❛ ”She won’t be brought around your other kids. She won’t be dragged into whatever circus you’re running. She’s Alexandria Conti. That’s it. ❜
CONTENT INCLUDES: terminal illness mentioned (cancer), discussion of death, emotionally heavy conversations, edie falco as silvia i love her as carmela, logan roy being a demented prick per usual
wc: 1.5k
Surprisingly, Silvia Conti didn't immediately lose it when the doctor revealed she was now dying. First, she asked how long she had left. Then she asks what still works, and then what doesn't. She listens quietly, clenching and unclenching her fists, silently afraid but willing to accept that this time next year — she won't be here.
When she leaves the office, she sits in her car for a beat with the engine off, hands resting on the wheel, gazing off to the brick wall in front of her. She thinks of her sweet little six-year-old, whose school pickup she'd missed to come to this hellhole. About the book she's going to read to her tonight. About how the word terminal sounds so venomous for something that feels like no more than a dull, persistent pressure under her ribs.
She doesn't think of herself and how she's slowly but surely ticking away. She thinks of her Alexandria. Silvia had always known there'd be a moment in her life where she'd have to make a decision that others wouldn't understand. This is the clearest example of it, she doesn't believe in miracles or asking twice. You line things up properly, you see an opportunity, and you take it.
Or you can leave a mess behind. That's the rule.
She waits a week before she calls Logan Roy, not out of fear, but because she knows she must be precise with what she's about to say and ask. When she does call, she calls his office, of course an assistant would answer. Silvia had been demoted from a personal connection a while ago, she was well aware, but nevertheless she gives her name once and waits a minute. Logan's voice crackles through, impatient as ever yet slightly suspicious.
“You don’t call me unless you want something.” he says.
Thank God he couldn’t see her smile, he was always good at recognising her patterns.
“I won’t take long,” she replies. “I need to see you.”
He can be heard exhaling, sharply. “I’m busy.”
“So am I.” Silvia persists calmly. “This is important.”
A beat passes. It doesn’t take a genius to know Logan didn’t like being told that, even less when he believed it.
“Where.’
“Le Bernardin. I’ll be alone, as will you. Goodbye Logan.”
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Le Bernardin is everything she expects it to be: quiet, expensive and indifferent. The sort of place where nothing personal or emotional is meant to happen, which is precisely why she chose it. She arrives early, orders wine she doesn’t even think to touch, and smooths her coat over her lap until her hands can finally still. Logan is late, as expected considering he didn’t enjoy meeting to have a conversation about something he was completely clueless of. Once he arrives, he doesn’t apologise nor does he sit right away either. He just stands beside the table with his jacket still on, his brow furrowed , looking down at her as if she was a scandal he meant to sweep away a while ago.
“You look fine.” he says.
Silvia lets out a humorless laugh, twisting the stem of her wine glass. “Uh-huh. Sit.”
He pulls the chair back and sits, finally, agitation already visible on his face. “I’m not here for a chat.”
“No, you’re not.” She says evenly.
She doesn’t rush after that, letting the silence stretch on long enough to further irritate him. Logan had always preferred people he could make scramble with a simple sentence, yet she’d never learned that habit. Silvia takes time to fully look at him. His hair now fully greyed as she’d seen in photos, thinning a bit. His wrinkles set in an even deeper scowl, she lets her line of vision drop down to his right hand on the table. A new wedding band gleamed back at her tauntingly, she knew he’d put his hand there purposely. It hadn’t been there the last time she saw him up close. Not when she told him she was pregnant and that she wasn’t asking him for anything except distance. Alas, she attempted to pay it no mind and looked back at his face. He opened his mouth to probably make a demand, yet she beat him to it.
“I’m dying.” She delivered the news as deadpan as she could. “It’s cancer. Ovarian. It’s terminal.”
For a mere second, Logan stills. He knew he’d be ambushed and tried to rack his brain for any reason Silvia of all people would demand a meeting yet out of all possible outcomes this one hadn’t been a main contender. His jaw tightens, his eyes sharpen.
“Yeah well doctors are wrong all the fuckin’ time.” He denies.
Silvia’s heart clenches at this, she’d like to think she understood Logan’s way of living. The psychological armor he’d put up from God knows what he’d been through. He was a lethal businessman, closed deals like they were lightwork, to see him deny something this way caught her a bit off guard.
“I got three opinions,” she confirms. “They all said the same thing.”
In a twisted way, that logic seems to satisfy him more than comfort ever could. He curtly nods once.
“And how long.”
“Long enough that I’m pulling strings and moving things in place. But short enough that I’m not pretending.”
Logan nods again, then he finally acknowledges the topic hanging between them.
