#so hopefully that’ll ease me into whatever the fuck my winter depression will bring
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#therapy session went very well#she’s gonna give me some resources to look at getting involved in DBT groups as another form of therapy#I’m talking to my doc to help up my meds#and my therapist said ‘DONT quit yet. just ask for those two weeks off’#so hopefully that’ll ease me into whatever the fuck my winter depression will bring#we also gonna make a safety plan for when me depression™️ acts up and when I’m ideating#it’s rough out here yall but we trying 💪🏽😭😮💨😣#anyways wish me luck because i gotta find some time to take this shit off#ghost rants
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Excerpt - Abandoned WIP No. 34 - “The Dark Knight Rises” Fanfic
Pairing: John Blake/OFC
Rating: T (language, alcohol)
A/N: Dug this up from my abandoned WIP cellar, and it’s fun to reminisce. Could be read as a one-shot??
How much had he really seen? Too fucking much.
Gotham overrun by terrorists. A nuclear bomb loose on the streets. Innocent people’s lives destroyed, forever ruined. Countless damage to the city he was proud to call home. Millions left to die at the hand of a bureaucratic cop. There was no way he could keep his badge after everything.
And then he’d found the cave. The home of the Batman. God rest his soul.
What a legacy to inherit. Just what the fuck exactly was he supposed to do with it? He couldn’t possibly… He didn’t have the money. He didn’t have the resources. It just didn’t....
He needed a drink. Several.
xxx
Alcohol sales boomed. It honestly didn’t surprise her.
The city was a war zone, everyone’s lives interrupted, many destroyed. People were dead, but millions of lives were also saved. Hers included. It was amazing and reassuring that even in this day and age there were still some people willing to sacrifice so much to save so many. She almost hadn’t counted humanity capable of such acts anymore. Let alone anyone in this city.
But, unfortunately, saving millions of lives meant saving millions of problems.
The clean-up, the healing, the reconstruction would take a toll on everyone. She still hadn’t decided what she was going to do. She was safe where she was. Sure, it wasn’t anything compared to what she had. Sure, she thought it cowardly to hide as she was doing.
But she preferred to think of herself as a survivalist. She hid to survive. Self-preservation is every living being’s first instinct, so could she really be blamed for helping herself? Plus, she got an employee discount. Alcohol made coping with everything so much easier.
The people of Gotham seemed to agree. Her boss was happy with the rising sales, doing everything in his power to get faster deliveries and fuller shelves. If the people needed a drink to put this whole ugly affair behind them, then GC Corner Liquor was going to be there for them.
Marvin had made her job clear. Sell, sell sell. Convince the patrons they needed more—something, anything, just one more bottle to unwind from the pain, the stress, the trauma. She’d just cocked an eyebrow, staring him down disapprovingly. Pushing alcoholic poisoning in favor of bigger profits wasn’t something she could get behind.
She didn’t bother looking up from her book as the bell above the door jingled on its string. Most people preferred to walk the aisles, perusing the selection, quietly making decisions. She couldn’t say she disagreed. But the best part was sharing her opinion at the cash register.
The footsteps on the concrete floor sounded heavy. Boots, probably. It was still winter, but hopefully this would be one of the last snows before it turned to rain. She glanced up, idly spotting a head of short cropped black hair moving about the tops of the liquor bottles. Ah, the whisky and bourbon asile. If this guy walked up with anything less than a mid-grade bottle, she would have to talk him out of it.
Life was too short for crappy liquor.
He rounded the aisles, heading for the counter, striking her with his boyishly handsome face. His body was lean but conveyed an air of strength and authority. Chocolate eyes looked out at the world, heavy, drawn in.
She placed her book spine upright the counter. “Hello,” she offered a warm smile, watching him nod in greeting, “find what you were looking for?”
“Yeah, this will work.” A bottle of Jack hit the counter and she couldn’t hide a derisive little laugh.
“Sure, that’ll work, but would you actually like to enjoy yourself?”
His brow narrowed in mild offense, his lips tightening to a thin line. “Insult all your customers like that?”
A smile teased her mouth as she rang the bottle up. “Only the ones who bring it upon themselves. $25.37, please.” She took his card, smirking as a scowl marred his handsome features. Passing the card and receipt back, she watched him scribble out a signature. “Want a bag?”
“No, thanks.” He tucked his card away, swiping the bottle from the counter in a tight grip.
“Have a good day.” She watched him walk towards the door, unable to keep her eyes off the lines of his backside. It was too bad he hadn’t been more receptive to her offer to set him up with a better quality drink. He was very nice to look at, and she would have loved having a chance to learn his name.
Sure, she could look at his credit card receipt, but that would be cheating. And she wasn’t a stalker.
The second time he breezed through the door, not sparing her a glance of recognition, she couldn’t help the surprised smile on her face. She watched him head down the same aisle, stopping ever so briefly before the clink of glass bottles followed.
