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bamfdaddio · 3 years

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X-Men Abridged: 1980 - The Dark Phoenix Saga

The X-Men, those enduring mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(X-Men 132 - 140, X-Men Annual 4) - by Chris Claremont and John Byrne, John Romita Jr. and Bob McLeod

Go on. Name a more iconic X-Men panel. I’ll wait. (X-Men 134)

If you were born in 1980, you were born under the sign of the Phoenix. This means you will have great hair, but you’ll also be absolutely corrupted by power. Don’t worry, as long as you don’t consume any stars and/or galaxies, you should be fine.

This year hits the ground running, introducing Emma Frost, Kitty Pryde and Dazzler in one fell swoop. The White Queen is the first of the Hellfire Club to make her move, but Phoenix is quickly able to dispatch of her, as you can read here.

Cyclops, worried that the rest of the Inner Circle will soon come in for the kill, decides to abscond to Angel’s Aerie in New Mexico to throw their pursuers off their scent. Jean decides to make the most of it and has sex with Scott on top of mesa. (Kinky!) She also shuts off his uncontrollable destructo-beams, nbd. This somehow inspires Scott to go from reactive to proactive and lead an ill-advised charge straight into the Hellfire Club on the night of their big ball… soirée... thing. Call it a Hellfire Gala-avant-la-lettre.

Fine, he might have been inspired by the raw power of the Phoenix. She’s the biggest gun on their side and, if there's one thing you can be sure of, it´s that reliable powerhouse Jean won´t switch sides in the middle of battle.

Oh wait, that's exactly what she does.

As soon as they enter the Hellfire Club, Jason Wyngarde, who reveals he’s actually Mastermind, takes control of Jean, finally turning her into the Black Queen. With the power of the Phoenix and the patriarchy on their side, the Inner Circle makes short work of the X-Men. They consists of:

Jason Wyngarde, aka Mastermind.

Sebastian Shaw. Often shirtless. The Jeff Bezos of mutantkind. Has the ability to absorb kinetic energy, which means punching him only makes him stronger. (Colossus and Storm figure this out the hard way.)

Harry Leland. Ability of mass manipulation, which has got to be one of the dopest powers ever. Uses it to dunk Wolverine three floors down into the sewer.

Donald Pierce. 25% robot, 100% asshole, 100% useless in taking out X-Men, 225% the worst.

Wolverine is the only one who escapes, resulting in another iconic image:

Apparently, this picture is solely responsible for the fact that Wolverine became the face of the X-Men in the zeroes. It also lit my cigar from the other side of the room. (X-Men 132)

Needless to say, stabbing ensues.

Meanwhile, Shaw pontificates what he wants with the X-Men. He means to use them as guinea pigs to isolate the X-Gene, which he’ll then reverse engineer to give everyone (with money) super powers and all of a sudden, I want Shaw to do a team-up with John Sublime. Jean is not all there, however: she’s trapped in the astral plane, cultivating a cruel streak a mile high.

And suddenly, Jean-turning-evil is not all that funny anymore. (X-Men 133)

Cyclops traverses the mental link he shares with Jean to confront ‘Sir Jason’ and challenge him to a duel. Guy can’t catch a break: in Jean’s mindscape, he is stabbed and he promptly collapses in the real world. Ruh-roh!

Wolverine, meanwhile, has done a passable impression of the Bride against the Crazy 88 in Kill Bill, and he interrupts the Hellfire Club and their gloating. That’s when Jean resurfaces as well, snapping out of her voluptuous Victorian fantasy and, playing a dubious tango with everyone’s trust issues, switching sides once again. The Phoenix is like the golden snitch: as long as your team holds it, it’s enough to win.

Colossus snaps Pierce’s robo-arm, Shaw gets punted through a floor and Leland uses his powers to increase Wolverine’s mass - just when Logan is jumping on top of him. Oops! Should have made him lighter than a feather, Leland.

Jean, meanwhile, is doing her own passable impression of the Bride and goes on what the advertisements would refer to as a ‘Roaring Rampage of Revenge’. (Oh, she roars, and she rampages, and she gets bloody satisfaction.)

This is what happens when you fuck around and find out, Jason. (X-Men 134)

Phoenix makes Mastermind’s mind touch the infinite. His tiny human mind can’t cope. And, just like me when I’m at Pride and surrounded by a bevvy of shirtless gym bunnies, he becomes a dribbling mess. A shell with nothing inside. For those of you paying attention: this is where your Lit teacher would shout “dramatic irony” and underscore Emma Frost vs. Storm on the chalkboard.

This is also the moment where she officially Breaks Bad.

We see powerless people become heroes all the time. The reverse, where the angel falls? That happens far more rarely. I think that is the reason this story was so shockingly effective in the eighties. The reason why it’s still so effective? I think because, like the One Ring, you can read the rise and fall of the Phoenix in a myriad of ways. Is this a victim, reclaiming power? Is this a woman, trying to rise in a man’s world? Is this someone who was always buttoned up, daring to embrace her own power, her sexuality, her dangerous side -- only to get promptly beat down? The ambiguity of the narrative gives it strength, which is why I think it keeps resonating even now. This counts especially in the X-Universe, inherently designed to appeal to the underdog.

Anyway, the X-Men try to flee, but it’s too late. Jean can’t hold it in any more. She explodes in Phoenixesness and vaporizes the X-Men’s aircraft over Central Park. Relishing in her power, Jean easily defeats her friends, before flying off into the galaxy.

In the Avengers mansion, Beast gets the report that the X-Men are trashing the Hellfire Club. Ignoring his duties as an Avenger, Beast chooses his old family and hops off to investigate on his own.

The report, by the way, comes from Shaw, who knows when to turn tail and cut his losses. Among the confused, scared refugees of their party, he begins working a politician on the importance of a Sentinel program. That politician? Senator Kelly. Remember that name.

Jean can’t talk, she’s doing hot girl things. Nomnomnom that star system, sis. (X-Men 135)

Originally, Jean wasn’t meant to die. This one panel, the one showing the inhabited planet, is the reason why she eventually does: Jim Shooter, editor-in-chief, felt Jean shouldn’t be able to get away with a literal genocide. Claremont and Byrne, who had planned to strip Jean of her powers at the end of this, had to change the end of their story within days before it went to print. Additionally, this stoked the adversarial fire between the two: Claremont claims that he hadn’t originally intended there to be an inhabited planet, but felt his hands were tied when Byrne drew one. I wonder how true this is, considering how embedded it is in the narrative, but that’s neither here nor there.

The Phoenix’s genocide alerts the Shi’Ar - and therefore Lilandra - to her presence. Lily says that Galactus is nothing compared to the Phoenix: he merely eats planets, she will consume all that exists.

A hungry Jean, meanwhile returns to Earth, not sure what she’s looking for. She pays a visit to the home of her parents, but when they warily come to greet her, she can’t help but read all the innermost thoughts of her family. Nothing is secret, nothing is sacred. (Imagine knowing all those little thoughts your parents had about you, all those little terrible human things they did in their life. Imagine knowing all their sexual fantasies. Brrr.) It sours the Phoenix against them and she is about to start familicide to her list of sins, when the X-Men attack!

Nightcrawler slaps a psionic scrambler designed by Beast on her, but she’s still too strong. Wolverine tries to end her, but he isn’t ruthless enough to do the deed. When the scrambler overloads, Scott tries reasoning with her, appealing to her love. This causes the Phoenix to waver and Charles Xavier (airdropped in by Warren), bolts Jean telepathically.

Drinking game rule for the Phoenix saga no 6: shout “ca-caw” and take a sip every time the raptor appears. (X-Men 136)

Xavier feels Jean helping him out from within the Phoenix and together, they slowly trap Phoenix in the same sort of energy-matrix as Jean did with the M’Kraan-crystal. The Phoenix finally lays dormant, the X-Men have Jean back and Scott, overwhelmed by emotion, sort of awkwardly proposes to her. Happy Ending! And then, pulling the rug out from under our feet, the X-Men (including Beast and Angel) are whisked away.

They appear in front of Lilandra. The Shi’Ar hold Jean accountable for her planet-killing ways and Lilandra orders her Imperial Guard to take her away! But Charles invokes an ancient law with the same relish of someone who invokes an obscure board game rule against the person who is about to win: he demands a trial by combat.

The rules are easy:

X-Men win: Jean lives

Shi’Ar win: Jean dies.

The trial will be on the dark side of the moon. The Shi’ar are way too strong and, one by one, the X-Men fall, until only Jean and Scott are left. In their last stand, Jean loses control and becomes the Phoenix again, wiping the floor with the Imperial Guard. Technically, they win, but she knows now.

Suicide by abandoned-machine-of-a-long-forgotten-civilization-on-the-dark-side-of-the-moon. (X-Men 137)

She dies. Phoenix dies. The X-Men lose. Scott, bereft, leaves the X-Men.

One detail I love is the holempathic crystal that Lilandra bestows on Jean’s parents.

Without becoming too maudlin, the idea of this is beautiful. A condensed image of a person you love, one you can touch when you feel memories slipping away so you can remember who they were. (X-Men 138)

And with that, season 2 of the X-Men ends. Without Cyclops and Phoenix, the X-Men have to readjust. While Beast returns to the Avengers, Angel takes up residence in the mansion again. He confesses to liking most of the new X-Men, except Wolverine. (To be fair, Wolverine is an acquired taste.) Kitty Pryde also formally starts attending the school and slowly, the Jean-and-Scott-shaped void is filled.

Patriarchal Charles is thrilled to finally have a new teenager in the house who will hang on to his every word. It’ll be like the sixties all over again! (X-Men 139)

There are so many beautiful touches in the few panels:

Wolverine calling Charles ‘Chuck’

Nightcrawler getting drinks (and a beer)

Most amazingly of all, Storm becoming the leader. (I give Chuck a lot of flak, but this decision is Right.) Not just because Storm is the best X-Man for the job, but also because she was a black woman leading one of premier Marvel superhero teams for, what? The better half of a decade? The eighties had barely started, so this was a big fucking deal.

Storm also takes up a motherly role for Kitty, who takes up her suggestion for a codename: Sprite. (This after Kitty rejects Charles’ suggestion of Ariel, which is only fortunate, considering that name would soon be associated with redhaired mermaids.)

The rest of the year is dedicated to two adventures, both of them starring Kurt. The first is depicted in the annual: on Kurt’s birthday, he receives a mysterious package with a mysterious figurine that mysteriously explodes in his face. Professor X calls guest star Dr. Strange for aid, who deduces that his soul has been stolen. What follows is a quest to regain Kurt’s soul in an adventure that feels a little too I just read Dante’s Inferno, check how smart I am.

Hell is a little too pedestrian and boring, though we do get a King Minos hitting on Kurt and Ororo. A man of wealth and taste indeed. Anyway, at the end of this side quest, it turns out all of this was a convoluted revenge scheme concocted by one Margali of the Winding Road. She turns out to be Kurt’s (adoptive) mother, who’s getting revenge for Kurt killing her son.

Kurt, racked with guilt, reveals he had no choice. Stefan had always feared the darkness in his soul and he’d made Kurt pledge to stop him if he should ever succumb to it. After Stefan killed a child or two, Kurt had no choice but to end him. Stefan perished and Kurt was blamed for all of the murders, having to flee an angry mob.

Margali forgives him, with some help from Jimaine, Kurt’s foster sister. In a twist that is a little too soap opera for my tastes (and I watch Riverdale), Jimaine turns out to be Kurt’s squeeze, Amanda Sefton. I’ve always disliked this twist, and not just because of the incesteous vibes: I like the idea of Kurt dating a regular lady who is into him despite his appearance and his being a mutant. Making Amanda Sefton his sorcerous half-sister dilutes that message a lot.

The tail end of 1980 involves Wolverine going to Canada so Wolverine can make amends with Alpha Flight. Kurt joins him, ostensibly to flirt with Aurora, but in fact this shows that Kurt and Wolverine are establishing a rapport. A deeper friendship.

In a pretty paint-by-numbers adventure, Wolverine, Nightcrawler and the worse half of Alpha Flight take down a Wendigo. We don’t get Northstar or Aurora, but we do get more Snowbird, who can change herself into Canadian animals, with the danger of being consumed by her animal side.

We get this delightful panel out of it:

Scared Nightcrawler almost makes me forget how full of shit Jimmy MacDonald is, considering last time Kurt saw them, they tried to kidnap the fuzzy elf. (X-Men 139)

This whole arc is meant to show the softening of Wolverine. Not only does he share his name with Kurt (well, sort of: “Logan, is that your name?” “Yup.” “You never told us.” “You never asked.”), but when they fight the Wendigo and Snowbird turns into a white wolverine to deal the final blow, he talks her out of being consumed by her vicious animal nature.

The year ends with two details worth mentioning:

The Canadian government dissolves Alpha Flight, which I can only find a prescient move that highlights their good taste. A realistic note I like is the minister referring to the mutant problem as ‘an American problem’ even though they employ the Beaubier twins. Wankers.

Fred Dukes escapes prison to join the New Brotherhood of Mutants!

We’re now entering a run of the X-Men which I haven’t read much of yet, but Freddy mentions he was helped by some lady lawyer. That’s gotta be Mystique, right?

I can barely contain my glee.

Ugliest Costume: Despite that godawful hooded thing Kitty wears, I have to give this to Dazzler. There’s no salvaging that costume: I’m sorry, but she’s wearing a disco ball around her neck. It's a boot from me.

Best new character: Emma Frost. Fight me by the bike rack near the parking lot if you disagree.

Turns evil: Jean Grey, famously so.

What to read: X-Men 129 to 137, the Dark Phoenix run.

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hotdemonsummer · 3 years

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Obey Me! and Angelology and Demonology

alternatively titled Lets Get Into Lucifer

This is yet another long, long post about the lore of Obey Me! from the perspective of historical and theological angelology, and demonology or the study of angels and demons respectively, because I think it’s neat. I also talk way too much. I’m scared to check the word count on this.

Disclaimer: I am not an expert on anything, and certainly not on religion. I just like comparative theology. Also, spoilers for lesson 43/44.