“And the kid.”
Silvia huffs a quiet laugh at that. ‘The kid’. He doesn’t address her by her name, not as our daughter, just as another problem he needs to categorise.
“She’s staying with my mother,” Silvia nods. “Her grandmother moved in with us already. She’ll be in the same house, same school. Alexandria’s settled.”
Logan leans back from the table, eyes narrowing. ”So you’ve got it handled.”
“Part of it, yes.”
“Then why the fuck am I here.”
Silvia meets his gaze without blinking. “Because she’s yours. And I won’t leave her exposed.”
Logan catches the relief that springs out as she speaks.
“She won’t take your name.” She continues. ”She won’t be brought around your other kids. She won’t be dragged into whatever circus you’re running. She’s Alexandria Conti. That’s it.
His expression hardens, “You don’t get to fuckin’ dictate terms as if-”
“I can.” Silvia cuts in, calm but sharper now. “Because you won’t be raising her, I don’t trust you to do so.”
That stops him, which only urges her to continue.
“I’m asking you to make sure she’s secure. School and college. A roof over her head if something were to happen to my mother Madonna mia. Enough money that she never has to ask whether she costs too much.
Logan pinches at his nose bridge, “So what, you want me to spoil her with a chunky trust fund is that it?”
“I want stability.” Silvia shrugs as she leans back. “Call it whatever if it helps you sleep at night.”
“You could’ve asked for more.”
“Mhm.”
A moment passes.
“But I’m asking for exactly enough.”
“Fuck, you show up after all these years.” Logan snaps, irritation finally breaking through, ”and now you’ve got your hand out.”
Silvia’s jaw tightens, just a little. She knew this is where she had to let herself sharpen or he was going to chew her alive.
“Listen to me,” she hisses quietly. “I didn’t come to you at all before because I didn’t want my angel involved in the house of quiet violence you’ve built for yourself over there in the city. I’m here now because I don’t get to enjoy the luxury of pride, not when I have to be a mother first. Bastard.”
That lands.
“You can’t keep her from me,” Logan says.
Typical Logan. She thought. Only taps into fatherhood when convenient for a play.
“I just won’t push her toward you, Capisce? If she wants answers, she can ask you herself. I refuse to sell her a fairytale.”
“And does she know who I am?”
“She knows you exist,” She says. “That’s sufficient.”
That somehow unsettles him more than anger would have. Silvia stands before he can redirect the conversation, before he can turn it into something else. She picks up her coat, her bag.
“You don’t have to see her.” She adds. “And you don’t have to love her, I wouldn’t subject her to that. You just have to make sure the world can’t hurt her when I’m gone.”
Silvia’s throat begins to tighten and she swiftly turns around, Logan’s voice stopping her in her tracks.
“She won’t be weak.”
But he wasn’t reassuring her, that was his condition from his side of the deal. This makes her turn back around slowly, to look at him — Logan Roy, the man who mistakes fear for strength.
“She isn’t. And she won’t be, Alexandria’s not built that way.” She says, quiet and final.
And with that Silvia Conti steps out from the room and out the hotel. The cold winter air nipping at her face, yet consoled by the certainty that her daughter won’t ever be unaccounted for.
A/N: and it's ouuuuuuuuuuuut !!!!! a huge ass thank you and dedication to @killerkendallroy, she's been a literal sweetheart and motivated me so hard and discussed this through with me. TO BE CLEAR, as the reader you are alexandria. specific features/ skin tones won't be described since i wanna be as inclusive as i can to all. i'm excited for you to read on this journey with me as this is my fic and english IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE and i will try have my drafts proofread for you guys. anyways hope you enjoyed !
taglist: @thrtorturedpost @nichemint @killerkendallroy @cru3lfools (love u guys already #ogs)
credit for the gif divider goes to @uzmacchiato !!
I got a bone to pick with some of you smut writers: why do you make the reader "mewl" or "whimper"???? On top of that, sometimes yall love making the reader a weak ass insecure bitch "He had experience before which makes me jealous because the women he's been with are sexy and beautiful and mature and I'm none of these things and I'm so insecure" girl sybau. And writers? Do better.
Cassie talks with her brother in her childhood home, learning her family's deepest, darkest secret.
wc: 5.5k
cw: language, canon typical violence, shitty family things, drug use, cannot stress the canon typical violence enough
a/n: i apologize for any pain this chapter brings in advance
series masterlist | masterlist
ON HER WAY out of Wayne Tower, Cassie told Alfred she needed to go water her houseplants.
It was a weak excuse and she knew it. Alfred seemed to know too, but Alfred being Alfred, he didn’t press. He simply gave her a long, knowing look and a gentle nod. Despite something behind his eyes flickering with worry, he let her go without question.
