#twelve crane control

[elliesbelle]

nobody compares to you

chapter 14

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, dealer!ellie, some setting is in a hospital, mentions of catheters and needles, descriptions and talk of anaphylaxis, mentions of financial difficulties, mentions of alcohol, mentions of toxic parents, mentions of death and suicide, minors do not interact

word count: 7.9k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

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palestine will be free

The first thing you feel is something plastic poking the inside of your nose. It smelled of chilly, medicinal air conditioning. 

The next thing you feel is a massive, unpleasant weight on your chest. Then at the crown of your head. Then some weird pressure squeezing your calves every few seconds. Then an entirely full bladder. 

“I need to fucking pee.” You mutter, voice dry and raspy. 

“I think you can just go, dude.” A familiar voice replies. 

You fight against the crustiness of your eyes but immediately regret it. All you can see through the slits of your eyelids is a harsh, white light. 

“Am I… Am I fucking blind?” You whine. 

“I’m pretty sure that your eyeballs are still inside your head. So hopefully not.” You hear the voice chuckle. 

You fight against the unforgiving glare from above, forcing your eyes open. It takes a few moments to gain control of your body, but you’re eventually able to crane your neck towards where the voice had previously echoed from. 

“J-Jesse?” You croak. 

“Yeah. I’m here, bud.” Your raven-haired friend smiles. 

You spot him to your left, sitting in, what appears to be, an uncomfortable armchair. He wore a blue disposable mask over his nose and mouth, his hair looking unkempt and unshowered, and you notice how his clothes look wrinkled and slept in. 

“What happened? Are you alright? What’s going on?” You groggily inquire. 

“You’re the one all strapped to a hospital bed, but you’re asking me if I’m okay?” 

Jesse takes your hand and squeezes it appreciatively. He flashes you a soft, warm smile. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks. 

“I-I’m not sure…” You admit. “What… what the hell happened?” 

“Well,” Jesse starts slowly. “You went on a date with Anderson to Orchards yesterday. At the end of it, you were being a total dummy and made out with her after she ate a whole plate of shrimp.” 

“N-no, no,” You interrupt, scrunching your face up as you try to recall the previous day’s events. “She ate this whole soup thing for dinner. Some weird French dish with some weird-sounding name.” 

“Bouillabaisse,” Jesse clarifies. “It’s a fish soup. It doesn’t always have shellfish in it, but hers apparently did.” 

You groan. 

“Oh, I am such a dumbass.” 

“Please explain to me exactly how you were being a dumbass in this situation.” 

“You literally just said that I was a dummy!” 

“That was Jesse of the past. I’m a much more mature man now in my old age.” 

You attempt to smack his arm, but he’s saved by the many coils of IVs attached to you, pulling your hand back. 

As he playfully rebukes you for attempted physical abuse, another person enters the room. A kind-looking nurse walks in with a clipboard in hand. Wearing dark blue scrubs, a low ponytail, and a surgical mask, she greets you with a friendly wave. She approaches your bedside opposite Jesse, and her glasses-covered eyes indicate a friendly smile. 

“Hi there,” She nods. “My name is Yoojin. I’m your nurse today. I’m so sorry for not being here when you woke up. I had to step out for a few seconds, but your brother here assured me that you were in capable hands.” 

You turn to Jesse and mouth in amusement, “Brother?” 

He suppresses a laugh. 

“Later.” He whispers through his mask. 

You turn to Yoojin with a small grin. 

“No worries. I only just woke up now.” You assure. 

She gives you, what you assume, is another smile under her mask. 

“So how are you feeling?” 

Jesse remained by your side the entire time, only leaving briefly when he needed to use the bathroom or take a call. He sympathized with your gripes about being bedridden, making lighthearted jokes about your catheter, messing around with the IPC devices off your legs over and over until a nurse came in and kindly asked him to stop. 

The TV in your room wasn’t working, so he kept you entertained, cracking his usual dad jokes and telling some old stories of Jackson you hadn’t heard yet. You pretended not to notice that the anecdotes he’d recall always excluded an essential person in his childhood, and you tried your best not to remark on it. 

After a couple of hours, Dina finally came around to visit. She walks in as you’re berating Jesse for stealing a fruit cup you knew you weren’t going to eat. The sight of her immediately warms your heart. 

“Dina!” You exclaim. “Oh, I missed you.” 

Dina sets her bag down next to Jesse, lowers her face mask for a moment to give him a quick peck on the cheek, and pulls up a chair next to him. She takes your hand and beams at you graciously. You notice that her eyes are slightly glassy. 

“Oh, babe,” She sighs. “I missed you too. Sorry that I’m just getting here. Had to deal with a few things before I came over.” 

“Don’t apologize, D. I’m just glad to see you.” 

She squeezes your hand softly. 

“I’m so glad you’re awake,” She gulps. “You worried us so much.” 

“Sorry about that,” You grin sheepishly. “I was being a bit of a dummy.” 

Dina blinks for a moment before giving Jesse a smack on the back of his head at this. 

“Oy vey. You asshole.” She chides knowingly. 

“Hey! No need to abuse me! I’m delicate.” 

He caresses the spot where she hit him as you laugh heartily. 

The couple recounts the events of last night for you, explaining in detail as much as they know. You listen without interruption until they reach the topic of your EpiPen. 

“But how’d you guys get to my EpiPen so quickly? Did you pass by my apartment?” You ask them curiously. “I don’t mind if you guys did! It’s just not that close to the restaurant. Wouldn’t have made much sense to book it back to my apartment, honestly.” 

Dina and Jesse share a look you don’t understand. Your eyebrows furrow, confused by their hesitation. Eventually, Dina responds. 

“Uh, well…” She begins slowly. “Jesse actually happened to have a spare EpiPen at his place. Thank god, right?” 

“You did?” You turn your head towards Jesse. “I didn’t even know you had one, Jesse.” 

“Y-yeah,” Dina continues cautiously as you notice Jesse’s expression shift to a poker face. “He used to have an, uh, egg allergy growing up.” 

“What?” You ask incredulously. 

“Yup,” Jesse chimes in. “I grew out of it when I was in high school. But my mom still insists that I have an EpiPen on me. Just in case.” 

You continue to look completely discombobulated. You don’t fully buy their story, especially since neither were looking you directly in the face. But you’ve always trusted Dina as a sister and Jesse like a brother, so you half-heartedly accept the tale they’ve decided to present you with. 

“Oh, okay,” You say, slightly unconvinced. “Well, thank god for that, I guess. Is it okay that you used it on me, though? What if you suddenly need it again?” 

“No worries,” Jesse assures you. “I’ll call my mom and ask her to send me a new one.” 

His poker face improves, so you concede for now. 

The couple continue to recount the previous day’s events until they eventually catch up to the present. 

“Only family is technically allowed to visit you in the ICU,” Dina confesses at one point. “Jesse had to say he’s your brother to get past the nurses' station. The nurse manning the desk at the time could definitely tell we were lying, but she was really nice and allowed it anyway.” 

“Oh, gotcha,” You say. “Well, you’re basically my brother, anyway.” 

“You should feel so lucky to share the same genes as me.” He boasts, stealthily avoiding yet another smack from Dina. 

“What about you, D?” You ask, turning towards her. “What did you say you were? My sister?” 

“Nah, I didn’t wanna be siblings with Jesse, even just as pretend.” She grimaces. 

“Okay, yeah, didn’t think of that,” You realize, scrunching up your nose in total disgust at the thought. “Gross.” 

“Wouldn’t be able to get that image out of my head.” Dina shudders. “Anyway, I told them that I’m your life partner.” 

“My what?” You giggle. 

“Hey, it counts!” Dina defends. “Well, kind of. The nurse had to list me as your ‘spouse’ instead, which feels like a hate crime.” 

“Oh, shut up.” You laugh as Jesse chuckles. 

“What? You don’t wanna be married to me?” Dina asks in mocking shock and offense. 

“I am absolutely honoured to be married to you,” You assure her. “I’m just worried about poor Jesse. How in the world are we supposed to break it to him that we’ve actually been married for over ten years?” 

“Oh, please, Jesse’s known from the start that he’s always just been a side piece.” 

“Hey!” Jesse interjects in indignance. “I’m right here.” 

“Be quiet, side piece. The wife and I are speaking.” Dina waves him off. 

You burst out into laughter at Jesse’s playfully hurt expression. 

The three of you discuss what the doctors have told you, and you eventually bring up the conditions required of you to be discharged. 

“I know that the doctors and nurses saved my life and whatever. And of course, I’m very grateful. And I truly do not mean any disrespect,” You say. “But I want to get the fuck out of here, uhh, right fucking now.” 

Dina smiles and Jesse chuckles. 

“I know, babe.” Dina sympathizes. 

“You’ll be out sooner than you know, bud,” Jesse adds. “Don’t stress over it. We’ll get you out as soon as possible.” 

“Oh!” Dina suddenly pipes up and reaches into her bag. “I can’t believe I forgot. I brought your phone. I was able to grab your purse for you before the paramedics took you away. I turned it off and charged it at home, so it should have some juice.” 

She places your phone in your hand, and you flash her a grateful smile. 

“D, you need to be canonized for your good deeds, I swear. With a statue and everything.” 

“Oh, I know,” Dina smirks. “Brought your wallet too. Not sure if you wanna keep it here or bring it back to your apartment, though.” 

“I’ll ask them if I can keep it here with me.” 

A thought suddenly hits you. 

“I’ll… I’ll have to figure out how to pay for all this when I get out.” You sigh. 

“Oh, babe,” Dina says reassuringly. “Don’t worry about any of that right now. Just focus on resting, okay?” 

“Your insurance will hopefully take care of a huge chunk of it,” Jesse contemplates. “It’s through your dad, right?” 

“That’s what I’m worried about,” You say as your hands begin to fidget anxiously. “Something as big as this, they’ll probably contact my parents. I… I can’t let them know I’m in here. I know it’ll start shit and… I just know it won’t be good.” 

The couple give you identical, concerned looks. 

“D-do they know? Th-that I’m in here?” You ask timidly. 

“Not that we know,” Jesse replies. “Neither of them is on your emergency contact list. And you know that Dina and I would never speak to either of them. Unless it’s to tell them to shove a stick up their respective asses.” 

You and Dina giggle. 

“Speaking of which,” Dina adds. “You can ask your uncle. I called him yesterday while you were still out. I hope that’s alright.” 

“Oh, that was so thoughtful of you,” You say gratefully. “What did he say? I hope he didn’t worry too much.” 

“Honey, you almost died. Of course, he’s worried. He loves you.” She checks the time on her phone. “He should be arriving sometime later today, actually.” 

“Shit,” You groan. “He didn’t have to do that. He gets so busy with work during this time of the year. This must have been so inconvenient—” 

Jesse suddenly takes his thumb and middle finger and flicks you on the forehead. 

“What the fuck!” You exclaim in indignance, rubbing the spot you were hit, as Dina gives him another hard smack on the head. Jesse ignores you both. 

“You are more important than any goddamn job that exists in the world, in the whole motherfucking galaxy. Your uncle loves you, just as we do. So no more complaining about it, dumbass.” 

You give him a pouty look, but his words fill your heart. 

Your best friends stay the rest of the time until your uncle arrives around midday. Relief and affection overwhelm you when he enters the room. You squeeze him with the tightest embrace you can possibly give for someone essentially strapped to their hospital bed. You ignore the loud beeping resulting from the tangling of your many IV wires. 

After your friends help you unravel all the cords, they gather their things and get up from their chairs. 

“We’ll let you guys talk.” Jesse says, offering his seat to your uncle. 

“Oh, you don’t have to leave.” Your uncle graciously assures them. 

“It’s alright; have some family time,” Jesse insists kindly. “I’m pretty sure she can only have two visitors at a time, anyway.” 

The couple make their way towards the sliding glass door. 

“I cannot express how grateful I am for you two,” Your uncle says before they exit. “Thank you for saving her life. And thank you for keeping me in the loop.” 

“Please, no need to thank us, really.” Dina nods kindly. “She’s family. We would do absolutely anything for her.” 

“That means you’re both family to me too.” Your uncle concludes. “Thank you.” 

You hold back tears of vast emotion from three of the most important people in your life exchanging such caring sentiments. You’ve never felt luckier. 

“We’ll be in the waiting room,” Jesse promises. “Let us know if either of you needs anything, okay?” 

Jesse and Dina take their leave, and your uncle subsequently takes a seat next to you. 

“Oh, Uncle,” You start before he can speak. “I’m so, so sorry. You shouldn’t have flown all this way. I can’t believe I was so stupid to have—” 

“Hey, hey,” Your uncle interjects. “None of that. You have no reason to be sorry. You needed me, so I’m here. I’m not mad, and this is not your fault.” 

Tears form in the corners of your eyes. 

“I just feel like I’ve inconvenienced so many people. If I could have just paid attention…” You lament. “And now I’ve totally made you drop everything to be here. I know you’ve still got work—” 

“You are a thousand times more important than my job, sweetheart.” He shakes his head and squeezes your hand, echoing Jesse’s previous words. 

“But…” 

“You are my family. Nothing is more important than that.” 

You smile at his adamancy. 

“And especially since losing Rafael,” He continues. “I think of you as my own.” 

“I know, Uncle.” 

You squeeze his hand back in affection. 

“D-did…” You suddenly say. “Did you tell—” 

“No, your mother and father don’t know a thing about this.” He answers insightfully. 

“Thank god.” 

“Did you want me to tell them?” 

You grimace. Your uncle chuckles. 

“I figured as much.” He surmises. 

“I just don’t know how to keep this from them forever, though,” You continue. “They’ll see it through the insurance company. I…” 

“Don’t worry about that. I can talk to the nurses later today before I leave, see if I can pay it in full myself without needing to use your father’s insurance.” 

“Uncle, please. Please don’t do that. This is going to be so costly, and you’ve still got your mortgage and Raf’s leftover student debt—” 

“I just want you to focus on getting better, alright? I don’t want anything else on your plate right now.” 

“Uncle, promise me. Please. Please promise me. Do not spend a single cent on this. I want to do this on my own. I’ll figure it out. Please promise me.” 

He gives you nothing more than a smile in response. 

Your friends and uncle take turns rotating as your company for the rest of the day. They’d only leave your side when the doctors and nurses needed to conduct extensive tests to ensure that you were still stable. You were never on your own for more than a few seconds, your loved ones determined that you not feel alone. 

You’d turned your phone on almost immediately after Dina’d handed it to you. But as a small, gracious gesture of appreciation, you had set it aside to give your visitors your undivided attention for the rest of the day. 

It wasn’t until the evening, when your friends and uncle waved you goodbye as visiting hours ended, that you allowed yourself to finally glance at your notifications. 

Anxiously picking your phone up, the first thought you have is to call Abby. Jesse and Dina had mentioned she was with them in the waiting room the night before. But, like your friends, she was informed that she wasn’t permitted to see you in the ICU as she wasn’t family. Dina and Jesse sent her home with the promise to let her know as soon as possible when you finally woke up and that you were alright. 

You notice that she’d messaged you earlier in the day. But much too embarrassed to face her just yet, you decide instead to first call your old freshman roommate. 

Tara picks up after only two rings, almost as if she’d been waiting by the phone for your call. She greets you with a happy shriek of your full name, an amused giggle escaping your lips as a response to her sudden enthusiasm. 

“Thank fucking god!!! I’ve been waiting all fucking day to hear the sound of your voice!” 

“Umm, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” You reply, smirking. “This is actually Satan, here to leave a message. I’m calling to let you know that I will be collecting your mortal soul sometime during the next 24 hours.” 

“Oh nooooo,” Tara plays along. “What on earth have I done to warrant eternal damnation, Miss Satan?” 

“Not sure if you know, but homosexuality is actually a cardinal sin. And unfortunately, you seem to be a notorious, flaming homosexual. I know, I know; it’s quite disappointing. But alas, I do not make the rules.”  

“But Miss Satan, are you not a homosexual too?” 

“Well, that’s exactly how I know it’s a sin.” 

The two of you crackle at each other’s banter, and you make plans in your head to spend more time with Tara and the rest of the girls after you’re released from the hospital. 

You and Tara chat for a little while about the most mundane things, like her classes the day before and her plans for the weekend. She apologizes for not having more to say and for “being so boring,” but you’re genuinely happy to just hear her prattle off about anything. 

At some point, she hands her phone over to Astrid, who greets you with a similarly delighted shriek that her girlfriend had received you with prior. She gushes over you with love and concern, insisting that she and all the Wilson girls come to visit you as soon as you’re out and adjusted. 

“Tara just about broke down when I told her about it.” She reveals. “She was about to leave for her shift at Ruston’s when Dina called, and I’m pretty sure the whole dorm could hear her sobbing.” 

“What?! I did not!” You hear Tara shout from a short distance. 

“You had so much snot running down from your nose that I just about hosed your face down before you left!” Astrid yells back. 

“Stop telling her that! She doesn’t need to hear all that!!” 

You giggle at the couple’s repartee. 

“Anyway,” Astrid continues. “Kris, Sid, and I tried to come down for a visit, but they apparently only let family in. Jesse and Dina seemed to have monopolized the fake roles of being your family already.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that, Addy.” 

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” She brushes off. “I’m just glad that you haven’t been alone there. Those two really care about you, you know.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Dina started to make a whole fuss when they wouldn’t let us past,” Astrid continues. “Threatened to sue the nurses, all the doctors, the entire hospital. The receptionist nurse didn’t even get a chance to kick her out ‘cause Jesse himself forced her to go leave and take a walk to calm down. I don’t think she came back until a couple of hours later.” 

“Yeah, that sounds like our Dina.” You snort. 

The two of you discuss what you’d like to do whenever you finally get released, Astrid swearing to get you out of your apartment nearly every day after your discharge. 

“I don’t think I have all the stamina for all that, babe.” You chuckle. 

“Then you better get yourself to the gym with Jesse, and build that stamina the fuck up! I want your sexy self at parties and clubs, living your best 20s life with us!” 

You chuckle warily at this, simultaneously pushing away the reminder of who Jesse’s daily workout partner is. 

After saying your goodbyes to Tara and Astrid, you make brief calls to the rest of the girls of the Wilson Crew. They all answer your calls with an assortment of jubilant greetings, each girl expressing their elation and gratefulness that you’re finally awake and safe. 

You send individual texts of love to Dina, Jesse, and your uncle, thanking them extensively for coming to your aid and expressing your excitement to see them again very soon. 

Having done your rounds of gratitude, you finally acknowledge that you can no longer ignore the unread texts of the blonde-braided woman you’d had your near-fatal dinner with. You open up your message thread with Abby to see that she’d sent you only three texts earlier in the day. 

You stare at her text. 

Oh. Huh. 

No part of you blamed Abby for the incident; in fact, you’d been feeling a tremendous amount of remorse for putting her through such a traumatizing and jarring ordeal. It had been plaguing you so much since you woke up that you were far too embarrassed to ask Jesse and Dina more about her. 

But something about her texts bothers you. There was very little warmth and familiarity in her messages. Her words didn’t seem that of the woman who had been walking you to your classes every day, who showed you off to her friends at the Bow and the Arrow, who treated you to a lavish restaurant on a fancy date. Who kissed you with so much passion on the sidewalk of that same restaurant the evening before. 

Is… Is she angry with me? 

You continue to stare at her strange messages for several more minutes, unable to process the situation you’re somehow in now. You can’t think of an appropriate response that would lead to something honest, so you decide to put your response off. 

A-at least until after they release me… At least until I get home… 

The doctors only began to discuss the possibility of your discharge early Sunday morning. Though it hadn’t even been a full two days since your admittance, it took everything in you not to practically beg them to let you go. You’d been insisting to anyone who’d listen that you were completely fine, that you’d walk right out yourself if you weren’t strapped to your bed with a million wires. 

It wasn’t until midday, as you were mercilessly beating Jesse’s Shy Guy as Pink Gold Peach in Mario Kart, that Yoojin walked into your room with good news. You don’t notice her at first, too busy taunting Jesse for landing in 7th place while you scored 1st. 

“You only won because I got Lakitu’d in the second lap! Fuckin’ Isabelle was sending red shells at me nonstop…” Jesse gripes. 

“Sucks. Sounds like a personal problem, man.” You shrug. 

“Alright, I want a rematch, but on the Egg course this time.” 

“You’re such a sore fucking loser!” 

“There’s a shortcut on Yoshi’s circuit close to where the finish line is, by the way,” Yoojin interjects, eyes smiling. “If you use a mushroom and drift to the hidden waterfall on the right, it’ll get you pretty far ahead.” 

You and Jesse look up, a bit sheepish at her witnessing your juvenile behaviour. The nurse looks completely unbothered by it, however, and she approaches your bed as you place your controller down. 

“Aww, come on, Yoojin,” You whine. “Don’t tell him that! I’m on a winning streak!” 

“Shh,” Jesse shushes you, attempting to cover your face with one hand. “Don’t listen to her, Yoojin. She’s delirious from all the drugs you’ve been pumping her with. I must know all your secrets, ‘cause I swear, this one is cheating.” 

“Maybe later,” Yoojin laughs as you flick Jesse’s forehead. “Because you might want to hear what your doctor just told me.” 

Your ears perk up at this. 

“I can go home?” 

“Your most recent labs just came back, and everything looks good.” Yoojin nods. “And your vitals have been stable for the last 24 hours. So unless you plan on wolfing down ten pounds of shrimp sometime before leaving, we can get started on getting you released sometime later today.” 

Your face breaks out in a huge smile, and you turn to grasp Jesse’s arm. 

“Dude! I can go home!” You exclaim. 

“Yes, I heard,” Jesse says. You can feel his smirk through his face mask. “Finally.” 

You turn back to Yoojin. 

“I can go right now?” You ask. 

“It’ll take a couple of hours to make sure everything’s set for your discharge,” Yoojin says, chuckling at your eagerness. “But just hang tight, and you’ll be out of here in no time.” 

“Why don’t you guys settle things here while I go tell your uncle?” Jesse offers. 

Your uncle had stepped out to get some lunch at the hospital’s food court not too long ago. He and Jesse had arrived on the dot when visiting hours began earlier in the day. Dina had accompanied them but left shortly after to take care of other obligations, promising to be right back the second she was done. 

“Oh, that’d be great,” You say. “Thanks, Jess.” 

“No worries, bud. I’ll be right back.” 

He gives you a pat on the head before leaving you alone with the nurse. 

“So before you leave, we’ll go over a few things to make sure you don’t suddenly relapse during the next few days,” Yoojin begins. “And we’ll make sure you go home with a couple of new, unexpired EpiPens, just in case.” 

You nod as she goes on to explain the plans for your discharge. You listen attentively, determined not to end up back in the hospital like this again. As Yoojin wraps up, you work yourself up to ask her a question that’s been at the tip of your tongue since the beginning of the conversation. 

“Hey, umm, before you go,” You mutter nervously. “I wanted to ask about how much all of this will cost me. I-I know it’ll be pricey and all, especially with two brand new EpiPens, so I just want to be prepared.” 

“That’s not really something I can help you with,” Yoojin replies apologetically. “That’s the jurisdiction of the hospital’s billing department. But I’m sure you can get it all settled with your insurance after you’ve been released. Depending on what you have, they should cover most of it.” 

You give her a tentative smile as you wring your blanket between your fingers. 

“A-alright then.” You sigh defeatedly. 

It takes about two hours for you to finally be released from all your restraints and another hour until you’re finally walking out of the hospital and into the sunny parking lot. Yoojin allowed you a quick embrace before you left, insisting that you promise to be much more careful from here on out. 

You lean against your uncle and Jesse for support as you exit the hospital’s automatic sliding doors, legs still a little shaky after being bedridden for so long. Dina pulls up next to you in her car and gets out to open the passenger door. 

“M’lady.” She says with a bow, gesturing to the seat. 

“Shut up, D.” You laugh, rolling your eyes. 

“You sure you’ve got everything?” Your uncle inquires. 

“I think so,” You reply. “Didn’t really bring anything with me.” 

“Alright, well, I’ll head to my hotel room first so I can take care of a few things. I’ll meet the three of you at your apartment sometime later today. Sound good?” 

You, Jesse, and Dina all nod in unison. Before he walks away, you wrap your arms around him in a tight hug. 

“Thank you so much, Uncle,” You murmur. “It means so much to me that you came.” 

“Anything for you, sweetheart. Anything at all.” 

He gives you a quick squeeze before releasing you, promising he won’t take very long before walking away towards his rental car. 

“So,” Dina chimes. “Wanna grab some gross, greasy non-hospital food on the way home?” 

 When you finally cross the threshold of your apartment, you’d already wolfed down the majority of your fries along with half a chocolate milkshake. You collapse onto your couch with a relieved sigh, your best friends falling next to you on either side. You lean your head onto Dina’s shoulder as you take her hand between both of yours. 

“I think I’m about to go into the world’s longest food coma.” You decree. 

“I’m right alongside you, dude.” Jesse agrees, having devoured one and a half burgers himself on the way. 

