#its background noise to the heavy personal trauma of these two guys

[theladyvalkyrieskyeart]

Me before reading Lost in the Cloud: ugh a story based in high school? This sounds boring.

Me after reading this story: ..... oh. Wow. Okay, I clearly underestimated this story, my bad.

[arvandus]

Touch (pt 3)

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only please!  Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi  terrified you.  Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it  that way.  That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters.

Recommended Chapter Song:

Dizzy by MISSIO

Part 1   Part 2

Artwork credit to @hellowon31​ on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 3 - Resistance

The next day, Dabi woke up feeling like a complete wreck of a person.  A mockery of a human being, made of faulty parts stitched together haphazardly by a cruel universe.  He was angry. Furious.  Wasn’t your quirk supposed to last longer than this?  His head pounded.  The sun peeking through the crack in his curtains was an assault. Sweat covered his exposed pale flesh and yet he felt cold, clammy hands shaking.  Dabi laid back on his bed to cocoon himself into his blankets when he realized…his back was still painless.

Your quirk was still working.

Dabi’s bleary eyes caught sight of his empty pill bottles on his nightstand, and realization dawned on him. Withdrawal.

It started sooner than he had hoped.  He would have refilled his stock by now, but his usual seller went missing, most likely picked up by the feds.  Dabi had already reached out to Giran to find a new source, but the old man hadn’t returned his text messages.  So, Dabi spent some of his time the day before following connections within the villain network.  His search came up with nothing; what he could find wasn’t strong enough to justify the expense or the sellers were obviously trying to swindle him with a diluted product. Long story short, he felt like shit and had no quick fix for it.

He wanted to crawl out of his skin.  Fuck. Everything.

The memory of your cool touch on his skin came forefront to his aching head and he wondered if your quirk would be useful for his withdrawal symptoms…

Dabi pushed the thought out of his head.  He wasn’t going to let that be an option.  It was a slippery slope leading to a dependency that he simply couldn’t afford and definitely did not want.  He was already on edge from yesterday’s conversation. His sympathetic thoughts, no matter how brief, made him see a man he didn’t recognize, and the thoughts plagued him ever since.  He had never considered himself a soft guy.  It wasn’t that he didn’t have feelings.  Things could still bother him if he let them.  But he had learned very early on that what he felt didn’t matter. Perhaps it was the gradual silencing of his conscience, small pieces of him chipped away like stone worn down over years of crashing waves.  Only rarely, every once in a while, did the waters of his vengeance and bitter hatred recede enough to allow sunlight to touch his burnt heart.  And in that moment, he saw you, a fragile boat approaching rocky, dangerous shores.

He frowned.  As long as you did your job, what should it matter? You chose this life just like everyone else did.  It wasn’t his responsibility to protect you from it.

As if his heavy thoughts summoned you, your familiar knock rang through his door.  He cursed under his breath.  During his misery, Dabi had forgotten that you were going to visit him this morning.  He had planned to be gone before you came looking for him, a silent show of defiance to your mothering.  But instead he here was, stuck, feeling the shittiest he felt in a long time.  Maybe if he just ignored you…

You knocked on the door again, your pounding louder, incessant.  You were so fucking stubborn.  He glowered at the wooden barrier angrily, the intolerant noise sending a ringing like a tuning fork into the depths of his brain.  He contemplated setting the door on fire just to make a point. He held his restraint by hair, only vaguely aware that doing so would make him feel even worse, if such a thing was even possible.  Plus, you were the only person here with a lick of sense for medical care – he was ninety percent positive you had some sort of medical background.

“What?” he growled as he sat up begrudgingly, unwilling to let you see him so weak.  Nausea permeated him from his sudden motion.

On the other side of the door, you stared at the wood in confusion.  The sound of Dabi’s voice shocked you – low, scratchy, slurred… menacing.

You almost wanted to concede to the unspoken request, but your determination to treat him held tight to your will.  “It’s me.” You replied, hoping your voice didn’t sound as small as it felt.

A pregnant pause greeted you before he finally spoke. “Come in.” It sounded like an order.  Or was it a surrender?  Could it even be both?  How did this man always seem to have two versions of himself running simultaneously?

You came into the room and closed the door behind you with a quiet ‘click.’ You were met with a dark stuffiness, the air unusually warm and infused with the stink of sweat. The curtains were drawn closed, light straining to seep out along the edges of the fabric.  A thin slit of light stretched across Dabi’s bed where he sat, his back facing you.  He looked like a fallen angel, a broken soul.  His shoulders were hunched, drawn tight like a bow string, struggling not to fold in on himself and break.

His bravado was gone, his casual presence muted in the deafening silence.  He wasn’t even trying to pretend this time.  His distress was palpable.  You felt shame being here, your presence intrusive.  You weren’t supposed to see him like this.  So why did he let you in?

A mild panic filled you. Did he hurt himself again since you last saw him?  Or was this your fault?  Did your quirk wear off already?

“What’s wrong?” you asked. He didn’t respond.  You stepped forward cautiously.  “Dabi…?”

Your voice grated on his conscience – words of concern, a tone meant to soothe. He didn’t want your compassion.  He wanted you to be cold and indifferent, a mechanic repairing a broken part.  Or maybe even have you be as crazy as the others, waxing poetic about bloodlust and freedom.  That was a language he understood, that he could navigate with ease.  Not this benevolence.  Not this normalcy.  Why were you so different?

“You’re annoying.” He growled just loud enough for you to hear.

You halted your approach and your back stiffened.  “What?”

“Stop acting like you fucking care.”  The words spilled out of his mouth without a concern as to their damage.  He knew you cared, even if it was on a basic level, which was why he desperately, accusatorily denied it.

Everything bothered him. His head.  His body.  The stink of this room… you seeing him like this.  Why did that bother him?

You pressed your lips together, your jaw taut.  The tension in the room became as palpable as the stifling air.  What could you possibly say? That you did care?  Well, did you? You cared enough to be here, at least. You had a responsibility to treat him, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said he hadn’t been on your mind more than usual the past couple of days.  Of course, he’d never know that…. But were you friends by any stretch of the definition? No.  Definitely not. So, if he wanted to be a jerk and suffer with his pride, then you’d let him.

“If you want me to leave, just say so.” You replied coolly.  “I’m just here to do my job.”