Cassie felt the weight of his gaze long after she left Wayne Tower.
From the moment she left Wayne Tower, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. While she, unfortunately, was used to people following her around, something about this feeling was more sinister than usual. That creeping, electric itch under her skin made her feel like she was being hunted. On the drive over, she gripped the steering wheel so hard her fingers cramped, her neck strained from how often she was checking her mirrors and blindspots. By the time she parked in the Montclair Tower garage, her palms were sweaty. Her fingers trembled as she twirled her keys, the other hand gripping her phone like a lifeline.
The hair on the back of her neck somehow raised higher when she stepped into the lobby. While no place in Montclair Tower was particularly loud, it was eerily quiet now. The silence felt like a trap—no receptionists, no staff, not even a janitor buffing the marble floors. Just a lone security guard who barely looked up as she walked past. She scurried to the elevator and pretended not to be aware of how loud her breathing sounded.
Graham lived in the penthouse at the top of Montclair Tower. They had both lived there as children back when it had belonged to her father. Her grandfather, the first of the three Christopher Montclairs, had built a shabby place to crash in the tower for when he didn’t want to go all the way back to the family manor. After he retired and passed ownership to his son, her father gutted the modest apartment and the executive suite then built the penthouse at the top of Montclair Tower. He had liked drinking his Scotch while looking down on the entire city, thinking about the money and power he had. Besides, living in the same tower that housed his company meant he had twenty-four hour access to the building, even on holidays. Whenever her father died, the penthouse went to Graham with the promotion. It was now another dumb family tradition they had, one that Cassie didn’t mind missing out on. She liked not living in her father’s home and having her own space away from the company.
After punching in the code, the elevator dinged open with a sharp tone that made her flinch. Cassie didn’t think she had ever heard the penthouse so quiet.
“Gray?” she called, her voice catching.
Nothing. Cassie stepped in the landing cautiously, each footstep too loud on the hardwood floors. The stillness of the penthouse was heavy against her ribs. She could almost taste it, the silence almost metallic.
“Gray, I’m here,” she said, her voice echoing in the gallery.
No answer again. Surely he should have been around if he asked to meet with her so urgently, right? Whenever she walked down the hall to the great room in hopes that she would find him there, she stopped cold.
It was wrecked.
Papers were strewn across the floor and coffee table, drawers yanked halfway out, files upturned like someone had been searching for something and didn’t care who saw. Cassie’s breath caught in her throat. Never once had she ever found a space of Graham’s a mess. While he normally had maids to help him keep his spaces tidy, Graham had always been neat, even when drunk. Whatever she was looking at now wasn’t drunk. This was desperation.
Graham was sat on the couch, sorting through the papers he had obviously been so desperate to find. He was so focused he hadn’t even heard her calling for him. The opened bottle of whiskey and half-drank glass beside him didn’t help her nerves.
“Graham, what the fuck, dude?” she said as she moved to stand in front of him, though the tremor gave her away.
His head snapped up, eyes wide and dark-rimmed, pupils blown. The bottle of whiskey on the table was half-empty, the glass beside it half-drunk. When she saw his face, something twisted in her stomach. Sweat glistened along his temples, eyes dark-rimmed and pupils blown wide. His hands shook so badly she thought he must be sick.
“You said you wanted to talk,” she said carefully. “What is so important that you couldn’t just tell me over the phone?”
He glanced up, voice hoarse. “Cass… I—before I say anything, I need you to see something first.”
“If this is about a work thing, I’m literally gonna fucking kill you.”
“No—just… please, Cass. Come sit.” He patted the space beside him on the couch.
Cassie hesitated, eyes darting to the papers. She had spent years learning how to read filings and documents and knew exactly how to sort through a maze of corporate jargon and spreadsheets, and yet something in Graham’s demeanor made her uneasy. She sat slowly, wary, and he poured two fingers of whiskey into the empty glass on the table.
“Here, drink this.”
“I’m good,” she said as she sat down next to him, still scanning the stacks of documents with wide eyes.
“Have it,” he insisted, a tremor running through his voice. “You’re gonna want it. Promise.”
She hesitated. She wasn’t really a fan of whiskey. Despite that, she took the glass from him and took a sip, the familiar burn hitting her throat.
Without anymore argument, Graham slid the stack of documents in her direction. She picked up the top folder and began flipping through, her fingers stiff with tension. Most of the papers she read were shipment logs, cost reports, inventory forms, chemical compound sheets: standard and mundane paperwork she had seen hundreds of times. She didn’t find anything unfamiliar until she found a thick packet, the first paper stamped with a red CONFIDENTIAL on top.
