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batarella · 4 years

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The Bullet: A Sequel to The Commander - Part 7 *FINALE* (Jason Todd x Reader)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH THIS FUCKING FINALE I SWEAR. HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY BECAUSE THIS IS THE MOST ACTION PACKED FINALE I’VE EVER WRITTEN.

WORDS: 14349 WARNINGS: FIREARMS, VIOLENCE, DEATH

MASTERLIST

THE BULLET MASTERLIST

-----

Strapped onto the wheel chair like a rabid circus freak, Y/N knew exactly where she was headed. She just didn’t know what for.

With her neck being held back she could only look at the bulbs of white fluorescent light that continually passed by her and couldn’t do so much as look at the ground. Plenty of guards were around her as well. She didn’t bother struggling, nor did she speak. But there were even more armed guards lining up, going to wherever she was going as well. All the way up to a white room.

A mission. Her first mission with the squad. Just delightful.

“Deadshot?” the guard near the door asked. When the ones carrying her wheelchair gave him her files, she was let in.

She was the last one to arrive. Because everyone had their eyes on her the moment she graced them with her presence.

The first one that caught Y/N’s eye was, of course, Amanda Waller. With the room littered with her goons and guards, the woman stood at the very front, against a blank wall with her hands behind her back and her eyebrow quirked up right at Y/N. Y/N squinted her eyes back at her, some sort of a decline to her superiority, and Waller looked amused.

Then when the guards parted to make way for her, she was brought to the very center of the room, where there were five rather familiar faces giggling and snarling at the newest member of the squad. The one at the center, Rick Flag, ordered his men to place Y/N on the leftmost side.

Those faces, the ones she’s seen more often than she wished she had. Some already knew her. Some hated her. And some simply didn’t care.

Harley Quinn. Of course, out of everyone else in the room, was the only one bubbling with laughter and other nonsense spurting out of her mouth. She was waving her legs around the wheelchair like a little girl would on a swing. And she was staring at her, laughing. “WE GOT A NEW GIRL ON THE SQUAD!!!” she bellowed out. “WHAT?! DEADSHOT’S NEICE. THAT’S NEPOTISM RIGHT THERE.” Y/N ignored her.

The one beside her was someone she didn’t know personally, someone she’s never even met. They said this guy came from Australia and robbed almost every bank there was. Captain Boomerang. He, too, was strapped to a chair, though he wasn’t as loud as Harley. Y/N saw him eye her head to toe while he bit his lip, and she shot Boomerang a knife-like scowl before his eyes got too comfortable.

The next one. Killer Frost. A beautiful woman with ice-white skin and the hair of an arctic fox. She didn’t give Y/N so much as a glance. Most probably because they had her stored in a coffin-like chamber with only a glass window where her head could be seen. On the inside, she could see the glass covered in frost, and the chamber looked cold to touch. She was calm, reserved. And looked on at Waller’s direction.

The creature beside Frost was the one she really wouldn’t want to mess with the most. The largest in the room, with blue skin and a body ten times the mass of any human being possibly could be. He had the head of a shark, eyes red like her optics. He even had a fin sticking out his back. and he was muzzled and strapped standing upright with five more guards around him. Y/N could hear him growl, wordless, and when she caught his eye, he snarled at her.

Finally, El Diablo. The quietest out of the bunch. His wheelchair looked just like hers, except his hands were completely covered by iron cylinders, probably filled with ice cold water. The man was covered in tattoos, and he didn’t have a shirt on. His face looked like a skull’s, which made the way he looked at everyone else look more menacing than his supposed behaved demeanor.

These were the dangerous people she’s stuck with, most probably for the rest of her life if all else fails and she’ll never be able to get out. The people that Floyd had worked with. And they were a few of the most maniacal villains there were in the whole country. She wished she could tell herself she didn’t belong. But she actually did. In fact, she had no business going about pretending to be better than all these people. When it came to how much blood they’ve shed, she probably wasn’t too far off from Harley. Maybe even more.