“No comas, please, or we’re gonna have to turn right back around and readmit you into that hospital.” Dina says. 

“Never again, please,” You beg. “If I have to hear the nonstop beeping of a heart monitor for one more second, I’m going into straight-up fight-or-flight mode.” 

Your friends chuckle. 

“Alright,” Jesse eventually says as he sits up straighter. “Now that you’ve been freed, what do you want to do first?” 

You hum as you ponder his question. 

“Get so blackout drunk that I totally forget this entire experience ever even happened in the first place?” You offer. 

“Right, well, perhaps we can do something that isn’t completely stupid and detrimental to your health. Especially after you were just in the hospital after almost dying.” Dina retorts. 

You boo her as Jesse chuckles. 

“Well,” You continue. “I guess I should tell the girls I’m finally out. I promised them I would. Or did you guys say anything to them already?” 

“Not yet,” Dina says. “They’ll probably want to hear it from you.” 

You groan. 

“You’re right. Ugh. I don’t think I can handle the sheer amount of screaming and excitement that’ll come with it, though. Kris sounded like she was going to smother me with so much love that I’d suffocate from it.” 

“You can always put it off, at least until tomorrow.” Jesse counters. 

“I guess so. You think they’ll be mad?” 

“Babe,” Dina says, squeezing your hands and rolling her eyes. “You almost died. I think they’ll survive a day.” 

“Alright, alright,” You giggle. “I probably should focus on getting work done before class tomorrow, anyway.” 

“Ma’am, I know you are not thinking of going to your classes right after you were just in the hospital all weekend.” Jesse scolds sternly. 

“I’m fine!” 

“Dear lord.” Jesse sighs, exasperated. 

“Like I said,” Dina repeats. “You almost died. School is not a priority right now. You need to be resting, not writing essays and doing homework.” 

“I don’t want to fall behind!” 

“Didn’t your doctor give you a school note before we left earlier? She said you can give it to your professors to excuse you from your classes this week.” 

“Yeah, but it’s not mandatory or anything. I’m fully recovered now, so it just seems totally unnecessary.” 

“Like hell it is!” Dina bellows before releasing your hands to stand up from the couch. You fall flat on your face onto her spot when her shoulder disappears from under your head, and you muffle irritated curses into the couch cushion. You look up to see she’s disappeared momentarily into your bedroom. 

“D… What are you doing?” 

Dina reemerges after a few seconds, your laptop in her hands. 

“Babe. What’d you get that for?” You ask suspiciously. 

“I’m emailing all of your professors myself to tell them that you will not be attending any of your classes this week. Especially since it seems that you want to be such a stubborn dumbass about it…” Dina says matter-of-factly, shoving your head away from her spot on the couch to sit beside you once more. 

“Never should have given you my password.” You grumble as Dina opens up your laptop and easily bypasses your lockscreen. 

“Alright, who are all your professors again?” She asks, opening up your browser to access your email. 

“I’m not telling you!” You reply stubbornly, crossing your arms. 

“Hmm… I know she’s got Olinick’s double class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Mulligan at least on Mondays—” Jesse lists, counting your professors on one hand. 

“No, no, no, I don’t!” You turn towards him, shoving your hands in his face. 

“—I think Joslin from the English department too, but I can’t remember if that was last year or this year.” 

“Jesse!” 

By the time your uncle arrives at your apartment, you’d conceded to your best friends and allowed them to draft an excuse email to all of your professors. Dina opens the door for him after he knocks while you make final edits to your letters, and he settles into the ratty, secondhand armchair right next to the couch. 

Your uncle chuckles at the scene before him: you with a focused look on your face typing rapidly on your laptop, Jesse leaning back into the couch while gently patting the top of your head as he continued to make suggestions to your email, and DIna taking her seat right back next to you before kicking her feet onto your lap as you lift and place your laptop on top of her legs. It had been a while since your uncle had seen you so relaxed around other people, the last time being right before your freshman year of college. His fondness for your best friends quickly grows by the second. 

You look up from your work for a moment to smile warmly at your uncle, and he returns it with one of his own. 

“Hi, Uncle! Sorry, I’m just finishing up this email to my professors.” 

“No need to apologize, sweetheart. You telling them you won’t be attending any classes this week?” 

“Yup,” Jesse answers for you. “Took a lot of bullying on our part to convince her not to overwork herself with school right now.” 

“This dummy wanted to go back to classes right away as if nothing happened.” Dina rolls her eyes as she extracts a foot from underneath your laptop to kick you softly, earning her a stern “Hey, hey, hey!” from you. 

“Well, thank goodness she has you two to set her straight.” Your uncle chuckles. 

“Oh, she’s absolutely lost without us.” Jesse says, continuing to pat the top of your head. 

Your uncle smiles. He can tell that Jesse’s joking around, but he knows that the couple have both been selflessly keeping you alive for the past few years. 

“So how are you feeling?” Your uncle continues with concern etched on his face. 

“Not so bad,” You admit. “Just so glad to be among civilians once again.” 

You feel Jesse rub your upper back kindly. 

“I’m sure,” Your uncle smiles kindly. “How about we talk about what you’re going to do now that you’re out?” 

The four of you discuss what the next, post-hospital visit steps would be. They remind you of the check-up appointment you have later in the week, caution you once more about what foods you need to constantly be looking out for, and double-check that you have your new EpiPens handy and within constant reach. 

“I still have my current EpiPen in the bathroom,” You say. “It hasn’t lapsed yet. So maybe I can give you each of the ones they sent me home with, if that isn’t too much of an inconvenience to either of you guys?” 

You turn towards Dina then Jesse. 

“You sure?” Jesse asks. 

“Yeah, I mean, I obviously don’t want something like this to happen again. But if, by some hideous trick of fate, I end up in a repeat situation, it might be smart to just have one in multiple places. Just to cover my bases, I guess.” 

“I don’t mind at all,” Dina nods. “As long as you have easy access to one at all times.” 

“Yeah, that was my thinking too,” You agree. “Plus, I don’t want to have to use one of yours again, Jess.” 

“Mm, I guess.” Jesse hums. 

Your eyes meet his and you once again recognize his poker face. 

“That sounds like a good plan,” Your uncle agrees. “Let’s try not to rely on just luck next time around.” 

You give him an apologetic smile. 

The sun had been set for at least an hour when Dina and Jesse finally took their leave. Both offer to stay the night, in case you suddenly need either of them, but you assure them that you’ll survive one night alone just fine. You embrace each of them tightly, putting every ounce of gratitude you have into your hugs. 

You settle back onto the couch after you see them both out the door, and you turn towards your uncle still sitting in the armchair. 

“I know I’ve said this probably a hundred times the past day or so,” You begin. “But thank you for coming, Uncle.” 

“I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t come,” He replies. “Neither would Raf if he was still around.” 

You both share a sad smile. 

“I miss him, Uncle…” You whisper suddenly. 

“I know. I do too.” 

You sigh before continuing. 

“I wish he was still here. I feel… I feel so incomplete without him around. Like this has all been an awful nightmare that I have yet to wake up from.” 

“I know just what you mean,” Your uncle laments. “But our lives still go on, sweetheart. I think it’d make him sad to see us grieving him for the rest of our lives.” 

“But… it just feels so wrong. It feels so wrong to stop grieving for him, to move on from him.” 

“It’s not exactly moving on from him,” Your uncle ponders. “It’s more like… We make a place for him in our hearts. It’s sort of like he becomes a part of us. He’ll always be in everything we do.” 

Your eyes well up as a childhood memory floods your thoughts. 

When you were eleven years old, you had your first anaphylactic experience. You and Rafael were hanging out at his house, your uncle at work all day. You were making a mess in the kitchen, developing concoctions with half the contents of the pantry. As you were dumping a bag of marshmallows into a blender full of graham crackers and banana slices, Rafael fished an old bag of chips out of one of the cabinets. 

The writing on the bag was all in a language you couldn’t understand, but the superheroes on the front seemed to be enjoying the crunchy snack. Raf was tearing the bag open before your greasy fingers started grabbing at its contents. 

It didn’t even take two minutes until Rafael realized something was wrong. You were annoyed and taken aback when he slapped the chips out of your hand. It wasn’t until he was hauling you to the garage and strapping you into the passenger seat that you began to feel dizzy. By the time Rafael had driven to the emergency room, your skin had broken out into hives and your throat felt completely swollen. The last thing that you remembered before blacking out was your faithful cousin scooping you up and sprinting to the emergency room’s entrance. 

You didn’t hear the end of it from your parents when you’d woken up from being unconscious after a couple of hours. Your mother spared no shame in relentlessly admonishing you, regardless of who was in the room, for your “stupidity.” The doctors and nurses offered you continuous looks of pity as they had to witness your many verbal lashings, though none stepped in to interfere. You were blamed for inconveniencing the family, for forgetting your EpiPen at home, for “forcing” Rafael to drive a car when he didn’t have his driver’s license yet, for obligating your parents to pay for your medical bills. 

From that day on, your fear of your parents’ wrath was far greater than the fear of possibly falling prey to your fatal allergy. 

All that gave you hope was your uncle and cousin coming to your defense. Unlike your parents, they showered you with care and love, especially Rafael who felt guilty and responsible for your admission. They nursed you back to health after you were released, Rafael promising you that he’d never let it happen to you again. 

 “Can I tell you something, Uncle?” You ask. “I didn’t even tell Jesse or Dina this. And I don’t think I ever could.”  

“You never even have to ask, sweetheart. You know you can tell me anything.” 

“I…” You gulp. “There was a point… while I was in the ICU that I was a little lucid for a few moments…” 

You wring your fingers together in uneasiness as you stare down at your lap, unable to meet your uncle’s eyes. 

“I… I didn’t know what was happening to me. I didn’t know I was going through anaphylaxis again. But I just knew… I felt that something was wrong with me.” 

Your uncle listens to you intently, his chin on his hands folded as if he were praying. 

“Something inside me… Somehow, I knew that I was dying,” You continue. “Or I knew that at that moment, I could die. I could keep going… or I could choose to let my body give out completely.” 

You finally meet your uncle’s gaze. 

“And I wanted to. I wanted to just… go,” You confess. “Not in a s-suicidal way. Not exactly, at least.” 

Your eyes fill with thick tears. 

“But… I wanted to be with him again. I knew that if I gave in, if I succumbed to whatever was killing me, I would see him again.” 

Your bottom lip shakes as you continue. 

“I miss him so f-fucking much, Uncle. I don’t know how to go on without him around. I’m so l-lost and confused, and all I want to do is talk to h-him about it. But I can’t. There’s n-nobody else in this world that I’ve ever felt as close to as him. Maybe except—” 

You break off before you can finish, shaking off the memory of ocean green eyes and a constellation of freckles. The look on your uncle’s face tells you that he already knows how your sentence was going to end, but he says nothing. 

“He told me he’d never let anything happen to me. He was always supposed to be here with me,” You sob. “I know that’s selfish. I know that his life didn’t revolve around me. But so much of mine did. I planned… I built my life to always include him. Now what the hell am I supposed to do?” 

Your uncle’s sad eyes watch as you roughly wipe your cheeks of the tears uncontrollably streaming down. 

“Sweetheart…” Your uncle begins as he stands up from the armchair to sit next to you on the couch. “You are not selfish. I know how much he meant to you. How much he still means to you.” 

He takes your hands between his. 

“I just…” You sniffle. “It’s been years. I thought I’d healed from it already. I thought I’d moved past all the pain.” 

“It’s not a continuous thing, dealing with your grief.” Your uncle smiles softly. “You’ll have moments, hard ones where it’ll all feel raw and fresh again. It doesn’t mean you’re weak or selfish. You just have your own way of handling your sadness.” 

You nod in acknowledgement of his words. 

“But I think we both owe it to Raf to live our lives, to be happy without him around,” He continues. “His gift to us was time. Time with him and great memories. Even if he’s no longer with us, we’ll continue to carry that gift with us wherever we go.” 

Your uncle smiles and you return it, though wistfully. 

“I’m very grateful that you trusted me to share this with me,” Your uncle begins. “But don’t be afraid to talk about this with your friends. Especially those two.” 

“Jesse and Dina?” 

He nods. 

“I see just how much they love you,” Your uncle says. “They seem like they would do absolutely anything for you. And I am so grateful that you have people like that in your life.” 

“Yeah, they… mean so much to me.” 

“I’m glad. So, please. If I’m not around, don’t be afraid to confide in those two. I’m sure if the roles were reversed, you’d do the same for them.” 

“I’d do absolutely anything for them.” 

“Exactly. So don’t be afraid to embrace the love in your life. You deserve that. And that’s exactly what Rafael would want for you.” 

You throw your arms around your uncle and sob into his shoulder. 

You and your uncle continue to talk for a while until you realize that it’s nearly midnight. Like your friends, he offers to stay the night in case you need him. But you know his flight home was only in a few short hours, so you insist that he go back to his hotel to get a bit of sleep before he needs to leave for the airport. 

It took everything in you not to beg him to stay, but you couldn’t bear troubling him further. And you longed to finally have some time to yourself, so you put on a brave face.  

After your many assurances that you would take care of yourself better, you walk him to your front door. When you open it up, you both notice a simple brown box with a thin bow placed on top of your doormat. You pick it up, noticing how light it feels in your hands. 

“What is this?” You mutter. 

“You got a package?” Your uncle asks, looking at the box. 

“No… I didn’t order anything.” 

“Strange. Maybe your friends Dina and Jesse left it for you.” He offers. 

“I… I guess,” You frown. “Although, I don’t really know why they wouldn’t just give it to me when they were here earlier.” 

“Hmm, that’s true,” He hums, squinting his eyes at it. “A secret admirer, perhaps?” 

“Ha ha, Uncle. Very funny.” 

You give him an amused grimace before untying the bow and removing the lid. You gasp as you recognize what it contains. 

“Oh…” 

You drop the box and embrace its previous contents. 

“My Barbie Bear…” 

author's notes:

thank y'all so much for you patience waiting for this new chapter to come out. i literally wrote like, half of this while in the psych ward, and that was all the way in decemeber sldkfjlsdk

tbh i meant this chapter to be a lot shorter than it turned out to be but lskdjfs more content for y'all ig!

reader's first words after waking up is inspired by me saying, "i need to poop so bad" when the doctors were busy working on me in the emergency room lmaoooo

silver lining of me being in the icu back in december is being able to describe it in detail in this chapter hehe. being in the icu suuuuucked but mostly cause it was boring and cold and i wasn't allowed to get up to pee!!!

the nurse yoojin is named after one of my nurses while i was in the hospital. i loveddddd her, she was such a sweetheart and it made me so happy whenever she was assigned to me. i was rewatching arcane while i was in the hospital, and she saw and asked me about it, and then we gabbed about the show and league of legends (cause she religiously plays the game but hasn't watched arcane yet), and i eventually convinced her to actually watch the show heeeheee

reader’s uncle saying he sees reader as his own is what uncle iroh says to zuko in atla, fun little easter egg heehee (you know me and my love for easter eggs)

reader greeting tara on the phone as satan was how i first greeted my best friend when i was finally able to call her through the public phone in the psych ward (hi rhi LOL)

pink gold peach is my main in mario kart lol

reader's professors mentioned are all named after old professors from my former college's theatre department (rip dennis, miss you always ❤️)

reader’s uncle telling her “we make a place for him in our hearts” in regards to rafael is what tara in buffy the vampire slayer says to dawn when their mom dies (can you tell i love btvs)

working on the next chapter asap, lmk what you think of this chapter in the meantime!

also i made an ao3, so if you wanna read on there too, check it out!

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @keizzzn, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete

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[floralcyanidee]

˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2023! ―

! please remember, in order to participate in kinktober, you must be 18+ as there will be nsfw material involved. anyone not following these rules will be blocked!

✧ hello! it's that time of year again (: I did my first kinktober last year, and it was a success (and still is), except I never fully finished it ): I'm hoping this year will be different because I'm starting as early as feasibly possible. if you think you've seen this post already from another account, you're correct. that's my account, except it is currently shadowbanned. so, I made this new account and decided to redo this masterpost as I'll probably be posting kinktober here. also, the prompt list has been edited as 28.08.2023.

✧ here is the taglist form if you'd like to be tagged in my kinktober works! click meee!♥

✧ prompt list is below!

day one. cockwarming with: Cillian Murphy

day two. nipple play with: Jonathan Crane

day three. blood play with: Charlie Walker

day four. orgasm control with: Stu Macher

day five. praise kink with: Mickey Altieri

day six. degradation with: Jonathan Crane

day seven. bondage with: Billy Loomis

day eight. edging with: Ethan Landry

day nine. breeding kink with: Roman Bridger

day ten. mutual masturbation with: Austin Butler

day eleven. throat fucking with: Ethan Landry

day twelve. threesome with: Stu Macher/Billy Loomis

day thirteen. knife kink or gun kink with: Gun Kink/ Tommy Shelby

day fourteen. sex toys with: Cillian Murphy

day fifteen. hate sex with: Jonathan Crane

day sixteen. thigh riding with: Richie Kirsch

day seventeen. sex tape with: Roman Bridger

day eighteen. squirting with: Neil Lewis

day nineteen. public play with: Jackson Rippner

day twenty. voyeurism with: Ethan Landry

day twenty-one. corruption kink with: Jonathan Crane

day twenty-two. daddy kink with: Cillian Murphy

day twenty-three. spanking with: Austin!Elvis

day twenty-four. shower sex with: Mickey Altieri

day twenty-five. roleplay with: Austin Butler

day twenty-six. face sitting with: Raymond Leon

day twenty-seven. dom/sub with: Ethan Landry

day twenty-eight. drunk sex or high sex with: High Sex/Stu Macher

day twenty-nine. phone sex with: Ethan Landry

day thirty. anal sex with: Jackson Rippner

day thirty-one. mommy kink with: Jonathan Crane

[fluidstatick]

I keep reading reviews of Indika, and I'm astounded by how many people have called the points and leveling a drawback of the game. "The points and leveling are pointless," they say. I want to reach through my screen, gently grab each reviewer by the shoulders, shake them slightly, and say "Observing religious convention in a secular world doesn't have material consequences. The Points Are Pointless, and that's the Point."

At a certain level juncture, you have a choice.

Level up - GUILT: gain twelve points now. A short term gain for a short term emotion. Feel bad about something specific, get a little nod of approval from the orthodox tradition that views guilt as constructive.

Level up - SHAME: Point multiplier. Gain extra points from each action in the future. A long term gain for a long term emotion. Feel like shit about the fact that you exist, and you're being pious. Rack up stores in heaven with interest.

It's genius commentary on the emotional and psychological handcuffs that religious institutions use to control believers. Gamers follow directions without questioning the dubious language of the leveling, because that's how games work: level up enough and gain control over the outcome of the game. This is also how religion works. Obey the laws of the institution, and eventually you'll feel secure in it. We, the player, are conditioned by the medium of video games to trust the point system. Indika, the nun, is conditioned by the institution of orthodoxy to trust the church.

The devs posit that being virtuous doesn't mean anything outside of the system that decides what's virtuous. You don't get points for filling the kettle by the refectory because your superiors don't value you. Religious icons are scattered across the map, neglected, forgotten, but as you collect them your points increase. The holy relic you spend most of the game trying to find is an empty box. Lighting a candle by an icon of Mary is functionally identical to lighting a candle by a portrait of Marx. You can save a man's life, but it won't make number go up, because he'll hate you for it.

You don't get power or insight or protection from your score. You just get the chance to gather points a little faster. The pointlessness is the core of the mechanic. That's why it keeps showing up on the loading screens. Don't waste your time. It's good advice! Number go up, number go down, your agency over your circumstances - or lack thereof - never changes.

I think video game reviewers need to play Indika again. I think they should read everything twice. Think about the flavor text for each inventory item. Dwell in front of each lit candle after points are collected, and consider the surrounding environment. A woman kneels on her husband's grave. She tells you he wasn't loved. You light a candle in his memory; why? Notice where Indika loses ten points, or one hundred, or several thousand. Consider why points are only lost when another person does something to her.

Indika's prayers can only get her so far across the map. In the crane puzzle, she literally dismantles a literal church, rearranging it so that she can lead Ilya to his goal. It's impressive, but in the end it doesn't accomplish anything.

The pointlessness is the point. The level names are logical inside the bounds of the church, and nonsensical everywhere else. The Kudetsk is empty. The voices are all your own.

Let go. Wake up.

[floralcyanide]

˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2024! ―

✧ it's that time of year again! I'm starting early this year because the last two years I didn't finish the challenge. life got in the way and all that jazz. here is the list of kinktober prompts I will be doing along with their respective muses. this is subject to change.

✧ please remember to read/ participate in kinktober, you must be over 18. so minors, do not interact.

✧ as I complete each work, a check mark will be added next to the prompt.

(prompts are below the cut.)

day one. cockwarming with: John “Bucky” Egan (Masters of the Air)

day two. nipple play with: Benny Cross (The Bikeriders)

day three. blood play with: Roman Bridger (Scream 3)

day four. orgasm control with: Coriolanus Snow (The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes)

day five. praise kink with: Bruce Wayne (Batman Begins)

day six. degradation with: Coriolanus Snow

day seven. bondage with: Jackson Rippner (Red Eye)

day eight. edging with: Gale “Buck” Cleven (Masters of the Air)

day nine. breeding kink with: Javier "Javi" Rivera (Twisters)

day ten. mutual masturbation with: Stu Macher (Scream)

day eleven. throat fucking with: Thomas Webb (The Only Living Boy in New York) ✓

day twelve. threesome with: Gale “Buck” Cleven & John “Bucky” Egan

day thirteen. knife kink or gun kink with: knife kink with Ethan Landry (Scream 2023)

day fourteen. sex toys with: Callum Turner

day fifteen. hate sex with: Callum Turner

day sixteen. thigh riding with: Austin Butler

day seventeen. sex tape with: Bruce Wayne

day eighteen. squirting with: Billy Antrim (Billy the Kid)

day nineteen. public play with: Joe Rantz (The Boys in the Boat)

day twenty. voyeurism with: Bruce Wayne

day twenty-one. corruption kink with: Roman Bridger

day twenty-two. daddy kink with: Cillian Murphy

day twenty-three. spanking with: Joe Rantz

day twenty-four. shower sex with: Javier "Javi" Rivera

day twenty-five. roleplay with: Neil Lewis (Watching the Detectives)

day twenty-six. face sitting with: Stu Macher

day twenty-seven. dom/sub with: John “Bucky” Egan

day twenty-eight. drunk sex or high sex with: drunk sex with Tom Blyth

day twenty-nine. phone sex with: Billy Loomis (Scream)

day thirty. anal sex with: Jonathan Crane (Batman Begins)

day thirty-one. mommy kink with: Ethan Landry

[summercourtship]

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖞 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖚𝖗𝖓 (𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖙𝖔 𝖉𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖆𝖉) | 𝖇𝖆𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖋𝖆𝖓𝖋𝖎𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖙

pairings: bruce wayne/batman x reader; jonathan crane/scarecrow x reader; edward nashton/riddler x reader

warnings/notes: a mixture between the nolan movies and the 2022 film, i.e. cillian murphy's scarecrow; robert pattinson's batman; paul dano's riddler, canon-typical violence, non-consensual drugging, smut. SEE AO3 FOR MORE TAGS/WARNINGS.

“Fear,” he smiled as if he was making a joke you didn’t yet understand, “shouldn’t control you. Not when it comes to opportunities like this.” You’re silent, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. Frozen in indecision, eyes focused on a random paper on his desk. Then he said your name quietly. “Fear only has as much power as you want to give it.” You looked him in his eyes- his crystal clear eyes, penetrating and sharp in their clarity- and the words spilled from your mouth like you’d been put under a spell. Hypnotized, like always. “Alright. Then I’ll do it.” or, Reader accepts an offer to TA for Dr. Jonathan Crane's Psychology of Fear class and everything goes to shit from there.

AO3 LINK | playlist | alternate POVs

masterposts for individual characters, which includes oneshots in the STBOTDI universe: bruce | jonathan | edward

my new multi-chapter fic!! I'm super excited to share this with you all, finally! I know there is so much happening in it so I have no idea how long it will end up being because I want to give every element the attention it deserves (the first chapter is over 10,000 words long- the longest chapter I think I've ever written) edit (7.03.2024): it's finally done! I'll start posting the chapters over here again (although I highly recommend reading this on Archive of Our Own). stay tuned for the sequels and chapter edits.

