#I was thinking tim to step into Abigail | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

traitorousheroes · 3 years ago

Text

and she greeted the End as an old friend

(Hannibal/The Magnus Archives Crossover. I've had this sitting in my drafts for over a year, and its technically finished, although originally it was going to be part of a series.)

Case #0170723

Statement of Abigail Hobbs, regarding her fathers and her subsequent deaths at their hands. Statement given directly by subject on July 23rd, 2017 to Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins...

The London streets were cold in the early morning, very different from the warmth of Italy. In a way they reminded her of Lithuania, of the dungeons beneath the old Lecter estate. The moth that Will had left was still beautiful, even as the skin sloughed off and spiders spun their webs in the empty eye sockets. There had been echoes of death that clung to the very stones of that place, but nothing that was unique, except for the fact of who it had affected. Those that it was continuing to affect.

Abigail pulled at the braid that covered her missing ear as she walked up to the Magnus Institute. Pressing her hand against the door, the feeling of being Known overcame her. The Eye focused on her as she stepped through and into the foyer, and she could feel that it wanted what she had come here to give. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Unlike her own patron, the Eye was unused to waiting.

“Excuse me,” she said, walking up to the main desk.

The woman who sat behind it looked up at her in surprise. Her name tag read Rosie, which seemed to fit the woman.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I was hoping to make an appointment to speak with Elias Bouchard?”

“I’m not sure that Mr. Bouchard has any openings in his schedule for the next week,” Rosie said, flipping through a planner. “If you’d like, there looks to be an appointment open in a fortnight-”

The phone on her desk rang. Rosie gave her a small smile and held up a finger as she picked up the receiver. Abigail could hear the sound of a male voice on the other end, though what he was saying was indistinct. Rosie looked back up at her, confusion on her face as she listened to whatever the man on the line was saying.

“Of course, Mr. Bouchard,” she said. “I’ll let her know.” Rosie put the phone receiver to her shoulder and turned her smile back to Abigail. “Mr. Bouchard says that he has an appointment open at around noon. In return, he asks if you would be willing to give a statement to the Archives.”

“Of course.”

Rosie relayed her acceptance to him, giving a perfunctory goodbye and hanging up the phone. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you down to the Archives.”

Abigail nodded. Rosie turned and walked further into the building, her heels clicking against the stone floor; Abigail’s own shoes, a pair of comfortable flats, made no sound in comparison. They walked past a set of large wooden doors, above which sat a plaque that read Artifact Storage, before coming to a set of stairs that led down. At the basement landing there was only one door, which sat innocuously against the left hand wall. The plaque above it was similar to the one upstairs, but read Archives instead. It also appeared to be damaged with what appeared to be some sort of fire suppressant caked on the upper right hand corner.

Rosie opened the door, revealing a surprisingly large room with two chairs on the wall next to the door. Four desks sat in the middle of the room, each one stacked with paper and knick knacks. On the far left hand side of the room there were offices, one of which had a plaque next to it stating Archivist. A piece of paper was taped over the name holder below it, with the name Jonathon Sims printed on it. There were another two offices beside it, though neither of them had any designations. The door to the furthest one was cracked open slightly, letting her see what appeared to be a cot wedged against the wall. A small kitchenette sat against the back wall, the sink filled with what looked like used mugs.

“You can wait here if you’d like,” Rosie said, gesturing to a chair. “Would you like a coffee? Tea?”

“No, thank you,” Abigail replied, taking the seat. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well, if you need anything before they arrive, I’ll be at the front desk.”

Abigail nodded, letting her smile drop as the woman left. She let out a deep breath, all the air leaving her body in a deathly rattle. The air in the room was silent as the grave, not even the spider spinning its web in the corner making a sound to disturb it. She could feel the cold as it overtook her limbs like an old friend embracing her, her sight disappearing behind clouds of milky white. The echoes of death that lingered in the Archives were tantalizing in their amount. There was the faint tang of Corruption to them, a hive mind bound to flesh screaming out in unison as their lives were snuffed out.

“I think she’s dead.”

“Christ, not again.”

Abigail drew herself back from the deaths of the Flesh Hive, a curl of satisfaction settling itself in her chest. A faint whirring caught her ear as she acclimated back to her body, the sound like the VCR from her childhood. She blinked, clearing away the clouds that had settled over her corneas. One of the men who had been talking yelped, the soles of his shoes squeaking on the floor as he stumbled away. Abigail rolled her neck and stretched her fingers, chasing the torpor away.

As she focused on the two men in front of her she smiled. The one who yelped was braced against a desk, his eyes locked on her. The other had drawn a knife, the edge pointed at her chest. It was obvious that he had never used one before, not only for the slight tremor that transferred from his hand to the blade. Abigail took a deep breath, feeling her lungs reinflate with a wheeze.

“If you wanted to kill someone, you need to point the blade a bit lower,” she told the one with the knife. She raised her hand slowly and wrapped it around his own. He flinched at her touch, but didn’t resist as she pulled him closer and set the knife right below her sternum. “Press in and pull down to disembowel them. If you want them to suffer,” she said, dragging his knife down lower to her abdomen, “you can cut across and perforate their intestines and let them bleed out.”

“Let go,” he said, trying in vain to pull his hand from her grip.

Abigail didn’t, pulling it up so that the edge of the knife rested against the scarf that wrapped around her neck. “Of course, you can also cut the throat. It’s a bit harder than they make it look in the movies, but your victim is aware the entire time they choke on their own blood. Though the blood loss makes the pain feel almost non-existent. It’s almost peaceful.”

“Please,” the larger, terrified man said, “let him go.”

“Of course,” Abigail agreed, releasing the hand that held the knife. The man stepped away, the knife clattering to the floor between them. He rubbed at the skin she had touched, as if doing so would erase the feeling of it.

“Are you okay Tim?”

“Fine,” Tim spat. “Just dandy in fact. There’s only something else that wants to kill us here, Martin. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I’m not here to kill you,” Abigail said.

They both looked at her sceptically. She sighed, bending over and picking up the knife from the floor. Both men flinched as she did so, but neither made any movement to get closer to her. It was a passable knife, though the edge was a bit dull when she tested it against the tip of her finger. Folding it back, she stood and held it out to Tim, whose gaze had turned wary. She waved it, and he reached out and took it like a snake striking at prey.

“What are you doing here then?” Martin asked. “How’d you even get in here?”

“Rosie let me in. I’m here to make a statement for the Archivist.”

“You’re here to make a statement,” Tim said, his tone disbelieving.

“I need to give it to the Archivist,” Abigail said. “It’s very important that I do it now.”

“Well, Jon isn’t here right now,” Martin told her. “We could set you up with some pen and paper if you’d like-”

Whatever he was offering was cut off as a man stormed into the Archives, almost running into Tim. He looked between the three of them, his eyes cataloging the two men before looking at her. Abigail felt a tingle of power spread over her skin as the Archivist focused on her with the full weight of the Eye.

“What are you?” the Archivist asked, a thread of power snapping out at her.

“Someone who came to give a statement,” she said, neatly sidestepping what he intended her to answer with another truth.

The Archivist grimaced, accepting what she said while still knowing that what she said wasn’t what he wanted. His shoulders slumped as he let go of what little power he had mustered against her. He rubbed at his eyes with a scarred hand before letting out an annoyed breath. He stalked over to the office marked as his, leaving the door open behind him. Abigail looked at the other two, who seemed unsure of what they should do. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her remaining ear, she went to the Archivist’s door.

“May I come in?”

“If you want to give a statement, yes,” he said shortly. “If you’ve changed your mind, I’m sure you can find the way out.”

“I’m sure,” Abigail said, passing through the threshold and shutting the door behind her. There was a click-whirr as the tape recorder on the Archivist’s desk turned on. She raised an eyebrow which he returned drolly. “I hope you don’t mind me ambushing you here, Archivist.”

“As long as you aren’t here to kill me, I’m sure we will get along fine. And it’s Jon, please. And you are?”

“Abigail Hobbs. It’s nice to meet you, Jon.”

“At least one of us is happy about this. You said you’re here to give a statement?”

“Yes.”

“What about?” Jon asked. For all that his tone implied disinterest, there was a hunger behind his eyes.

“My deaths,” she said simply. “Should I just start, or...”

Jon nodded, his posture straightening as he looked her directly in the eyes. Abigail met them directly, letting the Eye in. She took a deep breath, letting the memories flow out.

“I knew from a young age that my dad was different. He wasn’t too different, not in any way that would make anyone suspicious. He worked a blue collar job, but a lot of people in my town did. It paid well enough, and we were happy. Or, at least, I was.

“My dad never really let me out of his sight. I just thought he was overprotective, especially when I hit my teenage years. It wasn’t until I caught him sitting outside my junior prom that I thought it was weird. He played it off, saying that he was worried about someone spiking the punch. Which, I mean, someone did, but that’s part of the high school experience. But it was soon after that when he got super weird.

“I wasn’t a fan of hunting, but my dad was really into it. He always bagged his allotment during deer season, which meant that we had enough venison for the winter. I think throughout my childhood I ate more deer meat than hamburgers. But that year he took me with him during deer season. He said it was important that I learned how to hunt. He had this weird look in his eye when he said it. Like he was sizing me up like one of his bucks. So I went with him and bagged one. I didn't like it, and I don’t think he liked the idea that I didn’t like it. I thought it was just the fact that he wanted to share it with me.

“After that, he never took me back to his hunting cabin. I can’t say I wasn’t happy about it, because it honestly creeped me out. Mom had put her foot down on the amount of antlers and hunting trophies in the house, but the cabin was absolutely stuffed with them. The upstairs was full of antlers and hooves. I thought he would have sold some of them to collectors or hobbyists, but I don’t think he ever did. I don’t think he thought that would be honoring them.

“That was a big thing with him. He used every part of a deer. You would think there would be some kind of waste, but he was very careful to limit that. It's probably what stopped him from being caught for as long as it did.

“I guess you don’t really pay attention to a lot of American news over here. Which is fair, since I never really paid attention to what happened over here. Plus, there are a lot of serial killers in the States. And I’ve met more than most people. Including my father.

“Like I said, my father was really overprotective. The therapists I talked to, afterwards, said that it wasn’t my fault what happened. That he was just sick in the head and that it manifested in him hunting girls who looked like me and eating them. And they were mostly right. Only they didn’t know that he used me to pick them out. He was a good hunter, you see. And a good hunter knows how to stalk his prey, how to use bait to get them where he wants them. I was his bait. And I knew it.

“I wasn’t scared of him. I don’t think any of the therapists understood that. Even after everything, I never was afraid of him. It wasn’t even fear of what he did when he was hunting. Because the only thing I wanted to do was survive. I wanted to live past whatever happened. If that meant helping him choose his prey, I would do it. In his own way, I think he thought I was close to him, close to the Hunt that drove him. He didn't realize that I was already marked for something else.

“From what I’ve learned about the Hunt, my father wasn’t fully under its influence. Certainly not enough to become something... more. I think that’s why one of the Web’s agents decided to press. I think he was curious to see what happened. He called our house, and when I picked up the phone he asked to speak to my dad.

“He told me afterwards what he said to my dad. That the F.B.I. was onto him, that they were coming for him. But my dad just hung up the phone and continued cooking breakfast. My mom didn’t notice anything different, which I guess is a small kindness. When we heard the car pull up outside he grabbed her and put the knife to her neck. He walked her to the front door, slit her throat, and tossed her onto the front porch. She bled out not knowing why it was happening.

“I should have run the moment I saw him grab my mom. But I couldn’t. I was so afraid, but it wasn’t because of him. Even when he came back, the knife in his hand wet with my mother’s blood, I wasn’t afraid of him. He whispered how sorry he was in my ear, that he loved me, and I still wasn’t afraid of him. It wasn’t until the man from the F.B.I. rushed into the kitchen and my dad slit my throat that I realized what I was afraid of.

“It was the same reason why I had picked out the girls for him to kill. I didn’t want to die. The man from the F.B.I. killed my dad, and still the only thing I could think of as I choked on my own blood was that I didn't want to die like this.

“I did though. For less than a minute on the operating table, my heart stopped. It was enough for the thing that had marked me to deepen it's hold, but not enough for it to claim me completely. That came later. Instead I was dragged into the Web’s games.

“His name was Hannibal Lecter, and he became my father. If it’s a manipulation of the Web for me to think so, I don’t really care. He did do that, of course. It’s in the nature of those who weave. But he cared for me, cocooned me in safety, for a given value of the word. Of course, I was simply a pawn in a game to get him what he really wanted.

“The F.B.I. agent who killed my dad was like me, marked. But the one who held claim on him had more of an influence. I think he would have happily gone through the rest of his life being a conduit and repository of fear if Hannibal hadn’t caught him in his machinations. The Web is always interested in what the Eye does, after all.

“Will didn’t know what Hannibal was. Anything of what he was, really. Remember how I said I’d met more serial killers than most? Hannibal was one as well, and fairly prolific. The Web’s influence helped, letting him make horrific displays that fed it and let him express himself. That same influence let him blind Will to the fact. Not that he needed to do much, other than let Will’s brain cook itself. I’m not sure when he decided to let him live, but I played a part in what came next.

“Hannibal took my ear with my permission. Or, at least, as much permission as the Web needs. We faked my death and framed Will for it. Then he left me to my own devices in a house by the sea. He told me that when the time was right, I would come back and meet him and Will. That we would leave and go somewhere far away to be a family.

“It was a lie, of course. A pretty lie, but a lie nonetheless. Or maybe it wasn’t. I’ll have to ask Hannibal when I see him again.

“It always comes down to choices. And Will chose to stand against Hannibal. He saw the manipulations, the cocoon that Hannibal had put him in, and chose not to become what he wanted. It made him angry. You probably think that monsters can’t get angry, but they were human once. And under everything, they still are. It just depends on how much they want to acknowledge it.

“I asked Hannibal how he would kill me once. He said he would slit my throat like my father had. And he did. He severed me from his web; the same hands that had saved my life, ending it. And I felt the same fear. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live.

“Will tried to save me, but Hannibal had gutted him. The last thing I saw was myself reflected in his eyes. And my life Ended.

“I don’t remember making my choice. Of giving myself over to the power that had claimed me. I know that I made the choice. And so I woke up in a body bag, my own blood caked across my face and clothes, breath rattling in lungs that did not need it.

“I’m still not sure how I got out of the morgue without someone screaming about a dead girl returning to life. There wasn’t ever any news coverage about someone stealing my body from the morgue. I do know that the grave that bears my name is empty; they held a closed casket funeral to hide the fact that they don’t know what happened to my body. I wouldn’t be surprised if they think Hannibal took it. I hope no one ever asks him about it. I want to surprise him.

“That’s part of the reason I came here. He’s up to his games again, from what I’ve seen, and he’s dragged Will back into it as well. So I wanted to leave them a message. I’ll be on the Silver Coast, waiting for them. For as long as it may be until we see each other again.”

Jon blinked, his eyes losing the manic need that had filled them during her statement. Abigail watched as he seemed to sink into himself, a pall of weariness weighing down his limbs. Despite it there was a brightness to his complexion, as if he had just spent the day lazing in the sun.

“Statement ends,” he said. The tape recorder clicked off, leaving their breathing as the only sound in the room.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re of the End, then?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not what I would have expected,” Jon said.

Abigail shrugged. “We can’t all be grim reapers and shambling corpses. Do you need anything else for the statement?”

“No, I think you’ve given us enough details. Not that it would be easy to follow up on, considering.”

“Kind of hard to explain talking to a dead girl?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve talked with the dead. You seem more at peace than some of the others.”

“I’ve had time to get used to it.”

“Yes, I imagine so. Do you need help finding your way out?”

“I actually need to go speak with Mr. Bouchard. Could you direct me to his office?”

“Um, yes,” Jon said. He looked perturbed at her question, but she imagined he wanted her out of his domain as soon as possible. “Up the stairs, past Artifact Storage, then take the stairs to your left and it will be on the second landing. You can’t miss it.”

“I’ll leave you be, then.”

Abigail stood up from her chair and opened the door. Four sets of eyes looked up as she left the office, with Martin getting up from his desk as she walked past. She heard him say something to Jon as she exited the Archives. Unlike when she had entered, the doors to Artifact Storage were open, with what looked like a few people examining pieces on long tables. Following the instructions Jon had given her, she went up two flights of stairs. As she began to walk across to the door marked Head of the Magnus Institute, it opened.

“Ms. Hobbs,” Mr. Bouchard said. “Please, come in. I do believe we have matters to discuss.”

#hannibal #the magnus archives #abigail hobbs #jonathan sims #tma au #martin blackwood #tim stoker #mid-season 3 of tma #technically season 3 of hannibal #elias bouchard #thwrites #end!abigail hobbs #web!hannibal lecter #eye!will graham

18 notes · View notes

jinmukangwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Whumptober 2020 Day 8

Abandoned | Isolation

Ao3

Warnings: Depression, Panic Attacks, Claustrophobia, blink and you'll miss it Suicidal Thoughts.

Dedicated to @ckbookish! Hope you don't mind me tagging you 👉👈

-o-o-o-o-

"That's great, Dami! I'm happy for you."

Dick held the phone between his ear and shoulder, listening to Damian ramble on about an advanced theater class he got into because the teacher felt the current intermediate class he was in was wasting his potential. He carefully scrubbed the sides of the bowl he had just finished eating about five servings of pudding out of and set it off to the side. He wiped his hands then leaned against the counter, smiling.

"Thank you, Richard," Damian said. His voice was just as stiff and careful as it always was, but Dick could hear the excitement and gratitude sprinkled in there. The kid was opening up. Expressing himself more and more every day in ways the place he came from had never allowed him to. Dick couldn't remember the last time Damian genuinely threatened anyone with violence, let alone threatened Tim. In fact, last he heard, Tim and Damian were going to go to the Gotham Zoo together next weekend. There was no real reason for them to. It was just to attempt at hanging out and Dick couldn't be more proud.

"When will you be switching to the new class?" Dick asked. While he did, he began to migrate from the kitchen counter towards his bedroom door, careful to not trip on anything that was laying on the floor. Not for the first time this day, week, month, or year, Dick made a mental note to finally deep clean the place. "Like, is this a tomorrow thing or…?"

"At the end of the term, actually," Damian answered, his voice dropping ever so slightly. Dick hummed in sympathy. He sounded very excited about it, it must be agonizing for him to find out he needed to wait another few months for the first term to come to a close.

"Well, I'm sure you'll have fun being the best in your current class until then," Dick joked, finally reaching the door to his bedroom and placing his hand on the door handle. Damian scoffed over the phone.

"I am not the best, unfortunately." Damian didn't sound that torn up about it, which was good. Admitting someone was better than you was good character growth. It proved that Damian was letting himself start from the bottom of something instead of immediately being at the top. "There is another girl, her name is Abigail. She has been taking classes since she was a toddler because her mother runs a local theater group."

"So she's as good at theater and you are with a sword," Dick confirmed and Damian hummed.

