#when jon retires again he's just going to open a hospital for the rest of the hosts where all of them get therapy

[briamichellewrites]

70

Meow. Bark! When the animals heard a car approaching the house, they gathered at the front door. They anticipated the arrival of their humans. They greeted them as soon as they opened the door. You are home! Hello, humans! They said hello to them and tried not to step on their paws. It had been a long and emotional day. All they wanted to do was relax. Brad stayed at the hospital with Bria and Jon. He would be returning home later. Jon was the highlight of the day because he made Bria happy.

She had the biggest smile on her face when he walked in. He and Dave were both thrilled to have him there because they had been fans of his band, Bon Jovi, when they were younger. Mike remembered listening to them with Bria when they were hanging out at her "party house." She would play their greatest hits album repeatedly. He wished he could go back there. It was private.

He and Jason loved it because they could do whatever they wanted without their parents' knowledge. They never did anything illegal. Rather, they hung out and discussed topics they could not tell their parents. Independence was something they desired as teenagers and young adults. That house was where they had their first kiss. It was also where they got together. That house held so many wonderful memories. He wished he could return there and spend the afternoon.

Dave interrupted his memories by asking what he was thinking. He was simply thinking about innocence. What did he mean?

"Jon reminded me of when Bria, Jason, and I were younger. We would listen to his albums over and over. That reminded me of the house she lived in after graduating from high school. We called it 'the party house.'"

"Are they good memories?"

"Okay, yeah. It’s just… I do not even know what the correct term is. How did life go by so quickly? I guess that is what I am thinking about."

“I don’t know. It goes by before you know it."

“How was your appointment?”

He was so grateful that he pushed him to go. The therapist was an army veteran who had been diagnosed with PTSD. He had to retire due to his diagnosis. A veteran at the VA encouraged him to pursue a career in therapy. He was going to be evaluated for possible PTSD. How about his sleeping problems? He had a prescription for something to help him sleep. It was not addictive.

He felt relieved to hear that. Dave showed him the bottle. It included his name, instructions, and side effects. Good for him. His mental health was not something he should be embarrassed about. He gave a nod. That is what he learned from him, Bria, and Chester. They were both hungry but too tired to cook, so they looked in the refrigerator for leftovers. Dave asked him if he fed the animals. No, he had forgotten. He volunteered to do it.

After taking the dogs out, the rest of the evening was spent in the studio. Mike created beats that could be used on the band's next album, while Dave sat and listened. He needed to do something to help himself relax for the night. He always felt better after listening to music. Dave was just happy to be home, and it did not matter what they did as long as he was with his husband.

Jon and Brad did not stay long because she needed to rest. He had a few days before returning to New Jersey, so they made plans to meet again. If the situation were different, he would invite him over to hang out. Jon understood. When they arrived at the hotel where he was staying, they hugged and said goodbye. Brad returned to the car and drove home, listening to the radio. Ironically, Bon Jovi happened to be the song playing as he drove away.

You Give Love A Bad Name. 1986. He was twenty-three years old and attempting to make it as an actor. Brad Pitt was unknown to the general public at the time. A year later, he landed his first acting job. It was strange to look back and realize how far he would come. Time slipped past him. One moment he was William Bradley Pitt of Shawnee, Oklahoma. Then he became a Hollywood movie star.

He greeted Dave and Mike when he found them in the kitchen. They greeted him. They were all tired, so it was obvious that the night would be quiet. They talked while they ate. Brad was returning to the hospital the following morning. He would probably spend all day there. Mike and Dave decided to stay at home and catch up on housework because there was no reason for the three of them to be there. He was fine with that.

Have they taken the dogs out yet? If they had not already, he offered to do it. That was okay. They took them out when they arrived home. Dave thanked him for the offering. They said good night to Brad after finishing their dinners and went upstairs.

As they prepared for bed, Mike reminded him to take his medication. Oh, yeah. He opened the bottle and removed the necessary pills. They tasted terrible without water. He cupped his hands under the faucet and drank the water to wash away the taste. Mike had to laugh when he asked if that helped. Yes, it did. How did it taste? It had a chalky taste. He made a face.

“Ew.”

“I’m bringing a plastic cup up here tomorrow.”

“I’ll try to remind you.”

They slept late the next morning. Brad left a note informing them that he had taken the dogs out and left food for the animals. He would inform them when he was on his way home. The animals appreciated having their humans around. Instead of rushing somewhere, they stayed at home with them. They went out with the dogs for some exercise. They enjoyed chasing each other around the backyard.

Kate was chasing Misty when she abruptly came to a halt. She looked behind her and noticed her using the restroom. When she was finished, they resumed running around. Mike kept his phone in his pocket, just in case. He took it out after feeling it vibrate. It was Jason. He asked his brother why he was calling him, as he did not think he would be able to use his phone in rehab. Uh oh. Dave could tell by the tone of his voice and facial expressions that things were not going well.

"Jay, I am exhausted. I love you, but I need a stress-free day. You do not know what Dave, Brad, and I are going through. Bria is in the hospital with cancer. I will come to see you tomorrow, okay? Please give me 24 hours."

When he finished talking, he hung up frustrated. He asked what happened. Jason wanted him to attend a family therapy session. He seemed to feel the need to tell him something. Dave instructed him to take deep breaths. He did, and it helped him relax. Whatever it was, it could wait until the following day. He was at home, resting with his husband and pets.

After a while of playing, the dogs became tired. They ran back inside to get some water. Yum, Yum! It tasted delicious! The home was quiet and peaceful. Mike absorbed it for a moment. It was as if his stress level had decreased. Perhaps he and Dave could take a nap later. Just the two of them. That seemed like an amazing idea.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon

[mr007pennyworth]

Names & Chains - Jason & Alfred Headcannon

Jason is 24 when he gets the call from Dick. After everything they had been through, Alfred has finally died from old age.

The whole family fall apart at the funeral, Bruce takes the car back to manor alone as the rest of them split up into there new lives, even Damien leave aside Jon. Jason, finds himself stuck.

He finds he no longer wants anything he had before he came to stand at this grave side.

Packing his bags and leaving Dick a letter, he leaves for Europe. He's done with masks, he's done with violence, he's done with following that dammed family into wars and dealing with crazy villains, he just done.

He lands in England, confused where to start. He finds himself worried for Damian. Bruce is going kill that kid. The anger drives him to traveling around before he ends up in an army recruiting office in London.

He wants Alfred, he wants to find Alfred. But what part of him that is left, is in him. Before he can think twice, he's changing his name, his whole identity, the money Alfred left him he finds talks wonders beyond Gotham.

A suitcase, a backpack and duffel bag later he's walking aboard a ship alongside fifty other men and woman to places unknown, unknown himself, with only the words 'be the better man' in his heart.

Gun's are everywhere, his PTSD causes him issues but here...they matter. People don't dismiss his trauma here, they listen, they talk. They understand.

He hates the sound of screaming. He wonders how the hell Alfred ever handled all the blood.

Jason wonders as he gloves up to patch yet another wound, how he ever thought that he should have the right to make someone else bleed.

The gun on his hip moves very little, self defense at most. He finds his talents in caring, just like Alfred. He finds himself promoted, misses the first few like a blink and wonders one afternoon standing in the middle of a operation, a man's leg being amputated thinking about Alfred, how he'd gotten here, when he'd got here?

Sits drinking tea in an office, his black boots, uniform and white coat a familiar site. The peace and quiet around him, not so much. He worries about Damien, Bruce might have lost him already.

He's turning 30 and getting drunk surrounded by familiar faces and smiling like the life before that boat ride never happened. He turning 34 and finally lands back in London on leave to a new flat.

He's standing in front of a mirror one morning after his 35th Birthday to the sight of grey hairs. He panics and smashes it. He'd seen mirrors before now, just not acknowledged himself in them, he see’s his old self in his eyes and he wants him gone. Later the same day he gets the balls to go back in the bathroom to clean it up.

He's called back out to the middle east a few months later, 3 bullet wounds and a broken collar bone sends him back to London. It takes time for him to stop hearing voices. The white walls of the hospital send him spiraling into a depression he'd not felt since he'd left Gotham. He finds himself in the same veteran care center his Alfred had been in. He finds himself. Wondering.

He's calm when he walks into that hotel. Retired from guns. Retired from war. Tired from everything, he just wants peace.

His uniform is now black and white. Not mottled green or beige. No blood, no noise.

He's placing knifes on a table aside pristine white napkins not bloody gloves.

The quite sounds of careful chatter, clinking of glasses, giggling of tipsy women, the carpeted halls drowned out the sounds until it becomes a pleasant drone he never new he needed.

He finds himself opening the car door to a young boy with dark hair one evening. He hears the boy tut at his mother. He watches rich parents escorting private school boys into dinner, he's left wondering about Damien once again.

He's 38 when he gets on a plane again. He's terrified but it's something he knows he has to face.

Standing with in the GCPD office has his heart in his throat. Dick drops his coffee. Jason feels like passing out. He wants to run, he wants nothing and everything and he's scared. But he stands. Hands behind his back, ramrod straight, he stares down the police officer in front of him. Gun on his hip.

"You came home!"

No, He thinks as he enters that God awful manor the place was dusty even with five living here... No, he sighs as he polishes the kitchen down again. No, he clucks his tounge as he hangs up the jacket from the sofa. No, he snorts as he rolls his eyes at the sight of old man Wayne sitting on the sofa wide eyed and in shock at the sight of him. No, he wonders as Damien walks in the room double takes before nodding, he felt the same pain. No, no words needed when they all knew. No, he knows as he mends Dick's latest wound from the scuffles of the streets, tends to Bruce and checks his medication. Batman fully retired.

No, he thinks, as he drives the car back from Wayne Enterprises, Tim and Damien now all grown up talking shop in the back. Hero suits buried just like his own. Both moved back to the manor not long after he returned.

No, he thinks as he sets down dinner, locks up for the night, watches as the heir of Gotham wanders to his room phone still in his hand.

No, he hasn't come home. Jason Todd is dead. He left him at the graveside. That Jason would have never come back, never taken charge, never wanted responsibility for his once younger siblings. They may not have papers now, he may no longer be a Wayne. But Damian didn't hesitate to take him back when Grayson brought him to the doors. The young assassin more interested now with stock markets and politics even if he still conversed with his mother. He preferred the power trust gave him, rather than fear. Alfred’s death, changed everything.

Damien stops at the end of the hall as per usual every night since Jason returned, watches him curiously, doesn't frown for once. Jason is thankful he's grown out of that. His voice is like a gunshot in the dark and Jason feels the house shudder under the words. The chains he once feared that tied him down to this city, he now held in control. 

He feels something ignite in his chest and he smirks. The gun on his hip hasn't moved from it's holster. 'One day I won’t be here, one day your going to have to be the better man for the sake of this family'

"Good night, Pennyworth"

Jason Todd never came home, he died long ago. 

But Jason Alfred Pennyworth, did.

[catgirlthecrazy]

To Love and To Cherish

After being extremely mean to Jon and Martin in my last fic, I had to make it up to them with 2,000 words of domestic softness (and a side helping of character development)

AO3

Summary: What if the Scottish Honeymoon lasted through retirement? 

***

Martin was washing dishes when the fog rolled in. He didn't notice it right away. He was bent over the kitchen sink and didn't see much beyond the plates and soapy water. It wasn't until Martin straightened to work a kink out of his back that he saw the soft white curtains of vapor drifting across the yard. And Jon was down in the village at the moment, and hadn't said when he planned to come home.

When he'd first come to Scotland for years ago, that had been enough to send him into a panic attack. Slumped against the kitchen counter, knees hugged to his chest, sweating and struggling to breathe for god knew how long until Jon came home and found him like that. He'd held Martin's hand, softly rubbing circles in his palm. Come on Martin, breathe with me, he'd said, voice soft and steady as a highland cow. Breathe in to a count of ten. 

Decades had passed since then. Somewhat less since his last real panic attack. Martin knew now, with a rock solid certainty, that Jon would come back. He knew he had friends waiting for him.

Still. Martin Blackwood might not be Lonely anymore, but that didn't mean the scars couldn't ache in the wrong weather. He stared out the window into the fog, hands still dripping with suds. He could remember the day when that fog had filled his eyes and lungs and heart and mind. When he'd been certain that no one in the world cared if he lived or died, and that he would spend the rest of eternity with that numbing fog. Without even the mercy of death to look forward to.

Martin closed his eyes and breathed in. One. Two. He thought of Sophie and Rasheed, who ran the chemist's shop down in the village and invited them to dinner every once a week. Three. Four. Their children, Maryam and Noah, who Martin had known since they came home from the hospital and were now graduated from university. Five. Six. Robin and Daniel, who ran the pub that Jon and Martin went to every Wednesday, and had done so ever since taking it over from Robin's father ten years ago. Seven. Eight. Georgie and Melanie, who hosted Christmas every year down in London. Nine. Ten. Daisy and Basira, who came up to visit for two weeks every summer. Now hold.

Jon. Who woke up beside him every morning. Who could go on and on about the strangest things. Whose brusque demeanor hid a surprising depth of kindness that still delighted Martin even to this day. Who'd plunged himself into that cold and numbing fog to save Martin, and pulled him out again with love. Who'd given up his own sight for a life with Martin, away from eyes and fear. Martin breathed out to another count of ten. He opened his eyes, and the fog was just fog. Just water vapor brought about by a closeness of air temperature and dew point. He went back to washing dishes.

Some time later, something meowed at his feet. Martin looked down and smiled. "Hello Percy," he said to the regal ball of fluff twining itself around his ankles. Percy looked up and meowed again.

"Don't give me that. It's not dinner time for another hour."

Percy gave him a withering look and meowed again, as if to say You are most certainly mistaken. Your clocks must be running slow.

"I think you'll find it's your clock that needs winding, not mine."

Another plaintive meow. You must make an exception! Can you not see how I am malnourished and dying?

"Not falling for that one either."

Percy gave him a look of pure pleading, and mewed.

"That won't work on me. Jon's the cat person, not me."

Percy's expression grew more plaintive. He mewed pitifully. Martin turned back to his dishwashing before he could give into weakness.

Percy's full name was Sergeant Major Percival Pike. The naming of cats was one thing Jon and Martin had never really been able to see eye to eye on. One day many years ago, Jon had come home with a stray kitten and informed Martin that they were calling her The Commandant. Martin hadn't had the heart to argue at the time. Jon had been so adorably besotted with the tiny thing, how could he tell him no? But Martin always felt a little ridiculous calling such a squeaky little fuzzball by such a weighty title. So he'd nicknamed her Manda, and called her that until she passed away from old age in front of the fireplace. Jon had only lightly teased him for it, and Manda didn't seem to mind answering to two different names.

When they adopted their second cat, three years after rescuing Manda, Jon had wanted to name him Lord Chancellor. This time, Martin put his foot down.

Please Jon, can't we give the cat a normal name?

Jon scoffed. What self respecting cat would accept a normal name?

You think a cat's going to care if it's called Whiskers? Or Mittens? Or Fluffy?

Yes, and their owners should be hanged for lack of creativity.

In the end, they compromised, and the cat was dubbed Lord Chancellor Reginald Roberts III. Martin called him Reggie. And so it continued for every subsequent cat they owned, down to their current pair. In addition to the Sergeant Major aka Percy, they were also graced with the presence of Brigadier General Eleanor Evans, aka Ellie. People who didn't know them well sometimes assumed they actually had four cats instead of two.

The scraping of a white cane on concrete announced Jon coming up the front walk. Percy alerted to the sound and trotted over to the front door to wait. A moment later Jon came in, Ellie following closely on his heels like a mother shepherding a slow kitten. She did that often these days. There had been a time some years ago when Jon had been clipped by a drunk driver while walking up the lane, fallen into a ditch, and broken his leg. Ellie had found him on her daily ramble outside, then gone home to Martin and refused to stop screeching until he followed her to see what the problem was. She had appointed herself Jon's official outdoor chaperone ever since. Jon didn't put up with overprotectiveness from humans, but apparently he could tolerate it in cats just fine.

"Sophie and Rasheed say hello," Jon said. He shuffled over to the counter and set down two bags. One had the logo of the chemist's shop, containing the month's assorted prescriptions (arthritis medications for Jon, blood pressure and thyroid medications for Martin). The other had a container of something thick and brown and spicy-smelling. "They insisted on giving us some of their leftover curry, so I think we're having that tonight, unless you have any objections."

Martin smiled. Percy leaned his front paws on the counter walls and meowed insistently, as if to say Yes, that is clearly meant for me, please serve it up straight away. "Sounds better than omelettes. I'll go put on some rice." He leaned in to kiss Jon on the cheek.

***

The curry was excellent. Rich and warm and exactly as spicy as Jon liked it. After dinner found him and Martin on the couch, Jon leaning sleepily into Martin's shoulder. The fabric of Martin's sweater was soft against Jon's cheek, and it smelled faintly of lavender scented soap. Somewhere close by, the Sergeant Major was purring like a well oiled car engine. No doubt he was using Martin's lap as his own personal heated cat bed. Good taste in laps, that cat.

"Let's see, where did we leave off," Martin said. Jon heard the distinctive paper scrape of flipping pages. Real paper books were something of a rarity these days, but Martin wouldn't hear of replacing his collection with more convenient electronic versions. Jon couldn't afford to be as picky. Paper books were satisfying to hold, but they didn't come with built in text-to-speech software. Except when Martin owned those books, then they sort of did.

"Ah, here we are." Martin cleared his throat.

"Nevertheless I long—I pine, all my days—

to travel home and see the dawn of my return.

And if a god will wreck me yet again on the wine-dark sea,

I can bear that too, with a spirit tempered to endure."

Martin read in a calm, gentle voice. A slight shift in the cushions told him the Brigadier General was settling herself down above them on top of the couch. Aloof, but still part of things. With care, Jon reached up, found her chin, and offered scritches. The Brigadier General graciously accepted. What a picture they must make.

Jon didn't actually know what Martin looked like anymore. That was a statement that was true on a couple of different levels. Jon's mental image of Martin was still of a smiling, round-faced man with freckles in his late twenties. Jon knew Martin couldn't look like that anymore. His skin was dry and papery, his arms soft and flabby his hair thin and wispy and bald on top. And that was before considering the visual changes that other people (including Martin) commented on, like white hair and liver spots. Jon tried to overlay those facts onto his mental image of Martin, like a police artist trying to age up a photo of a long-missing person. But Jon would never know how closely that image matched the real thing.

On a deeper level though, Jon wasn't even sure if his image of young Martin was still accurate anymore. He'd made a point of memorizing every feature of Martin's face the day he'd decided to take his own sight. Every night for weeks after that, he'd conjured up the image in his mind, gone over every single detail with a mental microscope. He'd hoped that by sheer repetition Martin's face would wear a groove on his memory that could not be wiped away. But memory didn't work like that. Like an image that had been through the photocopier too many times, each act of recall changed the memory, altering and embellishing it until it was a caricature of its original form.

Once, that would have horrified Jon. He'd already had Sasha's face stolen from him, and no amount of terrible eldritch knowing power had been able to retrieve that knowledge for him. The thought of losing Martin's face? That had kept him up nights in a cold sweat. But if the decades since had taught him anything, it was this: the Not Them might have stolen Sasha's face from him, but it had also stolen every other part of her. Her voice, her laugh, even her manner. Jon still had every other part of Martin, waking up beside him each morning.

Jon awoke to gentle shaking. "Jon? Jon, you'll get a crick in your back if you fall asleep like that."

Jon grumbled and sat up. His spine screeched at him for forcing it back into a normal alignment. He grimaced. "What time is it?"

"Half past nine. You want to go to bed? Or I could make Percy let you have my lap."

Half past nine. In his younger days that barely counted as night. One of the lesser known adjustments of old age was the way it had completely obliterated his night owl tendencies. Jon considered Martin's offer. One last nap on his beloved's lap before moving to bed? "Tempting. But I think if I stay much longer I'll stick to it permanently."

With some considerable effort, Jon levered himself out of the couch. He offered a hand to help Martin up, which he readily took. "C'mere a minute," Martin said, tugging Jon gently back before Jon could turn towards the bedroom. Martin placed a hand under Jon's chin and tilted it up slightly. The gesture was both invitation and request, codified through decades of habit together. If the answer was no, Jon just needed to pull away, and that would be that.

Instead, Jon leaned in. There was the subtle but unmistakeable crackle of electricity that came before their lips met. Martin pressed his mouth into Jon's with a somewhat surprising level of intensity. Had something happened while he'd been out that day? Well, if it had, Martin would tell him. Or he wouldn't, if he didn't want to. Either way, it wasn't something Jon needed to know. Jon reached up to caress one cheek. It was dry and cracked, but covered in a soft peach fuzz he'd always been fond of. His other hand stretched around Martin's back, still soft and warm and huggable as an overlarge teddy bear. Jon might not know what Martin looked like anymore. But he didn't need to.