Y/N was right where she truly belonged. Today, she is welcomed as the newest member of the Suicide Squad.

Waller stepped out to the front. “Y/N, your team. Let’s cut to the chase. We don’t have much time. Bring out the files.”

These files were then projected onto a holographic screen against the wall behind Waller. It was a photo of Scarecrow.

“Some of you probably have heard. Just yesterday, Dr. Jonathan Crane released his new toxin in the National Bank of Gotham.”

The screen started to show footage of what went on in the Bank.

“Our first mistake was thinking Scarecrow had launched the same kind of toxin as the last time, but as the surviving victims were brought out to the stations, they continued to showed the side effects of the toxin, including mania, hallucinations, homicidal tendencies, unnatural human strength, and even cannibalism. Even after being held for observations for more than twenty-four hours, they, unfortunately, could not be brought back.

“Which means that Crane had finally developed a fear toxin that causes permanent effects to anyone who does so much as inhale the gas…”

She heard guards shuffle and hold their guns tighter.

“I have a question!” Harley screamed, holding her hand up despite it being strapped to the chair.

“Flag. Muffle her.”

“Muffle me!? What do you-MMMMM!”

“As I was saying. The victims were forced to be euthanized when none of the doctors could bring them back. One hundred-twenty people died in the incident and the whole country is in a state of panic.”

“MMM MMM MMM?!” Harley asked.

“Yes. The whole country. Months ago, Dr. Crane had blackmailed the crime syndicate Carmine Falcone, who he instructed to forge buy outs of several other Gotham businessmen, stole almost all their money before hiring a certain hitman-“ she stared at Y/N. “-To assassinate them all one by one before his shortcomings are detected. That placed Falcone’s total net worth to be almost two hundred billion dollars. Or so we thought.

“After Falcone’s death, Crane had already taken all the money for himself and had used to build what might be the end to all of mankind. A new Cloudburst weapon. This time large enough to engulf the whole country in his new toxin, as well as a brand-new militia army of hundreds of men guarding his device. Mankind as we know it will be haunted with his obsession with fear and we will all be nothing but goddamn zombies.”

“MMMM!” Harley thrashed about in her chair, then she spat out her gag. “Yuck! That was disgusting! I was about to say that gag had a bug and it crawled down to my throat but it actually wasn’t that bad!”

“Harley!” Rick Flag screamed. Harley pouted and stuck out her tongue.

“And what is it you want us to do, Waller?” Boomerang asked with his heavy accent. “You want us to go there and possibly inhale this bloody toxin!?”

The screen turned to a helicopter’s sight. “Last night, we managed to tracked down a dome-shaped building in the deserted areas outside New Jersey with more than five hundred men guarding it inside and out. It is suspected that the weapon might be hidden somewhere in its center. Your job is to go there, eliminate Dr. Crane and his army, and destroy that weapon with whatever means necessary.

“And as for your concern, our teams have developed a mask for you all to wear. It has the filter to go against the toxin. We found it on one of the Arkham Knight Militia’s men and developed our own.”

Oh. Shit. That. She totally forgot. Man, how time flies.

“Let’s not waste anymore time. Flag. Take them to the airport and give them their gear.”

“Weeeeee!” Harley squealed as they started wheeling her out of the room.

Y/N had no idea where to start, if she even had a place to start.

Everything Waller mentioned, it could all be traced back to her. In so many ways. And she knew it. Everyone in the room probably knew it. It was only fair that she be involved in trying to correct it at all. She had no business complaining or thinking she should be somewhere else. This was Waller’s way, hell, this was the whole goddamn world’s way of handing to her what she truly deserved. And she was so tired of constantly being the cause of hurt and pain. So many mistakes, costing her everything she’s ever known to love. She really, truly belonged here. More than Harley. More than Killer Frost. More than anyone else in the squad.

Because without her even knowing, she’d been involved in this mess before any of Scarecrow’s plans were even thought of. With the militia, the Cloudburst, Falcone’s assassinations. In so many ways, none of this would have happened if not for her.