CHAPTERS:

chapter one: Wash away [Ao3 | tumblr: I, II] chapter two: Headfirst [Ao3 | tumblr: I, II] chapter three: Alive, just barely [Ao3 | tumblr: I, II] chapter four: Treacherous {Ao3 | tumblr: I, II] chapter five: Scarecrow [Ao3 | tumblr: I, II] chapter six: Karma [Ao3 | tumblr: I, II] chapter seven: Enigmatology [Ao3 | tumblr: I, II] chapter eight: Ptolemaea [Ao3 | tumblr: I, II] chapter nine: Troubled [Ao3 | tumblr: I, II] chapter ten: Yearn to escape [Ao3 | tumblr: I, II] chapter eleven: Our little remedy [Ao3 | tumblr: I, II] chapter twelve: Undone and divine [Ao3 | tumblr: I, II] chapter thirteen: His hands [Ao3 | tumblr: I, II] chapter fourteen: Exile [Ao3 | tumblr: I, II] chapter fifteen: Reprieve [Ao3 | tumblr: I, II] chapter sixteen: End [Ao3 | tumblr: I, II]

[astranite]

CH2 Coming Home Loudly

John isn't okay because it sure is lonely up in space. Scott follows through on his promises; he's here for his brothers and nothing, not even the distance between Earth and Thunderbird Five could stop him. Gordon is also Making Sure This Happens. --After suffering in silence, John comes home.

@janetm74 's Suffering In Silence which this follows. Ch1 upon tumblr.

@lying4sport

---

It had been twelve weeks since anyone had last hugged John or touched him at all. Scott would've been the last, leaving him on Thunderbird Five months ago with a quick squeeze of his shoulder to say goodbye. If Scott had known then that it would be for this long or had put together the pieces about the debacle with Alan already, he would have given in to the urge to tackle John into a hug, professional dignity while on duty be damned. He only had now and his brother in his arms.

All things considered, the stifled sob John let out was far from surprising. 

How he tugged away from the contact fully was even less so. Scott let him go, not forcing his brother to put up with his personal space being invaded when he was so unused to having anyone else around. He wouldn't anyway, even if his own heart ached. John needed physical affection to be on his own terms as much as he did need it.

John's arms went back to hugging himself as he rocked on his feet from heel to toe and back again, sniffling. "It's really nice to have you here."

"I'm glad to see you too. I really am," Scott replied. That barely begun to express how badly he wanted only to sit at John’s side and talk about anything or nothing at all, simply to be close.

Pretending to inspect the big ol' International Rescue sign became far more interesting as Scott turned away to let John surreptitiously wipe at his eyes. Spelled out in blaring capital letters, it was underlined red on the front of their space station

Funny how they had built this massive sign into Thunderbird Five up here where only John saw.

Scott ran his hands through his hair. He'd heard his brother's voice, seen his image through their communications array every day and near every mission since John had last rotated out, but it didn’t compare. Never could. It had been so damn long since he'd actually been physically in John's presence. 

He missed him ever so much.

He spun back to John, slowly to give him warning but too fast because right now he needed his brother in his sight. John seemed a bit more with it, the mask of Thunderbird Five, the larger than life promise of salvation overshadowing the very human operator slipping back into place. There were still cracks in it to see his brother through as John fidgeted with his uniform, twisting his fingers around his baldric until it crumpled.

He was more the utterly exhausted, probably covered in mud and hangry level of put together of the others after a mission, than John's usual never less than perfect. Scott would take what he could get though. If John started crying again, Scott couldn't guarantee he wouldn't either. 

"You ready to head home?" Scott said suddenly. 

He craned his neck around to look at the gleaming control panels, their blinking lights shining as brightly as they should. There. Sorted. Given this was John, of course it was: he’d never leave Five anything less than gleaming. They could go home.

John paused, his movements dying down into unnatural stillness. He lifted his chin, looking Scott straight in the eye like he was presenting his case before a committee of the entire world judging him, instead of it only being them. 

"No."

The single word came out blunt anyway.

Scott tensed up. To leave without John… he couldn’t—

Scott forced himself to take a deep breath. John wasn't exactly making sense, but when it came to his oh so clever little brother, it was most often Scott who was missing part of the equation.

"You don't want to? Or is there something else?" he asked, hesitant. 

It was rare for John to be this thrown by anything. But then this wasn’t an everyday situation, or rather it never should’ve become one so ceaselessly.

“Jay, what’s going on?”

Scott didn’t know how not to worry.

"No!” John shook his head frantically. “No, I want to go home."

His hands flailed through the air as if he was trying to sketch out a diagram of the problem for Scott. They rose upwards before John brought them down fast, flicking them, flapping them in rapid, repeating succession.

It struck Scott how long it had been since John had let him see him do that. With came the piercing realisation of long since he’d been physically in front of John to see him. In front of a camera and across comms, John held his hands below the field of view unless one was delicately wrapped around his microphone.

A tiny piece of the tension eased. John took a deep, shuddering breath, placing his words deliberately: "Father told me to pack my bags. I'm not packed. So therefore I'm not ready.”

To leave without John… he couldn’t—

As Scott reached for him, out of an instinct to comfort his brother in any way he could, John flinched back. He flattened himself against the wall, limbs compressed inwards as if he wanted to to sink through the glass and disappear into the star punctured void outside. 

John had always had the talent of making himself small. Scott was the one here on Five who was too loud and out of place.

 “So therefore I can’t go home,” John murmured. Or rather he mumbled, barely audible syllables clinging to each other instead of cutting through the noise clear as day. Scott had nicknamed the latter as his newsreader's voice once upon a time, on a day they’d been messing about over the comms as each brother requested John do different voices and Jeff pretended to not hear. 

It was what the world heard of Thunderbird Five, through and through. But not all there was to him.

Scott's hands found their way into his own hair again, tugging at it. He hadn’t thought. Grabbing him into a hug wouldn’t work with John. Never had. Sometimes that meant Scott wasn’t sure what to do.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

This was unfair, so fundamentally unfair that Scott didn't know what to do with it. He wanted John, down on Earth for however long he needed, happy and safe, but this wasn't the kind of rescue where Scott could throw him over his shoulder and carry him out of the burning building. It wasn't that sort of strength Scott needed. 

What he needed was John’s own quiet strength, to calm and care for and carry people through to hope on only his voice. Yet what he had was himself.

[elena-mayfair]

Fighting fear

Paring: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!reader Genre: Thriller, mystery, with elements of slow-burn romance Warnings: rating T+/M, disturbing images, strong language, violence, depictions of illness, depictions of trauma, depictions of mental and physical abuse, lost of angst Summary: You wanted to close your eyes and disappear. Disappear forever. Push away the thoughts of the nightmare that was yet to come, dismiss the memories of the nightmares that were yet to haunt you, forget the deep blue eyes and the wandering barely perceptible smile you were destined never to see again, erase the feeling of safety and inspiration you were never meant to follow. You longed to escape. To disappear. To start all over again somewhere else. To become someone else. Word count: 18.2K Note: Some gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

Series masterlist

***

For the past few months, Gotham citizens had been living their lives under the fear of a mysterious criminal who, through sophisticated psycho-control methods involving unidentified chemicals, had led to the deaths of twelve people and the suffering of at least another eight. Twenty people. You heard that right, twenty people fell victim to a madman who swore a vow to first do no harm. Can the people of Gotham finally live peacefully or is horror only about to come? This is Summer Gleeson, GCNN's news.

Doctor Jonathan Crane, head of the psychiatric ward at Eliot Memorial Hospital, has been identified as a criminal alias Scarecrow. Investigative reporter Vicky Vale is currently at the scene. Vicki, how dramatic is the situation?

The situation is truly horrific, Summer. I am currently outside the residential building where Doctor Jonathan Crane lived, and inside which the police have discovered a chemical laboratory, as well as eight more victims that Doctor Crane has been holding captive and torturing. Eight of Gotham's citizens, seven adults and a child had been imprisoned, subjected to physical and psychological torture, right in the center of one of Gotham's most secure neighborhood. The madman's victims were found in various physical states, ranging from mild to critical, which only suggests that Scarecrow had been committing these atrocities for a very long time. All victims are currently being transported to Gotham General Hospital. Among the victims was Matt Bower, known to police drug dealer working for mob boss Salvatore Maroni. Police and emergency services are currently working on securing the building to reduce the chemical hazard. Commissioner Gordon refused to comment, but we are all probably wondering what involvement Batman had in this discovery and where Scarecrow is now?

Thank you, Vicki. Where is Batman? And what connection does this gruesome discovery have to the late evening chase that ended with a shootout on the Metro-Narrows Bridge? Witnesses have reported that not only Batman but also his known associates, Nightwing and Red Hood, were involved. GCNN investigative reporter Jack Ryder is on the scene. Jack, how is the situation on the bridge?

Pretty typical for Gotham, Summer. Bridge is currently out of service and will be closed till midday as stated by the fire department. Scraps of a wrecked van, bullet shells, damaged pavement, nothing Gotham hasn't seen before. Three criminals, apprehended after a dramatic chase, were already handed over by Nightwing to the police, represented by Sergeant Rene Montoya, who declined to provide further explanation. Based on witness testimony, I was able to determine that the chase originated near Arkham Asylum and initially involved only Nightwing and Red Hood. Witnesses also informed that the criminals had a hostage, a woman, but her identity had not been established. Was the woman an accomplice or another victim? We will get to the truth. The people of Gotham deserve it.

Thank you, Jack. Despite the late night hours, we attempted to contact the Chief Executive Officer of Eliot Memorial Hospital who refused to comment. Shameful behavior in the light of current events. We do not know whether the Doctor's practices were known to him or not. However, we did receive a brief phone call from an Eliot Memorial Public Relations representative, who informed us that all ties between the hospital and Doctor Cran had been severed with immediate effect. But how much does this change in the eyes of ordinary residents?

Doctor Crane is the second medical expert in recent memory who, instead of protecting human lives as he swore to do, has chosen to cause harm. Most recently, Doctor Harleen Quinzel, a psychiatrist at Arkahm Asylum who is now widely known as Harley Quinn and associated with the Joker's criminal activities, is currently detained in the institution as a patient. She will face charges of attempted murder and armed assault. Unfortunately, Doctor Crane, or as we should be saying, Scarecrow is still at large. Was he involved in last Sunday's failed assault on the Gotham Medical Society? How long did his crimes go unnoticed? How long will it be before Batman manages to stop him?

"You shouldn't be watching this," Red Hood snatched the remote from your hand and turned off the TV, "enough of drama for one evening."

"Gotham's media works shockingly fast," you muttered then added quietly, "and I should, it's my fault."

"How is this any of your fault?"

You sat down heavily on the couch, threw the jacket off your shoulders, and accepted the glass of water he had handed you, quickly finding his way to the kitchen. Despite his commanding physique, two guns strapped to his belt, and face hidden under a red helmet and the hood, his presence filled you with a strange sense of safety. Still, within your apartment's four walls, the masked man somehow appeared incredibly surreal. You smiled amused, despite your weariness, as you watched him roam around your apartment.

"Something funny?" he glanced at you.

"I'd say make yourself comfortable, I'd offer you water or something hot to drink, but I don't think you'd take it," you scoffed, "can you even breathe under that helmet?"

"Outstandingly well!" he took off his jacket and removed his gauntlets, "you'll need something stronger than water." Not waiting for your permission, he once again headed to the kitchen and began looking through the cabinets and drawers. "You're not a tidy type, are you? I know someone who would get a heart attack seeing this mess."

"Relative tidiness. No one usually goes through my cabinets."

"There's always that first time," he sassed, "the first time to be caught in a shootout, the first time to be kidnapped, the first time to discover that your friend is a sociopath!"

"That's the second,"" you corrected him somberly.

"Damn, you're right! There is Harley Quinn! You don't have a good grasp on people, huh?"

"Thanks for reminding me."

"No problemo!"

"What are you looking for?" you followed him curiously as he went through cabinet after cabinet, and drawer after drawer.

"Your common sense," he quipped, "I was hoping you stored it somewhere."

"Very funny."

"But seriously, chill out. You're not the first and you won't be the last to get a knife between the ribs from so-called friends," he turned to you and although you couldn't see, you were convinced he was smiling under his helmet, "I need a clean towel."

"You're going to take a shower?" you put aside your glass to get up from the couch but your body refused to cooperate. The adrenaline that had kept you on high alert completely disappeared leaving you sore, drowsy and completely exhausted.

"Just tell me where," he placed his hand on your shoulder gently forcing you to sit back down.

"In the bedroom, in the dresser by the wall," you instructed, "right-hand cabinet, top shelf."

He nodded and disappeared into the bedroom only to return a moment later with two clean towels.

"Where do you keep booze?" he asked, folding one towel next to you.

"The cabinet next to the bookcase," you pointed to a corner of the living room, "you should find some whisky there."

"At least for alcohol you have good taste," he chuckled.

"It's not like I'm drinking a lot."

"You'll start."

"You sound like you want to tell me that shit like it's going to happen again!" you eyed him as he paced around your apartment collecting things one by one. A bottle of whiskey was placed on the table in front of you right next to a clean towel, followed a moment later by a clean glass which he filled with whisky.

"Somehow it's hard for me to imagine that you'll suddenly stop getting into shit, as you called it," he placed the sanitizer, lighter, needle, and thread in front of you, then returned to the kitchen, "trust me, I've seen it way too many times!" he chuckled as he rolled up his sleeves to wash his hands thoroughly.

"Stupidity?"

"That too," wiping his hands dry he returned to you, "but that's not what I meant. I was talking about that raging fire that burns in your eyes. Believe me, we've all seen it," he sat down beside you, "he's seen it too, more than once," he unfolded a towel on the table then placed a few cotton swabs on top of it and soak them in sanitizer. ""You blame yourself for what happened. You blame yourself for what happened to Quinn. You blame yourself for what Crane did to those people," he heated the threaded needle with a lighter then wiped it thoroughly with the cotton swab, "it won't leave you. It will haunt you and keep you up at night. It will feed that anger," he put down the needle, disinfected his hands and wiped the needle again, "anger at the world, at him, at yourself, at what happened to you, at the violence you experienced," he pointed to a glass of whiskey, "you will need this."

"I don't follow," fatigue slowed the mind, causing confusion.

"You have a fucking hole in your shoulder!" he pointed again to the glass, "drink up. It's gonna hurt like a bitch."

"Wow! Wow! Hold your horses mister!" you flung and moved away from him instantly, "it's just a small wound! It will heal on its own! There's no need to…"

"Shut up and let me patch you up!" he snapped at you, "you didn't want to go to the hospital then we'll take care of it my way! Damn, and here I was thinking that after tonight we have some trust between us."

"You said it yourself that I don't have a very good grasp on people."

"It's a little too late to change that," he snarled, "drink up and give me your arm."

"Have you done this before?"

"The charms of this job."

You downed the contents of the glass in one sip, closed your eyes, and stretched out your arm.

"Not so fast," he scoffed, "one more."

You did as he ordered. Ignoring the glass, you took a deep sip straight from the bottle, feeling the scorching liquid spread through your core. You took a deep breath, downed another and stretched out your arm again.

"Well, now that we've covered painkillers…" he knelt down in front of you and gripped your hand securely above the elbow immobilizing it. His strong hand steadied you painfully but the pain was nothing compared to the burning sensation of the sanitizer on the wound. You hissed in pain. "Hey, you took a cut you'll take the stitches," the feeling that he was smiling continued, "ready?"

"No," you took another swig from the bottle.

"Stay still," he ordered before piercing your skin with a needle. You cursed viciously but he only laughed. "You'll get used to it. But if it makes you feel better, I know someone who patches much better and much more gently."

"You couldn't take me to him?" you breathed through clenched teeth.

"Not this time," he quietly answered while pulling the thread across, "he'll come, you know that right? He'll come and he'll be fucking furious."

"Who? Jonathan?"

"I meant Batman but that one too," the needle pierced your skin again, "he's going to huff and growl. He'll probably tell you to leave town. Tell him to go fuck himself."

"I'm stupid but not that stupid," you snorted through the pain.

"He means well you know…" the pain in your arm faded despite him continuing to stitch, "I should tell you to let it go. That you should seriously, get out of Gotham and not look back. That you should fuck this godforsaken city and whatever is keeping you here. Or rather, whoever," he freed the end of the thread and placed the bloody needle back on the towel, "but I know you won't do that."

"You say this as if you know me."

"I know him and that's enough," he tied the knot and stood up, "he's an asshole and a self-righteous hypocrite but he means well. He will try to push you away. Something tells me you won't let him."

"I am so confused right now…"

"You'll get it. Eventually," he snatched the bottle from your hands and screwed the cork shut, "I'm taking this with me," he quipped before heading for the kitchen to wash the blood off his hands and put his gauntlets back on.

"Thanks," you muttered glancing at the stitching, "for everything."

"Burgers, remember?" he threw his jacket over his shoulders then reached into his belt pocket to pull out a small device to hand it to you, "do you know what it is?"

"A motion sensor…" you examined the tiny device closely.

"Yup! If you agree I'll install one at the door, one each at the windows and two at the balcony door. Batman was right. If they haven't caught him yet you'll be the first one Crane comes after," anxiety crept in, "each of us has the ability to remotely disable the sensor if needed. But if someone else tries to enter your apartment we will know. I'll also leave you this," he handed you a tiny switch, "should you want to leave. You can't be a prisoner in your own home. Although I wouldn't recommend wandering around the city as long as Crane is out there."

"Do it," you closed your hand over the switch, "you think he…" you didn't finish. A cold shiver shook your body at visions of what could happen.

"I think he'd be a fucking idiot if he tried, but we don't want to risk it."

You watched as this curious man roamed your apartment installing sensors. Red Hood, they called him. Adequate to his appearance which should make you frightened and yet did not. He was the only one among them who hid his entire face under a helmet. He was the only one among them who carried a gun at his side. He looked more like a criminal than a hero, and yet to you that's what he was. A hero. A man who risked his life to get you out of the trouble you had put yourself in.

"You carry a gun," you noted as he crouched down to install a sensor by the frame of the balcony door, "it's…. odd for a hero."

"Heh, I'm no hero," he chuckled dryly, "I carry guns cos they are damn effective! But rounds are nonlethal. Batman's rules."

"Hey, I'm not judging! Psychopaths and murderers, would it be a crime if the rounds were lethal? Cops have no problem with that."

"We're not cops," he walked over to the window in the living room, "and believe me, you don't want to bring this subject up in front of Batman." He installed the last sensor and returned to you. "All set. I gotta go. You'll be alright," Red Hood crouched down to level with you and the image of a keen gaze immediately popped into your mind. "After I leave you're going to be scared. For a while at least," he dropped the sarcasm while something familiar crept into his tone of voice, the empathy and compassion so reminiscent of Batman, "and that's alright. Everyone gets scared. Take it as an opportunity to fight that fear. As a chance to be brave," you listened in silence, "and do yourself a favor and get some sleep."

"I'll probably gonna sleep for two days," you smiled faintly, "thanks again. You say that you are no hero, but to me, this is exactly who you are. Hero."

"Damn! Just stop! You making me blush really hard under the helmet," sassiness returned.

"I'm serious!" you laughed as he got up, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and headed toward the balcony.

"So am I!" he opened the door, "burgers! I'll hold you on that!" he stepped outside letting the icy air into the apartment.

"Hey! Red Hood!" you called out after him, "you saved me today. At least tell me your name."

Red Hood stopped just before the railing, holding a grappling gun in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other, turned and looked at you as if weighing his answer.

"I'll wait for him to tell you that," he answered finally then fired his grappling hook and soared into the air.

***

Tim and Damian knew that Batman had appeared on the Arkahm grounds. They heard the frightened whispers among guards, heard the taunting laughter between inmates once the information reached them, saw his signal displayed on the computer screens embedded in their gauntlets. His appearance was always followed by fear. It always stirred tension. Not only among those who had reason to fear him but also among those who worked alongside him. They expected him to appear at any moment, to emerge from the darkness, as it was in his habit, measuring them with a stern look and demanding an explanation. They expected him to call them in awaiting a report, demanding a detailed account of past events. Yet it did not happen. The certainty of him watching them from the shadows made them even more uneasy.

Tim lost the trail of Crane faster than he would have liked. For several long minutes, he followed him through the dark corridors of the Asylum, retracing his moves, tailing his footprints leading through Intensive Treatment, past the office that Strange used, down the corridors of the block to the Visitors Center entrance. The trail stopped. He hacked into Arkham's CCTV system and traced his escape route to the point where he rushed into his car and drove off into the night. He had his registration and the brand of his car. He could have followed him. He could have followed him to Gotham and tried to pick up his trail in the city's winding streets. Instead, he decided that at this point a chase was not the best course of action that he could take. Damian didn't need help, of that he was sure, and yet he should check on him. Nightwing and Red Hood were in the town while their comms were silent, a fact that bothered him deeply and formed another path he could take. Finally, the most important thing remained. Strange.

Weighing his choices, he ultimately determined that at this point the most important thing was to find the answer to the question why? With that in mind, he returned to the building to head straight for Hugo Strange's office. He did not expect to find anything evident there, but his detective instinct did not allow him to ignore the probability of discovering new leads. Even if the probability was slim. Ensuring that no one was around he picked the lock and stepped inside.

Stacks of papers, documents, and files perfectly sorted and buried in numerous drawers told him nothing more than what he had already suspected. Strange masked his operations effectively. To a cop or a regular detective, it would have been proof of his innocence, proof that he was an outstanding doctor who, as the transfer papers told him, had returned to Arkham to care for the most challenging patients. Among the records, he found psychological profiles of Two Face, Joker, Riddler, Mad Hatter, and Poison Ivy but also more unusual ones. "PM-X1, PM-X2, PM-X3," read the files of unidentified people as one by one he pulled out folders to study and scan the documents. Statements and reports he was unable to link to anyone he knew detailed the tests and results conducted on voluntary subjects. Vague, incomprehensible, written as if in cipher, ensuring complete anonymity and the inability to link them to him. "You're clever Strange, I'll give you that. But I'm genius here…" he tucked the scanned file away to reach for another. "Project Manticore… what is Project Manticore?"

"You should know that you won't find here anything that can be used against me, Robin," Strange stood in the doorway and measured Tim with a superior gaze.

"And you should know better than to come back here!" tucking the folder behind his belt he adopted a combative stance, "just give up Strange. We both know you're not a fighter."

"No need for violence boy. It's not like I'm gonna fight you. That would be utterly pointless."

"Let me guess, you gonna stall until your goons show up."

"My goons?" a mocking smile twisted his face, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Quit playing games Strange! We have them in custody!" he clenched his fists trying to control his emotions, "the back of the building is riddled with bullets that were aimed in our direction at your command!"

"Prove it," it sounded like a challenge Tim couldn't meet, "prove it. You have nothing boy. You are smart, I presume the smartest of them all. I'm assuming you've already managed to hack into Arkham's CCTV system while trailing Doctor Crane. And if you've already hacked into the CCTV, you must have discovered that the cameras at the back of the building as well as those in the corridors leading to the back exit don't work," he calmly and confidently revealed all the potential vulnerabilities he had long foreseen and eliminated, "you have nothing. Even the files, which are probably already on your computer drive somewhere, pose no threat to me. So why don't you politely give me the file you hid behind your back and in return, I'll tell you where you can find more evidence against Doctor Crane?"

"You talk too much."

The shadow behind Strange's back suddenly took shape as a glowed hand emerged from the void grabbing him and slamming his head against the wall. Strange's face twisted into a grimace of pain, but the groan that should have followed did not come out of his throat. Instead, a malicious grin crept up his face again.

"Where were you taking her?" Batman asked in a chilling voice emerging from the darkness.

"Ah, Batman… I should have guessed that birds don't fly on their own."

"Where were you taking her?" Batman repeated the question with emphasis while pressing his face harder against the wall. The glasses on his nose cracked.

"Do you really think you're going to get the answer to that question out of me with violence? Batman. Emotions cloud your judgment. So unlike you."

Tim stood stunned watching as Batman bared his teeth in rage and, grabbing Strange by the halves of his lab coat, lifted him off his feet to slam him against the desk. The wood shattered into pieces as he lunged and, pressing him to the ground with his boot, growled again.

"Give me something Strange before I send you back to Black Gate!"

"On what charges?" he coughed when Batman's boot pressed harder on his throat.

"The list is long…" he snarled menacingly, "Cadmus, Strange. Talk! Waller assured the Justice League and the President of the United States that the project was closed definitively after the first trials!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Detective," Strange dismissed stubbornly evoking even more anger from Batman. He grabbed him again by his coat and slammed him violently against the wall only to repeat it again.

"I am not playing your games, Strange," he gruffed dealing a punch to his stomach, "talk or they will send you to Black Gate in pieces!" his fist crashed savagely into his face as drops of blood stained Strange's coat, "you tortured her!" another blow shattered the glasses on his nose, "you tortured others like her!" Strange spat blood as Batman's fist hit his ribs painfully, "talk!"

"Batman!" Tim jumped to him catching his arm and preventing him from dealing another blow, "that's enough!" he looked into his enraged eyes, "not like this."

"You can't touch me, Batman," Strange groaned, "no amount of brute force can make me talk and you know it. Just as you know that you have absolutely no proof except the words of a woman who can so easily be dismissed and declared insane. Pitty, to what madness Doctor Crane can drive a person."

Tim tensed his muscles but Batman was stronger. With one sharp pull, he yanked his arm out of Tim's grip and, clenching his fist, delivered another punch. The wall next to Strange's face crumbled. Chunks of concrete scattered all over the ground.

"Next time it will be your face," it was a promise, "stay away from her."