[sw124]

[Lamia-Birdy-Bitty Daily life!14]

/Pro-Revenge/p3

Hello my Lamia lovers how are you all doing, good I hope...well everyone this is gonna be the finale you’ve all been waiting for. I forgot to mention in my last posts, yes I know Covid-19 is running like wildfire right now but the funeral just shy of the shutdown so no worries. Unfortunately this little update to the story happened after the outbreak, I warn you this is gonna be sad, it mentions death yet again so please those with sensitive bitties do not read it to them.

Without further a due, lets begin.

Leaving off with Rosie treating me and all my babies out to a nice dinner, it was at Ryo Coast. Got to see Juan again but sadly no Virgil, though he was excited to see my birdie boys. We had a wonderful time eating sushi, watching Juan do his spatula flipping tricks and simply enjoying each others company. Phthalo came with us too, I always love seeing him with Rosie, especially how he dotes on her.

I’m pretty sure she needed this more then me...

We got back later in the evening, I was about to turn to tell my boys to unbuckle from their seats [Rosie drove us] when Rosie took my arm and asked me to stay in the car with her. Needless to say I was confused but did as she asked, so we sat there for at least a few minutes before she started talking.

Rosie told me she wanted me to know the story between her and her sons, though she appreciated I didn’t pry into her business it was about time she told me the situation. Years ago, way before I was even a thought in the mind of my own parents Leo and Rosie started up a small grocery store for the people in their hometown. They weren’t rich, far from it in fact, they were somewhat struggling in the beginning. But Leo and Rosie were content with that, they were pretty simple people.

Their boys however were not, as years went by and they grew up the boys began resenting their parents for not giving them a better lifestyle. The two of them did their best in raising them but when those two turned 18 they just left for collage. Paid for by stealing the nest egg Rosie and Leo had used for the store, they didn’t realize it until a fire started in the store, sadly they also lived within the same building and they not only lost their business but their home as well.

The nest egg was for in case something like this happened but with it gone they had nothing to rebuild from; thank goodness for human compassion and kindness. Their community came together and helped them out, a friend of theirs bought up the property where their shop burnt down, turned it into a cafe and let them work there to earn money. After a while they saved up enough to rent a small apartment, this went on for a few years before something really changed their lives. She didn’t say what but I figured they were offered high paying jobs somewhere else and took them.

I mentioned that and she gave me a playful shrug, saying ‘you could say that’ and continued with the story. She went on about how she and Leo enjoyed their work, got plenty of money and saved it up. She then told me they bought the house near my apartment for the sake of retirement, she told me she found out where her sons had gone. They were working as executives of some random companies in California, they found out about this from some of their nieces and nephews. They married, each having two kids; all daughters and worst of all had never since told the grandkids of their existence.

At least not until recently.

None of them had any contact until recently, she told me that her son’s weren’t going to attended unless they were getting money out of it. What made her sad was they considered them to be burdens in their lives....she spared me any other details which I understood. Leo left them a little money but the rest of it went to the grand nieces and grand nephews as collage tuition for their own futures. As for the sons they just left when they got what they came for, I have to say I was pretty close to screaming in anger at that point but held it in check.

She started telling me about how a little after the fire is when she and Leo took in Phthalo and well the rest is history. I sat there in that warm car while our boys were asleep in the back, it took me a while to process this information but in the end....I took Rosie’s hand and thanked her for telling me everything.

So we sat there for a while, just...enjoying the company of one another. From time to time I’d look in the back seat at the sleeping serpents and fizzled out fouls hehe. At least I had these guys, after a little while I take my boys home.

Then the shutdown happened, everyone was stuck inside and not allowed to travel anywhere. Not a problem for me but for Rosie it was hard, she’s such a social butterfly. Thank goodness for Phthalo and my boys, they head over to hang out in her yard. Things were ok for a while but...when the shutdown ended something happened.

No Rosie didn’t contract Covid, she started getting visitors; why is it bad? These visitors were not the kind she wanted, they were her granddaughters from her two selfish sons. They showed up and started trying to shove her out of her own home, apparently the girls wanted a place of their own so they began badgering Rosie to go into a nursing home. Bless her for being strong willed, not to mention having someone to back her up secretly. I had gotten the numbers of some of her family in case something happened.

It was during one of these visits by the granddaughters that....Rosie had her accident. She fell down the stairs, instead of calling for help the girls just left her there. Phthalo came banging at my back door for my help, poor Rosie had a broken hip.

I...don’t wanna go into details but when Rosie was in the hospital for her hip she got very sick and was in critical condition. I worried not just for her but for Phthalo, I got to talk to her via FaceTime and told her if anything happened I’d take Phthalo in. [I already talked it over with my boys, they’d be ok with it if push came to shove] She told me not to worry cause she already planned to have Phthalo adopted by someone in the neighborhood, a friend of theirs whom Phthalo trusts. You have no idea what a relief that was to me.

While she was in the hospital I called Rodger and Betty, they’ve been watching the house for her. Though I was happy they were watching the house for Rosie I still was worried for her health, I called her a few times via FaceTime and so far things are going ok....

But then I got a call from Betty, Rosie had passed on during the night. I was a wreck for a good four hours, bless my boys for being there for me.

It was later...bout a month after her passing she had a funeral, overseen by Rodger and Jon. I couldn’t attend due to covid but Betty came and stayed at my apartment to mourn with me and my boys. We both needed consoling and its nice she was there for me.

It was later something happened....

After Betty and I made some lunch man in a sharp black suit came, I remembered him from Leo’s funeral. He was followed by Rodger and Jon. They all sat down in my living room, apparently this was the reading of Rosies will.

The Lawyer started with Phthalo being moved to his new home by Rodger; already done. Then the house was given to Jon who would over see its care and lastly was me, everyone was looking at me when the lawyer passed me a envelope. It was one of those lovely invitation envelopes. I opened it and pulled out a hand written letter...it read as follows. [S4 is not my name but i’m protecting my identity]

Dear, S4

I’m writing this to you because I feel this would help you understand my decision. You’ve been such a sweet neighbor to my husband and I, always bringing your sweeties to play or help us with little things. You never once asked for a reward or recognition, Leo had always saw you as a member of the family. I know you will not accept monetary gifts but I urge you to make this acceptation, a large bulk of my savings have been shared to family and donated to charity. The last bit is for you along with some other things, I want you to know my dear how happy you made me, Phthalo and my husband Leo, from the bottom of our hearts Thank you.

Sincerely

Rosie.

I look in the envelope to find a check....I won’t divulge the amount but it was more then I could have believed. I bursted into tears and nearly choked on my own sobs, I tried to make sense of it until Betty patted my back. Then told me something that threw me into a loop.

Betty: Rosie and Leo won the lottery back in the day, its what got them out of poverty. They pretended to have gotten better jobs and retired to keep the boys off their back.

Now...it made sense, everything made sense. Their house, their hobbies, an some other things. But now I was worried about the threat the boys had given me and I made that known, Rodger smiled and patted my hand. Everyone assured me that won’t happen, Rosie had disowned the boys and cut them from her will. If anything all they got left was a warehouse full of junk that Leo didn’t want.

So thats sorta the end, heh well I should mention the two sons were having financial trouble and were hoping on Rosie’s money to get them out. But since her money was gone they had gone bankrupt and lost every little dime, so if they did sue me they wouldn’t have money to pay for any lawyer. That and they had no idea their mother left me anything.

I used the money to pay for a year of rent and put the rest in savings. So everyone thats the story, revenge with a side of love.

[ For info on lamia bitties please visit @vex-bittys and for bird bitties please visit @coalition-aviary-bitty-adoption hope u enjoy]

[crewhonk]

Of The Line (11) (reposted)

Summary: Bucky is captured, Bucky escapes, Bucky is captured again, YN refuses to believe Steve may possibly like her and her alone. REPOSTED FOR LINK

Warnings: bombs, fighting, teasing, swearing. This isn’t edited so…. YEET

Songs: “Atlas: Eight”— Sleeping at last / “Bellbottoms”— The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion / Home- Vince Staples / “3 Nights”- Dominic Fike

Till The End Masterlist / Of The Line Masterlist

_____________________

YN’s heart pounded as her fingers flew across the keyboard on her phone, spamming Giovanna and Natasha and hoping— praying to the Gods that they were alive. She could handle them being in a hospital, but been blown to bits was another story entirely. 

To: The Baddest Bitch 

‘ARE YOU ALIVE’

Her hands shook, and she dropped into the chair behind her when she saw the three jumping dots at the bottom of the screen as Giovanna began to reply. Steve heard the movement and rushed around the table, pulling up another seat and leaning forward on his knees. 

“Are they okay?” He asked, and she looked up, both knees bouncing nervously. His hands reached out and settled them both, and she sucked in a breath, finally focussing on the man in front of her. 

“I think so. It think they’re okay.” She let out a rush of air as she spoke and looked back down to her phone. 

From: The Baddest Bitch

‘We’re okay.’ 

Immediately, she pulled the link she had saved from the news articles she had read in the past three minutes and sent them to her. 

To: The Baddest Bitch

‘Did u see this’

Attachment: ‘Officials have released a video of a suspect who they have identified as James Buchanan Barnes…'

Almost immediately, YN’s phone ran and she gave a weak smile to Steve and stood, ignoring the brush of his fingers against her thighs as she walked to the window and answered the phone. 

“What the hell?” Was Giovanna’s immediate statement. YN placed her hand high on the window and leaned against it, pressing her forehead against the warm glass. 

“We’re trying to figure out what happened. Are you okay? How’s Nat?” Her voice was quiet and rushed and worried. 

“We’re fine. Couple of scratches, no concussions, minimal bruising, no extensive damage. We were pretty lucky that Prince T’Challa was so aware fo everything. I lost Natasha in the crowd, but she’s okay.” YN turned to see Steve walking up to her, seemingly under the impression YN would give him he phone. “What’s the plan?” Asked Giovanna. 

“The plan? You know our plans never work. We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose.” YN replied and she heard her friend laugh before Steve grabbed the phone from YN’s hand. 

“There is no plan. You stay where you are, Stark or so help me.” His voice was strong and it boomed around the room. YN only rolled her eyes and snatched the phone back. 

“You and I both know that line never works with us, Captain.” YN teased, and he glared at her before stalking back to the table where Sharon and Sam were talking. 

“I’l text you anything we discover. When we get coordinates, are we going to expect to make a pitstop in Vienna?” YN said, voice hushed as she turned her back and stared out over the city. Giovanna scoffed and YN smirked. 

“Obviously, Banner. Ciao.” And with that, Giovanna hung up and YN turned, joining Steve’s side and nudging him. 

“So much for that retirement date, huh?” She asked and he looked down at her, sadness filling his eyes and he rested his hand on her back lightly. 

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I promise one day, but this—“

“Hey, if Giovanna had been missing for 70 years and I could have the chance to find her again, you bet I’d put everything else on hold. I understand.” She murmured and he offered her a small smile. She shrugged and turned back to the TV. 

“I want sushi. And bowling. Maybe a walk in the park.” She commented, and he chuckled just low enough for her to hear. 

“I’ll give you that and the world once this is over, YN.” He whispered, and she let the shivers from his voice and the baritone in his words travel from the top of her scalp to her tailbone. 

“Also, Gio wants us to pick her up.”

“Absolutely not,” He replied shortly, meaning for his tone to suggest no area of push-back. 

“You can tell her that, then.” She cocked her head, not looking at him but smiling all the same. 

________________________

YN came out of the back of the quintet to the cockpit where Steve and Sam were sitting. She had pulled her stealth suit on and her new leather gloves squeaked as she rested her hands on Steve’s shoulder. 

“What’s he doing in Bucharest, I wonder?” She pondered and was met with no response. Instead, she squeezed Steve’s shoulder hard enough for him o feel it though his armour and wandered back to the seats, curling up beside Giovanna. 

“Why’re you both moping around again?” She asked, coordinating her suits watch. 

“We had a date planned, actually.” YN said casually, and Giovannas head shot up. 

“WHAT?!” She squealed, but immediately hushed her voice. “What? When did this happen?”

“Just after you left us in London. We both realized we’d be civilians and there would be no reason to not try something between us.” YN replied, picking at her nails. 

“So, what’re you going to do?” Giovanna asked eagerly and YN laughed humourlessly. 

“Nothing. We’re going against the law and finding Bucky ourselves. Best case scenario, we’d have to go through months of trials before we could even think about it.” YN grumbled, and rubbed her eyes. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, YN.”

“Me too. But I get it— I’d do the same thing for you.” She smiled weakly and Giovanna rolled her eyes. 

“You are both too nice and too selfless and I’m actually going to have to curb stomp some sense into both of you, aren’t I?” She asked and YN huffed a laugh. 

“Maybe even shoot us up a little bit. You know how much we need it.”

________________________

“Gio— head up to the seventh floor, I’ll be with you in like, thirty seconds, okay?” YN asked and when YN’s eyes darted over to Steve she nodded in realization. “Stev— Captain, can I have a word?” 

“What’s up?” Steve asked, walking towards her and away from Sam who took that as his cue of dismissal. There was a sound of a rocket blasting off, and Steve and YN were left alone. YN walked up to him and wrapped her fist around the straps of his harness. 

“I just— don’t get your hopes up too high. I know he’s your person, but he may be scared and he might fight or flee—“ She began to ramble, trying to avoid what she wanted to say to him. 

“You’re cute when you ramble, you know that? He cooed and her eyes shot up to his, blushing furiously and shaking his harness nervously, trying to fight the giddy feeling of him openly flirting with her. 

“And—“ she sucked in a breath as she nervously tightened his straps and then loosened them again. “Stay safe. I really need you to be okay at the end of the day.”

When YN looked at him, she was pleased to see that his cheeks were as red as she colours on his shield. He shifted from one foot to the next, and placed his hand on her waist nervously. 

“I’ll do my best, Ma’am.” He said, voice low and just for her to hear. She let herself soften slightly and then before she could get out of her pre-mission headspace, straightened up and backed away. The schoolgirl grin that was on her face only seconds before was quickly replaced by the cockiest smirk he had ever seen her wear, and the say fo her hips as she backed away from him had his uniform feeling suddenly too-tight. 

“You got that right, Captain.”

__________________________

To say the fight in the apartment was a disaster would be an understatement. The chase down the stairwell was a grand one, and YN had her breath knocked frothier lungs on more than one occasion as she jumped from landing to landing, chasing the feral, frightened Bucky Barnes to the fifth floor fo the building. 

“Sam, gimme a ride, please!” She shouted as she chased Bucky, Steve and their new friend— someone in a black catsuit— over the edge of the building and onto the freeway beside the adjacent building. She gave him no time to respond, and instead, flung herself off the side of the building spread eagle in hopes that someone would catch her. 

Her prayers were granted by a flying pigeon who seemed to only know English curse words. 

“Fucking hell, YN! You can’t fucking do that without telling me where the hell you are! Are you crazy?” He screamed into his comms as if she couldn’t hear him only two feet away from her. She knew he was yelling so loud into his earpiece so Steve would be able to hear their conversation and she would be reprimanded for it. 

“I have to be crazy to be your friend, Wilson!” She snarked back and he faked dropping her, making her squeal. 

“Drop me and I’ll make you into broth, Chicken!” She snarled and he flew under the roof of the tunnel. 

“I’d link to see you try, Banner! Where do you want me to drop you?” He asked, and she surveyed the cars below her. 

“See that police SUV? Drop me on the roof, I’ll take care of everything else.” She replied and she could almost feel him groan. He did what she asked,, however, and dropped her soundly on the roof. 

The van swerved at the sound of a body hitting them, and she poked her head over the side of it, smiling wildly through the open window at the driver and the officer in his passenger side. 

“I need a ride, do you mind?” She asked, reaching in and opening the door, pulling the seatbelt from the car itself and throwing it and the driver out onto the freeway. She slipped in, gripped the steering wheel, and used her left foot to press the gas, using her right leg to reach up and kick the officer in the jaw hard enough for him to fall unconscious. 

She didn’t bother with a witty one liner, instead swerving the car and righting herself, speeding and weaving cleanly through traffic. 

Soon, she caught sight of Steve, sprinting full speed after Bucky Barnes who was still forty feet in front of him. She pressed her foot harder to the gas, and in not time, she was pulling up beside him, slowing down to keep pace until he looked over at her. 

“Hey, handsome! Need a ride, or something?” She asked, and watched as he almost tripped. She sped up and slowed down on the other side of him, feeling his weight hopping onto the side of the vehicle before the passenger side door was ripped off, making her jump. 

“Was that necessary?” She asked, still keeping her eyes on the road. Steve looked as if he was about to throw the officer from his seat and onto the road, but decided instead to throw him into the backseat where he remained silent and unconscious. 

“What the hell did you do to him?” He asked, gripping the handle of the roof as she drove quickly and recklessly, making his heart settle in his throat. 

“I just kicked him in the face.” She stated, jerking the wheel and slamming the side of the car into a van that had just pulled up to her side, shattering her window and making glass fly across the SUV. 

“Fuck!” She swore and turned into the van harder until it spun out and was left in a cloud of burnt rubber smoke. 

“Where the hell did you learn how to drive like this?!” Steve screamed, shouting as she burst through the sandbags dividing the median. 

“Florida!” She replied, smiling over at him quickly before looking forward and seeing Bucky just up ahead. Just as she was about to pull up on him, his gate stuttered as a motorbike approached, and YN watched with her jaw on the floor as he grabbed the bikes handle, jumped, spun the bike in the air, landed on it, and sped off at 100 miles an hour. 

“Holy shit that was—“ YN half-moaned into the comms, and Giovanna cut her off. 

“The hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen?” She finished. YN made a noise of agreement and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. 

“That’s going into the Kleenex Files.” She stated and Giovanna let out a crow of laughter. Steve, able to put one and two together, coughed awkwardly and YN looked over at him sheepishly. 

“Sorry, Cap.” She smiled and he only shook his head. She pressed the ‘off’ button on her comm and looked over at Steve as she spun in a diagonal 360 circle to avoid the police car barricade halfway through the tunnel. She heard Steve swear as she straightened out and caught up to Bucky. 

“Just so you know, Cap— Bucky has nothing on you in my Kleenex Files.” She crooned and winked and pressed the ‘on’ button to her comm system before he could pick his jaw up from the floor. 

“You’re gonna catch flies, Rogers.” She chided and reached over, shutting his mouth with a click and preening under his shock. 

“Can you both stop talking dirty for one second while we chase Steve’s best friend?” Sam shouted into the mic. “I also have a tail! Can someone his this crazy cat man off my foot, please?” He shouted, ands prayers were answered but he rose gold and pearl body of armour that was Giovanna. 

YN pulled her gaze from Steve in time to see the bridge collapse due to an explosion— likely from Bucky who was already on the other side. YN pulled the e-brake quickly and the SUV skidded sideways to the wall fo falling rubble and as if Steve could read her mind, he launched himself from the car, through the rubble and after Bucky who was now grounded by the Cat-Man. 

YN pulled the E-Brake off and sped forward cutting off some of the arriving police cars and watching in horror as officers slammed Bucky to the ground, cuffing him immediately and pulling guns on Steve, Giovanna, Sam and the new guy. Soon, Rhodey joined the Force, holding his palms out to his friends and waiting as YN was pulled roughly from the car and slammed down beside Bucky, heavy metal cuffs constricting her movement immediately. Her face was smushed to the hard concrete as she listened to Steve and Giovanna scream for her release, but not daring to move due to the guns pointed at their temples. 

“Congratulations, Captain— you and your pals are criminals.” 

_________________________

 The cuffs on YN’s wrists were irritating, but at least her hands were in front of her and at least she wasn’t framed for boxing the UN and was shoved into a glass cage. 

Things could be worse. 

“YOU’RE A CRIMINAL?” Tony Stark screamed as they entered the offices where he and Natasha were waiting for them. His eyes were livid behind his red sunglasses and they were dead set on Giovanna who looked less than remorseful. 

“Better than a coward.” She snarled back and YN raised her eyebrows, twisting her wrists absently. Steve shifted from one foot to the other nervously and leaned into YN to whisper in her ear. 

“If we retired we wouldn’t have this kind of entertainment.” He murmured and YN, despite their current situation, bit her lip to repress a chuckle. 

“As if they’d leave us alone for a second.” She replied and he nudged her playfully. YN looked away from him and warmth still in her eyes, looked at Natasha who was watching the exchange with a little smile on her face. She offered YN a small nod and looked down to her hands. Immediately, Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed and she looked at the armed guards behind the group. 