But did she even have the time to blame herself? When it would barely do her any good?

As Y/N was taken to the plane, beside the other members of the squad, she focused on the buzzing and Boomerang’s rants and Harley’s cackles. She even caught the eye of King Shark and didn’t budge.

Because of course, in a way, she was to blame. She knew Crane had something planned when he almost had her killed that one, terrible night trying to lessen the odds of her ruining his plan once more. And another one of her stupid mistakes was to completely forget about it.

They arrived a few hours later. On the military base somewhere in the interstate, even more soldiers and guards waited for them in the barren grounds surrounded by their tents.

She was the farthest behind, the last one to be wheeled out of the plane. When Rick Flag met them at the center where suitcases and crates were being brought out. He waited until most of the squad members had settled.

“Everyone. Stand your ground. Unlock them and give them their gear. If you idiots do so much as look at me differently, I will detonate the bombs.”

“We know the drill, mate,” Boomerang spat at him.

“I know. I was talking to the new girl.”

Y/N’s wheelchair stopped. Then, they were all released from their straps, from their chairs. Harley hopped up and stretched out her arms, then took out her clothes from the crates and her enormous hammer. Boomerang fixed his coat, then he had a single boomerang from his case. He threw it in the air, and a few seconds later, it came flying back.

Killer Frost, with the air suddenly becoming a little chillier when the chamber opened, walked out and grabbed her icy-blue suit. She didn’t have any more weapons. El Diablo was slow to move, but when the chains were unlocked, he got a single hoodie jacket and hid himself from everyone else.

King Shark, on the other hand, put up most of a fight. Terrified soldiers had their shields up when they released him from his confines and he roared directly at Flag’s face. Flag didn’t budge.

Y/N stood up from her chair, stretched her neck, then cracked her knuckles.

As an entire arsenal of guns was brought to her, she stared vacantly at her red and gray suit and the white mask at the bottom of the crate.

That wasn’t her. It didn’t call out to her anymore the way it did just a few days ago. It was a layer of skin laid over her flesh that wasn’t hers at all. She wasn’t Deadshot anymore.

She can't wear this suit.

Y/N eyed another crate nearby. It must have belonged to the other gunmen in their army.

She can make something out of these.

Nobody batted an eye when she started scavenging for parts.

Black body armor, covering her chest, shoulders, and knees. Dark pants covered in straps and holsters on her hips and thighs. Boots that went up to her knees, covered with the pads. And underneath the armor was a dark blue body suit, making her look completely different from her uncle’s red one. Her wrist gun, spray painted blue. And lastly, a black hood with a mask that covered her nose and mouth.

Around her neck was a small silver chain with the diamond ring through its loop. Y/N longingly stared into its crystal, looking back at everything Jason had promised her. How she believed them even when they weren’t so possible. How much she missed him.

She stuffed it under her suit and placed the hood over her head.

Already, she’d shed off that foreign skin. This was her. This was Y/N.

When everyone was ready, Flag came up to the crowd.

“No longer Deadshot, are you?”

“No,” she said.

“Then what do we call you?”

She simpered.

“The Bullet.”

-----

This had to be all theatrics. Not to mention completely unnecessary. Jason got off his motorcycle and parked it right outside the gate.

Somehow, they kept it. Even the fence. And it still had ‘Wayne Manor’ on its wrought iron bars even when the field behind it had been completely emptied out. The ruins and everything left behind after the manor exploded had been cleared out and demolished. Still, they chose not to do anything with the land, even when millionaires fought over it and maybe a few intruders with metal detectors breaking in to look for the Batcave.

Dick told him to meet him and the rest of the family there. He had no idea where, but when he stepped into the gate, Dick was there leaning against the vine-covered fence behind it. Jason wasn’t so sure how to greet him. the last time they saw each other, they were at each other’s throats. Literally. Now at their mercy, he wasn’t so sure what was the quickest way to let his pride down without looking too much of a desperate asshole.

“Uhm. Hi,” Dick said.

“Hey.”