Dick opened his door, mentally planning out the least tedious way to get undressed, in bed, and asleep as quickly as possible. First he needed to end the phone call, as much as he didn't want to. He started a new job tomorrow, so he needed to be rested. There was a swimming pool downtown that was looking for an assistant coach for the children's gymnastics classes they held there. Dick took up the job the moment he saw it. Or well, the moment he was no longer swinging past it as Nightwing and was back in civilian clothes. There was a good chance that he could work his way up to being a head instructor with his own classes, considering the woman who hired him didn't really seem the type to enjoy children very much. Dick gave it two months tops before she began to just not show up, making it so he was promoted.

"I suppose so," Damian said, "she won't be moving up with me however. She has… friends in the lower class that she doesn't want to-"

Dick missed out on the rest, because the moment he stepped into his bedroom and closed the door behind him, his feet were knocked out from under him and his phone flung from his hand. Decades of experience made it so he was immediately able to go from zero to a hundred, allowing him to scramble up from the floor and throw a punch at the closest shadow like clockwork.

His fists met air. With wide eyes, he spun around his room, heart in his throat as he tried to figure out what had shoved him to the floor.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. All he could see was his messy room, his unmade bed, his open closet, and his closed window.

Suddenly, Dick heard a noise sound across his room from where he threw his phone. Dick rushed across his room and searched for his phone like he had been jolted by a bolt of electricity. He hated how confused and worried Damian's muffled demands sounded.

"Richard! What happened?!"

There! Dick bent down and reached out his hand to grab the phone-

And then his hand went through the phone.

Dick stared down at his empty hand and the phone that sat unmoving on the ground, everything going deathly still as he tried to… process what happened. If it was actually real.

Okay. His nerves were just shot. He tried again, this time a little more slower and careful. He watched with disbelieving eyes as his hand once again just… went through the phone. It just laid there, undisturbed, like Dick wasn't… even there.

Damian's voice rose in volume and Dick kneeled down, noting now how he was fully grounded on the floor; his shirts and other various objects around him phased through him like holograms. Okay, okay so something was definitely wrong. "Damian?" Dick asked, but Damian didn't say anything, just continued to shout for Dick to answer.

"Damian!" Dick yelled louder, but Damian didn't say anything that counted as a reply.

"Richard, if you don't answer me, I will fetch father!"

"Bruce might be a good idea there, Dami," Dick breathed, falling back onto his rear end and watching how he simply went through everything. He brought his hand back to his phone and purposely stuck it through, his fingernail soundlessly tapped the hidden floor beneath.

Curious, Dick knocked on the wood, and when no noise reached his ears he hit it harder.

Nothing. He can't touch anything and apparently he couldn't be heard.

And suddenly, Dick was filled with the crippling realization that he had… no idea what to do now. He just sat there, listening to Damian panic until he eventually hung up to fetch Bruce. Dick sat there, running his fingers through everything he couldn't touch around him until he knew the entire space around him by heart. Dick sat there, and it took him… awhile to work up the energy to stand up and figure this out. But when he did, he forced himself to not let the confusion, horror, and fear stop him. He walked around the room first, looking for something that must have made him like this. There were no sigils that he could see, and if one was hidden under the things he had left on the floor, he wouldn't know because no matter how hard he focused or how many times he tried, he couldn't get anything to move. He went to sit down on his bed to think this through, but then his hand went straight through the mattress and he barely caught himself in time to avoid landing on his rear.

Thoroughly freaked out now, he ran through his dresser, heart pounding to the upbeat rhythm of his phone as Bruce began to call him. Dick didn't pick up the phone, he knew he wouldn't be able to.

He couldn't touch anything. He couldn't. Touch. Anything. His feet would hit the ground and have no volume. His hands would slap against the wall but nothing would sound. He tried not to panic, but when he went to go out his door, it didn't move. He tugged on the door handle. It didn’t budge. Not a single millimeter.

And okay. Okay he was beginning to panic now. He sprinted to the window and slammed his elbows against it, but it was like the glass was replaced with a transparent sheet of solid steel.

Was this some sort of hallucination? Had whatever knocked him down drugged him somehow? Did he hit his head?

He was hyperventilating—this he knew for sure but suddenly he didn't know how to stop it—and without thinking he ran back to his door, banging his silent fists against the wood and tugging on the frozen in place handle.

Oh gods. This was really happening wasn't it? Somehow, he had found himself unable to move anything. Unable to go anywhere. Unable to- to-

His knees gave out, causing him to slide down against the door and press his forehead against the unmovable force before him. He couldn't- he couldn't breathe. Somewhere, at the back of his head, a voice told him that he could breathe. He could take breaths right now and calm down. He could count five things he could see, four things he could touch, three things he could hear, two things he could smell, and one thing he could taste. He could calm down and think rationally and explore his situation a bit more calmly. But the moment he opened his eyes after not realizing he had them closed in the first place and saw his leg phasing through his empty trash can he knew he couldn't go anywhere from there without having a full blown mental breakdown.

So he closed his eyes, tried making noise on the door once again, and tried to keep his breakdown to a minimum.

Just hyperventilating. Just fading.

"Help!" He shouted before he could really consider what good that would do. He was at the top floor of his building and the neighbors across from him weren't home until early in the morning thanks to the graveyard shift. No one will hear him… even if he could be heard.

His phone began to ring again and Dick stuck his fist into his mouth and bit down on his knuckles to keep from screaming.

He sat there—trying and failing to breathe, trying and failing to not cry—and continued to sit there until eventually, he found himself leaning against the door with half lidded and tearful eyes, staring at how his body continued to not touch a single thing.

He let his eyes fall shut one final time and let the stress and anxiety and confusion whisk him away into a very troubled slumber.

-o-o-o-o-

When he woke up he was immediately made aware that his current situation was, in fact, not a nightmare.

And so much worse than what he could even predict.

He awoke to him falling backwards, a crick in his neck and spine suddenly becoming undone as the door he was leaning against suddenly opened, hitting his head with a disquietingly silent bonk on the floor of his living room. For a hopeful, blissful moment he thought whatever happened before he passed the fuck out was all fake and he had just imagined the entire thing, but then he opened his eyes and lifted his head…

Just to see a pair of legs sticking out from the middle of his intangible chest.

His breath hitched, his eyes flicking up to see a worried Bruce literally standing inside of him. The threat of hyperventilating once again became a very real thing as Bruce stepped past him, into the room, and started calling his name.

"Bruce!" Dick shouted, scrambling up from the floor and running back into the room that had previously been his impenetrable prison. He instinctively tried to grab his shoulder, but ended up flinching back violently when his hand simply went through Bruce. He couldn't feel Bruce at all. None of the course fibers of his winter coat brushed against his touch receptors. "Bruce! I'm here!" He tried again, but surprise surprise, it didn't work.

"Is he there?" A new voice said, and Dick just managed to turn around in time to watch Damian walk into the room with wrinkles between his brow and bags under his eyes, shining black against his olive skin. Dick jumped away from Damian's path as he approached their father and watched with a frown as Bruce bent down and picked up his discarded phone.

Then, Dick's phone suddenly began to ring, causing Bruce to scowl. Frightened, confused, and curious, Dick slowly approached to read his phone's screen.

It was close to 6am. Bruce must have driven here as quickly as he could after Damian probably took a few hours to panic to himself and work up the courage to tell Bruce that he thought something was wrong. Though, Dick didn't ponder over why they were here so early for very long. The number calling belonged to his new boss.

He was supposed to be at work thirty minutes ago.

"Shit," Dick breathed, stepping back as Bruce clicked the answer button on the phone and held it to his ear.

Immediately, there was the sound of the lead coach’s nasally voice. Coach Shah. Short, lean, toned, full of freckles, and rocking curly red hair. The woman who was definitely a phenomenal gymnast, but probably shouldn't be allowed to work closely with kids with her grumpy attitude. She didn't sound entirely upset from the muffled tones on the other side of the speaker. Maybe she was saving the angry for later, letting the passive aggressiveness of her annoyance at him for being late to his first day of work steadily drip into her tone.

Bruce finally opened his mouth. "I'm sorry, but I'm not Mr Grayson."

Dick winced at the sound of her confused squawk. Bruce proceeded to explain that he was Dick's father, and that he couldn't find Dick anywhere. Bruce's frown slowly began to deepen as Coach Shah began to probably explain that Dick was her newest assistant and that she hadn't seen him. Shockingly, the phone call didn't end with Dick being immediately fired. Just with Bruce clicking the screen off and looking down at Damian with barely contained worry.

"You said he just shouted then stopped responding?" Bruce clarified.

Damian nodded, looking at the phone still in Bruce's hand like it had threatened him.

"Okay," Bruce sighed, brushing his free hand over his jaw. "Okay. Let's look for signs of struggle."

And this was how you could immediately tell that the Wayne family was nowhere close to normal. Normal families would call the police.

The batfamily searched on their own, then only called the police later to keep up the civilian facade.

Dick stepped slowly back, then flinched forward when his shoulders met the walls solidly. The feeling of any walls touching him while his feet stood through the things on the floor almost made him want to bend over and vomit. But thinking about vomiting also made him stress about what would happen then and what the sick would touch or if it would make any noise at all. It was repulsive and horrible to think about, so he found a tiny place of clear flooring that wasn't near any walls and folded his arms across his chest.

He watched Bruce and Damian comb through his room, looking for any signs that his disappearance wasn't on his own power. Dick hoped they found something. A reason for why he was a ghost in his own room.

A solid thirty minutes passed before Bruce deemed Dick's bedroom clean. Evidence wise. Not literally. Dick was pretty sure his room was in an even bigger mess than what it had been before. He jerked out of the way of Bruce as he walked ignorantly past Dick towards the living room. Damian followed along, dragging his feet.

It was then Dick noticed Damian's hand wrap around the door’s handle. Pure terror shot through Dick's veins, which gave him just enough courage to quickly dart forward and purposely run through Damian into his living room before he was locked back in there again. He didn't know he was gasping and choking back horrified sobs until he felt the first tear tickle down his cheek and off his chin.

And this all felt so real suddenly. Like not being able to touch Damian—one of the most important people in Dick's entire life—was what gave it the official stamp of reality.

Dick was a living, breathing, walking ghost.

He couldn't touch anything. He couldn't be heard. He couldn't open doors or pick up phones or touch the shoulder of the man he had considered his father for longer than he had known his birth father.

It was all he could do to stand and force himself to breath—but did he even need to keep doing that?—and let his tears silently fall. He watched Bruce and Damian sift through the rest of his apartment and finish empty handed. It was hours later when Bruce suggested going back to the cave and checking Dick's phone for any possible clues. So, after Bruce hid a few sensors around to warn them if Dick "came back", they went to the front door while Dick made sure to stick as close as he could without going through them. He wiped under his eyes as they approached Bruce's car, his heart stuttering when he realized he didn't even know if he could even sit in the car with them without phasing through the seats. He might have to walk back to Gotham.

That would take… hours.

And oh God, would he starve? Would he be slowly forced to thirst to death because he couldn't touch any of the substances he needed to live?

Bruce opened the drivers door and Damian opened the passenger. Instead of thinking about the very real possibility that Dick probably had less than a few days left to live—if he was alive at all—Dick once again forced himself to go through Damian.

Somehow, against all odds, Dick was able to touch the car. Except, when his knees went through Damian's lap to touch the cushioned chair and his hands shot through Bruce's shoulder to support himself jumping into the back of the car, the normally well padded leather was stony and unrecognizable to his touch. It didn't give under the pressure of his weight or grip. It didn't sink around his touch. It remained like cement.

It felt like cement.

Dick curled up in the back seat, his heart jumping madly when both the drivers and passenger doors closed. He suddenly felt like a trapped animal. He had no will here. He didn't even bother to try the door handle of the back seat, because he knew it wouldn't go anywhere. The doors wouldn't open for him. The walls wouldn't bend. He brought his knees up to his chest as Bruce drove onto the road and as Damian turned on the radio.

And he… simply watched out the window and tried not to make too much noise that no one would hear anyway.

-o-o-o-o-

Getting out of the car door was more adrenaline inducing than standing toe to toe with Killer Croc. It was a good thing Dick was so flexible and had decades of experience with flipping his way through life. Thanks to that, he managed to jump out of the car just in the nick of time.

Seeing the manor like this hit differently. He was barely aware of Bruce and Damian walking past him towards the front doors until he saw Alfred open those aforementioned doors. Dick had to sprint to get inside, and he tried his best to not flinch as the door shut behind him. He didn't succeed.

Not that anybody saw.

"Master Dick?" Alfred asked, and more a heart stopping moment Dick almost thought Alfred was talking to him.

But then Bruce shook his head and began to shed his jacket.

"No sign of him. His apartment was locked and there was no sign of forced entry."

Alfred frowned and Damian shoved past them all, his body moving with less confidence than it normally did. Dick watched him go, desperately wanting nothing more than to race after him and gather him into the world's bestest hug, but Bruce was heading to the cave with Alfred trailing along. Dick had to help in whatever way he could to push Bruce into finding out what happened. Damian… could wait. He'll have to wait. It wasn't like Dick could do anything for him if he decided to follow after the clearly upset teen anyway.

"It's almost like he just vanished, Alfred," Bruce continued, his voice oddly wet. Dick's heart tied itself in a knot. "Into thin air."

"No one simply disappears into thin air," Alfred sniffed. "You will find him."

"Yeah," Bruce agreed, sounding unsure but determined at the same time. They walked into the study and Dick carefully followed them both into the cave through the narrow passage of grandfather clock.

Bruce quickly got to work and Dick stood back, careful to not touch anything. Bruce started the search as he always did, by sifting through traffic cams around the scene of the crime. And since it was Dick's apartment, he also had access to the normal security measures Dick had installed.

Hours passed and Dick soon found himself sinking to sit on the floor of the cave, watching as Bruce found nothing after nothing after nothing.

Dick could relate. He certainly felt like nothing.

-o-o-o-o-

Dick couldn't thirst or starve. He found that out on day three of this entire mess, slinking around from open door to open door, doing nothing but breathing and existing. Well, existing to no one but himself. He hadn't even realized he wasn't starving or dehydrated until Tim, Cass, Jason, and Duke showed up three nights later for a quick family dinner. Dick was touched that Bruce called them, and even more touched that they all came. But, as much as he was touched, he was also jealous of the meal Alfred provided. Frustrated that he didn't exist enough to join.

Bruce filled them all in on what little they knew on the situation and then they all spent the night patrolling Blüdhaven for clues. Dick didn't get into the Batmobile in time to follow along, so he spent the entire night trapped in the cave with Alfred's silent company.

He spent the nights wandering the hallways and avoiding everything he could walk through. He'd walk and walk and walk until he'd sit down in the middle of the dining room floor, where the carpet was short and didn't stab him like the shaggy carpet of bedrooms did. Where the animals were least likely to unknowingly fall asleep inside of him.

On the fifth day, he thought Alfred the Cat was watching him. He cried for hours later when he found the cat was just watching a fly.

Days ticked on. Dick was reported missing to the police. Damian talked less and less, smiled less and less. The others went back to their lives with "keep me updated" being mumbled before they went.

Dick continued to not exist.

When the second week passed by, Dick found himself sneaking outside when Alfred went to get the mail. He didn't know why. Maybe it was because it was raining and he was wondering if he'd be able to feel that.

He didn't. It just went through him and he ended up being trapped in the cold air outside, exploring the wet grounds and not making a single splash, until night came and Damian let Titus and Ace out for a quick potty break.

By the time the third week came around, things really started to change. It seemed Bruce was constantly talking to people. The police, the Justice League, Dick's friends, everyone who were trying to track him down… and it killed Dick to stand back and watch, clutching his stomach as nothing turned up and Bruce kept coming up with nothing. Dick wished he could leave some sort of message. A way to tell Bruce that he was right there. Just invisible and silenced. But there.

Dick would love to tell Bruce that he was right there. But at this point, Dick really began to wonder if he was really there at all.

What if he was dead? Living people didn't go for three weeks without eating or drinking and remain alive. Alive people don't walk through furniture or get trapped simply by closed doors.

But he couldn't tell Bruce. Which was why when the third week came up and Bruce once again ran into a dead end, he wasn't really all surprised to watch Bruce angrily hurtle his phone across the room and collapse into his chair with his hands in his hair, dangerously close to ripping the fine strands from his scalp.

The longer Bruce sat there, the more Dick was sure Bruce had finally given up. Batman couldn't find him. It was the waiting game now. Sit and wait and hope.

Dick left the room shortly after, his mind racing, loneliness running like a poison through his veins. He went to find Damian, but when he found the kid cuddled in a giant beanbag in the library, Alfred the Cat on his shoulder watching him draw carefully, he knew there wouldn't be anything here to reassure him that he'll be found. He walked around Damian anyway, bending down to look at what he was drawing.

His heart clenched. It was a portrait of Dick. Damian was carefully working on the details of his top lip, shading each little bump and pore with incredible accuracy.

Dick didn't look more at it. He left the library and roamed the halls, looking for an open door that he can sneak into and get some alone time. Just to calm down. Just to reassure himself that there was no way his family would leave him like this forever.

That they haven't truly given up on him. That the whispered words of maybe he's dead and he's not coming back, is he haven't actually been said.

He finally found a room with an open door and he immediately squeezed inside. The room was smaller, which made his anxiety climb ever so slightly, but it was also close to empty with a clear enough space for him to sit down and meditate without touching and going through anything. The door must have been opened by Damian. The kid had been searching out silent places to be alone quite often recently, sometimes forcing Bruce to search the halls, calling his name loudly until Damian finally revealed himself.

Dick sat down and breathed.

Of course, it couldn't be so easy. His brain immediately recalled back to Bruce looking defeated. To Damian painstakingly crafting every detail of Dick's face with a pencil like he was worried he'd someday forget what Dick looked like. To Jason not having been over in way too long; reports in Blüdhaven of Red Hood being spotted on multiple occasions. To Tim who accidentally referred to Dick in the past tense a couple days ago and looked sick with himself the moment he realized what he said. To Cass who would somehow stroll the same halls as him when she's over until they pass by his bedroom door and she would stop and frown and walk away. To Duke who looked at his portraits Bruce had on the walls and look like he desperately wanted to understand something that he'd never actually be able to now.

They've all given up. He knew it was only a matter of time before there was an empty casket funeral.

He wondered if he could make that a reality. Death. He didn't need to eat or drink. What if he just… stopped breathing? What if he clawed out his own throat with his nails? What if the next time Alfred opened a window to air out an old, unused room on the highest floor he just jumped out?

Or would the world be so cruel as to keep him like this for the rest of eternity? Forced to watch as he's given up on, buried, and forgotten? He didn't want to die. Not like this. Not in name before body.

And not for the first time since Dick inexplicably became a ghost, he felt his throat choke on the beginnings of a sob.

He curled up a bit, trying to staunch it because he had quickly become annoyed with the sound of his own voice. Why could he still hear it when no one else could? It was awful. Like his words and noises we're all just in his head and he was only hearing what he thought he should hear.