*

On the other side of the ward, in the darkness of the long-unused corridors, Damian was finishing up his crackdown on Strange's thugs, those who, in a glimpse of sanity, had decided to escape. "Fools," he scoffed stalking from hiding the last terrified man cowering silently through the darkened corridor, "you think you will hide? From me?" His cawl read his accelerated heartbeat, over 120 beats per minute pumping adrenaline through his body. His eyes read his every faintest twitch, every rapid movement of his head, every drop of sweat running down his terrified face. Part of him immensely enjoyed the little game he played with them. He was better, smarter, more cunning, superior in every possible sense. They were hardly prey who, out of fear, tried to flee to the shadows and hide in the darkness. But he knew the Shadows, he was raised by them, shaped by them, the Shadows served him.

"Not so brave when you're not hiding behind a machine gun…" he quipped, eyeing the man's reaction. He jumped up spooked raising his fists to his face defensively.

"You're not Batman!" he shouted into space, "show yourself you fucking psycho!"

"Awh, big talk, that's cute…" he swooped over his head silently, holding onto the ventilation shafts hanging from the ceiling.

"I'm not gonna go to prison! Fuck no!"

"Behind the bars of a Gotham County cell, you won't be so snarky."

"He made me do it!"

"They always do…" situated just above his head he prepared to jump, "tell me why? What did Strange want from that woman."

"How the fuck would I know?!"

"Wrong answer."

"I'm just a gun for hire! Come on man! Tell your boss that I run away!"

"He is not my boss…" he growled through clenched teeth, "what is Strange doing here?"

"I don't know!"

"Wrong answer again," he could have taken him down at any time but he enjoyed it too much. He reached into the pocket of his belt and pulled out a birdarang, "all your associates are down. You are going down too." He threw the birdarang straight at the man's feet.

"Where are you!?" the man shouted in fear, "Where are you!?"

"Here…" a low voice emerged from space, followed by a blow, and the hollow sound of collapsing body. The shadows betrayed him. The shadows did not belong to him but to his father who embraced them long ago. Batman stepped out of the dark and, without even looking in his direction, said, "You were playing with him. You could have eliminated him three minutes and seventeen seconds ago."

"It's called intimidation techniques, Father. Something you should know very well," he snarled, jumping off the vent and landing next to Tim. Tension hung in the air between them.

"Report," Batman ordered standing over them and glaring menacingly.

"In the driveway in the back ten thugs. Unconscious, disarmed, restrained, ready for transport. Two more in the eastern part of Intensive Treatment, four at the entrance to Holding Cells, one in the restroom in the west corridor, and this one here," Damian reported.

"Crane got away," Tim began, "I hacked into the CCTV system after I lost track of him at the main gate. He took his car and drove off. Given that we know his registration, where he lives as well as his office and workplace locations I decided that trailing him was pointless at this point and chose to investigate Strange. He is a much bigger threat."

"Not exactly."

"What aren't you telling us?"

"Crane is the murderer we've been looking for," Batman began, "he won't go home because his house is currently being secured by Gordon and his men. He won't go to one of his offices or the hospital because he knows we're monitoring them. If he doesn't attack again tonight he will hide somewhere, wait and strike again. But this time it won't be a stealth attack."

"I should go after him…" Tim clenched his jaw suppressing his anger, "I decided, I decided that…"

"You made the best possible decision based on the information you had," he interrupted him, "we'll talk about it at home. Both of you, you are dismissed. Go home."

"You are not going with us?" Damian asked.

"No. I have one more thing to do."

*

You stood on the balcony calmly smoking a cigarette, watching his shape fade into the distance as the dreadful meaning of his words began to creep in. A slowly increasing fear seemed to be looking at you with green venomous eyes from every dark corner of the surrounding city. He was there. You knew it. You could feel it. He was watching you. He was furious. But so were you. The soreness and weariness of your body, the mental exhaustion, the heavy eyelids, and the numbness of your muscles could not subdue the rage you felt. "I've seen monsters. You're not one of them. You are their victim." Batman's words echoed in your mind.

"Victim…"

"The accomplice or another victim…"

"His victim…"

You closed the balcony door with a slam and made sure the sensor was on. You crossed the apartment checking each window and making sure the red light was steady. You turned the bottom lock on the front door and, just to be sure, inserted the key into the top one, turned it, and left the key inside. You were tired. So very tired. The weight of the past day's events was slowly beginning to settle in depriving you of that little bit of strength that kept you on your feet, pushing into your mind thoughts and feelings you didn't want to face. Not yet.

You stripped off your clothes, all of them, from your underwear to your skirt and blouse, but instead of throwing them in the laundry basket you folded them into a garbage bag, then another as if trying to hide your shame and disgust, and threw them in the trash. You needed a shower. A long shower that you didn't plan to get out of for many minutes. Maybe even hours. You needed to wash away the nightmare you had experienced. Needed to wash away his toxins. To wash away him. Tears ran into your eyes but you swallowed them. You couldn't fall apart, not yet.

Before you headed for the shower you lit another cigarette and sat down in front of the computer. You needed to endure for a little longer, you needed to do one more pressing thing before your mind completely crumbles under the weight of your emotions. The light of the screen blinded you, hurt your tired eyes but also brought a much-needed brief awakening. You inhaled the smoke deeply, opened the WORD document and, with a heavy heart and strong determination, tapped out a few important words.

"This is the right thing to do…" you tried to console yourself however the heartache was weighing down. "The right decision…" you inhaled again, opened the email, typed in the recipient, added the attachment and, with a heavy exhale, clicked send. "Now I can fall apart."

You didn't cry. The pain of the decision you made was nothing compared to the overwhelming feeling of helplessness gripping your body and mind. A numbness shutting out your sense to the surrounding safety of your own home, binding you in a cage of your own thoughts. The softness of the carpet under your bare feet did not bring a feeling of comfort as you headed through the bedroom to the bathroom with a dragging step. The warm light of the wall lamps did not bring a smile when you faced your own reflection in the mirror. A bloody wound on your arm covered with three black stitches was the only trace of comfort remaining on your body. "It's funny how a wound can bring comfort," you scoffed somberly while sweeping your eyes over your naked body. "What have I done…" you ran your hands over the traces of your mistakes. The red marks around your breasts were painful to touch, the scratches on your arm barely visible formed a path to the redness on your neck that slowly began taking on hues of purple, yellow, and green, the sad face and dark circles under your eyes revealed complete exhaustion, a nervous breakdown lurked behind them. You raised your hand toward your face to brush away your falling hair and paused to stare at the dried blood on your palm. You touched the wound but it didn't hurt. Not as much as the imprints of his hand on your neck. Not as much as the breaking pain in the back of your head. You looked your reflection in the eyes. "Is that what I wanted?" you searched for the answer within yourself, "is that what I deserve?" tears came to your eyes, "what now?"

You wanted to close your eyes and disappear. Disappear forever. Push away the thoughts of the nightmare that was yet to come, dismiss the memories of the nightmares that were yet to haunt you, forget the deep blue eyes and the wandering barely perceptible smile you were destined never to see again, erase the feeling of safety and inspiration you were never meant to follow. You longed to escape. To disappear. To start all over again somewhere else. To become someone else.

"The past has a habit of following us wherever we go…"

His words invaded your mind, concealing all the glaring pain with a thick shadow, and even though they seemed sad to you at the time now they brought a strange sense of solace. There was no way out. Escape was not a solution. You couldn't. Part of you knew that the only path you could take was through fear and horror, through anger and pain, toward a hopeful future. You couldn't turn back. You had to find the strength within yourself.

You let the warm water run down your body, wash away the cares and worries, hide the tears that began to flow down your cheeks, to take away the weaknesses and fears that tried to take over you.

"Fear, if you let it, can be a paralyzing force, can be the thing that sabotages your every move, your every plan. But if you take control of it, it can become one of the strongest forces driving your actions. It's all a matter of choice."

You stepped into the shower whole and, slowly changing the temperature to cold, watched as the remnants of blood flowed from the cut on your arm, from the wound on your hand, from the cut on the back of your head, running down the drain along with all your despair. Your body trembled under the icy stream but you clenched your teeth feeling as the pain gave way to determination.

"Take it as an opportunity to fight that fear. As a chance to be brave."

You clenched your fists breathing deeply. Trembling from the cold, you closed your eyes and sank deep within yourself, searching for the strength that lay dormant. Looking for that spark that guided your steps, that energy that seemed to bend reality to your will. It was there. Weak and stifled. Barely shimmering under the weight of reality. You reached for it.

"It always comes down to the choices we make. Do we let it control us, or do we control it."

You breathed deeply. Tears stopped streaming down your cheeks. The stinging feeling in your heart disappeared. You felt no pain nor cold. Blue sparks danced faintly over your arms and everything that was painful disappeared. All that remained was an unshakeable determination, a burning anger, a hope that perhaps a path through the nightmare would lead you toward a better future. Toward something good.

*

Bruce cursed under his breath upon seeing the parted curtains and their complete absence in some of the windows, promising himself that the day will come when he will bring it to her attention. Although he knew that the height of her floor provided a measure of privacy he felt that she should be more careful. He looked away when she dropped the towel, waiting longer than necessary to return his eyes to her windows. The light in her bedroom was still on when, wrapped tightly in a warm fluffy sweater, she opened the window to let the cigarette smoke outside. Wet hair fell over her face but she seemed not to care. She leaned against the sill and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. From afar he could see the exhaustion on her face and the sadness in her eyes, a sight that burdened his heart. He longed so badly to go to her. He wished so much to take her in his arms and hug her, to take away her sadness and pain, to make her feel calm and safe, to cradle her in his arms until she fell asleep. He couldn't.

"It's all my fault…" the painful realization struck him again, "I should have told her. I should have stopped her. I should have protected her…" She looked in his direction, and even though the distance separating them made it impossible for a moment he was sure she was looking straight at him, that she could see through the darkness and fog and was gazing straight into his eyes. The illusion of her frail smile played on his imagination.

"I want to believe that in this vicious rotten world there are still people who care about the well being of others."

The memory of their first meeting still lingered vividly in his memory. Completely random, two strangers in a big city, and yet at that moment neither of them realized how close they were to each other. Her effortless charm, genuine smile, and the sparkle in her eye captivated him. Her brightness shattered his darkness, and although he didn't allow the thought at the time, at that moment she took possession of his heart.

For months he denied himself acknowledgment of this feeling and yet it was there, guiding his actions, with each passing day bringing him closer to her. No matter if by day or under cover of the night, he felt connected to her. Like two souls lost in the ocean of life who finally found their way to each other. A way from which he had to turn back. There was no place for love in his life. The burden of his life would destroy it. He longed for it but knew he couldn't have it.

He zoomed in on her face, watching as she raised her head towards the night sky and sighed heavily. The burden of the past day was dragging her down. The weight of everything she had experienced, everything she had seen, everything he had discovered. The memory of Crane's apartment crushed his heart as he angrily clenched his hands into fists. "I should have protected her…"

"Life is like poker you know! Sometimes a hand is dealt poorly and you have to wait it out. And sometimes you just go all in! We don't get to choose how we start in this life. Real greatness is what you do with the hand you're dealt."

The memory of her smile and the spark in her eye once again shattered the darkness that lingered over his thoughts. She didn't know it, but that day for the first time in a very long time he felt close to someone. Unknowingly, she wove with her words the silver thread that connected the two of them. Every day she drew him closer to her and he didn't try to stay away. "I should have..." Silver tears ran down her cheeks and she didn't even try to wipe them away. In her eyes he saw determination and strength to face the painful reality. So courageous. So naively idealistic. She reminded him so much of himself just a few years ago when life seemed simpler and the mission had not yet left its mark on him.

Mission. His dedication and the sacrifice he had chosen to make years ago. His whole life.

"Let's be open with each other. No secrets."

If only it was that simple. Even though the mission had become his life years ago, and all his attention and dedication was focused on fulfilling it there was a part of him that wanted it badly. Faint and repressed, barely breaking through all the regime he had imposed on himself but it was there. It surfaced sometimes when together with Damian he watched movies, when along with Tim he discussed the latest technological trends, when alongside Dick he worked on repairing equipment and modifications to the vehicles while discussing his friend's problems, every time Jason showed up at the mansion. That fleeting sense of ordinariness when, in Alfred's company, he sometimes opened a book to read to the accompaniment of classical music. Yes, in those moments he was himself, in those moments he was just Bruce. If only she knew how many moments like these he experienced in her company. If only she knew how many times he felt just Bruce when she was close to him. If only he could tell her how much he treasured those moments, how much they meant to him. If only he could tell her the truth.

She closed the window, turned off the lights, and, burying herself in the black sheets, she closed her eyes. He knew she would not be sleeping peacefully that night. He suspected that the nightmare would wake her once or twice in a cold sweat with her heart pounding in terror. His heart was aching to go there, knock on her window, take off his mask, kiss her, embrace her, and stay with her until the dawn of day. "She'll be better off without me. I won't ruin her life…" he sighed heavily suppressing the feelings inside him allowing cold logic to take over.

"I'm not a good person, Batman…"

She was wrong. She was so very wrong. It was he who was not a good person. "I condemned four lives for this fate. I will not condemn her as well."

He jumped off the roof and soared into the night.

*

On the other side of the city, below the rich mansion built on a hill, the night was slowly drawing to a close with each safe return. Alfred observed with a wary eye the boys' behavior, listened to their conversations, assessed situations, and drew conclusions. The most important thing for him was that they all returned uninjured, unharmed, and in relatively good spirits. No matter how many nights he stayed awake awaiting their return, no matter how many times he saw how highly trained they were, his heart always fluttered at the thought that any of them could get hurt. Too many times he had seen them on the brink of death.

The first to return were Damian and Tim. Their hung faces and focused gazes told him a lot and the conversation only added to the facts.

"I should follow him…" Tim repeated to Damian, "I should know better."

"Father should tell us everything, provide all the facts and details instead of withholding them from us!"

"Bruce is always hiding something from us."

"If we knew everything the situation would have turned out very differently. Don't make a martyr of yourself, Drake. It's beneath you."

"Alfred!" Tim turned to him putting down his equipment on the big workbench, removing his mask, and unfastening his cape, "if I could ask you for a strong coffee and some carbs. Work for tonight is not finished."

"Are you going to track him?" Damian threw in a surprised question, "I'm sure he's not going out of town. He has a reason to stay here and carry out the plans Father thwarted for him today."

"That's precisely why I need to find him before he attacks again!" he took off his gauntlets and sat down in front of the computer, "we know the registration of his car, we have his facial recognition, we know all the locations he has gone to in the past. With the help of the city's surveillance cameras and by using the triangulation of our satellites, I can still find him today and stop him before he strikes again."

"Timothy, he's only human. And the whole city already knows what he did. He'll hole up somewhere and wait out the first storm before he makes another move."

"All the more reason to find him now."

"Master Timothy, I understand that the conversation is about Doctor Crane," Alfred began calmly, "given the evening's news I take it that Master Bruce's assumptions were correct and that unfortunately, Doctor Crane managed to escape."

"He did not manage, Alfred," Tim corrected him quietly, "I let it happen."

"Master Timothy, I'm sure we'll find him in no time but I insist on a decent meal and an adequate amount of sleep. The past night was intense enough for all of you."

"I'm fine Alfred, we are all fine…" Tim wasn't listening as he activated the tracking system and entered the data into the computer.

"A few thugs with machine guns, hardly a challenge!" Damian added smugly yet Alfred could clearly see the fatigue on the boy's face.

"I insist."

"I need a few extra hours…" Tim ignored his pleas. Taking control of the city's surveillance systems and synchronizing them with the satellite he set the target, "and coffee."

Before Alfred had a chance to issue another argument the cave filled with the growling sounds of motorcycle engines. Nightwing drove in front and Batman followed closely behind. They parked and, without exchanging a word, walked through the cave to approach the same table and remove the equipment. It didn't take Alfred more than a few seconds to assess state of their minds. Bruce was furious while Richard, by contrast, seemed restless to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Jason?" Bruce asked noticing his absence.

"Master Jason has not returned to the cave," Alfred replied.

"Maybe he's still with Y/N?" Dick suggested.

"He isn't. I've been there," he cursed quietly which he didn't usually do in their presence, "call him up," he ordered to Dick.

"Maybe you should…"

"Just do it!"

"Listen, man, I get that you're pissed and all but…" Dick snapped meeting his stern gaze, "I'll call him up."

"I've set the CCTV cameras to search for Crane's car registration and for facial recognition," Tim didn't hesitate to inform him of the steps he had taken, "I've synchronized it with our satellites and set the scan field to Gotham, Bludhaven and Metropolis. We'll find him before he makes his next move."

"Well done Tim."

"I'm also uploading to the computer scans of the files I managed to find in Strange's office," he continued, "and then there's this," he handed him a folder labeled Project Manticore.

"Let's hope letting Crane go is worth it," Damian glanced at the caption, "Project Manticore…" he mused, "a hybrid, a chimera, a legendary creature being a fusion of a lion, a dragon, a bat, and a scorpion."

"Deadly and stealthy…" Tim continued.

"A weapon," Dick added walking up to them, "Jason will be here soon," he informed feeling Bruce's stern gaze on him, "first Cadmus, now this. Bruce this is getting bigger by the minute."

"What is Cadmus?" Damian asked curiously.

"Something that to Justice Leauge's knowledge should not exist," Bruce muttered flipping through the files.

"Father, I think in light of tonight's events we would all appreciate more transparency on your part," Bruce's menacing stare did not work this time. They were right, and they knew it.

"Cadmus was a secret government project designed to counter and control the expanding power and numbers of metahumans in the world," Dick began the explanation, "using highly developed technology and with the help of scientists of questionable reputation, they conducted research and experiments in order to create an army of metahumans in the service of the government."

"The practices and intentions of those involved in the project were extremely unethical, bordering on criminal activity. Some joined the project voluntarily when a well-timed persuasion was applied to others," Bruce continued, "the good and safety of humanity was just a fancy slogan they used to cover up the drive for power and the arms race in the form of superhumans. Justice League led to its closure and complete dismantling."

"Apparently not," Damian scoffed.

"Strange's attempt to extort Y/N now makes total sense and explains the complete lack of any trace of her for roughly four years," Dick began to connect the facts out loud, "no records of where she worked, no home address, no activity on social media, not even a credit card transactions! They must have been holding her somewhere! The question is how she got free. Did she escape or is she a manticore? If Cadmus has resumed their activities we must…" The words caught in his throat as the sudden realization of his own carelessness struck him. Bruce's cold gaze rested on him while his stone face masked the rage boiling beneath the surface. "Bruce listen…"

"Jason assured that none of you knew about the files," he growled through clenched teeth.

"Fine, I knew! Jason lied!" he sighed in exasperation, "you can get angry if you want!"

"I knew too…" Tim added quietly.

"We all knew. Big deal," Damian huffed.

"I clearly told you that I do not wish…"

"Okay man, stop! Just stop! Yeah, you told us and so what! That's what we're trained to do! That's what you trained us to do!"

"She jumped in front of a gun and made Jason fly with the power of her mind," Tim recalled their first meeting.

"Father, surely you weren't expecting us to stay away when you were getting increasingly involved. She's not exactly an ordinary dame."

"We only did what you should have done a long time ago! But since you decided to be a stubborn ass…." the growl of an approaching motorcycle drowned out his words, "we only did this because you refused."

"We needed to be sure that she is one of the good guys. Especially since she kept getting herself into all kinds of troubles."

"A coincidence that should have long ago aroused your suspicions, Father."

"We couldn't just let go and let you…"

"It's called privacy."

"You gotta be kidding me!" Dick couldn't hide his frustration, "she ain't just some chick that you are hanging with to keep up the appearance! Dude! I saw you two! Half of Gotham's elite saw you!"

"And we all interacted with her," Tim remained calm while trying to reach Bruce with logic, "after the incident at the Amusement Mile, she stopped being the woman who caught Bruce Wayne's attention and became the person of interest for Robins, Nightwing and Red Hood."

"Not to mention the Joker and, as it turns out, the new supervillain, Scarecrow," Dick continued, "you have no right to be angry with us."

"I have no right?" the illusive composure faded into an increasingly gravely voice, "I have no right?"

"Father…"

"You went behind my back despite my clear order. You violated my privacy. You've carried out an investigation which I did not want to do due to my personal reasons," the muscles of his shoulders twitched in tension as he approached Dick, "has it occurred to you that maybe I didn't want to know? That if I had cared to find out everything about her in advance then I would have checked it out myself?"

"Imagine that it did! That's why we didn't tell you anything about it until today!"

"Bruce, it was a right thing to do," Tim kept reasoning, "I'm sure some part of you knows that."

"First you follow her despite my direct order. You get Damian and Tim ivolved," Bruce aimed a furious stare at Dick, "and now this. And you have the nerve to tell me that I have no right to be angry?"

"So what now? Are we grounded or something?" Jason sneered joining them, "for fuck sake, man! Listen to yourself! We're all telling you that we did what you trained us to do, that we did the only right thing that could be done, that fuck, I don't know, maybe we wanted to make sure that you stubborn, all-knowing, self-righteous ass won't get hurt and that we won't get hurt in the process! That maybe we do give a fuck!"

"Master Jason…" Alfred tried to calm him down.

"Nah, I'm sorry Al but he gotta hear this!" Jason was boiling, "you always know best, huh? You're always right and your reason is always the most valid! You give orders and expect us to follow them like good little soldiers! Newsflash asshole! Some of us are fucking adults and the fact that we are here is our fucking choice!" he stood between him and Dick and pointed his fingers at his chest, "you insisted that you wouldn't do a background check on her and man, I get that, I totally do! Good for you and all! But you have no fucking right to be all pissed!" Bruce remained silent clenching his jaw in rage, "if we had listened to you your girl would have been long taken away to fuck knows where! If we had listened to you we wouldn't know shit about Cadmus! If we had listened to you we wouldn't know that Hugo fucking Strange is back in Gotham! If we listened to you we would have jack fucking squat! So why don't you pull your head out of your ass for a change and admit you made a mistake! 'Cause thank you would probably burn your throat out," he huffed heavily while Dick's hand placed on his chest held him back.

"Jason is right Bruce," anger blazed in their eyes and the last thing Tim wanted was for them to start exchanging blows, "you should tell us everything. This wasn't just your personal case. This is a case that concerns all of us and which you have made personal." He got up from the computer and walked over to them focusing Bruce's angry gaze on himself, "you taught us how to be a team and despite your best efforts we are a team."

"A team that worked extremely well despite the fact that the leader chose to keep it in the dark," Damian joined them standing next to Jason, "I'm sorry Father but you failed. Out of all of us, it shouldn't be Todd giving me the talk on how to be part of the team only you," despite the visible tension Bruce's gaze softened, "but don't worry. Even without you, we did just fine. Grayson is an outstanding leader on the battlefield."

"We've got Scarecrow on the loose, Strange and Cadmus to investigate, and whatever Project Manticore is," Tim continued calmly, "we'll all be working on it whether you want us to or not."

"Don't forget Luthor's investigation in Metropolis," Damian threw in and, upon seeing the surprise on his face, added, "Kent has super-hearing. Honestly, Father, you shouldn't be surprised."

"You heard them," Jason growled relaxing a bit, "stop bitching and start working with us instead of against us."

Bruce remained silent for a moment. Sitting down heavily in his chair, he looked at all of them closely and at each of them individually. For most of the day confronted with his mistakes, all day analyzing every wrong step he had taken in the past days and even weeks at this moment he could not help but feel pride. So different from each other and yet so similar. They had been through so much together, so much had divided them and yet they chose to stay together. As a team. As a family. Perhaps one of the few things he did right in his life was to bring them together.

"Hey, don't rush it, man! Let it sink in!" Jason snarled, "I have almost a full bottle of fine single malt in my trunk! You with me Wing?" he turned to his brother.

"Damn, and just like that you talked me into it!" Dick smirked, "let's get changed and head out."

"You're right…" Bruce finally spoke, "you're all right. I'm sorry."

"Wing, hold me I'm having a heart attack!"

"I don't know when but Y/N…" he stopped his words, "I care about her and yes, I took this matter personally. I focused on myself and let my feelings overshadow the greater picture."

"Emmm, B? You sure you're feeling alright?" Dick quipped helplessly trying to disguise the amusement appearing on his face.

"It's not just about your commitment. You made the right decision, and I thank you for that…" he rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head but the boys only came closer like curious children awaiting a good story.

"Go on! Don't stop yourself," Jason grinned, "tell us how badly you fucked up."

"Badly," he scoffed, "I fucked up badly."

"Let's guess," Dick wasn't about to give him the chance to back away, "you wanted to do things your way, at the same time trying to fight off the obvious feelings you have for her…"

"Explaining to yourself that the mission is everything and that you need to stay away…" Jason continued.

"Justifying your own behavior with the need to protect her…" Tim threw in.

"Yet simultaneously doing absolutely nothing to stop her from delving into our world," Damian pointed out.