They stared at the grass.

“Are Babs and Tim coming?”

“Yeah. They just got out of their honeymoon.”

“Oh yeah. Congratulations to them.”

“You can tell Tim when we get to them.”

Of course. Tim. The replacement. He can totally congratulate him on his wedding without it sounding too awkward.

“We talk here?”

Dick wrinkled his forehead and laughed. “You thought we were gonna plan this whole thing out on an empty field?”

“This place sure looks like one.”

He threw his head back. “Come on. Follow me.”

Hands in his pockets, he trailed behind Dick. All the way over to the center of the field where there wasn’t so much as a porta potty for them to go into.

Then Dick pulled out his watch, which wasn’t a watch at all, and started to press onto its buttons.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jason sighed when the ground underneath them suddenly started to rumble.

“What? You thought the cave went out with the explosion, too? Bruce wouldn’t let it go to waste.”

Then the grass, which turned out to be fake, had split into a large, rectangular shaped ramp that slowly descended down onto the undergrounds for them to walk onto. When it stopped, Jason pressed on his nose. “I can't believe I didn’t know about this.”

“Come on.”

They started walking down. “Barbara’s the one in charge. She practically runs the place.”

“I can see that.”

When they reached below ground, the Batcave was exactly as they had left it. The last time he was here, he was with Y/N, the Commander. And although they’d changed its entryway, the Batmobile and the Batwing were still there, the computers were still up and running. How massive it was and how bats were still up on the rocky ceiling looking down on them with their beady little eyes. Jason and Dick walked down the driveway and he let his hand run onto the batmobile’s surface.

Barbara and Tim were at the computers. They turned to the two and the way they looked at Jason wasn’t something he particularly liked being stared at.

“Hey, Babs.”

Barbara was the first to smile at him. “Hi, Jason.”

Then when he looked at Tim, who didn’t share the same smile, he stopped himself from scratching an itch on his head.

“Hi… Tim…”

“Jason…” he coughed.

“Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Babs said, then she reached out to Jason’s hand. He took it, for a while, then he pulled away.

“Sorry to hear about her,” Tim said.

“I know. But if you help me… and I thank you for helping me now… we can break her out.”

“Did you come up with a plan?” Dick asked him. Jason, arms crossed, turned over to the computer. Barbara had already gone ahead with looking up Scarecrow.

“If the squad is being sent out to deal with Crane, they might be going after that new weapon of his. We can go after them there and get her out before anyone sees.”

He stared at his hands. “I was hoping Babs could come up with some sort of devise that can disable the bomb in her neck.”

“Dick already told me. Don’t worry. I came up with something this morning.”

The three men followed behind her as she wheeled over to the table next to the keyboards.

“This,” she held out a device shaped like a thick pen. “If you can get her to settle down, you stick this thing to the back of her neck and it will send shocks right up to the nanite bomb. It should give it the voltage it needs to be disabled. It’s going to hurt. But it can save her.”

She was an angel. A literal angel. Just the thought of it gave him that little flutter of hope he definitely needed.

“Babs, I don’t know how to thank you…”

“Don’t worry about it. We’re here to help you.”

Two years ago, he had this woman kidnapped and sent to Crane, gave her the death scare of a lifetime and almost had Tim killed when Scarecrow had him captured.

It was too much. How none of their faces looked the least bit bothered. Dick held the pen and took off the needle cap, flinching, then he gave it to Jason.

Jason looked down on it, clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry…”

Dick, with his arms crossed, Tim leaning against the table, and Babs looking down at her hands, they all didn’t have much to say.

“I’m sorry for everything I did to you. All of you.”

“Jason…” Dick rubbed the back of his neck. “We used to be brothers-“

“No, I… I couldn’t. When this is over, I’ll be out of your way. And I owe you. All of you… But I shouldn’t stay…”

“You can. And you will. No matter how much you push yourself away… We’re here for you…”

Tim never looked up. But Jason knew, that if he were in his place right now, he’d be all over him with the ‘I told you so’s’ and the snide remarks. But the younger man was silent, didn’t even look at him the wrong way.