He gasped wetly, wiping under his eyes and trying to stop this all from happening again. He had already cried enough these last few weeks. He couldn't keep crying every time he felt alone.

He bent in on himself further, his arms curling around his stomach in such a way that if he imagined hard enough they belonged to someone else and he was in another's calming embrace. It didn't work though. He knew he was alone. He couldn't pretend.

He was so deep in this attack of utter turmoil and unhappiness that he didn't notice approaching footsteps until he heard the sound of creaking door hinges followed quickly by a click of a door latch.

Dick looked up with blurry, panicked eyes.

The door. The door was closed.

"No," Dick breathed. "No no-" he scrambled to his feet, all the blood rushed from his head and combined with the terrible spike of horror to make him perfectly lightheaded as he stumbled to the door and wrapped his hands around the knob. It didn't budge. "NO!"

He spun around, barely aware of his already panting breaths and frantically searched the room for a hopefully open window.

The window was closed. He didn't know why he even looked.

"Fuck," he gasped, grabbing his chest as it constricted tightly. More tightly than what he had felt in a long time. It felt so painful that it was all he could do to turn and bang a closed fist on the door. He wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like. "HELP!"

He didn't know why he was calling out. Hitting the door like he thought it might make noise.

No one would hear him.

"ALFRED!" Dick screamed. "BR-" he was forced to stop mid-word on that one thanks to a heaving gasp that curled dangerously in-between his ribcage. He swallowed. Or tried to. "BRUCE!"

He kicked the door. Covered one hand over his mouth and tried to calm down. Tried to not think about the solid walls and the solid door and how he was powerless to leave this room. Why did he come in here in the first place?!

He couldn't calm down. All he could think about was how screwed he was. How hopeless everything was. He kept his hand on his mouth as his legs eventually gave out. He brought his knees to his chin and laid on his side atop the carpeted floor, babbling cries and names and pleas until his throat was raw and everything woozy.

He didn't know how or when he finally passed out, only that he woke up to a still closed door and a still small room, and it took every ounce of his will power to not immediately cry again right then and there. He stayed curled up on the ground and closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around his stomach and tried to pretend that everything would work out. Eventually everything would be okay.

He was wrong.

It took two weeks for the door to open for Alfred's regular airing out of the rooms to reach the one he was trapped in.

By then, he didn't even know if he should bother to stand up and walk out.

Not when he was surely no longer alive. Not when he felt perfectly content just laying here being dead.

But the thought of that door closing again and him having no power over it eventually managed to force him stumbling to his wobbly feet and walking out.

He didn't know what to expect when he shuffled slowly deeper into the manor. More than a month has passed since his disappearance. Most people don't keep a whole lot of hope for a missing person to return after this long. By this time, people normally began to suggest funerals quietly between each other.

It didn't take long to find the family. What shocked him though was that everyone was together in the living room, even Alfred who must have finished opening certain doors and windows to refresh the stale air inside the rooms they belong to and walked back quicker than Dick. A movie was playing, some Pixar movie Dick hadn't seen before because of his busy lifestyle.

And for some reason, this hurt more than if he came in here to find them alone, mourning, depressed.

They're all watching a movie together. Bruce on the recliner, Damian squeezed between him and the arm of the recliner even though there was more room in other places. Jason sprawled over the three cushioned sofa, his legs resting over Duke, Cass, and Tim like a makeshift blanket. Alfred had his own recliner to himself, reading a book to himself but occasionally glancing up towards the screen. Steph was there too, but she had made herself comfortable on the floor with the entity of the living room's decorative pillows.

They're all watching a movie together.

Dick had been trying to get that to happen for months. And they're doing it now, when he's gone with no foreseeable way to get back.

Dick slowly sank to the floor and watched them poke each other and whisper quips to each other and laugh at the funny bits with each other.

Was this the life he was doomed to have for the rest of eternity? Chasing open doors and watching people move on from him? Do things simply in his memory?

If he had tears left to cry, he would have shed them.

Instead, he just sat there and watched.

-o-o-o-o-

Dick's funeral was four months later. The gossip channels and media said they have finally given up. Dick thought they held on for longer than most.

He didn't attend his own funeral. He didn't want it to feel final. He didn't want the undeniable proof that they've stopped searching. He didn't want to see them cry for him.

So he walked the manor grounds opposite of the family graveyard. He kicked his feet as he walked, pretending that his footsteps carried weight on the grass and that he was solid enough to disturb the smallest pebbles on the stone pathway.

Maybe he was dead. Maybe this was hell. He didn't remember where he went, if he went anywhere, when Lex Luthor killed him, but maybe this was it. He didn't know what killed him or what happened to his body, but he was starting to become convinced that he really was simply a ghost, cursed to walk the world and watch people move on and live on without him.

Half a year ago, that would have settled horribly into his gut. Now? He was numb.

He continued to walk, to let his mind drift. Pretend he was alive for a little while longer before he returned to the manor and the services and dinners and receptions were over. Decide what to do now that his life was now officially over.

He sighed and ignored the feeling that he's just as trapped out here in the manor grounds as he was in that room all those months ago. Ho continued to roam.

Though, the sound of a humming voice had him stopping in his tracks.

No one should be over here. They all should be back at the funeral. Dick immediately focused on the noise, not even bothering to step carefully or approach cautiously. It wasn't like Dick could be seen or heard anyway. He just wanted to see who had snuck into these parts of the grounds while his literal funeral was going on. It was strange and horrible to think about, but come on? A little respect please? He hoped it wasn't some paparazzi. It meant that they'd somehow gotten through Bruce's security… which also meant that Bruce was more depressed about this than what Dick initially thought. He'd seen Bruce get low these past few months, but never low enough to sacrifice the safety of the people he provided shelter to.

Dick walked towards the grove of trees that the humming was coming from and frowned when he eventually saw the back of a person strolling through the controlled nature. The man was taller than Dick—which wasn't a difficult achievement—and was wearing a simple brown-orange hoodie with dark blue jeans. His hair was dirty blonde and styled up like someone glued a giant ball of cotton to his scalp. Dick didn't recognize him, which instantly set off alarm bells inside his head. The open house reception should be over but the rest of the services were all reserved for close family and friends of Dick's. But this man… he couldn't be someone that was invited.

Not for the first time, Dick felt the crippling weight of helplessness wash over him. This man could be dangerous, but Dick couldn't do a thing. He couldn't warn anyone.

He could just watch it happen.

Or… ignore it.

He shook his head and sighed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the same pair of sweats he'd been wearing since that fateful night half a year ago. He almost began to approach further, because even though he was helpless to change anything or warn anyone, he was still curious… but then the man turned around and Dick was stopped in his tracks.

He didn't... He didn't have a face.

Dick gaped and watched as the bumps in the man's face that must be cheekbones rose ever so slightly.

"Oh!" The man said, even though he had no mouth. Dick had absolutely no idea where the sound came from. "You are here!"

Dick turned around behind him, and saw nobody. Something fluttered in his chest. A hope he didn't dare grasp at even though… even though… the man could only be talking to him.

"We lost track of you after the convergence. Most people stick around where they disappear!"

"Are you…" Dick tried, his voice barely recognizable even to himself, "are you talking to me?"

The limited features of the man's blank face softened. "Yes I am, Dick Grayson. You've been lost a long time."

And Dick… didn't know what to do. This entire time he's had absolutely no contact with anything in the world. He couldn't move anything, couldn't touch anything, couldn't speak or make himself known. This scene before him, one where his voice was heard and he was answered… it was so foreign. Unreal. Dick almost reached down to pinch himself.

"But luckily," the man continued, "after a long time searching for you at your home city, we figured you must have found a way to your family. That or began to aimlessly wonder like others like you sometimes do."

"Like… me?"

"Yes," the man nodded then took a step closer. Dick stood his ground as his thoughts ran circles in his brain. What was going on? "You're trapped within the folds of reality, Dick Grayson. It's not something that commonly happens, but something that can be catastrophic if we cannot find you immediately." He paused. "You are Nightwing in this world, are you not? You must understand how the universes work in odd ways."

Dick wanted to nod. Laugh. Cry. Step forward and see if he could touch the man. But he didn't. He just stood there as the man continued.

"You see," the man said, bringing a hand up to his featureless chin, "what happened was that this universe brushed sides with another one. One that's almost exactly the same in every aspect to yours. Normally, when universes brush, they're so different that they reject each other and go on their merry way down the time stream. The problem was, that because these two universes were so similar, reality as we knew it, well, it got a little confused. It tried to sort out what belonged to what. It gets it wrong sometimes, which is why you're like this. In the universe you brushed with, Dick Grayson was dead. Everything else was exactly the same, but because you were dead and alive the universe decided to make you both. This is why you're stuck here. The universe can't remember if you should be living or dead."

Dick never pretended to understand the multiverse. It always seemed the rules were constantly changing. Shifting to accommodate spontaneous things. It seemed the only one who truly had a grasp on the entirety of the universe was Bart Allen, but the kid was shockingly tight lipped about most secrets of reality despite his superhero name of Impulse.

And really, Dick didn't care how he ended up like this. All he could really think was how this man could see him. Was looking for him. Something was finally going to change. Whether he was supposed to be fully dead or fully alive... He didn't really care.

He couldn't stand around, trapped in his own intangible body, and do nothing for much longer.

"So… what does this mean?" Dick asked. "What happens now?"

The man's face squished oddly, and Dick couldn't figure out what he was thinking at all. "What happens now is that we make things right. Return you to the universe you're supposed to be dead in, and keep you in the universe you're supposed to be alive. It will be painful, but don't worry, neither of you will remember a thing."

"Neither-?"

Dick's question didn't get much further, because in an impossible blink of an eye, the man was right in front of Dick, hand pressing against the side of his head with his thumb pressed above the bridge of Dick's nose. Lightning shot through him, and his vision whited out. Everything became too much and so little at the same time. Hot and cold. Loud and silent. He might have screamed or he might have sighed.

Either way, the sensation didn't last for long.

Soon he wasn't feeling anything at all.

-o-o-o-o-

Damian hated this. He knew death and sorrow unlike most others. He had seen men and women fall in so many ways it was impossible to list them all. He had seen the way a corpse would slowly rot, and stink, and collapse. He had seen bodies feasted upon by wolves and flies alike.

He knew death. Yet, for a number of reasons, he just couldn't comprehend this one.

Because Richard couldn't be dead. He couldn't be. He was simply missing. Nowhere to be found.

He wasn't dead.

Damian didn't understand why everyone else insisted on believing otherwise. Father had said that he's searched, and for some reason that meant if Batman couldn't find him then he must not be able to be found. No one besides Damian argued with him. Even Timothy didn't believe him.

He at least had the decency to look ashamed when Damian called him out on it.

However, it seemed Damian's thoughts and feelings on the matter didn't, well, matter. Even though he was the last one to speak to Richard. Even though he knew for sure that Richard was somewhere alive out there, doing everything he could to get home. Damian swore he would continue to believe in that. No matter what. Even if these months turned into years. Even if Damian no longer remembered every detail of his face by thought alone.

Father wouldn't let him skip out on the fake funeral though.

Which was horrible for a massive amount of reasons. All of Richard's friends were here, sobbing and blabbering like children. The empty casket sat above a deep hole with flowers piled on top, and one by one someone would approach, say something emotional out loud or under their breath, then leave the flower in the mockery of Richard's life.

Damian was glad that his immediate family went first. That way he could slink to the back of the crowd and hold Titus by the leash. Watch from afar. Plan for the millionth time on how he was going to fix this.

That speedster… Wally West was in the middle of breaking down on top of the casket with large tears cascading down his cheeks when Damian felt a tug on the leash. Damian frowned and looked down at his normally perfectly behaved dog to see the animal trying to tug Damian towards the unoccupied grounds of the manor. Damian tugged Titus gently back, tutting at him under his breath.

Except, Titus didn't stay at Damian's side for long. The animal took one wide eyed look at Damian before turning tail and sprinting. The leash was yanked out from Damian's hand, and it was all Damian could do to not shout in surprise or outrage.

He nervously shot a look at the casket, where Donna Troy was now saying her goodbyes while West leaned onto her for support, making sure no one was watching him, then turned to chase after his disrespectful dog.

It might be a fake funeral, but it was a funeral nonetheless.

Damian ran after Titus, jumping over shrubbery and flowers like they were the gaps between rooftops, diving for the trailing leash whenever he got close enough.

He never got close enough.

Out of breath and covered in grass stains and twigs, Damian watched with glaring eyes as Titus took refuge in a carefully planned grove of trees. Thankfully, Damian saw the dog halt on the other side of a bush, bending his neck down to sniff at something. Probably a wild animal. Even though Damian could have sworn he trained Titus better than to chase rabbits or squirrels.

Damian stuffed his hands in his suit pockets and began to stomp his way over.

"Titus! Quit this misbehaving!"

Titus looked up from what he was sniffing, whined, then bent back down. Completely ignoring Damian.

What was going on with that dog?

Damian walked around the clump of bushes and between the trees, extremely curious as to what was so important that Titus would disregard orders for it.

When Damian saw what Titus was bent over, Damian felt every single molecule of air leave his body like he had been sucker-punched in the stomach.

"Richard?" Damian breathed. Double took. "Richard!"

He sprinted forward and Titus quickly jumped out of the way. Horrified and terrified and shaking, Damian grabbed Richard's shoulders and turned him around, for he was laying face down on the ground.

Richard groaned, but didn't open his eyes. Blood trickled down the corners of his lips and nose. His clothes were filthy. He looked like death.

But he was alive.

Damian turned to his good, good dog. "Go! Get father! Hurry!"

Titus didn't have to be told twice. He barked then sprinted back to the forest.

Damian turned back to Richard, running his hands across his body, taking in the loss of weight, the eye bags, the stains of mud all over his clothes. He shook his shoulders, trying to wake him up, but Richard remained asleep to the world.

It took a second to realize he was crying.

Thankfully, he was able to wipe them away when a confused and worried Bruce Wayne busted into the grove of trees along with the rest of the family and even a few of Richard's friends. Gasps and shouts filled the air, and Damian soon found himself pushed back as Dick was rushed to by the adults.

The ambulance was called not long after.

The drive to the hospital seemed like a dream.

The wait felt like it took years, but Richard only took about three hours to wake up, severely starved and dehydrated and not a single memory of the past five months.

And somehow, everything went back to normal. Richard was released from the hospital a few days later with a strict meal plan and physical therapy schedule. His memories didn't return, but sometimes Damian noticed things had changed in Richard since then.

Like his new and strange fear of small spaces and closed doors.

It didn't matter though. Damian was just… overjoyed that he was right and that Richard was still living a breathing, even if it seemed he had simply vanished and reappeared from thin air, with no trace of anything in-between.

All that mattered was that the family was whole again. Richard was on the road of a full recovery.

No one could ask for more.

118 notes · View notes

dwaynepride · 4 years ago

Text

the unfortunate case of nonchalance

PART I - WHERE TO START

summary: jethro and his gang arrive to a new town, and they’re surrounded by rich folk. but then, he meets somebody unexpected.

words: 1,855

warnings: female reader

tags: @fairytale07 @jrenn10 @f4nboi @purplestarsr5 @ladyzombiielove @littlemiss3ma @minikate--24-05 @consultingdoctorwholock @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy @ms-allenbrown @ikbenplant @dylpickles1267 @diaryofafan17 @specialagentlokitty @pageofultron @stanathanxoox

author’s note: part 1 of a new series. this is actually a part of @thranduilsperkybutt‘s writing challenge. my prompt was cowboy au + secret relationship trope.

PART II

February 16th, 1889

Well, this is the first opportunity where I’m able to sit and write.

Moving East out of the plains has been damn hard - nobody likes being this close to civilization.

Hell, I hate it. Seen more people on the trail the past two days than we used to see in a whole week, back West. It’s necessary; we all know that. Still, I hear Anthony kickin’ up a fuss whenever we see another caravan.

It ain’t so bad, now that we got a place to settle down. For now, anyway. It’s well-hidden, at least. It’ll do the job until our problems in the West die down, and we can move back.

If we’re lucky, Anthony might take a bullet while we’re out here. Save us all the trouble of keepin’ him reigned in, this time.

Dr. Mallard told me there’s a town nearby. From what I gather, it’s mostly aristocrats and artisans and rich folk who live there. Not the kinda folk we run into often, but the law won’t think to look for us here. Not for a while, at least.

So I’m gonna head into the town tomorrow. Have a look around, see what we’re up against. Anthony wants to come along. Says he wants to start sniffing around, despite my warnings that we’ve got to act like upstanding citizens of the law. It’s too risky to start making trouble.

He says he understands, but I’ll keep my eye on him, just the same.

Tim and Abigail will go along with him. They’re much less rambunctious, so I don’t fear they’ll get into much mischief.

All in all, despite the money that no doubt comes through this town, I predict it will be a very dull place to lie low.

But maybe that’s what we need, right now. There’s been too much excitement, lately.

February 17th, 1889

Just as I thought - this town is full of men and women too concerned with stories and the arts to pay attention to much else. I counted five clothing shops on the way in. And only a single gun store.

I’m not even sure the saloon sells proper bourbon.

Though, Anthony seems to be fitting in, well enough. He can keep a pleasant conversation with any rich man he meets - a skill I scarcely care enough to learn. But I suppose it was a good choice to bring him along-

The journal is knocked from Jethro’s hands as someone slams against his shoulder from behind. It falls to the dirt, as does the bags of the person who’d knocked into Jethro. And even though his journal was knocked clean out of his hands, Jethro himself wasn’t much bothered. Because the collision barely moved him and it seems like whoever just bumped into him is suffering more of the consequences.

“I’m very sorry!” A voice says hurriedly. A womanly voice that wasn’t so prim and proper as the other women of this high-end town.

Jethro bends over to collect her bags - brand new, apart from the new dirt stains received from the collision. And the woman picks up his leather-bound journal; thankfully, it had landed shut.

They both straighten up, and Jethro instantly meets your eyes for the first time. Very pretty, he notices, if a little guilty for all the trouble you’ve caused. Dainty little strands of hair fall into your face, and the dress you wear is much too expensive for Jethro to ever be able to buy. And yet, you wears it so simply. He can’t tell if you’re just so rich that this dress is meaningless, or if you purely don’t care.

You speak, and Jethro’s eyes blink once. “Pardon me?”

A small laugh comes from you; light and nervous. “I said I was sorry. For bumping into you, like I did. I suppose I wasn’t watching where I was going. I can be a real clutz, you see.”

You still hold his journal with two hands. Fingers drum against the leather. He huffs and shakes his head. “No, ma’am. The fault is mine for not anticipating your arrival,” Jethro says simply.

And he hadn’t meant it as a joke. It was a simple fact, told in his deadpan way. Still, the nervous look on your face shifts into a wide smile. You’re laughing; light and happy and in a way Jethro wasn’t quite expecting. “Perhaps you’re right,” you say. And when Jethro hands your bags over, you gives him the journal back.