What is an angel? And what, in turn, is a demon? It depends on who you ask. All religions that have angels have a general consensus that they are spiritual beings, intermediaries of some kind of higher power. Demons, on the other hand, are much more vague beyond general malevolence toward humanity. Any connection between the two is entirely dependent on the culture and religion in question. Some have angels but not demons, and many have vice versa.

There’s generally four kinds of spirits that are considered demons:

Dead people with extremely bad vibes (think mogwai, yuurei, and other revenants)

Neutral-to-malevolent energy, physical form optional (think djinni or yokai)

Cult subjects (including foreign gods and ancestor worship)

Corrupted angels (either fallen or Nephilim)

The word demon comes from the Greek δαίμων, or daimon, but the concept of a demon is much older than the Greeks. The original daimon had none of the malevolent, evil associations that we now think of. Instead, daimon just described a kind of powerful spiritual entity (for example, δαίμων is the term Euripides uses for the new god Dionysus in The Bacchae). What we think of as demons now didn’t exist in Greek culture, and the negative associations came when the Tanakh was translated from Hebrew to Greek, but even then shedim aren’t identical to the contemporary depiction of demons that we see in Obey Me!, which, like everything else in Western society, came about through the domination of Christianity.

Shedim, the precursor to the Christian demon, was more or less a term for false gods, a title for the various Levantine pagan gods (see: origin of Beelzebub, Belphegor, and pretty much every demon that starts with Bel- or Bal-).

Obey Me! pretty much canonizes Type 2 and Type 4 demons, with characters like Diavolo, Barbatos, and Satan as Type 2 and the other brothers as Type 4. Historically, Beelzebub and Belphegor are Type 3 (Beelzebub and Belphegor being Levantine gods), Mammon being Type 2 (a general personification of Wealth, although Milton did write him as a Type 4 in Paradise Lost) and Asmodeus being somewhere in between Type 2 and 3 (being heavily derived from a Zoroastrian daeva of wrath). Lucifer is, historically, the only consistently Type 4 demon.

I don’t think I have to explain what a fallen angel is to any OM! fan. But I will.

Let’s talk about these guys. We’re all familiar with Satan’s weird complex about Lucifer, and I’m sure we’re all equally familiar with how Satan and Lucifer are terms used interchangeably for whatever being is The Big Bad of Hell. However, they’re not synonymous.

Satan derives from the same Proto-Semitic root as shayatan, which... should be pretty obvious, but nonetheless has a pretty analogous role as a tempter of men in the Abrahamic religions. Beyond that “tempter of men” title, though, the actual details of what Satan is is incredibly varied, including whether or not “Satan” is a name or a title. In Christianity, the view of Satan as an extremely powerful and evil corrupter of man, wholly opposed to God, came around the Middle Ages, when witchcraft hysteria spread.

Lucifer, on the other hand, is simultaneously a figure originating in Christianity and much, much older than it. The term of course means “light-bringer”, and is heavily associated with the morning star, aka the planet Venus. To make a very long story short, many Mesopotamian, Levantine, and Mediterranean cultures saw the lowering of Venus toward the horizon at night and thought, “hey, thats a pretty neat image!” and created stories about heavenly beings falling toward the earth. Of course, they didn’t use the ‘term’ Lucifer, that’s Latin, and came from the Vulgate Bible.

The term Lucifer does not exclusively refer to The Evil Fallen Angel™ in Christian texts (some very sacred things like the Exsultet explicitly refer to Jesus as Lucifer), but it sure is the most popular interpretation. In works like Paradise Lost or the Divine Comedy, the general idea is that the angel Lucifer rebelled against God in some way and was cast out of Heaven, then becoming Satan, and thus the two are one and the same.

(inb4 some Quora-type chews me out for accuracy’s sake, the “lucifer” mentioned in Isaiah 14:12 refers not to any angel, but to a Babylonian king. The whole fallen angel thing, much like the beatitudes or Bethlehem or Christmas, is a fusion of pagan influences.)

In other words, Lucifer is always and has always been a fallen angel. Satan, on the other hand, doesn’t have those connections to angelhood, and the two figures have an undeniable connection despite their clear individual differences. Sound familiar?

The next question is then what kind of angel is Lucifer anyway? to which you might be thinking, wait, there are different kinds? Yes, holy shit, there are so many kinds of angels and very little consensus on what they are. In terms of Christian angelology (because again, Lucifer is a uniquely Christian/derivative Christian figure unless you exclude Leland’s Aradia which I don’t because lbr they were Italian anyways), most hierarchies are based on the work of this guy:

This man has the incredibly succinct name of Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, and sometime in the 5th century he wrote a book called De Coelesti Hierarchia. It orders the *WTNV voice* hierarchy of angels into three levels called spheres, and each sphere has three sub-levels called choirs. Many, but not all, of the choirs are adopted from various Jewish angelic hierarchies. If you thought that it was just angels and then archangels were, like, the middle management version of angels then you are very wrong. I’m sorry that television lied.

You know who also lied? Tumblr dot com and any post that implies that the true form of angels is a big wheel with a bunch of eyes. That is, in fact, a descriptor for only one kind of angel: ophanim, or thrones. The depiction of angels runs the gamut from winged humanoids to multi-winged humanoids with multiple animal heads to burning snakes to vague heavenly mist.

Archangels and angels are the eighth and ninth lowest choirs of angels, respectively. Angels, or malakhim, are the default messengers of God and the choir from which guardian angels come from. Generally, if someone claims to have a message from God delivered to them, it will be an angel doing it. If it’s really important, it’ll be an archangel. Everyone else literally has more important things to do. No one’s getting visions from dominions.

Lucifer’s (the theological one) actual designation is kind of a mystery. Depending on the text, Lucifer has been described as a seraph (the highest), a cherub (the second highest), or an archangel (the eighth). According to Thomas Aquinas:

Lucifer, chief of the sinning angels, was probably the highest of all the angels. But there are some who think that Lucifer was highest only among the rebel angels.

Not very helpful, but hey. The question remains: what kind of angel is Lucifer, and this time I mean our Lucifer.

We know that Michael, just like his namesake, is an archangel. We also know that (SPOILERS) Simeon, unlike his namesake, is an archangel as well (Simeon is a saint, not an angel.) Lucifer likely was at their level, if not higher.

However, Lucifer was also a six-winged angel, a depiction generally reserved for seraphim (and cherubim, but far less frequently).

Moreover, in terms of role, an angellic Lucifer fits well with that of the powers, the sixth choir. Powers are in charge of moving the heavenly bodies, and are depicted as powerful warriors dressed in beautiful armor. It's fitting for a being so closely tied to the morning star to be a power, after all.

So, with all that considered, what is Lucifer?

Well, he’s a seraph (or saraph, technically). Why? Because Simeon is somehow a seraph and an archangel (I have already written too much to unpack that bullshit), and Mammon was a throne (remember those wheels with eyes?) and Beel was a cherub and therefore Lucifer had to be higher than both of them (interestingly big brother Mammon is in a lower choir than little brother Beel). This makes Michael kind of, well... weird, given the archangels’ low rank.

Some like to differentiate between archangel the eighth choir and Archangel, with a capital A, as a term for any high-ranking angel. While this is likely what Solmare is doing, I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that this has zero basis in any religious text whatsoever and is solely done for the convenience of not remembering anything besides angel and archangel. Which is like, fine, but I’m a pedantic jerk who I found claims to the contrary while researching and I felt the need to correct that.

Anyways, the more you know.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me theories #obey me demonology #obey me angelology #obey me lucifer #my theories #YEEHAW that was a lot. my god #anyways besties dont let this flop

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tsrookie · 3 years

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For the hc asks, what do you think would happen if at some point in Ethan and MC's future, Ethan was the one in some kind of serious accident/illness? There's lots of fics where something happens to MC, and obviously we have canon with the attack, but I'm curious about your thoughts on the opposite happening

Oof. Thanks for the ask anon! (This just turned into something completely different from what I had initially planned, so it’s a bit lengthy)

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MC’s halfway through her third year. It’s an absolute pain with Leland around. He prioritises finding a cure for Caroline over everything else, so the diagnostics team is unable to give their fullest to the patients who actually need them. He keeps adding more facilities to the hospital, so the construction work seems never ending at this point.

She arrives at the hospital for her night shift, when she hears a loud explosion. She looks up in horror and sees a room on the sixth floor in flames.

Dread settles into the pit of her stomach as she rushes into the hospital, barging past security. Ethan had texted her just a few minutes ago, asking her to meet him on that very same floor.

Ethan feels a sharp pain in his forehead, and realises that he’s bleeding. He keeps little Jess close to him as she cries in fear. The poor kid was searching for her parents, and he had offered to help. They had reached the gas cylinder room, when Ethan saw the sparks.

The newly connected wires had broken, and the sparks were flying dangerously close to the gas canisters. He rushed into a nearby room and slammed the door shut, with a terrified Jess in his arms.

The loud explosion sent him hurtling to the the opposite side of the room. Jess clinged on to him for dear life, her fearful cries muffled by the roaring fire.

He takes a moment to recover from the initial shock, then his doctor instincts kick in. He lays Jess down and asks her to tell him if she feels any pain. She cries out loud when he checks her leg. She’s bleeding profusely due to a deep gash, and there was only so much pain she could take.

He takes off his coat and ties it around her leg to control the bleeding. She frightfully asks him if they were going to be safe. He takes a deep breath to try and nullify his own pain. MC’s image flashes through his mind, and the throbbing ache takes a backseat. He nods determinedly to Jess, internally vowing to get back to MC, no matter what it took.

He scans his surroundings. He sees the fire slowly spreading to the rest of the floor, and the walls threatening to crack and fall.

He manages to locate a door amongst the smoke across the corridor. He picks Jess up and tells a silent prayer for them to safely get out of there.

He narrowly misses a huge canister by seconds. He tries to calm himself down for Jess’ sake, but finds it incredibly hard to do given the hazardous environment. He feels his vision grow blurry as the smoke threatens to overwhelm him, but snaps out of it when Jess lets out another cry.

He finally reaches the door, and almost falls to his knees gasping for air. He staggers down the stairs, just as another explosion reaches his ears.

He hears loud shouts from the opposite side of the corridor. He can barely register whose voice it was before he finally collapses. The last thing he sees is a flash of auburn.

MC yells orders to everyone nearby, terrified at the sight of Ethan’s unconscious form. She drops to her knees and checks his pulse, all while trying to get him to wake up.

The nurses carry a passed out Jess to a nearby patient room, as more doctors arrive to place Ethan on a stretcher. Zaid holds MC back from going with them, despite her desperate cries.

Miraculously, he hasn’t suffered any major injuries. Just a few minor burns and cuts on his arms and legs. He passed out mainly due to smoke inhalation, due to which he was to be placed on the ventilator for a while. MC heaves out a sigh of relief when she’s informed that Ethan would make a full recovery in a week or two.

Jess is alright as well. Three more people suffered injuries due to the accident, but none fatal.

Ethan wakes up to MC holding his hand and stroking his hair. She doesn’t have to say a word for him to understand how he scared the living daylights out of her. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying and lack of sleep.

She gives him a tired smile, filled with relief and love. He gives her hand a weak squeeze, and she presses a soft kiss to it.

She gets into the bed, careful not to touch any of his wounds. Kissing his forehead, she settles in for a much required nap, with his hands intertwined with hers.

Once he’s able to talk, he spends an entire hour with MC before seeing anyone else. He asks her about Jess, and is relieved to know that she’s recovering well.

He apologises to MC for putting her through the pain and fear he had once experienced. She silences him with a kiss, and tells him that none of it was his fault. She assures him that the only thing that mattered to her was that he had saved a little girl’s life, and gotten himself out of there.

When Ethan is asked whether he’ll be able to speak at a board meeting regarding the incident, he asks for MC to speak on his behalf. She protests, saying that she’s a mere third-year resident, but relents when Ethan tells her she’s the only one he trusts enough to have his best interests by heart.

At the meeting, Leland doesn’t own up to his mistakes, and constantly keeps emphasising on the fact that mistakes and accidents take place. He offers to compensate for the losses with more money.

When the board tells him that this isn’t something he can easily fix with a mount load of cash, and point out the various smaller mishaps that have taken place since his acquisition of Edenbrook, he shrugs it off and tells them that Edenbrook has had plenty of accidents in the past, and no further measures were taken after the attack the previous year. Something inside MC snaps at that moment.

“No. No, you don’t get to talk about what happened last year. You weren’t there when this hospital lost two of their finest members. You weren’t there to see how everyone suffered from their deaths. You don’t know how much Danny and Bobby meant to everyone in this room. Travis Perry, the one who set the gas free, died before any further action could be taken. You don’t know the fear of every single doctor who worked to find the cure. You don’t know about how much I personally went through watching two of my friends die, and one of them nearly. You don’t know the physical and mental toil it took on the victims. You. Have. No idea. About any of that. What happened last year wasn’t just an accident due to negligence on the hospital’s part, it was a textbook definition of an assassination attack. So yeah, you don’t get to compare what happened last year to you turning a blind eye to the problems of the hospital, because of the extra renovations you made. If someone had died in this...”

Her eyes burn with a fire no one had ever witnessed before. She takes a deep breath, trying not to think of what could’ve happened to Ethan, before continuing at a shell-shocked Leland, who looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“If someone had died in this fire, it would’ve been entirely on your shoulders, for failing to properly supervise the constructions. This isn’t the way things are supposed to work at a hospital, Leland. You want the hospital to become a premier research center, but did you honestly think about that when the hospital was sinking? Did you attend that charity gala last year, which was our last chance of saving the hospital? Did you find the need to donate money when we needed the most? You want a cure for Caroline, and that’s understandable. But you can’t keep making changes around here, and then fail to oversee the transitions properly. So please, stop trying to say that what just happened, wasn’t your fault.”

She finally sits down, with every single person in the room in complete awe. Naveen glances at her direction with a glimmer of pride. She isn’t an intern who used to have trouble navigating the corridors anymore. She’s a doctor who knows her place in the hospital, a member of the most prestigious diagnostics team in the country, and she knew damn well what was right and what was wrong.

MC knows that she could possibly lose her job due to her outburst, yet the looks on the faces of the board members tell her otherwise. The rest of the meeting passes with Leland finally admitting to his negligence over the more minor details, which have cause issues since he came to the hospital. They agree to have a few more meetings to discuss the measures to be taken to fix the damages of the accident, and Leland’s administration.