Her eyes narrowed to a glare as he approached, zeroing in on the bottle and the familiar black and white label. “Sure I can’t talk you into something else this time?”
“No, thank you.”
She blew a light sigh, ringing up the total. “$25.37, please.” She swiped his card, chancing a glance at his face, noting the dark circles under his eyes. Looked like a lot of late nights and hard days. What was this guy’s problem? He looked normal enough, certainly handsome enough. But he looked so lonely, as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. A pang of longing shot through her, handing back the card and receipt, suddenly wondering what it would be like to lighten his burden.
She took the pen and receipt back, offering up a quick smile, shaking her head to get her bangs out of her eyes. “Till next time?” Her eyes met his, struck by the exhaustion and heaviness in their brown depths.
“Sure, next time.” Defeat hinged on his words, nothing in his tone supporting the notion.
“Then have a good day.” She nodded in farewell, watching him turn and leave.
Never had she been so compelled to follow a customer out the door before.
The third time she saw him, she didn’t want to admit she’d been looking for him. It was a habit now—he was officially a regular. His eyes silently dared her to make a smart remark as he approached the counter, the usual bottle in his hands.
She didn’t even want to waste the words. Instead, she just offered a shake of her head, pursing her lips, already knowing the total. “$25.37, please.”
“You don’t need to tell me anymore.”
“It’s my job to tell you.” She swiped his card, studying the dark shadows on his face, the lost air about him.
Wordlessly he left the receipt and pen on the counter, wrapping a hand about the bottleneck and walking out. He held his head high, determined not to give nothing away. But his facade was flawed, betrayed by the sag in his shoulders, the worn lines of his face. She didn’t know what it was about this guy—maybe his life was destroyed in the upheaval or maybe he just didn’t know how to process such a life changing event.
But clearly, money was no object for him. Everyone had a price limit. Or maybe Jack was his limit. But at the rate which he was going through bottles, he had to burn his budget sooner or later. And unless he had a job that wasn’t somehow affected by the recent mess, her guess was sooner.
The fourth time she saw him, she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. Abandoning the counter, she walked the aisles, heading him off in his usual aisle. She suddenly felt like a slob in her faded jeans and aged GCU zippered hoodie compared to his well fitting jeans, sweater and coat. Confusion registered in his eyes as he watched her approach, her green eyes fierce behind navy glasses frames.
She flipped her bangs back, reaching for a tall bottle with a small orange label. “Come on.”
“You know that’s not what I drink.”
“This is better. More economic.” She called out over her shoulder, waving the bottle to beckon him to follow her.
“Is that so?” Annoyance tinged his words as he reluctantly followed.
“That is so. If you’re concerned about money—which I’m sure you must be because everyone in Gotham has had their finances disrupted—then this stuff will get you drunk faster and taste so much better. And if by some snowball’s chance in hell you’re not concerned about money, then what should you care—you’re drinking yourself to death anyway.” Her eyes were sharp and truthful behind her frames as she held his gaze, refusing to back down.
“Your people skills are amazing,” his face contorted in disbelief, “it’s a wonder you’ve made it this long in the service industry.”
She snorted derisively. “This isn’t my first choice. Trust me.” The cash register rang to life under her fingers.
“This still isn’t what I want.”
“On the house.”
His eyes snapped up from the bottle as she pushed it forward, outrage and offense sparking in his worn eyes. “I can’t accept that.”
“What? You can’t let a woman buy you a drink?”
A smile cracked the downtrodden lines of his face, softening his eyes enticingly. “I think this counts as more than a drink.”
“Not as fast as you consume it.” She deadpanned, watching all hint of mirth falling instantly from his face, replaced with closed off coldness.
“Is judging part of your job description?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Some would call it judging; others would call it helping.”
He shook his head, staring at the offending bottle. “I really just…can’t. It’s not right to steal.”
“You think I’m stealing it? I work here. Employee discount and whatnot.” She held his gaze, still clearly seeing that he was bothered by her offer. She sighed, resigned. “Would it ease your conscience if I helped you drink it?”
His brow creased in surprise, regarding her wearily. “No, it wouldn’t.”
She bristled in offense, unable to believe this guy was being so stubborn. He should know when to accept a good thing. “Look,” she leveled with him her cynical eyes, flipping her bangs out of her eyes, “you’re clearly hurt, suffering, depressed, whatever. I don’t really care what it is. Everyone’s messed up from what just happened. You…you’ve wandered in here like a little lost puppy for the past couple of weeks, and it’s kinda sad. So, if you’d rather waste your life to drinking than face whatever’s bothering you - fine. I know what we sell here can be lethal. But if there’s a chance to point you towards something you might enjoy, maybe you’ll recognize that you need to drag yourself out of whatever hole you’ve fallen into.”
His eyes had never looked so vulnerable, his tough facade slowly dissolving. She wasn’t sure if she’d hit the nail on the head, but it looked like she might be right.
She turned from him, shaking her head. “So if you don’t like it, fine; come back and buy your Jack.”
“What time do you get off?”
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