"And thus falling deeper and deeper into the loop of your own lies, so contrary to your intentions…"Alfred remarked quietly, standing next to him and leaning against the computer.

"And now everything that happened today is your fault," Dick concluded, "from whatever you discovered in the Crane apartment to everything that happened in Arkahm."

"And of course you blame yourself for it, cos that's what you always do."

"That pretty much sums it up…" he sighed heavily, "now she is in danger because of me."

"Bullshit!" Jason sneered, "dude we all know how much you love to mope and suffer but she is not in dager because of you! She did this all by herself!"

"Besides, there are four of us against Carne!" Damian quipped with a smug, "at least until Mother finds out. Perhaps she won't kill her when she finds out that you brought a woman into the house."

"Damian!!!" all four exclaimed simultaneously.

"What! All I'm saying is nothing but known facts and an expected sequence of events! Aren't we all thinking that?"

"No one is talking about bringing her home, son. Nevertheless, that doesn't change the reality that her involvement in the Cadmus case as well as the fact that she is the most likely Scarecrow's next target makes her our priority. My priority."

"Oh here we go again!" Dick rolled his eyes, "Bruce! For the love of god!"

"She's not gonna stay away. She's hell'a stubborn just like you, man."

"She will need our help. Perhaps help of Justice Leauge," Tim reasoned, "even if you want to, which we all know you don't, you can't just stay away from her. You can't just leave a meta-human alone without oversight."

"Simply put, you are fucked!" Jason snarled, "so stop with all the bullshit excuses which lead us all to this place and fucking talk to her! If she has any sense left she'll tell you to go fuck yourself but hey, at least you could try."

"You should tell her the truth, Bruce," Dick encouraged gently, "the whole truth."

"That's gonna be a disaster," Damian scoffed.

"But we're all okay with it," Tim assured and the others nodded, "it's the right thing to do."

"Master Bruce, I'm afraid that boys are right," Alfred spoke up, "if you think about her as seriously as we think you do you should tell her the truth. And if not, you should stop deceiving the woman and meddling in her life. Socializing publicly with you does not go unnoticed."

"Boys, I appreciate but…"

"Just sleep on it!" Dick interrupted him, "let it sink in and sleep on it."

"I have to check on her."

"She's fine," Jason cut him off, "she's numbed herself with a few deep ones and I patched her up. Surely she'll have a nasty scar but she'll be fine. I installed motion sensors at the windows and doors."

"You did all that?"

"She allowed me! So you can go to sleep. No one will enter her house and if the sensors get turned on we will know."

"Thank you, Jason."

"Just doing my job."

"See!!! Teamwork!" Dick gushed grinning, "TEAM-WORK! We discovered the killer's identity, saved seven innocent victims, discovered Strange's involvement and saved an foolish idealist from serious trouble! TEAM-WORK!!!"

"You did a great job. I'm proud of you boys."

"Well fuck me…"

"Teamwork?"

"No more keeping us in the dark, Bruce."

"Your transparency will save us a lot of work, Father."

"I will do better," a frail smile affected Bruce's face, "you have my word."

"Damn, enough of these feelings! I'm starting to feel uncomfortable," Jason snapped as he grabbed his jacket to head out, "you with me Dickie-bird? I think our job is done here."

"Jason, stay for the night," Bruce stopped him, "this is your home too."

"Now you're just making things awkawrd on purpouse."

"Your bedroom is always ready for you Master Jason."

"Damn you guys… I'll stay if Dick stays."

"I won't let you finish that single malt alone little-wing," Dick smirked.

"No loud music at night, gentlemen."

"You got it, Al!"

"And no hangovers at the brekfast table!

"Yes, Alfred!"

"And no…"

"Sure thing, Al!"

***

A deep gloomy night descended over Gotham. The lights had long since faded from the surrounding buildings, leaving the city illuminated only by street lamps and the shining glow of the full moon. Gotham seemed to spread its veil of stillness and serenity but it did not reach you, it did not soothe your nerves into sleep. Interrupted sleep brought no rest. Haunting images pulled you back to lonely reality time and again, with a racing heartbeat and cold sweat. The pack of cigarettes grew emptier with each heavy sigh and each quiet curse. A faint tears running down your cheeks seemed to chase after the lonely raindrops trickling down the window panes as you got up once again to gaze at the moon. "Are you there?" you wondered, "are you watching me?" you asked.

In silence your thoughts seemed to scream louder, in the dark your fears seemed to stare at you from every corner of your home, at night you couldn't find solace. Letting slowly smoke out, you regretted that you allowed him to take that bottle of whiskey with him. "He knew what he was doing," you scoffed sourly to settle for a glass of water and return to bed. Behind closed eyes, you could see a clear picture of all your mistakes and when sleep finally came you could feel them all over again.

*

The white light once again blinded you hurting your eyes. The chill of the sterile surroundings brought a shiver to your skin while the sight of countless closed doors filled you with doubt.

"I see curiosity is eating you up," the man walking in front of you noted. He wasn't tall but his posture seemed to fill the room. His prying eyes glanced at you over his glasses but betrayed no emotion. His perfectly balanced words reflected a high intelligence that left you feeling small. "Soon the entire compound will become your new home and all these doors will be open to you. But first, we must clear the formalities."

He led you through a wide, empty corridor toward a small office, and once the door closed, he took a seat behind the desk and pointed to the seat opposite him.

"Professor, I was told that the facility is designed to develop and discover abilities in people…" hesitated, "that are gifted."

"Meta-humans is the proper term to describe someone like you. You'll learn everything, but first the paperwork," he reached into a drawer and pulled out a file of documents, "a few signatures, declarations and you'll be part of the program."

"I'd like to know exactly what the program is before I sign anything," you set the pen aside and flipped through the thick folder.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to reveal the details until you have signed the declaration of will," there was something unpleasant about him, something that made your skin crawl, "you must understand that the program is highly classified."

"What if I won't sign?"

"You will sign," he smiled tinctively, "after all, no one forced you to come here. Curiosity won't let you leave now."

You picked up a pen and pressed it against the first page only to stop for a moment and leave a single black dot.

"It says here that I waive the right to adjudicate my own will…" you uttered, "this is illegal. I'm sorry, but I can't sign this."

"Don't you want to discover your abilities?"

"I want to but…"

"Don't you want to find out what you can actually do?"

"Of course I want to but it doesn't feel right."

"Don't you want to know if you could save them if you only knew how?"

"I do…"

"Then sign."

You pressed the pen to the paper again but a trembling hand objected. They knew. How did they know? You were a nobody, and yet they knew. You dragged the line and gasped in shock. The black ink spread across the paper covered the entire page, spread across the desk, over the chairs, over the floor to reach the walls and cover the white underneath the implacable black. You jumped away from the table frightened, knocking over a chair that seemed to disappear silently under the black surface. It surrounded you on all sides and only the professor's face, twisted in a sinister smirk, seemed to be staring at you in a frozen expression.

"You remember…" from the darkness came a low deep voice piercing the void, "you keep coming back to the same memories," distant but close, coming from every direction and yet seeming to be right next to you.

"I know you…" you whispered into the void.

"Yes, we have met before."

"Morpheus…" you uttered silently as his name felt familiar and strange to you equally, "your name is Morpheus. And I'm not supposed to know that."

"For the convenience of this meeting, you shall know it. Just as you shall know me," the blackness parted revealing a statuesque man of skin as fair as marble and eyes as deep as depths of the endless starry abyss of the darkest night.

"It's a dream…"

"It is. Yet it is also a memory. A memory that you try to conjure in dreams but you can't."

"You can control it…"

"I can," he moved closer to you as if drifting carried by the darkness itself.

"You control all dreams and nightmares…" you uttered yet your lips did not move. The stars in his eyes glowed pale, "why do I know this?"

"Because I allowed it."

"Are you a god?"

"No."

"Who are you then?"

"The concept of my existence will not be conceivable to you at this moment," his lips moved but his voice seemed to echo out of the abyss beyond time and space, "I am no threat to you."

"Why are you here?"

"You need help Y/N Y/L/N," the breath of the universe swept coldly over your skin, "you keep coming back to the same dreams, the same memories, that you cannot escape from. You can't move past them. I find you here every night. Every night your memories create a new nightmare. This needs to stop."

"If you control the dreams why do you let it happen?"

"I am here now, am I not?" the endless black of his eyes deepened, "I have stepped into your dream once again and chose to reveal my presence to you."

"Will you stop the nightmares?"

"No."

"Then why…"

"Be quiet," he interrupted you sternly, "you must understand the exceptional nature of this moment. Decades passed since the last time I resolved to interfere with a mortal's dream. Yet my siblings ensure that your desires are pure, for most of the time at least," the marble face seemed to brighten in a barely discernible smile.

"Are there more like you?"

"Is that the question you want to ask?"

"I guess not…" the galaxies in his eyes mesmerized, "why me? Why are you helping me?"

"I get curious when a magic user emerges in the mortal world," the stars glimmered intensely.

"Say what?" your lips moved but no words came out. Yet he seemed to hear your thoughts.

"You are not a meta-human Y/N, not in the way humans understand it. You are something else. But you already know that. You have always known it. Your mind tries desperately to remember but it can't." Slowly he moved his eyes toward the professor while the stars in his eyes dimmed. "These humans. They have wronged you. They hurt your body, soul and mind. They have taken your intentions and perverted them to suit their needs. They violated your will. Your memories are full of pain and suffering."

"Will you show them to me?"

"I could send you all the memories at once if I only chose to. I will not do that. It would be pointless. Your mind would surely collapse under their weight," out of the midst of the darkness he reached out a marble slender hand towards you, "Instead, I offer to guide you through them. I can help you remember."

Although your hand trembled you reached out to grasp his. The blackness around you faded away. Golden grains of sand appeared as if out of nowhere enclosing you, dancing and swirling around you, blurring the image, lifting you above the nonexistent ground to spread into nothingness a moment later and reveal a new image, a new dream, a long-forgotten memory.

*

It felt as if the memories in your head blended together just like the colors of unsorted laundry carelessly thrown into the washing machine. The past far and near clashed together to create a new distorted reality. The space around you appeared white and sterile again, like the one from your horrific memories, but at the same time obscured and dimmed much like one of the rooms in Arkham. There was no blinding white light, no heavy metal doors, no machines, no cables, tubes or monitors. Only a vertical bed with wide safety straps so reminiscent of the one in Crane's lab, only a single metal frame with a narrow beam of light aimed straight at it.

"I don't remember this place…" you said silently as the darkness around you formed a shape revealing his figure, "I don't remember this."

"You do remember. After all, we are in your memories," he replied softly.

"You created this?"

"I merely took what you had hidden deep at the bottom of your consciousness and brought it to the surface," he explained, gazing not at you but into the space in front, "this memory, this dream, were particularly difficult to retrieve. They ensured that you would not remember it."

"Who did?"

As if in answer to your question, the door to the room opened letting in a sliver of light that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Professor Strange, assisted by two stout, strong men, stood a short distance from you and fixed his displeased eyes on you.

"I should have known there would be trouble with you," he clicked his tongue, "but the intrigue of your abilities doesn't allow me to simply write you off," he came close enough for you to smell the starch on his apron, "your insubordination, your defiance of orders, your deliberate sabotage of your training, and your stubbornness. Why do you resist when you saw for yourself the consequences of such behavior?"

He waited for the answer you should have given but couldn't. Your mind could not recall the event while your body seemed to remember all too well. Your muscles tensed as if in anticipation of the pain that was about to come. Your heart sped up as if in premature response to the distress you were about to experience. The headache attacked without warning piercing your head, cracking it, penetrating every thought and memory, shattering them into the thousands of pieces you were so desperately trying to put together.

"Big mouth and snarky words won't do you any good," he mocked, "we have ways to control the likes of you."

You looked at Morpheus horrified as two men came up to you and grabbed you painfully, one by your shoulders to lift you off the ground and the other by your ankles. You called out to him but he only watched everything with a marble emotionless face, only the stars in his eyes seemed to dim in sorrow.

"Make it stop!" you shouted to him as they pressed you to the bed, "I beg you! Make it stop!" you cried as they twisted your wrists to strap them down, as they grabbed your ankles to steady them, "Morpheus please…" you stifled as they forced a rubber guard into your mouth while fastening the last strap over your forehead.

"Insubordination we can correct, painfully," Strange smiled wryly, "how long you suffer depends only on you," he moved the metal frame closer directing it straight at you and activated the switch.

Your body shook in convulsions as the red laser entered your pupil piercing into your brain. Muscles contracted rapidly, bending your limbs at an unnatural angle. Breath caught in your lungs for a moment only to escape with a desperate panting. A cold sweat coated your skin soaking your clothes, blending with the warm trickle that ran down your leg. Red was penetrating through your wide open eyes, burning holes in your brain, distorting your consciousness. It was erasing your identity, turning everything that was yours into a blur. One by one, thoughts disappeared from your mind, feelings got erased leaving you hollow, leaving you numb. Anger, rage, frustration, will to fight, fear disappeared one by one devoured by the red. You felt nothing. You thought nothing. Only the brightly electrifying energy continued to simmer in you trying to protect the essence of your being.

*

The pale full moon light crept into Bruce's bedroom chasing away sleep bringing with it the chill of reflection and analysis. For few long minutes he laid with his hands under his head staring at the sky outside the window as if waiting for a signal to brighten in the sky, waiting for the needed distraction, for a way to escape his own thoughts. But the signal did not light up. "I wonder if she is asleep…"

For a moment he considered getting up and returning to the cave, to plunge into work, work out, to drown out his thoughts with the sound of punches, to turn emotions into the strain of muscles and tendons and the rush of doubts into a cool sweat on his body. Clear the mind if only for a moment. "Pointless…"

He got up from the bed, reached for his laptop, plugged in the flash drive he had taken from the cave earlier and hesitated. For so long he had resisted the information he could have at his fingertips. For so long he had fought off the temptation to learn everything he could about her. He wanted to savor every moment with her, to discover her, to learn her, to get to know her, as normal people do. He enjoyed it. For the first time in a long time, he felt truly good. She brought a smile to his face in the most effortless way. He wished he could preserve this moment. He wished for the illusion of normality to last.

"Delusion… naive desires…" he opened the file folder once again confronting himself with his mistakes. "There is nothing normal about me or her. We are far from normal. I was a fool…" reaching agreement with himself, he dragged his finger over the first folder and opened the file. Her entire life unfolded before his eyes.

School. Family. Friends. Retained in a few words and pictures found in the government institutions' records. Date and place of birth, age, height, hair color, eye color, parents' names, birthmarks. An ordinary girl from a small town, with an ordinary life, a good life. "She was born in Europe…" he paused at the information, "then moved to Bludhaven when she was only a child. She never mentioned Bludhaven. Why?" He trailed his eyes over the story of her life. "She was hospitalized, twice…" he opened the hospital records, "a broken leg and arm the first time," the image of her climbing trees entered his mind, "and neurological problems the second…" he frowned seeing the date on the file, "she was so young." Minimizing the file littered with medical details, he returned to her story. Elementary school, high school, college, first job at a far too young age. "Computer sales…" he chuckled quietly seeing her picture in a blue polo with a company logo. She looked like a sweet, innocent girl to whom nothing bad could ever happen. He opened another folder filled with photos. Mountain trips with her parents, her first bicycle, an adorable biscuit golden puppy that surely brought her a lot of joy made him smile fondly. Graduation, her first boyfriend, the academic year inauguration, concerts, parties, her first martens and leather jacket, "rebellious," he scoffed amused. Each photo depicted her happy and smiling, full of joy and passion for life which he continued to see in her eyes despite the passage of years. "What happened then?" he clicked through a few more photos, screenshots from social networks when in love she posted heartfelt lyrics, photos where she smiled joyfully in her boyfriend's embrace, posts where she uploaded clips of Linking Park and Thirty Seconds to Mars in anger. As the years passed, darkness crept into her life but she seemed to retain her smile, especially in those moments when Harleen accompanied her. "How did you get here…" his nature and curiosity took over as he closed away the years of her youth to display her adult life. Happiness seemed to vanish as she stepped into adulthood. Maturity reached her too soon. "She fell in love again…moved out from home before she turned nineteen… moved away…" he swiped through not so distant facts, "traveled the world, worked abroad, got engaged…" he frowned pausing at the photo. One look was enough for him to know everything. She loved him dearly, he loved only himself. "Why did you end up with someone like that?" he moved through the records of her life and smiled involuntarily seeing how short the engagement lasted. She returned to Bludhaven, resumed work, bought a new car and "…suddenly disappeared…" he mused over the fragmented story. "What happened?"

*

High walls surrounded the compound on all sides obscuring the greenery where twelve young people trained fiercely in the brightness of the morning sun. Men and women, all dressed in military style sweatpants and gray T-shirts, divided in pairs punched, kicked, flipped and knocked each other to the ground.

"In combat, you cannot rely only on your supernatural abilities!" a tall, muscular man with thick but snow-white hair roamed the field peering at them with a sharp eye, "your abilities are your weakness! Your abilities are your disadvantage! The first thing your opponent will use against you!"

The blows fell one after another, brutal, painful, aimed deliberately and precisely, drawing blood and marking bruises, twisting joints and straining muscles. But they kept fighting. Someone grabbed his partner's arm hard, bent it in an unnatural direction breaking the bone with a snap. A cry echoed through the walls.

"Hesitation means death! Death is a mercy given to the weak and useless! You are meant to be strong! Better! We don't train you to fight! We train you to kill!"

You watched everything as a movie projected in front of your eyes. Faces contorted from pain, blood stained shirts, sore bodies and despair in the eyes of those who were praying for death.

"Attack to inflict pain!"

The bones in your body creaked opening long-forgotten injuries, wept in forgotten pain.

"Block to maintain the advantage!"

The pain pierced your muscles like a memory hidden beneath the surface of your skin.

"Strike to kill!"

A shudder ran through your body, convulsions twisted your insides as if trying to fight off the poison that seemed to consume you entirely.

"He trained us…" you whispered, "he was merciless."

The sun illuminating the greenery beneath your feet dimmed as the shadow surrounded you with a warm, soft veil.

"They wanted to make us into weapons…"

"I know," Morpheus spoke softly in an eerily human voice, "I was there. In every dream and every nightmare you have dreamt while being here."

"They promised help and guidance but instead tried to use us, weponized us against those they deemed a threat…"

"The pages of human history have been marked by many like them."

Someone broke under pressure allowing his emotions to take control of his body. Applying superhuman strength, he struck his opponent breaking his neck in the snap.

"No powers!"

"Apologies, sir," the man leaned his head as he put his hands behind the back to stand at attention, "it took over me."

"I have no interest in your apology," with a heavy slow step he approached the terrified man, "you are a soldier. Soldiers follow orders. If you are incapable of following orders you will be useless in the field." In one swift motion, he drew a narrow long sword from behind his back. The steel flashed in the sunlight. Blood gushed widely staining the green beneath their feet. The man fell inertly to the ground.

"No one touches him! Back to training!"

The blackness swirled around you while the golden particles danced as if carried by a nonexistent wind.

"Are you ready to move on?" Morpheus asked while watching your furious gaze.

"Yes, please."

*

"She disappeared…just like that she disappeared…" Bruce leaned back in his chair and stared at the computer screen. "No one disappears overnight." He opened the files again and carefully traced the events of her adult years convinced that he had missed a detail. He had not. The few clicks and fractions of a second required to run his computer's systems were enough to fill his mind with countless questions. "Jason left something out…" He typed her name into the system, combined it with facial recognition, and personal information to momentarily display endless information about her. All aligned with the ones on the flash drive, all merely confirming and duplicating facts he already knew. "Something is missing…"

A part of him didn't want to dig deeper, but it was too late to back out. It was in his nature to investigate, to find the truth, to look for the smallest, least significant details, to see things that others could not see, to piece together the tiniest facts into a previously unknown truth. He could not back down now.

With a few clicks he changed the scope of the search, typing in the names and details of her parents only to freeze in stillness once the computer displayed the results. His heart ached with pain but his mind understood.

*

The gold dust settled, the blackness thinned to reveal an environment so familiar to you, one that you so desperately didn't want to remember. The brown wallpaper on the walls you had long planned to replace, the brown rug under your feet that should have been vacuumed days ago, the warmth of the yellow ceiling light that could not hide the surrounding decay. You were home. A purple cashmere sweater hung on a hanger just as it always did. Funny pink slippers were placed at the entrance in the same place they always did. A pleasant scent of apples and cinnamon lingered in the air, barely covering the foul odor of sweat, sourness, and death that wafted through.

"I don't want to be here…" you whispered in a trembling voice as tears came to your eyes, "please…" you looked into his endless eyes but his sombre face remained unmoved, "please take me away from here."

"I will not do that," he replied in a stern but warm voice, "this is where it all started. This is where you need to be."

"I can't, I don't want to…" tears slipped down your face, "don't make me."

"I would not force you even if my power allows it," compassion reached from the depths of the universe, "there is nothing wrong with being afraid. There is nothing more human than to be afraid. You tried to control your fear, you tried to get rid of it. You have allowed him to exploit that," he extended an open hand to you, "the time has come for you to face your fear."

You took his hand and allowed yourself to be led down a narrow hallway toward a darkened bedroom. You wanted to close your eyes and not see death standing by the side of the bed. You wanted to close your heart and not feel the pain tearing your soul into a million pieces meant never to become whole again. You wanted to close your ears and not hear the weak voice you would never hear again. You wanted to run away but his cold, steady hand kept you close.

"Y/N?" your legs buckled under you at the sound of the forlorn voice. Your throat tightened painfully straining breath in your lungs, forcing tears into your eyes but you only exhaled deeply and forced a smile.

"Hey, Mom," you let go of his hand and walked over to the bed, "how are you feeling? Have you slept at all?"

"I'm better," she lied. Eyes veiled with fog, a tired face, and a limp body disappearing into the folds of the sheets betrayed more than you wished.

"Mom…" placing a hand to her forehead, you brushed away her sweat-damp hair. She was cold. So very cold, "I'll make you some tea. And I'll open the window for a moment, it's terribly stuffy in here."

"How was work?" she asked, continuing the game of pretend.

"As always, all good," you pushed aside a bowl filled with black and yellow liquid, "did you eat anything?"

"I can't stomach the food…"

"Mom you have to eat. You take morphine, you can't take it on an empty stomach."

"I can't eat…" she said weakly, " I vomit everything I eat."

You took her cold hand feeling as painful realization tried to extinguish hope. Hope that everything will be fine, hope that the next operation will fix everything, that you will travel over the sea next summer.

"Don't worry my star," she smiled faintly, "this will pass."

"I know Mom," you sighed heavily forcing a smile, "they just have to cut out that fucking tumor. I'm sure it's pressing on your stomach and that's why you can't eat. They'll cut it out and everything will be fine."

"Exactly," she wanted so badly to believe it, and yet something seemed to hide behind her eyes, "I need you to pack my bag and call an ambulance," she had never asked before.

"Something's wrong?" your heart leaped to your throat.

"I feel that I shouldn't have been discharged from the hospital. At least at the hospital, they would give me an IV."

"You're right. At least your body will strengthen before the operation. Wednesday isn't far away," you helped her up and held her steady making sure she would not lose her balance, "we need to change your pajamas."

"I don't think I'll be able to stand up," once strong and full of life she now seemed frail and weak, "call an ambulance. Get my papers ready. You can drop my bag off later."

"Got it!"

Even though it was only a memory you played your part just as intently as you did on that day, feeling everything just as strongly as before. Panic when she couldn't stand on her feet, worry when logic took over from false hope, determination when you gathered her things and helped her get dressed, composure when the paramedics helped her sit in the wheelchair and carry her out of the house for the last time.

"You'll see, they'll patch you up and you'll be dancing again," you smiled as you hugged her one last time.

"Drive home carefully," she uttered her last words of concern letting go of your hand and disappearing inside the ambulance.

You stood in the middle of the street for a moment watching the ambulance drive away. At the time, you still believed your words. At that moment, you rejected the possibility that it might end differently. Full of belief and hope, unaware of the nightmare that was about to come just two days later.

"I never saw her again…" you wanted to cry but couldn't. Locking your emotions deep inside you, you chose numbness. "She didn't get to live to have surgery. Two days later, at five-thirty in the morning, she died."

"People despair when Death comes for them, comes for their loved ones," Morpheus spoke softly, "They fear the Sunless Lands. They deny Death. I have always found it strange. It is as natural to die as it is to be born and yet some seem never to accept this fact."

"Death leaves scars that never heal," you countered, "it leaves a void that we desperately try to fill. We wonder if we could have done something more if we could have prevented it somehow."

"There was nothing you could have done."

"You're wrong," you glared at him angrily, "if only I had known how! If at that moment, I had known, understood my abilities! Maybe I could have saved her! Maybe I could have healed her! Maybe she would still be here!"

"It was her time."

"Fuck that! She was too young! She was supposed to be with me until old age! She was supposed to be with me when I would get married! When I would have children!" anger burned in you igniting your blood, "she should have been here!! But I was afraid! I was afraid of my abilities! I was afraid of the fact that I was different! I didn't understand! I tried to suppress it inside me! If only I wasn't afraid! Maybe she would still be here!!!"