Your answer satisfied him, cold and to the point, a counterbalance to your overwhelmingly gentle nature.  It provided him the emotional distance he needed, a cloak he donned willingly to shelter himself from your prying eyes.  And through his mental fog, he realized in mild amusement that it was the second time you called his bluff, grinding in your heels to deflect his verbal strikes. You weren’t easily bullied; at least, not as easily as he’d originally thought.

“Whatever.” He grumbled. “Let’s just get this over with, I got shit to do.”

You clenched and unclenched your hands around your bag.  You were grateful Dabi caved, your conscience breathing a sigh of relief.  You’d make it quick, to address what you needed to and leave him to sort himself out in solitude, like you knew he wanted.  You began to approach him, quiet steady steps around his bed so you could get a closer look at him. If he was going to let you treat him, you might as well try to make the most of your limited time and see if you could figure out what was wrong.

As soon as you could see his face, you realized he was holding something in his hand. An empty pill bottle.  His eyes stared at it like it held the answers to the universe while also cursing its existence.

Suddenly, everything clicked.  The agitation.  The pain. The misplaced anger… Of course.

You closed the distance between you until you were standing in front of him.  Without saying anything, you quietly took the bottle from his hand, which, surprisingly, he let you.  You read the name and the dosage.  It was a strong one.

“Dabi,” you said quietly, hoping you didn’t sound patronizing, “How long has it been since you’ve had your medication?”

There it was.  That kindness again.  You brought it forth so effortlessly, as if he didn’t just insult you a moment ago. Somewhere, behind his defenses, the itch of guilt settled itself into his mind like an unwelcome guest.

He was quiet for a moment as he stared at the bottle in your hand, his eyes either unable or unwilling to meet yours.  “Two days.” He replied, his voice scratchy.

You quickly did the math in your head.  He had mentioned that his pain meds ran out when he first asked for your help, but you had thought nothing of it at the time, assuming he had ways of fixing his problem.  You should have known.  You should have checked with him.  Drug withdrawal was no joke.

“When are you getting more?” you asked.

“Not sure, doll.  My supplier has gone AWOL and I haven’t found a backup.” He put his head between his hands and rubbed at his temples.  You watched him with quiet concern.  At first you wanted to use your quirk to try to help him, your hand starting to reach out to his wild raven hair instinctually. You faltered.  Would your quirk even work with this?  This wasn’t a cut or a burn or a broken rib… this was a chemical imbalance in his brain.  What if you hurt him or messed him up somehow?  Slowly you lowered your hand.  He needed his drugs.  

“How many of these did you take a day?” you asked as you looked at the bottle again.

He answered.  Your eyes bulged slightly.  How was this man not stumbling around when you first met him? He must have built up a tolerance over years of use.  Besides, quirkology affected everyone’s body a little differently.  Still, it definitely explained his bored expression and overall body language – this guy was constantly high.

“Don’t look so surprised, doll.” He stared up at you with shining bloodshot eyes.  His forehead was beaded in sweat, his skin so ghostly pale that only the rise and fall of his shallow chest indicated he was a breathing, living human.

You watched him, taking in his current state.  If he did finally get a hold of new meds on his own, would he be able to show restraint? Logically, you knew that he was experienced with this – it obviously wasn’t his first rodeo.  But still, a part of you couldn’t help but worry.

“You could really hurt yourself with these.” You replied softly.

“I know my limits.” He stated firmly, annoyance starting to seep in.

“That’s what everyone says, until they don’t.”

His brow furrowed, dark eyebrows pulled together like closing gates.  “Look, doll.  If you’re gonna lecture me, then you really can leave.  I don’t need your help with this.  I got by just fine before you came along.”

You wanted to snap back at him, to defend what seemed common sense to you, but you held back.  Poking the bear would help no one.

You kneeled down next to him and opened your bag, rummaging through your things.  “I’m not trying to lecture you.  I’m trying to help you.”  You found what you were looking for and pulled it out.  Nervousness filled you – you hoped he didn’t ask too many questions.

Dabi eyed the bottle of medication in your hand in hunger.

“It’s not as strong as what you’re used to,” you explained, “but it will take the edge off.”

“What kind of doctor are you, aiding a drug addict?” he teased.

A pang of guilt shot through you, but you steeled yourself against it.  “If you’re going to be taking pain meds, then I’d rather have it be something reliable and safe that I can monitor instead of something you find on the street through dubious means.”

“Oh yeah?  Like all of your little supplies don’t come from shady sources.  You can’t exactly get this stuff from anywhere.  Those are prescription only.” Dabi nodded at the bottle clutched so tightly in your hand, that he couldn’t see the label on it.  He couldn’t help but wonder… was it your name on that white sticker?  Or someone else’s?  What other items did you have in that bag of yours?

You lifted your chin pridefully.  “I have an inside source.  Trust me, the stuff I get is the real deal.  And that’s all you need to know about that.”

Dabi grinned as you gave him two of the pills from the bottle.  “Well, look at you, doll.  What a criminal.  You could get in serious trouble for this, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I think we’re well past that by now…” you replied with a grin, which earned you a chuckle.

Dabi popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry.  Your smile faded slightly as you felt the urge to say one more important thing to him.

You stared at his hands in front of you, long fingers intertwined together and suspended in the air as his elbows rested on his knees.  “Look, Dabi…” you started.  Your eyes traced the metal rings holding his skin together.  “I can’t imagine the kind of pain you’re constantly in.  I understand why you take drugs. I think anyone would.  That’s why I’m helping you.  Not having pain meds isn’t really an option for you.”

“So, does that mean you’re gonna let me have that bottle?” his eyes stared at the bottle still clutched in your hand.

You held the bottle to your chest protectively, a part of you afraid he’d try to snatch it from you. Withdrawal made people do desperate things.  He raised an amused eyebrow at your defensive action, a small smirk upturning the corner of his mouth.

Your body felt warm and you broke eye contact.  “Not yet.” You replied.  “I want to make sure you’re okay with it.  It’s different from what you were taking before.  It might feel weaker than what you were taking or might have different side effects for you.  I don’t want you to overdo it.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” Dabi pried, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as his head tilted.

You put the pills back into your bag as you looked away from him.  “I have a medical background, so I know a lot more than you might think.”

Dabi grinned, despite his headache, the skin pulling tight enough along his rings to send an ache of pain along his jaw.  He was right. Not that it was that hard to figure out, but he liked that you answered him honestly.

“You don’t trust me, doll?” Dabi’s teasing tone made you look up at him to find his fiery eyes piercing yours.  That familiar spark of life, dangerous and wild, was starting to return to his drawn features.  Oddly enough, you found it comforting even if it did send your pulse racing like a scared rabbit.