“Why the hell is she in cuffs, huh?” She growled, calling attention to herself and YN who looked at the ground and tried to make herself smaller. She knew the reason— she was dangerous. It was in her nature to be dangerous, apparently. 

“She’s a—“

“I don’t give a damn what you think she is.” Natasha growled, taking steps towards the guard who had been stupid enough to speak. “Uncuff her. Now.”

“Yes ma’am.” He repleid, his voice and hands shaking as he slid the key into YN’s handcuffs and pulling her free. She rubbed her wrists almost immediately, purple bruises appearing int he metals absence. She understood— law enforcement could be a little… overzealous sometimes. 

After she had been freed, Steve had been beckoned away from YN who sat beside a stewing Giovanna and awkward Sam— surprisingly, it had been his first time with a front row seat to a Stark Fight. 

“Wild, hey?” YN asked, pulling Giovanna closer and smiling up at Sam. 

“Like real life Kardashians.”

________________________

“You know you shouldn’t have done this, right? He’s your dad, babe.” YN cooed and rested her head against Giovanna’s as she watched Tony and Steve talking int he soundproof office int he middle fo the room. They had been waiting a while, now and the more Steve sat in the room with Tony, the more agitated he got, and the more YN had to squeeze her thighs together at his darkened expression. 

“Not only would you guys be having all the anti-governemtn fun without me, but Dad’s been a real jerk about it and frankly, the Accords aren’t something I believe in.” Giovanna muttered back and YN patted her thigh. 

“They’re not even logical, Bubba.” She whispered back and Giovanna giggled into her shoulder. 

Just as Giovanna and YN settled down and closed their eyes for a pre-incarceration nap, the lights turned out, red safety lights filling the room and a siren blaring somewhere in the building. 

Tony had left the room already, which lead Sharon to lead Steve out of the glass office and over to Giovanna, Sam and YN. 

“Sub-level 5, we got to go.” She rushed, not even offering any of them a smile as she handed YN a gun. “Go with Steve, I’ll take Gio downstairs to find out what’s going on.”

Before Sharon could turn and run after Giovanna, YN caught her arm and stared hard at Sharon. 

“You better watch her six, Sharon or so help me God.”

“You take care of Steve.” She said back, eyebrow raised in challenge. YN glared hard at her and let go, sprinting after Sam and Steve and shoving the gun in the belt of her jeans she had changed in to. 

The floor was quiet when the three of them arrived. No sirens, no voices, just flashing lights. There was a sound of someone shuffling on the ground followed by a weak ‘help me’, and without hesitation, YN started forward with Steve hot on her heels. 

They saw the therapist on the floor, moving like some wounded child and YN watched as Steve lifted him from the ground and slammed him into the wall hard enough to make all the air rush out of the therapists lungs. 

God, if only that were her. 

“What do you want?” Steve growled— a low baritone sound that made YN’s head spin. The therapist caught his breath and looked from Steve, to YN, to Sam and then to a point on the far wall by the door and smirked. 

“To see an empire fall.”

Suddenly, Sam was thrown across the room by some dark, hulking figure who wasted no time in stomping over to YN and throwing a hard punch. Bucky. It was Bucky. No. 

She dodged it quickly, hadn’t shooting to the small of her back to grab her gun. She aimed a kick at the soldiers ribs which landed soundly and then dodged a slap from he metal arm to punch him quickly int he throat. The hit only seemed to aggravate him, however, and he grew more aggressive. His hits became stronger, and more precise and it wasn’t until he faked a kick that YN was hit square int he cheekbone by the metal arm— not enough to kill, but possibly enough to break. 

She landed on the ground with a hard thud, head bouncing and YN could feel her nose begin to gush blood almost on contact. She watched through slow blinks the fight between Steve and Bucky. Steve managed to keep up easily enough— through angry cries that made YN’s heart swell to grunts as his punch landed particularly hard. Her blinks slowed even more so, and it wasn’t long until Yn watched as Steve was thrown against the elevator shaft. She wanted to cry out when he finally fell down the shaft, but she found herself unable to. 

Steve was gone. And YN closed her eyes, and slept. 

________________________

“YN, Sweetheart, wake up.” She heard distantly. /Sweetheart/. That’s what Steve called her. She opened her eyes and moaned, fighting the urge to throw up when the pounding of her migraine made her brain feel like processed food. 

“Steve?” She slurred, and looked around. Her eyes landed not on a light grey shirt, but on a dark grey one, and the voice was deeper and smoother. 

“Not quite, honey.” Sam said, pushing her hair from her face with a soft hand. YN hummed and leaned into the touch. 

“Steve’s dead, isn’t he?” She whispered and his eyebrows raised. 

“I don’t think so?” 

“He fell down the elevator shaft, though.” She mumbled, thoughts still jumbled and messy. 

“No, he’s okay. I know where he and Bucky are. Giovanna is on her way there. We gotta go, Honey.” He whispered, pulling her arm around his neck and helping her to her feet. She moaned in pain and leaned into him. 

“Remind me to never get in the way of his metal hand again, okay?”

“You got it. Your face looks like Barney’s beauty routine.”

“Thanks, asshole.”

________________________

Giovanna had sat her down on the floor immediately after seeing the purple blossoming on YN’s face and the blood still heavily dripping from her nose. She did a quick medical exam to the best of her ability, and was able to rule out a concussion or any fractures. 

“He must have pulled his punch— you’re lucky.” She said, turning off the flashlight on her phone and placing it in her pocket. 

“And are you okay?” YN checked in, not able to tear her eyes from the black bruise swelling on Giovanna’s neck. It looked suspiciously like a handprint, but YN did her best to mind her own business. It wasn’t Bucky who hurt her best friend— she had no grounds to walk over there right now and kid him in the nuts. 

“Fine.” She replied shortly. Steve walked in then, talking into YN’s phone he had borrowed and saying a fond-sounding farewell to whoever was not he other line. He hung up, and walked over to the girls and handed YN her phone back. 

“Thank you, YN. I’m gonna fix this, I promise. Gio, do you have some ice?” He asked, reaching out and touching YN’s swelled cheekbone softly. YN held back a wince, and tried her best to smile at him reassuringly. She was sure it looked more like a pained grimace, but Steve seemed to relax at the motion. 

“Yeah, I’ll just pull it out of my ass, Rogers. Gimme a second.” Giovanna mocked, slapping his hand away from YN’s face. YN could see how tired Giovanna was, and shook her head at Steve when he opened his mouth to reply. He looked at YN, instead and lowered his head in a nod before walking over to where Sam had called for him. 

YN looked down at her phone and she could have thrown it across the room when she saw who he had phoned. 

Sharon Carter.

“What if he likes her more than me?” Yn mumbled, picking at her nails sullenly. Giovanna scoffed and took the phone away from her. 

“What if he didn’t look at you like you pulled the sun out of your ass do you mean? He likes you, get over yourself.” She muttered and sat back against the wall while the boys talked. 

“She’s closer to his age. She’s a little more badass— don’t look at me like that, we both know she’s super cool. And she’s related to his first great love. What more could he want.” YN grumbled and Giovanna wanted nothing more than to actually punch her best friend’s other cheekbone in that very second. 

“You’re so stupid, holy shit. He likes you, okay? And she’s Peggy’s great-niece. How weird would that be? Get over yourself and realize he loves you. This isn’t some high school bullshit, YN.” Giovanna scolded and YN could only stare at her hands gloomily. 

“Kay.” She replied simply and Giovanna bumped their shoulders. 

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

____________________

It was only hours after they had set up camp int he warehouse that YN, Steve, Bucky, Giovanna and Sam were huddled in buggy that was most certainly not meant for more than three medium sized people. YN was sat in the front seat (at Steve’s request. Giovanna gave her a look that said ‘i told you so’) and she was ready for the world to collapse any god damn second. 

Steve and Sharon stood in front of them, smiling and laughing at each other as she risked her career getting them all their suits and weapons and gear for Moscow. 

“They’re standing too close.” She grumbled and all she heard was two amused huffs. 

“You two stand closer together.” Giovanna said.

“Look at the way he looks at her.” She replied.

“He looks at you like you could kill a baby and he’d still be wrapped around your finger.” Sam chided. 

“I can’t believe this.” YN muttered, sinking further into the seat and Giovanna groaned for what seems like the thirtieth time that day. 

“Will you stop pouting, bitch?”

“Look at them! They’re getting closer! Didn’t you say they went on two dates or something? Oh my god, they’re going to kiss I can’t look.” She rushed, covering her eyes with her fingers but still peaking through them. 

“Sei una testa di cazzo.” Giovanna mumbled and it was Bucky this time that chuckled. YN adjusted the rearview mirror to glare at her best friend. 

“Just because you know one more language than me doesn’t mean you ca use it to be mean, okay?” She grumbled and Giovanna giggled, turning her head into Bucky’s shoulder. “I know that was an insult. You’re a whore.” She bit and Giovanna seems to laugh more. 

“Non ho mai detto di no.” Giovanna grinned wolfishly and YN rolled her eyes, flipping her off through the mirror. 

“Are you and Steve dating?” Wondered Bucky and YN choked on her own spit, making Sam and Giovanna howl with laughter. 

“Do I look like his girlfriend?!” YN snapped defensively. Bucky raised his eyebrows, reading the room and knowing by Sam and Giovanna’s (pretty) laugh he shouldn’t take her grumpiness personally. 

“Yeah.” Sam giggled, and Giovanna snorted. Bucky looked down at her fondly— a look that didn’t pass by YN herself. 

“You sound like his girlfriend, that’s for sure.” Giovanna chortled. 

“Juu ya punda wako.” YN cursed at her and she only roared with laughter again. 

“It’s a very, very long story, but yeah— both of them want to bone the shit out of each other.” Giovanna wiped tears from her eyes. 

“Bone?” Giovanna looked up at Bucky and YN watched as her face melted for him. A soft, glow-y smile spread across her face and a faint blush rose to her cheeks, making YN blink in surprise. Giovanna Stark never blushed. 

“Bumpin’ uglies, man. Doing the deed. Bam-bam in the ham. Horizontal tango. Hanky Panky.” Sam listed off all the names for sex he could on each of his fingers and YN turned away from them, folding her arms against her chest and pouting. “Even tin-man can see it, and he’s been here for three seconds.” 

“He and Sharon are friends, YN. I promise.” Giovanna said sudden serious. “Plus she’s been pining after Maria for like, two years now?”

YN turned her head so fast that she was sure her nose began to bleed again. 

“What did you just say?”

“Are you shitting me? You didn’t see that coming!” Sam laughed, holding his stomach through peels of laughter. YN turned back to look at Sharon then, and her jaw dropped when Steve picked up all the gear and leaned down so Sharon could kiss his cheek sweetly. 

“See?! What the fuck was that?” YN stage-whispered. “Lesbian my ass.” 

Steve walked around the car swiftly as Sharon pulled out of the parking garage, slamming their trunk and then getting into the car again. YN picked her nails, appearing to seem nonchalant while everyone in the car knew that it was a nervous tick of hers. 

“What’s with all the whispering?” She asked casually. Steve looked at her as he buckled up his seatbelt and put the car in reverse. 

“Stuff.” He placed his hand on the back of YN’s headrest and he leaned over to see out of the back window. He intentionally closed in on YN slightly and smiled softly to himself as she shifted nervously. 

“And she wanted Maria’s number.” He stated simply and put the car in drive, speeding down the ramp and out onto the street. 

Oh, if Giovanna could get her phone she’d set YN’s expression as her wallpaper for the next eighteen years. 

[fierypen37]

The Oasis: Chapter 14

Sorry of the long absence, my friends! Enjoy!

Rage was an acid burn in the back of his throat. His hands shook with it. He staggered into the bathroom, holding a dishtowel to his throbbing eye. That tricky little cunt! How had she held onto that pen knife? Ramsay let the soaked towel thump on the bathroom counter, watching thick drops of blood patter in the sink.

“Fucking Lorathi bitch,” he muttered, peering at the damage in the rust-spotted mirror. It was a fucking miracle that whore Shae hadn’t blinded him. The pen knife had sunk in and stuck just above his right eyeball, jiggling around in the socket.  Each jiggle sent a bolt of white-hot pain arching through his skull. Under normal circumstances, if a target had pulled something like that, Ramsay would have taken them home. Played all sorts of fun games with them until they begged for death. Shae’s little stunt had surprised him though, and he’d snapped her neck.

Too quick.

Not to mention he didn’t get the answers his boss wanted. Add to that leaving buckets of his blood at the crime scene . . .

Ramsay snarled a string of foul words. He held a wad of petroleum jelly-soaked gauze in one hand. With the other, he grasped the hilt of the pen knife. Pain arched like lightning through his skull. The blood made the handle slick. A quick yank---fuck! His hand slipped. Ramsay bit down on the bloody dishtowel and yanked again. The penknife fell free along with a hot trickle of blood running down his face. His boss wanted that bitch Daenerys Targaryen dead, and Ramsay never forfeited a contract. Her and Jon fucking Snow would die slow. Ramsay would flay them living, like his ancestors before him. Just because one lead had burned out didn’t mean the trail was cold. Just like his beautiful vicious dogs, he’d pick up the scent. It was just a matter of time.              

 ~

 As the sun set, there was little to look at to occupy her mind. Just darker landscape framed against a dark sky. Nothing but an eerie stretch of highway lit by the car’s headlights. The silence within the car was leaden. She couldn’t find words to ease the tension. Barry was dead. He’d been a steady, comforting figure in her life. He’d been her father’s bodyguard since she was a toddler—the only one Vis held in any esteem. So when they at last had enough capital to require and afford a security detail, a then-retired Barry Selmy was first on their list.

Daenerys felt the press of Jon’s anxious glances. Her misery deepened. Jon. Gods, what danger had she put him in? If Barry Selmy, a decorated war veteran and professional bodyguard couldn’t stay alive around her, then what would happen to Jon?

“We’re still about twenty minutes from the cabin. Maybe try and rest,” Jon said. A half dozen snarky comments rested on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back. She was too anxious to sleep, too miserable to be any sort of companion.

“I don’t think I can sleep.” Her voice sounded weak and small. Daenerys studied his profile in the murky half-dark. A frown lingered on his brow, his generous mouth thinned into a hard line. Jon glanced over at her, his eyes as black as the sky beyond.

���Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. Daenerys blew out a steadying breath.

“Well, De—Detective Seaworth said that Rakharo is doing ok. Vis is safe; he’s staying at Dragon with his security detail. Missy and her husband Grey are ok. There haven’t been any more threats or leads. And . . . and Barry’s family are t—taking him home to Harvest Hall for burial.” Tears clogged her throat. Going over it in such bloodless detail made it sound so bleak. Her life was in fucking shambles. Jon reached for her hand. Daenerys wove her fingers through his, squeezing his hand gently.

“Hey, it’ll be ok. They’ll figure it out. It’s their job,” Jon said.  They drove in silence for a time. The tires made a low whoosh against damp pavement.

“Did the detective say anything else? Do you know if anyone’s been by my apartment? Checked on Sam and Gilly?” Daenerys thumped her forehead against the window. What kind of self-centered ass was she? Jon had no less at stake than she did.  

“I’m sorry, Jon. Yes, they’re fine. The detective has a Watchman stationed at your apartment complex just in case.” Jon tugged her captive hand up to drop a kiss on the back. His beard was a ticklish counterpoint to the softness of his lips. The casual intimacy of the gesture made her heart flutter.

“It’s ok. You’ve got a lot on your mind.” The silence that followed was a warmer one. Daenerys groped for conversation.

“How long has it been since you’ve been to the cabin?”

“I came north for Bran’s nameday, but that was at Winterfell. The cabin . . . hm, it’s been six, seven years? Since before my dad died.”  Daenerys felt a pang. Orphans, the both of them. Ned Stark’s death had been all over the news, but Daenerys couldn’t remember the details.

“Was he ill?” she asked. A muscle fired in Jon’s jaw.

“Brain aneurysm. He died on route to hospital.” The suddenness of it was couched in the abrupt sentence. Much like her own father’s death by violence. Like Barry.  

“I’m so sorry, Jon.” He gave an uncomfortable shrug and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“It’s ok. It was a good trip. The last time we were all together. Sansa came home for the weekend, Arya had just graduated and was headed to uni, Robb brought Margaery and her brothers, Bran was finally finished with physical therapy and Rickon won a sailing medal on the lake.” Daenerys blinked in surprised pleasure.    

“Rickon sails? What type?”

“Uh I’m not really sure. A fast one?” Daenerys giggled at Jon’s aggrieved expression.

“I sail too. Does she have a cabin? Is she designed to sail on open water?” In the greenish light of the dashboard, a trace of a bemused smile graced Jon’s face.

“I think Rickon’s boat is . . . sloopy?” Daenerys snorted.

“Sloopy?” Laughter embroidered her voice. Jon grinned and offered a one-shouldered shrug.

“I don’t know anything about boats.”

“Does he still sail?”

“Not as much. His mother has him enrolled in one of those prep schools for college.”

“Is this the same stepmother who denied you your inheritance?” Daenerys asked. Another uncomfortable shrug was her answer.

“The same,” he said. Daenerys kicked herself. The stepmother was a touchy subject. She couldn’t imagine what it had been like growing up as a motherless boy despised by the only female role model left in his life. Chewing on her lower lip, she offered a tepid apology.

“Don’t sweat it. I’m used to dealing with her,” Jon said, squeezing her hand. Daenerys stroked his knuckle with her thumb. Jon negotiated another turn.

“We’re here at last.”

The pitted concrete road gave way to a smooth asphalt drive. ‘Cabin’ was apparently a relative term. A two-story log structure lorded over neatly manicured grounds. A balcony wrapped around the second floor. Daenerys looked around slack-jawed as the two of them parked and walked up the drive. The lake was a sheet of black glass roughly a hundred yards from the house. Threads of mist clung to the ground. The air smelled of crisp pine and lake water. Insects chirped and far away, she heard the hoot of an owl. The cool peace of it soaked into her soul.

“So, the ‘cabin,’ huh?” she said, framing the operative word in air quotes. Jon cracked open the fake rock holding the spare key, side-eyeing her with a raised brow.

“Is there a problem, ‘Dany Steele?’”

Daenerys snorted.

“Fair point.”

The door creaked open and Jon flicked on the light. Daenerys trailed after Jon as he moved toward the kitchen, drinking it in. Warm blond wood floors, exposed beams overhead, soft lighting, gleaming granite countertops in the kitchen . . . the understated beauty soothed her ragged edges. She turned at the sound of Jon’s low curse.

“What is it?”

“Robb and Margaery. They stocked the place for us, and they uh . . . went a little overboard,” he said, riffling through the fridge, “filet mignon with truffle butter, roasted asparagus, lobster, turtle soup, chocolate covered strawberries--” The subtext was clear: decadent food for a romantic getaway. Daenerys bit back a rush of surprised pleasure. Even if it was meant in a teasing manner, it was a tacit approval from Jon’s brother.

“I told them all we needed some food and clothes. Typical,” he said dryly. Daenerys chewed on her lower lip. In the heat of passion, he claimed her as his. In the cool of parting, he asked her on a date. Why is he so irritated now? Breaking the silence, she cleared her throat.

“Mm, clean clothes sound wonderful. I think I’ll take a shower,” she said. Jon took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. His expression softened.  

“Of course. The master is on the second floor, last door on the left.”

The rest of the house was as rustically chic with polished hardwood floors, stained glass windows, and glass doors leading to the balcony garbed in room-darkening curtains. The large bed beckoned, smelling faintly of laundry detergent. How sweet, they thought to change the linens.  Shopping bags on the dresser bore a post-it note with ‘Daenerys’ written in looping feminine script. Daenerys peered inside.

“‘Overboard’ is right,” she said under her breath. Inside was a heap of blouses, sweaters, jeans, socks, sneakers, heels, and a tangle of what could only be described as slutty lingerie. A flush washed over her. A note was pinned to a sheer black lace bra:

Daenerys,

I got you a couple different sizes. I hope our Jonno is treating you right. Robbie and I would be delighted to have you both out at Highgarden once all this mess is dealt with.

Warm Regards,

Margaery      

Daenerys breathed a soft laugh, clutching the note and bra to her chest. A giddy rush burst in her chest. How surreal could things get? She was on the run for her life from a shadow human trafficking organization, she’d been swept up in the arms of her god-like masseur-turned-bodyguard Jon Snow, and now Margaery Tyrell—an award-winning actress—was buying her lingerie. Daenerys plucked her favorites from the bag of goodies and hurried to the bathroom.