"Your mother got what everyone gets. A lifetime."

*

A quiet knock at the door pulled Bruce out of his deep thought. For a moment he wondered if he had misheard. The night was deep, everyone in the house should already be asleep or at least pretending. But the knocking repeated itself. He didn't want to answer it. He regretted staying home instead of leaving for the city. He needed this moment to himself, he needed to think, he needed to be alone with his emotions and nothing was more conducive to thinking than the lights of Gotham scattered in the darkness of night like millions of stars in a black sky.

"I know you're awake," Dick's quiet voice came from behind the door, "I saw the lights on in your windows. May I come in?"

"You may," he replied reluctantly, convinced that even if he hadn't answered and given permission he would have barged into his bedroom anyway. Dick had no hesitation to invade his personal space. He didn't even manage to turn off the laptop screen and he was already closing the door behind him. Dressed in loose sweatpants and an old Gotham University t-shirt, he minced barefoot across the soft carpet and, if it weren't for his height, imposing build and two whiskey glasses in his right hand, he would have looked just like the kid whose years ago crept into his bedroom when he couldn't sleep.

"I thought you might need this," he smirked innocently placing the glass in front of him.

"You know I don't drink."

"A glass of good single malt to calm the mind never hurt anyone," he glanced involuntarily at the computer screen, "you read it."

"I did," Bruce pushed the glass aside and locked the screen before adding in a serious tone, "your investigation was incomplete."

"Oh, it was complete, trust me. We simply decided not to include certain details," Dick replied observing him closely, "you wanna talk?"

"No."

"You sure? Cos you kinda look like you do," he smirked.

"How's Jason?" a quick change of subject seemed at this point to be at best a failed attempt to slip out of an uncomfortable situation.

"He's asleep. Drinking more than half a bottle by yourself after an intense night of ass kicking and car chasing will do that to you."

"You got him drunk pretending that you're drinking," Bruce glanced at him with amusement in his eyes.

"Indeed I did!" he grinned, "he needed this more than I did. And pretending to drink after years of observing how you do it was way to easy."

"I'm glad he stayed the night."

"I'm glad you asked him to."

"He should move back in."

"You should ask him."

"I should."

"Maybe that's not the only thing you should do, If you know what I mean." Silence fell as their eyes met again. Bruce was struggling, Dick could see that clearly. Unused to talking about feelings, he needed it so much and at the same time shied away from it so much. Without a word, he grabbed a glass and, crossing the lavish bedroom, sat down in one of the large, comfortable armchairs, waiting for Dick to join him.

"Maybe I should…" he sighed as Dick sat down on the bed opposite him, crossed his legs and took a small sip from his glass. Despite having a quarter century behind him, he still looked uncomfortable drinking alcohol in his company.

"Take your time, we still have a few hours before dawn," he smirked.

Turning the amber liquid in his glass, Bruce merely stared at the moon outside the window silently informing him that he would rather be in the city right now, would rather chase villains through the dirty streets of Gotham, would rather glide between buildings, sit on the roof and listen for trouble than have to confront his own feelings.

"It won't light up, you are stuck with me," he quipped forcing his attention back to him.

"Am I that obvious?"

"To me, yeah you kinda are."

"I don't know what to do…" Bruce finally said fixing his gaze on him, "for the first time in a very long time I truly don't know what to do," he sighed heavily while warming the golden liquid in his hand then hesitantly took a tiny sip closing his eyes, "I fucking don't know what to do."

"You care about her."

"I do."

"And you are so in love with her."

"Love is just a brain chemistry. A mixture of norepinephrine, dopamine and…"

"Bruce, seriously? I swear if I keep rolling my eyes like this I'll totally get to see the back of my skull!" he snarled then added gently, "come on. Let's be real for a moment. I've seen you two together. Even you can't hide your feelings that well."

"My feelings for her don't matter," he sighed while his tired eyes grew dark, "and I know what you're going to say. I've heard you before. But what happened today is my fault. I should have stayed away from her but I didn't. I should have warned her, protected her, but I didn't. And it is because of me that she got hurt."

"A few scuffs and bruises, she'll be fine…" he paused seeing the expression of pain on his face, "Bruce, what happened earlier? What did you find in Crane's apartment?"

A moment of silence preceded the answer. A moment of long silence that screamed a thousand unspoken words and concealed emotions. A silence that Bruce needed and Dick was willing to give him. A silence of quiet understanding. A moment of support.

"He hurt her," Bruce finally said, as he set his glass down on the coffee table to stand up and walk to the window, "He violated her. Perhaps at first with her consent, her willingness, it had to be..." he trailed off recalling the scene, "but the fact is that in his apartment's air, I discovered chemicals sufficient to rid her of boundaries and alter her behavior." The recurring images caused him pain but he needed this moment of honesty. Dick was the only one he could talk to about it, the only one he could really open up to, the only one who really understood him. "I think they got close before Crane discovered the transmitter I gave her, before he became violent. I found a dent in the wall and traces of blood on the floor…"

"Bruce, you can't put this on yourself. I know it's personal but still, she made her own choices."

"I knew something was wrong about him. I suspected him for a long time. I knew they were close. She told me that," anger tinged his voice, "I should have prevented her from being alone with him. Instead, I drove them both to his house! To the house where he tormented people! To the house where he hurt her! I drove them and left them there!" he looked at Dick with anger burning in his eyes, "you want to know why?" Dick remained silent, "because I chose to do so. Because I deemed that her friendship with him was my best chance to find out the truth. To expose him! Because I chose to use her relationship with him to solve this case."

"I understand that you blame yourself, but…"

"I don't blame myself. I despise myself. I will never forgive myself for this."

"It wasn't you who put her in danger!"

"But I didn't do anything to stop her."

"Your presence in her life changes nothing. The situation with Crane would have turned out exactly the same if you hadn't been there. Probably much sooner. And it would have ended much worse."

"That doesn't justify the decisions I made."

"Bruce, you're only human. We all make mistakes."

"I made a cold calculation, I made a decision that led to her harm. This is not a mistake. These are consequences."

"And now what, you're going to distance yourself from her or push her away like you usually do?"

He remained silent.

"The situation is different. You can't ignore the fact that she's meta."

"She's not," Bruce denied immediately.

"She's not?

"I verified that theory when we were in Metropolis. Or rather, Clark verified it. Her abilities are most likely magical."

"Damnn!" Dick gasped, "well that's an even bigger problem. With metas we have some experience but we have never trained magic users."

"And we won't."

"You're right. We are definitely not equipped for that. Good thing we know at least three, maybe four people who are more qualified for the task than we are. Zatanna would be the best here, although Constantine has an advantage over her due to his wide range of abilities, but I know there's no way in hell you'd ask him for help. Doctor Fate is definitely the most powerful but he doesn't seem like a people person to me."

"We won't train her, period. Neither we nor anyone else.

"You can't be serious, Bruce!"

"I am."

"No, you're not! You're just a stubborn dumbass who can't deal with his own feelings!"

"Why does she keep getting into trouble…" he sighed as if to himself, "why can't she just let it go?"

*

The gold particles swirled and fell around you for the last time revealing a void in nowhere, a vast and infinite blackness in which the sky and the ground seemed to melt into one. You couldn't feel the ground under your feet, yet you stood firm. You didn't feel the wind blowing, yet your hair waved around your face. You couldn't see the sky above your head, yet the stars seemed to spread against it, shining as brightly as the ones in his eyes when he appeared right in front of you and gazed into your soul.

"Now you know everything. Now you know the truth," he spoke in a deep, low voice.

"I don't know whether I should be happy or sit down and cry…"

"This is what you wanted, is it not? This is what you desired."

"And now that I have it I don't know what to do."

"What you do depends only on you. Your feelings are yours, as are your memories and experiences that have been taken from you and now are yours again. Your decisions, whichever you make, will also be yours. So will their consequences."

"If that was supposed to comfort me then it failed," you scoffed.

"I am not here to comfort you Y/N. That is neither my function nor my role," the black of his eyes deepened, "still, you should find comfort in the fact that there are people in the Waking World who care about you. You are not alone as you seem to think."

"You know who he is don't you?" you asked certain that there was no need to say his name.

"I know."

"You've seen his dreams."

"He doesn't dream like ordinary people dream every night. His mind is highly trained to avoid distractions as he sees dreams. But, yes. I have seen his dreams, rare as they are."

"Who is he?" the question snapped out.

"That is not my truth to tell," a shadow of a smirk ran over his marble face, "trust yourself. Trust your instincts as you have trusted them so far, especially now. Now that your consciousness is free from corrupting influences."

"Trust yourself…" you repeated under your breath, "how can I trust myself when I have no idea what to do!"

"You do know. You simply have not understood it just yet," the depth of the universe seemed to see into the future, "when you wake up, you will know."

"Will I remember you this time?"

"I don't think you will."

"Why not?"

"Because your future must be in your hands. Yet I can assure you, we will see each other again." With a wave of his hand, the dream faded away and disappeared.

You opened your eyes abruptly, welcoming the full moon's cool glow peeking through your bedroom window once again. You knew what to do.

*

Dick walked over to Bruce to hand him the glass of amber liquid again, which he accepted gratefully. Lost in his thoughts, he took a small sip and gazed back at the full moon in the cloudless sky.

"You thought about telling her the truth," he stated with certainty.

"It crossed my mind."

"Why don't you do it then? Think how differently today might have turned out if only she knew the truth!"

"I won't bring her into this life."

"Knowing the truth, she would know the risks and how to react in a threatening situation! She would know what to do! Hell, even without it, she acted instinctively. The transmitter hidden in her arm was a bit insane but an impressive solution you gotta admit that!"

"There is nothing impressive about putting yourself in danger for the sake of satisfying some senseless need to do the right thing," he growled angrily.

"That didn't just come out of your mouth," Dick scoffed.

"It's different and you know it."

"How is that any different!"

"I was an angry kid balancing on the verge of a mental breakdown who desperately needed to find a purpose in life! You were the broken kid whose world came crashing down and who needed care and guidance to not end up like me! Jason, Tim, Damian…"

"You are failing to make a point."

"We were all angry kids who needed to turn their grief and anger into something meaningful."

"And she is an angry adult who has had her will and identity taken away and who needs to turn her pain and trauma into something meaningful…" Dick interrupted him harshly before adding gently, "age doesn't matter here."

"I won't do that. I won't do that to her…" turning his gaze away from Dick he gazed wearily at the sky, "she deserves better."

"Bruce, for someone of your level of intelligence you are behaving like a complete idiot!" it was high time to abandon gentleness and strike directly, "she doesn't need your say so, she doesn't need your guidance to find the way to achieve her goals. The fact that she joined Cadmus is the best proof of that!"

"We don't know that."

"Bruce!"

"Fine. We know that."

"She'll find out the truth sooner or later, and it would be better if she learned it from you."

"Perhaps she won't," he so adamantly refused to accept the facts, "maybe today's situation will make her turn back from this path. She will choose a normal life."

"You really believe that?"

"That would be better for her."

"Sorry but that decision isn't yours," frustration slowly rose in Dick, "just as it wasn't your decision that I created the mantle of Robin, just as it wasn't your decision that Jason would adopt it, it wasn't your decision that Tim found us. Those decisions were ours, not yours!"

"I should never have allowed that to happen."

"You should have understood long ago what kind of impact we have on people, what kind of impact you have on people. How you inspire those around you."

"I have condemned your lives."

"You gave us purpose, strength, inspiration, the will to fight! You gave us hope…" Dick grabbed him by the arm and looked at him like a son looks at his father, "it seems you are thinking that you have failed us, but you are wrong. Each of us would be lost without you. We are here because of you. I am here because of you. My life crashed and fell apart before my eyes, but you gave me a new one. You gave me a purpose, a home, a family."

"Dick I…" his voice broke.

"Bruce…each of us had our own reason for getting into this life. And yes, we were kids but you seem to forget how many of our friends started out as adults. Ollie, Dinah, John, Barry even Uncle Clark. They were all adults when they decided to take on their secret identities. It seems to me that she is on a straight path to the same thing. The question is whether you will be there to help her and guide her as you have guided many before her. Not just us."

"She's already asked me that…" he sighed.

"She did?"

"Last night, just before shootout in Bristol," he explained, "just like today she dropped that she wants to come with me. She said she wants to help. That she could do more. That I could teach her how."

"What are you wating for then? You found a woman who wants to be part of your life. Your whole life."

"It's not that simple…"

"It is very simple Bruce. You are just making this so fucking complicated with your misguided sense of morality. She's a good woman, honest and kind with a clear desire to do good. She's obviously into you and she is obviously drawn to Batman. What's so difficult about that?" he blocked the window forcing Bruce to look at him. "Some perverted idea in your head, a flawed perception of love makes you think that you can't be happy. That Batman can't be happy. That the mission precludes that possibility. But Bruce, you're not thirty anymore. You have surrounded yourself with family and friends who day by day are proving to you that it is possible. So if they can be happy why can't you?"

"I guess…" he hesitated, "I guess I am scared," he finished quietly. "I guess I am simply scared."

"Hey, remember what you used to say to us when Jason was a kid?" a bright smile spread over Dick's face. "It's okay to be scared. Everyone gets scared. Take it as an opportunity to fight that fear. As a chance to be brave."

A single tear glistened in Bruce's eyes as the pain on his face faded away overtaken by Dick's kindness. Perhaps he had not failed after all. Perhaps there was still a hope for him to have it all. He reached out and pulled Dick in a strong hug.

"Thank you my son. I needed this."

***

~~TBC~~

~~***~~ Author note: Phew! It's good to have this one finished, way too much angst am I right? But it was needed. A lot happened prior to that. We needed that moment of feels and emotions and struggles and all the angst in the world. I was hoping that I would get to the point in this chapter but as you see that did not happen. And I'm glad cos it would be twice as long. And I'll admit, it was really hard to write and even harder to edit. After eight years of working half-night shifts I switched my role at my company and suddenly I'm working regular nine to five. Let me tell you, my body is in shock and my sleep pattern is all over the place! But I am very happy with the change! Just gotta align my writing with my new reality, no more writing in the night. I'm starting to write the next chapter right away cos I know exactly what will happen. For now, I thank you for reading my Dear Reader and till the next time.

~~***~~ Tag list: @mrsgrahamsdesign @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @batgirlspain @hangmanscoming @julesjewelss36 @cherryflavoredcoke @grandstrangerphantom @maripositanoctruna @pluckastarfromthesky @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @pirate-with-internet-connection @ooldcardigan @amandarobertsboyce

[estinininininen]

i think that if hythlodaeus and haurchefant ever hang out in the aetherial plane they're going to be wild. the bisexual gremlin disaster levels are going to be off the charts. their love language when alive was already "cares for you unconditionally but teases/cajoles you into oblivion, until you and the world cave around them". there would be NO stopping them. they are both simultaneously good and bad influences for each other. within two sennights of meeting they are sneaking in and out of halone's and nald'thal's domains to meet every night and go prank half the star into being better people. they have the excuse of dying young ("young :)" hythlodaeus says) and have business to finish, ignore the shaving cream and bag of sequins. as long as they don't break any rules and don't get caught they're operating almost under saintly intercession rules. haurchefant already has his hall pass to go spirit-walk and nald'thal either can't stop hythlodaeus or doesn't want to. hythlodaeus was only staying there occassionally out of politeness anyway, and to scout out what design changes the twelve made in the aetherial sea.

sometimes ysayle and emet-selch tag along to either rate pranks or provide damage control. this is better than staring at each other in the aetherial sea feeling like the opposite tail ends of the azem/WoL polycule and getting into another snarkfest about morality. ysayle adores hythlodaeus and hythlodaeus has carefully introduced haurchefant to hades like you would a golden retriever to a cranky old cat. the old rat bastard puts up with haurchefant at first because it makes hyth happy and hythlodaeus' repeated reassurances to haurchefant come true: like a dad that didnt want a pet, hades does come around. but ysayle and emet-selch remain like oil and water unless they have each drunk a bottle of wine

anyway this explains how one night at like one in the morning the warrior of light sees a huge street brawl about to break out when a random temple knight on the back of an uncontrolled bucking chocobo interrupts the fight. a lilac-haired stablehand with a luxurious feather boa goes haring after the reins. an elezen woman with long silver hair pops up and flings chocobo droppings at the two idiots now crashing through the street. everyone laughs. the fight dissipates. the warrior of light cranes their head to get a better look. a tallish hyur with sunglasses at night, a sombrero and an oversize novelty alcoholic drink with a bendy straw steps out from nowhere and smoothly pulls the woman away into the crowd, grabbing her by her coat neck so he doesn't touch her soiled hands, choking what are her obviously furious protestations. the temple knight finally gains control of the chocobo, does some coerthan yee-haw audible from halfway down the street and the stablehand jumps on too, kisses the knight's cheek and they disappear into the night.

[sifu-kisu]

Secret Book: Tai Chi Ball Dragon Walk Thirteen Styles

The 13 dragon-shaped Tai Chi ball movements were introduced by Wudang Taoist priests, and are a combination of the essence of Tai Chi theory and basic stances. Tai Chi is a combination of the inner family's Hunyuan Qigong, with the movement of Qi as the inner five forms and the movement of form as the outer five forms, forming the opening and closing of the Yin and Yang Qi. It is also a method of seeking tranquility in motion, and one must calm the mind and enter tranquility everywhere. Therefore, a round ball is used for rotation, and one must concentrate on the surface of the ball. When practicing Tai Chi ball, the mind follows the Qi, the Qi follows the strength, the essence follows the Qi, and the Qi follows the spirit. Then, dynamic Qi is sought from the stillness, achieving the combination of movement and stillness, the combination of Yin and Yang, the combination of water and fire, the effect of smoothing the Qi and strengthening the heart, relaxing the Qi and blood, and benefiting the kidneys and replenishing the blood. It is indeed a health care method for prolonging life.

Gradually experience it in practice. Holding the ball for exercise is like the ball attracting the body to the ball. There are sliding force, centrifugal force and other forces. The person moves with the ball, stretching and generous, often feeling refreshed, and having the beauty of sweating and moistening the body. The thirteen forms of Tai Chi ball dragon form are short and powerful, easy to learn and practice. Fast or slow, high or low, upper, middle or lower, all three are OK. Single form is the pile method, and continuous form is the walking method. Do not lose or top, do not reach or leave. It is derived from the twelve zodiac signs of animals in the distant past, and is applied to the seven meridians, eight channels, five elements, and four tips in the near future. It is not only the round movement of Tai Chi, but also has the eight methods of Baguazhang and the five forms of Xingyiquan.

The old, middle-aged, young, and infants can all exercise with Tai Chi balls. It can be adapted to the individual and the location, and can even be exercised on a round tabletop. When exercising, you can initially use a mud ball, a leather ball, a wooden ball, a hydrangea (pompom), or a basketball or a football. It is best to use a ball made of agarwood, because agarwood can draw qi into the Dantian. When people exercise, agarwood can enter the lungs through the nose, which is very beneficial. The size of the ball is best based on the width of the person's chest. The diameter of the ball is generally about 30 cm.

Practice

The first posture: holding the moon in your arms

This is the Wuji Yangxin Posture. The body squats down to the horse-grip posture, the ball rotates left and right in the arms a few times, and then walks (Figure 1-2).

Second Style: Push the Window to Look at the Moon

This is a method to strengthen the kidney and waist. Hold the ball with the right hand, and change to the left hand in the Chinese style. (Figure 3-5).

The third move: White Crane Spreads Wings

It is a method of relaxing muscles and replenishing qi. From the second posture, the left hand holds the ball, and the right hand holds the ball. The middle posture is the left hand holding the ball (Figure 6-9).

The fourth style: the moon is supported by all the stars

It is the method of the mutual generation of the five elements. The next three steps are as follows (Figures 10-13).

The fifth posture, Left and Right Offering Moon, is to control the waist and let the strength reach the spine. The following three postures of Offering Moon are followed (Figures 14-17).

The sixth posture, Sunrise Kuncang, is based on the twelve central nervous systems, followed by the three postures of lifting the ball (Figures 18-21).

The seventh style, the prodigal son kicking the ball, is mainly based on moving the hips, the toes and the heels. The following four kicking postures are connected (Figures 22-26).

The eighth posture, Reaching the Moon from the Bottom of the Sea (right), is mainly based on the strength of the shoulders, elbows, and wrists. After the middle posture, continue with the Reaching the Moon posture (left) (Figures 27-29).

The ninth posture, Two Dragons Playing with a Pearl, is mainly to train the head, hands, and feet. From the middle posture to the falling posture (Figures 30-32).

The tenth posture, Chasing the Monkey Upside Down, is mainly to promote diuresis in the small intestine. The first posture is the middle rotation posture, the second posture is the fall posture (Figures 33-35).

The eleventh posture, Five Dragons Twisting the Sea, is based on the dragon form, focusing on the unity of the five internal and external forms. The following four postures are followed (Figures 36-40).

The twelfth posture, the Deer-crouching Horse Stance, is mainly to mobilize the waist, legs and joints of the whole body. The following three postures are followed (Figures 41-44).

The thirteenth posture, Dead Tree Roots, focuses on moving the lower body and waist. It is similar to serpentine movement. The three postures of lower body connection (Figures 45-48).

If you restore the posture, you can return to hug the moon in your arms. You can also restore the posture freely.

Action march diagram

The first posture "Holding the Moon in the Arms" moves forward as a straight line. The second posture "Opening the Window to Look at the Moon" moves forward as a left-right dividing line.

The third move "White Crane Spreads Wings" also has left and right lines.

The fourth posture, "Stars Holding the Moon", is to turn from the four directions, and then from the cross holding the moon to the midpoint (see Figure ④).

The fifth style "Left and Right Offering the Moon" is divided into left and right lines.

The sixth form "Sunrise over Kunlun" is to lift the ball from the center to all directions, which is the center dividing line (see Figure ⑥).

The seventh form of "Prodigal Son Kick" consists of five postures in horizontal and vertical lines, and the ball is kicked in five directions.

The eighth style, “Fishing for the Moon in the Bottom of the Sea”, is a long horizontal line.

The ninth move, "Two Dragons Playing with a Pearl", involves sucking the ball from left and right to the center opposite side (see Figure 9).

The tenth move, “Chasing the Monkey Backwards”, involves turning from the back and moving horizontally in a long line.

The eleventh posture, “Five Dragons Twisting the Sea”, is to twist the sea using the Bagua rotation method from a circular circle (see Figure 1).

The twelfth posture of "Deer Crouching Horse Stance" is performed with the Seven Star Stance (see Figure 2).

The thirteenth move, “Dead Tree with Roots”, is performed in the shape of a dragon (actually a snake-walking move) (see Figure 13).

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Here's how Curiosity's sky crane changed the way NASA explores Mars

Twelve years ago, NASA landed its six-wheeled science lab using a daring new technology that lowers the rover using a robotic jetpack.

NASA's Curiosity rover mission is celebrating a dozen years on the red planet, where the six-wheeled scientist continues to make big discoveries as it inches up the foothills of a Martian mountain. Just landing successfully on Mars is a feat, but the Curiosity mission went several steps further on Aug. 5, 2012, touching down with a bold new technique: the sky crane maneuver.

A swooping robotic jetpack delivered Curiosity to its landing area and lowered it to the surface with nylon ropes, then cut the ropes and flew off to conduct a controlled crash landing safely out of range of the rover.

Of course, all of this was out of view for Curiosity's engineering team, which sat in mission control at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Southern California, waiting for seven agonizing minutes before erupting in joy when they got the signal that the rover landed successfully.

The sky crane maneuver was born of necessity: Curiosity was too big and heavy to land as its predecessors had—encased in airbags that bounced across the Martian surface. The technique also added more precision, leading to a smaller landing ellipse.

During the February 2021 landing of Perseverance, NASA's newest Mars rover, the sky crane technology was even more precise: The addition of something called terrain relative navigation enabled the SUV-size rover to touch down safely in an ancient lake bed riddled with rocks and craters.

Evolution of a Mars landing

JPL has been involved in NASA's Mars landings since 1976, when the lab worked with the agency's Langley Research Center in Hampton, Virginia, on the two stationary Viking landers, which touched down using expensive, throttled descent engines.

For the 1997 landing of the Mars Pathfinder mission, JPL proposed something new: As the lander dangled from a parachute, a cluster of giant airbags would inflate around it. Then three retrorockets halfway between the airbags and the parachute would bring the spacecraft to a halt above the surface, and the airbag-encased spacecraft would drop roughly 66 feet (20 meters) down to Mars, bouncing numerous times—sometimes as high as 50 feet (15 meters)—before coming to rest.

It worked so well that NASA used the same technique to land the Spirit and Opportunity rovers in 2004. But that time, there were only a few locations on Mars where engineers felt confident the spacecraft wouldn't encounter a landscape feature that could puncture the airbags or send the bundle rolling uncontrollably downhill.