Meanwhile, he was amused at your caution.  Little did you know how many drugs he’d tried over the years, how many times he came close to ‘overdoing it,’ as he learned what his body could and couldn’t handle. Sure, he needed his drugs to keep the pain at bay… but he also needed to carry out his mission.  He refused to let himself devolve into a zombie when he still had unfinished business.

You rolled your eyes at him.  “I just want to make sure you transition to this new pain medication okay.  Switching drugs can be a messy business.  If I decided to trust you and something went wrong, well…” your words faltered, unable to finish your statement.  It almost surprised you how much the thought of something horrible happening to Dabi bothered you… especially if it was caused by your own negligence.

“Aw, doll, you’re making me blush.” Dabi grinned.  “You better not try to take advantage of me. I’m under the influence.”

You raised an amused eyebrow at him.  “Really? Who’s taking advantage of who here? Someone just got free drugs.”

“Trust me, sweetheart – you’ll know when I’m taking advantage of you.”

A proper comeback couldn’t find its way to your lips while your mind was so distracted by suggestive thoughts.

He continued on unfazed, as if his previous words meant nothing to him.  “So, how are we gonna do this then?”

You cleared your throat and wet your parched lips with your tongue.  Dabi watched the gesture intently, but you didn’t notice as you avoided eye contact.  “We’ll start with what I gave you. When it wears off and you feel like you need more, you come find me.  If you have any issues or feel anything weird, you come find me.  I don’t care what time it is.  If it’s 3 in the morning, you come find me.”

A devilish grin spread across Dabi’s features as his head got a rather detailed less-than-pure mental picture of a late-night visit.  He knew that wasn’t what you meant, but he enjoyed where his imagination took him, nonetheless.  He eyed you for the first time since you came into his room, allowing himself to take in your appearance from head to toe, his eyes lingering where he wanted them to, without a care as to if you noticed.  He might not be willing to touch, but he was definitely willing to look. Life was too short to not appreciate the finer things in life, and at this moment the finer thing was you.

You shifted nervously under his penetrating gaze, your pulse quickening under your skin like a raging river. You weren’t quite sure what he was thinking, but the light of his eyes made you feel exposed.  You resisted the urge to wrap your arms around yourself protectively, your self-consciousness fighting to get the better of you.

Your forced yourself to continue, looking away abashedly.  “I’m still coming to take care of your bandages, so I’ll be checking up on you again tonight.  Do we have a deal?”

Dabi was quiet for a moment as he stared at your determined face.  Finally, he smiled.  “Yeah, doll. We got a deal.”

“Good.  Now let me check those bandages.”

He stood up and you instinctively took a step back as his presence filled yours within the tight space between his bed and the wall where you stood. The scent of him filled your nose and you resisted the urge to inhale.  You liked it and you couldn’t explain why.  He turned his back to you and removed his sweat-soaked shirt.  You waited to see if he would move to the more open space of his room, but he didn’t, and you stood awkwardly before deciding to just change his bandages where he was.  Maybe he had a headache and moving was a little too much for him.  It’d take about thirty minutes for the pills you gave him to really get into his system and start working, and you’d be long gone by then.

You changed his bandages quickly and efficiently as well as added a little boost with your quirk to make sure his back was pain-free until you returned to check on him later in the evening.  He seemed to have enough on his plate to deal with without having your quirk wear off.

He was silently grateful you changed his bandages in silence as he waited for the pills you gave him to kick in. He was familiar with them, of course – they weren’t the best for what he needed, but you were right when you said they’d take the edge off.  Still, he didn’t want to use up your supply.  He didn’t know if that was your only bottle, and at the rate that he typically popped pills, you’d be out within a few days.  He’d reach out to Giran again to get a hold of his own.

Once you were done, you packed up your items to leave.  But before you did, you reached into your bag and pulled out a bottle of water and handed it to him.

“Hydrate.  Please.” You said.  “You took those pills and they might make you nauseous on an empty stomach.  Besides, your body needs more than coffee, energy drinks, and alcohol.”

Dabi grinned.  “Have you been watching me, doll?  You’re not stalking me, are ya?”

“I watch all of my patients.” You replied with a critical eye.  “Nice try, though.”

“You got any ramen in that bag?” Dabi teased as he opened the water bottle and took a swig.

“No, but I got a granola bar.  You want it?” you replied casually. You pulled out said item and waved it in Dabi’s face.

Dabi’s lip turned up in disgust.  “That shit’ll get stuck in my rings.  And it’s disgusting.”

“It’s healthy.” You replied with an extra wave for added emphasis.

“You’re like a walking drug store.”  Dabi commented as he watched you put the offending food away.

“I feel like a damn mom with all this stuff, but you’d be surprised how often it comes in handy.” You replied.  “Alright, well I’m gonna go and let you rest.  Do you have my number?”

You said it so casually, that Dabi had to stare at you to process your words for a moment.  He didn’t easily fluster, but he also didn’t ever have pretty girls offering their number to him, his scars always scaring them off.  It was such a personal gesture and completely alien to him.

“What for?” he finally replied.

“In case you need me for anything.  Like if the drugs wear off, or your bandage comes loose or something. We might not always be in the same place at the same time and I’d hate for you to not be able to reach me if something’s wrong.”

The tension in Dabi’s chest eased slightly.  Of course, it had to do with his health.  He noticed that about you – when it came to business, you cut straight to the chase.

He wanted your number.  But as soon as he realized it wasn’t for health reasons, he immediately shot it down, his iron wall crashing down.  “I’ll be fine.”

You stared at him and shrugged.  “Suit yourself.  Just trying to be efficient.  If you change your mind, you can reach out to one of the others.  I think you’re the only one who doesn’t have it.”  You walked to the door and turned back to him.  “Like I said, I’ll be back tonight, probably at around 9pm.  You’d better be here, or you won’t get your pills.” Mischief danced in your eyes and Dabi realized you were teasing him. He grinned.

“You think you can manipulate me?” he challenged.

“We’ll see…” you replied casually and left his room.

After you were gone, he stood there for a moment staring at the water bottle in his hand before he realized he had a dumb fucking smile on his face. He threw the water bottle in his trashcan.

You were a goddamn pain in his ass.  And he was a damn idiot, getting flustered over a pretty face being kind to him. What was this, fucking middle school? Like he’d never been around a girl before?  You were here to treat him.  As soon as his wounds were healed up and he got his own drugs, things would go back to normal.