And that’s when he really felt like shit.

“We’re happy you came to us for help,” Babs said.

Jason hadn’t figured this part out when he reached for their help, but he knew something like this was about to happen. It was the entire reason why he didn’t want to. Because somehow, when it did, these guys won't hate him anymore, and he’ll end up hating himself instead.

Dick placed his hand on his shoulder. For a moment. Then when Jason’s body tensed, Dick pulled away.

“Now,” Babs went over to the computer. “Time to hack into the government.”

-----

The helicopter landed some distance away from the dome. The Bullet still had no idea why it was shaped that way. Just that it was new and humungous and completely littered with army men guarding every inch of it.

She, Harley, Boomerang, Killer Frost, King Shark, and El Diablo stepped out at the front lines, with Rick Flag right behind them, followed by their own army of men, though a number considerably less than what they were going up against. They had to be smart with this and break in.

They went into the forest, out on the fields. The dome was in a level ground lower than the lands around it, shaped in a circle, much like it was on a pit that was about two or three stories below ground. They crouched down on the bushes when they started reaching the edges of the pit and Flag looked out on his scopes.

“They’ve completely covered the perimeter.”

“Do we just attack?”

Flag put down his binoculars. “We are. To keep them distracted. When everyone’s backs are turned you six go in there and finish the job.”

“You say it like it’s so fucking easy,” Boomerang snarled. King Shark gritted his sharp teeth and growled staring at the armed men around the building.

A hand grenade. Right at one of the trees. It got their attention enough, especially when Flag started firing at the guards stationed just outside the entrance. Crowds of Scarecrow’s men, armed to the teeth, ran the outside grounds to go after Flag’s men. They drifted down the pit, outstretched their legs, and handled them at close range, while some stayed at the trees firing from afar.

The Squad, on the other hand, were all the way over to the other side. Almost all of them had ran off, except for two who stayed behind guarding the backside.

“Bullet,” Frost placed her frosted hand on her shoulder. It made her shiver. “You're up.”

The Bullet took out her sniper and shot down those two men almost at the same time. Then they slid down the side, King Shark rolling down with his immense weight. When another of Scarecrow’s men ran out the door, a boomerang landed on his head.

The door was locked. “I’ll take care of it,” Frost said. Boomerang scoffed, “Fucking metas.”

Holding out her hands, fumes of ice shot out from Frost’s palms and froze down the locks. King Shark kicked the iced hinges down, then the door fell to the ground.

“That was easy!” Harley skipped inside with her mallet over her shoulders. Diablo was still silent, still with his hands in his pockets.

“Don’t jinx it, Harls.”

It looked more like a warehouse by the entryway. And there was absolutely nothing inside save for a few cylinders and water tanks and a whole lot of pipes being guarded.

“We should probably sneak inside.”

“Sneak!?” Harley snorted at the Bullet. “Honey, we don’t do that here.”

King Shark growled at her, then he walked straight up to the center of the room.

“Intruder! Open fire!” the soldiers screamed.

“What is that thing!?”

“Just shoot!”

King Shark walked slowly towards those men, and the bullets just bounced off his incredibly thick skin. He held out his hand, stopped the bullets from reaching his face. Then when the soldiers had backed too much away and reached the wall, Shark grabbed them by the face and actually hurled them all the way across the room.

“Time to play!!!” Harley screamed, then she held out her mallet and started swinging it over at the guards.

Killer Frost had the ground frozen over, slipping the guards off balance, then shards of ice rose up from the ground to impale them. Boomerang had a more melee approach but had his trusty weapon to go around when he needed it.

The Bullet. The new, almighty Bullet. She pulled up her hood and mask and took out her AK.

She fired at the dozens of men going after her. Jumping on top of the cylinders, standing on the highest ground, she shot down anyone who came remotely close to her and had their bodies on the floor before they could even touch her feet. Over and over, she changed the magazines, took out more ammo. She let the gun take charge of her hands and head. A lot of the were swarming her, from different directions. Eventually too many of the soldiers were surrounding the pile of crates she stood on and the others started climbing up.