"We barely found three places on Mars that we could safely consider," said JPL's Al Chen, who had critical roles on the entry, descent, and landing teams for both Curiosity and Perseverance.

It also became clear that airbags simply weren't feasible for a rover as big and heavy as Curiosity. If NASA wanted to land bigger spacecraft in more scientifically exciting locations, better technology was needed.

Rover on a rope

In early 2000, engineers began playing with the concept of a "smart" landing system. New kinds of radars had become available to provide real-time velocity readings—information that could help spacecraft control their descent. A new type of engine could be used to nudge the spacecraft toward specific locations or even provide some lift, directing it away from a hazard. The sky crane maneuver was taking shape.

JPL Fellow Rob Manning worked on the initial concept in February 2000, and he remembers the reception it got when people saw that it put the jetpack above the rover rather than below it.

"People were confused by that," he said. "They assumed propulsion would always be below you, like you see in old science fiction with a rocket touching down on a planet."

Manning and colleagues wanted to put as much distance as possible between the ground and those thrusters. Besides stirring up debris, a lander's thrusters could dig a hole that a rover wouldn't be able to drive out of. And while past missions had used a lander that housed the rovers and extended a ramp for them to roll down, putting thrusters above the rover meant its wheels could touch down directly on the surface, effectively acting as landing gear and saving the extra weight of bringing along a landing platform.

But engineers were unsure how to suspend a large rover from ropes without it swinging uncontrollably. Looking at how the problem had been solved for huge cargo helicopters on Earth (called sky cranes), they realized Curiosity's jetpack needed to be able to sense the swinging and control it.

"All of that new technology gives you a fighting chance to get to the right place on the surface," said Chen.

Best of all, the concept could be repurposed for larger spacecraft—not only on Mars, but elsewhere in the solar system. "In the future, if you wanted a payload delivery service, you could easily use that architecture to lower to the surface of the moon or elsewhere without ever touching the ground," said Manning.

TOP IMAGE: This artist’s concept shows how NASA’s Curiosity Mars rover was lowered to the planet’s surface using the sky crane maneuver. Credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech

LOWER IMAGE: The rocket-powered descent stage that lowered NASA’s Curiosity onto the Martian surface is guided over the rover by technicians at the agency’s Kennedy Space Center in September 2011, two months before the mission’s launch. Credit: NASA/Kim Shiflett

[scarecrowdrugs]

Clarice, my awful daughter who has every disease, finally has her costume! Now, to recap Clarice's lore thus far. She's a heavily altered version of Jonathan Crane's half-sister from Year One, aged up a few years so she's around seven during that story's events. Unlike the original, Jonathan actually succeeded in murdering his entire immediate family, ending with the strangulation of his own mother on Mother's Day and the kidnapping of his baby sister.

Clarice and Jon don't exactly have the healthiest bond, considering the circumstances. Jonathan kidnapped her with the intention of spiting his recently deceased mother through the indoctrination of his little sister, only to end up genuinely viewing her as his surrogate daughter. Clarice, much to her genuine discomfort, also views him as a father figure, mostly due to the domestic abuse she both witnessed and experienced at the hands of her biological father. Unsurprisingly, she was a very unsettling child to be around, with a heavy fascination with death and horror. She was pretty much raised with the understanding that there would regularly be people experimented on in the basement, though Jonathan at the very least didn't do this in the same room as her. At the age of twelve, she was sent to foster care after accidental exposure to fear toxin during a fight between Jonathan and Batman caused her to lash out and stab Jonathan right in the stomach.

Unfortunately for her, this made things go from bad to worse for several reasons:

The foster care system in the United States is notoriously not the greatest and Gotham, being how it is, is even worse. Clarice has been through several different placements due to no one wanting to deal with the possibility of being attacked by Scarecrow.

Being related to a supervillain is bad enough, but being closely related to the Scarecrow, notorious for murder and mass chemical warfare, is even worse. Clarice had to deal with death threats, suicide baiting, doxxing, and being shunned by her peers when she finally got to go to school, leaving her with severe paranoia around other people her age. It doesn't help that she has absolutely no idea how to act around other kids, mostly a result of both her childhood isolation as well as being on the Autism spectrum.

She's unsurprisingly very mentally ill as a result of everything she's been through, and being mentally ill in Gotham City of all places carries a lot of social stigma. Clarice is absolutely terrified of having the police called on her if she's having a crisis. It doesn't help that she's not been given adequate counseling for her trauma, and she's often head to deal with medications that have made her already fragile mental health even worse. As it stands, she's mostly dealing with PTSD, severe depression, anxiety, as well as possibly BPD and OCD. It also doesn't help that she's developed many harmful coping mechanisms, such as pulling out her hair, scratching to the point of bleeding, as well as hitting herself on the head.

Despite everything she's been through because of him, she felt utterly betrayed when Jonathan didn't come back for her after going into foster care. Due to her paranoia, she eventually started to believe that he either abandoned out of spite or that he wanted to kill her just like her parents. Although despite what she thinks, the real reason he left her behind was due to a genuine fear that he'd get her killed as well as him being utterly terrified of forming attachments.

Scream Queen was mostly her way of getting control of her own life for once, as well as it being a method for acting out her violent intrusive thoughts without being judged. Clarice's true feelings are shown through Scream Queen instead of in her civilian life. Outside of costume, she tends to be extremely anxious and doesn't speak up often, sometimes even nonverbal. In-costume, she's extremely dramatic and aggressive, as well as being far more talkative.

Her main intention with becoming a vigilante, outside of taking control of her own life, is mostly to get back at Jonathan. According to Clarice, if she doesn't get to have a future then neither does he. For the most part, he's completely unaware of her identity and it's not going to be pretty on either end when he finally finds out.

She's understandably far less experiences than any member of the Batfamily when it comes to vigilante work. Her fighting ability mostly consists of two years of kickboxing training she signed up for in order to take her aggression out on something. In addition to her kickboxing ability, she eventually starts using a chain as her main weapon, starting out with having it wrapping around her knuckles and then eventually learning out to wield it as a whip.

She's more of a one-on-one stealth fighter if anything else, mostly relying on scaring people when she has to deal with groups in order to get them on their own.

Much like her adopted father, her main weapon is her ability to frighten people. She tends to go for unnatural movements in a fight in order to stay as unpredictable as possible, often times switching from normal bipedal movement to suddenly lunging on all fours. Most of her tools are centered around this idea, with her utilizing things such as smoke bombs and even firecrackers to keep people on their toes. Much like Shivers Jonathan, she also likes to freak people out by Blixa Bargeld screaming.

Unlike the Batfamily, she's on a tight budget and she knows it. All of her tools are things she can reliably find without too much suspicion, with her most valuable items being bought from military surplus stores.

Clarice also uses her costume to more safely stim, since she has a fairly large amount of unsafe stims. The wig on her mask allows her to safely yank on hair without pulling out chunks of her actual hair and she often uses the claws on her gloves to scratch at her suit instead of her skin.

For very understandable reasons, Batman is absolutely opposed to her operating as a vigilante, which causes a very unstable relationship with the rest of the Batfamily. Bruce views her as being an unstable viability that cares more about hurting people than saving lives, which isn't exactly untrue. Clarice already doesn't view Batman in a favorable light, with her being unable to separate him from one of the most traumatic experiences in her life. Most of the others view her as being in over her head, with Barbara suspecting her of having a death wish (also not untrue). The only one who finally manages to reach out to her, however, is Stephanie.

Clarice was designed to be Stephanie's character foil, with them both being the children of supervillains who wanted to get back at their parent but taking very different approaches to life. Clarice is a pessimistic mess of a person who has trouble seeing the good in others, while Stephanie refuses to let people drag her down and sees the humanity in others. Steph looks at Clarice and sees so much of herself as Spoiler in her, and eventually manages to reach out to her so she doesn't make the same mistakes she did as Spoiler. Though she never really gets close to most members of the Batfamily, Clarice eventually does regard Stephanie as her closest friend.

[randomfoggytiger]

"Something Approaching a Normal Life"

(Fictober, Day 10)

Prompts from @agent-troi ("Scully invites Mulder to Thanksgiving dinner because it’s close to the anniversary of Samantha’s disappearance and she doesn’t want him to be alone" and "Mulder and Scully try to plan and host a dinner party, inspired mainly by the comedy of errors that is the dinner party episode of frasier...") and one of my sisters ("October in Christmas", "Thanksgiving", and "Signs the movie".)

*****

Mulder had another thing coming if he thought he could squizzle out of a foolhardy trip to the Bermuda Triangle with nothing more than a healthy bruise and a sweet word or two.

Although-- truthfully-- the blame lay more with his loopy bedside confession than any earlier, clear-headed, ill-advised action. 

***** 

“Thanksgiving?” 

Scully shifted her stance, heels rocking as she folded her arms a little tighter. “Yes.” 

“With your family?” 

This time she focused on the bullpen carpet, lisping out a softer, “...Yes.” 

Mulder didn’t know what to say. Everything seemed too polite or too ungrateful. 

“I know we don’t usually….”

There were a lot of things they didn’t usually, but holidays were high on the list. And considering the batch of Thanksgivings they’d experienced, always apart-- last year jumping straight from a botched team building seminar into small town shenanigans, the year before that caught up with Krycek and Congress, the year before that strung tight between secrets and diseases carted around in explosive train cars, and their first ever one nearly spent in volcanic quarantine-- broaching him to celebrate this one was…

Unexpected. 

"Are you... sure, Scully?"

“Mulder….” Scully stepped a little closer, craning her head back further. Utterly baffled. “Are you… shy?” 

Sometimes he forgot that his five-foot-almost-nothin’ partner had his number from day one. “I think a better word would be hesitant. And,” he rushed on, “not without precedent.” 

She was smiling too smugly for him to continue pursuing whatever point he was trying to make. “Christmas in October didn’t count then, Mulder, and it doesn’t now.” 

“‘Well, that’s another opinion--’,” he mush-mouthed. 

“‘And I respect it’, yeah.” Scully leaned even more forward, eyebrow pushing its customary way up. “Are you coming to Mom’s party, or do I have to tell her that you refused a personal invitation to sit at home in the dark?” 

Maggie Scully already knew about his lonely, isolated couch nights-- far more than Scully herself was aware.

Mulder couldn't bring himself to ruin her Thanksgiving, too. 

*****

Twelve hours later he and Scully were setting out dinnerware while studiously trying to ignore the escalating toddler meltdowns howling behind them. 

Her mother's house was packed, sardines of all shapes and sizes amiably chatting, swapping stories, or helpfully guiding the endless schools of Catholic children with admonishments and head pats (though he was amused to notice which cross wearers scowled at each other over unspoken but blatantly different opinions on birth control.) It had been subdued, pleasant even: Bill hadn’t taken the easy Mulder bait, Tara had darted here and there after Matthew, and various faces swam curiously in and out of their bubble to acquaint and chit chat. It had been easy to navigate strange waters-- Mulder kept an aquarium at home, after all. 

The problem started when one little tyke fell backwards against his sister or cousin (or an unholy mix of the two), a loud smack resounding mere seconds before both burst into tears. Then the other children got caught in the emotional tow; and the chaos spilled over until most of the room was either screaming or consoling. 

Scully practically fled the scene, Mulder following in her wake. And now they were setting an already set table together.  

When everyone's emotions began to settle and calm, Scully apologetically sighed. He waited, knowing there was more. 

“‘Christmas in October’.” She ruefully smiled. “How do we do it?”

“It’s part of the job-- the unexplained finds us.” Neither mentioned there wasn’t much unexplained in their current scutwork. “But…” he paused, letting her sweat a bit, “despite a few…”

“‘Unexplained’ things,” she filled in, flatly. 

“--happenings--,” he supplied. She snorted at his exhaustless ability to grab for the last word; and he rewarded it with a soft shoulder tap. “--I’ve been having a whale of a time.” 

*****

The post-turkey tryptophanic haze loosened up Mulder's subconscious mind enough to make a few gnarly connections. 

Tomorrow, November 27, 25 years. Black Friday. 

He looked across the room, locked onto Scully’s eyes and waited until she met his. They immediately confirmed his suspicions-- a good liar his partner was not-- and blinked with indecision, one lash closing faster than the other. But it never took Scully long to recover her footing: she let something like pride (and a sentiment that matched his black and blue cheek) take shape and sparkle at him before ducking away.

Mulder knew her own haunted holiday was coming up soon, ghosts hovering around every corner. He’d have to find a way to return the favor. 

“Who ya gonna call?" he sang under his breath. "Ghostbusters!”

Bill, walking by with three of the messiest children over five Mulder had ever seen, scowled at him. 

Muzzily, he decided relaxing via tryptophan might work if the tv ever went kaput.

*****

Maggie packed her favorite invite two large to-go containers (one filled almost exclusively with sweet potato pie) and waved off his half-hearted volunteers to clean up. “Fox, I wouldn’t dream of having a guest help out. And Dana’s your ride home, so you two better get going.” 

Taking one last look at the aftermath, Mulder understood now why his mother had kept celebratory dinners intimate or large gatherings outside during respectable daylight hours.

He drove on renewed energy from his doze while Scully picked at something she called a cheerio salad and he called a marketing gimmick. 

“You know, Scully…” he mused, waiting for her assenting hum, “I think tonight went well.”

“In what world,” she scowled, digestive funk breath spilling towards him in a huff. 

“Nothing bad happened. No major damage was done. I even have a fan club.”

“Mulder, Uncle Moses taking one look at you, running over, and having the nerve to be naively disappointed that ‘the jury’s still out’ on your ancestry does not even begin to cover tonight.” 

“And then he sat for thirty minutes listening to swamp monster stories."

"He thought you starred in a nonexistent movie called 'Signs', Mulder."

"What I mean, Scully, is that there were good people tonight. Good food, even. Better than my usual fair. It was-- it was nice. Thanks for inviting me over.” 

Mulder suspected she was smiling, widely, relieved and touched. “Any time, Mulder.” 

*****

Over the holiday weekend, he got a call from Area 51. 

Christmas plans would have to wait.

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2023 and @fictober-event

[dandelionjack]

just watched the woman who fell to earth. okay yeah. that was… fine. it was not as good as

by any means, but some of the lines were exciting… i love thirteen’s tinkerer/artificer vibe and chaotic bundle-of-nerves energy; feels like the polar opposite of twelve’s stoic coolness! not a very promising start but we can work with it. maybe. ive been trying to avoid 13-era spoilers as much as i can (apart from the timeless child and dhawan master, those are unavoidable) but… keeping my bar low and expectations lower. some stuff i liked:

immediately very doctor

cute meta ‘this is my first episode yay!’ moments. loved her on the crane.

one major complaint. wish they’d kept her in a suit (not capaldi’s, a new one, obviously) instead of “women’s clothes”. she doesn’t seem the type to care about gendered clothes anyway. what is that hideous millennialcore outfit for god’s sake it’s atrocious!! the long hoodie? ew. i know the doctor’s fashion sense is supposed to be offputting but after twelve’s magician rockstar couture this is just offensive. first thing i’d do if i had control over this is replace. her. costume

[floralcyanide]

˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2023! ―

! please remember, in order to participate in kinktober, you must be 18+ as there will be nsfw material involved. anyone not following these rules will be blocked!

✧ hello! it's that time of year again (: I did my first kinktober last year, and it was a success (and still is), except I never fully finished it ): I'm hoping this year will be different because I'm starting as early as feasibly possible.

✧ please fill out this form (form is closed) before august 21st. this gives everyone a week to see this post and vote on who they want to see get kinky this october! I'll try my best to complete all of the prompts by october 1st and schedule out the posts for every day of kinktober. but PLEASE fill out the form, it would help me out a lot, just so I know what you all wish to see! I will update the prompt list when I get the results of the poll.

✧ again, here is the form: click meee!♥ (form is closed)

✧ here is the taglist form if you'd like to be tagged in my kinktober works! click meee!♥

✧ prompt list is below!

day one. cockwarming with: Cillian Murphy

day two. nipple play with: Jonathan Crane

day three. blood play with: Jonathan Crane

day four. orgasm control with: Jonathan Crane

day five. praise kink with: Cillian Murphy

day six. degradation with: Jonathan Crane

day seven. bondage with: Billy Loomis

day eight. edging with: Ethan Landry

day nine. breeding kink with: Cillian Murphy

day ten. mutual masturbation with: Austin Butler

day eleven. throat fucking with: Ethan Landry

day twelve. threesome with: Stu Macher/Billy Loomis

day thirteen. knife kink or gun kink with: Gun Kink/ Tommy Shelby

day fourteen. sex toys with: Cillian Murphy

day fifteen. hate sex with: Jonathan Crane

day sixteen. thigh riding with: Cillian Murphy

day seventeen. sex tape with: Cillian Murphy

day eighteen. squirting with: Cillian Murphy

day nineteen. public play with: Jackson Rippner

day twenty. voyeurism with: Ethan Landry

day twenty-one. corruption kink with: Jonathan Crane

day twenty-two. daddy kink with: Cillian Murphy

day twenty-three. spanking with: Austin!Elvis

day twenty-four. shower sex with: Cillian Murphy

day twenty-five. roleplay with: Austin Butler

day twenty-six. face sitting with: Cillian Murphy

day twenty-seven. dom/sub with: Ethan Landry

day twenty-eight. drunk sex or high sex with: High Sex/Stu Macher

day twenty-nine. phone sex with: Ethan Landry

day thirty. anal sex with: Cillian Murphy

day thirty-one. mommy kink with: Jonathan Crane

[llliiinnnaaa]

Reprisal | Chapter Twelve

coriolanus snow x gaul oc

Summary: Ten years after the Tenth Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow is under Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s wing as a Gamemaker alongside her niece. Unbeknownst to either of them, they’re both being prepared for a much greater task.

Warning: This story will contain explicit violence against adults and children alike (I mean, it’s Dr. Gaul AND Snow) as well as explicit language, and sexual situations.

***This fic is in no way, shape, or form, me endorsing or co-signing the horrific shit Snow does, nor am I trying to romanticize it. Also, apathy and will be the main driving force of any remnants of a relationship between my OC and Snow’s character. So if you’re interested in something very romantic and fluffy…it’s not gonna be this.

Thank you for reading!

     THREE WEEKS LATER

          Her nails bite into his shoulders, legs wrapping tighter around his hips as he fucks into her, her back pressing against the book case of his office. 

“. . . I love you ,” It’s nearly whimpered from her before her soft moan is muffled with his lips, Dyess’ tongue meeting his wife’s as she hits her high, her words encouraging his pace to pick up, addicted to the way her back arches, her brown eyes close and her full lips part while she squeezes around him as tightly as she does. 

He’s soon reaching his own end, spilling into her before tucking himself back into his pants and buckling his belt, smoothing over his hair as she cleans herself up as best as she can. 

He grins looking at her, thoroughly enjoying the sight of his spent running down her leg before she’s scrubbing it away with facial tissue from his desk. 

Dyess hadn’t known what had gotten into his wife, lately, but the last couple weeks had been spent fucking like rabbits, his wife being the one to initiate it more times than not, getting so desperate that she hadn’t been able to control herself — not even at work — coming to visit him only to drag him into his office or a bathroom and rip at his belt. 

Part of him believed that being at home was boring her, another part believed that with the absence of work in her life, she had more time to focus on him and she was merely missing him while he was away. 

. . .And then there was the obvious reason for her seemingly insatiable appetite for him. 

They had been trying for another baby, per her request. 

It had been music to his ears for her to tell him not to bother with any protection, or pulling out. 

He felt like all was finally right in the world: he had hit a milestone in his career, his wife had quit her job to stay home and look pretty, and was constantly on his prick, begging for a load. 

All of it had sprung out of nowhere.

At least he tells himself that, even as they step to the door and unlock it, coming face to face with Coriolanus whose hand had been raised as if about to knock on the door. 

Tawny looks up at him bitterly, and he looks at her with the same spite, knowing very well from the mess of her hair and stumble of her legs what had been occurring, while Dyess pretends not to take notice of either exchange. 

Just like he pretended not to notice how coincidental it had been that when Livia Snow announced her pregnancy, Tawny decided she too wanted to have another child. 

Typically Coriolanus and Tawny would exchange polite acknowledgements, a cordial, “Mr. Snow,” and “Dr. Crane,” in passing. 

But this time, they look at one another, eyes lingering more than they would with anyone else, looking at one another the way they always had, but don’t speak a word as he steps aside so there’s no chance of her touching him on her way by.

The last time she had touched him was three weeks ago, and ended abruptly in a screaming match, something they had never quite done — raised voices were no stranger between them in the middle of back and forth bantering, but it never quite reached as loud as it did that day. 

Horrendous things thrown at one another just to see the other person’s jaw clench, their eyes dim. 

What a whore she was, how her next career should be established in prostitution seeing as spreading her legs to married men seemed to come easy to her. 

What a disappointment to his father he would be if Crassus Snow had only been able to see his son, now, having done something as classless as cheat on his pregnant wife. 

How she had failed at her career.

How he failed at being a husband. 

He’d made it clear he was abhorrent with her and she made it clear he had rattled her with enmity toward him .

It ended with him declaring, “This is over,” as he motioned between them, while she agreed whole-heartedly. 

“You’re never touching me again,” Tawny had said roughly in agreement with the slam of the door behind her after she stormed out.

Blue eyes now watch as she kisses her husband goodbye.

It makes him want to vomit in disgust.

Snow knows she loathes him, now, but for her to so seamlessly kiss and touch the man who has ruined her career? Not a flinch, not a hidden grimace, not a tale-tell of her hatred for him and what he has done to her? 

He has to applaud her, recalling having to coach her when he had first informed her of what Dyess had been doing. 

Her tears had been defeated and whiney.

The sound of them as Tawny buried her face in her hands irritated him. 

She was a fucking Gaul, after all. 

Where was the raining fire? The grit? The sadistic torture? Where was every cruel thing she had learned from her aunt through the years? 

Where was her destruction?

“ Tawny .” He had said it evenly, sternly, allowing her a couple moments to try to get it out of her system, but when it surpassed his limit of reasonable seconds to have a come apart, and reached over dramatic and weepy, he stated, “ Dr. Crane .” 

She wiped her tears and looked at him, forcing herself to calm down and take as steady of a breath as she could. 

“ They want to keep it as low-key as they can, until after the Games. Which is why no arrest has been made, why everyone’s been acting as if everything is normal, and why his subjects are still featured in the Games .” He explained, his brows raised. “ Ravinstill has agreed to send him away to be a Peacekeeper after the Games to reprimand him. Which means an immediate dissolution of marriage will be served to you shortly after his arrest, a dissolution that you will sign .”

His last sentence stung her heart.

Fourteen years of marriage, all to end with the stroke of a pen and a submission of a piece of paper. 

No. Fourteen years of marriage, all to end with the countless times Dyess had screwed her over, belittled her, embarrassed her, didn’t listen to her. . .

He wasn’t entirely to blame, though. 

She had been the one having an affair. 

The thought had her closing her eyes and hanging her head, as she tried to further wrap her head around the situation at hand, and attempted to focus on one problem at a time. 

“ What about during the Games? ” She asked him, and opened her eyes once more. 

“ You act as if nothing is wrong .”

It seemed impossible, Tawny scoffed in disbelief, tears came back to her eyes at his order. 

“ Tawny, Tawny ,” He reached for her, grabbing her face in his hands. His eyes paralyzed her as he said “ It is imperative that you do not let him know you know anything. Do you understand me? We wait for him to be arrested and sent off, and then we go from there .” 

He had been so level-headed, calm and assuring, so confident and certain of himself. 

He anchored her in that moment, he pulled her swimming mind to shore.

If he wasn’t scrambling about, she shouldn’t have been, either.

Pretend nothing is wrong. You know nothing. Wait for him to be arrested. Wait for him to be sent off. Then we go from there.

She repeated it in her mind, and nodded slowly when she finally got the hang of it. 

“ Agreed ?” He asked, her hands came up to rest over his.

“ Agreed .” She repeated. 

Agreed . 

The word echoes in Snow’s head as Tawny giggles while Dyess leans to kiss her one last time. 

Coriolanus takes no time to clear his throat and say, “You’re needed in the Hall, Dr. Crane.”

She’s clearly playing her part of the oblivious victim well, pouting when Dyess tells her, “I’ll see you tonight.” 

“But your lunch isn’t over, yet.” She whispers it, deliberately loud enough for Coriolanus to hear. 

“Dr. Crane.” Snow says flatly, raising his brows to Dyess. 

“I’ll see you tonight. I have to go.” Dyess kisses her cheek. 

If looks could kill, Coriolanus would be a dead man with the way she stares at him. 

“I’ll see you tonight. I love you.” She brushes off her frown and smiles sweetly to her husband.

Snow nearly laughs. 

She’s so full of shit , he thinks to himself. 

Once they arrive back to the Hall, monitors plastered throughout the room that’s lined with Gamemakers, Dr. Gaul seated at the center of them all, watching the boy from District One use his bottle of water to wedge it against the windpipe of the girl from his district. 