It had to go back to normal.

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Part 4

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Taglist: @lemonfvck @vs-redemption @inanabsentia ia @sheedaabee @toshiuwuu @marydragneell @chillinwithmybakubros​ @genuinelytodorokisbitch @sam-i-am-1025 @redflannel @axerrri​ @necccomancy​ @miadraws0​

[emmagrace-frost-blog]

Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring

Name: Emma Grace Frost

Nickname: Em.

Reason for name: Seems like a natural progression from Emma but she wouldn’t tolerate something like Emmie

Birthday: October 3

Age: 30

Gender: Female

Place of birth: Boston, MA

Places lived since: Star City, CA, New York, Las Vegas, 

Parents’ names, backgrounds, occupations: Winston Frost (father; deceased);Hazel Frost (mother; deceased)

Number of siblings: 3 ( Adrienne Frost (deceased), Cordelia Frost and Christian Frost)

Relationship with family (close? estranged?): Her father was abusive, especially to her brother and did not care for her or her two sisters due to their telepathic powers. He did end up choosing Emma as an ‘heir to the fortune’ but she basically said go fuck yourself and left. So, not close with the parents. She was close with Adrienne and is really chewed up about her death, even still. Cordelia and Christian are estranged from her.

Happiest memory: Graduating from college on her own.

Childhood trauma: Her father’s abuse and mistreatment of her and her siblings.

Children of his/her own?: No.

PHYSICAL

Height: 5′10″

Weight: 144 lbs. but heavy as fuck, almost 500 lbs when she is in her diamond form.

Build: Tall and curvy.

Nationality: American

Disabilities (physical or mental, including mental illnesses): PTSD @ Genosha. [Note: it likely will not come up often but i promise to do research and not be a dick about a serious mental illness. My sister suffers from PTSD and it’s not to be made light of, so message me if you have any concerns about its portrayal, please <3]

Complexion (freckles, acne, skin tone, birth marks): Emma is pale in the winter but has no problem tanning. She has dark freckles here and there, one on her neck, a few on her back and shoulders, a couple on her hips and thighs and during the summer she gets a smattering of little freckles across her nose and cheeks that she hates.

Face shape: heart.

Distinguishing facial features: slightly crooked nose from when she broke it when she was 13, don’t bring it up she will fight you. Pouty lips.

Hair color: naturally blonde but has been dying it brown.

Usual hair style: down in soft curls.

Eye color: Green

Glasses? Contacts?: Both. Always wears contacts except at night.

Style of dress/typical outfit(s): Always to the nines. She is always put together and always showing a little something. She follows the Chanel rule of always taking one thing off before leaving the house, that being said an outfit isn’t complete without good shoes and a better purse. But she lives in sweat pants at her house.

Typical style of shoes: heels, usually. A casual pair of dressy sandals if she is being “casual”

Health (is this person usually sick? or very resilient?): Emma doesn’t get sick often but when she does it’s a doozy.

Grooming (does she/he wear makeup? shower daily? wear only clean clothes? pluck her eyebrows?): Emma showers every night, she always wears make up but goes for a natural look, she likes to cover her freckles and make her eyebrows look murderous. She likes a nude lip and some brown eye shadow. She is meticulous about her grooming and facial routine. Gotta fight those wrinkles. SHe gets frequent facials and gets her nails done.

Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?: earrings, necklace, an old ring of Adrienne’s she stole a long time ago and now treasures. 

Accent?: Slightly northern american.

Unique mannerisms/physical habits (bites nails, talks with hands, taps feet when restless): Emma clenches her jaw when stressed, spins the ring she always wears, sometimes she focuses on shifting each finger from flesh to diamond when she is bored.

Athletic?: She runs, but likes pasta.

INTELLECT

Level of education (high school drop out, undergrad BA/BS, PhD, MD, etc.): She started off as a sub par student much to her parents dismay, but ended up with an MA in literature.

Level of self esteem: Emma is very confident in her appearance. She knows she is beautiful and often plays to it. But is pretty convinced she is a garbage human and knows that beauty doesn’t always last and she’s headed nowhere fast. So -- confident she is hot, cripplingly insecure  in herself as a human (mutant).

Gifts/talents: She can turn into diamond which makes her very resilient, she can read people’s minds, project things into their minds and she has some ability for telekinesis but she is weaker there.

Shortcomings: Insecure, petty, shallow.

Style of speech (loud, mumbler, articulate, etc.): curses a lot.

“Left brain” or “right brain” thinker?: little bit of both i would say. Emma is pretty calculated most of the time but does have a habit of letting her emotions rile her up.

Artistic?: she was trained to play classical piano and violin by her rich family growing up, so a little.

Mathematical?: Not very.

Makes decisions based mostly on emotions, or on logic?: She wants to say logic always but -- like 60% emotions 40% logic.

Neuroses: cleanliness is next to godliness.

Life philosophy: Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring. -- Marilyn Monroe

Religious stance: her family was religious but she is not.

Cautious or daring?: Depends on the situation. Cautious with herself and her feelings usual, daring if she has to be.

Most sensitive about/vulnerable to: being turned away for who she is, mutant and all that.

Optimist or pessimist?: Realist.

Extrovert or introvert?: in the middle she likes to be the center of attention but likes to be a shut in too.

Level of comfort with technology: Competent and uses it often. 8/10? She can’t hack or anything but can use social media and a computer/phone/tablet without trouble.

RELATIONSHIPS

Current marital/relationship status: single

Sexual orientation: bisexual

Past relationships: define relationship? Emma isn’t really a relationship kinda gal. She’s very good at loving them and leaving them. She had one serious relationship and after he found out she was a mutant, after she changed into her diamond form to save his life, he left her.

Primary reason for being broken up with: because she was a mutant.

Primary reasons for breaking up with people: She’s not trying to be vulnerable about anything, ever. 

Level of sexual experience: experienced. 

Story of first kiss (if any—if not, how does he/she want it to happen?): When Emma was 14 some boy on her block was making fun of her and called her a frigid bitch, so she kissed him to get him to shut up. When he was all stunned she told him being rude wasn’t the way to get things he clearly desired.

Story of loss of virginity (if any—if not, how does he/she want it to happen, if at all?): It wasn’t magical, she had sex with some guy in high school, then avoided him hard. He trailed after her all love struck.