Cassie froze.
She glanced at Graham like she expected him to say something, like he would snatch the papers out of her hands and tell her, Actually, don’t touch that, it’s not for you, like he normally would, but he didn’t. Instead, he averted his gaze back down and took another swig of his whiskey. With that, she swallowed hard and continued reading, scanning line after line of the current page she was on.
She couldn’t understand what was so confidential about the packet that she didn’t already know about it. At first, it read like corporate filler. Long lists of pharmaceuticals, all of them at least somewhat familiar. She had signed off on stuff just like this before. As she read further, something shifted. Unlike the paperwork she would sign off on, there were discrepancies and Graham’s handwritten notes in the margins. The product she was looking at currently was a methamphetamine. They didn’t have much of it compared to some of their other drugs, but they supplied it to pharmacies across the country.
Cassie vaguely remembered something about one of their methamphetamine shipments having an issue just after Graham had been promoted. She remembered that a distributor had brought it to a board member’s attention, that about one third of the boxes were missing but the product itself was accounted for. She hadn’t thought much about it then, but remembered that it had come up in a board meeting in reference to customer satisfaction and loss prevention. Whenever the board member had asked Graham about it, he had said that he would handle it. Whatever this was must have been the solution.
On the next pages were instructions for “alternate” delivery routes. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion—what the fuck? While she typically spent more of her time with their R&D department and with consumers directly, she had never heard of an alternate delivery route, at least not one like this. She didn’t recognize any of these distributors either. Then she noticed the shipments that bypassed their standard logs. One blacked out name kept recurring in loops. One word on the page hit her like a gunshot, her heart immediately turning cold.
Safrole.
Her stomach turned at the sight of the seven letter word. Safrole was illegal to synthesize in the United States, never mind distribute. He knew as well as she did that safrole was rooted in ecstasy creation. What the hell was he doing making safrole and giving it to people?
She flipped to the next page without thinking, then the next, then the next, a wave of nausea sweeping over her. Fentanyl. Codeine. Hydrocodone. Every goddamn drug she could think of that they manufactured made an appearance in the document. Some had the names of other illegal drugs written around them both in Graham and her father’s handwriting, others just circled in ink. More marked with shorthand codes she didn’t understand. There were pages and pages, years’ worth of data leading her to one possible conclusion: her family had been trafficking drugs.
What the fuck did you do?
She threw the file back down on the coffee table and stood from the couch, taking her whiskey with her and downing the rest of it in one go. He was right—she really had needed the whiskey.
“Cassie, say something.”
Say something? What the fuck was she supposed to say? Her brother and apparently their father had built their company on lies. She didn’t know whether to be angry, horrified, upset—waves of emotion hit her all at once.
“You’re fucking with me,” she finally managed to say, not believing her own statement.
“I really wish I was,” Graham said softly, his elbows digging into his knees, shoulders hunched like he was carrying a weight too big to set down.
She shook her head. “This… no. This isn’t right, I mean—”
“Can we skip the denial part and jump to you yelling at me?” he asked. When he saw the look on her face, he averted his gaze nervously. “I’m sorry. I just… I don’t want to lie to you anymore. You deserve to know the truth.”
“The truth?” Cassie barked out a short, sharp laugh. “What that we… That our… our whole company is just a front for a drug empire?” Her voice rose as she spoke, cracking under the strain. “God, I can’t even fucking look at you right now.”
His jaw flexed, the muscle ticking once before he whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Cassie scoffed. “Bullshit.”
“I didn’t,” he said, firmer this time. “Not until Dad died. Someone… came to me and explained all this.”
She stared. “Who?”
“I can’t say. I won’t.”
She blinked, numb. “What, so now you’re choosing to protect me?”
His head snapped, almost like something she had said offended him. “That’s all I’ve ever done.”
She shook her head, tears already blurring her vision. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to, but I have. I’d do anything to protect you. You’re my little sister, Cass.”
“Just stop,” she said, pressing her palms into her eyes. “Stop talking so I can think.”
She didn’t know what to say. Each time he spoke was another blow, each sentence landing harder than anything she had read in those files. Her entire life had been constructed on lies. While it wasn’t necessarily Graham’s fault, he had continued to let them reap the benefits of what their father had created.
“Cassie, I’m sorry. I had no choice.”
“You did have a choice,” she said, her voice brittle as she tried to fight tears. “You’ve lied to me for years. You should have told me. I—We could’ve figured out something.”
“You don’t get it,” he said, swallowing hard. “They said if I didn’t keep this going, they’d come after you. They were going to kill you if I pulled out.”
She stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. “You thought keeping me in the dark would actually protect me?”