They all watch silently as the two fight with one another, the only sound in the room is that of everyone holding their breath. 

The girl shoves at him as he puts his entire body weight on her, rendering her nearly helpless, until she’s reaching for something. 

Dyess’ face lights up at the sight of her hand grabbing ahold of his altered Ivy. 

She’s willing to be miserable for a little while if all bodes well. 

The moment she touches it, it starts sprouting more leaves, reacting to active human touch, crawling and growing quickly, over taking her hand, until she’s shoving her green-covered fist into the boy’s mouth, growing as still as she can to avoid it swallowing her whole. 

But he fights, encouraging its overwhelming growth, his yell muffled, until it’s too much. 

He’s stumbling off of her, ripping at the vines as they quickly crawl down his throat, gags filling the air while they trace up his nose, over taking his face and his nasal cavities. 

Soon, green finds itself wedging from between his eyes and eyelids, out of his ears, covering his entire body, inside and out. 

Snow exhales as he’s declared dead with the loud pop of a cannon, and the girl is declared victor with Dr. Gaul’s laughter and the room’s applause. 

“A job well done, ladies and gentlemen!” Dr. Gaul announces with pride, referring to the new arena, and the hard work of everyone to ensure each angle was met, body was accounted for, and curve-ball was thrown when needed be. 

A successful and entertaining Game, indeed. 

Dyess drinks in the glory, his mutt being the one to give them their victor and he gets the pat on the backs and constant brags of, “incredible work,” from his colleagues to go with it.

Snow’s eye is caught where he stands, able to see the door of the Hall in his peripheral. 

Tawny watches from the sliver of the open door, her eyes meeting Coriolanus’. 

No one else sees her, no one else looks at her, only him, as her eyes dart from his and she takes in the view of her husband getting praised for work she had a heavy hand in creating. 

She disappears in the blink of an eye, and Snow nearly goes after her, but is stopped by Dr. Gail’s gloved hand on his shoulder. 

“A beautiful arena , Mr. Snow. A beautiful Game .” She has to give credit where it is due being that he had been the one to bring up possibly changing the scenery of the arena. 

“Beautiful indeed, Dr. Gaul. Thank you for the opportunity.” He means every word of it as it’s said, his eyes glancing back once more to the door that’s now closed shut. 

Everyone’s dismissed among the noise of fireworks shooting around the Capitol in celebration, Lucky Flickerman in full swing of his post-game recaps as Coriolanus leaves the Citadel. 

Livia’s waiting for him on the steps, arms outstretched, an excited squeal leaving her as her husband embraces her. 

“I’m so proud of you!” She exclaims, his lips meeting hers.

She breaks away with a little gasp, his brows furrowing in concern before she’s grabbing his hand, pressing his fingertips to her stomach. 

A small, very faint tap meets him in a moment, his eyes meeting Livia’s as his heart starts to race. 

“ We’re so proud of you,” She corrects herself in a near whisper, tearing up at the sight of her love feeling their baby kick. 

He’s not completely heartless, her words to him are like a dog getting scratched behind the ear. 

Both his palms hold her face as they kiss again. 

   Tawny waits for Dyess to get home, dinner on the table, lights dim and candles lit. 

Her parents had left shortly after the Games had ended, excited and proud for Dyess’ work, but desperate to get back to their own home.

The apartment feels empty, too quiet to Tawny, now. 

Many, many years ago, Tullia would be begging to go for a car ride, to go out and see the many people out and about celebrating, the fireworks, the joy. 

It used to lightly aggravate Tawny to hear, “Mom, can we go now?” Repeatedly as Tawny would try to catch her bearings and clean up the house after guests that would always be over watching, go home. 

But now it’s just silence. 

And she suffers in it, placing a hand on her stomach, imagining it carrying another baby. 

She pictures her life with a newborn while her dissolved husband has gone to a district for at least twenty years. 

He won’t be her husband, anymore. 

He’ll just be a man she knew once. 

A man who used her up and betrayed her.  

A stranger. 

Snow is a stranger to her, now, too. 

Content and thrilled with Ms. Ribbons about their spawn. 

Tawny has to sigh out and scold herself silently for being mean about Livia once more. 

She is the victim in all of this, the pregnant, unsuspecting victim. 

She shouldn’t despise her, nor envy her, nor hate her. 

A part of her can’t help but think if Coriolanus feels the way about Dyess that she feels for Livia. 

That he spurns him for being with Tawny, because he wants her. 

He doesn’t want you , She tells herself. He likes the way you look on your knees. That’s all .

She can’t argue. 

Glancing at the clock once more, she starts shaking her leg in impatience. 

Perhaps Dyess got caught in traffic. 

Perhaps he got held back at work. 

Perhaps he’s already been arrested. 

She rushes to the living room, turning on the television to see Lucky on Capitol T.V., reiterating a part of the Games in which a young girl from four got shredded to bits by Martia Glint’s piranhas. 

She flinches given the sore subject, but waits patiently for it to be interrupted. 

That interruption never comes. 

Tawny ends up asleep, the flow of the television highlighting her face when Dyess eventually comes home, stumbling drunk, stopping to stare down at his wife. 

“T,” He uses her nickname, something he hasn’t called her in some time, he shakes her awake, grinning when she stretches, her back arching in her soft gold dress, brows scrunching as she looks at him. 

“Dyess?” She asks, sitting up, looking around. “What time is it?”

Truth be told, he doesn't know, himself. 

He and a few friends had gone out after work, and lost track of time completely along with track of how many drinks they had. 

“I’m not sure,” he says, sitting next to her as she adds, “I’ve got dinner on the table. We can go eat —”

She abruptly stops when she stands but he keeps ahold of her hand, stopping her. 

“I already know what I’m having for dinner,” he tells her, and she blushes but shakes her head. 

“I’m exhausted, Dy. Let’s just eat, and lie down, please.” She pleads kindly, sitting down, grabbing his hands in hers. 

“That’s virtually all I want to do, darling.” He kisses the back of her hand and she looks at him pointedly. 

His smile fades after a moment as he grows more serious. 

“Do you think it will work?” He asks her. 

She tries to keep her breathing easy at his question, too paranoid, too worried he’ll reveal that she knows the truth and will find a way to get out of his punishment. 

“Do I think what will work, my love?” 

She touches her fingertips to his cheek, staring into his cobalt blue eyes. 

“Us trying for another baby.” His voice holds sorrow, the way it shakes and cracks. 

He’s just as hurt over his daughter’s death as she is, whether she hates him now or not, she can’t deny this truth. 

“Do you think we’ll have another?” He clarifies. 

If I do get pregnant, I’ll be the only one of the two of us having another child , she thinks to herself. You’ll be out of my life entirely . 

“I think we will, darling.” She assures him, smiling softly with a small nod that has him running his fingertips along her jaw. 

“I love you,” He speaks it quietly, his nose brushing against hers. 

“I love you.” She replies in the same tone, their lips meeting before she’s nudging him to lie down on the couch, the two of them giggling when she straddles him. 

     The next week and a half to follow is a blur. 

Invitations to the Presidential Palace for the medal ceremony arrive, every Gamemaker and Scientist alike invited. 

Tawny immediately tracked down Tigris who agreed to help her with her attire, having only five days to do so. 

In the final fitting, Tawny waits patiently for Tigris to finish sewing the last glimmering stone to the fabric dyed the same rich red of Panem’s flag.

Her eyes fall to the suit in the corner of the room that’s the same color.  

“. . .Is that Dyess’?” She asks, Tigris tensing upon the question. 

“Um, no. It’s my cousin’s.” Tigris says, pulling the thin thread through the fabric of Tawny’s outfit. “He came over to discuss his suit, and saw me mixing the dye meant for yours. He liked the color.” 

“Oh.” Tawny wants to tell her it has nothing to do with the color and everything to do with wanting to fuck with Tawny’s head. 

“In fact, he should be here any moment to pick it up.” It’s said as a warning, Tawny’s eyes meeting hers. “I’ll hide you in the guest room.” Tigris adds. “He won’t even know you’re here.”

“I don’t care if he knows I’m here.” Tawny argues quietly, looking forward once more. 

“Are you sure?” Tawny looks at the Snow, yet again, raising a brow. “I-It’s just the last time I saw the two of you together it wasn’t. . .”

Tigris can hear the two of them screaming horrendously at one another all over again. 

“We’re adults, Tigris. We’ve gotten over our spat. . .as well as our affair. We’re cordial. We won’t shred through your apartment.” She promises. 

Tigris merely nods, continuing her work. 

Just as she said, a knock at the door soon sounds through the apartment. 

“Come in!” Tigris pipes, Tawny’s heart picking up, her skin growing hot and prickly with oncoming nervousness as she hears the door. 

“I’m here for my suit.” Snow stops walking upon seeing the smooth skin of a familiar back. 

Immediately recognizing the three small moles on her left shoulder blade that are perfectly spaced apart to form an invisible triangle. 

“It’s here,” Tigris informs him, handing Tawny the thin needle she’d been finishing her stitching with. 

He doesn’t dare go any further, not wanting Tawny to see him, though he knows that she knows it’s him that’s present. 

Tigris grabs the suit in its thick clear bag, handing it to him. 

He notices something missing, however. 

“The tie?” He raises his brows. 

“Oh! Oh, I knew I forgot something.” She goes back to the dining room table where many ties she had been concocting lay, and Snow waits for her. “Here, this stitch is loose.  Give me just a couple moments.”

She moves to her sewing room, leaving the two of them alone together. 

Neither of them say a word, but Tawny can feel his eyes on her, brown eyes shutting to keep their composure while his eyes wander up and down her. 

“It’s nice, Dr. Crane.” He speaks politely in reference to what he can see of Tigris’ creation: a formal jumpsuit that’s tailored to perfection, the legs of it loose around her feet, and slightly longer as to not be too high when she slips her heels on, an open back, haltered top decorated in unevenly cut diamonds all throughout, reflecting beautifully. 

“Thank you, Mr. Snow, yours as well.” She mumbles in response, nearly holding her breath, not wanting him to notice how struggled her breathing becomes when he’s near. 

It feels like an eternity before Tigris returns. 

“Here, Coriolanus.” Tigris pipes, holding the tie out to her cousin, the loose stitch fixed and in place. 

“Thank you, Tigris.” He replies softly, offering a half-smile. “Here,” a check for her work is placed in her palm, and she glances at the amount and her blue eyes grow in size.

“Too much.” She mouths to him so Tawny won’t hear. 

“No such thing.” He replies in a silent whisper.

She is one of the many women in his life that keeps him looking his best. 

His most expensive accessory.

“I want a framed portrait of you with the President.” She speaks to him as he heads to the door.

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to thank him for you on account of his idiocy of raising taxes once more.” He scoffs bitterly. 

Ravinstill had declared a higher tax in an attempt to ease the amount paid by the Districts.

Many in the Capitol, including Snow, saw it as him easing up on the Districts, becoming lenient. 

Just as he had been lenient on Dyess Crane – who anyone with a brain would consider an enemy of the state for sabotaging what the Department of War considers weaponry – only sentencing him to Peacekeeping, whereas he should be put to death immediately. 

President Ravinstill had been losing his grip in his old age. 

“Please do.” Tigris retorts, knowing he’s only kidding. 

Though he may truly be irritated by the raise of taxes, he’d never make a scene and disclose such to the President himself. 

Tawny exhales when he’s gone.

“I’m sorry.” Tigris says to her, quietly. “I’m sorry he didn’t tell you.”

“That’s what I get for spreading my legs to a married man.” Tawny hisses. 

“You’re not the first person in the Capitol to have an affair with someone who’s married. You certainly will not be the last.” Tigris assures her, tying off the thread before cutting the excess. 

“All done.” She says next, coming to a stand, examining her work on Tawny Crane before she smiles brightly and states, “Beautiful.” 

     “Beautiful!” Dyess exclaims as his wife steps from the car two days later, her curled hair falling down her exposed back. 

“Thank you,” She replies, pulling back when he tries to peck her lips. “Lipstick, darling.” She warns him with a giggle.

“Damn the lipstick.” He states, arm wrapping around her waist before he’s kissing her.

It’s obvious that perhaps he’s had a little liquid courage to ease his nerves for the evening.

Her manicured fingers are wiping the red from his mouth with a grin before the two of them are approaching the doors of the mansion. 

Flutes of champagne are served inside, the place filled to the brim with their colleagues, and their colleagues' significant others.

She almost loses her breath the longer she looks around at the Presidential Palace. 

What had been the point of the old sports arena the Hunger Games had been held in all those years? They could have easily played a ball game just on the first floor. 

“Dr. Crane.” She and Dyess both hear a familiar voice, both of them turning to see Dayla Shoemake.

When she only keeps her eyes on Tawny, it’s clear who she was speaking to. 

“Mrs. Shoemake.” Tawny replies with small surprise, not realizing she had been invited as well, but happy not to be here by herself aside from Dyess. 

“You look terrific.” Dayla says, looking her over. “Whose is this?” 

“Tigris Snow.” She informs her, proudly before Dayla is reiterating, “It’s beautiful work.”

“Who did yours?” Tawny asks her, looking at the remarkable gold that seemed to be dripping from Dayla’s gown, glittering with her every move.

Dyess tenses with his wife getting showered in attention, even from passerbyers, her dazzling outfit and demeanor stealing the eyes of those who had been praising his work, patting his back, stroking his ego earlier in the night before her arrival. 

As she and Dayla continue their conversation, she and Tawny both are interrupted about their attire.

The last straw is when Atticus Dovecote, one of Tawny’s students, approaches her to commend her on her incredible subject that had been a success. 

“I saw the tape of its case review. It was incredible.” He says, both of his hands around Tawny’s before Dayla is piping, “It was.” 

“It’s a shame it didn’t get picked.” Dyess cuts in, keeping his voice genuine, Atticus looking at him for the first time in the night as Tawny’s eye twitches, her jaw clenching before she forces herself to keep her composure, and her husband quickly changes the subject, “I didn’t realize just anyone in the Citadel had been invited tonight.” 

“Students interning at the Citadel who have a hand in the Games in any way are invited.” Atticus replies. “I had the privilege of shadowing Dr. Gaul a few times during the Games.” 

Dyess now looks to Dayla for her excuse – she had only been a receptionist, after all. 

“My husband is here.” She states with narrowed eyes.

Her husband, Albus Shoemake, was only a member of the Board . 

Why wouldn’t Dayla be here?

Tawny goes quiet in embarrassment from her husband’s behavior. 

“Excuse me.” She says to the two guests and her husband, spotting Philo Marius sipping champagne in the corner, avoiding the thick of the crowd. “Mr. Marius,” Tawny greets him, hands clasped behind her back. 

“Dr. Crane,” He replies, pulling the crystal glass from his lips before he looks her up and down, “You look very nice this evening.”

“Thank you.” She takes her own glass of the sparkling liquid, taking a very small sip, wanting to pace herself tonight of all nights. 

“Have you seen Mr. Snow?” He asks her.

“No, not in some time.” She shakes her head as another man approaches them. 

“The restroom is the size of our apartment.” He states to Philo with shock in his voice before adding, “Dear, I told you not to drink, you’re getting all splotchy.”

Tawny’s brows shoot straight up as Philo looks at her.

“Cyrus, this is my colleague. Dr. Tawny Crane. One of the most amazing scientists that we have got at the Citadel.” He introduces him. “Dr. Crane, this is my partner, Cyrus Marius.” 

“‘Partner’ makes it sound like we’re patrolmen.” Cyrus replies. “I’m his husband ,” he extends his hand. 

Philo has married someone equally as handsome as him, it appears, and Tawny takes his husband’s hand in her own and shakes it. 

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Mr. Marius.” She replies before adding, “I adore your name, by the way. My older brother was named Cyrus.” 

“Cyrus Gaul?” He asks to which she nods. “I thought so. My father named me after him.” Cyrus replies. 

“Really?” 

“He was the youngest in my father’s unit.” 

Tawny doesn’t doubt that for a second. 

Cyrus was seventeen when he was drafted. 

“Small world.” She replies with a little smile. 

Her father would be proud that one of his boys had inspired the name of another. 

She goes to speak once more but is distracted with the sight of deep red moving through the crowd toward them. 

Tawny doesn’t have time to flee without it looking obvious so she looks at the ground as Livia and Snow greet Philo and Cyrus. 

“Mr. Marius,” Coriolanus is smiling as he says it, shaking his apprentices hand. 

“Mr. Snow,” he replies, regarding Livia as well with a kind, “Mrs. Snow.”

“Oh, please, Philo, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Livia. We see enough of each other to be on a first name basis.” She sweetly reminds him, looking at Cyrus. 

“This is my husband, Cyrus. And, Cyrus, this is Dr. Livia Cardew, and you know her husband, Mr. Snow.” Philo says.

Cyrus shakes Livia’s hand, her blond hair perfectly waved and pinned over one shoulder, complimenting her strapless white dress, matching the white rose pinned to Coriolanus’ suit that matches Tawny. 

Coriolanus looks Tawny over quickly, taking a deep breath, tightening his jaw just slightly at the exposed skin of her shoulders, back, and chest, wishing to run his hands and lips over every inch of it. 

Dare he admit he misses their meetings?

Cyrus’ brown eyes look from Tawny’s outfit to Snow’s as Philo and Livia exchange more conversation, taking note of the exact color match but he doesn’t say a word about it. 

Tawny makes eye contact with Snow, catching him looking her over, which automatically prompts her to dart her eyes away, and say “Hello, Livia, how are you?”

“Hello, Dr. Crane. I’m well, how are you?” Livia replies cordially. 

“I’m well.” Tawny says, offering a smile. 

Coriolanus keeps his eyes on her throughout the entire exchange, and she refuses to speak to him, instead clearing her throat and saying, “I better find Dyess. It was lovely to meet you, Mr. Marius.” 

“You as well, Dr. Crane.” Cyrus replies before she’s turning to go. 

“Excuse me, just one moment, dear.” Snow mutters in Livia’s ear, to which she nods, still mid-conversation with Philo. 

He disappears in the sea of people, catching up to Tawny in no time as she’s making a bee-line for the door to get some air. 

“Dr. Crane,” He says as calmly as he can and she doesn’t respond, reaching the back door that’s congruent with the front, seeing the enormous backyard that’s covered in a beautiful configuration of tall shrubs. 

A few people have made their way out here, but not many, most staying inside to make sure they don’t miss the announcement of moving to the large ballroom for the ceremony. 

“Dr. Crane.” He repeats himself.

“I’m not speaking to you.” She refuses him quietly. 

“Okay, well I’m speaking to you.” He grasps at her hand, tugging her between two shrubs, shielding them from any onlookers. 

“You didn’t tell me.” She hisses to him bitterly, venom dripping from the words. 

“Because it doesn’t concern you.” He argues lowly. 

“It does concern me, Coriolanus. You fucking me while your pregnant wife skips around for baby clothes and nursery decor does concern me. It’s very concerning how little thought of others you actually have.” 

“As if you are any better.” He grits it through his teeth. “Stringing him along as if you aren’t fully aware he’s about to get arrested and shipped off — ”

“ — Because you told me to!” She raises her voice and he’s covering her mouth, shoving her back against the bush behind her, trapping her as he glances around to make sure no one heard her. 

“I told you to pretend nothing happened. Last I recall, you weren’t so eager to fuck him before you found out what he’d been doing. But you find out he’s been screwing your career and suddenly you’re insatiable to get those pretty legs around him.” 

He can’t insult her anymore than he had the day they last exchanged their words and swore one another off, but what he says annoys her to the point she can’t help herself as she spits back, “And if we’re so fortunate, I’ll have a little girl, too, just so she can be the best of friends with yours.” 

It takes a moment for her words to register in his mind. 

Blue eyes growing angry yet running cold as he realizes, now, why she’s been so adamant about being intimate with Dyess. 

He’s blindsided by her utter stupidity. 

“Are you so moronic?” He sneers. “You’ll be a single mother with no career, no husband, all to spite me for having a child with my wife?” He almost laughs. “Do I take up so much space in your life you’d change its entire trajectory to try to get even with me?” 

She doesn’t speak a word, she doesn’t protest, staring up at him. 

Her lack of protest lets him know that she in fact is not doing it to try to even the score with him.

It’s not Snow that she’s trying to get one last “fuck you,” to. 

He recalls her telling him that Dyess wished for another child, he had even witnessed the conversation being brought up at dinner with her family. 

Dyess wants another child. 

Dyess is getting apprehended any day now. 

He pictures Dyess receiving a letter that she’s pregnant, wherever far off District he’s sent to, and having to live the rest of his days knowing he has a child he won’t see until he’s discharged of his duty. 

Snow can see it in Tawny’s eyes that the goal is for Dyess to know he has a child.

And to make sure Dyess knows his own child will never know about him. 

There it is , he thinks to himself, seeing the Gaul in her plan — as kitchen-sinky as it may be. 

The raining fire. 

The sadistic torture. 

The destruction. 

If she’s successful in conceiving a child before he’s arrested, Dyess Crane will go so mad, he might just off himself, and save Snow the blood on his hands. 

[septusuki]

"Thinking we'll need three." Handler nurses her chin as she flips through the function files, a bored but grim look on her face that just wants it all over. "40 combatants. Maybe a mortar entrenchment. PR'll be hell but that's hardly our problem." Snapping her fingers, she clicks the pamphlet shut and comes to a conclusion she's already assured herself of. "Yeah, three. Load 'em up." With a crick of her jaw, Handler spins her finger in an elegant, but equally efficient gesture; we're done here.

This is Annette's first time working the Doll-Dispensor crane. She trembles, sweat sticking her leathery jacket to her skin through her button-up. It's just a crane, she tells herself. She's liscenced for things like this for a reason. Casting a needy look over at her ID, still face-down on the scanner, Annette searches her own photographed face for reassurance. After all, she certainly isn't getting any from Handler.

"Lieutennant." Handler has grown tired - exhausted - in seconds. With a sigh, she figures out what she needs to do. The pamphlet is tossed to the ground. Her excellently straight, golden blonde locks are tucked behind her ear. A few buttons on her coat are undone, and she leans forwards. "It's not scary, Annette. They're animals, they won't feel it, anyway." She whispers into the stunned lieutennant's ear, a hand on her trembling shoulder. With a puff of steamy, condensed air down Annette's neck, Handler smirks as she gets what she wants.

Beyond the control-cell glass, activity is whipped up in an instant. As if it just remembered gravity exists, a giant claw hums into life and descends - or just drops - ten metres in as many milliseconds. The tip of it's cold, unfeeling claw touches down on a foreign planet; flesh, soft and bouncy.

"J-Just... Animals." A still-shivering Annette Knox tries to convince herself. "Just... Bakery buns..." Her second guess is more accurate. Beyond the glass is an entire matrix of glowing, throbbing buns. Bun-dolls. Still strapped into their infinitely-flexible pilot skinsuits, an entire twelve-by-eight sheet of perfectly shaped, exquisitely glossy buns wait. They wait, gorging and being gorged by arrays of feeder tubes, for whatever might happen to their inflated bodies. For whoever might need them next.

"I think they look more like berries, personally." Clipping her unkempt outfit back into place after she was forced to ruffle it up, Handler giggles at Annette's demeaning remarks. "Well, that or pustules, but that's a bit gross." Anything but human. These pilots, these things, are not human. That is the only way the Handlers can justify doing this to them.

Turning someone into a 'proper' pilot requires enough operations to euthanize an untrained human ten times over. Somewhere along the line, they are overcome with SYNIST urges. Kill, maim and disembowel. So violent, sadistic and cruel that they needed to be sedated. Anaesthetized, or cryogenically frozen. The Handlers decided this was a better solution; ruined, instead.

The talons of the claw vanish as they find the fold between this pilot and her neighbour. It sinks and sinks until Annette commands it to grip, and lift.

A half-ton of thing emerges from the soup of sweat it's been submerged in. Her skinsuit, torn. Her fingers, useless. Her legs, atrophied. Her eyes? Giggling. Glossy and subdued, but full of humor. As she is hefted and heaved, she begins to full on laugh. Dripping all over, her cock twitches as it empties itself for the third time that hour. The stream drools down and drizzles over another pilot's splayed out body. The pilot-blob's legs twitch and strain with excitement. Tnrough the glass, Annette can hear it; KILL KILL KILL!

"N-Not H-Human..." Annette whimpers, on the edge of terrified tears. She can't be related, through any twist of the evolutionary tree, to something like this. This evil, soulless thing. Bun, blob, hunk of meat. Nought but a drugged-up brain, engulfed in fatty batter, that humanity parades around and lets do it's killing. "P-Please, Handler... I can't..." Annette squeaks as she lets herself think that thing met her eyes.

"Come on, Annette." The lieutennant's given name is like a command word for her. Handler doesn't bother with the rest. "If you keep this up, you know what happens." Another snicker, and Handler nods as she watches Annette's hands freeze, and then reboot. Annette works robotically, and automatically. BELBIC senses take over as the truth strikes itself home; this is Annette's last chance, before she ends up on the operation table.

Annette begins to sob, but that doesn't stop her hands.