Naveen walks up to her after the meeting, and tells her that she technically wouldn’t be in any trouble, since she was speaking on Ethan’s behalf, and he would’ve done the exact same thing she had done. And no one would dare speak up against Ethan Ramsey. She laughs at the truthfulness of the statement.

“But I never want to become a carbon copy of him at any point. That would be terrible.”

“Now what would be so bad about that?”

“He terrorises the interns! I never want to become that strict.”

“Well... he hasn’t been terrorising them that much recently. Probably since he knows a certain someone was an intern when he first fell for them.”

She smiles sheepishly, as they both walk towards Ethan’s room.

“I’m really glad he’s okay. I don’t know what I would’ve done if...” She trails off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

“I know, MC. Me too.”

Once she reaches Ethan’s room, her lips quirk up into a smile as she finds him trying to pass time on social media. After a quick kiss, he asks her about the meeting. She relays the entire thing, and needless to say, he’s highly impressed.

He tells her to go home after a while, but she tenderly replies that she wasn’t going anywhere. He stayed by her side when she was a patient, and she wasn’t about to leave him when the tables were turned.

Ethan sighs, and pulling MC close, he finally drifts off into a peaceful slumber.

——————————

A/N: I gave it a happy ending!😅 I know this was more of a mini-fic than a hc, but I couldn’t help myself! Hope it made sense, ‘cause I have no clue about any construction work whatsoever.

Also, thank you so much for all the requests you’ve been sending! I’ve got plenty of stuff to work on now, so thanks a lot for that💙

Taglist: @kaavyaethanramsey @caseyvalentineramsey @starrystarrytrouble @dxnicaramsey @decadentwinnerjudgedream @imonlybibecauseofethanramsey @rookiefromedenbrook @bratzlahela @eramsey28 @the-pale-goddess @ohchoices @wellhelloramsey @pitchblackstars @mvalentine @swiftlydarcy @utterlyinevitable @angela8754 @akshara16 @sushiharrington @drethanramslay @lion-ess24 @whippedforethanfreakingramsey @choicesstan1 @aarisa-frost @drariellevalentine @perriewinklenerdie @blossomanarchy @nikki-2406 @stateofgracious @takemyopenheart @open-heart-ramseyyy @maurine07 @udishaman @queencarb @ethanramseylover @rookiemarsswiftie @aworldoffandoms

Let me know if you wanna be added to or removed from the taglist!

#open heart #ethan ramsey #open heart second year #dr ethan ramsey x mc #ethan jonah ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #playchoices #ethan ramsey fanfiction #mercy writes

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 3 years

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It would be cool if they did another 400 days type mini series with some characters. like showing us the beginning/middle/different parts of the apocalypse from the perspectives of: Marlon, Louis, Violet, Sophie, James, and Lilly. I think it would do well

I think something like this would do well, too. We talk about this a lot and I keep hoping that if we continue to talk about it, they’ll somehow hear us and actually do it haha.

Just think of the possibilities- a game with each episode dedicated to following a different protagonist during a different time in the apocalypse, telling a previously unheard story. They could even do more character-driven stories that focus more on that aspect rather than the walkers and outside dangers, y’know?

Really the only downside I could see if they actually did this is that people outside the fandom would be whiney about it? I mean, people who casually played Telltale games would look at Skybound like “Rehashing old characters who aren’t muh Clementine? Pass.” Y’know? And to be fair, I could see people within the fandom being disappointed, too.

But a majority? I think we’d all be happy to just have another twdg installment if Skybound wanted to make one... as long as they leave Clementine alone. That’s my one condition haha.

Leave her alone, Robert.

I’ll even throw out a bunch of possibilities for episodes-

Carley and Doug - I would love an episode that starts with Carley working as a reporter just as the walkers come. We could meet her crew, go through when they were attacked and explore the trauma she experiences after watching her producer get eaten alive in front of her.

Then, in comes our hero: Doug. Doug saves her life, and the two of them manage to escape and hideout. This is the perfect time to explore Doug’s character, too, as well as the relationship he and Carley had before they met up with the drugstore crew.

We can learn more about how Carley came to be so good with firearms and more about Doug’s technical background. Not only that, but it would be interesting to see these two actually interact since, y’know... they canonically have romantic feelings for one another.

Then the episode could end with them meeting Glenn outside, who brings them back to the group at the drugstore.

The St Johns - Here me out, but I would totally be on board for an episode about these people and how they starting picking off their farmhands for food. We don’t even have to play as any of the St Johns, we could play as a farmhand that actually escaped that fate after discovering what these people were doing.

It could definitely be more horror based, too. Like a cat and mouse sort of chase scene with the protagonist and Andy or Danny with them escaping with their life at the end and journeying off.

We could also see more of the bandits and how that agreement came to be with them. We could see more of Jolene, too.

Lilly - Okay, I want to know what the hell happened to Lilly between s1 and s4. From what I’ve gathered and inferred, Lilly wandered alone for years before finding the delta, the first place she ever considered home since... well, the motor-inn. Which... is nuts.

Then there’s all the trauma of losing Larry on top of what a piece of shit he was. I know I laugh at her for being all “No more ice cream, no more hair dryer” when she was telling Clementine about Larry cutting their power but we don’t know much about just how abusive Larry was.

Plus, we don’t know what happened to her mom. Larry still carried her wedding ring even into the apocalypse and died with it in his pocket. There’s just... a lot of things.

So I think an episode about Lilly by herself could be an interesting exploration of her being her own enemy, y’know? When I say character-driven, I mean solely character-driven with Lilly having flashbacks or nightmares or talking to herself or even hallucinations. Think Michonne, but even better executed. And with no ghost children. Maybe a ghost Larry, though. Which is arguably worse.

And it could end with someone from the delta finding her.

Christa and Omid - I feel like this is an obvious one since everyone loves these two and we’re still salty that they never brought Christa back. So it’d be cool to see these two either before meeting Lee’s group, or their time with Clementine between s1 and s2.

This is the only time I’ll allow Clementine to be here. If they feel they have to plop Clementine into this, then do it this way. We could explore Clementine’s guilt of what happened to Lee and the trauma she suffered while with the stranger, we could explore Christa’s pregnancy and learn more about her and Omid’s relationship.

We could see some dad moments with Omid as he and Clementine bond, perhaps dive into the fear and anxiety of a baby that’s coming, too.

Kenny and Sarita - So... while Kenny’s not my favorite person, I can’t deny that I’d be interested in seeing him after he apparently escapes the walker horde after killing Ben and what he went through before he met Sarita.

Hell, have an episode where we play as Sarita as she stumbles upon Kenny and how she saved him from the restaurant he was hiding in. We could get a glimpse into Kenny from Sarita’s point of view and what they went through during their time together. We could learn about Walter and Matthew, too.

Honestly, I just want to know more about Sarita as a character rather than a plot device to die in order to further Kenny’s development, y’know?

Bonnie - Yeah, yeah, I know. No one likes Bonnie and “who wants to play as Bonnie again?? she sucks??”, but damn it... I want them to redeem how badly they fucked up with her story in 400 Days.

I want an episode about her struggling with her drug addiction and how it affected her when the dead started walking. What she was willing to do to get her fix, y’know? Bring back Leland and Dee and how they helped with her road to recovery.

Leland himself even said that when they found her, she was still so stuck on those drugs. I think exploring that could be a fascinating experience.

Jane - An episode about Jane and Jamie? An exploration of Jane’s struggle with keeping her sister alive while having that internal survival instinct trying to take over all leading to her finally giving Jamie what she wanted- to leave her. Then how that guilt and loss took a toll on Jane and hardened her.

And like, I know Jane is kind of in the same boat as Bonnie where a lot of people [specifically Kenny followers] absolutely hate her and would whine about an episode dedicated to exploring her character, but I don’t care. I’d play it, I’d love to understand Jane more, even if I don’t particularly like her.

David - This one is here for selfish reasons. I want an episode all about David. I don’t care what you do, but I want to see David’s struggle of literally losing his entire family in a single night, as well as losing the world to the apocalypse and having to move forward.

Like... seriously, remember what Kate was all “I bet David was happy when the world ended” or some shit? I actually disagree, Kate, since the day the world ended, he lost his father, mother, brother, uncle, his fucking children, and you, his wife within a night. He spent years thinking you all were dead while traveling with Ava and his unit, fighting the dead and trying to survive.... but no, the day the walkers came was probably super great for him. Ugh.

The bonus is we get more Ava, too. Also, I don’t think anyone would oppose if you threw in the whole “David and Lingard might’ve had a thing”... just sayin’. We stan bisexual David.

Javier - Throwing this one in there because I think an episode about Javi, Kate, Gabe, and Mari would do incredibly well. Everyone misses the Garcia’s, everyone was bummed that we ever got a follow up to what Javi was up to after ANF.

Y’know... since ANF was a mess, they probably didn’t feel they could do a follow up because people wouldn’t play... but I’m telling you, we’d play another adventure as Javier Garcia. I don’t know what kind of story you’d tell, but it doesn’t matter. Well, it does... but ya get me.

Plus, more Gabe and Mariana content. C’mon.

James - *slams fists on table* I want my James and the whisperers episode damn it!! And I’m gonna keep saying it until someone either makes it or pays me to shut up.

I don’t care if you like James or not, you can’t deny how fascinating it would be to have an entire episode dedicated to the whisperers. On top of that, we’d get to see James and Charlie and how their relationship suffered during their time with the whisperers, as well as James realizing what a monster he became.

Maybe we could have a scene where James actually makes his famous mask, or a scene of James escaping them and leaving Charlie behind. It could end with James in his camp until he hears gunshots one night. When he goes to investigate, he finds Clementine and AJ trying to escape Lilly and Abel and we get him intervening from his perspective.

There ya go, there’s a second Clementine cameo that doesn’t fuck everything up. Ta-dah.

Sophie and Minerva - A popular one that most of us would want. Them after they were taken away and how they suffered within the delta. It’d be cool to play as Sophie, and tragic since we know how that would end. But we could be the one who acts out and tries to escape all while doing our best to keep Minerva from giving into them... which again, imagine the heartbreak.

The Ericson crew - Like with the twins, this would be a popular one that most people would want to play. While I’d rather they kept their fingers off Louis and Violet since they’re bound to fuck them up, I can’t deny that I want to know what happened at the school during the first days.

We could even play as Ms. Martin as she chooses to stay and take care of all these kids, how she bonds with them before inevitably meeting her fate in the greenhouse.

And c’mon, you know you want to see baby child versions of our Ericson kiddos. Imagine Louis and Violet at these young ages? Seeing other kids we never got to meet? We’d eat it up! ...Well, assuming they did a good job with their characterizations. Y’know.

---

Those are all the major ones I’d like to see, but hey, if any of you had other ideas for episodes following characters I didn’t mention, feel free to share!

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sebastianshaw · 3 years

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(Anon requested Shaw and Lourdes getting married for Fanfic Friday so here it is! Sorry, it cuts off premature because I ran out of time/ideas but I hope you like what’s there! BTW, in Spain, the bride doesn’t just toss the bouquet, she gives it to someone specific of her choosing, so that’s why there’s mention of that.) It was happening. It was actually happening. Years of coutrship, months of planning, and ridiculous amounts of money, and it was happening. Sebastian was sweating profusely under the white collar of his tuxedo shirt, and it wasn’t because of the Spanish summer air. They had chosen to do this Lourdes’ home country of Barcelona. That way, her family wouldn’t have to travel, and Sebastian had no family, so that was a non-issue on his side of things. The only downside was, well, her family, but while Lourdes was mentally preparing to run interference every time her parents spoke to him, the soon-to-be-in-laws were actually far from Sebastian’s mind---he had far too many OTHER worries coursing through it like whitewater rapids all racing in different directions at once, pumped out continuously by the lightning-fast pace of his heart beating. The specific location was La Baronia, 16th century country stone villa with an almost fairytale architecture, surrounded by Mediterranean woodland. The place was so peaceful that even Sebastian had been calm for a moment when he arrived today, before anyone else had. He’d seen it before, of course, he had gone over every possible venue with as much care as he’d ever given to any machine or project, more even, seeking absolute perfection for Lourdes---Lourdes herself mostly cared if it was simply ‘pretty’ which Sebastian had learned was a fairly capricious and nebulous set of standards at best, but in Lourdes case he had, over the years, assembled a mental catalogue of all the things she had ever given a pleasing look towards, and thus methodically calculated the exact set of stipulations that her ideal wedding local should meet. His own preferences were irrelevant to the matter--he had none. This was HER day. He was getting married to her, and that was everything he needed. He just had to make it worthy of HER. Luckily, Lourdes was a very involved bride, taking delight in planning all the aesthetic and social aspects---the flowers, the colors, the seating, and so on. It was mostly the practical aspects she left to Sebastian---his speciality. He’d still, of course, double-triple-quadruple-quintuple checked his every decision with her, to the point she was nearly exasperated. Nearly. Lourdes could never ACTUALLY be exasperated with his pursuit of perfection for her. “I know I’m marrying an engineer,” she always said. He hadn’t been an engineer in a long time, he’d made his real money in management, in business, but he still had the engineer mindset---making everything just right. Especially where it COUNTED MOST. Of course, tradition dictated that some things were out of BOTH their hands, and Lourdes WANTED a traditional Spanish wedding...part of which was that the best man was the one who picked out the bride’s bouquet. Luckily, Harry Leland had been informed---multiple times---by Sebastian that Lourdes liked lilies, did you get that Harry, she likes white lilies, the Calla ones and yes Sebastian I heard you the first five times--- What if he hadn’t though? What if he got roses instead? They had arranged for rose petals and orange blossoms to be thrown instead of rice, what if somehow he mixed that up? What if the florist got mixed up? What if the food got mixed up? He should have checked, checked, and checked again--- “Sebastian?” Tessa asked. She was his only guest besides Harry. And technically, she wasn’t his guest. He hadn’t invited anyone besides Harry, not even her. It was nothing against her. He just...hadn’t wanted anything of the Hellfire Club here today. But Lourdes had nonetheless invited Tessa and Emma, though only Tessa had come. “I need her there, Sebastian,” Lourdes had said, “I have to give the bouquet to someone. If I give it to one of my sisters, the other will hate me and her. If I give it to one of my friends, the rest all hate me and her. This way? I’m not choosing one over the others. They’ll all still hate me for not picking them, of course, but at least they won’t hate EACH OTHER.” “Well, they might hate me instead,” Sebastian had offered helpfully, “Since they’ll assume I invited her.” “Oh, querido, they already hate you,” Lourdes had replied fondly. It was a joke, of course, but, well, not untrue. Her sisters found him fascinating, and her friends were of mixed opinions, but her parents...well, they’d never quite approved. No amount of money that he made could ever transform him from a low-class atheist American into an old-money Catholic Spaniard like them, after all. And really they were right. He wasn’t--- “Sebastian?” Tessa repeated, and tugged a bit on his sleeve this time, taking him out of his trance of trepidation. They were thus far the only ones here, so it wasn’t a big deal for him to be in a daze, but she thought it best for him to get ahold of himself BEFORE the guests got here. But he was so nervous he couldn’t get out of his own head, he thought he was going to throw up, he--- “Sebastian?” It wasn’t Tessa this time. “Lourdes!” he yelled, and turned his head immediately, putting an arm over his eyes. He heard her confused laugh, “What are you---oh dios mio, querido, you never believed a single superstition in your life and NOW suddenly you can’t see me before the wedding?” “Yes!” he replied, still shielding his eyes, “This is IMPORTANT! You’re important!” (Sorry this is where I stopped! But I hope what was there was nice! Don’t worry, the whole thing goes off without a hitch!)