“No, I knew it would.” His hand slammed against the armrest of the couch, sharp enough to make her flinch. “You don’t understand what that’s like to have someone tell you they’ll take the little family you have left from you if you don’t do what they ask. I couldn’t run the risk of losing you. I wouldn’t, even if it meant doing something so terrible.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. While she didn’t exactly know what she would do in that situation, she liked to think that she would have pushed back. Based on Graham’s reaction, she wasn’t so sure.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because, Cass, it’s the right thing to do,” he said. “You said that earlier today at the accounting office, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it ever since. It only made me realize how fucking wrong I’ve been.”
She scoffed. “Are you fucking serious? You let me correct one mistake and tell you how big of an asshole you are and that tells you that maybe running with drug dealers is a bad idea?”
“You don’t understand. We’ve been running with these people for years, Cass. Narrows dealers. Gang members. The mayor, the police commissioner… this is so much bigger than you realize.” He sighed. “After Dad died, someone came to me. He told me I could take Dad’s place or I could bury you too.”
“And you said yes?” she asked, almost incredulously.
“I didn’t have a choice.” His breath hitched. “You don’t understand the kind of people we’re dealing with. I kept going because I had to. I thought… I thought you’d be safer this way.”
“You should have told me!” she yelled, her voice breaking. “You should’ve fucking said something! Goddammit, you let me work here, Gray!”
“I couldn’t.” Cassie thought he might have been crying. “I was… I was just trying to protect you. I’m sorry.”
Her hands shook. She felt bile creeping up her throat, sweat beading on her forehead as her legs swayed. For a moment, she thought that being dead was better than knowing this.
“You asked me this morning why I’ve changed so much. This is why.” He tried to laugh, but it came out as a wheeze. “It changes you, Cass. All of it.”
“That’s not good enough,” she shot back. “How do you know they weren’t just bluffing?”
“You don’t think I asked them that, too?”
“I don’t know what to think about you anymore, considering you just—”
“All right, just stop for a minute.” When she furrowed her eyebrows at him, halting her speech, he exhaled hard, dragging a hand through his hair. “Do you remember… when Mom died?”
“Yeah?” she answered, voice cracking. “What’re you… That’s not important right now—”
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against his fist, breathing raggedly. “It wasn’t an accident.”
She blinked once, almost like she hadn’t heard him properly. For a moment, the words didn’t land right. They hung in the air, flat and incomprehensible. She stared at him for the longest time, giving him the opportunity to take his statement back. She finally managed a “What?”
“That’s what dad said happened, right? It was just a hit and run.” He was trembling, trying to hold himself up. “It wasn’t an accident, Cass. Mom was murdered.”
She could only stare at him, the room tilting slightly as she gripped the edge of the couch to steady herself. “No, that’s… that’s not—”
“I didn’t believe it at first either,” he went on, voice unsteady, “but it’s true. That’s why Dad started acting like such a dick. He was scared we would be next.”
“No,” she said, her voice breaking as she shook her head, trying not to break out into sobs. “That… That can’t be true. You’re lying.”
“When I found out, I thought it was a lie, too.” He stared into his glass, unable to meet her eyes. “At first, when I said I wouldn’t do it, this guy, he… he told me that Dad tried to pull out when we were kids. He thought he could walk away, too. He wanted to take us and start over somewhere far from here, but before he could…” He swallowed hard, his throat working around the lump there. “They killed her to send a message. They made it look like an accident, but Dad knew, and they threatened to kill us next if he ever tried pulling out like that again.”
Her breath faltered, but no sound came.
“That’s why I couldn’t tell you,” he said, finally looking at her again. “That’s why I kept doing this. If I kept the deal alive, they’d leave you alone, and I… I couldn’t lose you too, Cass. I couldn’t let that be on me.”
Tears welled hot in her eyes, but she blinked them back furiously, not wanting to break in front of him. She could hardly form words from the way her throat burned. “You… Mom was…”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “When I found out, I… I couldn’t breathe. I thought I would never tell you. I mean, how do you tell your little sister that your mom was murdered?”
The silence that followed thickened the air. Her mind stumbled, scrambling through half-buried memories to see if anything stuck out to her, for some proof that what she had just heard wasn’t true. That her father hadn’t gotten her mother killed fourteen years ago because of a stupid mistake.
Instead, all she could find were details she hadn’t given much thought to before. She remembered how her father had grown even more cold and distant after the funeral and how it followed him to his death. How Graham, just a week or so after their father’s death, had seemingly lost his mind, only to become just like him. For just a moment, she let herself think about her mother.