Twin vanities in granite countertops, rustic sconces over the large oval mirror, a faint tang of cleaning chemicals. Robb and Margaery really had thought of everything. The shower boasted two shower heads, the walls made up of grey river rock. Blissfully hot water undid the knots in her muscles. The nature of her life and work made finding female friends difficult, she thought as she shampooed and scrubbed. Even Missy who she considered her closest friend was her masseur at first. So the thought that someone like Margaery Tyrell would be interested in her relationship with Jon was an odd one. Cherishing her crush on Jon, it was easy to spin a fantasy of making their leisurely way south. Stopping at charming bed and breakfasts on the way, taking a barge down the Mander, a wine tour of the Reach district . . .

She stepped out of the shower and toweled off, taking special care to comb and moisturize and primp with all the lovely products Margaery left for her. Ah, the silky glide of high-end moisturizer. It felt good to blow her hair dry until it fell in a fluffy silver cloud around her face. The lingerie was she chose was robin’s egg blue stretchy lace panties and matching bra. Daenerys smiled coyly at her reflection. In between all the madness of being on the run, they hadn’t discussed little things like Jon’s favorite color. Would he like it?

Belting the sash of a terry cloth robe, she saw the heap of her discarded clothes. A thrift store shirt and bloodstained jeans. Stained with Barry’s blood. The happy bubble popped with startling violence. The cost was too high. Already an innocent woman had been violated and killed, then Barry, not to mention the countless people—including Jon—put in harm’s way after the attack in King’s Landing.

“Am I really worth all this?” she asked her steam-blurred reflection. The shadows in her violet eyes held no answers. A soft rap on the door made her start.

“Come in,” Daenerys said, clutching the folds of the robe tight to her chest. Jon appeared in the doorway, his curly hair damp. His dark eyes were fathomless behind the lenses of his glasses. The plain grey t-shirt stretched taut over the bulk of his shoulders, athletic shorts showed off the length thigh and calf. He really was more beautiful than any man had a right to be.

“Do you uh, have everything you need?” he asked. Daenerys hid a rush of hurt. When he suggested the master, she assumed they would be sharing a bed. But maybe time to cool off is what they needed. After hearing about Barry, gods knew she felt depressed and clingy. Not a good look for her.

“Yes, thank you,” she said. Cool and polite, she thought, inwardly congratulating herself. Jon lingered in the doorway, cracking his knuckles one at a time. A nervous habit, she’d noticed.

“Are you hungry? It’s probably a crime in culinary circles, but I could nuke some of the steak.” Daenerys grinned at the weak joke.

“I’m fine, just tired.”

“Right. Me too.”

A short, uncomfortable silence.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

It wasn’t until he turned to leave that her thin bravado gave way. As inviting as the bed looked, the thought of the long hours until dawn with nothing but her thoughts to occupy her made her stomach clench. That, and she’d gotten far too used to the sound of Jon’s heartbeat lulling her to sleep.

“Jon,” she said. The naked hope in his face calmed her worries.

“Stay. Please,” she whispered. Jon exhaled a breath and gave her a relieved smile.

“Of course. I just didn’t want to impose . . .”

“Impose? Are you joking? We’re standing in your family’s cabin and I’m wearing clothes your brother’s girlfriend bought for me. If anyone is imposing, then it’s me,” she said. Jon closed the distance between them and cradled her cheek.

“You’re worth it,” Jon assured her. Daenerys felt a big, stupid smile stretch her face. She turned into his hand and kissed his palm, tasting salt. A shy silence fell between them as they turned down the bed and drew the curtains. Daenerys slid into the bed with a happy sigh. Cool sheets over a downy mattress and a heap of pillows. Better than simple creature comforts was the underlying release of tension. Here the two of them were safe. Safe and hidden in their own private paradise. Jon’s gaze wandered over her with a familiar sleepy heat.

“I like the clothes,” he whispered huskily, trailing a knuckle over the lacy strap of her bra. Daenerys gave him a coy smile.

“Really? Does it give you any ideas?” she said. Jon’s hand disappeared beneath the duvet.

“Lots of fun ideas,” he said with a wicked smile.

[venusdebotticelli]

Endgame

In which Dean and Castiel just need to sit the fuck down and talk for a bit, and The Empty is Really Bad™ at dealing with insomnia. 

This came about after 13x07, when I started thinking about s14 being hypothetically a final season, and how they could satisfyingly wrap up different threads for the endgame scenario. I started writing it right after that episode, so some details may not align with current canon anymore, but who cares, because ~*theeeeeeeeeeeeemes*~ my dudes :P And a massive thanks to @60r3d0m for the great beta that really made the writing shine :D

Part 1/2, 2nd part coming soon

[AO3]

It can’t go back to sleep. It was forced into consciousness by that annoying little parasite and now It can’t find a way to stop being again. After an eternity of tenuous marginal existence, this forced sentience proves to be an unbearable inconvenience. If It has to endure this suffering, It will bring down Everything with It.

It focuses Its attention on one of Its sleepers, and pokes at it. The sleeper stirs slightly, those annoying little thoughts starting to build up and echo, so It pokes at it again, harder this time. The sleeper’s essence starts to crumble at the edges and dissipates into It, absorbed into nothingness. One last poke, and the sleeper is no more.

It feels Its essence expand. It develops an edge, a border, a frontier, an end.

It feels around the new development, and It shifts.

The little girl is missing half of her left arm. Instead of a stump, the arm finishes on a clean cut that exposes her muscles, bones, all the inside bits. It’s not bleeding—the blood seems to still be circulating. It comes through the arteries, and goes up again through the veins, without ever leaving the arm, never going past the exposed edge.

Castiel is crouching in front of her, and her big eyes study him curiously as she sips from her carton of juice.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, and she shakes her head in answer.

The door opens behind him and Dean comes in, so he smiles reassuringly at the girl and pulls Dean aside.

“Sheriff says a bubble of pure black just showed up out of nowhere in the middle of town. Disappeared after a few seconds, and when it was gone it was like it just bit a chunk out of reality. Big hole in the middle of the road, half a house missing, and everybody who was in the radius disappeared.” Dean rubs a hand down his face and looks at the girl in the corner. “Kiera there was walking with her parents, mom was holding her hand when they got swallowed up.”

Castiel walks back over to Kiera, and asks for permission to inspect her arm, which she grants with a tentative nod. He carefully holds it up between his hands, running his finger over the exposed muscle, but feels nothing, not even the sensation of touch. He removes his fingertip and it comes away clean. No blood. Pressing his finger to her dark skin, he can feel her warmth, but when he moves it over the edge again, he loses the ability to feel anything at all.

“Do you feel it when I touch your wound, Kiera?”

She shakes her head again, which Castiel already expected, but then spits out the straw and speaks.

“Mom and Dad are holding my hand. I can feel them.” Her lip wobbles announcing tears, as she asks, “Do you know where they are?”

“We don’t know where they are yet, but we will do everything we can to find them quickly and bring them back to you.” Castiel says, and he feels a hand coming to rest on his shoulder as Dean leans down to talk to her as well.

“Until we find your parents, Miss Blair is going to take you in. You like Miss Blair, don’t you? When your parents come back you can tell them all about the pies she baked and all the movies you watched, I’m sure they’ll love to hear it.”

When her sniffles have calmed and the nurse has closed the door behind them, Castiel takes Dean to a quiet corner of the hallway.

“Her arm still works as if it were whole, and if she can still feel her parents, I think we might be looking at a break between dimensions here. I’d wait to see if Sam’s observed anything else on the street, but this might be a plausible explanation.”

“Yeah, I think so too,” Dean replies, and he fidgets with the phone in his pocket. “I think this is probably one for Jack.”

The strong afternoon sun is baking the small vegetation on the side of the road, and Castiel can feel the same heat emanating from the side of the Impala behind his back. The sound of Dean’s voice travels to him from further down the road as he updates Sam and Mary on their situation.

The situation in question is a 100-feet-wide crater that now takes up the space of what used to be a gas station and eight-and-a-half people, with the remaining half-person currently resting in a hospital room three miles away, awake and with fully exposed, fully functional, half of his vital organs. One of his ears got transported to the alternate dimension, but the only thing he could hear was complete and utter silence, just sporadically broken by the voices of the other disappeared people. From what he heard them say, he got the idea they were all just walking around in complete darkness, with nothing surrounding them.

Castiel had suspected it before, but the account of the half-man is enough to confirm it is the Empty on the other side of the trans-dimensional bubbles. In the five months since that first case that stole Kiera’s parents, they’ve kept track of new dark bubbles, cataloguing them, and keeping Jack updated on their expansion. Some of them are just a foot wide, some spanning almost half a mile. Sometimes the site remains unaltered after the first bubble, but other times they reoccur, swallowing the same area repeatedly and with no predictable pattern. And in the meantime, Jack’s been trying to coax his powers to interact with the Empty, to no avail. He’d tried at first to treat it as he would any other interdimensional travel, but he’d just hit a wall in those attempts. As far as his powers can perceive, the Empty does not exist.

Dean walks towards Castiel, still talking to Sam on the phone, and he leans against the Impala right beside his friend. Castiel turns to look at him, the sun making the tips of his hair shine gold, highlighting the freckles on his nose, and from one blink to the next, they are suddenly enveloped in full impenetrable darkness. Dean drops his phone in shock and Castiel straightens up against the Impala, alert and studying their surroundings. This proves fruitless—there is nothing but pitch black. It is the two of them and the right half of the Impala, mutilated in a perfect straight line right through the middle, lost in pure nothingness.

“No... No, no, no... No, no, no, no! No! No! No, no, no! No... No!”  

Dean’s panicked litany, running in circles around the Impala as he takes in the damage, barely registers to him. Castiel freezes where he is, and he thinks he might be sliding down the Impala’s side to the floor, but he can’t be certain because the memory of his own bastardised face is drowning everything in black, taunting him, and he fought his way out—he knows in his gut—but suddenly the reality of this place is too much, and there’s an alien wheezing sound in the distance that might be his breathing, and…

“Cas!”

Dean’s hand is suddenly on his cheek, and those are Dean’s eyes in front of him too.

“Hey, Cas, hey, you okay?”

Castiel focuses on the touch of Dean’s fingers on his face, and tries to force his breathing to calm down. He places his own hand over Dean’s, and presses down on it hard, trying to sear the feeling of Dean into his skin. Dean’s expression bleeds worry, and Castiel uses the fingers of his free hand to trace the deep lines on his forehead.

“You alright, buddy?” Dean repeats, after quite a few heartbeats have passed.

“Yeah. Yes, I’m fine.” And he thinks there might even be some truth to it, because Dean is here with him this time, and they will find their way out. They have to, just like they always have. With a last squeeze, he drops Dean’s hand, and Dean moves it to his shoulder before he takes it away and sits down next to him. “This is The Empty.”

“Yeah, I figured by now. Stupid place cut Baby in half. It better fucking fix her right back when we get out.” Dean lets out a sigh and turns to look at Cas, “So now, we sit down and wait?”

“I suppose so.”

“And you’re sure it got them?” Jack asks on the phone.

Sam places his hand on the half-Impala still standing in the middle of the road and winces in sympathy.

“Yeah, Jack, I’m pretty sure.” He hears the flapping of wings behind him, and when he turns to look back at Mary, Jack is standing next to her with a pained expression.

“I don’t know if I can find It.”

His voice sounds as small as he looks.

“So yeah, sometimes I really wonder, does he actually want to rule and be king, or does he just keep falling into it because his people want him to, and he feels he owes them? Or ‘cause he thinks he’s still got something to prove for being a bastard?” With Dean’s head on his shoulder, Castiel feels Dean’s animation as he speaks with every movement of hair under his cheek, and the rumble of Dean’s voice courses through his body. Dean’s thumb traces rhythmic circles on his knee. “‘Cause I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s actually doing a decent job of it, but he’s got Sansa back home, who actually wants it and is growing so much to be a natural leader, and then Dany, who has made it her goal since the beginning. And I don’t know, you might say she’s a bit too temperamental for it, but she’s also grown a lot, and at the end of the day, her decisions tend to be for the good of the people, so she ain’t a bad choice. And now when people find out he’s actually the heir to the Iron Throne, he won’t even have anything to prove anymore, so once the army of the dead is smoking barbeque… you know, I’m just saying.”

“Let Jon Snow retire and move somewhere quiet with Ghost?”

“Exactly.” Dean lifts his head and grins at Castiel, and he returns it with fond eyes. The silence that falls over them as they sit and feel their shoulders pressed against one another is a comfortable one, but The Empty has a way of sapping the warmth away, so Dean’s voice is barely a sad whisper when he speaks again. “What was it like, last time you were here?”

“When I first woke up, there was nothing. I remembered the pain of Lucifer stabbing me and my grace burning out, but I could feel none of it, and nothing around me either. The Empty seems a lot emptier when you are here alone.” He glances at Dean with a small smile. “That lasted for a while—not that time feels any real here. But then my shouts woke It up.”

Castiel falls silent, and he can feel the intensity of Dean’s eyes burning a hole through his temple. His hand has found its place on Castiel’s knee again, this time with a grounding grip.

“The Empty, It took my face to mock me, and to try to get me back to sleep”—Castiel can feel the unmoving tension in his body, the strain on his voice as he talks— “It showed me all the times I failed you, and tried to convince me that there was nothing for me back home—that no one wanted me back.”

“Cas, that’s not—”

“I know.”

He turns to look at Dean now, expression tight and pleading, and Dean understands, nods with eyes that promise he won’t interrupt until Castiel is done talking. So Castiel keeps talking, but keeps his eyes on Dean’s this time. On the edge of his vision, he can see his own distorted reflection on the Impala’s door.

“It told me that I would just keep making big mistakes and ruining everything if I came back, so it would be better for everyone if I just stayed dead. I think it may have worked if It had stolen your face and your voice—I would have listened and gone back to sleep. But it was just a bad imitation of myself, and if I’m always making horrible mistakes... why would I have listened to myself? I would probably be wrong about that too.

“And I couldn’t just leave you and Sam to deal with Lucifer and Jack, when they were my responsibility... And I wanted to come back to you. So I fought the Empty, and I fought the part of myself that agreed with its taunting, and just thought of getting to see you again.”

Dean’s face has been melting and transforming with growing concern as he’s spoken, settling into a stained-glass portrait so soft and openly shining through with pain, that Castiel finds he can’t bear to look at its burning light any longer.

“And if it turned out that my coming back ruined everything again, then I would deal with the fall out, as is my duty. But I wanted to be selfish and get back to you, take the opportunity that was presented to me. And now, not even a year later, The Empty is broken and spreading throughout Earth, and I can’t help but think it might have been better if I’d listened to It the first time. Maybe this whole situation is my fault.”

Castiel stares at his fingers and lets himself feel the pull of The Empty. If he doesn’t fight It, Dean’s warmth and the solid reassurance of the Impala against his back starts to dissipate, becomes unreal until he is no longer able to feel them, and he starts to lose all sense of his own physical existence. He desperately holds on to the sensation of Dean’s touch, and realises that that’s not the only difference from his memory of It. Last time, he had felt nothing around him, and yet there was a constant feeling of being closely observed, never tangible enough to pinpoint, but permeating the whole oppressive nothingness. That feeling is absent now, making the nothingness feel truly void, and he wonders if the consciousness that he confronted is elsewhere, if that’s even possible.

“I almost killed myself a few hours before you came back.”

“Dean!”

His train of thought abruptly interrupted, Castiel’s hand wraps itself tightly around Dean’s arm, his other hand finding Dean’s resting between their bodies. Dean gives it a squeeze and sends a small smile his way before continuing:

“It wasn’t completely intentional, more of a careless decision than a suicide attempt, but when I realised I was dead, I didn’t really care much. Billie was there, expecting me to beg her to bring me back, and telling me that we had important work ahead or whatever. But I didn’t really wanna be back? If I was dead, then fine, that was my time, I was cool with it.” Dean lets out a sad laugh. “It woulda sucked for Sam, though, me dying on him right after losing mom and you, and with a weird Nephilim kid to look after. But I wasn’t even thinking of that at the time. I just thought he’d be fine eventually, wouldn’t have to take care of his sad sack brother, and he could keep looking for mom if he wanted to.”

Dean’s thumb keeps tracing a pattern on his hand, and Castiel is still holding on to him, no intention of letting go.

“The only thing I was thinking at the time was how I couldn’t save you. Not you, not mom. What did it matter if I died? When I couldn’t protect the people that really matter,” he raises his head and looks at Castiel. “The people I love. Guess I just felt like life wasn’t really much worth living if you weren’t there with me.” The corners of his mouth feel tense in his smile to Castiel, like they are struggling against the weight of all his years’ worth of deep-settled sadness.

Castiel opens his mouth to try to soothe his pain, but before he can even think of what to say to that kind of confession, Dean keeps talking:

“So when you say there’s a part of you that thinks no one would miss you here... I mean, I ain’t dumb enough to not see it’s my fault in big part. I keep telling you we need you, like this is about cases or saving the world or whatever, like that’s enough to show you what I mean, when what I— what I actually mean, what I want to say, I mean— it’s, you know...”

He closes his mouth to stop the stuttering, puts all his determination into the look he fixes on Castiel’s face and takes a deep breath.

“I always want you here,” he huffs, a slightly frantic laugh escaping him, and he looks around himself, before settling his gaze back onto Castiel, “Okay, not here-here, like the Empty here, but... with me. I—I always want you by my side. And not because you’re useful or because you think you owe us or it’s your duty or some other bullshit, but because you’re you, and I’m always a lot happier when you’re around, Cas. And if you ever fuck up, then you’re no different than me and Sam, and mistakes are always easier to fix when we’re together anyway. I still want you around, no matter what.”

Castiel realises that his hand has tightened around Dean’s to the point of making it white, but Dean is holding back just as hard, and he doesn’t feel he would be able to let go at the moment, even if he wanted to. His grace feels tight inside his body, like it’s not enough to hold him anymore, but it’s not his grace that’s the problem. All his doubts, all his feelings of not belonging anywhere, are boiling inside of him, evaporating to make room for an immense amount of hope, of joy, of love. He knows his face lets it flow freely, and it carries in his voice when he finds his words:

“You want me to stay because I’m family. Because I am your brother, like you said.”

Dean snorts at that, and buries his face in his hands with a smile. “God, I really am a fucking idiot.” He brings his hands up to hold Castiel’s face, steadily keeps him in place while his eyes burn with fierce openness. “No, Cas, you’re not my brother. It’s always different with you.”

And if Castiel needed any clarification, he can’t ask for it, because Dean seals all his meaning with his lips, kisses his I love yous loud and clear, pushes them deep inside Castiel, makes him feel even fuller and ready to burst. So Castiel unloads all his love into Dean in return, his kisses answering as vehemently as Dean needs to hear it. And this wordless conversation, it is the most truthful and clear they have ever had.

In the silence that follows, one so full of light and warmth that even The Empty can’t steal it away from them, Dean starts yawning in his contentment, burrowing his face into Castiel’s neck. “I got a feeling that sleeping here is the worst idea ever—feels kind of eternal. But we’ve been here forever, man. I dunno if I can keep awake much longer.”

Castiel can feel Dean’s heartbeat under his arm, a pulsating flame that reaches out to him, strong as ever. “Go to sleep, Dean, I’ll watch over you. I’ll make sure you wake up.”

So Dean smiles at him, moves to settle down between Castiel’s legs with his back against his chest, kisses his jaw, and goes to sleep in the protective home of Castiel’s arms, holding him, keeping him safe from The Empty’s pull.

That’s how Jack finds them a timeless amount of time later.

[lfthinkerwrites]

Endgame

Title: Endgame

Fandom: Batman

Rating: PG for some mentioned, but not explicit nastiness courtesy of one Joker.

Pairing: Scriddler, Harley/Ivy and BatCat mentioned.

Summary: Nothing lasts forever. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Notes: I have two main ‘verses’ I write. One is PI verse and the other is my Oneshot verse, where most of my Scriddler stuff is set. This won’t be the last Scriddler oneshot I do by a long shot, but it is how I see their story ending.  You can also consider this a happier antidote to what’s coming in PI verse...

On some level, Edward always knew he and the rest of the Rogues gallery were operating on borrowed time. 

Life in Gotham, as a civilian, crime fighter or rogue, was a delicate balancing act. There was an unspoken understanding that there was only so far the game could go, only so many lines the players could cross before game over. 

One day, everything finally fell apart. One day, the Joker went too far.

Edward always knew the clown would ruin it, somehow. 

Joker had, in his infinite ‘wisdom’, decided to make Gotham over in his own vision. To that effect, he had poisoned Gotham’s water supply with his venom. Hundreds of people had been hospitalized, including Commissioner Gordon. Edward wasn’t sure how many had died. In the ensuing scuffle with Batman and his foes, the youngest Robin had fallen ill as well.

Even after seeing his own son in the grips of Joker venom, Batman still would not kill the clown. Batman would never take a life, not even Joker’s.

Batman wouldn’t. The boy’s mother was another story entirely.