#fic #writing #wedding #out of shirt

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marlinspirkhall · 3 years

Text

Tomorrow Never Comes, Chapter 08: “Tomorrow”

Chapter Word Count:

[Chapter 7] [Chapter 8 (final)]

[Front Cover] [Chapter 1] [AO3 Link]

There’s a gap in the front of the shuttle where one of the monitors used to be, but Spock doesn’t allow himself to get distracted by it.

He follows the familiar steps laid out in their previous escape attempts, and, this time, steers clear of the area of space where the Section-31 ships await. Leland’s original orders were to rendezvous with Georgiou’s ship, but the war between Starfleet and the Klingons isn’t his business anymore, and he already knows he won’t be welcomed back to the organisation. He keeps flying towards the former neutral zone- as neutral as you can get in this quadrant anyway- until his eyes begin to droop. It’s as if the accumulated weight of all his nights without meditation were suddenly weighing down on him.

Plans will need to be made- perhaps he can pass himself off as a Romulan- but, for now, he heads towards the back of the shuttle, and settles on the cold, hard shelf. Now that there’s nothing to distract himself from the fact he’s escaped, he tries not to focus on the how. And yet, it’s hard not to miss the steady chatter of Jim’s heart, or mind. Jim, his heart says. Jim, Jim, Jim.

He settles on the cold, hard shelf at the back of the shuttle, and, for the first time in an eternity, falls into a deep, meditative rest.

Alone.

When Spock wakes on a familiar, soft mattress, he doesn’t immediately question it. But, a second later, his eyes snap open, and he sits bolt upright.

The familiar, worn walls of the stronghold surround him.

Jim was wrong, he thinks, despairingly. There’s no way out.

He runs his hands along the soft duvet, and footsteps scamper downstairs.

Jim is alive.

He shoots out of bed, and takes the stairs two steps at a time, each punctuated by a metal clunk. He glances at the sofa expectantly, but Jim isn’t there. He doesn’t appear to be anywhere in the hall; though-

A thin line of blood leads into the downstairs bathroom.

He falters.

“I guess I’ll never really know for sure, because you won’t remember it, and I won’t even see it coming.”

Jim’s voice is emanating from the bathroom. The door is slightly ajar, and he stops outside it, heart thumping.

“… But, if you’re listening to this right now, then there’s really only one answer-”

“Jim?” He pushes his way in, and tenses as he takes in the bloodstains, the frenzied scrawl. Jim’s voice is coming from a pre-recorded message on a monitor, which Spock recognises from the shuttle.

“- You need to get out there, and…” He looks into the camera. “You know what you have to do.”

Spock backs out of the room as panic grips his chest. “Jim?” He shouts.

The air is filled with a faint whistling sound. He whirls around.

The realisation, and the crossbow arrow, hit him at the same time.

“Ah!” He raises his hand, and another arrow to lodges itself in his palm. The world spins, and he grunts with pain.

He has just enough sense to dodge the next arrow, and slams himself into the wall. “Immensely… Logical, Jim,” he hisses, and struggles to pull the arrow out with a grunt. “You didn’t kill Leland yesterday, did you? You only… knocked him out.” He grits his teeth and attempts to snap the end of the arrow off.

A creak. Spock throws himself to the floor as another arrow flies past.

“Stop shooting at me!”

He grips his injured hand limply, and breathes heavily. “Do you know the first thing I felt, when I woke up?”

Another arrow. Spock crawls around the corner for refuge. “I was-” an arrow flies past, and he tucks his legs in. “- Relieved, that you weren’t dead,” he wheezes.

A loud thud, followed by silence. Perhaps he has run out of arrows.

“Jim?”

Footsteps. He catches his breath and waits, listening to every slow, deliberate step.

The footfalls are too heavy to be Jim’s. Which means-

He shuffles backwards, and a tall figure steps around the corner; wielding the half-filled phaser Spock had discarded yesterday.

“Leland,” Spock breathes.

He stuns him.

“… Don’t want to lie to him.”

Jim’s voice.

“Which is why I’m going to offer him a solution...”

Spock peeks out from under his eyelashes. Leland is standing a few metres away, holding the bloodstained monitor.

“… You know what you have to do.”

The message ends, and Leland turns. Spock opens his eyes. He’s by the far wall, a short distance from the fireplace. Jim is slumped in front of it with his arms tied behind his back.

His hand has been wrapped in a familiar, plaid fabric, and the arrow has been removed from his hand. It still throbs, painfully. His hands are bound loosely in front of him, but his legs are free. Unlike Jim, he is gagged; perhaps with the rest of the fabric. He stares up at Leland, groggily.

“I bandaged it.” Leland says. His lip curves upwards. “You’re not getting out of this that easily.”

Spock stirs, sluggish from the phaser blast, and Leland steps closer.

“According to this-” he holds up the blood-stained monitor, and leers at him. “- You’re the only one of us who hasn’t been killed yet. Is that true?” He crouches beside him, and Spock turns his head away, averting his gaze. Leland grabs his jaw roughly, forcing him to face him as he examines his face for the slightest flicker of emotion. He stares ahead. He tries to keep his face impassive, but Leland always could read him better than most.

He blinks, and Leland laughs. “Isn’t that interesting,” he murmurs. He leans in a little closer, so his lips graze his ear. “I bet you’re so tired,” he says, breath hot. “That eidetic memory… You can remember it all, can’t you? Every miserable day-”

Spock flinches away, but Leland tuts, and places the dagger under his chin. “Come on, Spock. That’s a lot of blood on your hands. Don’t you just want it to end? No?”

Spock keeps his gaze trained on him.

He leers. “I guess Vulcans don’t have a guilty conscience. You’ve killed both of us more times than you can count. Well,” he amends, “Perhaps you can count them. You’ve always been good at that-”

“Leave him alone,” Jim croaks.

Leland rises again. “You’re sure that’s what you want? I mean, he did kill you, multiple times.”

“So did you.”

“True,” Leland shrugs. “But he killed you, right after you’d promised to love each other forever and ever, right?” His voice is high and mocking, and Jim struggles against his bonds.

“You weren’t there,” he grunts.

Leland grins. “Technically, neither were you. And we already know how that pact turned out.” He grasps Spock’s injured hand, and lifts it up.

“Leland-”

“- What’s the objection? You had the right idea earlier. Do you just want to kill him yourself? That’s very selfish of you, James.” He tuts. “After all, I should get dibs.” He squeezes his hand suddenly, and Spock cries out, the sound muffled.

Leland stares at him, eyes wide, and turns to Jim. “You’ve ruined my Vulcan!” He laughs to himself. “Still, there’s time to correct that.” He strokes Spock’s hand, almost gentle, though each movement is still enough to cause pain.

Spock narrows his eyes at him, and flinches away, but Leland holds him steady.

“Now, Spock,” he murmurs. “I can keep you both here for as long as I like, and make you pay for every single time you killed me. Still, I could always reset you.” He retrieves a dagger from his belt. “There were some very interesting things in the basement this morning- well-hidden, James, but not enough.”

He barely glances over his shoulder, and Spock exhales. Leland has eyes only for him, and he knows with a terrible certainty that he intends to make him suffer. As if reading his thoughts, Leland places the dagger under Spock’s chin. “How about we give him a turn first? It’s up to you, James. I mean… You- well, he-” He taps the monitor screen. “- Seemed fairly adamant that you wanted him dead.”

“Screw you,” Jim hisses.

“Shame,” Leland discards the monitor, and it shatters on the floor. “That version of you actually had some balls. If you hadn’t tried to kill me so much, we might have got along.”

“Maybe that’s why we would have got along,” Jim hisses. Spock breathes shallowly, his chest suddenly constricted, and wills Jim to stop antagonising him; but, of course, they are not bonded. With a sudden pang, he wonders if they will ever be able to bond again.

“Maybe,” Leland acknowledges. “Still, I intend to get out of here. Once I attend to our… Unfinished business.”

“Leland-”

“Shush. I’ll get round to you later. But, for now-”

He cuts the gag away, though there’s no chance of him speaking. He remembers what it was like before. Anything he says will make it worse. He calls, desperately, on all the skills he hasn’t employed in a while. He makes his face slack, and lets his mind go blank. But, yesterday was the closest he had come to a successful meditation session in a while, and Leland is studying him with nothing short of glee.

“You know, it’s a shame you killed that other version of James,” Leland murmurs. “Once you betrayed him, I bet he would have wanted to stay, and watch me kill you over, and over and over.”

Jim sits deadly still, his eyes wide, but Spock can see his arms twitching behind his back, as if reaching for something. Hope flares in his chest, but he clamps down on the feeling, attempting to martial his emotions.

“But, seeing as I only need to kill you once, let’s make it count, hmm?” He runs his fingers across Spock’s meld points, and sends fleeting visions of everything he plans to do to them. Spock closes his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts. When that fails, he recalls an image of Leland’s own, broken body, lying at the bottom of the ravine. Leland snatches his hand away.

“Congratulations,” He growls. “Now you’ve made me angry.” He raises the dagger.

Spock kicks out at him with a grunt, but Leland side-steps him easily.

“Surely you remember your training?” He hisses, gripping Spock’s chin. “That’s no way to behave towards a superior officer-”

Spock snaps at his hand, and Leland slams his head against the wall. Jim yells something

“I think James wants to watch the show,” Leland sings. He grips Spock’s hair this time, near the scalp. Grinning, he tilts his head back to expose his neck, and Spock’s breathing quickens. Leland presses the dagger to his throat.

“I said, let him go, asshole,” Jim growls. His voice sounds closer than before, but Spock doesn’t dare tear his gaze away from Leland’s.

“You disappoint me, James,” Leland sighs. “You’d want revenge, if you weren’t weak.”

“Maybe I am,” Jim says. “But there’s one thing I didn’t mention in that recording.”

The knife breaks the skin, and Spock can feel blood beading around the cut.

“And what’s that?” Leland hisses, never breaking eye contact.

Behind him, Jim gets to his feet silently.

“There’s a knife in my pocket.”

The pressure vanishes from Spock’s throat.

Leland turns too late. Jim stabs him in the side, but it’s not deep enough; it can’t be. Spock has seen this before; at the very start of the time-loop: without his memories, Jim’s skill in hand-to-hand combat is no match for Leland’s. He strains against the ropes which are holding him- he’d be able to break them, if his hand wasn’t injured. As it stands, all he can do is stare. A thin trickle of blood runs down his neck.

“Jim, be careful!” He pleads.

Jim dodges Leland’s first strike, and pulls the knife out. They struggle. Leland grasps Jim’s wrist, and attempts to force his hand back, but Jim knees him in the stomach.

Leland lands a glancing blow to his shoulder, and Jim sucks in his breath. He knocks Leland’s arm out of the way, driving the knife into his arm, and Leland bellows angrily as he drops the dagger. Jim loses his grip on his own weapon, and Leland tears at it. Blood gushes from his forearm as he rips it free, painting his arm red. With a yell, he swipes at Jim with his left-hand, as a dark stain spreads on the side of his torso. Jim dives for the dagger, and Leland pins him to the ground, swiping at him. Jim grasps the dagger, and kicks Leland off momentarily, the two of them moving faster than Spock can keep track of.

They struggle together until Leland falls to the ground, and doesn’t get up.

“Fuck.” Jim sits up, trembling, and disentangles himself from the body. Leland’s blood is smeared across his face in places, so the damage isn’t immediately apparent.

But Jim’s breathing is laboured.

“Jim?” Spock whispers.

“Spock…” Jim’s voice wavers. He clutches a hand across his stomach, and looks down at it, dazed. “Oh…”

He falls sideways.

Spock rushes over. Both blades lie on the floor beside them, covered in blood. It isn’t clear which one caused the fateful blow. He reaches for the knife, and cuts the ropes from his arms clumsily, and reaches for Jim.

When he touches him, Jim grits his teeth, and gestures to the wound.

“It’s- bad,” he twitches.

“No,” Spock pulls his head onto his lap, gently, and places a hand over his forehead. “I can help.”

“No-”

“Let me help.”

“Spock.” He shakes his head. “You can’t prolong it ‘til sundown. It’s okay. It was…” He grunts. “My fault.”

“Jim-”

He places a kiss against his injured wrist, and blinks up at him. “I’m sorry for… shooting you,” he wheezes. “That was a… Stupid thing to do.” He smiles shakily, and tears well in his eyes as he clutches his side.

“You were just following your own advice” Spock replies, as Jim gives a soft chuckle, and winces.

“It was- bad advice,” he hisses. “Too- open to interpretation.” He places a hand to Spock’s face gently. “I’m glad I got to love you. I only wish that I could remember any of it.”

Spock shakes his head. “In your condition, an influx of memories of that volume would kill you.”