Her chest ached so hard it almost felt like her ribs were cracking. In a lot of ways, she had taken after her mother. She still wore her perfume. People had always told her she looked like her spitting image, but that she had also inherited her ability to fight for what was right, even if it didn’t benefit her. Even after fourteen years, she could still hear her laugh, see her smile, feel the soft warmth of her hands. She remembered the last hug she had given her before she had gone off to school that fall, having no idea that that would be the last time she would see her in person. She remembered even clearer how she had believed every world her father had told her and her brother about that accident on the way back from that gala in Blüdhaven.
How stupid she had been.
Her father had known, her brother had known, and for some reason, they had both let her live in that lie.
Her knees nearly buckled at the thought.
“You… You knew,” she whispered, the sound thin and uneven. “You knew and you said nothing?”
He looked at her helplessly, eyes wet. “Cass, please, you have to understand.”
She shook her head, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. “No. No, you don’t get to—” Her voice broke. “You let me think it was just—”
Her heart ached so strongly she couldn’t form words. All those years of missing her mother, of wondering if she could have been saved, every bit of it now curdled into something sharp and unbearable. Her mother couldn’t have been saved, even if she hadn’t gone to that gala: she was damned from the start, just like her and Graham.
She drew a shuddering breath and finally looked up at him again. Her voice came out horse, barely there.
“You’ve ruined… everything,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Our lives are over.”
“No.” He gripped the edge of the couch like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. His knuckles whitened, his words slurring faintly at the edges. “No, Cassie, I saved you.”
She pushed herself up from the couch, legs trembling under her like they barely belonged to her. Her vision swirled for a moment, half-lidded and blurry, but she forced herself upright. “I can’t even fucking look at you right now.”
Her voice trembled, almost raw, carrying all the heartbreak and disbelief she couldn’t stand to hold in her any longer. Every muscle in her body ached like she had been physically beat, her chest tightening with panic and grief simultaneously.
When she moved toward the door, a hand clamped around her wrist with surprising force. She turned to find Graham standing, swaying slightly, eyes wide with an intensity she hadn’t seen before.
“Graham—”
“Stop. Y–You can’t leave. We’re not safe. Someone’s always watching us, okay? You can’t—”
“Let me go.”
“Cass, please. It’s not safe—”
“Let go of me, Graham!”
He released her wrist, but his whole body trembled violently. As he pulled back, the whiskey glass in his other hand slipped, shattering against the hardwood with a harsh, echoing crash. The sound made her flinch, her heart leaping into her throat.
“Are you seriously drunk right now?” she demanded, panic threading through her words. “Am I gonna have to clean that up or is that something you can manage without committing another felony?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, the ground seemed to tilt beneath him, knees folding like paper, and he crumpled toward the floor. Her stomach dropped. She lunged instinctively, trying to catch him, but his weight slammed against her.
“Gray!”
She collapsed to her knees beside him, panic clawing up her spine. Her fingers fumbled desperately across his shoulders, shaking him, searching for any sign of life. His breathing was labored—wet and uneven—and every exhale sounded wrong, like it shouldn’t belong to a human being. His skin was slick with cold sweat, clammy and frightening under her touch.
Her own chest burned as if her lungs had been set on fire, rising and falling in jagged spasms that barely kept her alive. Her stomach churned violently, bile threatening to climb her throat, but she forced it down. Graham’s body was growing limp beneath her hands, and her mind screamed at her to do something, anything, before it was too late.
“Motherfucker, don’t you fucking die on me,” she hissed through gritted teeth, voice breaking as she shook him harder. She felt her own fingers go numb, her arms trembling as if filled with lead.
She tried not to lose her mind over the sound of him choking on his own tongue. She thought she was about to have a panic attack—she couldn’t hardly breathe. She didn’t know what was wrong with him, but she didn’t have time to try and figure it out completely. She wiped her forehead—she had never been this sweaty before.
“Come on—” she choked, palms slamming against his sternum in frantic compressions, counting in her head. “You are not—” she gasped between counts, vision blurring— “leaving me, you son of a—” Her voice cracked, breaking into a wet, desperate cough.
Her arms felt like sandbags, heavy and useless, each push weaker than the last. The fuck is going on? A cold, horrifying realization clawed at her: it wasn’t just Graham. Something was wrong with her, too. Her vision blurred, white-hot stars splintering across her eyes. Sweat poured down her face, stinging her bloodied skin. Her head spun, each heartbeat hammering like a drum in her skull.
She swallowed, tasting copper on her tongue, and realized that her lungs were screaming for air, that her chest felt too tight to expand. But there was no time to think about that—not when Graham was fading beneath her. She twisted him carefully onto his side, fearing a seizure, her hands shaking so violently she could barely hold him steady.