“Are you a writer?”

He’s dusting off the leather, barely listening to your question. “A writer?” He echoes.

“You know, a storyteller.” When Jethro glances back up, you motion to the journal. “I do enjoy a good story. And you seemed rather lost in whatever you were writing.”

Your eyes....your eyes held a sort of enraptured curiosity that Jethro himself hasn’t had in a long time. The type of curiosity that has you questioning a stranger with a journal because they may be a fascinating person. But he was just a man; just Jethro. And your words prompts a light smirk to his face. “Do I strike you as the type to entertain others, ma’am?”

You pauses. Shrug your shoulders as your emboldened smile softens into a smirk. You must smile a lot, he thinks. “Perhaps. I’ve only known you a minute, and you’re already more interesting than many of the men in this town. That’s quite an achievement, Mr....”

Jethro hesitates. He knew coming into this town that he didn’t want to give out his name very willingly. Maybe the law will recognize it and that would cause more trouble than he wants to deal with.

And yet, what harm could this woman do? A woman so soft and sheltered, she mistakes this rough cowboy for a city-dwelling storyteller.

“Gibbs,” he finally answers.

He sticks out his hand, and you smile while taking it. Jethro hears, loud and clear, when you tells him your name. And he hasn’t the mind to notice how soft the skin of your palm is. Your last name - it’s so familiar.

Familiar, as he’s seen it printed over almost every store and shop in this town.

So he gives a slow nod, releasing your hand. “I did not realize I was talking with a celebrity,” Jethro teases. And he expects some pushback from that little jab - women always seem to dislike his brand of sarcasm. They call him rude, and they may be right.

Instead, you grips your bags tighter. Jethro catches a bit of pink in your cheeks, and it makes his stomach tight with no good reason. “My father owns many of the stores in this town. It’s not a fact I share with others, Mr. Gibbs. I feel as though it causes people to treat me different - as though my opinion of them may sway them to my father’s favor.”

Seems like a hard life, Jethro jokingly thinks to himself.

Seems easier to have fake friends than government agents following you across three states.

Jethro stuffs his journal into his coat pocket before looking back to you, bobbing his head with a smirk. “Trust me, ma’am; I will treat you no different than I would any other woman,” he vows. And he’s mostly serious.

You smile again. And even giggle, this time. It’s a nice sound and even after Jethro tells himself to be polite to the daughter of the town’s most powerful man, he finds he doesn’t have to try very hard. You’re nothing like the other people Jethro has encountered in this god-forsaken town.

Maybe because when you look at him, Jethro doesn’t feel like the dirty old cowboy he knows he looks like to everyone else.

His thoughts are cut short by your cross little sigh. “I’m afraid I must go now. I’m expected back home soon,” you tell him regretfully.

Your reluctance was painfully visible, and Jethro is determined not to show his own. Besides, he wasn’t here to make a friend or charm a lady; no matter how pretty she may be. “Then I’ll save you the burden of a long-winded goodbye. I hope you have a good day,” Jethro tells her.

After giving you a single nod, he turns away. Takes several steps toward the saloon - that’s where Jethro reckons Anthony might be, anyway. Following some poor rich bastard in there to get him drunk and pick his pockets. And he thinks he’s about to make a clean getaway.

But your voice calls out. Calls his name in a way that makes Jethro’s feet freeze in their tracks. He almost doesn’t turn, but his head is arching over his shoulder anyway. Watching as you smile and waves him goodbye. “I hope to see you around! Perhaps one day, you’ll let me read the story you’re writing.”

That makes Jethro scoff, but he says nothing as you continue on your way. That expensive dress of yours even has some mud stains from where your shoes kick it up, but your don’t really seem to care.

And as you disappear around the corner, he shakes his head. Such an unforeseen encounter in a town where Jethro only expected to find uppity, rich men and women. And for the daughter of the town’s patriarch, no less, to completely shatter his expectations - well, Jethro found himself wondering if he really would see you again.

His thoughts are broken when Jethro hears a familiar voice calling out. Shaking out of his reverie, his head swivels around until finding the voice’s owner. Anthony’s hand waves in the air, and he starts jogging over.

Jethro can’t help but glance back to where you disappeared from.

But the Italian stops beside Jethro, wearing a big grin that usually gave him a bad feeling. “Afternoon, boss,” Anthony greets.

Jethro only grunts, and as he starts walking, his friend falls into step beside him. “Have fun screwing around?”

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t screwing around. Just the opposite, in fact.” Anthony suddenly steps closer, shoulder to shoulder with Jethro. Aware of the prying eyes and nosy aristocrats eager for gossip. “I think I figured out a way to rustle up some money,” Anthony says lowly.

Jethro scoffs, face forming a frown that Anthony can hardly see under the brim of his hat. Though, he’s already well acquainted with his leader’s sourest faces. “This idea of yours legal, Anthony?”

“Strictly speaking? Not really.”

Great.

“That’s never stopped us before, though.”

No, Jethro answers reluctantly. It hasn’t. And that’s what pushed them away from the West and everything they’ve worked for. Because of those less-than-legal schemes.

And hearing Anthony suggest a whole new one, in a town where nobody knows their checkered past...well, Jethro has a pretty wide pit in his stomach. Deep, aching; familiar in a way that has him thinking about the past. Has him thinking about what led to Shannon’s death, all those years ago.

Glancing to Anthony, and seeing how excited he looks about his dangerous plan, Jethro just starts thinking about the girl who thought him a storyteller.

#ncis x reader #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs imagine #ncis reader insert #thranduilsperkybutt #megs11kchallenge

100 notes · View notes

shobogan · 4 years ago

Text

Comixology is doing a DC Vol One sale, and I need to hype some A LOT of them so:

Preboot:

The New Teen Titans Raven brings the team together, and everything changes.

Justice League International We could all use from laughter in out lives right now.

Wonder Woman: Gods and Mortals Post-Crisis Diana’s origin story.

Wonder Woman by George Perez Collects fourteen issues, along with bonus material.

Suicide Squad The original run, and also the best.

Nightwing Collects both the original mini where Dick settles into his new identity and investigates new angles to his parents’ murder, and the first eight issue where he acclimates to Bludhaven.

Robin: Reborn Collects Tim’s first appearances in Detective Comics and Batman before going into the first five issues of Robin.

Batman: Legacy You’ll want to read Contagion before jumping into this one, but I wanted to include it because it’s deeply underrated and has never been collected before.

Batman: Road to No Man’s Land The prelude to one of Gotham’s very best story arcs.

Batman: No Man’s Land The start of the latest, incredibly thorough edition of trades.

Birds of Prey The first time all of the original BOP specials have been collected.

Batman: New Gotham Greg Rucka explores a post-NML Gotham.

Batgirl: Silent Knight The first twelve issues of Cass’s series, plus the annual! Amazing deal, honestly.

Superman/Batman Essential reading for anyone who loves their dynamic.

52: New Edition Do you want the story where Batwoman is introduced, Renee becomes the Question and Booster is an undercover selfless hero mourning the love of his life his best friend the love of his life? START HERE. (Yes, many other things also happen, but I have my priorities.)

Wonder Woman by Greg Rucka Collects Wonder Woman: Hiketeia and the first ten issues of his run.

Batwoman: Elegy Kate’s story continues here, in Rucka’s run of Detective Comics.

Checkmate A spy thriller in the wake of Infinite Crisis. (Yes, it’s Rucka again, shush.)

Batgirl: Stephanie Brown The legacy continues.

Batman: Streets of Gotham Paul Dini and Dustin Nguyen, what more could you ask for?

Post Flashpoint:

Batwing: The Lost Kingdom The story of David Zavimbe, the criminally underrated first Batwing.

Gotham Academy In the mood for beautifully drawn high school shenanigans with that unique wacky murderous Gotham flavour? Have I got a series for you.

Gotham Academy: Second Semester

We Are Robin With Bruce Wayne amnesiac, there’s no Batman to defend Gotham. Duke Thomas decides to do it anyway, and he isn’t alone.

Batman and Robin Eternal Cass is reintroduced to the DC universe. Azrael, too. (Look, I’ve got a soft spot for this dorky nineties disaster.)

Detective Comics: The Rebirth Deluxe Edition Collects the 934-949, which unfortunately means it stops right before the big anniversary issues that focuses on Cass (plus Jean-Paul and Luke being shippy as hell), but it’s still a good opportunity to jump into the team book she, Steph and Kate were part of when Rebirth started.

Batman and the Outsiders The team book Cass graduates too, after Tynion’s run on Tec is finished and Hill does an arc of groundwork. (Sadly not included in this trade, but I think it summarises the events pretty well.) If you too were pining for Cass and Duke bonding, this is the book for you.

Batwoman: The Many Arms of Death And this is where Kate went! Great writing, gorgeous arc, beautiful UST with Julia Pennyworth and a brand new frenemy.

Wonder Woman: The Lies Rucka revamps Diana in Rebirth.

Adventures of the Super Sons

Supergirl: Reign of Cyborg Superman Orlando’s Supergirl is very charming, and I think it’s a great way for someone to transition from the show to the comics.

Superman: Action Comics Clark and Lois try to raise their son in a universe that doesn’t belong to them, uncomfortably stepping into the roles of their dead counterparts.

Green Lanterns Simon Baz and Jessica Cruz make the most poignant, hilarious buddy cops.

Young Justice The gang is back together, and they’re drawn by Kris Anka!

Shade, the Changing Girl I’m running out of steam here but just trust me on this

Elseworlds:

DC Elseworlds: Justice League Look, I’m maingly reccing this for Elseworld’s Finest: Supergirl and Batgirl and Justice Riders, which they have very wisely featured on the cover.

DC Comics Bombshells What if a pulpy WWII AU focusing primarily on women that’s gay as hell.

Bombshells United A continuation that introduces the Wonder Girls, Dawnstar and Black Canary.

DC: The New Frontier Darwyn Cooke’s reimagining of the Silver Age.

Gotham City Garage Post-apocalyptic biker AU in which Kara and Babs are sisters and Barda has a mohawk. Not as gay as Bombshells, unfortunately.

The Legends of Wonder Woman A delight re-imagining of Diana’s origin story.

Sensation Comic Featuring Wonder Woman An out-of-universe anthology series. This only collects the first five issues, but look, one of them’s got Oracle in it.

Vertigo:

Sandman: Preludes and Nocturnes I don’t know what makes the thirtieth anniversary edition different but I sure did buy it anyway. (Tragically, the originally run of Lucifer isn’t also on sale but look....still worth it.)

The Dreaming Don’t read the description if you haven’t finished Sandman and want to avoid spoilers.

Swamp Thing by Brian K. Vaughan Starring Tefé Holland. the daughter of Swamp Thing and Abigail Arcane, struggling to figure out just what kind of person she wants to be.

#comics #comic recs

17 notes · View notes

dailyaudiobible · 4 years ago

Text

02/11/2021 DAB Transcript

Exodus 32:1-33:23, Matthew 26:69-27:14, Psalms 33:1-11, Proverbs 8:33-36

Today is the 11th day of February welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian it is an honor and a privilege, it is a joy to come in out of the cold and come around the Global Campfire together with you and just let it go, let any…any of the things that are pulling us in all kinds of negative directions just let them go for a minute and let this be an oasis for God's word, for the Scriptures to be read and for us to bring them into our minds and hearts. I will say it probably 100 times before this year’s over. I mean we don't have to drag the anxiety in here. This is a safe place. We’re here together. We’re here together for one reason. We don’t have to guard ourselves. We’re here together for one reason, to hear the Scriptures. We can go back into the anxiety when we’re done, We can even amp it up. We can leave here as if it doesn't matter and go right back and pick all that up or maybe we can catch our breath in here and maybe we can go back out into the world with a renewed perspective and that happens more than it doesn’t. And, so, let’s just let go, whatever’s going on. We just have a few minutes. We can take a break. If we want all that anxiousness, if we want all that depression, we can go pick it back up. But we can let go while we’re in here and see what God does through His…His word today. So, we’re reading from the Christian Standard Bible this week going back to the book of Exodus and God has been meeting with Moses on the top of Mount Sinai. He has been laying out the expectations and weaving together the tapestry of a culture that will be formed out of these former slaves who…who are Hebrew people. He’s reforming them and the people have been all around the mountain freaking out. Moses has been gone a long time up in the clouds, the…the glory of the Lord upon the mountain. And, so, they don't know what's going on. And we’re gonna see…we’re gonna some things today that shouldn't have happened and we’re going to see ourself in those things. Exodus chapters 32 and 33 today.

Commentary:

Okay. So, in the book of Exodus, the story of the golden calf, that's a pretty famous story. And so…well…chances are we've encountered it in one way or another before. This happens because Moses has been gone too long in the presence of God hearing from the Lord what he, you know, how to lead the people and what the expectations are, all the stuff that we’ve been reading for the last several days. Meanwhile this…this whole thing takes 40 days, and the people are down around the mountain going, “whatever happened Moses?” And “where do we go from here because we don't know what happened to him?” And, so, they decide to make a god, the gods for themselves to lead them forward and leave Moses behind. And, so, they commission Aaron. And we know this will story. Then God tells Moses to go down and Moses goes down and he throws down the tablets and they shatter, and this visually represents the breaking, like almost the instantaneous breaking of the covenant, the breaking of the law of the expectations of God. And he confronts the people about their idol worship. He confronts his brother Aaron about their idol worship. Aaron does all this whole back side-stepping blurring of the whole situation that we’ve probably seen so many times in our lives or even done so many times in our lives. Aaron is directly confronted about what he has participated in and he’s like, “what? How? You know. What? You know how these people are. You know how they are. And I don't really know what I did wrong. I just told them give me all your jewelry and I threw it over here in the fire and out came this idol and so we worshiped it”, which of course…I mean…it’s like, “dude couldn’t you’ve…you don't think very quickly on your feet do you? Like we can all see through this.” And Moses is just exasperated. He has been in the presence of God receiving this revelation about this people and formation. And, so, it's like quite a contrast to come down off the mountain and see what's going on. So, he grinds up the…the golden calf and everybody has to drink the water that it's poured into and then Moses goes back up onto the mountain and it gets really interesting because Moses is back up on the mountain kinda changed. Like he knows how ornery and rebellious these people are. He's one of them. He knows, but it’s like things just went to a new level. God has done so many miraculous things to rescue and protect this people. And they are around this mountain that God is descended upon and spoken. Like they’ve heard the voice of God at this mountain. It terrified them to the point that they asked Moses to be the spokesman for God and not God be the spokesman for God. So, they know God is upon this mountain and they know Moses is upon this mountain. So, Moses is back up on the mountain and God is like, “I'm not gonna go with you. It’s time…you need to lead to people but I'm not going to go so I don't destroy the people.” This is like a whole change in complexion for Moses where he's realizing deeply the gravity of the situation. He's realizing for himself no matter how good of a leader he might be and no matter how revered he may be, he's got almost 0% chance of success. Like if God doesn't go this is not gonna work knows it. So, he's pleading and asking like, “if you don't want to go then just take me out of the story altogether because there's no way.” And Moses says something really really riveting that we should be saying and meditating upon. He says, “you said” so, he's speaking to God, “you said I know you by name.” In other words, Moses is saying, “you told me you knew who I was. And you also told me that you found favor with me. So, if indeed I have found favor with you” and I'm quoting here, “please teach me your ways and I will know you so that I might find favor with you.” God's response to that is “my presence will go with you and I will give you rest.” May we remember that as we go out into the chaos of the day. Like if we’re gonna pick all that stuff up we were just talking about at the beginning, may we remember Moses and his leadership here. We don't have a grandstander, we don't have an arrogant person, we don't have a power-hungry person here and Moses. We’re seeing a leadership style here in the Scriptures as we see the posture of Moses. And Moses is a human being and has done all kinds of things including asking God to send somebody else, but here we are. We've gone through all that, and now Moses reaches this point where he realizes very clearly, there really is no other way to lead or navigate life without an acute awareness of the utter dependence that we have on God. And when we acknowledge that then we are surrendering our own power and control into the hands of the Almighty knowing that there is no other way. And God responds, “my presence will go with you and I will give you rest.” May we remember that today.

Prayer:

Holy Spirit come into that. When we surrender it feels counterintuitive because it feels like we have to put our hope and trust outside of what we can control or speculate or see it forces us into this other realm called faith, that we believe in what we can’t see or prove, that we believe in Your power, that You are mighty to save and we are not. We need to know this. We need to live this. It could rescue us from so much damage. So, come Holy Spirit and help us learn to surrender. Help of us learn to acknowledge You in all things as we are seeing built into this culture may we find all of the things that will continually remind us of Your goodness and make them a part of our practice as we are continually reminded of who we are, Your children, and who You are, the most-high God and where we are going -wherever You go where all things are made new. Come Holy Spirit we pray in Jesus name, we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com, that is home base, that is that where you find out what's going on around here and how to get connected and how to find the resources that are available that surround this journey through the Bible that we are on. So, check that out. Of course, if you have the Daily Audio Bible app then you can check most of these things out as well said, so, indeed do that.

One thing that's in the app or on the web would be the Community section. This is where to begin to get connected. This is where the Prayer Wall lives. This is where we can always reach out to each other and reach back to each other. Also in the Community section are different links of places to be connected on social media. So, check that out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible in the mission that we share collectively to do what we’re doing and bring God's spoken word read fresh every day and offered to anyone who will listen anywhere any time then to build community around that so that we’re never alone and we’re aware of that, clearly aware of that. If that has been a life-giving source to you than thank you for your partnership. There’s a link on the homepage at dailyaudiobible.com. If you’re using the app you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner, or the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement, you can hit the Hotline button in the app, which is the little red button at the top or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi, everyone it's Christy and this is Tim from Kentucky. We wanted to call and let you know that we are keeping each of you in our prayers as we hear your prayer requests and I just want to say as special hello to Abigail and Desiree in Golden. I just want you to know that we have been listening and praying along with you and your names are just etched on my heart lately, just such young people with so much faithfulness to call in and we thank you so very much and will be praying for each of you. Also, I just want to let Tiffany know that we will be praying for you and Tom and also for Emily. Just all of your calls were so heartfelt. And we want you to know that your family, your DAB family is lifting you up in prayer. Also, Kingdom Seeker Daniel, brother we are praying for you. You and your wife are so very special and just praying for your children and we too are battling some issues with my husband's children. So, we understand, and we are praying for you. Also, if you would please keep Chris Thurston’s family in your prayers Pam Carlyle’s family in your prayers, Gene and also Dottie one of the ladies from our church. We…we've had to say goodbye to four of those in the past month. And, so, if you would, we'd ask you to pray for them and I just thank you for that. They’re now home with Jesus. I just wanted to ask for your prayers. Alright everyone. We love you so much and we pray each of you are having a most blessed and lovely day.

