her throwing up. She wonders if she would have caught on faster had she been a better mother and been around.

She steels herself, crossing the room to speak to her son. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees that Jack has noticed and quickly tries to make an excuse to stop her. Fortunately, depending on who you asked, the men looking for an investor don't let their husbands go that easily, so she is clear.

"No, I won't ask him for an autograph!" Tim hisses, looking at the wall to his right as if someone were leaning against it with him. Janet's resolves wabble a little at Tim's pout. There is a short pause before Tim goes red. "I can't do that! Mr.Wayne is really protective of Richard."

Dread pools into her stomach as Tim's features shift, and a grin with a mad twist settles on his lips. "I already have all the pictures I want about him. My favorite is the one I took last night."

This can't wait. Janet loves her son; she does not care what anyone says that she doesn't, but she can't allow him to harm others. Stalking will eventually lead to harm; she knows it. Those are the early signs.

She opens her mouth, only for Tim to turn to her with a coldness she hadn't noticed he always regarded her with.

She had never seen joy on his face, so she had never had a chance to compare how he looked at her and Jack to how he looked at others. How he looked at Danny.

Janet feels everything in her freeze, and a tremble grows in her arms and hands. Trying to hide it, she drowns the glass of wine in her hand in one gulp but instantly regrets it.

The world become slightly hazy that alcoholic cause, and maybe it's been a long time since she last drank. She could have sworn she was seeing double for a moment, and an exact copy of her child was leaning on the wall behind Tim.

But that wouldn't make sense. Tim's eyes weren't green.

"Son." Jack's warm presence is behind her, placing a comforting hand on her back, and she can't bring herself to speak as her husband commands. He likely feels her trembles. "It's time to leave."

The second image of Tim flickers out of sight, and Janet walks out of the Wayne Gala, wondering if her son inherited his madness from her. Neither adult notices the soft thump of the backseat, nor do they pay much attention to Tim carefully buckling the air or how the blanket he keeps back there spreads itself across Tim's lap.

Janet falls into old habits, and instead of being up to what she realized that night, she convinces Jack to go to Guatemala. They are gone first thing the following day.

Tim watches them leave from the top of the grand stairway, his eyes glowing green in heavy judgment and ice that Janet would have felt in the coldest winter. Jack is chatting nonsense to fill the silence and keep Janet grounded, but when she peeks over her shoulder to the Manor, she spots Tim in the window of his room, watching them leave with a frown.

His green eyes are gone, and she feels a chill race down her spine. There is no way he could have run up the stairs, gone down four different hallways, and gotten to the window before they could get to the waiting car.

"Goodbye, Tim. Keep the house safe!" Jack says as he opens the car door for Janet, but he's talking in the doorway. Because that's where the grand stairway is. She hears her son respond but can't tell what he is saying.

She can only gaze upwards to where Tim waves at her while clutching the curtain. His mouth doesn't move. He isn't the one speaking to Jack.

Janet sits in the leather of the car, Jack beside her, holding her hand tenderly, and she rethinks about having Tim instituted. She should hire an exorcist instead.

When they get back, of course. The car pulls away from the driveway, and Janet does her best not to look back even as the door slams shut, as if the sound was meant to tell her never to return. She closes her eyes, holds her breath, and only lets it go when they are far away from Drake Manor and her son.

Maybe one day she can be a good mother.