Her phone slid across the floor, and she fumbled for it with numb, trembling fingers. Her vision tunneled, everything around the edges dark and melting. When she finally managed to press the call button, the distance from her eyes to the screen felt impossibly far.
Bruce picked up within half a ring, his voice somewhat calming despite the tensity of it.
“Cass, what’s wrong?”
“Bruce—” Her voice cracked, a rasp caught between gasps. “I—Graham—he’s—” She wheezed through a coughing fit, the sound wet and rattling in her chest. “Something’s wrong—”
“Slow down,” he said, though his words came too fast. “Where are you?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but the weight dropped out of her chest. She tried to hold herself up straight, not wanting to collapse next to Graham. She was drenched in sweat, hands nearly slipping on the floor. What the fuck is happening to us?
“Cass, come on, answer me. Where are you?”
His voice sounded like it was coming from underwater, warped despite the urgency of it. She forced the words out despite it hurting her chest.
“Montclair—” she wheezed. “I don’t… He’s not—”
“Stay with me,” Bruce cut in sharply, like he could physically grab her through the line. “Cass, listen to me. I’m almost there.”
She coughed violently before answering him, her lungs burning.
“Cass, I’m almost there. Don’t close your eyes, you hear me?” His voice almost imperceptively broke with his words. “I’m so close. Please—God, please just stay with me.”
Her hands shook violently as she reached for Graham’s chest. His skin was cool. She pressed her palm against it, searching for any sign of movement. Was he breathing? She couldn’t tell.
“Help is coming, okay?” she whispered, her voice nearly gone. “We’re gonna be okay.”
She coughed so hard her chest burned. “Fuck.”
The word barely left her mouth before she saw it—a shadow shifting in the dark.
Her phone slipped from her grasp, clattering across the floor as she gasped. She could still hear Bruce’s muffled and frantic voice echoing through the tiny speaker, though she was unable to make out his words. All she could hear was the raw urgency of his tone. As she looked at the figure, she pushed through the pain. She had to protect Graham. She had to save herself.
The figure was tall. Wrong. Drenched in darkness. She blinked hard, trying to make it go away, but it didn’t. She knew the figure couldn’t have been Bruce, because he was smaller, thinner, but he still wore something dark.
He stepped closer, his figure becoming more clear as he stepped into the light. He was wearing a mask. The same mask the man that had killed the police commissioner wore.
“You,” she tried to say as she held herself up, but it barely came out.
The Riddler crouched low beside Graham’s unconscious body and smiled. Not with his mouth, but with his eyes, like he was admiring his own handiwork. “It’s a shame I didn’t get to see it for myself. You got here later than I thought you would.”
Cassie tried to move toward him, but her limb felt like lead. Her breaths came in shallow bursts.
His head tilted slightly, almost curiously, as he watched her struggle. A glint of metal in his hand caught the light. Despite her unsteady vision, she could recognize the letter opener from her father’s study from anywhere.
She froze for a heartbeat. Then, instinct took over.
“No,” she gasped, pushing herself forward. “Don’t… Don’t touch him.”
The Riddler’s fingers tightened around the handle, Cassie lunged, desperate, clawing her way toward Graham ignoring the pounding pain in her chest. Her shoulder slammed into his arm, but he was faster.
She grabbed at his wrist, twisting it hard, trying to wrench the blade away. Pain shot through her own hand, but she didn’t let go. Her other hand shoved against his shoulder.
He chuckled softly, almost amused at her effort, and shoved her back with enough force that she tumbled sideways. She landed hard into the couch, the wind knocked out of her.
“I said stay away from him,” she choked out as she pulled herself back up.
The Riddler stepped toward her again, blade raised. Cassie used the couch to pull herself up and kicked out instinctively, catching him in the shin. His breath hitched slightly, but he steadied himself. Her own breath came faster now, ragged and sharp, as her lungs started to hurt.
She gritted her teeth and lunged again, clawing toward him as he moved closer to Graham. This time he shifted quickly, pinning her arm with one hand and bringing the blade down across her abdomen with the other.
The steel bit into her skin, piercing through the fabric of her sweatshirt with ease. She gasped, a strangled sound tearing out of her, but her fingers clenched anyway against his wrist. She twisted and yanked, trying to break free, but he was too strong for her, at least in the state that she was in right now.
“Stop fighting,” he said. “Can’t you see I’m trying to help you?”
She couldn’t hear what he was saying. Pain radiated through her chest and stomach. The blood came fast, soaking through her sweatshirt, sticky and hot. Her vision pulsed white as she held her stomach with one hand, reaching for an object to throw at him with another. Before she could pick it up herself, the Riddler grabbed the table lamp on the side table and swung it down over her head. The impact exploded through her skull.