A social person? (popular, loner, some close friends, makes friends and then quickly drops them): Emma is what Emma is which most find to be pretty infuriating even the ones who like her or tolerate her. But she cares for the people she cares about so her circle is small but she’d do anything for them. She’s tough to like though.

Most comfortable around (person): Erik Lehnsherr (ew), Jean Grey

Oldest friend: Erik Lehnsherr, Professor x, Jean Grey, Mystique

How does he/she think others perceive him/her?: Stuck up non-feeling cunt, shallow, thoughtless, airhead?

How do others actually perceive him/her?: Stuck up non-feeling cunt, shallow, smart, cunning asshole.

VOCATION

Profession: Women’s literature professor

Past occupations: Teacher, henchman, leader of the nefarious.

Passions: reading, cooking french cuisine, learning languages, piano, good wine.

Attitude towards current job: She likes it because she gets to read a lot and hopefully influence kids that felt lost like she did but found a home in education.

Attitude towards current coworkers, bosses, employees: She can’t be bothered with most of them, but doesn’t have a big issue with them either.

Salary: $75,000 a year but she inherited a lot of money when her folks died.

SECRETS

Phobias:  Athazagoraphobia: the fear of being forgotten or left behind.

Life goals: peace for mutant and human kind. Maybe a picket fence and kids and someone who thinks she hung the stars and moon, but she wouldn’t tell you that.

Dreams: Same as the goals.

Greatest fears: Having lived a life Adrienne would be disappointed in.

Most ashamed of: spending her time pretending she is something she is not.

Most embarrassing thing ever to happen to him/her: Emma is hard to embarrass, but when she was young she had a hard time in public speaking and she lost her concentration and started repeating the words she was hearing in someone’s head and it was some steamy details about the teacher and how that student wished she were naked.

Obsessions: lipstick, shoes, wine.

Secret hobbies: piano playing, doing the NYT crossword.

Secret skills: piano playing making a bomb-ass quiche.

Crimes committed (and was he/she caught? charged?): Like -- so many. Murder, theft, defacing things, assault, carrying a deadly weapon, like probably espionage. and no never caught or charged.

What he/she most wants to change about his/her current life: She wants to be proudly out and mutant and not give a fuck about the current state of where she lives.

What he/she most wants to change about his/her physical appearance: She’s pretty chill with that, she wishes her nose was straight again, but not enough to get surgery.

DETAILS/QUIRKS

Daily routine: Get up, take her hair out of a bun, moisturize, brush teeth, make coffee, shake her ass to some music while she puts on make up, gets dressed, pours coffee, heads out.

Night owl or early bird?: night owl.

Light or heavy sleeper?: light sleeper. She needs music or white noise to sleep.

Favorite food: sushi or handmade pasta.

Least favorite food: lima beans.

Favorite book: Where the Wild Things Are.

Least favorite book: The Grapes of Wrath. How are you going to write a. whole chapter about a fucking turtle stuck on its back as an allegory for the times economically speaking. Get over yourself.

Favorite movie: Amelie

Least favorite movie: Titanic.

Favorite song: Don’t make her choose.

Least favorite song: Never going to give you up - Rick Astley

Coffee or tea?: Both.

Crunchy or smooth peanut butter?: smooth

Type of car he/she drives (or wishes he/she drove): white infinity

Lefty or righty?: lefty

Favorite color: white/blue

Cusser?: fuck yes.

Smoker? Drinker? Drug user?: smokes a little, drinks a lot.

Biggest regret: not telling Adrienne how much it meant having a sister like her around.

Pets?: glacé, a japanese spitz.

[writersindigestion]

teased | edward nygma x reader

“was it even regret, anymore?”

reader gender: female

words: 4362

warnings: trauma, substance abuse, paranoia, PTSD, minor violence, minor blood, Edward is still Mean and Green

notes: hey there again, everyone. once more - for your ease of reading, i’ve split this chapter into another two parts… because it was almost at 10,000 words. :////’ sorry i suck so much. but i’m nearing the end… i think. expect another part within the next week or so.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FIVE | PART SIX also available on: AO3

For [Y/N], personally, the following weeks were filled with inactivity. She continued on her previous schedule as she’d been doing since her friend was killed, only making sure to at least sometimes talk with the people outside of her apartment. There were some good films that she saw in theatre, though she spent the whole time snogging her girlfriend, and had only assumed that the movies were “good”. There were some sports games she cheered on, some museums she visited, some books she rented - but nothing felt normal. The manic woman was beginning to realize that she’d likely never feel that way again.

More beers, more wine, more snakes at her spine, and the crucifix ever-taunting her from across the street.

For Gotham, however, the weeks were bigger than they’d been in recent history. They saw the escape of the Arkham monsters (Nygma not included, thank the Lord), they saw the rise of Fish Mooney’s escapees (undead or otherwise), and, most importantly, the catapulting of Oswald Cobblepot to the mayoral throne.

[Y/N] had long since chosen to remain oblivious to the goings-on in her hometown, having spent an exorbitant amount of time with the news droning on in her empty headspace - politics, theft, murder, mass homicide, life-threatening magicians and several attempts at axing Jim Gordon and Bruce Wayne. Then there was Theo Galavan - even for a criminal, she didn’t like him. Had she not been too afraid to leave the house, she wouldn’t have voted for him. Not that it mattered, since no one else had been alive to challenge him.

Little did she know, her ignorance would be her downfall.

“Babe, you’ve got a letter!” Chryssie called from across the apartment, sauntering into sight with silky, pink pajamas floating around her form.

[Y/N] leaned backwards to peer over the cushy loveseat she sat on, her form having been curled up over a popular sci-fi novel. She dogeared the corner of the page and set the book down on the coffee table, her lips parting slightly in surprise. “Really? Who’s it from? Not many people have gotten the memo about my new address.”

The envelope was heavy - clearly a fancy type of cardstock. She glanced over the off-white surface, her eyes catching the tiny, decorative speckles that blended into the background like an impressionist painting. The return address read ‘City Hall’.

“Ugh, government letters,” [Y/N] growled, making her girlfriend turn towards her.

The larger woman tutted, then chuckled, reaching for a pot to boil pasta in. “You probably have jury duty. Aren’t you special, babe?”