Hi, everyone it's Desiree. I called in January regarding about my mother with the drug addiction. I want to thank all…all of you guys who have been praying for my mother. She is still the same. I’ve been getting…I've been listening to all the prayers that you guys have done they melt my heart. And I want to say thank you to all of you guys, even though you may not call, thank you though for keeping Her and I in your hearts Lord. I'm thanking the Lord for all that. So, after I submitted my video, I just want to say she…after some of your prayers that you've done, she called after 8 months of not knowing what was going on with her. So, that was a big crazy time for us. And with all that's been going on though I want to say that you guys hit it right on the nail. I mean, my life has been so much better living here with my aunt and uncle. My grades are good. I'm an A, B student A+ B+ student. I still have problems with school you know that teenage little attitude. So…so, I just…I'm getting to know God so much more than I've known before. And I just want to say that’s thanks to my parents…well…my adopted parents but it's all because of them and mostly because of God. So, I just want to say thank you to all of you guys that have been praying for us and I love you guys and I'll be listening to you guys and I just want to say I'm praying for you guys as well, who have been having problems. So…

Hi, this message is for Tyler from the February 8th podcast of the Daily Audio Bible. My name is Jessica from __ California and I just wanted to say a prayer for you. You said that you've been praying because you have a pitiful spirit. And I just wanted to let you know or share that God's been working with me lately. Those are thoughts from the enemy and every time I think about, you know, I need to lose weight or condemn myself for eating something or not exercising enough, God's been just having me repeat this over and over again when one of those thoughts comes in my head. He has me say, “thank you God for just the way I am. Thank you God for just the way I am.” And I know it sounds kinda silly but actually it's only been less than a week and these thoughts are coming less and less into my mind. So, you know, I know it's hard to love ourselves sometimes and the enemy really can get ahold of us but just know that Jesus loves you so much and you're not a beautiful spirit. You are fearfully and wonderfully made. And I know people have told me that before and I'm like, “sure, sure. Easy for you to say.” But really, just believe it and just like right now actually have…I have a sheet covering my mirror, so I don't look at myself, I don't judge myself every day. I know it kind of sounds weird, but he really just has me trusting him and saying, “thank you God for just the way I am. Thank you God for just the way I am.” So, I encourage you Tyler that God loves you just the way you are, and you should be thankful for it. In Jesus’ name I pray.

This is Dave from the United States calling. This prayer call is for Haneron from New Zealand. Once I heard your call it stopped me in my tracks. You've been through some tough times. You've had the strength to call in and ask for prayer. And in detail you asked for a covering. I will be covering. This family, Daily Audio Bible will be your covering and the Holy Spirit will be your covering. I pray that you continue to call in anytime that you need strength from your covering. We will be here. And anytime give this family a call. Someone on this planet will be praying for you. I'm going to commit to a day to pray and fast for you and your family and the Holy Spirit be there for you. Thank you so much for calling and giving me the opportunity to ask our savior to pray and cover you and keep you…keep you covered as your request is.

Hi DAB family this is triple T calling to encourage those of you today who are longing for a spouse, longing for a child, longing for friendships just to be surrounded by love in a like tangible way. I know leading up to Valentine's Day and that time frame is always quite difficult on people. I have many people in my life who are struggling and just want to encourage you guys, just press into the Lord and to seek Him and just to keep going after Him and letting him be or strength, your love, you're all in all. In psalms 34 17 and 18 it says the righteous cry out and the Lord hears them. He delivers them from all their troubles. The Lord is close to the broken hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. So, Lord we just come to You right now. God, I thank You for these men and women across the globe. God You see their hearts, You hear the cry of their hearts Lord longing for a spouse, longing for a child, longing for a friend that they can walk through life with. God we just pray that You would open the doors of opportunity, Lord that You would give men wives and give women husbands Lord Jesus and give them together children Lord Jesus, that You would bring friendships that are unified Lord and strong and growing and encouraging and accountable Lord and just pressing into You God. Through all these things and their waiting in Your time and God we know Your timing is perfect. May You give them the strength to continue, may they press into You even more. Lord Jesus may You be their everything. All that they are, all that they have Lord may they press into You. We love You, we glorify Your name Jesus, for in Your name we pray all these things. Blessings and love. Bye.

Good morning DAB family this is Doctor John in Illinois good this morning I was listening to the prayers and I hear Greg from Washington. Brother it’s hard to hear all your troubles in your families but I guess what I hear…what I hear most of all is your love for your family and your concern. Again, your honestness and your contriteness is what I hear more than anything. And I want to read to you, this is psalms 57:15. For thus says the one who is high lifted up who inhabits eternity whose name is holy, I dwell in a high and holy place had also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit to revive the spirit of the lowly and to revive the heart of the contrite. Just know brother that He hears here. The word says there's nothing outside His hand. There's nothing He doesn't see or touch or hear. And Father I pray for my brother right now for Greg and for all these Lord that petition you for their families. Lord would you woo their hearts. Just know brother that there's a lot of people, a lot of brothers and sisters in this group, in this family, this wonderful family that are praying and believing for you that God will make a way for you. So, I pray, God bless you. Keep your head up and trust in God. Wait on the Lord and be of good courage for He strengthens your heart.

2 notes · View notes

chenfordfeels · 5 years ago

Text

The Rookie 2x05

Henry getting engaged surprised me. Don't get me wrong I am happy that he found someone he wants to share his life with at such a young age and clearly he is a romantic just like his father but he is way too young. I'm in my early 20s and I can't imagine giving up a transatlantic trip (he wants to visit Europe) to be engaged. In my opinion, they could have waited a few years and after graduating they could do it but to be engaged and then married by June, seems way too fast!

We haven't seen Jessica in a couple of episodes unlike Grace who as John said is "the angel over his shoulder". The fact that he went to her and trusted her with the dilemma of learning about Abigail's past is concerning. Yes, she has a kid. Yes, they've known each other longer. But it feels to me like an issue you trust your partner with and not a long lost love, you haven't seen in 20 years...

I still love Nyla! She is such an interesting and complex character and her dynamic with John is great. He is unrelenting and won't stop getting his nose into her business but that is what makes him endearing and we can see that she is warming up to him, slowly but steadily.

Abigail's background is so sad. No one should go through that but it is positive that she didn't try to hide it from Henry, was upfront about it with John and was willing to move past it. I'm still not a 100% certain where I stand with her. She seems like a nice girl but I'm a bit suspicious. Things are moving too fast.

Angela advocating for Jackson, having his back and helping him get in short sleeves was heartwarming. I love how all the rookies have completely different relationships with their T.O.s. I think that Jackson might actually need to see a therapist, Lucy's mom seemed to help him and it wasn't even a proper session. I was glad to see him finally win something after all those episodes of being put down!

The chenford content has been considerably dialed down, which is good because I don't have to make my reviews two parts, but it still hurts!

We've made so much progress only to take two steps back...

However, Jackson gave a few words of wisdom which I'm choosing to interpret as positive for chenford happening in the future.

Advice No1: "You are in need of a grown man." So apparently Lucy has been dating random guys who are completely disappointing and what she needs is someone who knows what they want, who is stable and financially secure, who she can talk to about everything, someone mature. Did someone say Tim Bradford? Oh yeah, I did!

Advice No2: "Baby steps." When Lucy stared longingly at what Henry and Abigail have, she says that she wants to be happy like that and Jackson answers that it is too early yet. In my ears it means that both Tim and Lucy need time but they will eventually be together!

Advice No3: Her only serious relationship was with John and that was because it was safe and would never work out. To me it sounds like Lucy is not ready yet to commit to a serious relationship and that she needs to solve some of her own relationship issues before she settles down with someone AKA Tim Bradford.

I might be reaching here but I'm desperate! Okay?

As always leave your comments down below! Interacting with fellow shippers or fans of the show in general is amazing!

#chenford #tucy #tim x lucy #tim bradford #lucy chen #angela lopez #jackson west #nyla harper #john nolan #the rookie abc #the rookie #season 2 #episode 5 #review

17 notes · View notes

j-whirl44 · 4 years ago

Text

it’s perfectly fine to like your hand inside of mine.

Hey all !!!

New episode this week yay ! Hope y’all didn’t freak out too hard over the delay!

Again here to bother you with my weekly drabble.

I explored an ace Jon and his thought process, because isn’t it all about self-projection all the time?

and i sprinkled a little JonTim in here for good measure bc why not.

as always you can read this on AO3: (x)

enjoy!

*General season 5 spoilers also ?*

For so long, Jon didn’t have a name to put what he felt into words. It started when he was around fifteen, all his friends started to pair off with each other, dating, having sex, leaving Jon behind. It didn’t bother him too much, he just wasn’t interested at the time, and he thought that maybe, in time, he’d catch up to them.

But he never really did.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. There was a girl in his class, Abigail, who had asked him to the school dance. She was pretty and popular, so he agreed. He had a good enough time with her and she was genuinely nice, but at the end of the night when she tried to push it a bit further, Jon made an excuse, saying he couldn’t because he had to get back to his grandmother. They didn’t see each other after that, which was probably for the best.

Then in uni, there was Mark. Looking back, Jon thinks that they were probably more of an experiment for each other. Two kids fresh out of lower level schooling away from a strict watchful eye. Jon knew at that point he liked men romantically, that wasn’t the issue it was more the execution of it that was the problem. He had spent a lot of nights with Mark trying to make it work, but in the end it didn’t. That split was a little less amicable than the one with Abigail. He had to spend the rest of a semester with the heat of Mark’s glare at his back in class. Jon felt terrible about it some days, he wished he could be able to just do the damn thing, if to just make it easier on everyone else. He was tired of feeling like a burden.

He didn’t put words to it until he met Georgie. A spunky girl in one of his writing classes. Jon was in awe about how utterly fearless she seemed, about anything. She’d mouth off to the professor if she didn’t agree with what he said. Her hair was constantly dyed different colors. Jon was secretly smitten and he wished he was as cool as her.

So he was properly thrown when she asked him out. She had a friend in a band, because of course she did, who was playing a gig at a local pub. He accepted and Jon had never felt as nervous as he did getting ready for that date. He spent hours in the mirror as he tried on at least ten different outfits.

The show was fun and the pints of beer he consumed helped calm his nerves. Georgie’s place was within walking distance of the pub, so there they stood awkwardly outside her door. Jon wanted to do something, say something to her, but his mouth was dry. She didn’t offer him to come in, but she did kiss him. Said she’d see him in class. Jon smiled all the way home.

They got comfortable in each other's company. Georgie didn’t so much as push Jon out of his comfort zone, but gently guided him along. He felt safe, which is why when Georgie tried to move a little further, Jon shut down.

He was frozen, unresponsive to her touches. His skin crawled and he felt cold. He’s experienced this before, the panic attacks, in a variety of different situations. He was embarrassed to be having one in front of her, but as always, she seemed to know exactly what to do to bring him from the ledge. When he calmed down, that’s when he told her. About how he really, really , liked her, but not like that. How it made him feel lost and hopeless, to not want sex. Made him feel broken. She held his hand through it all and never took her eyes off him. He cried, mostly out of frustration and confusion.

That’s when she told him what being asexual was. That he wasn’t broken because he didn’t want sex. That he’s been a wonderful partner to her these past weeks and that they didn’t have to do anything Jon didn’t want, because he deserved that respect.

Jon smiled as she started to rant about all the things good about him, she might have been going a bit overboard, but it did make him feel better. That might have been the moment he started to fall in love with her. As well as anyone in their early twenties could fall in love with someone.

Of course, they didn’t last. It wasn’t anything horrible. It was mostly because Georgie got an internship at a big production company across the country and she had to move. She hadn’t ever been one to stay in one place for too long, Jon knew. Regardless, they agreed to stay friends and he was thankful for that.

He didn’t really try to date after that. There were a few people he went on one or two dates with, but honestly his life got so busy with his new job at The Magnus Institute, he didn’t really care.

That’s where he met Tim, and that was just a laughable miscommunication. Jon was so oblivious he didn’t realize it was supposed to be a date until Tim kissed him at the end, not that Jon was necessarily mad about it. Tim was conventionally attractive and certainly had everyone swoon over him at one point or another.

He started to stutter after the kiss, explaining he was ace and not interested in that with anyone and he apologized if Tim expected anything much further. Tim blinked in response but then just shrugged and quickly kissed Jon again. He thanked Jon for telling him and laughed at the misunderstanding. They did try in earnest to go on a few dates after that, but nothing of note came from it. If anything it just helped them grow close as friends. Sometimes, Jon even helped as Tim’s wingman and similarly, if anyone tried to get too handsy with Jon, Tim would step in and send them on their way.

Then the promotion came, and Jon had even less time to think about anything else. The state of disarray Gertrude left for him occupied his time. Then the trivial problem of a messy archive bloomed into trying to stop the apocalypse, and then, of course, that led to accidentally starting a different apocalypse.

He had Martin though. Jon thinks maybe one of the reasons he fell in love with Martin was because they didn’t have time to slow down and try to be intimate, one of the perks of having something always trying to kill you, he supposed. Plus, Martin was Martin and he was too aware of other’s feelings to push anything. So when Jon came out to him, he didn’t bat an eye, he didn’t pull away. He just said “okay” and “that’s fine.” Nothing between them really changed and Jon breathed a real breath for the first time in what seemed like ages. He started to kiss Martin more openly after that, the fear of expectation for more squashed and dead. He held Martin as he squirmed through the nightmares on their small bed in Scotland.

Regardless of what’s brought him here, Jon knows he’s lucky to have found people like Georgie, like Tim, like Martin, who loved him in a way he didn’t think was possible for him. There were a lot of things Jon was unsure about, especially now, but this wasn’t one of them.

#i wrote this.#Jonathan Sims #the magnus archives #canon asexual character #:')

10 notes · View notes

arealexpression · 4 years ago

Text

The way Tim characterizes his relationship with Danny makes him come off as an indulgent parent. He refers to Danny as “my little brother” three times in his statement, and his tone throughout is mildly bitter. Tim says he was “just proud” of Danny, even though he believes “a lot of people in [his] situation would have been jealous.” This remark suggests to me that while Tim might not have envied Danny his lifestyle, he still perceived a social difference between his “quiet” publishing job and his brother’s gallivanting.

For Tim, the bitterness doesn’t stem from considering his position inferior to Danny’s. Rather, it is born of past frustration. I presume he tried not to express annoyance with Danny so as to avoid hurting him, but this old hangup rears its ugly head as he tells Martin about Danny’s “projects,” how they “made [him] smile,” how he encouraged them despite never sharing in the joy.

I am not saying Tim didn’t love Danny. It is clear to me he loved his brother above all else. He was content with his own life because he was happy for his brother; he wanted nothing more than for Danny to thrive. Tim was proud of Danny, and there was no way his indecisiveness could have stopped Tim loving him. He adored his little brother. That’s why he would’ve preferred Danny stick to a more sedate existence, such as settling down with their friend Abigail. He wanted Danny to be safe.

Danny’s untimely death and the horrifying circumstance around it deeply scarred Tim. The revelation of his imprisonment by the institute is merely a catalyst for renewed grief. His anger is not about Jon. Not really. It’s about Danny.

This is why I think Tim sounds indulgent. When admitting to Martin that he “should have called the police” instead of following Danny to the scene of his murder, he says matter-of-factly, “There was never really any hope for me, though, was there? This was how it was always going to go.” Tim’s whole world revolved around Danny. The two may not have spent every waking moment together, but Tim was always mindful of his little brother. He didn’t need a poster to remind him of his love for Danny.

Ever since he became trapped in the archives, Tim can no longer deny his anger at the thing that stole his brother from him. As the one who ushered him into the theater, Jon represents everything Tim hates and fears. But if he is to overcome his impotence, Tim will have to muster his courage and take the first step onto that bleak stage. His very soul depends on it.

#the magnus archives #MAG104 #sneak preview #tim stoker #danny stoker #jon sims

3 notes · View notes

authordanaelsamms · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter One

Every woman longs for an uninterrupted stretch of peace. That’s what makes death so inviting. Most of her life, Persephone felt the call of eternal sleep. It lingered in a secret corner of her heart like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

As she stood on the front steps, a silent call echoed to her over the pasture. Any other warm afternoon, she might find herself walking to the cemetery and sitting under the lone oak tree there. She might slip her hands from her mitts and pull her skirts up over her knees while she sat between familiar tombstones. On these visits, the itch gnawed harder.

Envy flowed in her blood for each of them.

Perseus, Helen, Missy, Mother.

The names carved into flat stone waited that day for her flowers and visit. Someday eternal visit. Until then, her best relief came in the time she spent quietly beside them.

Persephone relished her moments alone. Picturing the narrow path down the hill, over the pasture gate, between the trees, and across the meadow. Her mind carried her to the patchwork graveyard. The only other presence was the wind shaking the limbs of the trees and washing over her skin. For a brief moment that day, she’d found complete tranquility.

Pleasure broke.

A clatter reminded her that she still stood on the front steps. Behind the house, someone had dropped a pan on the stone floor of the kitchen. Frustrated shouts echoed with the rising heat and hurry. There was too much work left and too little time for error.

There would be no walk that afternoon. Her grassy throne of tangled tree roots would have to wait. Guests were coming, and she needed to find Abigail.

Like any other sunny afternoon, Abigail would be working in the herb garden. The midsummer warmth offered too many blooms, leaves, and roots that required plucking. No doubt most of Abigail’s night would go to laying out a collection of gathered herbs to dry before grinding what she’d gathered the day before.

Near her garden, Father once built a private shed for Abigail’s work. In past years, it was filled to the brim with requests from family and neighbors for pain relievers or any sort of wild remedy. Any spare jar from the kitchen and pantry were toted into the little room to be filled with blackberry leaves or geranium oil. When Persephone was small, Abigail teased her about being a witch, but even then she knew it was a joke.

“That’s how I got my eyes. I stole them from a lady who didn’t believe in my powers.”

When she was four, Persephone’s head only just reached the windowsill. The shade of the one room shed offered a breeze and relief from hot afternoons, and the sweet scent from Abigail’s work was too inviting to ignore.

“Then why do you travel so often with Dr. Abbott?” she’d ask from the doorway.

“Who do you think taught him to be a doctor?”

Even as the demand for her work had declined, sweet aromas still drifted from Abigail’s shed. A garden that once saw vines and flowers spilling over its white fence lay half empty in recent years. Tonics and teas that used filled shelves were confined to a single chest.

Occasionally, a neighbor might send word for black cohosh or white snakeroot. Yet the current requests for remedies did not match what was requested ten years before. Not after the work of God was blamed on a house slave.

With the bone poking through her worn stays and into her back, Persephone rounded the opposite side of the house. Out of sight of the herb garden, she made her way to the barn. She told herself a couple minutes could be spared inside it. After resting his leg away from the heat, Cerberus would be ready to join the others in the pasture. Persephone was duty bound to tend to him herself.

In the late afternoon, all was quiet. A soft breeze flowed through the stable’s open doors. Extra trees encircled the building, blocking out some of the heat. Between the soft wind and the shade, it was one of the coolest places on Oakwood during the summer. In the winter, with trees breaking the wind and livestock filling every stall, it was one of the warmest.