She hit the floor hard, her vision fracturing. Shapes melted into blurs, the sound of her own ragged breathing ringing in her ears. She could still hear the low hum of her phone: Bruce was still on the other line. She could barely hear him, his voice urgent but still muffled.
Her mind screamed for her to move. To stop this before she and her brother were both killed.
Her fingers clawed at the hardwood. She forced herself up on trembling arms, ignoring the sharp, searing pain in her abdomen and head. Her sweatshirt was damp with blood. She pressed her palm to it again instinctively, trying to stop the flow.
Somehow, she dragged herself forward, each movement agony and defiance in equal measure. Everything blurred. Her vision sparkled with white-hot stars as she fought to keep her eyes open.
“You’re dying. Both of you are,” he said kindly as he leaned over her, almost like he was telling a child it was time for bed. “But don’t worry. You won’t be forgotten. The people of Gotham will know the truth soon enough.”
He reached down and gripped Graham’s ankles, starting to pull him toward the elevator.
“No,” she croaked. “Don’t—please—”
Cassie’s chest heaved, panic flooding through her veins faster than whatever was shutting her body down. Her nails scraped uselessly against the wood as she forced one arm forward, then another, dragging herself inches at a time.
The room spun. Pain sharpened into something unbearable. Her head hit the floor again. Her stomach twisted.
She rolled onto her back, coughing hard, breath tearing through her throat. Her lungs burned. Sweat poured down her face, mingling with blood. Her body was so weak but she kept trying to move.
Nothing made sense. The spurts of black that danced across her vision made her want to throw up. She didn’t know how long she lay there. She coughed again, her chest on fire. Her body was drenched in sweat. She was dying. Dying and alone and cold but simultaneously burning alive. She didn’t want to die like this.
Cassie barely heard the door from the stairwell breaking from its hinges over the pounding of her heartbeat. The sound came muffled at first, swallowed by the ringing in her ears, but then she heard the heavy footsteps followed by the frantic call of her name.
“Cass! Cass, where are you!”
She wanted to answer, but no sound came. Her mouth felt heavy, her body heavier. Her breathing was ragged as her eyes fluttered shut. She could only lie there, battered, bleeding, as if waiting for her inevitable demise.
When she opened her eyes again, a shape knelt beside her. He was there suddenly, impossibly close, and she could feel the weight of him without fully understanding how he got there.
She tried to speak again, but words failed her.
“I’ve got you,” the figure said softly. “I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?”
She didn’t feel the cold kevlar of his suit pressed against her skin for a mere second or two before the darkness finally came to claim her.
Reminder that, AI doesn’t randomly sprout random words, they are trained based on stolen works made by humans. Most AI companies do not care about asking or even crediting writers from whom they’re stealing. Promoting an industry that steals from writers and put it under a tag where most fics are made from humans and was created to promote real writers is lowkey crazy.
It’s not even just companies, there are people here who stole paragraphs from fanfics to put them in their character ai prompt.
And the generative AI industry is very destructive for the planet (summer is getting hotter each year for mafia boss rp to exist🏃♀️🔥) and by extension our lives, not saying that other apps are better for the planet, but at least you can support real writers and not billionaires only.
Or write fics yourself, so you don’t pollute each time you ask AI to redo a sentence. “But I’m bad at writing” literally every writers said that, just make it exist first you will make it good later, learn your style, what you like to write and you will eventually create at least one thing you will be proud of. It’s difficult for everyone but creating things you wish existed is worth it. And believe me that there are people here who would love to see what you write, diversity in fics community is a need. You can do it people ‼️
hey everyone, i rlly hate to do this fr. i told myself this was the last thing i ever wanted to do but i have no other choice. i’m falling behind on rent that’s due the fifth of august and only have $200 out of $750. since my job has been cutting my hours drastically, i’ve been behind on rent and utilities for five months straight and only make $230 a week which isn’t nearly enough to cover all of my bills on top of caring for myself and saturn (my cat). i’ve been on the hunt for a new job and haven’t been able to find one yet. i fear that my landlord will evict me if i continue being late on my payments, and i cannot afford to lose my home. i’ve recently had a major surgery that took a toll out of my mental state, so for the past three months i’ve been extremely depressed and in the worst shape. it’s causing me to lose motivation to better my life but i am trying. if anyone is willing to help me i’d be EXTREMELY grateful. i have cashapp & kofi. anything would be helpful and if you can’t donate i’d appreciate if you’d boost this message. thank you. ♡
snowghoul
turnnoffyourmind
jbbartram-illu
germansingergirl