Her groans of disdain intensified, but she sliced delicately into the package, pulling out the paper that rested inside. Cramped fingers unfolded the letter, and she cleared her throat dramatically,

“Dear valued citizen,

You have been invited to a celebration of Mayor Cobblepot’s victory in the recent elections. We have hand-selected a number of individuals based on their contributions to Gotham City. The mayor’s home welcomes you to join us this following Sunday, provided this message reaches you safely. It would be an honor to have you.

No reply is needed, and plus-ones are accepted.

Warmly,

Oswald Cobblepot & Team”.

The pair couldn’t help but laugh at the card, practically bent in half with hysteria.

Chrysanthemum broke through her giggles first, “No offense, [Y/N], but what have you ever done to help this city?”

The seated woman spoke between wheezes, “Well, I was a member of the safety patrol in Junior High - clearly worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize.”

“You sure kept those hallways safe.”

“Hey! That was an important job! Think of all the collisions I stopped.”

“God forbid those clumsy preteens gently bump into each other.”

[Y/N] grew facetiously irate, “I prevented FATALITIES - I wore a BADGE! And a NEON VEST!”

Chrysanthemum paused for a moment before commenting, “Seriously, though, you probably got an invite for your work at the GCPD.”

Her partner rolled her eyes, tossing the letter onto the coffee table. “Oh yeah - my ‘work’ - delivering mochas.”

“Hey, now… We are only half as strong as our errand boys!” Chryssie exclaimed, stirring a spoon around in the pot of noodles that she’d nearly forgotten. “So what dress should I wear?”

The other woman sputtered, “W-What? I don’t want to go to this ‘party’! What if they make me wear a button? It probably wouldn’t even match my outfit. Not to mention…” She hesitated, grabbing the envelope again, pointing to the included address, “This guy isn’t celebrating in City Hall - he is partying in his house, which I’m positive is filled with breakables!”

“They need a safety patroller to stop guests from running into their precious valuables.”

“A neon vest really won’t match with anything I own…”

And so the couple decided to attend the celebration - well, one did, and the other begrudgingly followed.

The mayor’s mansion was indeed grand, and filled with fragile objects. [Y/N] kept her arms locked close to her body, and her body away from the walls - it would be just her luck to accidentally break something.

Both women wore black dresses (“In case either of us needs to don that sacred vest.”), their skirts coming to rest just above the knee, with the rest of the bodice fitted to their personal shapes and tastes. [Y/N]’s outfit, while beautiful, was slightly more conservative than her partner’s. She wondered, anxiously, if it made her appear insecure.

Of course, nobody would think anything of it, but her paranoia was potent, personal, and positively irrational.

She kept a stiff arm locked into the larger woman’s, content to let herself be dragged around, as if Chryssie was the one invited in the first place. Bodies swam gracefully between each other, every person grinning like they were actually excited to be there - [Y/N] didn’t believe it.

After awhile of being at the party, she felt comfortable enough to unwind from her girlfriend and mingle with the unfamiliar faces.

Where were the people she knew? If other precinct employees weren’t there - why was the former secretary - who left without warning and refused to answer any and all calls about her absence - invited?

The neurosis settled in full-force this time, and her shaking hand found its way back to the crook of her lover’s right elbow. Between mingling, she whispered these misgivings frantically in Chrysanthemum’s ear, but only got scoffs in return.

Frustrated, she kept her further concerns bottled up, and neglected to speak to most of the people they were now passing by.

Eventually, the feedback of a microphone drew the party-goers’ attention to the front of the room. [Y/N]’s anxiety was somewhat soothed at the hush that fell over the crowd, her senses no longer being assaulted by unrelenting stimuli. A deep breath in, and back out - she was going to get through this.

A man limped up to the mic stand following an over-exuberant introduction from a colleague. He was rather short, for the typical grown male, and had the haircut of someone far too deep into their grunge phase. His grin was proud, bordering on arrogant, but she’d already seen him an innumerable amount of times. Hard to forget the face of a known criminal and gangster when he had shown up so frequently at her place of employment.

Oswald greeted his guests, offering a sincere welcome, “Thank you all for coming - it means the world to me that I have your support…”

[Y/N] tuned out his babbling, staring politely in his direction so as to feign alertness. Absentmindedly, she noted him talking about his mother, his campaign team, and those who voted for him. She swirled the champagne around in her glass, gaze now drawn to the bubbly drink as opposed to the new mayor. Yeah, yeah - when is the buffet open? I’m starving.

“… And most of all, I want to thank my chief of staff, Edward Nygma, for believing in me, especially when it felt like no one else would. Without his faith - none of this would have been possible.”

But she didn’t hear anything past the moment when the mayor mentioned his name. Suddenly petrified, [Y/N] bent to the floor, staying on her feet as she pretended to search for an earring. Chrysanthemum had already realized the issue, crouching next to her as well. Applause erupted around them, and the larger woman grasped her friend’s hand tightly, pulling her away from the noise, their escape hidden under the cover of the crowd.

[Y/N] broke into a near-run as soon as they were out of the room. Chryssie almost had to jog to keep up with her partner, not wanting to risk the two of them being separated. Especially when she knew what was coming.

With the other woman unaware, Chrysanthemum held her breath, waiting on the edge of her seat as they finally reached the exit.

“Isn’t it a little early to be fleeing the scene? We haven’t even served dinner yet.”

[Y/N] didn’t bother turning around, she immediately placed her hand on the doorknob, twisting it with purpose. And it moved - she wasn’t locked out at all, but her girlfriend’s hand on hers rooted her inside the building. Panicked, she cast an alarmed look at Chryssie, seriously debating whether or not she wanted to physically attack her partner, but the look in the other woman’s eyes stopped her from acting.

She could see the devil in her peripherals, but she’d already made up her mind that if she didn’t look directly at him, maybe he’d cease to exist. Instead, her gaze bore deeply into her friend’s, finding grief, finding guilt, finding fear where she thought she’d find malice. Immediate remorse flooded through her - there was no way Chrysanthemum was doing this on purpose. She was no traitor.

What the fuck did he do to her?

Swallowing thickly, [Y/N] questioned her lover, “Can you tell me what’s going on? Did he hurt you?”

Chryssie’s face screwed up - silent, tense tears leaking down her cheeks. She tugged the smaller woman closer, grasping now with both hands. Her voice was quieter than feathers fluttering to the floor, “He didn’t hurt me… He said he didn’t care about me.” The couple’s eyes locked together. “But that if I cooperated, he wouldn’t hurt you.”

[Y/N]’s stomach dropped, and her palms twitched with an ugly anticipation. “You shouldn’t have worried about me. You should’ve taken care of yourself. I would never live it down if something happened to you. Maybe we could’ve gotten away.”