Jim places Spock’s hand against his face, and laughs weakly. “Spock,” he coughs, “I’m dying anyway.”

Spock hesitates, but Jim nuzzles into his palm. ‘Didn’t want to hurt you,’ he thinks, as he brushes his fingers against Spock’s cheek.

“It’s okay, if you won’t show me. I know I loved you,” he hacks up blood. “But- who you love... That’s your own business.” Perhaps it’s intended to be vitriolic, but, he almost sounds sincere. Serene. He smiles, and nudges his forehead to Spock’s palm. “Go ahead,” he whispers. “It’s OK.”

“Jim.” Spock surveys his injuries, and knows, from all the other times he’s watched him die, that he won’t survive.

‘I shouldn’t have killed Leland,’ Jim thinks. ‘That was- clumsy. I should have kept him alive so we could regenerate, but… Now… You leave.’

Spock strokes his hair. He concentrates, broadcasting an outpouring of love and affection into his mind, as Jim’s eyes flutter closed.

Ashayam, stay with me.

He despairs. He was a fool. He should have spent a little longer cherishing the chance to cradle Jim like this. They could have had eternity. Now, they have only moments. He understands now, far too late, the full depths of what Jim had offered. It is a rare thing, to have a t’hy’la. He should have know, every time they dispatched Leland, that they were only strengthening it: a warrior’s bond. And, although he knows it’s useless, he delves deeper into Jim’s dying mind, triggering that familiar spark, as a bond forms between them for the final time. Spock lets go, pouring his memories into him. Jim relaxes, his breathing levelling out, and Spock strokes his hair.

You are… incandescent.

Jim stirs.

As are you.

He remains close to him for many hours, sustaining his life-force for as long as he can, as the buzz of Jim’s mind shrinks, and dims.

Spock closes his eyes, and collapses back against the wall, cradling him. Yesterday’s euphoria is long gone.

He drifts to sleep, no longer interested in escaping- not now. He’d be content to rot here forever, with a thousand identical corpses.

He dreams of Vulcan. He walks across the dark sands, warmer than he’s been in a while, but oh so weighed down by guilt.

Red light floods through the windows, and Spock’s eyes flutter open. For a moment, he can almost believe he’s back on Vulcan, the glare from the red sands unbearable in first-light, but the moment passes. He frowns, so used to waking to clear skies and mid-morning light that he almost doesn’t recognise the phenomenon.

Dawn.

Spock’s hand aches. He raises it. It hasn’t healed, of course. The bandages are soaked through, but the bleeding has stopped. It has been so long since his injuries lasted that he is almost grateful for it.

“We made it,” he says, with a cracked voice. He glances down at Jim; so peaceful he could almost be sleeping. He looks over to Leland, half-expecting him to move, but neither of them do. His gaze drifts.

Leland is lying in a puddle of blood, but most of Jim’s has seeped into Spock’s clothing, half-dried against his skin. Slowly, he eases Jim to the ground, and places him gently on his side.

You should move, a distant part of his mind whispers, but it’s a small part, and he is too numb to process it. Whatever it is, it doesn’t speak again. He desperately needs water; thirsty like he hasn’t been in a long time- but, still, he sits. He welcomes the discomfort: as proof that he’s made it through, and, as punishment.

I have killed my t’hy’la and my friend.

His gaze drifts.

The ground outside is waterlogged and muddy: for the first time, it’s covered in rainfall from the storm. As the sun rises, a slightly larger spacecraft sets down beside the shuttle, and he closes his eyes. For a moment, there is silence. The perfect conditions to meditate; though it’s been so long, he’s almost forgotten how.

Voices, getting nearer.

He reaches a hand out to Jim, and, trembling a little, pulls back.

Footsteps on the balcony. The door opens with a rattle.

He looks up.

Two figures are silhouetted against the light; a section-31 agent he doesn’t recognise, and-

“Why is the Klingon defence grid still active?”

Phillipa Georgiou. Her hair is dishevelled, and she steps into the hall. “The attack is in five hours, Leland. This is sloppy, even for you-”

She stops.

Spock leans his head against the wall, and says nothing.

“What… Happened?” Says the unknown agent; as they take in the carnage.

Georgiou crosses the room in two, quick steps, and nudges Leland’s body with her foot. “Shame,” she laments. “I always wanted to be the one to kill him.” Her gaze turns to Spock. “Still,” she cocks her head, and her phaser, “I should probably thank you for sparing me the trouble.”

Spock allows himself a small, thin smile. “Trouble?” He murmurs. “You have no idea.”

Georgiou stares at him, then fiddles with the settings on the phaser. “Then again; you could have waited until after your mission was complete to do it.”

“It was never going to be done,” Spock says, as he watches the phaser. He’s almost relieved. It’ll be quick.

“Well, Spock-” She nods to the agent, who backs out of the room. “- Thank you for nothing. I’ll see you in hell.”

“Perhaps.” He chuckles. “Or, maybe…”

He presses his forehead to the cool metal, still laughing, and she frowns at him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

[Chapter 7] [Chapter 8]

#tomorrow never comes #star trek fic #spirk fic #star trek discovery fic #star trek aos fic

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johnnymundano · 4 years

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Prom Night (2008)

Directed by Nelson McCormick Screenplay by J.S. Cardone Music by Paul Haslinger Country: Canada, United States Running time: 88 minutes CAST Brittany Snow as Donna Keppel Scott Porter as Bobby Jessica Stroup as Claire Davis Dana Davis as Lisa Hines Collins Pennie as Ronnie Heflin Kelly Blatz as Michael Allen James Ransone as Detective Nash Brianne Davis as Crissy Lynn Kellan Lutz as Rick Leland Mary Mara as Mrs. Waters Ming-Na Wen as Dr. Elisha Crowe Johnathon Schaech as Richard Fenton Idris Elba as Detective Winn Jessalyn Gilsig as Aunt Karen Linden Ashby as Uncle Jack

Theft Alert: All images from IMDB

Donna Keppel (Brittany Snow; working hard here, bless) is the only survivor of a family massacre perpetrated by Richard Fenton (Johnathon Schaech; looking very Sean William Scott), a creepy teacher with a boner for her. Tonight Donna’s Prom Night is being held at a swanky hotel, but tonight is also the night Richard escapes from The Home For Creepy Teachers With Wayward Boners. Everything you expect to happen happens, just a lot less interestingly than you would expect for a slasher movie, certainly for one that cost $20 million. Prom Night (2008) is like an experiment see if it possible to make a slasher flick so inoffensive and dumb it could be screened at tea time on The Disney®©™ Channel. It turns out it is in fact possible to make such a thing, but unfortunately no one would want to watch it. It actually makes you hanker for Prom Night (1980), as low-budget and timeworn as that disco slasher may well be.

For starters, Prom Night (2008) is not a remake of Prom Night (1980) despite what anyone says. Fuck that noise, someone obviously just wanted to use the title. End. Of. They are both slasher movies which take place on Prom Night, but that’s it. I know this because I watched Prom Night (1980) recently for the first time, and last night I watched Prom Night (2008) for the last time. Prom Night (1980) has a mystery surrounding the identity of the killer, which keeps you awake and which also has a surprisingly strong emotional pay off, whereas in Prom Night (2008) we know who the killer is from the off, which is boring and has no pay off at all. Essentially then, this is the difference between the two, one is a bit amateurish but very entertaining, while the other is slick as snot on a door handle and as dull as ditch water.

Ultimately only one Prom Night successfully evokes the youthful exuberance of the night in question, which is important as I am 50 and English, so I have no personal experience whatsoever of a Prom Night. Also: get off my lawn! Prom Night (1980) makes it look like a fantastically enjoyable event at which hormonally crazed kids dance enthusiastically to fantastically simplistic disco. Apparently the movie was shot with the cast dancing to real, popular disco hits until the makers realised you have to actually pay to use other people’s music (?!who knew!?). Being a bit strapped for cash they had the soundtrack composer Carl Zittrer cook up some home-made disco beats at roughly the same tempo so the visuals and sound would still gel. Carl Zitterer did an excellent job. A bit too excellent in fact, since the similarity was still so pronounced a $10 million lawsuit was brought against the movie (and settled for $50,000 – phew!). A small price to pay for one of the most cheerful and fun dance sequences I’ve ever seen, particularly as I didn’t pay it. Prom Night (1980) is a decent slasher flick but the dance floor sequence is just pure joy. Prom Night (2008) makes Prom Night look like a shit night club where nobody knows anyone else there; seriously, the interaction of the core group with everyone else, who they apparently have known for years, is ridiculously minimal. And the songs are the kind of heatedly sexual nursery rhymes I am generationally disposed to dislike. I just don’t get it, basically. You crazy kids! “Who’s your daddy? And is he rich like me?” isn’t so much a song lyric to me as a reason to call the sex police. And while technically the dancing in Prom Night (2008) is smoother, the dancing in Prom Night (1980) is more realistically ramshackle and energetic.

Also, in Prom Night (1980) the killer, whoever they are, is refreshingly human (they slip on the slippery floor at one point, etc) but in Prom Night (2008) the killer is a tediously efficient killer; which is odd because he’s just a school teacher with a creepy boner for one of his female students, which explains none of his killing efficacy. By rights he should just be crying while wanking over the school yearbook, as I imagine most creepy schoolteachers with boners for their female students do. Maybe creepy schoolteachers with boners for their female students find that reductive and a little offensive of me, and that’s a real crying shame there, because the last thing I want to do is offend creepy teachers with boners for their female students. Every school has that one teacher who dates his female students “secretly”, and as the female student ages out of school he replaces her with a new female student. Maybe you are that guy. In which case you need to hear this: Dude, you are creepy. No one is impressed; they are creeped out. Preying on children is not cool. And if they are in school they are children, I don’t care how developed their chest is. A light prison sentence or some intensive therapy are what you need, creepy teacher dude, not high fives and Budweiser with the bros. (I do apologise for the fact I went to school in the 1970s leading to my not acknowledging that creepy schoolteachers can also be female, and the students being creeped on can be both female and male; with any combination of gender being creeper and creeped upon. I guess everyone sex creeping on everyone else, well, that’s progress? Well done, everyone. Personally I would have tried to phase out the whole creepy-schoolteacher-with-a-boner-for-their-student thing but I guess expanding it across the gender spectrum is certainly one way to go.)

In terms of cast Prom Night (1980) only really has Jamie Lee Curtis and Leslie Nielsen as “names” but everyone is okay, and the characters are all quite quirky and sympathetic. Prom Night (2008) might not have many “names” but it has a far more professional level of acting, which is a win for it. But, alas, while there are real actors in Prom Night (2008) and they all try hard with what they are given, what they are given is so lacklustre and generic it is dismaying how much effort they probably had to put in just to make the characters seem as bland as they do. There’s the black couple; he’s good at sports, she’s a bit sassy. There’s the co-dependant bickering couple; he’s controlling and drinks too much, she’s whiny and, well, she’s just whiny. The gym teacher is sparky and enthusiastic like absolutely no gym teacher I’ve ever met in my half a decade existence, but very like every gym teacher in American high school set shows on Nickleodeon. The most interesting character is Detective Nash, and that’s only because James Ransone appears amusingly miscast; unless a cop who resembles Christian Bale if he was a candleblogger is your idea of a movie cop. Obviously that’s nobody’s idea of a movie cop, luckily though Idris Elba knows what everyone expects from a Movie Cop and delivers it with lightly self-parodic gusto. Of course Idris Elba is unarguably a charismatic screen presence; I know that because most of the things I’ve seen him in are godawful but he is always a pleasure. Maybe it’s just unfortunate choices on my part and I’m actually missing a string of entertainment pearls starring Idris Elba, even so Prom Night (2008) would come in on the poopy side of the mark sheet. But, again, even in something as poopy as Prom Night (2008) Idris Elba is fun. Here he’s The Big City Cop so he walks like he’s prolapsed and rasps his dialogue like he regularly gargles lava-hot cawfee. The enthusiasm Elba invests in playing this poorly written part makes up a bit for the utter idiocy of the character. Ultimately though nothing could distract from Detective Winn’s stupidity, so colossally boneheaded are his actions in the movie.

Prom Night (2008) seems to take place in an alternate universe where every authority figure is a moron. In a better slasher flick this might be a genuine attempt at a point, but here it’s just bad writing. Sure, you might think that everyone in authority in the universe we actually inhabit is a moron, and at this point in history you would have a strong case, counsellor. Exhibit one being our current lying coward of a Prime Minister (I write this in the year 2020). But the authority figures in Prom Night (2008) are actually more excessive in their cretinous obliviousness than even that lying shyster. Having (eventually) realised that the killer is loose Idris Elba visits Donna’s guardians, who decide not to bring her home immediately or have her placed in police custody for her own protection, because it might “embarrass her” in front of her friends and put a big downer on this magical night of awful dresses, terrible music and light fingerbanging. Idris Elba, a policeman remember, goes along with this, which is kind of epically dumb, but then he raises the dumbness stakes by going to the Hotel Swank to keep an eye on Donna. Literally. He actually stands by a bit of silver scaffold in the dance hall for hours, and stares at the back of her head, occasionally rubbing the top of his own head and pursing his lips. Incredibly this does nothing to locate and apprehend the killer, who is merrily killing staff and guest alike at his own convenience. Idris Elba even asks at the desk if they have seen the killer, even showing them a picture (which is some amazing police work for Prom Night (2008)). But when asked by the desk clerk if he should be concerned Idris Elba says ”no”. Later when the fact that the killer is in the hotel killing people can’t even be avoided by Idris Elba he pulls the fire alarm and the entire hotel decants chaotically onto the street. Because there’s absolutely no way the killer could get out unnoticed during that, right? Absolutely no way at all. Nu-uh! Essentially most of the people in Prom Night (2008) who die do so because Idris Elba’s character has all the brains of a shoe.