A week after the Joker had been taken into custody, he’d been taken from the Asylum by the League of Assassins. What exactly happened after that would remain unknown, but Joker’s mutilated body had been found hanging in front of City Hall the following morning. A clear message to the rest of the Rogues.

In his own way, Joker had been a stabilizing force in Gotham City. As long as he lived, the mob bosses would only go so far to antagonize the Rogues, while the Rogues’ ability to team up together was tempered by the desire to keep Joker out of their schemes. Now that the clown was irrevocably gone, chaos ensued.

Joker would have enjoyed that too, the bastard.

Falcone, Maroni and the few other mob heads still active in Gotham City saw an opportunity to reclaim what they’d lost when the age of the Rogues had begun. They’d entered into an alliance to forcibly take over Joker’s old territory. A group of Rogues, headed up by Dent, were mobilizing to fight back. Factor in the dozens of jumped up thugs who were left unemployed by Joker’s demise and the city was spiraling into anarchy. Some of his fellow criminals saw an opportunity. Edward, always three steps ahead of everyone else, saw the writing on the wall.

As tempting as the thought of clawing his way to the top of heap in Gotham’s Underworld was, Edward was rational. He was forty now. He wasn’t getting any younger. While he wasn’t a shrinking violet, the amount of violence he was witnessing was making the prospect of getting involved in this war very unappealing. And truth be told, he’d been active for nearly twenty years. He’d had a good run. Perhaps it was time to consider a graceful retirement.

“You’re absolutely certain about this Edward?”

Edward nodded and took another sip of his drink. “I’ve considered every possible scenario Oswald. This is the only option I have that leaves my freedom and wealth intact.”

Oswald didn’t look convinced. “Surely, people have made you offers.”

“Of course,” Edward snorted. “Falcone offered me a permanent position in his organization if I helped them. Dent was more honest at least. He said, I could join with them, or I had the choice between being shot or being run over by a truck. I never did care for taking orders from anyone.”

“No you certainly haven’t.” Oswald agreed, puffing at his cigarette. “You know, there is another option. As you know, I’m staying out of this petty squabble.”

Edward knew. Oswald was a smart man. He knew that no matter which side ‘won’, it would be a Pyrrhic victory at best. Losses would be sustained on both sides, and Batman and his cronies could be counted on to deal with the winners. And when both sides were taken care of, it would be Oswald Cobblepot ruling over the remains. “I could easily offer you a position Edward.”

Edward shook his head. “Thank you, but no. To tell the truth Oswald, I’m not enjoying the game much anymore. I haven’t since before the Joker got what he so richly deserved, but now...”he sighed. “I’m tired. I’m ready to move on.”

“And what does Crane intend to do?”

Edward fiddled with his ring finger. The gold band he wore under his glove had never felt heavier than it did now. “I...we haven’t discussed it yet.”

Oswald mercifully said nothing about that. “Well. I don’t agree with your decision, but I respect it.” Oswald held out his hand. “My door is always open to you my friend.”

Edward shook his hand. “Until the next lifetime Oswald.”

“So it’s true? You’re leaving Gotham?”

“Are you going to try to talk me out of it Selina?”

Selina shook her head. “No. Honestly Eddie, I’m relieved. This city...sometimes I wonder why I’m still here.”

Edward thought a certain masked vigilante had something to do with that, but didn’t say anything. “Harley’s not still in town, is she?” Harley had left Joker for good years ago, but Edward didn’t think Talia al Ghul would ignore her past association with him.

“No,” Selina answered. “She and Ivy left last night. Said they were going to South America for a bit. So, where are you and Jonathan going to go?”

Edward fiddled with his ring finger. “I don’t know. I...I don’t know that Jonathan’s coming with me.”

Selina looked shocked. “Jonathan’s not seriously going to join in this mess, is he?”

“I..we haven’t talked about it.”

Selina slapped her palm against her forehead. “Eddie! He’s your husband! How have you not talked about this?”

“He’s been shut up in his basement since we heard about what happened to Joker!” Edward snapped. “He hasn’t talked to me!” Edward could and should insist. But there was a part of him that felt that if he did, then Jonathan would want to stay. The longer he out it off, the longer they could stay together.

Selina sighed. “Ok. This might be the last time I see you for awhile. I don’t want to spend it fighting. But you will talk to him.”

Edward rolled his eyes. “Yes Selina.”

Selina nodded. “Good boy.” She paused. “You’ll need to go soon,” she said seriously. “Batman thinks that things are going to start getting bad in the next few days. He’ll be so busy trying to help contain it that if you and Jon take off and lay low, he won’t come looking for you.”

Edward nodded. “Right. Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid like trying to be a hero.”

Selina laughed. “Who me? Please.” Selina got up out of her chair and hugged Edward then. “Don’t completely disappear. I’d like to stay in touch with you.”

Edward returned her hug and pretended his eyes weren’t welling up a bit. “I won’t. Stay safe Lina.”

Two days later and all of the necessary arrangements were made. Edward had moved his money into an offshore account, barring a few thousand in cash, he’d sent Nina and Deirdre the last of his old equipment and he’d let go his last few remaining henchmen. All that was left was to decide where to go. 

And to talk to Jonathan.

Jonathan was sitting on their sofa, reading an old textbook of his. His eyes looked up at Edward as he entered their home. “You’re home late,” he drawled. “What have you been up to?”

Edward fiddled with his ring finger. Now or never. “Jonathan,” he said. “We need to talk.”

Jonathan put his book down and looked Edward straight in the eyes. “Oh?”

Edward wet his lip. “It’s about what’s happening in Gotham.”

“You’re referring to the upcoming war I assume.”

“Yes, yes I am.” Edward took a breath. “I can’t stay here Jon. I’m leaving.”

For a long moment, Jonathan said nothing. His expression was as cold and impassive as ever. “Did you hear me Jonathan?” Edward asked. “I’m leaving!” Surely, Jonathan cared about that. Why wasn’t he reacting?

“I see,” Jonathan answered. “That’s a relief.”

Edward blinked. “It...is?”

Jonathan got up off of the sofa. “Edward,” he said. “Follow me.”

Edward did as he said and followed him down into the basement. What he saw made him audibly gasp. Jonathan’s basement was almost completely bare. All of Jonathan’s papers were packed into boxes on the floor, his chemicals were stored away and his desk was cleared off. Nightmare sat in his cage, observing the two men.

“This is what you were doing?” Edward asked. 

“Yes,” Jonathan answered. “I’m fifty years old Edward. I’m getting too old for this nonsense.”

“But-what about your research?”

“I’ve spent over twenty years collecting data. That should be more than sufficient. If more is required, I don’t need to be in Gotham to do it.”

“And just when were you going to tell me about this!?”

“Tonight. I wasn’t sure what you were intending to do. If you had said you wanted to stay and get involved in this nonsense, I was prepared to sedate you and take off with you.”

Edward’s mouth opened, then shut again. Jonathan took advantage of his silence and grasped his hands. “I married you Edward,” he said softly. “There was no scenario in which I would have ever left you.”

Now tears were freely streaming down Edward’s face. “Jon...” he wrapped his arms around him and Jonathan held him tightly.

“So we’ve ruled out Metropolis, Keystone City, Central City and Star City for obvious reasons. You don’t want to go back down South, which I’m in full agreement on. What about San Diego? The weather’s nice, it’s close to the Mexican border if we need to flee-”

“Too many damn Californians,” Jonathan interrupted. “What about Maine?”

Edward pulled a face. “Maine? Jonathan, the winters there are godawful. You’d freeze to death! What about the Southwest?”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “You want to live in a desert?”

“Alright, fair point. What about Boston?”

Jonathan considered this. “I think that would work.”

“Boston it is.”

The next evening, the car was packed. Edward had sent most of their things off to their new address in a Uhaul, leaving only their personal effects and Nightmare, who was cooped up in his carrier. “Nightmare hates that thing,” Jonathan groused.

“Well he’s not flying loose in my car. I spent over $300 getting the seats cleaned the last time.” Edward took one last look at the house. They’d had some good times in that place. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Edward started the car and began driving along the main road. In no time at all it seemed, they were on the main bridge out of Gotham City. Edward took one last look at the Gotham skyline reflected in the rear view mirror. He’d spent his entire adult life there. Were they doing the right thing? What would they do with themselves?

Edward felt Jonathan’s hand grip his shoulder gently. “We’ll be alright Edward,” he said. “As long as we’re together, we’ll be alright.”

Edward took his eyes off of the rear view mirror and looked at the open road ahead of them. “Of course we will be,” he said. “I am a genius after all.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Of course you are.”

Five years later

“Darlin’ I’m home!” Jonathan called out as he entered their apartment. Thanks to the fake credentials Edward had managed to secure and his own powers of persuasion, Jonathan had managed to get a job teaching psychology at a community college. It might not be as prestigious as Gotham University had been, but it was still satisfying. Jonathan had almost forgotten how much he had genuinely enjoyed teaching. “Edward? You here?”

“I’m in the bedroom!” Edward’s irritated voice called out. Jonathan walked in to find him scowling in front of their mirror. “Look at this!” he complained. “I found another gray hair!”

“It’s a natural part of aging Edward,” Jonathan said, placing his briefcase on their bed. “You should take it gracefully.”

“You’re one to talk,” Edward groused. “You’ve been going gray for the better part of ten years!”

“Beats dying Edward.”

Edward’s face softened a bit. As they had both predicted, the gang war that had erupted in Gotham had more than a few casualties. Sionis, Falcone, Elliott, Walker and Lynns had died outright, Freeze had disappeared and most of the others had been transferred to an out of state facility after the fighting had destroyed Arkham. Still, it wasn’t all bad news. Oswald Cobblepot was the undisputed king of the Gotham Underworld now, defanged as it was. Harvey Dent had apparently finally reformed. Harley and Ivy had visited them in between their travels. Selina kept in contact too, constantly sending them pictures of her daughter, who was now three years old. And of course, Jonathan and Edward were still together. “I suppose we did get a happier ending than we probably deserved, didn’t we Jon?”

Jonathan leaned down and kissed the top of Edward’s head. “I’m not complaining.”

Edward smiled and pulled Jonathan down for a proper kiss. Life was a bit boring at times, but life was good.

What neither man knew was that someone had been watching them. Bruce Wayne had arrived in Boston after receiving a tip that Jonathan was teaching there. He’d been observing them for almost a week now and the worst thing he’d seen them do was bicker over the copy of a Boston Globe. Bruce walked away from where he’d been watching their apartment building and back towards his car. He’d been away from Gotham and his family long enough. He’d keep an ear out for any potential trouble, but as far as he was concerned, there was no need to bring in Edward Nigma and Jonathan Crane.

[khaleesi-in-the-north]

In the Crosshairs (39/39)

4 Months Later

             Goodbye was supposed to be difficult. The King’s Courier was Margaery’s big break, or so she had thought at the time. A small part of her is relieved that she’s moving on though.

                    The actual goodbyes had been a small affair. Back when the photo editor had retired, there was a cake, some gifts, even a speech or two. Only a handful of people knocked on Margaery’s door to wish her well. Sam helped her pack her things in her car. Jorah hadn’t even spoken to her since she turned in her letter of resignation.

                    Since returning, her work hadn’t been the same. She was a fool to imagine things would go back to the way they had always been. Her assignments revolved around fluff pieces, editing, office work. Everyone and anyone else were getting the hard news stories that drove Margaery’s passion. As weeks passed, it became clearer that the decision to take her off the investigative stories was a personal decision.

                    She was still receiving phone calls begging for interviews about her “kidnapping”. For a week one reporter stalked her at the police station, somehow learning her routine and “coincidentally” being there when she arrived so he could hound her for a scoop. Missandei finally had the man put in a cell for six hours when he refused to listen to her orders to leave Margaery alone.

                     She realized that Jorah held that as a personal offense; against her own wishes, Margaery was still the news. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he was still pissed as hell about the publication of her articles without his consent. She had undermined him and outshone the paper itself. It was an unforgivable offense. She was more than ready to get back out there and scour the city for the next big story; it wasn’t going to happen at the Courier.

                    She’d barely begun looking at openings in other news organizations when Sansa came home one evening with the announcement that the mafia needed her to relocate to Winterfell.

                    “With Cersei gone, there’s nothing left for me in King’s Landing,” Sansa had sighed. Her eyes had grown wide as she understood the implication of her words. “No, I mean…King’s Landing was only ever a mission. The people of Winterfell need me there. Now that the Lannisters are gone, there’s nothing to impede out business dealings in King’s Landing. Petyr’s the perfect little rat to manage the system. A Stark hasn’t been in Winterfell in a decade. I can generate an alliance with the police there, grow my businesses and better know the needs of the people who depend on me. I need to go home.” She had taken Margaery’s hand into her own, looked her straight in the eye. “I want you to come with me.”

                    There was nothing for Margaery in Winterfell. It was cold, foreign, and boring. Her options weren’t much better in King’s Landing.  And home…wasn’t home anymore. Her parents were there, but what else was there? Her uncle had sold her grandmother’s estate, dividing the profit between the whole family. Garlan had left the Reach for Bitterbridge, seeing that as a burgeoning community to raise his baby girl in. Only her parents remained and who knew how long that would last?

                     Margaery had expected Sansa to push. While she did bring it up every now and then for the next couple of weeks and dropped reasons why she thought the move would do the both good, it wasn’t the pressure Margaery had grown accustomed to with her girlfriend. It was a nice change.

                    By the time The Northern Star Ledger came knocking on her door, Margaery knew she’d be packing her belongings to accompany Sansa back to Winterfell. Their relationship was about sacrifices and her leaving a job that clearly didn’t want her so the woman she loved could do greater good for her hometown could barely be considered a sacrifice.  

                    The Ledger’s offer was too good to pass up anyway. A co-editor position (with far more writing than actual editing) in their digital news department, full control over her investigative reports with no time table, first choice in news assignments on a weekly basis. Sansa swore on Lady’s unborn puppies that she had nothing to do with the offer. Her work certainly wouldn’t be the same as it was in King’s Landing, but perhaps she was due for a change of pace.

                    Driving home just as the rain comes down, she’s finally putting a piece of her past behind her. By the time she’s parked in the driveway, the sprinkle has transformed into a downpour. Sansa’s out the door to greet her with Lady bouncing on her heels. Her white t-shirt is drenched. Her hair is pinned into a high pony tail, but the loose strands stick to her face. Margaery doesn’t even have the chance to say hello. Sansa presses her lips against Margaery’s open mouth and easily slips her tongue in. Margaery doesn’t resist the opportunity to indulge her girlfriend, even if she is a little cold and her shoulder is a little sore. She kisses back, brushing her tongue against Sansa’s in a playful duel.

                    Lady walks directly beneath Margaery’s dangling hand, the tips of her fur tickling Margaery’s fingers. With a sigh Margaery pulls away. She’s barely able to see with the rain and hair in her face. “We should get inside. One of us is bound to catch a cold out here.”

                    Margaery pops her trunk open so she can begin carrying in her boxes. Except Sansa has no intention of allowing that to happen. She beats Margaery to the back of the car and slams the trunk shut again.

                    “Sweetling, I have to get my office supplies inside,” Margaery reaches around her to manually open the trunk.

                    Sansa blocks her hand. She pushes down on the top to ensure she can’t open it with the button again. “Uh-uh. You’re not touching a single box. Get your wet arse inside and I will rearrange everything in the morning before we head out.”

                    Arguing wouldn’t do any good. There are more important fights for Margaery to save her energy for—like who gets the bigger office at their new place in Winterfell. Margaery nips at her bottom lip. Sansa’s eyes follow the movement intently, just like Margaery expected. “Oh I suppose you’re right. After all, I’m soaking right through these pants. Once I’m inside I can get myself off,” she turns heel and takes three struts away from Sansa before pausing and peering back over her shoulder. Sansa hasn’t moved a muscle. “Silly me. I meant dried off.”

                    She continues the short walk without another glance back. Lady races ahead of her to beat her into the house. Half way to the door, Sansa’s feet pound against the slick pavement. Even with an added pep to her step Margaery barely kicks off her shoes before the door slams shut and she’s pressed up against it.

                    The breath of air that was about to go in is replaced by Sansa’s lips hot on her own. Her fingers find a hold on Margaery’s waist, squeezing ever so slightly as Sansa tilts her head. “You little…” Sansa murmurs against her lips.

                    All she needs is a quick gasp of air before lunges forward, teeth nipping lightly at Sansa’s bottom lip. Sansa’s lips curve into a smile. One arm wraps around Margaery’s back to pull her closer. A droplet of water drips from Sansa’s chin onto Margaery’s collarbone. She shivers involuntarily, her tongue teases Sansa’s as starts dominating the kiss. Her own breath bounces off Sansa’s cheek, heating Margaery’s face. To get a better hold of Sansa, Margaery lifts her arm to wrap around Sansa’s neck.

                    It all falls apart from there. The movement, after a day of lifting and driving only days after the doctor told her to take it easy now that she no longer had to wear her sling 24 hours a day, caused her shoulder to sting in an intense shock of pain. Margaery drops her arm, hopeful that Sansa doesn’t notice the sudden movement or connect it to the hiss she can’t help but release.

                    Her wishful thinking is all for not. Sansa pulls back breathless but her eyes dart to Margaery’s shoulder. “Babe you said you were going to take it slow. What happened to getting help today?”

                    “I did get help. Sam carried some of the boxes and I did the rest,” Margaery explains. She reaches out for Sansa, keeping her arms low so she won’t cause for the damage, but enough has already been done. She winces again at the slight sting.

                    “You shouldn’t have done any. I knew I should have insisted on going with you.” Sansa nudges the collar of Margaery’s shirt to the side. Whatever Sansa sees, she doesn’t like. “Sit on the couch. No buts. When I come back, I want to see you lounging, relaxed and ready to not do a damn thing the rest of the night.”

                    The doctor had given her the okay to move her arm without the arm sling that had earned Margaery’s ire daily since her stay in the hospital. Without it, she felt free. It feels like having a piece of her old self back. The bones that the bullet had cracked were fully healed now, but some of the muscle tissue was still tender—case and point being her sore shoulder now.

                    Just as Sansa had ordered, she comes back to find Margaery sitting back on the couch, feet up, stroking Lady’s fur with her good arm while the other is obediently pulled tight against her body. She loops the sling around Margaery’s neck and gently nestles her arm into the pouch. “There. Nice and tight.” Sansa kicks Lady off the couch—an exhausting feat for anyone except the dog’s mistress—and takes the spot she had occupied.

                    The sarcastic retort Margaery has lined up falls from her tongue the moment her eye catches the faint line of the scar at the far side of Sansa’s cheek. She’s doing her best.

                    “Ygritte and Loras are still coming in the morning,” she lays her head on Sansa’s shoulder, letting her girlfriend hold her close.

                    “I remember, babe. That’s why I left plenty of boxes out for them to pack,” Sansa grins down at her. She glances away, pauses and then says, “Jon’s talked to her about the move. Arya went to see him yesterday. She says that he said she understands now. She might even act civil toward me.”

                    The last time Sansa and Ygritte had been in the same room, Ygritte had called her a traitor amongst a few other choice words. Margaery would have felt the same if the positions were switched and it was Sansa being left in a jail cell and the rest of the mafia and Ygritte running north just when things calmed down.

                    Sansa made the decision to go home only with Jon’s consent. Of course it looked like the mafia was abandoning him to face the consequences of the mission alone. Ygritte knew that wasn’t reality, but there was also no timetable to get him out. She’d sacrificed as much as anyone lately and she still carried the burden of a crime she never committed.

                    Sansa had offered Ygritte a position in the mafia and the opportunity to join the mafia. Ygritte had all but spat in her face. She wasn’t about to leave Jon like the rest of them.

                    Her wrath stayed solely on Sansa. By now Margaery and Ygritte had learned to separate the mafia from their friendship. But tomorrow was goodbye. Margaery doesn’t know how long it will be until she sees her best friend again. She’s determined that it won’t be another permanent farewell.

                    Loras had the power to keep Margaery in King’s Landing. The months had been rough on him. His squadron welcomed him back with open arms and his new captain regarded him as one of the best cops on the force once more. His home life was different. Where he used to go out constantly with Renly and his friends from the force, he now only hung out with Margaery and a male prostitute he kept under wraps. He quit fencing. Had he told Margaery to stay, she would have. Yet when she told him what she was considering, he had leapt in joy. Told her she’d be crazy to pass and that a move would be good for her.  

                    They spend their last evening in Sansa’s King’s Landing manor watching some baking competition show, too distracted by their conversations to change the channel. Eventually the show gains Margaery’s attention.

                    Sansa nods off, softly breathing against the top of Margaery’s head. It’s a shock nowadays when one of them doesn’t wake up jolting or screaming from a bloody nightmare. Whatever good talking about them does, the nightmares never truly go away. Whether it’s Jaime Lannister staring her down, his voice haunting her as she runs through the mansion or Sansa mixing the explosion with Margaery’s near death at the Lannister mansion.