“You know we wouldn’t get away. We wouldn’t make it outside of the city before he found us.”

“We could have tried, Chrysanthemum! We could have tried! He’s not omnipotent-”

“He might as well be - what if we-”

Edward Nygma interjected himself back into the conversation, now standing only inches away from the couple. He fiddled with his cufflinks, giving a calculating, close-lipped smile to the both of them before he spoke, “If you two are done bickering, I have some things to attend to.” His large hand pressed against Chryssie’s shoulder, easily creating distance between the lovers. She looked confused, afraid - he enjoyed it. Always a pleasure to present dilemma to the simple-minded.

[Y/N] made a grab for her friend’s hands again, but was cut off from her side - a criminally tall man instead taking her outstretched arms. She wouldn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at him. All she saw was the green of his suit tie, and even that seemed to dissolve under the weight of her renewed trauma and overall dissociation.

“Wait, wait - what the hell are you doing?” Chrysanthemum called, trailing after the murderer as he pulled her girlfriend into a separate room, “You said you wouldn’t hurt her. Are you a liar and a crook?”

For just a moment, she had his attention, and he turned to her with a flourish, hands still tugging the stumbling [Y/N] along. Edward’s smile was dazzling as he quipped, “Naturally.”

Chryssie was removed from the mayor’s grounds shortly afterward, not being given the chance to get a word in edgewise. She caught her best friend’s gaze before a closed door blocked her from sight. Never before had she seen someone more shell-shocked in her lifetime, and she never would again. After hours of waiting outside the mansion gates, she hailed a taxi, choosing to return home after the guards threatened to call the cops on her.

[Y/N] could only wish that she were being arrested. The hard, unforgiving seat of a police car would have been a welcome comfort against the capture of Nygma.

“I honestly hadn’t expected you to run away so quickly after that day. Smart of you, though - I was a little busy with some things anyways,” Ed started, releasing one of her wrists in favor of sending a short text message. He held up a finger for a moment, as if telling her to quell her thoughts until he was finished typing.

She didn’t have any thoughts. She didn’t have any senses. Everything seemed just a little too far away from where she was standing. All she saw, all she could concentrate on was red - and it was probably her own blood, as opposed to his, that was painted across her psyche.

Long fingers folded the phone closed, placing it in his left pocket with an uncanny amount of grace. He ran a thumb along the inside of [Y/N]’s arm, humming idly.

They came to a stalemate, neither bringing forth any conversation for the sake of letting the other suffer. Unfortunately, for the smaller of the two, Edward had all the power in the situation, and he intended to get what he wanted. He always got what he wanted.

She let out a yelp, trying to pull her wrist out of his grasp as a dull thumbnail started digging angry, red circles into her skin. Her failed attempt at release only served to make his scratching all the more painful, his nail dragging down the length of her forearm as she closed her free hand around his, grabbing his middle finger and yanking it backwards until it nearly touched his carpals.

Ed let her go, his finger on the brink of breaking, and took a surprised step backwards at her sudden display of violence. He looked her up and down - this was not the same woman he left in the precinct basement, crying over her dead friend and chained to some leaky pipes. She had vanished to a far corner of the closed room, soothing the angry marks on her arm like a feral cat, licking its wounds.

[Y/N]’s lips curled back over her teeth, and she snarled as she spoke to him, “You should have died in Arkham, you evil, conniving bastard.” Her breaths came in heavy pants, scraping past her teeth so sharply that the nerves behind her enamel started to ache. “You deserve to suffer for the rest of your life, and then you should be brought back from the dead so you can suffer all over again.”

Something dark - darker than usual - passed through his scrutinizing, brown eyes. She saw the tightness in his jaw, the flexing in his neck. For a second, her fear and rage-induced bravery wavered, but she swallowed, a flagrant attempt at steeling herself against Edward.

But he didn’t advance on her, allowing the frightened woman her space, if only to help push her guard down. He kept himself in check, positive that the end would justify the means.

“I’ll allow you that one. I’m sure that you aren’t happy to see me,” He deflected, settling the topic back on [Y/N], “So how are you? It’s been quite a long time since we last met.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she took another step backwards, hands reaching out behind her for any unseen obstacles. “I think you know how I’ve been, Nygma.”

Ed clicked his tongue at her indignance, flashing a smile that hardly reached his cold, dead eyes. “Now, how are we going to understand one another if you won’t communicate with me. We didn’t keep in touch - how would I know what’s been going on in your life?”

“Because you’re smart. You know you’re smart. I know you’re smart,” She snapped, “What good does it do to tell someone what they already know?”

Another smile - this time twice as unfeeling, as unforgiving. “Humor me.”

It didn’t sound like an invitation. Everything Edward said sounded like an ultimatum. She didn’t know what she’d be sacrificing if she refused to play his games. What were the rules? How did she participate if she didn’t know what the penalties and rewards were? Her head hurt.

“I’ve been terrible,” [Y/N] started, words clipped and enunciated, but she thought better of her decision to enlighten him, “I haven’t been sleeping well. There is a draft in my bedroom.”

She watched him nod, his face feigning grief, feigning sympathy. He’d gotten his hair cut since going to prison - the shaved sides and voluminous top made his cheekbones all-the-more severe, his features all-the-more sharp. Ed had seemingly shed his geeky exterior in favor of a more threatening, business-like persona. It was sensible, she supposed, being that he was the mayor’s chief of staff - but it was much easier to have courage against a mathlete than a mobster. The woman found herself missing the days when she got to be the bully. If she’d known how events would pan out, perhaps she would’ve been meaner to him.

Begrudgingly, she wondered if being nice would’ve helped at all. It was likely that any kindness shown towards him would’ve resulted in a different, more co-dependent type of fixation.

He’s a murderer, a terrorist, a liar, a cheat, a thief, a hypocrite, a traitor, an abuser - there is no need to feel sorry for him, not even in retrospect.

He hummed, drawing the attention of his verbal opponent. “How tragic,” Edward mocked, his feet beginning to creep in her direction, “Sleep is very important to the human body, Miss [L/N]. Perhaps you need better insulation in your home? I could get you some help with that.”

“I’m quite alright, thank you. My girlfriend and I simply wear a few more layers,” [Y/N] vibrated, leaning away from him, but not wanting to box herself in a corner again.