And a lot of people do die in Prom Night (2008), but don’t get too excited slasher flick fans, because it doesn’t really feel like it because the kills are largely inoffensive stuff; which in a slasher movie is kind of offensive in itself. Prom Night (2008) tries to distract from the lack of splatter with sudden bursts of convulsive editing which just makes it look like the killer is over amorously cuddling people to the floor, or re-enacting his favourite Super Bowl tackles. The only clue that his victims are dead comes later when we get to see the body with some dainty little red marks on their clothes. So averse is Prom Night (2008) to actually getting bloody that one character has their throat slashed and so little claret splashes it’s preposterous. If you were asleep next to somebody with their throat cut you’d wake up sodden in the red stuff, you wouldn’t have to turn them over to discover they were dead. Maybe Prom Night (2008) should have invested some of that $20 million in a medical professional acting as a consultant to tell them that throat wounds tend to, you know, bleed profusely since it’s all the blood inside you coming out of that new hole that kills you. Okay, sometimes it’s the shock of blood loss that offs you but, whatever, there’s a lot of blood involved. There is, I admit, one artfully shot kill where an arc of blood spatters a sheet of plastic but mostly the effects in Prom Night (2008) are less Tom Savini and more Tom and Jerry.

Sadly then, when it comes to this particular Prom Night (2008) you’re better off staying at home and washing your hair.

#Prom Night #Movies #canada #United States #2008 #The 2000s #Slashers #Horror #Nelson McCormick #Brittany Snow #Idris Elba #Creepy teachers #Johnathon Schaech

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pluckyredhead · 4 years

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Daredevil 101: The Murdock Papers, Part 2

Bendis is going out with a bang, y’all! This is the back half of “The Murdock Papers” (DD v2 76-81), Bendis/Maleev. In Part 1, Matt and Elektra were on the hunt for the titular Murdock Papers, a file of proof the Kingpin had amassed that proved Daredevil’s identity. They’re in the middle of brawling in the street with Bullseye when Matt is shot by a sniper working for the FBI.

...And then he vanishes before the FBI can collect him.

Oh, and also? Fisk has a little surprise for everyone:

There are no Murdock Papers! But if they find Matt Murdock and he has a bullet wound exactly where Daredevil was just shot, well...that’s even better, isn’t it?

(Side note: I have absolutely no idea how a file proving that Matt Murdock is Daredevil would have kept Fisk’s underlings in line, especially since Fisk was under the impression that his underlings didn’t even know Matt’s secret until recently, as per Bendis’s own storyline. This strikes me as Bendis writing himself into a hole and climbing out somewhat inelegantly three issues later.)

Meanwhile, Milla is still naked:

All Milla really does from here on out is have hysterics. I’m sorry. Anyway Natasha is there to get Milla to safety, as she promised Matt she would, but Milla is understandably distracted and upset by the news story that Daredevil is dead.

Back to the FBI! The problem with using the bullet wound as proof that Matt is Daredevil is that they have no idea where Matt is. But Fisk has a guess - or rather, he’s pretty sure that Ben knows.

See, Elektra would undoubtedly have taken a wounded Matt to the Night Nurse. And Ben knows how to find the Night Nurse:

Yeah, Leland has gone completely off the rails here. Ben is furious (he actually physically attacks Fisk, which is why the FBI is holding him in the first panel up there), but he’s still faced with a choice: give up Matt, or face federal charges.

Meanwhile, Luke and Danny take Foggy somewhere safe to hole up:

I don’t know who this cheerful hausfrau is, but she’s not Jessica “Fuck You” Jones. I’m guessing her fuller figure is meant to imply that she’s currently pregnant, but that doesn’t explain the a) babushka and peasant scarf, b) completely different face, and c) pleasant demeanor. But then, Foggy looks like an unemployed garment worker from 1890 in that top right panel, so who even knows what’s happening here.

Anyway now both of Matt’s spouses know he’s “dead.” Anxiety abounds!

Well, actually, Milla has the advantage over Foggy, because Natasha has taken her to the Night Nurse’s clinic, so she knows that Matt is dying but not actually dead. Also, Elektra has shown up with the Hand, which she is currently in charge of, because we need another reason to have a bunch of women screaming at each other over Matt. Luckily the Hand has ~mystic healing powers~ which they are using on Matt:

God, how much would I love a scene with this many women without the arbitrary hostility and Orientalism? (I would totally buy organic hostility between Natasha and Elektra based on their jobs. But not based on Matt, who Natasha knows - and Elektra knows intellectually if not emotionally - is not worth it.)

WAIT LOOK AT THAT LAST PANEL, OH DANG BEN TOLD THE FBI WHERE MATT IS

Hey, you know who’s outside with the FBI? A whole bunch of Hand assassins, who are not just going to let the FBI round them up! Which means they start fighting the FBI. Which means Luke and Danny, who have just arrived with Foggy, stuff Foggy back in the car and start fighting the FBI, because even though technically the Hand is currently on Matt’s side, Luke and Danny can’t let FBI agents be killed by zombie assassins.

So to recap: FBI fighting the Hand fighting Luke and Danny outside, Milla having hysterics inside, Foggy having hysterics in a car, Natasha and Elektra are also there somewhere, and Matt, having regained consciousness, decides that enough is enough. There’s too much risk of someone getting seriously hurt here.

So he turns himself in:

Natasha keeps Luke and Danny out of jail, but there’s nothing she can do for Matt. And so:

AW BUDDY. :(

The last issue of this storyline begins at Matt’s arraignment. The judge asks Matt what he pleads and Matt absolutely spaces out, leaving Foggy, as always, carrying the ball:

DO NOT DO THIS TO FOGGY, MATTHEW, DO NOT...

Aw beans, you did it.

Matt makes his way to a rendezvous point and meets up with two of his girls and arguably the silliest accessory he has ever worn, Mike era included:

Please note that Matt has dyed his hair black to enter France, as is tradition. Also, he and Milla look so stereotypically Parisian right now that they are probably actively offensive to the French. Natasha why did you do this to them.

ANYWAY WHO CARES, LOOK AT THAT DIALOGUE. “Tell him I love him.” “He knows.” “He might now.” I’M CRYING.

Matt’s blissful life as a fugitive is cut short almost immediately, though, as he wakes in the middle of the night to find Milla lying dead beside him. (I decided to spare y’all the sight of yet another murdered woman in these recaps.) It’s Bullseye, of course, who has tracked Matt down. Matt pursues him, and in the ensuing fight does the unthinkable (but arguably necessary):

Unfortunately for Matt, there are witnesses, who run off shouting in what I’m pretty sure is grammatically incorrect French. Matt flees to the only person who will take him in:

Speaking of walking sartorial stereotypes, hoo boy Elektra’s outfit.

Anyway, Matt and Elektra have sex, but he quickly decides he can’t stay with her for long:

Wait, what’s this? Why is Elektra referring to Matt as “Mister Murdock” in the last panel?

BECAUSE NONE OF IT EVER HAPPENED!!! Matt is still standing in court deciding how to plead!

I find this whole sequence simultaneously utterly hilarious and utterly infuriating. This is what’s going through Matt’s mind? “What if I ran away? Milla and I could move to France. But then Bullseye would probably kill her. Then I’d have to kill him, and then I’d have to go to Elektra, and then we’d have a sex scene which I will now imagine in detail, and then...” Why are you fantasizing about unrelated murder and having sex with your ex-girlfriend right now, Matt??? This is so off the rails. It's like a dead serious Simpsons gag. It’s an R-rated If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.

Also, please bear in mind that that sequence above takes up almost the whole issue. If I’d waited a month for that issue and paid for it individually instead of binge reading on Marvel Unlimited, I’d be furious.

Moving on! Matt’s been to Japan 7 times in the past 7 years? We’ve only ever seen one trip, and that was way back in the O’Neil run. But sure.

Matt is denied bail. His friends are dismayed:

WHO BOUGHT STEVE THAT TERRIBLE TIE. WHO DID THAT TO HIM.

Matt is carted back to Rikers Island, but he’s not the only one:

Sure, they dropped the charges against Fisk, but there’s always new stuff to charge him with! And so Fisk is packed off to Rikers (the real world NYC jail, FYI), along with the Owl, and a couple other familiar friends we’ll see in the next storyline.

(When I first described the conclusion of this storyline to @puzzleboat, she sent me the following image, and I still find it highly accurate and hilarious:

Apologies to anyone not old enough to remember that extremely controversial series finale.)

Hmm, locked in a prison with tons of people with good reason to hate him, including several of his rogues? Doesn’t look good for Matt, does it?

Next up: The Devil in Cell Block D, and the death of Foggy Nelson.

#daredevil #daredevil 101

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apicturewithasmile · 4 years

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okay I had a good night’s sleep after watching the latest ep of Evil and can now put into words what I’ve been thinking right away.

(spoilers under the cut)

the sex scene was awkward as fuck and I wish they had shot it in a different way. why not just give us a few suggestive close ups of them kissing and stumbling towards her bedroom - CUT - next morning waking up together? that would’ve been enough and would probably have looked less strange. you could’ve still done the fire effect by burning he rbedroom door or whatever.

I guess you could argue it was supposed to make you cringe bc he’s the main antagonist and he is sleazy and he did just tell Sheryl’s daughter that he’s turned on by her (which was a million times hotter than the sex scene). He does weaponsize sex and I can get behind an interpretation that it’s purely performative for him, but....

But the sex scene just didn’t seem organic or genuine at all. I have trouble believing that a woman like Sheryl would be turned on by Leland’s very technical and static approach to fucking. Their flirting in the previous episode and the snogging in the back ally was actually kinda nice and well done. But... the sex scene didn’t work at all imo.

I love Michael Emerson as much as anyone but it was painfully obvious to me that he was uncomfortable. Maybe so was Christine Lahti, I don’t know how her experience level is in terms of sex scenes. And if you have one or two actors who are uncomfortable in a scene like that then it’s better to make it more suggestive rather than explicit.

or am I just too spoiled by James Spader sex scenes that any regular sex scene just leaves me cold by now?

#evil cbs #cbs evil #Leland Townsend #Michael Emerson #sorry buddy #I love you #but this might've been the worst acting I've ever seen of you #which is fine...#it's fine #I can look past it #I get that it's an awkward thing to shoot #not everyone can channel their inner James Spader and that's okay

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fordarkisthesuede · 5 years

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The Tolls Of Justice - Chapter 3

*throws confetti* IT’S DOOOONNNNEEEEEE! (I barely beat my deadline, huzzah!!!)

Sorry for the long, long wait. I apparently needed to recharge my internal batteries... But here we go!

{Previous} {Next}

Important Spoiler Tags: drug mention, prostitution & stripping mentions, gun mention, violent thoughts, therapy sessions

Read on AO3 or continue below:

[Chapter 3: Ink Trails]

John was finding it difficult to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing.

He couldn’t help it. He’d made the mistake of looking at recent Gotham news, hoping for something new in the murder case every newspaper and station seemed to be going on about, but he’d scrolled too far down his news feed.

You Won’t Believe What This Arkham Orderly’s Seen - Bruce Wayne and ‘Joker’ not ‘just friends’!

Dr. Leland had warned him that people would speculate about his relationships with others. Especially Bruce, given Bruce’s social standings and John’s lack thereof. Bruce himself had said his team of lawyers were well-equipped to stop this sort of gossip from spreading; he’d proved it the last time one of the tabloids had printed such a thing, getting it redacted with an apology from the paper itself.

But that was before they actually had a relationship.

Bruce was careful. He’d never said anything or done anything romantic while John was locked away, with the exception of his first post-Scarecrow visit, when the power and cameras were turned off for those few minutes. And last Saturday, of course, but did it really count when they were so far from Arkham’s nosey orderlies and any prying eyes? The article clearly stressed Arkham orderly.

But John had been good. He’d kept the real them a secret, even from his Arkham doctors. Even from his current doctors. Sure, he’d occasionally give a slightly suggestive comment when he and Bruce had the rare chance to be completely alone, but no one could have possibly overheard them. As much as he wanted to shout it from the rooftops, John understood that any question about potential tampering with his recovery process could land him right back into another involuntary stay at Arkham.

And he’d die sooner than face that.

Unable to stop himself, he ignored the pair of shorts still waiting for a proper hem and skimmed through the thing, keeping in mind that Bruce would no doubt bring the hammer down on the Gotham Moonrise regardless of the details.

Anonymous Arkham orderly claims to have inside knowledge regarding the relationship between John Doe, alias ‘Joker’, and Bruce Wayne, blah blah blah... “Reports to have seen Bruce pay off themselves and other orderlies in exchange for uninterrupted time in John’s cell on multiple occasions”?

“Hah, I wish,” John muttered to himself, closing the article as his anxiety starting to ebb away. A lot of money must have exchanged hands to be bold enough to make that claim on paper. Bruce’s team of three-piece suits were probably already on their way to the Gotham Moonrise’s editorial department with a nice large lawsuit.

He skimmed through further. There was an old close-circuit-camera picture in the middle, taken in the nicer of Arkham’s two visitor rooms - John and Bruce were sitting together at the table, watching something on Bruce’s phone. Bruce had been showing him one of the old Gray Ghost serials up on UBox upon learning that John had only ever seen bits and pieces of the nearly thirty-year-old cartoon reboot from bloggr posts. John didn’t see how that qualified as them ‘getting cozy’, as the caption put it, considering they had to stay a minimum of a foot apart at all times inside there.

He breathed out slowly, like he was supposed to, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to fidget. He pulled up his favorite picture of Bruce. He was walking down the steps of the courthouse after his first hearing regarding last year’s mess, looking determined and impossibly handsome in what John knew to be his second-favorite suit, the black with dark gray pinstripes. There was nothing about the angle or lighting that was wrong: it was perfect, like him. “It’s nothing, John,” he told himself in his best imitation of Bruce’s smooth, deep tone, “They won’t throw you back in on idle gossip.”

“You’re right,” he answered in a whisper. He kissed the tip of his index finger and tapped it over Bruce’s face. “I’m worrying over nothing,” he said firmly. The more he said it, the more he believed it.

The feed above that article had some of the usual fair regarding celebrity socialites cheating on their significant others and some minor political scandal, but then - boom, third article down: Missing man’s body found near East Docks.

John wasn’t sure how to feel. He was excited there was something new, but he couldn’t help but think he shouldn’t be happy over a stranger’s death. The thought might as well have Dr. Leland’s voice attached, telling him to think of how it would feel to lose someone he cared about, and apply that. The stranger might have been a criminal, but he could’ve been someone else’s Bruce Wayne.