                    Determined to provide her girlfriend with a pleasant wake up for once, Margaery wriggles against her until her body is turned enough that she can dip down to kiss Sansa gently. The moment Sansa wakes, she deepens the kiss. “I love it when you do that,” she murmurs.

                    “I think it’s bedtime for us. We have a long day tomorrow,” Margaery gets up. She cleans up the living room while Sansa lets out Lady.

                    In bed, Margaery is moments from reaching sleep when Sansa rolls onto her side and whispers. “Margaery, thank you.”

                    “Thank you? For what?” Margaery yawns.

                    “Everything. Winterfell. You don’t realize how much this means to me. Or maybe you do. I know you’re leaving a life here, closing a chapter. I’m not going to let down your trust. I’m going to take care of you,” Sansa confides.

                    “You’re right, Sansa,” Margaery scoots to the middle of the bed, cuddling to be Sansa’s little spoon. “You have my full trust and you’re going to take care of me. Just like I’m going to take care of you. But this isn’t an ending. It’s our beginning.”

                    Sansa squeezes her tighter, nose buries into Margaery’s neck. There’s no one Margaery would rather take on the future with regardless of what awaits them.

************

                                                                        Epilogue

                    There was a time when the Stark name was godly in the North. In some pockets, it still was revered on par with the Old Gods. Back then, Karstark had been awestruck to be scraping the snow off the sidewalk of the old headquarters in Winterfell.

                    Glover, Umber and those fucking Mormonts had turned tale the moment news spread of old Neddy’s death. But Karstark? He stuck with Baelish, Roose and the Stark kids. He paid his dues, pulled his share of hits, got his hands dirty for Sansa when she was too much of a child to comprehend what they were doing. North would survive on the shoulders of this girl, he was going to make damn sure of it.

                    The time to profit had come. And it was slipping through their fingers, disappearing like the snow outside the dank tavern Karstark found himself in now. Sure, they were making more money now. Contraband sales had increased, businesses were branching out to the farther reaches of the North. It wasn’t enough. “Stonecold” refused to take over the gambling rings abandoned by the Lannister’s downfall. Small time gangs were nipping them out from under them. She had questioned the morality of their hit jobs that they’d taken to performing for Northern politicians who paid them handsomely, going so far as to sever ties with Mance Raider, their greatest benefactor. The last straw had been the flat out denial of Karstark’s proposal that they start selling their stash north of the Twins. The boss had made a fuss about honor and duty and their duty to the people was not to tempt them with the trash they pumped to the Southerners. What fucking difference did it make? Anyone weak enough to use the stash they sold was no True Northerner.

                    It was no coincidence that Stark quit listening to him the moment she got her hands on that Southern bitch. She’d been brainwashed. Karstark thought he could tolerate it. Once Snow took the fall for the mafia, Karstark imagined he may even be able to draw the boss back to clarity. He was next in command; he’d take over dutifully as the boss’s second in command and show her the profit that lay out there and the good it could do for the North (and their own bank accounts).

                    He never had the chance. The boss hadn’t even had the balls to tell him in person; Baelish told him that Gendry was her new second in command, on the advice of Arya. A street scum southerner had flown right pass him on the Mafia Ladder. Gendry had already proven a dumbass. Rather than siphon the excess money for the upper echelon to take home and spend as they saw fit, he’d sent the extra to orphanages and charities. Things that wouldn’t exist if not for the profitability of the mafia command.

                    Calling Sansa north had been a last resort. She wasn’t supposed to bring the journalist with her. Her southern slut already had one Stark wrapped around her finger. She couldn’t take their sacred ground too. For the good of their people, the mafia could not continue to fall to these damned southerners.

                    He wasn’t the only one. Unlike Stark, though, his small faction had the brains to see his value. They had to pry their boss out of the grasp of those Southerners and remind her of her place. She may be a Stark, but she was no god.

                    So he found himself at a rundown bar, the Dreadfort, in the middle of nowhere. The music was inaudible from the busted speakers. A total of 7 light bulbs in the whole damn building probably worked, including the bulb shining down on the center of the table. It was probably colder in here than it was outside. Karstark stayed wrapped in his coat.

                    The man across from him didn’t. His short hair was shaggy, nose so crooked it might be broken. His teeth were pearly white despite the cigarette sticking out between them. Smoke billowed from his mouth each time he huffed the cig. His fingers were littered with cuts. They didn’t seem to affect him in the least as his fingers traced the rim of his whiskey glass all while Karstark made the proposal. When Karstark finished, Ramsay Bolton’s teeth flashed into a full, wolfish grin. The gleen in his eyes was something between dastardly and delighted.

                    “As a true bred Northerner, it’s my duty to serve our people in whatever facet I’m asked of. I must say it’s a shame to learn how far our great Boss Sansa has let herself become thrown off course. Not much of a shock, if I’m free to speak for myself. Some women have weak hearts. I knew Sansa was one of those from the moment I met her of course,” Ramsay threw back the rest of his whiskey.

                    Karstark nodded. Weak wasn’t the word he’d use to describe Sansa. “Easily distracted” was a better fit. “She needs a strong guiding hand to help her remember what’s important.”

                    “Alright, I’ll do it!” Ramsay exclaimed, slamming his glass on to the table with such force it creates a crack in the base of the glass.

                    “Good. Now, the boys and I have a few…”

                    “No!” Ramsay yelled. His voice dropped back into its falsely cheery tone immediately. “Stark and I, well let’s say I’ve been preparing for a reunion for quite some time. No, no, no sir, if you want me to help you turn the North into the Westerlands, you’ll find its best I use my own methods.”

                    An eerie tightness settled into Karstark’s belly. He shook it off. Ramsay was dangerous, but Southerners were the greater threat to the profit. Whatever Ramsay had planned would be better than watching a Stark sell her soul and the mafia to be in that fucking journalist’s pants. “Do what you will.”

                    Ramsay pulled the cigarette out from between his teeth. He dabbed the butt into the ash tray with more exuberance than was necessary. “Very well!” he snapped his fingers over his head. From the shadows of the tavern, a raggedy man slowly edged to the table. His hair was long, dark, but thin and scraggly. His clothes were barely rags. Even the homeless in Deepwood Motte looked as though they faired better than this poor bloke.

                    “Yes, Master Bolton,” the man stammered. His hands shook at his side.

                    Ramsay grinned sadistically at the man. “I’ve got a surprise for you, Reek! Would you like to meet an old friend?”

[tabloidtoc]

National Examiner, December 14

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Roy Rogers’ sweet life 

Page 2: Welcome to Graceland -- a look around Elvis Presley’s palace 

Page 4: Still Strutting Their Stuff -- classic supermodels then and now -- Christie Brinkley, Cindy Crawford, Naomi Campbell, Linda Evangelista, Helena Christensen 

Page 5: Claudia Schiffer, Beverly Johnson, Christy Turlington, Jerry Hall, Brooke Shields 

Page 6: Jennifer Lopez may have fame and fortune not to mention a hot fiance Alex Rodriguez but she suffers bouts of pandemic depression just like the rest of us 

Page 7: Celebs keep bzzzy -- beehives are a honey of a hobby -- Beyonce, Jon Bon Jovi, Jennifer Garner, Scarlett Johansson, Martha Stewart, Morgan Freeman, Leonardo DiCaprio, Pope Francis 

Page 8: A thank-you is always appreciated and a kind-hearted 11-year-old is making sure the right people get their share of thanks by painting Flags of Gratitude for veterans, firefighters, healthcare workers and more! 

Page 9: Medicare 2021: what you need to know -- navigating the tricky world of changes in coverage 

Page 10: Things went from bad to worse at Wurstbar, a New Jersey eatery that had to close temporarily while its small staff awaited results of COVID tests -- but then a barbershop down the street combed through its resources and decided to help Wurstbar avoid a close shave by running the place in the meantime 

Page 11: Your Health -- how to foil mask fog 

Page 12: Follow the stars to weight loss -- Drew Barrymore, Jessica Simpson, Vanna White, Jennifer Hudson 

Page 13: Adele, Melissa McCarthy, Kelly Osbourne, Jane Seymour 

Page 14: Dear Tony, America’s top psychic healer -- change is inevitable so we must adjust to secure our future, Tony Predicts country singer Gabby Barrett will launch to superstardom status 

Page 15: A happy gal in Atlanta has finally met the biological brother she’s been searching for with some unexpected help from a retired sheriff’s lieutenant 

Page 16: Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn -- why we never married -- banned wedding band to keep their love alive for 36 years and counting 

Page 18: They fought for us and risked their lives for us and now veterans are going to get a special thank-you from the Department of Veterans Affairs -- from now on U.S. military veterans and gold star families will have lifelong free passes to enjoy the nation’s national parks and wildlife refuges and other great-outdoors spaces 

Page 19: When George Bush Sr. noticed his dog Ranger plumping out a bit too much he sent a presidential memo asking staff not to overfeed the dog 

Page 20: Cover Story -- Roy Rogers: a life of joy and sorrow -- it wasn’t all happy trails for beloved singing cowboy 

Page 22: When a firefighter’s son was inside the hospital battling cancer dozens of his fellow blaze battlers turned up the heat on their support

Page 24: The new buyers of a South Carolina home got more than they bargained for as the previous owner had left behind a forgotten secret stash of coins worth $25,000 -- even though the house and all its contents now legally belonged to them their better angels guided them to do the right thing and return it to the rightful owners 

Page 26: The Good Doctor -- the truth about blood clots 

Page 28: Special Delivery! Celeb mom who chose to have their babies at home -- Gisele Bundchen, Miranda Kerr, Demi Moore

Page 29: Lisa Bonet, Ashley Graham, Pamela Anderson, Jennifer Connelly, Ricki Lake 

Page 40: Melissa Rivers and son Cooper and how they cope -- Joan Rivers is never far from their thoughts 

Page 42: 20 magical facts about Barbara Eden and I Dream of Jeannie 

Page 44: Eyes on the Stars -- ahead of their 73rd wedding anniversary Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip admire the homemade card great-grandchildren Prince George and Princess Charlotte and Prince Louis made for them (picture), Gary Busey picks up a copy of National Examiner at a news stand (picture), devoted dad George Clooney recently revealed he feared he’d never see his kids again after his terrifying motorcycle accident in 2018 and he’s since sworn off motorcycles after wife Amal Clooney said that’s it, pregnant Mandy Moore claims playing a mom of three on This Is Us has prepared her for her upcoming real-life role, Machine Gun Kelly says his relationship with Megan Fox took him out of the fast lane, Hilaria Baldwin recently broke her ankle trying to avoid a car while on a run

Page 45: Jennifer Aniston for a fitness campaign (picture), Tom Cruise tries out a motorcycle before filming a Mission: Impossible 7 scene (picture), Robin Roberts brings her pup Lukas to the Good Morning America set (picture), Matthew Modine claims his military role as Private Joker in Full Metal Jacket has gotten him out of 100 speeding tickets in his lifetime, Today contributor Jill Martin isn’t letting the pandemic take away her social life -- months after splitting with fiance Erik Brooks she says she’s been having online video dates, Wolfgang Van Halen opened up in a recent TV interview following his dad Eddie Van Halen’s death and credits his mom Valerie Bertinelli and his girlfriend for helping him carry on 

Page 46: He trained for it and he worked for it and now Chris Nikic has become the first person with Down syndrome to finish an Ironman triathlon 

Page 47: Jingle All the Way Around the Globe -- Copenhagen, London, Vatican City, Paris, New York, Berlin 

[shazyloren]

The Dragon Club: Chapter 27 - Rhaegar and Jon

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12018519/chapters/27872520

----------

"So, you're the journalist that slandered my sister on your blog" Rhaegar huffed as he sat on a seat next to Jon in the waiting room. Daenerys was currently talking to her mother, they were still crying over the news that her father was stable. She was glance at him every now and then; he hated seeing her cry. He never thought such a strong woman would be able to cry so much as she has the last few hours; of course there was no shame in it but it had just taken Jon by surprise.

Viserys was asleep on one of the chairs in the waiting room, mouth open with his tongue hanging out and snoring quite loudly. And now as he sat wishing there was something he could do, he instead was going to be grilled by her older brother. He was a handsome man in his youth, he looked exactly like Dany it was quite freaky. Violet eyes and silver blonde hair he'd put into a bun, a little bit of scruff on the face which was a little darker.

"Aye, I was wrong in my initial impressions though" Jon meekly spoke. He didn't want to awake the dragon in any of her family members, he'd already done that with Dany he didn't need a shouting match with the rest of them. But he felt a calming sort of aura around Rhaegar, Dany had said he was the polite one of the family, the golden child.

"And now you're bringing her to the hospital, you've been spotted with her out on dates, you're doing this joint cover together. A lot to dissect and think about" Rhaegar huffed as he took a final swig of the coffee in his hands. Jon felt the heat rush to his head, he knew it was coming but he hadn't expected it so soon, while they waited to see if their father was okay.

"I think she's happy with me; I don't really get let in often"

"She's not a very communicative woman at the best of times, she likes to keep herself and her emotions in check"

"I've noticed, although I believe she has opened up to me a little" Jon said coolly. He didn't know how much Rhaegar knew about the whole Doreah fiasco, probably not much, maybe all of it, but he wasn't going to say anything. "She's a very interesting soul"

"She's stubborn, that's what she is" Rhaegar sighed as he threw his empty coffee cup into the bin. Rhaegar smiled sweetly, as if remembering something. "When she was nine she was determined to build a castle in the garden from mud and grass; Father had said that ladies don't do such activities but she defied him and a few hours later she'd got three towers and a courtyard built. It was very impressive, so impressive that even father wasn't mad. She'd soiled her clothes and got mud under her nails and a worm in her hair, but he was impressed nonetheless"

"Sounds like Daenerys" Jon smiled to himself, she was stubborn. Every interaction he'd ever had with her was proof of her stubborn nature. Every time she had tried to dig her claws into him she'd stubbornly rejected his digs in return. Yet of late, she was softening, as their relationship has grown it has blossomed into a beautiful thing. They hadn't argued, they just was in cloud nine over each other. "She's a softie really"

"My sister's anything but" Rhaegar retorted.

"Well she was stubborn to start with, as she had every right to be over the article I wrote, but she has let her guard down" Jon coolly spoke, trying not to push Rhaegar the wrong way. "She's quite extraordinary, how quickly she amassed her company"

"That's father's fault" Rhaegar laughed as he rubbed his temples.

"I know he kicked her out" Jon sat in his seat a little higher up. Rhaegar just snorted.

"Yeah that was a... rough day for our family. She's never seen eye to eye with him since, always trying to prove herself. Of course, she's a far better business owner than father will ever be, the fact she had triple his profits last year is part and parcel of that given her company is thirty years younger than his. I think he's proud of her, but he'd never admit it. I bet even when he comes to he'll moan at her for something"

"Doesn't seem fair" Jon brooded.

"He's always expected more from her. He resigned himself to the fact I did not want to be his heir. I met Elia at college and went into the army not long after that. Since then I have been a retired Veteran raising two kids. Viserys, the sleeping beauty, is his heir, but father says he thinks Viserys will sell the business when he's gone. Which is probably true, he'd use the money to fund his many girlfriends and their expensive hobbies. But Daenerys, he always wanted more from her"

"What happened?" Jon was intrigued, Rhaegar had said enough to whet his appetite for information, he hoped he did not stop.

"Daenerys asked for $2000, that's all. Just to fund the starting of her online blog. She had used the last of her allowance to buy a user domain for online. But she needed products to model and layouts to choose from etc. He refused; he put her clothes in a bag, kicked her out with her car and gave her $2000 to live on instead. He said if she was serious about being a business owner she wasn't to go back to his house until she hit her first million. She came back seven months later with four issues of Valyrian magazine published online and a million dollars in her account from advertisement, membership subscriptions and collections from people in the cafe where she worked"

"Wow" Jon didn't know this part.

"Father offered her to live back home but she refused, she said she'd come back when she'd got 10 million. She came back another seven months later and showed him her bank statement. Again he offered her the room. She refused and said she'd be back when he'd got a financial backer to have it printed into a magazine to go on shelves. She turned up with Tyrion Lannister on her father's door five months later"

"That's incredible" Jon felt inspired once more by the woman he courted. "She's truly something different"

"I'm surprised mother hasn't gone after her over something or other. She has never forgiven her for not coming back home, for not speaking to her very often"

"She said her mother can be... intense" Jon threw in.

"Understatement, even I think she goes too far sometimes. They seem to forget that they were the ones to throw her out initially" Rhaegar mused. Jon noticed how tired he looked, two children must do that to you. Jon felt uneasy as Rhaegar sighed and stared at his sister who was still talking to her mother. "Why are you with her Jon?"

"I'm sorry?" Jon was caught off guard.

"Why are you with her, what is it about my sister you like?" He said with slight authority. "Because she's got badly hurt in the past, and I need to know if you're gonna do the same. I love her very dearly and I can't go through that again, can't watch her go through it"

"You mean Drogo?" Jon felt slightly insulted; he knew what had happened to her, by Drogo, he would never hurt Daenerys in such a way, in anyway. He was falling for her, he enjoyed every minute in her company and craved her when he wasn't around her. Rhaegar nodded, slightly surprised that Jon knew about this. Jon thought about his question carefully before answering.

"I lost someone I loved, I didn't think I'd feel that way about anyone again. For three years i'd never met someone who, inspired me the way i was before. And then I was challenged, by this fiery and stubborn spirit and I was intrigued. Of course she kicked me out of the interview and I wrote what I thought to be the truth at the time. Not the best first impression for either of us to make with each other. A few weeks later, after several chance meetings in a supermarket and other places, I was having dinner with her friends at her apartment"

Jon thought back on the last 10 weeks, it's been mad. And it still amazed him how a quiet and gentle soul such as himself was with the fiery and loud soul of hers. He felt his brow furrow, he was going into brooding mode. "The Dragon Club?"

"I hate that name" Jon laughed, stopping himself from looking too gloomy. "But she insists" Jon sighed as he looked at her, skin red and blotchy from her tears, her eyes wet and her hair sticking to her face. He wanted to soothe her, ease her pain. But it wasn't something he could do; her father had nearly died. "She's managed to get through to me, changed my opinion on her quite dramatically. She attended my sister's wedding with me and with both hinted that we liked each other. But it wasn't until a week after that when we got into a petty argument, my fault, I'll admit it. We went from there, starting a fresh and since then we've been in bliss"

"She's been different the last few weeks" Rhaegar spoke after Jon's spiel. "Happier" Jon just nodded awkwardly. "You're doing something right"

"I hope so; I don't understand how women work really"

Rhaegar almost barked. "Jon, mate. I've been married seventeen years and I still don't know how they work. I don't think we're suppose to know; just treat them right and apologise for everything you do wrong even if you think you're in the right. Elia is not just my wife, she's my best friend. And we're happy as we are; I'd like my siblings to find that happiness one day. I think you're helping"

Jon nodded with smiles. "So, I passed the test then?"

"Well, mine yes"Jon's faced paled. "But I'm sure you'll hear the same spiel from Viserys and my mother"

He winked before getting out of his seat and joining Dany and Rhaella's conversation.

[visitoreconomy]

“A wonderful destination”: Jon Borschow’s visitor economy vision for Puerto Rico [Interview by Marina Reyes Franco]

Now that Jon Borschow has become the leader of the newly established Destination Management Organization in Puerto Rico, effectively phasing out the Tourism Company while simultaneously operating with public money, I feel that it’s time to publish this. What follows is an interview I conducted with Borschow on August 19, 2016.

- Marina Reyes Franco

---

Jon Borschow is late. I had scheduled an interview with the founder and president of Foundation for Puerto Rico for 9:00 am and it’s already 9:28 am. I don’t mind. By some strange coincidence, his executive assistant is an old acquaintance of mine and we are catching up. She’s making a documentary, she tells me, about the Americans who have been moving recently to Puerto Rico to take advantage of the tax incentives for businesses and investors. The whole conversation makes me feel like her project is the productive way she has found to work through the utter absurdity of meeting billionaires who were lured to Puerto Rico with promises of tax relief by Laws 20 and 22 as Puerto Rican migration to the United States increases and a 10 year strong economic depression deepens.