An old mare was the only horse inside besides Cerberus. His chestnut head ducked over the stall when Persephone entered. He let out a soft nicker when she approached. If one being was ever permitted to join her solitude, it was the gelding.

Loneliness shared by the two of them was heaven. That afternoon, the heaven was being rocked by a loud and persistent pest. The shaded stable was usually clear of flies, but one large, black annoyance kept passing Persephone’s cheek and narrowly missing her hair.

She shouted in frustration and swooped to miss the horsefly. The commotion drew the attention of one of Father’s recent hires. Persephone collected herself and pretended not to notice him.

Run down frontiersmen and those looking to avoid the law often found work from Mr. Nicholas. Usually three or four of them appeared in a year on Oakwood. A few returned more than once if they needed the work. Not only did they guard the biggest loads sent to market, but on occasion they could be rather convincing to anyone who might pose a problem.

All of them knew to stay out of the way of the plantation’s routine. And each was smart enough to stay clear of Persephone. The money from Mr. Nicholas was too good to make him angry by approaching his daughter. For any reason. The man near the barn was a regular of the odd hires, and Persephone always pretended not to notice him. Yet his language was not lost on her.

The fly swooped again. She swatted the air, but it took no interest in leaving her for the horses. Finally, it made the mistake of landing. In a loud crack of wood against wood, Persephone’s riding crop smashed the horsefly in a blundering heap against the stall.

“Deserving shit,” she whispered to the splattered body as she strode by.

Abigail’s salve had done its work. The nick to Cerberus’ fur had been small, most likely a scruff with another horse in the pasture, but it still drew the attention of his lady. For two days she shooed away help from the stable hands and leaned over his long legs to wash and tend the wound.

His leg was healed and coat in no need of grooming. Out of ideas for delays, and the bone still poking her back, Persephone gave in. The horses were put out, and she turned back to the house.

Abigail was almost hidden in her garden. A week before, she’d brought a sprout from the woods and replanted it. Only her straw hat was visible over the short fence as she crouched to examine the patch's newest addition.

Her dedication to wearing the hat sealed the youth on her face. Long walks to gather plants and hours with her mortar and pestle kept her body slim and strong. Persephone remembered running to Abigail’s side and seeing the same, youthful face since she could walk. Any time not spent with her plants and salves was devoted to caring for Persephone. As Persephone passed into adulthood, she still lingered at Abigail’s side and followed her direction.

“It’s still set on poking me to death,” she said from the gate. Beneath her dress, her old stays were wearing thin. In the center of her back, a pointed piece of whalebone poked through the fabric and irritated her skin.

“I told you it would,” Abigail kept her eyes on the lacy white flowers.

Manure and dust kissed the edges of Persephone’s dress. Yet in the garden she took care not to run her hem in the dirt. At least not in front of Abigail.

“You also said you’d fix it.”

“I mentioned attempting to fix your stays were there time.”

“Is there?”

“Probably not.” At last she turned to Persephone, blue eyes shining from the shade of her hat. “Not since you’ve checked every corner of the house for dirt and been to the barn twice.”

Persephone smiled back at her.

“My other stays don’t fit properly under the blue dress,” Persephone lingered at the gate, aimlessly brushing dirt from her mitts, “and Father told me to wear that one.”

“It brings out your eyes.”

“I’d rather wear the purple. That one fits better and matches the other stays.”

In her opinion, none of the colors matched her raven black hair, but that was her curse for bearing the last name Nicholas. Almost daily she found herself longing for soft blonde curls like her cousins. At twenty, the hopeless wish remained.

Abigail’s fingerings brushed the soft yellow petals of a flower, “Tell me what this is.”

“You call it a piss daisy,” Persephone replied.

“I’m the only one who does.”

Quizzing Persephone on plants and their uses was routine. For the life of her, none of the information stayed in her head very long. None of the information Abigail asked, that is. She examined the clipping and noted the purple coneflower, for colds, and the common chamomile, but that was not the bloom in question.

“It’s poisonous,” she said after a moment.

“Anything can be a poison if you use it right.”

That basic answer was usually adequate. Another tediously long stretch of seconds passed as she focused hard on the yellow flower.

“Father takes it for the pain in his hand.”

“Arnica,” Abigail explained as she collected her basket. “For some pains, and yes, like almost any herb taken in excess, it can be lethal.”

“I was half right.”

“For anything,” she chuckled. “Salt might kill a man if he had enough.”

Persephone blanched at the thought and turned toward the house.

“Will you please help me now?”

“The Tanners will be here soon,” Abigail led them through the back door. “I doubt that’s enough time to fix those stays and see you dressed. You’ll just have to wear the purple one.”

John Nicholas had been too old to fight the French, and in his own opinion, too young to call himself old. Two years after the war ended, he still refused to be considered old. Yet anyone else would certainly use the word old to describe him.

His hair had peppered quickly. Though wiry, it remained thick and tamed. Crow’s feet were rooted in the corners of his eyes and echoed across his face to the beginnings of other wrinkles. Permanent frown lines met them. Despite the weathered evidence of time, most could only see his eyes. They were bright blue, like Persephone’s, like all his children once had.

Those shining eyes were never happy. Disgust and frustration were his chief emotions. Both fought for first when Persephone arrived downstairs in crisp, lace mitts and her purple gown.

A plain looking carriage rolled to a stop by the open door, giving Father only enough time for a sigh of exasperation. Persephone turned to greet their guests with a warm smile.

She began the night ahead in their unspoken game and planned to stay there. Starting the evening in a dress of her choice and not her father’s was a perfectly executed move. Enough smartly accomplished moves in a night would bring a victory enjoyed only in the quiet recesses of her mind.

Samuel Tanner emerged from the carriage and offered a hand to his wife. While neither of them were as advanced as her father, both were old enough to pass as a parental figure. A simple glance to Margaret Tanner would prove they were only friends and not family. The dissimilar appearance to Mr. Tanner confirmed it.

In his successful years of breeding and training horses, Samuel was not a poor man. His wardrobe didn’t show it. While he did not dress plainly, he still did not see that night as an excuse to dress well. Persephone didn’t recall a single occasion when Mr. Tanner dressed as finely as her father. Mr. Tanner’s clothes were clean, but a wealthy man would consider them only for barn use. Most often, they were.

Mrs. Tanner more than made up for both of them with her extravagance. More than a fair share of allowance had been spent on ribbons and wigs and fine silks. It was rumored one gown came from Paris, but the gossips had no proof. Mrs. Tanner never rebuked them. Jealous whispers of her fine clothes were better than hushed judgements of her heritage.

Only Father had been silent about their marriage. Eyes still turned at Sam Tanner’s choice of wife. Neighbors whispered, “wild savage” when the fuss of her ribbons died down. But Mrs. Tanner had grown up in petticoats and buckled shoes just like the rest of them.

Whenever whispers turned from jealousy of her dresses or trimmings back to her skin and dark hair, a new piece of finery made an appearance. New rumors of her wealth quickly took front stage, and Margaret silently reveled in them.

To the neighbors scattered across the Virginia frontier, Mrs. Tanner dressed and held herself like royalty. Most of them claimed an entire bedroom was devoted to her petticoats and stockings, though no one who said it had ever set foot in her house. Whether they saw her as a friend or kept a secret hatred for her, she saw herself above them. Even on the Oakwood plantation, her ascension from the carriage was that of a queen.

“John,” Samuel nodded at the door. “Thank you for having us again.”

“Always a pleasure,” Father gave a polite bow. “Mrs. Tanner. You’ve both met Persephone.”

Persephone curtsied, letting her skirts shimmer for Mrs. Tanner to see. She gave a nod of approval.

“It’s been a while, but it’s always wonderful to see you.”

“You as well, Mrs. Tanner.”

“Please, call me Margaret.” She gave Persephone a genuine smile and bounced her plucked eyebrows. With another man joining the party shortly, they both knew they were outnumbered. The thought of friendly conversation between ladies promised for a more enjoyable evening.

Having no children, Margaret had kept her figure. Father noticed it, and Persephone noticed him. Once their guests had passed them into the house, she shot him a look of displeasure. He glared back.

Persephone pulled further ahead.

They moved inside to the only painted room in the house. Soft blue paint made the walls more presentable for guests, while reminding them they were in a Nicholas home. The large, square table was set. Porcelain and candlesticks were precisely aligned for the rare use of the room.

Most evenings, Persephone and her father didn’t even eat together. If he was working, or pretending to work, a tray was brought to Mr. Nicholas in his study. With no one else around, Persephone ate with Abigail in the kitchen. Even on a warm day she preferred the hot kitchen to any meal with her father.

Through the window, another carriage could be seen rolling in. Mr. Savidge had arrived.

Persephone sighed in annoyance. The old man spoke so loud and so often, any other conversation was difficult to be had. To her relief, Margaret took a seat across the table from her. The evening would be much more agreeable with Mrs. Tanner close enough to speak to. Father took his place to Persephone’s right at the head of the table, making conversation harder.

A loud thud announced Abe Savidge had entered the front door. The end of the cane pounded against the wooden floor until he and his companion entered the room.

Like Father, Mr. Savidge had greying hair. Unlike Father, it could not be tamed. That evening it forced its way out from under his messy wig in several places. A simple look in a mirror would tell a gentleman to fix it. Unfortunately for Abe, his eyesight meant every mirror he passed was a blur. Unfortunately for everyone else, age left his standards for gentlemanly behavior quite lax.

“Gentlemen. Ladies.” His voice was rough and matched his unbalanced pace. Every few words were muffled by the thud of his cane as he walked to an empty chair opposite Father. “This is my nephew, Warren. He’s been staying with me lately, learning about the business. I thought he might profit from supping with us tonight.”

The chair beside Persephone was suddenly occupied by a young man just a few years older than her. While some ladies might have called him handsome, she did not. His association with his uncle was enough to give Persephone disinterest. His jackassish airs completely shut him out of any significance to her, formal or otherwise.

“How do you do, Miss Nicholas,” his eyes took in her figure as he sat down. Her spine stiffened at the sight.

“Well, thank you,” Persephone looked across the table for conversation, but Margaret was occupied by her husband. Persephone skimmed over her father; Margaret held his attention as well.

Even with the table leaves extending it to a fuller size, Persephone thought everyone was uncomfortably close. Especially when the young Mr. Savidge glanced her way again. The quick look was anything but proper, and stealthily laid out before anyone else noticed. She imagined stabbing one of those murky eyes with her fork.

To Persephone’s relief, Abigail appeared in the doorway with a bottle of wine in one hand and cider in the other. She cast her a look, begging to be saved. Abigail returned it with a silent nod of sympathy and understanding. Tomorrow Persephone would have the chance to relay the events of the evening, and Abigail’s comments would make them both laugh. She could make it to tomorrow.

“You,” Father interrupted, glaring at Abigail, and pointing to his empty wine glass.

Persephone sighed as Abigail made the rounds. Her evening was not looking much better. Especially not with Warren Savidge as a guest.

“No,” Warren’s hand covered his glass before Abigail could fill it, “Do you have any port?”

“Yes sir, one moment.” She filled the rest of the glasses around the table, saving the cider for Persephone, before slipping back out the door.

“It has been too long since we’ve come by,” Mr. Tanner glanced Persephone’s way. “Miss Nicholas, you have grown into a fine young woman.”

She smiled. The last time the Tanners and Mr. Savidge came to Oakwood, Persephone had been only fifteen. That was just as Father was beginning to walk the rest of the house instead of spending dawn to dusk locked inside of his study. Persephone tried to thank Mr. Tanner, but was cut off.

“Obviously, we need to discuss the Floruitwood estate,” Father’s voice, though gentle at the moment, demanded attention.

“I doubt Parker left you anything, John, it all belongs to his son now,” Mr. Savidge smiled from his end of the table.

Father glared back at him. If his daughter was not making the retort, there was little he could do to stop it. Persephone kept her head down but relished the moment.

“That is exactly the issue,” Father continued, undeterred. “The Parker boy has no understanding of running a trade. He’s hardly a year older than my daughter. If we plan this season well, I think we could drive him out within a year. Maybe two.”

“I’m not sure John. My father left everything to me when I was seventeen.” Mr. Tanner took more interest to his fork than the others. “I hardly had an issue.”

“Weren’t you twenty when Grandfather Nicholas died?”

Persephone knew the answer to her question, but still asked it. Father’s look told her she would pay for the remark, but she encouraged herself it was worth it. Especially with his business partners at the table. He was not catching up in her private game. She felt like a mouse dancing on a rafter in the barn while the cat watched from the hay below.

If they heard her question, none of them showed it.

“The boy is lucky to be handed such a venture, but I doubt he is clueless,” Tanner sighed.

Persephone was curious how losing your parents was considered lucky. Not everyone had a father like hers.

“He might know his plantation,” Father reminded them, “but trade is another matter.”

“Stop badgering, John. Tell us your thoughts.” Gravy landed on Mr. Savidge’s front as he spoke.

“I think we should look to Kingston.”

Suddenly Father was more interesting than Tanner’s fork or Savidge’s food.

“The Parkers have had a monopoly in Kingston since they started planting,” Tanner said. “His grandfather made better trades there than we could match.”

“Since when do you skip a gamble?”

The words left Mr. Tanner silent. Father held his gaze, not regretting his honesty.

“You plan to scare him out of it with your men?” Mr. Savidge smiled from his end of the table. “They cost you too much.”

“Our wagons have always been safe.” Father’s glance told his friend not to mention it again.

Having consumed half her plate, Persephone’s eyes floated about the room for something else to keep her interest. Unfortunately, they met Warren Savidge’s own gaze. Her attention returned promptly to her plate, but she felt his lingering look on her and struggled not to shiver.

“How much of your stock can we count on for transport, Sam?” Mr. Savidge cut a large piece of potato and stuffed it into his mouth. Some of it remained on his chin, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“That’s hard to say,” Mr. Tanner sat up straight. “I’ve kept the usual number aside, but I doubt I can take out more this year.”

“Why is that?” Father said curtly.

“You recommended me to your brother,” Tanner replied. “His crop did well last year and is looking even better this summer. Heavier wagons need a stronger team.”

“He needs that many horses?”

“He does.”

“My brother took an easy route,” Father sawed hard at his meet. “He married into a ridiculous apple fortune. Now he has a mad wife and wild children.”

“The only thing I can image that’s easier is inheriting a tobacco fortune,” Persephone took a sip of her cider. She could hear Father give a sigh. The rest of the table had not seemed to notice. Except for young Mr. Savidge.

He caught Persephone’s gaze with a smirk, pleased with her retort. She scowled back and returned her eyes to her plate.

“His land is worth less than half of mine,” Father grunted. “Even if he’s doing as well as he tells you, Sam, he can’t be making much. There isn’t a point to it. I doubt there’s anything more ridiculous than an apple orchard, except an apple orchard on bad land that hardly brings in a profit. I doubt he paid you what those horses were worth.”

“He paid well enough,” Mr. Tanner replied. “We’ll still have teams we need to transport what we bring in. We’re lucky our guests didn’t make off with them after all else they took.”

“How long did they stay?” Father’s voice changed to a different irritation.

“Only a night. We were lucky. A little farm down the road kept twelve men for the better part of the week. Ours left after breakfast the next day, and only took a few chickens off our hands.”

Quartering soldiers was still new in the area. Thanks to Oakwood’s position on its little hill and distance from the main roads, they had been free of uninvited guests. Yet even at Mr. Tanner and her father’s obvious disdain for the act, her heart skipped at the excitement of strange men wandering into their home for a night.

Any guest, including the Tanners and Savidges, was rare. Persephone longed for the company of a few men even if they were strangers and a bit rough and tumble. Having them arrive after Father’s hatred for them would be a delicious treat.

“I’d hide most of your grain before winter,” Father advised. “That’s when they’ll come through to stay, and only a week of them would be heaven.”

The turn of conversation appeared lost on the aged Mr. Savidge, who chose that moment to ask, “What mighty steeds have you in store for our bounty, Sam?

“Only the best, Abe,” Mr. Tanner smiled in return. “It’s the distance you’re aspiring and the speed that we might not make. Can we get a load cured fast enough?”

“We can,” Father gave a cheeky grin. The others remained on a string of curiosity, and he enjoyed it.

“Do you share your father’s interest in agriculture, Miss Nicholas?” Warren asked undeterred.

“No,” Persephone’s answer was sharp. She had shifted into a daydream of handsome soldiers clad in red and irritating her father while they all drank cider in the same room. The young Mr. Savidge proved quite the opposite, and his disruption in her fantasy only further poked the bear.

“Well,” Tanner broke the short silence, “I doubt your harvest will be ready early enough.”

“How early?” Bits of potato still clung onto Abe Savidge’s chin.

“We won’t need to worry if we use our stores from last year,” Father said. “There’s enough there for at least one load to Kingston. Perhaps two. And that’s enough.”

Persephone watched a trail of wax roll down the side of the candle. Once again, she noticed Margaret. The candle had held most of her attention as well. She smiled at Persephone, sharing in her boredom.

“The quality might be gone after sitting around all these months.” Even with food staining his breast and chin, Mr. Savidge’s mind stayed on alert. “You know better than any of us the art to curing a crop, John.”

“I know a lot more than Parker ever did. Anything his boy offers won’t be nearly as good as ours- whether it’s three years old or fifty.” Father withdrew two vials from the pocket of his waistcoat and passed them to Mr. Tanner. “I sent a boy to Kingston last year for an ounce of Parker tobacco. The other is some of my own crop from the harvest before last.”

The men held the two samples against the light to examine them. They were impressed by the difference. Words were shared of color and scent, all of them passing unnoticed to Persephone as she pushed an unwanted bite of meat across her plate.

A second line of wax made its way down the candlestick. Supper had lasted longer than Persephone liked, and the candle showed it.

“Why don’t we just harvest early? I doubt the buying man would care for the difference between these crops.” Warren Savidge spoke up from his end of the table. Both of the vials had arrived in his hands, and he clearly knew less about them than Persephone.

Dissatisfaction bubbled to Father’s surface. Persephone knew to keep quiet in that moment, and he was left looking for someone to unleash his frustration on. Abe seemed to hardly notice his nephew’s suggestion. Mr. Tanner seemed annoyed, but not nearly as much as his partner.

“Yes, we could,” Mr. Nicholas scolded. “And while we’re at it lose half our profit from not letting the crop grow. Abe, I don’t think your nephew’s retained anything you’ve told him.”

The remark left the young Savidge frowning. As much as Persephone loathed her father’s retorts, she loved hearing them poured onto someone else. Especially someone deserving.

“I see,” Warren muttered. The napkin on his lap became his new focus.

“Yes, thankfully you do. Until you take over your uncle’s affairs completely, you should stay quiet and learn a few things.”