But John didn’t cause this one. It was a force beyond his control. He didn’t have to feel bad about it. Hell, it might have been justified. Maybe Muddy Nye had done far worse things than distribute toxic garbage to the masses through organized crime.

The scar on his palm peeked out over the edge of his phone.

...or maybe Muddy was someone’s John Doe.

John opened the article, finding a video on top. That would be much faster than reading.

He recognized the newscaster - Faith Ackart, who had covered his recent court proceedings with barely a smidge more kindness than Jonathan Crane’s. A real go-getter in the journalistic field with apparently very little fashion sense; her top was so bright it made the blush on her cheeks look severe.

“You think your morning’s bad, be thankful you aren’t Lou Monger - a task that should’ve taken two minutes turned into nearly two hours after Lou went to take out the trash and found a body in his business’ dumpster.”

The camera cut, showing the police tape draped across an alley and a dumpster underneath a fire escape in the background, where the aforementioned man stood in front of it with the microphone almost shoved in his face.

That was the exact alleyway he was yesterday morning. The same dumpster with the dent on top, the same fire escape, the same graffitti in the background… He could practically smell the rotting fish carcasses.

“I just open the lid, ready to throw on more crap, and this guy’s just layin’ there, dead as a doornail,” Lou explained, looking angrily flummoxed, “I got a business to run and now I gotta leave my customer’s hangin’ for two hours during prime-time! I open the lid, guy’s got a new hole in his head - what else do you gotta know?”

The camera cut back to Faith, standing across the street from the police line. The body had already been removed.

“What Lou didn’t know was that the body was that of Muddy Nye, who police believe to be connected to the van explosion by the East Docks on Tuesday morning - where an anonymous witness says they spotted Batman nearby only minutes before. G.C.P.D. decline to comment on whether or not the group killed in the explosion are connected to those found aboard the Chandis, and on the supposed Batman sighting.”

John drummed his fingers against the table surface. A wannabe-mobster shot in the head, a la execution style…

And suddenly, like a trigger pulled in his head, he realized that both he and Tiffany had used the fire escape. She might have used the dumpster. There had been no rain the night before to wash any of their trace evidence away, and the cops were likely going to comb over the alley for anything useful.

That was bad. Real bad. Especially if Tiffany had caused that dent in the top of the lid. Especially-especially since he’d been walking around when he technically shouldn’t have been.

Tiff please tell me you didn’t use the dumpster as leverage yesterday!! He texted, unable to stop his leg from bouncing anxiously.

For what?

The fire escape??? Muddy’s dead

He’s LITERALLY sleeping with the fishes in that dumpster

I touched the fire escape and our prints are gonna be all over the ladder!!!!!

Hang on

How could John hang onto anything? They would have known he left work, and they’d question his boss, who would no doubt lie and say he snuck out to cover his own ass, they’d question him, and they’d suspect John heavily for no other reason than his past history and they’d throw him back in.

He could feel his heart racing. He didn’t want to go back to Arkham. How many exclamation points after that did he have to use to drive that point home?

Okay so 1 I didn’t use the dumpster, I jumped like a normal person, and 2 chill out. Traffic cam got conveniently jammed around 2am so they definitely planned to dump it. They’ll just check the dumpster

John breathed deep, trying to relax. She had a point. Why check the fire escape if the killer dumped the body like a pro?

3 sleeping with the fishes?? That is a terrible pun wtf

But it’s not wrong!! He texted, This has classic mob hit all over it.

“Actually…” It did, didn’t it? He could practically see the plan in his head: kidnap to get information, shoot in the head to stop any squealing, drop off at a planned dumping ground a good distance away…with fish, no less. They didn’t go to the harbor where the message would be crystal-clear, despite the large stretch of it not occupied by cops... Yet with a million dumpsters in the city to choose from, and they went to a dumpster with fish?

It was as if…

“It is a joke,” he muttered to himself, believing it more firmly as the words left his growing grin. It was a terrible, tongue-in-cheek sort of gag.

The whole thing was something he couldn’t help but laugh at, escalating from titters to a low cackle.

He tried to stifle it with his hand; the manager was rather keen on a quiet workplace, and he knew ‘random laughing’ had a more negative connotation when he was the one doing it.

The back-room door swung open on queue, and Mr. Prinya stuck his head in. “John, keep it down,” he whispered in a rush, “I’ve got a customer.”

“S-sorry,” John managed, swirling in his chair as he slyly slid his phone underneath the pile of orders, “I just remembered a funny meme.”

The older man frowned like a stern parent. “You’re not on your phone at work, are you?”

“Me? Never. You know, idle hands and all that,” he lied, holding up both hands and wiggling his fingers to show he was empty-handed. “If they’re here for the shorts, tell them to wait - thread got stuck again.”

Mr. Prinya eyed him, his suspicion waning into something like concern. “You need it unstuck?”

“Nah, I’ll get it.”

“Okay...just keep it down.”

“Yes, sir,” John affirmed with a little salute.

The second the manager was gone, John put his phone on silent and slid it back into his pocket. He didn’t really like straight-up lying to people he didn’t dislike, but he tried to think of it like lying to the Arkham staff - if it meant he and his secrets were safe, then it was acceptable.

The door didn’t quite close - it had a habit of not sticking without being given a little slam. He could hear the annoyingly digital door chime and the last customer’s cheery goodbye through the crack in the door. And then another not a moment later, as tinny and loud as ever.

“Ah, good morn-” There was a brief pause. “Good morning, Mr. Nito,” Mr. Prinya said, his accent becoming a little thicker on the ‘i’s and ‘o’s.

“My vest ready?” A somewhat gruff voice replied.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but John was more of a hyena person anyway. He had no problem taking a peek to satisfy the itch to know.

Mr. Prinya’s small shoulders were clearly tense. The customer looked the rough type, with shaved eyebrows, barbell brow-piercings, and a nose ring. He seemed to have a tan, but the facial features and complete lack of any other underlying accent indicated that he was probably only a little less white than John.

“Yes…” Mr. Prinya sorted through the rack. He was at least a head shorter than ‘Mr. Nito’; what would that make him, five-eleven? Or six? “Here it is.”

“I hope you know I ain’t leavin’ ‘til I know it’s safe.”

There was little doubt it wasn’t drugs; probably coke or heroin, given how much was carefully distributed in the fabric. Or it could’ve been something new hitting the streets.

John thought back to Vicki Vale and her little drug-ring; he’d gotten used to passing information along to Bruce, hadn’t he? His first instinct was to tell him. The handsome billionaire might not be directly involved this time, but it was certainly something he’d be interested in...and probably thank him for.

John could barely see the lumps in the cloth as Mr. Prinya brought to the counter. It looked like an old police-grade bullet proof vest - it wasn’t as big as the SWAT ones he’d seen on TV, or the one he’d worn last year.

He had a good angle. Bruce’s tech had that fancy facial-recognition software on it. It’d be easy to find him through that - or just by combing over his tattoos. One could be one for a recognizable gang.

Flash off, zoom in, and...snap!

The vest was laid carefully on the table. “Of course it’s safe,” Mr. Prinya assured.

Mr. Nito - if that was his real name - snorted. “For all I know you could’ve done shoddy seams on purpose.”

“Of course-” Mr. Prinya stopped himself short.

The tattooed man glared at him. “Of course what? You got somethin’ to say?”

The rudeness of him was one thing, but the way the guy touched his belt, like he was going for a gun, really rubbed John the wrong way. He could see the handle of a blocky pistol under the guy’s unseasonable zippered jacket. He didn’t have to pull it out - open-faced threats of death like that just made John think of the bridge incident, and that memory was one that still made his blood boil.

“No,” Mr. Prinya responded with a slight hitch. “Of course you may look.”

Tamper you instincts, they would say. He tucked his phone away and clutched his hands. Clench, release, clench...

Calm down. (Hard to do that when he knew all too well what it felt like to be on either sides of a gun barrel. There was too much power behind them.)

Think of your future, Dr. Leland had advised months and months ago.

...Bruce...wouldn’t want him to go out there. If the guy talked, people might know where he worked. His private life was meant to be private until he was officially released.

But Bruce would surely have taken a bullet for him. And he wouldn’t have let that...that scumbag just walk around acting like he could just do whatever the hell he wanted.

He mentally crossed ‘hiding’ off his list of options. He certainly wouldn’t go in there and just punch the guy - there’d be too much collateral damage.

John would play it cool. Confident. Things were different - he was different. He could do that. Be that.

(He’d save the gory imagery of the guy clutching the bleeding stumps of his fingers for a mental replay later.)

So he clutched the door-handle and made a show of entering, swinging the door wide - not too wide - with a random piece of clothing tucked under his arm. “Hey, boss-man-” He cut himself off as appropriate, pretending to just see the ‘customer’ behind the counter. The man’s eyes flashed to him, hard at first, and then widening with recognition. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know we had company!” He flashed a grin Mr. Nito’s way.

He looked less horrified than John would have wanted. Not the ‘oh my God, it’s that crazy guy from the news last year’ that John expected. More like John was someone he knew, and he just didn’t expect to see him there. Or really, more of a ‘you look weird, and I’m suddenly not sure of what dimension I’m in’ sort of stare.

Mr. Prinya, on the other hand, looked almost disbelievingly surprised to see him. “D-did you need something, John?” He asked, his accent just as thick as before.

“That darn machine is still stuck,” he lied, “My butterfingers can’t untangle the threads as easily as you.” He wiggled his free set of fingers to show how noodley they were. It wasn’t completely untrue, which sold the bit better - he usually got so frustrated when the knots wouldn’t untie that he’d end up cutting them out nine times out of ten.

Mr. Nito’ had tugged his jacket back over his pistol. He was still staring at John. Thinking about how much of a risk it was to deal with the Arkham loon. He’d fought Batman and lived. He could be armed. Even if he wasn’t, he was fast, and who knew if he cared about collateral damage?

John stared right back, feigning curiosity. “Is there something on my face?” He asked as innocently as possible while imagining the guy’s hands being slammed on the counter and stuck there with the whole tomato of pins.

He wouldn’t be able to reach for his gun if his hands were pinned. The thought was so funny it almost made him laugh; he could feel his grin widen.

Mr. Nito looked away and gathered the vest under his arm as quickly as possible, looking like he was trying to hold a toddler on his hip. “If this falls apart on me, it’ll be your fault,” he emphasized at Mr. Prinya, glaring with less machismo than before, “Hope you’ll remember that,” he huffed.

He turned and left, leaving John to titter under his breath at how the tough-guy act had dissolved into an immature little bark. The obnoxious doorbell went off and the man disappeared into the city with a disgruntled scowl.

Mr. Prinya watched him go, only relaxing when the man was out of sight. He muttered something incomprehensible in a relieved breath.

“Yeesh, what a weirdo... Whelp, I’ll be in back if you need me!” John spun on his heel, two steps into his return to his lonely work when Mr. Prinya spoke.

“John,” Mr. Prinya said in a similar sort of tone to the one Bruce used when he wanted John to stop and think for a moment, “You shouldn’t…” He paused, thinking further, seeming to soften with every passing moment. John waited for him to finish. “Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” John said honestly. It wasn’t as if he’d actually done anything outside of show his infamous face. He decided to gamble and ask the big question rather than let the chance slip away. “Who was that guy, anyway?”

Mr. Prinya eyed him. He had that sort of gentle-letdown look Dr. Leland used to get when she would tell him ‘no’. “Don’t get mixed up in this. You have your own life to worry about.”

It was the second time that was said to him in two days...

Maybe fate was trying to drill that into his head.

...or maybe it was just coincidence.

“I swear you guys say that as if you’re not part of my life,” he said with a short chortle, making sure to close the door behind him.

The back room felt much cooler than before, and for a moment he felt like he was back in Bruce’s cave, sitting at that ridiculously oversized supercomputer to dig up dirt wherever he thought a useful little worm of information might be. Only this room was smaller and crowded with sewing supplies instead of fancy tech and stalactites, and there were no bats or handsome best friend around for company.

Still, he couldn’t shake the sense of intrigue that came with the idea. He pulled up the picture he’d taken of ‘Mr. Nito’.

He zoomed in on the tattoos. A dragon tail peeked out of the jacket’s sleeve - it was such a standard thing to get that he figured there wasn’t much to go on with that one.

A large embossed star sat between his neck and shoulder. He’d seen celebrity chefs with the same sort of tat’. Nothing special.

Knuckle tattoos - because of course he’d have those - spelled out ‘PAIN’ on his left hand. He didn’t doubt there was a matching one of some kind on his right. Talk about basic.

There was something peeking out above the v-neck: the top of a face that looked like it was split in half, with the expressions like the sock and buskin masks in theatre, cast in black and red. Or at least that’s what John assumed they were, given the eyebrow and eye shapes...

That one was definitely more unique. Worth looking into.

He heard the door chime again, but Mr. Prinya didn’t sound so nervous when he greeted them this time. There was no need to go back out or throw the sewing machine at someone. (At least...not yet.)

John had to get back to work. He’d have to sort through a lot of social media garbage to find something like it, but he had a lot of free time on his hands...

*~*~*~*~*

John had been through far too many FriendBook pages. And Chirp pages. And bloggr posts. And he’d posted and searched through the more disturbing internet forums. All in moments snatched where he could at work and travel and in the very few spots in St. Dympha he could get away with using a contraband phone in to look up gang symbols in the tri-state area and beyond.

And nothing. Not a single thing depicting either the symbol the bodies made on the Chandis or the tattoo on ‘Mr. Nito’.

He was tempted to just ask Bruce (or even Tiffany) and shove the picture he’d taken of ‘Mr. Nito’ in their fancy Batcomputer to analyze, but...they were both definitely-probably busy. After all, they were working on the mysterious-gang-war case, and Bruce was probably dealing with the stupid tabloid article from that morning on top of that, and those were more important than his little investigation.

(Besides, he really liked that expression Bruce got when John had figured something out; surprise and pride and intrigue all rolled into one. He’d gladly comb over a hundred more pages of junk to see that face when he inevitably surprised him with.)