The space is cool and clean; glass walls divide a conference room from various small offices with empty desks. Bright orange and green hues of the shared workspace’s palette contrast sharply with the hot, humid atmosphere and barren landscape of the empty lot at the opposite side of Antonsanti Street in the neighborhood of San Mateo de Santurce. This co-working space is a sort of conceptual matryoshka; Foundation for Puerto Rico seems to be both host and guest of a space called Colaboratorio, which in turn is housed inside a mixed use building complex called Ciudadela (Citadel). Colaboratorio is described as the place where “several organizations have the opportunity to unite their ideas and resources for the development of Puerto Rico towards the future.” The open plan office is shared by seven other cultural entrepreneurship initiatives, think tanks and the organizers of a literature festival. It is a marriage of convenience between economic, urban planning, tourism and cultural interests best exemplified by the transformation of this small portion of neighborhood where Ciudadela is located.

After the opening of the Museo de Arte de Puerto Rico in June 2000, an aggressive “urban revitalization” project was carried out around the institution, evicting neighbors to develop new, more expensive apartment buildings. This elicited the wrath of the mostly Dominican neighbors, but also many more who organized legal and cultural ways to fight back and resist the evictions. Many of these efforts happened around the newly founded Museo del Barrio, a grassroots answer to the art museum behemoth down the block. After years of protests falling into deaf ears, the neighborhood was literally turned into rubble. However, local investors, developers and government officials who worked so hard to present Santurce as the urban space for artsy “young professionals” (one of the remodeled buildings in the area is called Museum Tower) didn’t succeed. Gentrification never materialized because there just isn’t enough local money to afford luxury housing, so the fenced off empty lot opposite Ciudadela endured.

First developed by local company Miramar Realty Management under the auspices of the Puerto Rico Housing Finance Authority, Ciudadela went bankrupt in March of 2011. Apparently few lined up to pay $300k for a one bedroom apartment. It was bought years later by distressed property investor and Law 20/22 recruit Nicholas Prouty’s investment firm, Putnam Bridge. After buying the property in bankruptcy court, Prouty was able to sell the apartments at a cheaper price, continue the construction of another tower and propose to turn the empty lot into a park. Fifteen years later, the promise of building a park that connects the Museum to Ciudadela is in the process of being fulfilled.

The author with Sofía Unanue, Edgardo Larregui and FPR Communications and Public Relations Specialist Ana Sánchez at the opening of the Colaboratorio headquarters in Santurce, March 17, 2015.

The first time I went to the Colaboratorio was actually to attend its opening party. After bumping into some friends on the street, I ended up attending, along with a who’s who of the collusion between non-profits, politics, American investors and a handful of artists. That night I found out about Jon Borschow, his vision for Puerto Rico and who he has been working with to achieve the goals Foundation for Puerto Rico has set for this country.

When he finally arrived for our meeting, we sat down for 30 minutes in his glass enclosed office to talk shop about the visitor economy, what it means for the future and the problematic relationship between capital and culture, which makes us “a wonderful destination.”

First of, we should establish your background. How did you become stablished as a businessman, philanthropist and become involved in non profits.

Well, my parents were from the United States. They came to Puerto Rico in 1948; they were sent because my dad was a radiological engineer. They were sent to Puerto Rico because, at that time, for the first time, there was a medical treatment for tuberculosis that was something other than putting people in sanatoriums. They could survive. As Operation Bootstrap began to have its impact, Puerto Rico’s economy began to prosper; people had jobs, people didn’t go hungry. So, I saw -because I remember the fifties- the great transition. I saw the fifties in my childhood and I saw the poverty. My father remained in the healthcare industry and, as I became involved as well, it [Borschow Hospital & Medical Supplies, now Cardinal Health PR] became one of the largest companies on the island.

You kind of semi retired but then started the foundation…

I just thought “gee, if you’re gonna be able to have all this time available, what are you gonna dedicate your life to?” I wanna dedicate my life to what I think I can be helpful in and that is the transformation of Puerto Rico into, once again, the successful, rising island and society that it had been for much of my life. I believed I had something to contribute there; I had some ideas, some vision, I had some thoughts, so I decided to establish the foundation in November of 2011, to dedicate the rest of my capabilities in my life to help transform Puerto Rico.

When I was looking to establish the foundation, I saw that Puerto Rico could no longer rely on the things that had been helping it to grow in the past. It had lost its capability to bring in manufacturing. It had lost Section 936, a system that allowed manufacturers to function in Puerto Rico with certain advantages. It was also loosing some of its growth of federal revenues for transfers and the like, so I thought “gee, we’re loosing some of our inbound liquidity and we’re consuming and importing consumer goods and services at an extraordinary rate. well over 30 billion, almost 40 billion dollars a year, which require a commitment of export of money in payment. As a businessman, I thought the math here isn’t really working for us, so we have to figure out a way, a new way to balance out the math. We’d been balancing the math maybe with borrowings, transfers and subsidies and the like, and that wasn’t gonna be sustainable. So how do we remedy the situation? We have to generate new income from outside Puerto Rico. And how do we do that? We do that by creating value for the world and, of course, monetizing that value.

At the time that we established the foundation, my idea was that we really have to do something to get Puerto Rico to look outside of the 100 x 35 miles of its dimensions and look out to the world and see that it could, in fact, create value for the world, and that could bring new income and new prosperity for Puerto Rico. That was the vision that I had at the moment that I established the foundation and we then said “well, how do we do that?” Well, clearly, we’re in the 21st century now and in the 21st century things are different. There’s a lot of things that are related to innovation, there’s a lot of value added that is not about physical goods. We have always been manufacturers of high end physical goods, and I hope we continue to do that successfully but in the 21st century, so much value is being created by doing things that are not necessarily about physical, but more virtual. Whether it’s digital content, in the arts, music, whatever. Whether it’s software, processes and expertise, services, financial and otherwise. All these different dimensions were extremely value-adding and, so this is what in fact, I said, we have to focus on. It’s what we call the 21st Century export economy, which goes beyond the physical manufacturing of goods, and then…

It’s providing services.

It’s providing services, creating new intellectual processes here and selling them; things that don’t necessarily require the physical relocation of goods. They might require the physical relocation of people, but not so much the manufacturing and exporting of goods. It’s a complement to our traditional manufacturing.

Then, I said, the second thing we have to do is we have to do something about the enormous amount of imports we have and what areas can we deal with where maybe we’re not needing to import. We began to look at that and saw there are a number of areas where imports could, in fact, be mitigated.

Like which ones?

Agriculture is an important one. Certain kinds of services that we currently import could very easily be performed here. There are certain things that we can do that we normally do outside of Puerto Rico, that people could become accustomed to…It’s almost a cultural thing, but it’s also an emphasis. In agriculture, I didn’t realize it’s the 21st Century. It’s not the old kind of agriculture. Agriculture has become technology.

Lastly we said “gee, we just happen to be fortunate that we are not just any place in the world. We’re not your average place. We are a actually a place that has remarkable assets as a destination. We have great natural beauty, we have remarkable, you know, beaches and so on. You know, we have been traditionally…this is nothing new, we have been one of the original beach and sun destinations in the world. I have ads from the 1950s where we were establishing ourselves as that. But we are much more than that. We have a culture, history, architecture…we are geographically very well situated. We’re accesible by sea and by air. Very redundantly, we have many, many flights coming in. It’s very easy for ships to come here. This is nothing new, we’re already doing this, but we also have, internally, a sophisticated physical and even digital infrastructure. We’re very sophisticated, so it’s easy to move around, it’s easy to arrange things, we have great security, we’re under the federal system. You know, all the federal agencies protect us. It’s not like being in some country were you’re kind of cringing like gee, at the next possible moment something is going to happen to me. In fact, you go to many countries and you have to go to an all inclusive resort because if you step out of the resort, what happens? You’re at risk! I’ve been to those and the security guard will not allow you to leave the resort. He says, if you leave I will report you to my manager because it’s a great risk and so on and so on. Puerto Rico is all inclusive in the sense that every single spot in Puerto Rico you can go to and you can access and not be fearful, you can move around in your own way. It’s the perfect place where people can really develop their own experiences and we have thousands of new experiences to offer. What we discovered in our research was that these experiences were in fact highly attractive to people from around the world and, furthermore, that most of the world really was unaware of Puerto Rico until a year or so ago when Puerto Rico came out of the news because of some financial problems, fiscal problems. Most people would confuse Puerto Rico with Costa Rica. Europeans, 19 out of 20 Europeans would confuse us with Costa Rica. Now they’ve heard of Puerto Rico and they think, oh well, they have financial problems. But Puerto Rico has, you know, some problems with the fiscal situation of its government, but Puerto Rico is a dynamic, extraordinary, wonderful place to live; it’s a wonderful place to live, it’s a wonderful place to experience, that I, myself, would not live anywhere else. So, I believe that we simply have to take the 95, 98% of the world that is really unaware of that, make them aware of that, and then, suddenly, our visitor economy will develop and bloom. Our visitor economy today is a 7 billion dollar component of a 69 billion dollar GNP, OK? It’s more than 10% of our economy, as we stand today. We believe that Puerto Rico’s visitor economy can grow in the next 5 years by an additional 7 billion dollars. What do we have to do? All we need is an additional 2 million visitors on top of the 3 and a half that come in now.

We just need to have people realize that there is more to do here than just lie on the beach, infinitely more, and people will in fact stay.

in El Nuevo Día you’ve also mentioned Singapore, Ireland and Israel as other countries that we should be looking at, comparing their economic growth to ours. Seeing as we have not developed our economy as theirs, which aspects of their experience are you looking at?

First of all, strategy. I’m highly respectful of the way in which Singapore has strategically looked ahead. They have implemented a whole series of strategies, one after the other, and they’re constantly planning the next strategy, and the next is pretty much planned. So even as they’re executing one strategy, they’re already preparing the next one and theorizing the third. If we look at how Singapore has grown, I’m very appreciative of their strategy and focus. The other countries you mentioned, like Ireland…Ireland has realized that you come together around a vision and you pursue it. In their case, they’ve done that wonderfully well and they’ve come from some difficulties after 2008 and they’ve turned themselves around by focusing on strategy. One of the Irish strategies -industrial is one of them, innovation and 21st Century exports is another one- but Ireland has done a remarkable job with its visitor economy, with its tourism strategy. Everyone in Ireland understands the importance and the priority of being welcoming to visitors, of finding ways that visitors feel wonderful over there and that is another things that we need to admire with Ireland.

In terms of admiration, Singapore and Ireland are wonderful in how they have turned themselves around…

Both are tech focused, as well. Tech and banking.

That is correct, and Puerto Rico has that fascinating balance between tech and being a destination. As a matter of fact, we talk about Puerto Rico as being a destination to live, to work, to play, to explore.

That’s where I wanted to go next. Do you consider the visitor economy something that’s just for the occasional visitor, or someone who comes on holiday, or is it a destination to come and live?

We believe Puerto Rico is a wonderful place to come and live. It’s bilingual… it’s just such an inspiring place to be in terms of waking up every day and seeing such beauty, having such engaging culture, and being so colorful and having wonderful architecture and historical places. We think it’s enormously attractive for people to retire, to come and live and establish their business. As a matter of fact, I just had a conversation with a young man who has a very substancial business here, from the United States, and he said to me yes, I enjoy the fact that there’s a tax advantage for me and what I’ve established. And then he took me to his conference room and said, look at the window -there’s this beautiful view of Old San Juan- THIS is why I’m here. And this is true for me, who have lived here all my life, Puerto Rico is just wonderful and special, so people can come here and they’ll find an extraordinary place to live at any stage of their life. Certainly a great place to retire as well. We’re under the protection of the United States, we’re part of the United States, and yet we have this exotic, warm, beautiful way about us. (author’s note: Puerto Rico’s relationship with the United States pretty much much abides by a 1922 Supreme Court decision in which declared it an “unincorporated US Territory…more foreign than domestic…belongs to, but, is not part of the US”)

If this is an idea of economic development that relies on foreign…people coming from abroad to invest here, and it’s not necessarily a factory, like it used to be. What is really the difference between that and companies that came here in the past to establish their sugar cane plantations, then manufacturing, pharmaceutical, and Section 936 companies? Now it’s like more about human capital; people coming with their ideas and creating their companies here to export their services, but it’s still relying on someone from abroad.

I don’t think that we have to rely on someone from abroad, but we welcome those from abroad who come and bring capital. But more important than their capital, bring ideas and innovation, and also bring their passion. We welcome that passion and welcome the opportunity to create opportunities for Puerto Ricans here. By the same footing, there are many things things that came be done by Puerto Ricans and, by the way, we consider that these people will in fact become Puerto Ricans as my parents became new Puerto Ricans back in 1948, so this whole idea of who is Puerto Rican is something that we have to look at.

So which sectors of the economy are you looking to connect people in? Because that is really the reason why the foundation exists. It’s more about helping people connect - like startups connecting with possible investors; jump-starting an investor scene. Isn’t it?

That’s right. We’re very agnostic in exactly how we intervene. For example, with medical tourism, we came up with a whole theory of medical tourism, we had an MIT study, we designed a kind of enterprise that needed to establish that and the department of economic development accepted  from us and created that whole thing and now they’re leading the effort, along with the Hospital Association. We’re very happy to be a catalyst.

So it’s like a think tank, catalyst…

We much prefer not to have to actually do the things, but we will if we have to. I’d be wonderful if we start to do them and then we find someone to finish it. That’s great because then you can move on to the next thing.

So what do you make of all these ad campaigns that we’ve had for decades that are ad campaigns for Puerto Ricans? Like “Puerto Rico lo hace mejor” (Puerto Rico does it better), “Isla Estrella” (“All Star Island”), #yonomequito (#idontquit). It’s always about lifting our morale instead of actually broadcasting what Puerto Rico is and where it is, to the world.

I think that… [stutters] We’re facing a reality that Puerto Rico, because of our economic trajectory over the last decade, has been losing people. Efforts to have people maintain a positive outlook are very important. In our case, with our foundation, we want to link that to actual economic ways forward and opportunities for people. We want people to see their growth and their opportunities within these visions and initiatives that we’re running with. What we’re going to do is to work with these multiple ad campaigns that are ongoing to link them with the hopeful and clear vision and opportunity, and then they will be reinforced.

Yes, but advertise to other people. I already live here, you know.

Puerto Rico needs to be increasingly sophisticated in the way that it brands itself and promotes itself to the world. We’re very heavily involved in that. We just did a study, which you should read. It’s 115 pages. It’s not officially announced yet, but we’ll be happy to share a draft with you and it will be announced in the next couple of weeks. It describes a little bit about how we need to go forward with this concept, the visitor economy, how we’re gonna get that 2 plus 2, or 4 plus 4, if you wish. We think that, in 10 years, 4 plus 4 is possible. So, in any event, that’s the situation and that’s what we’re really working on. We’re trying to get everyone - the government, key strategic players within the tourism industry, the general economy of the island -all the different communities, all the different regions, to see themselves within this new vision and begin to execute it.

Still from the Isla Estrella tourism campaign.

I think the broadcasting needs to be outside as well, not just to ourselves.

We have some very, very good strategies about how to engage the world. I’m not gonna go into detail right now, except to say to you that we want the world to understand what an extraordinary place Puerto Rico is, how many experiences they can have, how authentic we are, and how immersed they can become in our lives by coming and being amongst us, whether it’s for a day or a lifetime.

Since I’m in the arts sector, cultural sector. What role do you think that plays? I think it’s very significant that….I used to live around here, and I remember El Museo del Barrio, the whole push from the community and how angry they were because they were being evicted to make way for real estate development. There are certain spaces, like Ciudadela or Paseo Caribe, that are very contentious spaces, still. I know Sofía Maldonado has been doing some exhibitions in Paseo Caribe, and they’re also bringing in some other international artists….

Our mural here is a Sofía Maldonado.

I know, I know.  

If you look at this space, this Colaboratorio space, you realize that everything here is the work of Puerto Rican artists. The conference table in the next room is [made from] Capa Prieto puertorriqueño, a special wood, designed by Carlos Bobonis, a Puerto Rican. It was created by two Puerto Rican shops, okay? Everything here…The entire space was designed by a remarkable Puerto Rican architects, María Rossi and Fernando Lugo. We believe that the essence of what we are as Puerto Ricans is reflected in our art, and the attraction of the world to our art and our culture is what will make us a wonderful destination.

Okay. Well, obviously it’s almost September there’s news coming out way about who’s going to be pretty much in charge, with the Federal Fiscal Control Board appointed by President Obama and the Republican Congress. I don’t know if want to talk about predictions but how do you see the country being run from now on? What do you feel the role of the foundation is going to be? If we’re going to be so focused in the service economy, how do you see the role of the worker, who might be in a more precarious situation?

About the last part of your question, our focus on the visitor economy is intense because we believe that it will produce 70,000 new opportunities for people to either be employed in an organization or be involved in self-employment, and family or community ventures. We know there are 70,000 opportunities there for people who do not have to be specialized, highly educated people, though we welcome those as well. This is a really democratic kind of thing. We want this visitor economy to move to every bit of the island. We want to see it in Las Marías, we want to see it in Maricao, Patillas, Naguabo, Florida, all around and throughout the island! And this is why we’re so intensely convinced that this is going to be precisely for all of those people who have been left out of other opportunities. We think it’s the most democratic possible opportunity for Puerto Rico.

What do you see the role of the foundation being now that the federal Fiscal Control Board is coming to Puerto Rico? If Foundation for Puerto Rico is a think tank of ideas for our possible economic development, but we don’t know exactly what’s ahead and how long it’s going to last…

We have been involved and engaged in dialogues with political groups, social enterprises, trade associations…even labor groups. We have been involved in a whole variety of dialogues over the last years and we’ve been discussing our vision. We’ve been sharing and been hearing back; there’s been a give and take. We believe that, certainly, the leading political candidates, and their parties, as well as all the other remarkable people that are involved in candidacies -each one of them is a treasure- all those people are people that we’ve sat down for many, many hours and have shared a lot of the studies we’ve made. There’s a consensus around the importance of the visitor economy for Puerto Rico. If you listen to them speak, if you read through their platforms, you will see that it’s clearly visible and, more importantly, we’ll be working very closely with whoever will ultimately lead the island, and all the rest. We don’t want this to be a partisan thing at all. We want all Puerto Rico to be united around this.

[dylan-hague]

Chapter 36

Titans Tower. May 11th, 2018. 4:34 PM.

Damian had to admit… being on bed rest had its perks.

Don’t misunderstand, he still hated not being out in the field; not using his talents to keep Jump City clean made him feel lazy, and not being able to do so made him feel impotent. But at the very least, he was able to contribute as an extra mind back at home base, and his father and sister had come to do their part to keep Jump protected for awhile (leaving Gotham in the hands of Todd, Kelley, and the GCPD until they returned). And aside from that, Damian did enjoy being able to spend more downtime with his friends than usual; even though they kept to their regular schedules, Damian’s regimen had always been more demanding than those of the other Titans. Now that he wasn’t constantly training, he was able to enjoy time with his teammates. A movie with Jon and Jaime, television with Garfield and Tara… he even found time to talk to Kori and learn a bit more about Tamaranean culture, which he’d brushed off before rather harshly. And of course, being stuck at home also came with the added bonus of spending more time with his fiancée; Raven insisted on being by his side at almost all times, which he quietly thanked Azar for again and again. It made his predicament of being stuck in a wheelchair for the remainder of his recovery much more bearable knowing it was her wheeling him around. (Damian still couldn’t wrap his head around the decision to put him in a chair; the doctors specifically said that he was fine, that there was no serious injury aside from his concussion. But apparently, walking around the hospital revealed that he had been damaging the muscles in his back little by little with each step, so now he wouldn’t be allowed to walk again until the wounds healed completely and the stitches came out.)

Hands down, though, the best part of the experience of being stuck at the Tower was getting to FaceTime Grayson and Barbara to see how Tommy was growing. For the past three days, Damian got a call at about three in the afternoon, and when he answered his phone, there on his screen popped up the little five-week-old baby, blinking and waving his hands around, reaching for his mother’s phone. He and Raven would sit on the couch or in Damian’s bed and coo into the camera, and he and Grayson would carry on about whatever cases they had been working on lately (the debate on the ethics of this had long since been abandoned, especially considering the fact that both Red X and Nightwing had been taught by Batman that any information relating to a crime was to be shared amongst members of the family, so that they could help one another protect their respective cities). Tommy was certainly still small; Damian had been told he was on the small side as an infant, but he never realized just how small that meant. Tommy was a month old, but he still fit perfectly well into his newborn clothes… perhaps all babies were like that, but it had never occurred to Damian before. Damian had held kittens bigger than his nephew. Still, looking into those bright blue eyes every day made the frustration of his current lack of mobility much easier to bear.