Persephone stifled her giggle with a yawn. Thanks to Abe’s age, he had not heard Father’s agricultural lesson. “Undercutting him at Kingston is an excellent plan.” The last of the potato finally fell from his chin. “We could always delay a trip north a few weeks.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Tanner returned to the conversation. “By the time Parker learns of his loss in Kingston, your next round from harvest would be nearly cured and ready to ship. With our geographical advantage…”

Persephone slipped a pinch of sugar off the table and into her pocket. The conversation kept the others distracted from her subtle movements. She enjoyed planning another walk to the pasture more than listening to plans of tobacco and sales.

Candles were half gone and the food had vanished, most of it to Mr. Savidge’s chin and waistcoat. Usually at this point in the evening gentlemen would disperse to the study, but they remained. The conversation faded in Persephone’s ears as her attention remained on the three peas lingering on her plate. Every so often she heard something about a horse or fields. It reminded her of Cerberus’ leg. Perhaps Margaret would like to see it. Of course, Persephone was perfectly capable of caring for him herself; she hardly needed approval from the Tanners. Still, discussing a horse’s leg outside in the pasture was far pleasurable to tuning out plantation owners in the stuffy blue room.

“Mr. Savidge, I hope you know you’ve been in my prayers these recent months,” Mrs. Tanner’s voice pulled Persephone back in.

“Hmm?” Abe seemed as lost as Persephone had been.

“I wanted to offer my condolences,” Mrs. Tanner’s words hardly phased him, “On your wife.”

“Oh yes,” he mumbled. “It was a pity. Becky was very young.”

Becky Smith; now Savidge. Persephone had met her once before. The Smiths often threw large parties at their home just outside of town. On one occasion, Father had let her attend without much fuss.

Becky had only been a few years older than Persephone and looked healthy enough. She wondered if marriage to Mr. Savidge had taken its toll. Why had she married him?

One glance his way was unsettling. Five minutes in his presence made anyone forget how well off he was. Based on how well Becky conversed on the evening they met, becoming an old maid might have been her only other option. Yet Persephone was certain she would prefer spinsterhood over accepting a proposal from the aged Mr. Savidge.

She realized she had been staring at a stain on the front of Mr. Savidge’s coat for quite a while. The conversation had moved past Becky and her lack of children and back to tobacco. Persephone looked toward her father without hearing his words.

Her mind lingered on Becky. As if passing so young was not enough of a sorry tale, less than a year after she was in the ground her husband hardly seemed to care anymore. Indeed, the spinster’s life was looking more and more favorable.

The sun was growing smaller. At this point in the evening the warm, summer air had faded. Cerberus would be happy. The sugar waiting in Persephone’s pocket would make him even happier.

After what felt like an eternity, Mr. Nicholas finally offered that they move the conversation to his study where the supply of whiskey waited. Together, Persephone and Mrs. Tanner slipped outside and around the side of the house.

Most ladies would not leave a clean path in such finery as Mrs. Tanner wore. Yet without any prodding, she pulled up her skirts and took broad strides across the lawn.

Dusk was settling in, leaving a flattering light on the house, grounds, and individuals. Evening strolls were always preferable to afternoon walks. The heat was diminished, and the pasture was the brightest shade of green.

Final glimmers of sunlight highlighted Cerberus’ red coat making him shine. Behind the dark wood fence, between a few bay and black mares, he stood out as the most handsome. Persephone reminded herself she would always be biased, but in truth she knew her horse was the best of the Oakwood heard. Perhaps even of any horse she might come across in the colonies.

At her arrival, red ears tilted forward, and a smooth trot brought him close. He stretched his neck over the top rail. Wide eyed, his flared nose pushed against Persephone’s side. One pinch at a time, she withdrew the mound of sugar from her pocket and let him lick it off her fingers. Immediately he nuzzled her hand for more.

Persephone offered some of the mess to Mrs. Tanner. With a smile, she politely turned her down.

“It’s impressive to see a young woman so interested in horses.”

“There’s not much else to do all the way out here,” Persephone admitted. “Even if there were, Cerberus would still get most of my time.”

As soon as the sugar was gone, his attention returned to the grass. Clean steps showed his leg was healthy. Maybe not tomorrow, but the following day he would be ready to be ridden again. Persephone felt herself counting the hours.

“I expected a fine lady like you to busy yourself with parties and suitors.”

Persephone smiled, careful not to roll her eyes.

“Invitations aren’t too common all the way out here. When they do come, it’s not easy to convince Father to let me go.”

“No suitors either? I was juggling two at your age.”

Time had not been easy on Mrs. Tanner. Yet Persephone could tell she must have been lovely when she was young. Far prettier than Persephone. That would make finding and keeping the attention of any man a much simpler task.

“In my experience, men don’t seem to take to me,” Persephone focused on Cerberus’ walk. “Honestly, I’d rather be an old maid than fall into a fate like the late Mrs. Savidge.”

“We all would.”

Both of them leaned against the fence with their eyes on the heard. Each horse took single steps as they grazed. While each moved in its own direction, as a whole they stayed together as the ventured further into the pasture.

“Some men are tolerable,” Mrs. Tanner said. “Don’t judge every meal by the spoonful of sawdust you unfortunately swallowed.”

Persephone’s mind returned to the room. The frequent looks from young Warren Savidge leached into her memory. His hard gaze had seemed to slip under her dress. As she relived the memory, she could see herself grasping one of the lead candlesticks and applying it firmly to his skull.

“A few must be tolerable if you managed two.”

“More than tolerable,” she smiled. “One was Mr. Tanner. The other was almost as satisfactory.”

The herd was merging into the trees. Shadows grew darker as the sun slipped further away. Cerberus had disappeared.

“Is it too much to hope for more than satisfactory?”

“Of course not. Just make sure your choice matches your father’s opinion.”

“I think he’d be fine with anyone who’d take me off his hands.”

Fireflies began to emerge above the dark grass. They had become the pasture’s only visible inhabitants; their glow steadily getting brighter. Still, Persephone and Margaret lingered by the fence.

Without any horses in sight, Persephone’s mind remained on the topic of men. In nearly twenty years she had little time around men that were not brothers or cousins. Occasionally she found herself meeting others and discovering the brief pleasure of infatuation. Nothing ever felt long lasting. She knew she liked young men, but love and marriage always seemed like a far-off possibility. Lack of candidates pushed it even further away from probable.

The idea of being a wife was at least appealing. Bordering on desirable. Discussing it with an experienced lady was somehow fun and unpleasant at the same time. After that evening, a suitable man seemed rather unlikely. The more time Persephone spent alone, the more impossible it seemed. Besides, no man could love her as much as Cerberus.

“Perhaps I do find someone,” she said at last, “Then I move to his home and spend the rest of my life having his children.”

Persephone let out a heavy sigh. Mrs. Tanner laughed.

“Maybe, or not. Such is a woman’s life, but motherhood is not always so terrible.”

Darkness was very near. More fireflies were lighting up the evening as the grounds faded around them. Persephone stroked the pattern on the back of her mitt.

“Life is heaven for men and hell for women,” she muttered to herself.

At the house, goodbyes were exchanged from Mr. and Mrs. Tanner. Knowing Mr. Savidge would hang back perhaps another hour, Persephone excused herself for the night. She had no interest in hearing more of their clatter about harvesting tobacco or Father’s rebuttal for her tongue at the table.

Slipping out early meant he might forget. So, she daintily made her way out of the room after a moment of pleasant farewells.

Passing through the narrow space in the front door, she turned carefully to avoid bumping Mr. Warren Savidge. A gentleman might have stepped back so she could pass freely. A gentleman also would not have found her thigh and backside over her skirts as she passed.

Hell indeed.

#Persephone #queen of hell #chapter one #book teaser #persephone and hades

5 notes · View notes

sangster-imagines · 7 years ago

Text

Left Behind

Summary: You’re in the WICKED compound, and you’re left behind.

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Word Count: 3250

Warnings: Swearing, angst, and kind of spoilers for The Scorch Trials movie.

A/N: The trailer for The Death Cure came out yesterday and I’m shook. Also, I wanna thank everybody for the love on the last imagine! I wasn’t expecting so many notes so thank you! Anyways, enjoy!

Part 1 | Masterlist | Part 2

They had been flying in the helicopter for hours before reaching the place where they were supposed to be ‘safe.’

After having a nice meal, a man with a gun opened the door. They all turned their attention to him and got up from where they were sitting and talking. A man with a rat face came into the room.

“You kids doing all right?” He said. “Sorry about all fuss. We had ourselves a bit of a swarm.”

“Who are you?” Thomas asked.

“I’m the reason you’re all still alive and it’s my intention to keep you that way. Now, come with me.” He gestured them to follow him. “We’ll get you kids squared away.”

They all began to follow him as he walked through the building. “You can call me Mr. Janson. I run this place. For us it is a sanctuary, safe from the horrors of the outside world. You all should think of it as a way station. Kind of a… home between homes. Watch yourselves.” He pointed up to where a few sparks rained down.

“That mean you’re taking us home?” Thomas asked.

“A home of sorts. Sadly, there wouldn’t be much left of wherever you came from. But we do have a place for you. A refuge, outside the Scorch, where WICKED will never find you again.” He turned around to look at them. “How does that sound?”

You, Minho, and Newt exchanged a glance behind Thomas’ back.

“Why are you helping us?” Minho asked.

“Let’s just say the world out there is in a rather precarious situation. We’re all hanging on by a very thin thread. The fact that you kids can survive the Flare virus makes you the best chance of humanity’s continued survival. Unfortunately, it also makes you a target, as no doubt by now you’ve noticed. Beyond this door lies the beginning of your new lives.” He swiped a card, opening up the door they were now standing in front of. “First things first… let’s do something about that smell.”

He led the boys to the other showers and you and Teresa to another one.

You stripped your clothes off and got into the shower. You turned on the hot water and stood in it for ten minutes. You could feel the dirt washing away as you stood there. After you felt you were clean enough, you stepped out of the shower, dried off, and put on the clothes they provided.

After your shower, you were led by a woman to a room, where you saw Thomas, Newt, Minho, and Teresa. You sighed as you realized Newt was safe. You and Newt made eye contact as he was getting his shot, and you smiled. He smiled back, and you turned your attention back onto the woman.

“We’ll give you a shot full of calcium, folate, and vitamins A through Z. Come along.” She gestured for you to sit in a seat close to Newt. You sat down and she grabbed the needle on the table. She took your arm in one hand and put the needle in.

You diverted your attention away from your arm and continued to look around the place. Minho was running on a treadmill and Thomas was getting blood taken.

Then, a woman, who one doctor named Dr. Crawford, came into the room and walked towards Teresa.

“You must be Teresa.” She grabbed the curtains and pulled them to a close. You narrowed your eyes, because it seemed odd.

Suddenly, a soldier came up and spoke to Thomas. “Thomas?”

“Yeah?”

“Come with me please.” He walked out of the room, Thomas following suit after sending you, Minho, and Newt a glance.

You knit your eyebrows and looked at Newt. He shrugged.

After a few minutes, you, Minho, Newt, Frypan, and Winston were led to a cafeteria, full of other people. Minho kept looking at the doorway, waiting for Thomas.

Suddenly, Minho got up from his seat and walked toward the doorway.

“Hey Thomas!” He said. You turned your attention toward them.

“Hey, Minho, what’s going on?”

“We weren’t the only Maze. Come on.”

Once you saw they were walking towards yourself and the others, you averted your eyes toward the boys sitting in front of you, Newt, Frypan, and Winston.

“There was this big loud explosion, and these guys came out of nowhere. Started shooting up the place,” One of the boys said.

The boy beside him nodded, swallowing his drink. “It was intense.”

“They pulled us out of the maze and brought us here.”

“What about the rest?” Newt asked beside you. You turned to him. “The other people left behind in the Maze, what happened to them?”

You looked to the other dude for an answer.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I guess WICKED still has them.”

You and Newt shared a glance. “How long have you guys been here?” You asked.

“Not long. Just a day or two.” He nodded his head towards another table. “That kid over there has been here the longest. Almost a week.”

Everybody looked over to the table. Sitting there was a boy, who was staring at nothing with his hood up.

“His maze was nothing but girls,” The other dude added.

“Really?” Minho sent a look to him.

“Some guys have all the luck.”

Suddenly, everyone’s conversation was interrupted by Janson speaking. “Good evening, gentlemen. Ladies.”

Everybody turned in their seats to look at him walking into the cafeteria with a clipboard and soldiers following him.

“You all know how this works. If you hear your name called, please rise in an orderly fashion, join my colleagues behind me where they will escort you to the eastern wing. Your new lives are about to begin.”

Some people applauded.

Janson looked at the clipboard. “Connor.”

A boy with curly blonde hair stood up behind us and high-fived his friend.

“Evelyn.”

A girl stood up this time, talking softly with her friends before going into line.

“Justin, Peter, Allison, Squiggy.”

That last name caused some laughter.

“All right. Settle down.”

The laughter quieted.

“Franklin, and Abigail.”

He stopped looking at the clipboard and an uproar of groans came from the other people.

“Now, now, don’t get discouraged. If I could take more, I would. There’s always tomorrow. Your time will come. Go on, eat up.”

Some people applauded.

“Where are they going?” Minho asked.

“Far from here.” He turned in his seat to look at them again. “Lucky bastards.”

The other boy turned to look at them too. “Some kind of farm. A safe place. They can only take in a couple people at a time.”

You and Newt looked at each other and you shrugged.

Suddenly, Thomas got up from his seat, his gaze trained on something. “What the hell,” He mumbled.

Your attention went to him as he walked up to the window, where Teresa was walking in a hallway with women.

“Hey, Teresa? Teresa!”

She looked at him, but he was stopped by a guard who was standing in front of a door.

They continued to have a short conversation before they were led away to the place where they would be sleeping by a guard.

Frypan went for the top bed of one of the bunk beds. “Ooh, I got top bunk.”

Minho gets up on the bed before he can. “Too slow.”

Winston laid on a bed. “I could get used to this.”

“Yeah. It’s not bad.” Newt looked around the room, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“What do you think those guys want with Teresa?” Thomas asked, grabbing Newt’s attention.

“Now, if there’s one thing I know about that girl, she can take care of herself. Don’t worry about it.” Newt unwrapped his arm around your shoulder and grabbed your hand, leading you to the bunk below his.

You got into bed, closing your eyes and trying to sleep. You heard quiet snoring from other bunks around you. But, you just couldn’t fall asleep. You got out of bed, looking at the top bunk. Newt was still laying there, but you couldn’t tell if he was asleep.

“Newt? Are you asleep?” You whispered, climbing up the ladder.

“Nope.” He turned around in bed.

“Can I lay with you?”

“Sure, love.” He scooted over in the bed and patted the empty place beside him.

You laid down, resting your head on his chest. You closed your eyes as he played with your hair. After that, you fell asleep quickly.

*･ﾟ✧

After waking up, they had a conversation about what happened last night to Thomas and how he supposedly saw bodies.

After hours of conversation, they went to the cafeteria for dinner.

Janson came in again with the clipboard and began to read off names.

“Alice, Barry, Walt, Edgar, Samantha.”

“I wanna know what’s through that door,” Thomas said.

All of the group’s attention went to him.

“Aaron.”

“Now, we’ve been over this. You said they were covered up, so you don’t know what you saw.”

“Dennis.”

“It could’ve been anything under there.”

“I know exactly what I saw. They were bodies.”

“Sally.”

“Aris said they bring in a new batch every night.”

“Who the hell is Aris?” Minho asked.

“Henry.”

Thomas pointed over to the kid that’s been here for a week. He was playing and looking at an orange.

“Tim.”

“Well, I’m sold.”

“And last but not least, David. Thank you for your attention.” People began to applaud. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Okay, until we know anything for certain, we should just keep our heads down and try not to draw any attention to ourselves, all right?” Newt suggested.

You nodded your head, but apparently Thomas didn’t agree and stood up, slamming his hands on the table, causing the plates and silverware to rattle.

“What is he doing?” Newt asked.

“I think he’s drawing attention to himself.”

Minho shook his head in disapproval as they watched Thomas stride towards the door, where he was, yet again, stopped by the guard.

They continued to argue, and soon enough, Thomas was walking back to his seat.

Suddenly, though, he turned around, shoving the guard. You followed as Newt, Minho, Frypan, and Winston shot up from their seats, running towards Thomas.

“Back off!” The guard yelled.

“What’s your problem, man? What the hell, huh?”

“Back off!”

“Why don’t you let me see her?”

All of them finally reached there, grabbing onto Thomas to hold him back.

“Control your friend!” The guard yelled and stuck a finger in your face.

Newt opened his mouth to yell at the guard for yelling at you, but was interrupted by Janson.

“What’s happening here?” He looked at both Thomas and the guard. “Thomas? I thought we could trust each other. You know we’re all on the same team here.”

“Are we?” Thomas asked.

“Get them to their bunks.”

They were all rushed off to their room and shoved into it by the guard. “Get your asses in there! All of you!”

“What the hell was that about?” Minho asked Thomas.

“You didn’t really think they were just gonna let you through?” Newt asked.

“Nah, of course I didn’t.” Thomas pulled out the guard’s card. “I’m gonna find out what’s on the other side of that door.”

“Right.” Newt crossed his arms, looking skeptical.

“Newt, they’re hiding something. Okay? These people are not who they say they are.” Thomas started walking away.

“No, Thomas, you don’t know that!” Newt grabbed his attention, making him turn around. “The only thing that we do know is that they helped rescue us from WICKED. They gave us new clothes. They gave us food. They gave us a proper bed.”

Thomas opened his mouth to protest.

“Some of us haven’t had that in a long time.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Some of us a lot longer than others.”

Suddenly, you heard the a rattling sound, and a vent covering went sliding across the floor as the boy from the cafeteria, Aris, came crawling out from under the bed.

“Hey Thomas,” Aris said.

“What the…”

“You got it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Let’s go. All right, look, maybe you guys are right. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.” He started to crawl under the bed. “But I got to find out for sure. Just cover for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He went into the vent.

They all exchanged looks and didn’t talk the whole time he was gone. Newt paced across the room with his hands on his hips as you sat on one of the bottom bunks.

After a while, the vent, once again, went sliding across the floor and Thomas rushed out of it.

“Thomas!” You yelled, getting up and standing.

“We gotta go. We gotta go right now.” You could hear the panic in his voice. He rushed towards the door.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Minho asked.

“What do you mean, ‘we gotta go?’”

“They’re coming. Come on. We gotta go. They’re coming for us.” He ripped covers off of the beds.

“Paige. She’s still alive.” He wrapped the covers into the handle of the door.

“What happened in there?” Frypan asked Aris. “Aris, what happened?”

“Thomas, can you just calm down and talk to us.”

“She’s still alive.”

“Who’s ‘she’?” You asked.

“Ava.”

“Ava?” You asked, confused.

“Will you just turn around and talk to us?” Newt yelled.

“It’s WICKED!” Thomas yelled, making you flinch. “It’s still WICKED. It’s always been WICKED.”

Thomas grabbed the mattress off of the bed that he tore the covers off of, grunting. He put it up against the door, leaning on it.