She couldn’t escape. Even if she were able to take them all down.

Until a raging fire shot out like a car-sized flame thrower and took out the guards that were climbing up. The water tank didn’t seem to have been damaged, but the men on it were burnt like a crisp, and they all started to run away. “Jump!” Diablo screamed.

She did, and she landed on the fire as well. She rolled on the floor to put it out before it got to her skin and Diablo helped her up. “Thank you.”

“Just go.”

She nodded, then with her pistol and wrist gun, went on to keep firing. Frost had a wall of the men being stuck to the block of ice, some completely frozen inside it, then King Shark let out an animalistic shriek before he punched the glass, destroying it into shards and impaling everyone inside.

Harley, on the other hand, just went on spinning around with her mallet, screaming, manically laughing. The bitch was insane.

“A little help here!” Boomerang called out. He was being held back by two men while another was punching at his chest. The Bullet pointed her wrist gun and fired at his attacker.

Even more men were coming. From the doors to the inside.

“We have to keep moving!” The Bullet cried out to them. To the door where the reinforcements kept coming from, she kept firing as she backed away. The whole squad moved, onwards towards the door. Then when they’d all reached it, Frost froze over the door with more than five layers of ice.

There were sounds of bashing and hitting against the icy door, but it should be enough to hold them back. Before them was a long, seemingly endless hallway. It should probably be leading them to the inside of the dome, where the weapon is.

“Ahhh. The Suicide Squad…”

“WOAH WOAH WOAH where the hell is that comin’ from!?” Harley screamed.

The intercoms. Scarecrow was watching them. The Bullet put on her optics, now shining blue light, and looked around.

A camera. Right at the corner. She shot it with her wrist gun.

“And you have the Commander with you.”

“FUCKING SHUT UP!” The Bullet shot another camera hidden away.

“The Commander, huh,” Killer Frost looking at her head to toe. “You work with him before?”

“Shut up.”

“OH MY MOLLY,” Harley placed her hands on her mouth. “YOU'RE the Commander of the freakin’ Arkham Knight!! I remember you!”

“We should go-“

“I have so many questions. Huge fan. HUGE fan. Ya know she’s drove the first Cloudburst?”

Boomerang crossed his arms. “And they sent her to help us? The fuckin’ nerve of this scumbag coming up here actin’ all hero.”

“You watch your mouth, kangaroo.”

Diablo snorted and chuckled. Boomerang held out his weapon. “You want a piece of this?”

“A kid’s toy?”

“Don’t you fuckin-“

King Shark roared at the two with his mouth wide open for a good ten seconds and deafened their ears. The Bullet wiped his spit off her face and scoffed.

Frost led the way, all the way down its halls. When they reached a large gate, she froze it over once more and Shark beat it down with his fists and his foot.

They didn’t know they’d reach the center of the large dome. They thought they had more rooms to cover.

With the building so big, they thought it would have taken so much more time to reach the core.

But already, they were met with a cylindrical glass tank that was almost as thick as an entire building in itself, and it lit up the room in a menacing red light, all around. It was swirling, even boiling inside. And it shot all the way up to the roof, three stories high.

It was the fucking toxin.

The squad backed away.

Dozens of men surrounded them, all around the dimly lit room. And it was larger than any of them could have expected. It was circular, and there was only a suspended walkway that went all around the sides. There was a runway to the center, where there were controls. A man stood by them. A man with a rag on his head.

All of them with their hands up.

Scarecrow’s voice was on the intercom, and it echoed all throughout the dome loud enough to rattle their eardrums.

“I assume this wasn’t what you’d expected?”

No. Not even a little. This wasn’t what they expected at all.

They didn’t expect to already reach the weapon.

Or rather. Stand on top of the weapon.

The weapon wasn’t a ray gun or a tank or even a satellite. It wasn’t something so small that it would have been easily taken down by a tank or even King Shark’s fist. Even when it was to engulf the whole of America in its toxin.