And then there were days like this one. Days that felt like they were spent almost entirely in bed, his Beloved curled up next to him, eyes shut as the afternoon sun cast yellow-orange rays of light in through his window. Days that felt still, quiet. Days that made the long-term goal of retiring seem more and more appealing. After all, if he wasn’t out fighting crime all night, wouldn’t that mean more quality time he could spend with his Raven? That sounded like a dream… of course, Damian knew he could never just quit. As much as it killed to admit it, the Son of Batman knew that the people of his city depended on him. But perhaps years from now, when things were better, once the world didn’t need heroes anymore… then he could rest. But for now, Damian smiled and focused on the woman with her head on his chest, letting his mind focus on her warmth, on the rise and fall of her quiet breath. He slowly pulled her closer in his arms, taking care not to wake her as he held her close to him. This was good… this made it worth not walking for awhile.

“Mmmh…”

Damian slowly opened one eye and peeked down at the girl beside him, and blushed at the little smile that played on her lips. She shifted a bit, crawling further up the bed in her sleep and nestling her head into Damian’s neck.

“Hmmm…” Raven sighed in her sleep as her hand ran up Damian’s chest before slipping it over his shoulder. Damian just smiled and planted a quick kiss on her forehead. She looked so happy like this… he would never forgive himself if he were to accidentally–

“Oh, Tiiiiiitaaaaaaaans~!”

… That bastard.

Raven groaned, pulling the covers over her head as Damian reached for his phone on the nightstand. “Make him go awaaaay…” the witch-girl whined groggily. Damian’s brow furrowed as he slid his mask back on and held the phone up to his face.

“What do you want, Riddler?” Red X growled.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! Did I mistakenly interrupt anything important?” Nygma’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “And please, PLEASE tell me you actually sleep with your mask on. That is so you.”

“Shut up and get on with your stupid riddle, Nashton,” Damian barked.

“Okay, one? Rude.” Riddler’s voice suddenly became harsh, angry. “Two, don’t EVER call me that. You call me Nygma or Riddler. Eddie Nashton is dead. And third, I’ll give you my riddles on my OWN schedule, when I decide I want you to be stumped. You’re very lucky that right now happens to be one of those times.”

“Look, I’m in the middle of recovering from surgery right now. I’m sort of stuck in a wheelchair for the time being, so forward your stupid game to Red Robin. He’s filling in for me.”

“O-oh. Oh? Well… that’s unfortunate.” His face was still concealed, but Damian swore he could practically hear Riddler frowning. “My puzzles require you to be able to move around Jump City. Given that that’s the case, I have to be able to challenge you physically in order to challenge you mentally. And if I can’t properly challenge you physically, then there’s no point to the challenges I’ve put together for you!”

“Look, just…” Damian rubbed his eyes in frustration, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I know you can get into contact with Red Robin. Just pose all your challenges to him, he’s here subbing for me. Okay? I need to get back to sleep. The sooner I get healed, the sooner I can get back to my job…”

“But I wasn’t planning on beating Red Robin until after you! This is all wrong!!” Damian could detect the panic in Riddler’s voice.

“Look, I’m… sorry? I guess? But I’m not going anywhere for awhile. Just… deal with it.” Damian hit the end call button, dropping the phone back onto his nightstand as Raven’s head crept out from underneath the blanket.

“Damian…?”

“Yeah, Raven?”

“… being a superhero sucks.”

“… Yeah, it does.”

The witch-girl slowly lifted her head up and stared blankly at the glass walk at the far end of the room. She raised a lazy hand, and the curtains pulled themselves shut, blocking out the late-day sunbeams. Damian grinned as Raven brought herself back down over him, wrapping her arm back around his neck. She’d best take care, or she was going to slip out of the hero habit. But one more day of lazing around in bed wouldn’t hurt anyone, would it? He put his arms around her waist, and decided to himself that no, it wouldn’t hurt anyone at all. In fact, Raven could use the break after everything going on recently with his injury, and helping train Jonathan, and the false Red X. She’s been working so hard lately, she needed to rest a bit; she hardly ever took any personal time. Barring his family, he hadn’t seen someone so dedicated to what they do since…

“… Oh crap, that’s it.”

…

Tim chuckled as he darted across the training room, narrowly evading Jon’s heat vision as he ran circles around the fourteen-year-old. He was happy to help train the new Titans as best he could, but this? This was just fun. Apparently, Superman’s son trains by getting really mad. And if there was anything Dick taught him about being a Robin, it was how to piss people off. The kid was fast, sure, maybe even faster than a speeding bullet. But Tim knew how to distract, keep Jon’s eyes off him, even in the open space of the training room. He was getting better, almost managed to slice through Tim’s cape a minute ago, but he still had a lot to learn; Jon let his heat control his actions, affect his judgment. He needed to learn to use his head.

“STAND STILL SO I CAN BLAST YOU, YA DUMB BIRD!!” Jon yelled as he whipped his head around, firing another burst of heat from his eyes that just barely singed Red Robin’s hair. Tim’s eyes widened as he  arced through the air, and he almost hesitated as he lighted on the floormat. But Tim was nothing if not a quick thinker, and he realized it was probably time to go on the offensive.

“Come on, short stack! You’re getting carried away, that’s dangerous!” the former Titan jeered as he began to serpentine his way closer to Jon. He reached into his belt and quickly equipped his set of red knuckles–he knew Kryptonite was going to be the only way he’d be able to turn this around without those bulky suits of armor Bruce had designed, but Tim had no intention of killing the kid. After a quick front flip over Jon’s head (for style points; Steph was watching, after all), Tim dropped into stance and threw a jab at the boy’s face. Jon quickly shifted out of the way, throwing his own hands up and moving into the offensive. He fought like a boxer once his powers were gone–Damian had no doubt been teaching him a thing or two. The kid was quick, bobbing and weaving in and out of Tim’s range like a moth dancing around a candle. But Red Robin just smirked and closed the gap, throwing a few more shots Jon’s way. One punch caught the little guy right in the side, and he dropped for just a second. Tim saw the opportunity, and raised his hands over his head to bring the hammer down and wrap this fight up, but Jon recovered just in time, and a loud CRACK sounded through the room as Superboy connected a fierce uppercut to Tim’s jaw, sending the human flying across the room and leaving a sizable crack in the wall. At this point Starfire, who was observing from the sidelines, decided that was enough for today, and moved in to calm Jon down.

“That’s enough, Jonathan!!” Kori shouted, locking her arms around the hybrid alien. Jonathan struggled in her arms for a moment before sucking in several heated breaths through grit teeth. “Calm down, it’s alright! You’re okay, Jonny…”

“Don’t call me Jonny…” Jon hissed. “Don’t call me… hah… hahh… huhhhhhh…”

“Sorry…” Kori whispered, stroking the youngest Titan’s hair. “I won’t do it again, okay?”

Jon nodded as the red glow faded from his eyes, and his body relaxed. “Mm… M'kay, I… I’m good…”

“There you are, little one…” the Tamaranean cooed as she squeezed Jon gently. “You’re okay now.”

“M'kay…”

Tim wiped the sweat from his brow, and grinned up at the camera where he knew Stephanie was looking back at him. “How’d we do, babe?”

“Not bad T, but don’t get cocky!” Spoiler’s voice crackled over the intercom. “You did pretty good to, Jonno! Real crash stuff there!”

Jon slowly sank to the floor in exhaustion. “Thanks Ms. Stephanie… I’m doin’ my best…”

“Whoa… Tim, you better get up here. Bruce is back, and… you just need to get up here.”

Tim paused for a brief moment before walking out of the Training Room and heading for the Security Office. Steph seemed really worried over the intercom, which worried Tim. Was it about Damian’s recovery, or something else?

As Tim stepped into the Security Office, he was greeted by Bruce’s grimacing face… and Talia’s. Tim wasn’t expecting, but his brother’s mother stood there looking back at him. And… oh crap, she was wearing a new uniform. Black suit, grey cloak, claws… some kind of blade on her right hand? What is this??

“… Bruce, what is this?”

Bruce let out a growl under his breath. “Damian thinks he’s figured out who the fake X is. Turns out, she’s got incredibly close ties to the al Ghuls… so we’re bringing in Talia to hunt her down.”

Tim nodded slowly. “Okay… so what do we call her?”

Talia pulled on her mask and hood. “You may call me…” she hissed through her voice modulator. “… Phantasm.”

[janeykath318]

Enterprise Models 8

Jenna woke up to the sound of two voices arguing heatedly, which grated on her throbbing head. With a wince, she opened her eyes to find herself lying on a couch in the lobby of the hotel she'd been staying at--a lobby that was suspiciously empty. "You told me you were retired, Jon!! That I wouldn't be dragged into any more of your dangerous business! When will the lies ever stop?" Pike was furious as he paced up and down the carpet, nice suit gone and dress shirt splattered with what appeared to be blood. In an instant, she remembered everything: going undercover at the Paris Fashion Week, stealthily sneaking evidence out under her clothes, getting discovered by a henchman, and fighting for her life, then used as bait to catch the rest of them. Nero, however, had no idea how thoroughly he'd been infiltrated and just how many "models" were actually agents in disguise. Carol and Bones had speedily rescued her from Ayel as Hikaru, Gaila, Spock and Uhura took care of Nero himself. Somehow, in the last desperate struggle of the corrupt Romulans, she must have been knocked out. How annoying! She'd missed the fun part. She'd wanted to grind her stiletto heel into Nero's face as she told him whose daughter she was. "Hey, guys," she spoke up, "you think you could tone it down a bit? My head hurts." Archer instantly was at her side, checking her over with great concern. Pike whirled around and looked like he wanted to join Jon, but hung back. "How are you doing, Kirk? That was a bit of a nasty knock you took." "Aside from a sore head and some bruises, not too bad I think," she replied, carefully testing her limbs. Nothing felt broken. Whew. Bones wouldn't yell at her this time. He always got riled up when she was hurt, but he was surprisingly absent at the moment. "Did we get him?" She asked her boss, referring to Nero. He smiled and nodded. "We sure did," he confirmed, "you guys were amazing as usual. Great Job, Kirk." "Where's Bones?" was the next question out of her mouth and Archer looked at Chris before he answered her. "He's at the hospital getting checked out. Got grazed by a shot during the scuffle. Carol's with him." "Oh. Well, as long as he's alright," she sighed. "Is Chris pretty mad? I feel bad for deceiving him." "Yes, I'm upset," Chris put in, still looking steamed. "Half of my employees were lying to me, including you. Tell me, was the flirting all part of your act?" Jenna flushed. She couldn't blame him for thinking that, and yes, she felt awful about deceiving him, but her lips had been sealed. Archer gave her an exasperated look and rubbed his forehead at this additional complication. "No, it wasn't Chris," she spoke up. I know you won't believe me, but I really do like you a lot. I would have come clean, if I wasn't under strict orders not to. By the way, you weren't hurt, were you?" He shook his head. "Nope. I wasn't an agent for twenty years for nothing, Ms. Kirk. I know how to get out of the way." It was Jenna's turn to gape: first at Chris then at Jon. "Really? That's how you know each other?" Her actual boss nodded. "Then how did you never mention him to me? And how did you not figure out who we really were?" She asked, pointing a finger at first Jon, then Chris, as she asked the pertinent questions. "He doesn't want it brought up." Archer said with a grimace. " "I did have suspicions about Spock and Sulu, but never you, probably because of that Kirk charm you got from your dad--a great ACTOR. I should have known." Chris shook his head, still looking hurt. "Jon told me after I walked away from the FBI that he wouldn't drag me back in. I'm done with that life. It took everything I had to give." He looked down at her, stress showing in his face. "You just about had me hook, line, and sinker, Jenna." Jenna's heart sank at the cool tone in his voice and plummeted further when he would hardly look at her. She'd messed up badly this time and she regretted it, but she wondered what had happened to make Chris turn his back on his former career so completely. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to have a talk with my other pseudo employees." He stalked off and Jenna slumped in defeat. "He'll cool off, Jenna." Archer tried to assure her. "He's mostly mad at me. Chris hates it when people aren't straight with him, but he usually forgives us." "Usually, but he knows you better. I'm afraid we'd just started to really click when Paris happened." "In what way?" Archer asked, with a please-don't-tell-me look in his eyes. "I thought he'd be a good mentor for you, but the way he talked, it doesn't sound like that happened." "Nope" Jenna admitted. "I'm kind of--compromised when it comes to him." Archer closed his eyes and shook his head. "Not again, Jenna. How many Times have I told you not to mix business with pleasure? And the man's twice your age! You told me you didn't go for older guys, anyway." "Not usually," she muttered, face flaming again. "But he's not just any older guy and I couldn't help myself. We seemed to really connect somehow. He's so smart and sharp and sexy." Archer tried to hide a snort of disbelief at this description of his good friend and former partner. "Oh, Jenna," he chuckled. "What I wouldn't give to have seen his face when you were dialing up the charisma on him. Chris claims to be impervious to the fairer sex, which I know to be complete bull crap." Jenna sat up gingerly, head spinning a bit, but she wanted to see her teammates before she rested. "It's a moot point now," she sighed. "Can I get out of here now? I'd like to see Bones and debrief with the others." "We're getting a new place set up for that," he told her. "Spock and Uhura will meet us at the hospital so we can get you checked out and see McCoy. I'm afraid the reports for this are going to be substantial." Jenna grimaced. "Of course. I'm so glad we finally got him, boss." "Me too, Kirk, me too." Archer agreed. But Jenna's joy at the success of finally catching her father's killer had a bitter aftertaste, with the memory of the look on Chris's face. She hoped he'd give her a chance to show the way she felt for him was FAR from fake.

[sw124]

[Lamia-Birdy-Bitty Daily life!14]

/Pro-Revenge/p3

Hello my Lamia lovers how are you all doing, good I hope...well everyone this is gonna be the finale you’ve all been waiting for. I forgot to mention in my last posts, yes I know Covid-19 is running like wildfire right now but the funeral just shy of the shutdown so no worries. Unfortunately this little update to the story happened after the outbreak, I warn you this is gonna be sad, it mentions death yet again so please those with sensitive bitties do not read it to them.

Without further a due, lets begin.

Leaving off with Rosie treating me and all my babies out to a nice dinner, it was at Ryo Coast. Got to see Juan again but sadly no Virgil, though he was excited to see my birdie boys. We had a wonderful time eating sushi, watching Juan do his spatula flipping tricks and simply enjoying each others company. Phthalo came with us too, I always love seeing him with Rosie, especially how he dotes on her.

I’m pretty sure she needed this more then me...

We got back later in the evening, I was about to turn to tell my boys to unbuckle from their seats [Rosie drove us] when Rosie took my arm and asked me to stay in the car with her. Needless to say I was confused but did as she asked, so we sat there for at least a few minutes before she started talking.

Rosie told me she wanted me to know the story between her and her sons, though she appreciated I didn’t pry into her business it was about time she told me the situation. Years ago, way before I was even a thought in the mind of my own parents Leo and Rosie started up a small grocery store for the people in their hometown. They weren’t rich, far from it in fact, they were somewhat struggling in the beginning. But Leo and Rosie were content with that, they were pretty simple people.

Their boys however were not, as years went by and they grew up the boys began resenting their parents for not giving them a better lifestyle. The two of them did their best in raising them but when those two turned 18 they just left for collage. Paid for by stealing the nest egg Rosie and Leo had used for the store, they didn’t realize it until a fire started in the store, sadly they also lived within the same building and they not only lost their business but their home as well.

The nest egg was for in case something like this happened but with it gone they had nothing to rebuild from; thank goodness for human compassion and kindness. Their community came together and helped them out, a friend of theirs bought up the property where their shop burnt down, turned it into a cafe and let them work there to earn money. After a while they saved up enough to rent a small apartment, this went on for a few years before something really changed their lives. She didn’t say what but I figured they were offered high paying jobs somewhere else and took them.

I mentioned that and she gave me a playful shrug, saying ‘you could say that’ and continued with the story. She went on about how she and Leo enjoyed their work, got plenty of money and saved it up. She then told me they bought the house near my apartment for the sake of retirement, she told me she found out where her sons had gone. They were working as executives of some random companies in California, they found out about this from some of their nieces and nephews. They married, each having two kids; all daughters and worst of all had never since told the grandkids of their existence.

At least not until recently.

None of them had any contact until recently, she told me that her son’s weren’t going to attended unless they were getting money out of it. What made her sad was they considered them to be burdens in their lives....she spared me any other details which I understood. Leo left them a little money but the rest of it went to the grand nieces and grand nephews as collage tuition for their own futures. As for the sons they just left when they got what they came for, I have to say I was pretty close to screaming in anger at that point but held it in check.

She started telling me about how a little after the fire is when she and Leo took in Phthalo and well the rest is history. I sat there in that warm car while our boys were asleep in the back, it took me a while to process this information but in the end....I took Rosie’s hand and thanked her for telling me everything.

So we sat there for a while, just...enjoying the company of one another. From time to time I’d look in the back seat at the sleeping serpents and fizzled out fouls hehe. At least I had these guys, after a little while I take my boys home.

Then the shutdown happened, everyone was stuck inside and not allowed to travel anywhere. Not a problem for me but for Rosie it was hard, she’s such a social butterfly. Thank goodness for Phthalo and my boys, they head over to hang out in her yard. Things were ok for a while but...when the shutdown ended something happened.

No Rosie didn’t contract Covid, she started getting visitors; why is it bad? These visitors were not the kind she wanted, they were her granddaughters from her two selfish sons. They showed up and started trying to shove her out of her own home, apparently the girls wanted a place of their own so they began badgering Rosie to go into a nursing home. Bless her for being strong willed, not to mention having someone to back her up secretly. I had gotten the numbers of some of her family in case something happened.

It was during one of these visits by the granddaughters that....Rosie had her accident. She fell down the stairs, instead of calling for help the girls just left her there. Phthalo came banging at my back door for my help, poor Rosie had a broken hip.

I...don’t wanna go into details but when Rosie was in the hospital for her hip she got very sick and was in critical condition. I worried not just for her but for Phthalo, I got to talk to her via FaceTime and told her if anything happened I’d take Phthalo in. [I already talked it over with my boys, they’d be ok with it if push came to shove] She told me not to worry cause she already planned to have Phthalo adopted by someone in the neighborhood, a friend of theirs whom Phthalo trusts. You have no idea what a relief that was to me.

While she was in the hospital I called Rodger and Betty, they’ve been watching the house for her. Though I was happy they were watching the house for Rosie I still was worried for her health, I called her a few times via FaceTime and so far things are going ok....

But then I got a call from Betty, Rosie had passed on during the night. I was a wreck for a good four hours, bless my boys for being there for me.

It was later...bout a month after her passing she had a funeral, overseen by Rodger and Jon. I couldn’t attend due to covid but Betty came and stayed at my apartment to mourn with me and my boys. We both needed consoling and its nice she was there for me.

It was later something happened....

After Betty and I made some lunch man in a sharp black suit came, I remembered him from Leo’s funeral. He was followed by Rodger and Jon. They all sat down in my living room, apparently this was the reading of Rosies will.

The Lawyer started with Phthalo being moved to his new home by Rodger; already done. Then the house was given to Jon who would over see its care and lastly was me, everyone was looking at me when the lawyer passed me a envelope. It was one of those lovely invitation envelopes. I opened it and pulled out a hand written letter...it read as follows. [S4 is not my name but i’m protecting my identity]

Dear, S4

I’m writing this to you because I feel this would help you understand my decision. You’ve been such a sweet neighbor to my husband and I, always bringing your sweeties to play or help us with little things. You never once asked for a reward or recognition, Leo had always saw you as a member of the family. I know you will not accept monetary gifts but I urge you to make this acceptation, a large bulk of my savings have been shared to family and donated to charity. The last bit is for you along with some other things, I want you to know my dear how happy you made me, Phthalo and my husband Leo, from the bottom of our hearts Thank you.

Sincerely

Rosie.

I look in the envelope to find a check....I won’t divulge the amount but it was more then I could have believed. I bursted into tears and nearly choked on my own sobs, I tried to make sense of it until Betty patted my back. Then told me something that threw me into a loop.

Betty: Rosie and Leo won the lottery back in the day, its what got them out of poverty. They pretended to have gotten better jobs and retired to keep the boys off their back.

Now...it made sense, everything made sense. Their house, their hobbies, an some other things. But now I was worried about the threat the boys had given me and I made that known, Rodger smiled and patted my hand. Everyone assured me that won’t happen, Rosie had disowned the boys and cut them from her will. If anything all they got left was a warehouse full of junk that Leo didn’t want.

So thats sorta the end, heh well I should mention the two sons were having financial trouble and were hoping on Rosie’s money to get them out. But since her money was gone they had gone bankrupt and lost every little dime, so if they did sue me they wouldn’t have money to pay for any lawyer. That and they had no idea their mother left me anything.

I used the money to pay for a year of rent and put the rest in savings. So everyone thats the story, revenge with a side of love.

[for information on Lamia’s please contact @vex-bittys and for bird bitties please contact @coalition-aviary-bitty-adoption , I’m gonna rest a little bit before posting another daily life]