Newt put a hand on the mattress. “Thomas.”

He turned around to look at him.

“What did you see?”

Thomas explained that he had seen bodies strung up, and they were being harvested. You gasped and Newt wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. They all decided they were going to leave right now, and they went through the vents.

They came out of the vents into this hallway.

“Come on, come on,” Thomas said, quietly. “Okay, let’s go.”

“You guys go ahead. There’s something I gotta do,” Aris said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Trust me, it’s important. You guys wanna get outta here, right? Just go.”

“I’ll go with him,” Winston said, following Aris back into the vents.

“Okay, Winston, go! Go! Come on.”

“You sure we can trust this kid?” Minho asked.

“You don’t wanna know where we’d be without him.”

Then, they ran into the doctor, Crawford.

“What are you kids doing out?” She asked, suspicious. The alarms started to blare, and the group exchanged a look. Thomas threatened her and told her to bring them to Teresa. They ran down the hallways with the doctor.

“Freeze!” You heard. “Stay where you are!”

You heard a gun cock as they reached the intersection of the hallway. The guard began shooting and they all ducked and went back to cover.

“Why are they shooting at us?” Frypan asked.

“I’ve spotted them!” You heard the guard say. “They’re in L-3!”

“Minho!” Thomas yelled, because Minho stopped, looking at the intersection. “What the hell are you doing?”

Minho ran and kneed the guy in the stomach as the guard turned around the corner. The guard fell to the ground and they all run to gather around.

“Shit, Minho!”

Thomas grabbed the gun from the guard. “Okay. Let’s go. Come on. Let’s go.”

Dr. Crawford opened the door to a room.

“Dr. Crawford, are you here to…”

After she entered the room, they came in after her.

“Wait, wait. Okay, okay.”

“Where is she? Where is she!”

Nobody answered, but something grabbed your attention, and it’s the curtains. You assume she’s in there.

“In there.” You point.

Thomas followed your finger and handed you the gun. You grabbed it and pointed it at the doctors as Thomas went over to the curtains and opened them.

Newt began to tie their hands with gauze.

“You’re never gonna get away with this.”

“Guys? They’re coming! Where do we go?” Frypan said, looking out of the small window in the door.

“Frypan, move!” Newt yelled, knocking over a table and shoving it against the door.

“Get back!” You yelled, pointing the gun at the door.

“Okay, we gotta get outta here!” Minho yelled.

“Where do we go?” You asked.

“Stand back!” Thomas yelled. You don’t turn around to look at what he’s doing.

After a few seconds, you heard glass break and you looked to see what was going on. You saw that the window was broken.

Teresa threw a cloth over the broken glass on the frame of the window.

Thomas jumped over and picked up Teresa, carrying her over.

Everybody else went over and you stood back, protecting them. After everybody was over, you climbed over, handing the gun over to Thomas.

They went through a door and met face to face with a guard. Thomas lifted the gun and pulled the trigger, causing the guard to fall to the ground, electricity covering his body as he groaned.

They stopped for a moment, staring at the damage the gun could do with wide eyes. Thomas gestured tgem to come on and they all ran on.

“There it is! There it is!” Thomas yelled as they neared a door. As they reached the door, Thomas pulled out the card he got from the guard and swiped it.

It didn’t work.

“Shit. Come on! No, no, no!”

“Thomas!” You heard Janson yell.

Thomas stopped swiping the card and they all turned our heads to see Janson and a bunch of other guards with weapons and protection heading down the hallway.

Thomas lifted the gun up and walking forward, pointing it at Janson. “Open this door, Janson!”

Janson lifted his hands up in surrender. “You really don’t want me to.”

“Open the damn door!”

“Listen to me! I’m trying to save your life. The maze is one thing, but you kids wouldn’t last one day out in the Scorch. If the elements don’t kill you, the Cranks will. Thomas, you have to believe me. I only want what’s best for you.”

You walked forward silently. Newt grabbed onto your arm, but you shook it off, not even looking back at him.

“Yeah, let me guess. WICKED is good?”

Janson put his hands down. “You’re not getting through that door, Thomas.”

Suddenly, you heard the door click and it started to open.

The rest of the group went through the door while you stood beside Thomas.

“Thomas! Y/N! Come on! Let’s go!”

“Go, Thomas. I got this.” You grabbed the gun out of his hands, sending him a look.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Fine.”

You started to fire at the guards and Janson. Janson ducked, because he had no protection.

You fired all of the ammo that was in the gun, until it started clicking. You threw the gun on the ground and pushed Thomas to run, before starting to run yourself. He reached the door before you, though, and everybody started screaming.

You felt something hit your back and the electricity started to run through your body. You fall on the ground, a few feet away from the door.

Newt yelled, running forward to come get you before everybody else held him back. And you understood why a few seconds later. The guards grabbed your limp body, dragging it along with them as you heard the screams of the others and the door slam shut.

#themazerunner #thescorchtrials #newt #newt the maze runner #newt x reader #imagine #newt imagine #newt oneshot #newt fanfiction #the maze runner imagines #thomas sangster #thomas sangster imagines #tbs #tmr #tbs imagine #thomas brodie sangster #thomas sangster fanfiction #tst #the scorch trials imagine

1K notes · View notes

theartofdreaming1 · 6 years ago

Text

Semester Reading List

Another 6 months have passed and that can only mean one thing: Another semester reading list! Here are the books I’ve read from April ‘18 until early October ‘18, including summaries and my thoughts on them:

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte:

Summary: When the mysterious and beautiful young widow Helen Graham becomes the new tenant at Wildfell Hall rumours immediately begin to swirl around her. As her neighbour Gilbert Markham comes to discover, Helen has painful secrets buried in her past that even his love for her cannot easily overcome.

Thoughts: I loved this one a lot! (I read it in, like, two or three days - and it’s a very thick book! but it’s just really good) I was pretty surprised at first when I found out that it begins telling the story from the male protagonist’s perspective (Gilbert); which is not what I expected, admittedly. The middle part of the book are excerpts from the female protagonist’s perspective (over the course of her courtship, then later marriage with her abusive husband) - it was really fascinating to catch such an intimate glimpse of Helen’s point of view and see it change over time... but it was also very nice to see how she’d always been a strong character, although at first more falling into that “woman as the savior of the man’s virtuous attributes” trap, before she realizes that if she wants her son not to grow up like his father, she has to leave (which is very big thing for that time, when you think about it) - and her husband’s manipulating behavior to keep her at his side (complete with the classic “you don’t love me as much as I love you”-accusation). In addition to that, it was also very nice to see Gilbert react to Helen’s diary entries with a lot of understanding and just being very respectful regarding her wishes from then on (he’d been acting a little douche-y and presumptuous at times prior to that) and also see Gilibert bond with Helen’s son... This book felt just very modern in the way it dealt with this serious topic of an abusive marriage, which made it a very fascinating read! (This was my first book written by a Bronte sister and I feel like I have picked the absolute winner with Tenant of Wildfell Hall :)

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Summary: When Elizabeth Bennet first meets eligible bachelor Fitzwilliam Darcy, she thinks him arrogant and conceited, while he struggles to remain indifferent to her good looks and lively mind. When she later discovers that Darcy has involved himself in the troubled relationship between his friend Bingley and her beloved sister Jane, she is determined to dislike him more than ever.

Thoughts: I’ve already put my thoughts on P&P down in this post (I just read this Austen book very often ;)

The Darcys of Derbyshire by Abigail Reynolds:

Summary: During her trip to Derbyshire, Elizabeth Bennet longs to see the view from the famous Black Rocks, but her aunt and uncle refuse to allow her to ascend to the highest rock outcroppings alone. Elizabeth’s distress is only worsened by a chance encounter with Mr. Darcy - at least until he offers to accompany her to the Black Rocks. Unaware that the place has special significance for Fitzwilliam Darcy, she accepts his invitation. During their adventure, Darcy tells her the story of how his parents met and married despite many obstacles in their way; and like Darcy’s mother before her, Elizabeth learns there is more to the men of the Darcy family than meets the eye.

Thoughts: I really loved the story of Darcy’s parents, giving a little more backstory to the Darcy’s that came before the best-known Darcy of them all ;) The Lizzie/Darcy part of this book didn’t really work for me, though - it felt a little too fanfiction-y (read: romantic wish fulfillment that doesn’t exactly fit the proper nature of Jane Austen’s world... - or Darcy’s for that matter) for my taste. Nevertheless, it was still a very interesting read.

The Island of Doctor Moreau by H.G. Wells

Summary: A shipwrecked Edward Prendick finds himself stranded on a remote Noble island, the guest of a notorious scientist, Doctor Moreau. Disturbed by the cries of animals in pain, and by his encounters with half-bestial creatures, Prendick slowly realises his danger and the extremes of the Doctor’s experiments.

Thoughts: Very creepy. Definitely an interesting read (it’s a classic, after all... I just recently read a Wonder Woman comic that had a very ‘Island of Doctor Moreau’-vibe to it, which was interesting) and very suspenseful in the second half. It definitely made a good point about the importance of ethics in science. There were a few moments that made me uncomfortable because they read kinda racist to me (I guess you could argue that that’s simply influenced by the mindset of the society and era back then, but that’s just something I really didn’t like at all.)

The Caped Crusade: Batman and the Rise of Nerd Culture by Glen Weldon

Summary: Since his debut in Detective Comics #27, Batman has been many things: a two-fisted detective; a planet-hopping gadabout; a campy Pop Art sensation; a pointy-eared master spy; and a grim ninja of the urban night, cycling through eras of dark melodrama and light comedy and back again. He is constantly changing, jumping from page to screen and beyond, and yet he remains one of our most revered cultural icons. In this witty, wise, and a fascinating history, MPR critic and self-proclaimed nerd Glen Weldon explains why we’ve continued to look to this masked man in the night - and what that devotion tells us about ourselves.

Thoughts: Very extensive, in-depth and interesting book about Batman and nerd culture; the language was sometimes very flowery, with lots of fancy descriptors (which sometimes threw me off a little), but overall very fun and cool! (Also, I’m just a huge Batman fangirl, I love reading this kind of stuff! ;)

Mr. Darcy’s Diary by Amanda Grange

Summary: The only place Darcy could share his innermost feelings... was the pages of his diary... Torn between his sense of duty to his family name and his growing passion for Elizabeth Bennet, all he can do is struggle not to fall in love.

Thoughts: I liked this one a lot better than ‘The Darcys of Derbyshire’, I’ve got to admit - it felt a lot more natural and fitting for ‘canon’ than the other P&P inspired book. I very much liked how Darcy’s Diary gave the reader context for Darcy’s prickliness in the beginning of Pride & Prejudice (having the Wickham/Georgiana situation happen not too long ago, for example). It was also nice to read about Darcy’s thoughts and feeling regarding his friendship with Bingley (and his feeling for Lizzie, of course ;) Darcy is one of my favorite characters so it was a lot of fun to be able to read this P&P companion from his point of view :)

The Illustrated Man by Ray Bradbury

Summary: Ray Bradbury brings wonders alive. For this peerless American storyteller, the most bewitching force in the universe is human nature. In these eighteen startling tales unfolding across a canvas of tattooed skin, living cities take their vengeance, technology awakens the most primal natural instincts, and dreams are carried aloft in junkyard rockets. Provocative and powerful, The Illustrated Man is a kaleidoscopic blending of magic, imagination, and truth—as exhilarating as interplanetary travel, as maddening as a walk in a million-year rain, and as comforting as simple, familiar rituals on the last night of the world.

Thoughts: I just absolutely adore Ray Bradbury’s short stories (even though they don’t not necessarily fall into the genres I usually read). There is just something about his writing that feels very natural and simple to me, while simultaneously being very layered and making me ponder about the deeper meaning of the stories I’ve just read. This book collects mainly creepy (and excellent) short stories like ‘The Veldt’ or ‘Zero Hour’ (’the Veldt’ is the first short story in this book and it’s so amazing; it had me at the edge of my seat throughout), but also a kinda sweet one like ‘The Rocket’ - I very much enjoyed reading this book!

Wonder Woman Unbound: The Curious History of the World’s Most Famous Heroine by Tim Hanley

Summary: With her golden lasso and her bullet-deflecting bracelets, Wonder Woman is a beloved icon of female strength in a world of male superheroes. But this close look at her history portrays a complicated heroine who is more than just a female Superman. When they debuted in the 1940s, Wonder Woman comics advocated female superiority and the benefits of matriarchy; her adventures were also colored by bondage imagery and hidden lesbian leanings. In the decades that followed, Wonder Woman fell backward as American women began to step forward. Ultimately, Wonder Woman became a feminist symbol in the 1970s, and the curious details of her past were quickly forgotten. Exploring this lost history adds new dimensions to the world’s most beloved female character, and Wonder Woman Unbounds delves into her comic book and its spin-offs as wekk as motivations of her creators to showcase the peculiar journey of a twentieth-century icon.

Thoughts: Yet again, a really interesting and entertaining book by Tim Hanley about an awesome comic book lady! I already knew plenty about Wonder Woman, but there were still things I didn’t know about the world’s most famous superheroine. Plus, it’s always cool to learn more about the background and historical context behind the story of this amazing amazon!

Mythos: The Greek Myths Retold by Stephen Fry

Summary: No one loves and quarrels, desires and deceives as boldly or brilliantly as Greek gods and goddesses. In Stephen Fry's vivid retelling we gaze in wonder as wise Athena is born from the cracking open of the great head of Zeus and follow doomed Persephone into the dark and lonely realm of the Underworld. We shiver when Pandora opens her jar of evil torments and watch with joy as the legendary love affair between Eros and Psyche unfolds. Mythos captures these extraodinary myths for our modern age - in all their dazzling and deeply human relevance.

Thoughts: I always enjoyed reading the book about Greek myths that I’ve had as a child and I enjoy Stephen Fry’s humor, so I just had to buy this book when I saw it at my local bookstore - an excellent decision, as it turned out! Stephen Fry tells these ancient myths in such an entertaining and witty manner that I just couldn’t help but laugh out loud sometimes! It didn’t matter if I was already familiar with a particular myth or if it was one completely unknown to me, I was just completely glued to this book, eager to find out more and read Stephen Fry’s fun take on it! As this book doesn’t even begin to cover all the stories of Greek mythology that exist, I really hope that there will be a continuation of this book in the future :)

Catwoman: Soulstealer by Sarah J. Maas

Summary: Two years after escaping Gotham City’s slums, Selina Kyle returns as the mysterious and wealthy Holly Vanderhees. Batman is off on a vital mission and Gotham is at the mercy of the new thief on the prowl. Joined by the cunning Poison Ivy and notorious Harley Quinn, she wreaks havok across the city. Selina is playing a desperate game of cat and mouse. But with a dangerous threat from the past on her tail, will she be able to pull of the ultimate heist?

Thoughts: To be honest, I was pretty disappointed by this book of the DC Icons Series. It started out very promising and interesting with seventeen-year-old Selina living on her own, taking care of her sister, Maggie, who’s seriously ill. To be able to pay for the medical bills, Selina has become part of a street fighter gang, working for the mob boss Falcone. With this premise, I would have loved to just read a story about how Selina finds a way to break free from Falcone’s influence to do her own thing and become the kickass cat burglar we know and love - but instead, Selina is found out by the police and social services and then, at the precinct, gets offered one chance to escape the system to instead become an assassin for Talia al Ghul! A couple of years later, Selina returns to Gotham under the guise of socialite “Holly Vanderhees”. To me, Selina has alwas been someone who has been very independent and self-reliant and now to have her impressive skill set be traced back to the al Ghuls just doesn’t sit particularly well with me. Over the course of the rest of the book, Selina does team up with Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn, which is normally something I absolutely love (Gotham City Sirens, for the win!), but Ivy felt extremely off to me: too nice, too soft, too goody-two-shoes, I guess? I don’t know, it just didn’t feel right to me. In addition to all of that, Selina has to share her own book with Luke Fox, aka Batwing. I have nothing against Luke at all, and his backstory is definitely interesting, but a) due to his dealings with his PTSD (that gets triggered by loud noises such as gunshots which, for a vigilante, is just plain dangerous and I can’t imagine Bruce being nonchalant about this kind of thing when ‘recruiting’ someone with these kind of issues) and other problems, he’s not particularly good at the whole superheroing, which is a bummer and b) there is so much going on in his life that I simply felt that Luke should have just gotten his own book so his character could be thoroughly explored. Also, I just wasn’t digging the romance between Selina and Luke (that might be my inner BatCat shipper talking, but I wasn’t feeling the chemistry between these two at all.) My biggest issue with this book is, that while I was reading it, I had like three ideas for other Catwoman stories I would have rather read, making this book just a reminder of missed opportunities for me.

Lois Lane (Fallout trilogy) by Gwenda Bond

Summary: … a contemporary reimagining of teenage Lois Lane. She and her family have lived all over, but now they’re in Metrolpolis for good, and Lois is determined to stay quiet. Fit in. Maybe make a friend. As soon as she walks into her new high school, though, she can see it won’t be easy. A group known as the Warheads is making life miserable for another girl at school. They’re messing with her mind somehow, via the high-tech immersive video game they all play. Not cool. Armed with her wit and her new snazzy job as a reporter, Lois has her sights set on solving the mystery. But even she needs help sometimes. Thank goodness for her maybe-more-than-a-friend, someone she knows only by his screen name, SmallvilleGuy…

Thoughts: I’ve already read these books since I’ve started doing my reading lists, so you can find my thoughts on the first two books here and my thoughts on the third book here.

Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood

Summary: Sixteen years have passed since Grace was locked up, at the age of 16, for the cold-blooded murders of her employer and his housekeeper/lover. Her alleged accomplice in the crimes, James McDermot, paid the extreme sentence of the law and was hanged on November 21, 1843. But some thought Grace was innocent, and her sentence has been commuted to life imprisonment. After a spell in the Lunatic Asylum she now claims to have no memory of the murders, and so Dr. Simon Jordan tries to wake the part of Grace's mind which lies dormant. But what will he find?

Thoughts: I first found out about Margaret Atwood’s Alias Grace through the Netflix series (which is really good!), so I knew most of the story already when I got myself the book. Turns out that the Netflix series is a pretty good adaptation of the book - still, the book offered more insights into the various characters (as books are wont to do) and I liked that the book wasn’t just simple narration from different points of view, but was also interspersed with excerpts from actual newspaper clippings, Susanna Moodie’s book and written confessions, as well as a poem at the beginning of each chapter and the occasional letter written by the characters. I did sometimes hit points during which reading was going pretty slow (maybe because it reads old-fashion-y, which is sometimes difficult for me as a non-native English speaker; maybe because it’s not exactly a short book you can just breeze through... I don’t know), but overall, it is a really intriguing story with multi-layered and complicated characters, which is always a win in my book (pun not intended)!

If you’d like to know more about these books (and/or my thoughts about them) feel free to message me at any time or leave an ask in my askbox! :)

The summaries are from the back of the books or amazon pages.

4 notes · View notes