He stopped in his forward assault about two feet in front of her. “Ah - yes, your girlfriend. You know you’re lucky, right?”

She refused to feed into his taunting, angry with herself for even mentioning Chryssie. “Yes. Very lucky. She’s terrific.”

“Chrysanthemum - a lovely name for a lovely person,” Ed drawled, caring little whether or not this woman played into his words, “She looked at her most lovely when she was begging for your life.”

He’d barely gotten his taunt through before [Y/N] launched herself at him, catching the lanky man around the waist and toppling the both of them. She reacted far quicker than he did, taking his shock as an opportunity force her palm into the underside of his nose. The man beneath her let out a cry of pain, and god did she relish that sound. It was even better the second time, when she closed both of her fists and smashed them down across the middle of his face.

He was reeling from the affliction, but thought rapidly, using her lack of grip to throw the woman off of him. This was not going as he had planned. Edward had to regain control of the situation before she ruined his plot any further. The towering male clambered back to his feet, hand pressed against his visage to soothe the aching.

[Y/N] had found footing long before he had, and used the discrepancy to put distance between them once more. “Did that hurt, you fucking moron?“ She growled, spit flying from her lips, cheeks flushed a deep shade of maroon, “I’ve seen middle-schoolers with more guts than you.”

His eyes narrowed, and he let go of his nose in a fit of egotism that he couldn’t quite catch - not that he’d ever been good at that. He sniffed, reaching for his pocket handkerchief, “Impressive, Miss [L/N], I must say that I’ve been caught quite off guard. Are you legally prepared to deal with me when I press charges against you?” Nimble fingers folded the kerchief long-ways, and he dabbed lightly at the blood that dripped from his nostrils. “I imagine your wallet isn't very well-lined from selling coffee.”

She didn’t flinch at his threats. “Go ahead - sue me. Send me to prison. I dare you,” [Y/N] barked, her hands still balled into tight, angry fists, “The only place I can think of that would keep me safer from you is death.”

“Death is not a place - it is a state of being.” Ed was then quiet for a moment, his head already leaps and bounds ahead of the woman. She was brave, yes, but she was still an idiot. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” He quipped, his rhetoric short as he started circling around to his opponent’s side.

She mirrored him, stalking in the opposite direction to avoid letting him get too close. Her palms were beginning to sweat. Maybe she’d managed to land a good punch, but she would never be able to match him in an intellectual battle. He underestimated her - she knew that - and it was probably the only advantage she had against him.

His long legs stopped in their assault, and he changed directions, heading towards the door that they’d only just entered through. With a twist of the knob, it was open, and he stepped to the side, gesturing for her to exit.

[Y/N] squinted at him. “What the hell are you doing?”

Edward didn’t hesitate to answer. “You’re free to go.”

Her mind shut down entirely, her fists uncurled, her face unscrewed. “I’m free to go?”

Momentarily, his indifferent expression darkened. “Don’t make me repeat myself - I didn’t stutter.”

“Just what are you playing at? What am I going to find if I go out there?” Contrary to his offer of escape, she moved further away from Ed, his sudden complacence painfully suspicious.

“I’m not playing at anything. You want to leave, and I’m offering you a chance to leave.”

“That’s a load of bullshit - we both know it. What reason do I have to trust you?”

He smiled, his face lacking warmth almost entirely. In fact, the man’s personality seemed encapsulated in sub-zero temperatures. “I’m not asking for your trust, Miss [L/N], it’s something I simply don’t require…” Brown eyes settled idly on their prey, an unfriendly sort-of mirth lacing their irises. “What I’m asking is for an unwelcome woman to leave the mayor’s home.”

She bristled, but didn’t bother to test his patience any longer. Though reluctant, her unsteady legs drew past the hateful, worthless man, and she heard him follow her out of the room.

He watched her as she stiffly made her way down the front steps, [Y/N]’s entire body alight with anxiety. She paused for a moment, taking a glance backwards at him, and Edward tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I’ll be seeing you, Miss.”

Her steps quickened after his goodbye, and she had to hold back tears until she was off the property.

Chrysanthemum didn’t let go of her for a second that night, and in the following couple of weeks, she watched her companion deteriorate faster than she had after Kristen’s death.

[Y/N] quit her job. She canceled her gym membership. She gave away and donated practically all of her belongings, no matter their worth, not matter their sentimentality. She stopped speaking with friends. She stopped speaking with neighbors. She stopped leaving the apartment. She stopped communicating with her girlfriend. She stopped smiling. It hardly seemed like she breathed anymore, and she definitely didn’t sleep.

When slumber took even a moment to grace her eyelids, all she saw was Edward Nygma. It was a nightmare that she could neither wake from, nor rest from.

The familiar shape of a beer bottle found its way back into her limp grip, her body conforming into the chair that she’d spent so many long days rotting in. Tired eyes found their way back to the Catholics wandering in and out of the cathedral. And the will to live lost its way back to her heart.

She was exhausted in her lethargy. All she did was think - of ways to escape, of ways to beat him, of ways to recover, of ways to get help. There was an outright guarantee that if she even attempted to contact the police, it could mean death for the woman she loved - [Y/N] didn’t have to ask Nygma to figure that out. He meant to see her again. No one could offer sanctuary from a man that seemed to have buried his grubby hands in every niche of Gotham City. So quickly he’d managed it, too.

A happy family walked out of the doors to the church, smiles on their faces and their heads in the clouds. Inwardly, she asked herself if even God himself could save her from Ed’s disgusting, bruising clutches.

She asked herself again.

She asked herself again.

She asked herself again.

Her tongue darted out to run across chapped lips, and she set the beer bottle on the side table, rising slowly from her seat. Bare feet brought her to meet the broad face of the packed, homey-looking bookshelf. Her fingers skimmed the bindings, looking for something particular. After several moments of searching, she felt it - a worn, faux-leather covering, a little handle sticking out for ease of transport. She pulled the book from its space in the collection, warming her palm over the canvas as she brought it back to her seat, opening the aged pages with care.

Her eyes did not comprehend anything they were reading, she was so wrapped up in her thoughts. This was her chance. Maybe she could get away with this - ’God-willing’.

-

What. The. Fuck? Ed. You’re a prick. And… You look like a string bean. >://’ Anyways - let me know if you enjoyed this part! I’ve been working real hard on this story! Once again - I am taking requests, and would probably cry if you left me some. Also - still interested in a beta reader to help me check for continuity and grammar, ect… Love y’all. - writersindigestion