And now he was stuck in group. Unable to do anything but sit and mull over what he was missing, and think about Bruce’s mess of a mystery. He’d looked as far back as the nineteen-twenties for criminally-linked logos that looked even remotely like what either of them should be, but found none. It had to be new, and small enough to fly under the radar…

John had a mental catalog of all the gangs that were and ever had been in the city. Black Mask was much more recent, seizing the opportunistic hole that Falcone had left in his wake and picking up business fronts and those ridiculous protection rackets, and adding in the standard drug trade. He was sure he was an out-of-towner who noticed the lack of a big organized crime unit… Or at least someone who operated outside of the city to get power before moving in on the big fish.

He’d crossed off a lot of the old mafias already, mostly due to them being dead and gone. Falcone’s leftovers weren’t smart enough or loyal enough to organize themselves into some sort of revenge plot; they were the type to follow the new guy. Maroni’s crew tended to be more hot-headed and not take orders from new people, but there were only so many left, and they had their own little territories carved out on the map that Black Mask hadn’t bothered trying to take.

The small-time gangs (seventeen of them at the last count) scattered around the place didn’t really have enough to pull of a stunt like that of the Chandis. They were more the types to make deals with the big time crooks and go down in a blaze of glory if something went wrong.

So unless it was someone new… But why? That was the real question. It felt too personal to be random. Maybe whoever was running Black Mask had crossed paths with someone who had the patience to wait for revenge. Someone deadly. Trained, if the knife-throwing was anything to go by. Maybe it wasn’t a gang, but one person. A serial killer bent on revenge. Maybe B.M. killed someone they cared about, or took something from them.

Maybe B.M. had lit a circus on fire or something. He added it to his little list of things to look up later.

He hated admitting it, but Tiffany had been right in her little insinuation - there was little he could do about this particular thing while he was on the inside...

“John? How about you?”

Of course Dr. Ludgate would call him out while was sitting there thinking. She had a knack for picking on the quiet ones. She looked it, too, with her severely-sharp haircut and the general attitude that she commanded the room. He wondered if she used to be a teacher or something. (She certainly had the style of those fussy teachers he’d seen on T.V. over the years. Awful floral patterns were her apparently her favorite thing in the world.)

Of course they’d call him out when he was sitting there thinking. He hadn’t been paying attention for quite a while.

Complete honestly wasn’t even an option here. He’d hate to just say he was just daydreaming or not listening…

“Ah, well, I was just thinking, doc’...”

The doctor was giving him the ‘ah, yes, go on’ look he was used to. It seemed a lot of the group was paying attention to him… Well, who was he to disappoint an audience?

“I still have those moments where things feel like some kind of alternate reality. Like I’m in one of those weird ‘what-if’ comics and I’ve got only so many pages left until I find myself still in…” That cozy little slice of hell, he wanted to say. But that was ‘inappropriate’ and ‘disturbing’. Not exactly the picture he wanted to paint for himself in front of a healthcare professional. “Well, Arkham.”

Mickey, sitting across from him in their little circle, was watching him like he was actually paying attention. He had a tendency to stare at his lap a lot in group. Or into space.

“But...the past couple of weeks have helped prove that I’m not there anymore.” ...kinda. He thought carefully. “Like it’s not just the scenery that’s different, you know?”

Some thoughtful looks at that. Nice.

He wasn’t going to add on anything too sugary, like his hope for others feeling the same. No, no, that wasn’t his style. He leaned back in his chair, unable to hold back the little grin. “Though this place could take some pointers from it. Exposed brick is much more chic than all this eggshell.”

A couple of titters and amused little smirks in the group. Much better.

Dr. Ludgate just nodded her head. “It’s good to know you’re feeling more comfortable, John. I think everyone here has days where they don’t feel like they’re really at a better point in their lives.”

John leaned back a little further in his chair. She didn’t seem to completely understand, but that was okay. She got the end message, at least, and that was what mattered. He didn’t really care if anyone else got it or not.

When no one else spoke up after a few beats - clearly no one wanted to delve further into that conversation link - Dr. Ludgate pretended to look at her watch. “I think that’s about all we have time for today.” She made sure to look at the group as a whole. “You’ve all made wonderful progress.”

A phrase he’d heard a thousand times, and it still hadn’t lost it’s funny side. He at least managed to swallow the urge to giggle at it.

John strolled out of the room, going straight back to thinking. There wasn’t much he could do with Bruce’s stuff. Back to thinking about the mysterious Mr. Nito as he made his way back to his room. The perfect thinking place.

He hadn’t seen anything resembling the weird theatre masks in his tattoo search, either. It was apparently rather unique. Maybe he had to do some more forum digging for that one…?

“Hey, John,” Devi Hanson waved to him from a little further down the hall clad in pink cheetah-print pants, and he saw a flash of intensely-bright neon green in her hand.

Nail polish. It was ridiculously bright, and he was seized with the urge to have it. “Where did you get that color?” He asked enthusiastically, already making a bee-line for her.

“Outside, where else?” She joked. “What, you wanna use it?”

He could steal it from her, but she was one of the few people who actively enjoyed his company. “How many ways can I say yes? Absolutely, sure, oui, si, ja...”

She gave a light laugh. “Alright, but you have to do my right hand for me.”

“Deal!”

He followed her into the recreation room. It was ten times cozier than Arkham’s; only one orderly to oversee things, much comfier sofas, a cable package with actually decent things on half the time, several board games that weren’t just checkers or some variant of it, and people that weren’t prone to sudden bouts of violence. (Well, mostly. He’d seen a very heated game of Dungeons, Dragons, and Dice.)

They sat at one of the corner tables, away from the crowd watching that boring ‘“nerdy” comedy John didn’t understand the appeal of.

“So, how’s the sewing gig goin’?” Devi asked casually as she started to paint her left hand with practiced strokes.

“About as well as it can go,” he answered. He wasn’t going to mention anything about what transpired earlier. “How’s the laundry shift?”

“Hot and borin’,” she answered back. “They say a job’s a job, but it actually makes stripping seem good again. At least there was fun music and a lot more money in it.”

“Huh, I didn’t know you did that.”

“Eh, it was a lifetime ago. It’s how I got into my nasty little habit.” Devi was rather quick at painting, apparently, already going on her third nail. “I’d rather go back to bein’ a stylist again, actually. I could style and dye hair like nobody's business.” She shot a look at his hair. “Wouldn’t need to do yours, though. You’re color sure stays...”

“It’s au natural.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Really? Man, you’re lucky! I’d kill for a color like that.”

“Maybe I did,” he said slyly, half joking to himself. For all he knew it was true. “We’ll never know!”

She gave him a funny look. Sort of curious and amused. “You don’t remember anything before the last decade, right?”

“Correct-a-mundo.”

“So why do you look like you’re always thinkin’ really hard about somethin’ lately?” Devi started blowing on her nails to dry them.

It was always tempting to tell people to mind their own business, but Devi had half her arms covered in very well-done tattoos. He could use some insight... “‘Cause I’m thinking hard about things.” John started to paint his own left hand, deciding on odd fingers instead of all of them. “In today’s case, though… It’s tats.”

“So nothin’ to do with the studmuffin that keeps visitin’ you?” Devi was shaking her hand and blowing on it alternatively.

Either she was blowing smoke, or...she saw the tabloid article. “That? It’s...just a rumor,” he shrugged off, finding it difficult to say. He’d mostly just avoided the topic altogether, or else rolled his eyes when people brought it up. He hadn’t had one of those stupid tabloid opinion pieces since last year, when it was very easy to say it wasn’t true because it wasn’t.

“Didn’t say anythin’ about rumors.” She admired her nails, looking for imperfections.

John narrowed his eyes. Did she think he was stupid? “You didn’t have to. You probably saw that stupid article on the news rack while you were out, and that’s why you lured me here. To ask about it.”

“Not even close!” Devi answered with a little frown, “I actually like your company; you’re funny and you’re the only one in this joint who appreciates my taste in color,” she said, gesturing to her whole yellow-and-pink outfit, “And I asked because half the time I see you, the guy’s almost attached to your hip. What’s this about an article?”

Oh. Whoops. “Sorry,” John muttered, feeling bad at jumping to conclusions, “it’s this whole stupid tabloid thing… It’s bad enough they gossip about Bruce, but to just...speculate about our relationship like that! It’s enough to...” He breathed in through his nostrils. “It really pisses me off.” It was too close to home, too paranoia-inducing...too much that put Bruce on edge, and thus John on edge.

Devi gave a sort of half-nod, half-shrug. “That’s what they do. Don’t give ‘em the satisfaction.” He knew she was right, but it didn’t help that she didn’t know everything about the situation. She couldn’t possibly know how messy it made him feel. “Anyway, why were you thinkin’ ‘bout tattoos? Jealous of mine?” She leaned her right arm on the table to show off the prowling leopard and scatter of flowers trailing down from her shoulder. She had someone’s name tattooed under a cross on her opposing forearm, and a necklace of constellations on her collarbone.

Flattery was the best way to go the majority of the time. “Yours are pretty,” he offered, watching her sit up a little proudly, “but I’m just puzzling over one I’ve seen,” he said cryptically, finished on his thumbnail. “I’ve never seen one like it before.”

“You got a picture?” She asked, putting her left hand in front of him so he’d get the hint.

John eyed the guard in the corner. He waited until he’d turned just enough away to slide his phone out of his pocket and pull up the gallery, zooming in on Mr. Nito’s tattoo. “If anyone asks, it’s yours,” he muttered, nodding to the phone as he started painting her other hand.

“Not allowed one yet, huh?” Devi pulled it across the able and looked. “Hm… That’s new to me.” She zoomed out, much to John’s discomfort. “Him, on the other hand, I’ve seen.”

“You have?” John could not keep the excitement out of his voice. “When? Where?”

“Here,” she shrugged. “Hang on a sec - hey, Mick’,” she called out, leaning to get a view of the only ‘Mick’ it could be in the facility, “Can you come here for a sec’?”

John did not want to involve him. They weren’t on...well, any real terms. It was hard to tell if Mickey liked him...or anything at all, in fact. Mickey was too abrasive to know if he would be loyal to anything or anyone.

Mickey, unfortunately, did in fact come when called, though. Maybe he had a soft spot for Devi, or women in general. “Yeah?”

“You remember this guy? I remember seein’ him, but I don’t remember his name.”

Mickey breathed out, crossing his arms over his plain t-shirt and looking...not very different from his usual gruff expression. His thick dark brows were furrowed together. “I just knew him as Ian.”

“Yeah, that was it… He didn’t stay too long, did he?”

Mickey snorted, smirking a little. “A week.”

John resumed painting, not realizing he’d stopped. “Who was he?”

“A patient,” Mickey replied. He was staring holes down at John. “We shared the same doctor. Why?”

John was getting annoyed, and he was getting tired of being polite. “That’s my business.”

Mickey decided to just sit next to Devi, still staring at him. “You trying to stop a racket?”

John ignored that and started on Devi’s pinkie finger.

“The hotel’s got one, too,” he continued quietly. That caught John’s interest.

Devi gave a slight chortle. “Every bus’ in the docks has one. Stupid to try and get us to be so law-abiding when they put us down there.”

Yes, now John was doubly-interested.

“What kind is it?” John asked Mickey, looking up from his handiwork.

“Drugs and prostitution,” he answered as Devi made a disgusted face, “Yours?”

John decided to be honest as he started on his own right hand. He rather liked the look of his left. “Pretty sure my boss is a drug mule. I don’t think it’s by choice.”

Devi winced harder. “Ugh. I got lucky, mine’s just a secret loan racket in the basement.”

Mickey was watching him. “Are you trying to stop them?”

It was...almost hopeful. Like he actually wanted that. A tough guy like Mickey, who could have easily been in a gang himself, wanted the crime in his life stopped. How...oddly refreshing.

“I don’t like being potentially thrown under the bus for other people’s decisions,” John chose to say, discarding the joke that he still had Batman’s number on speed-dial. “It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

Mickey nodded sagely. “You don’t want to go back,” he stated. “I get it.”

“Until you’ve been in Arkham, Mickey, you really don’t.” He hoped it didn’t sound as rude as he thought. “You guys know the name of your employer’s racket group?”

“Some guy named Boata,” Devi answered, blowing on her newly painted fingers.

Mickey looked up at the ceiling very briefly. “Last I heard, it was something like ‘Volto’.”

Interesting. A chain of small gangs working in such a small area? That only meant one thing: they were sections of a bigger gang. Especially with such European-sounding names...

The leftovers, perhaps. Or maybe they wanted just to sound like the leftovers. Cast the suspicion of the Bat off.

One thing was for sure. He had to find Ian’s full name. A last known address wouldn’t hurt, either.

And that meant he’d have to break into an office.

Notes: I’m very happy with the first section, but less satisfied with how the second half turned out, and it bent me out of shape for a week to think of how it would end... But I reminded myself that I’m setting up for what’s coming in what should be Chapter 5, and...oh boy, I know that is gonna knock some socks off. (Including mine, haha!) So it’s worth the struggle, but I hope I kept everyone’s attention. :)

So, fun facts! I had to look up what the theatre masks were called, and “sock and buskin” are literally names for the masks, taken from the “sock of comedy and boot of tragedy” characters could wear on stage. (I’ve...never heard of such a thing before now, but I like it.) And my reference to “a whole tomato of pins” is an allusion to the common tomato-shaped pin-cushion. I’ve grown up with one in the house and rarely see any in sewing stores that aren’t shaped like that, so I thought it was a sort of funny thing to add.

It’s really too bad I can’t just make a whole game for this, because I think John would have some interesting mental-mapping in animation. You’d get to see him connect the strings together like Batman does on his tech, and imagine some things like Bats’ 3D-projecting. Plus he talks to himself, both aloud (like Bruce) and in his head, so the player would actually hear that sometimes, and some of his little vocal memories from other people. (If my alternate-universe self is doing this...man, I hope she’s having fun with it.)

And of course, thank you for all the love so far!! Every time I get a note I go like this: (♡´౪`♡) *✧ ✰ ｡* I’ll see you in two weeks, when we rejoin Bruce!

#ttoj #bttts s4 #telltale batjokes #the boy!!! is here!!!#John Doe #Tiffany Fox #look at all these OC's #Fordarkisthesuede writes #writing John making new friends is hard hahahaha #drug mention #canon-typical violence #prositution mention #stripping mention #gun mention #please tell me if i missed any tags #the tolls of justice

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