No. it was none of that.

The Bullet trailed her eyes down the numerous pipes going up and around the walls, through the floor and over to the room where they just came from, where even more of the toxin was stored in tanks and the pipes that went around it.

The Cloudburst wasn’t inside the dome.

The Cloudburst was the dome.

-----

It didn’t take too much time. It wasn’t the first time Barbara had to hack into the American Government. In fact, it was the easier to hack into than some people’s private accounts.

She went into Amanda Waller’s files.

“Here. Finally.”

Dick, Jason, and Tim stood behind her.

“It looks like they’ve already sent out the squad. Just a few hours ago.”

“Who are in the squad?”

The files on Task Force X. Babs took out the profiles on all their subjects.

Harley’s picture was first to come up. Her blonde hair and vicious eyes staring at the screen. “Harley Quinn, of course. We got Louise Lincoln, also known as Killer Frost.”

The boys watched on.

“El Diablo. Captain Boomerang. King Shark. Rick Flag’s being sent out there as well.”

Then she stopped scrolling when Y/N’s picture and profile came up.

Jason’s heart broke. It did every time he does so much as look at a photo of her. And with that one, a mug shot, the mug shot that was going around every news station in town, the brokenness in her face, the darkness in what used to be the brightness in her eyes, how much rage she had for everything around the world, he hitched his breath.

‘Y/FN Y/LN

Age: 23

Alias: The Bullet’

He smiled at her new name. A sad smile. The most painful kind.

He missed her so much.

Setting his head to the side so they couldn’t see the tear that had seeped out, Jason swallowed and shut his eyes.

“Jason…”

“I’m alright. Can you find out where they were headed?”

Babs smiled at him, then went back to her keyboard.

Zooming in on the helicopter footage on the dome, she traced its coordinates.

“Is that-“

“Scarecrow’s base? Most probably.”

“Jesus,” Jason sighed. “I used to work with that guy.”

“This is the weapon, alright. The sensors are through the roof. We should be heading out there.”

“Do we have a plan?”

“Not exactly. We’ll know when we get there,” Dick said.

“We have to hurry. Who knows when that mad man actually detonates his bomb?”

“How? It’s two hours away.”

“Man,” Dick pat his back. “You really have to get used to working with us now that we’ve got Bruce’s old toys.”

Of course.

What else could he have possibly thought? Get there on his bike?

The Batwing was staring right at their faces, almost taunting them with its silent growl. Dick, Tim, and Jason walked up to it side by side.

“You think he’ll be happy with that?” Jason said.

“Not at all. He even threatens to kill us if we get anywhere near the wheel-“

“Which is why I’m here to drive, Master Dick.”

No.

It couldn’t be.

The sweet old butler, came up from behind the computers where there must have been a room for him to stay in, he held out a tray of four glasses of water for them to take. Setting it down on the table, he gave Jason the sincerest smile.

“I’ve missed you, dear boy.”

“Alfred.”

He wanted desperately to go up to him, give him the biggest bear hug until his bones crack, but Alfred held his hand up to him and just handed him his water.

“It’s better if we skip the ol’ reunion. We catch up after we’ve saved your girl.”

Everything was here. Everyone was here.

Clearly, it wasn’t the time to get emotional. And goddamn, he wasn’t the one to get emotional.

And all the more did they look like a family when the three boys suited up. Dick with his black and blue Nightwing suit and domino mask, Tim with his bo staff and red and yellow suit and cape. And Jason, with his hooded jacket and red visor.

Facing each other in a circle, Nightwing, Robin, and Red Hood took in how they were all now in one team, possibly for the rest of their career. No longer will they fight. No longer will they run.

Oracle smiled at the three. “You all look great together when you're not at each other’s throats.”

“You sure you won't let me drive, Alfred?” Robin said to the butler.

“I had specific instructions from Master Bruce that if you were to inherit the cave, no one was to drive the Batwing but me. You have until I die, Master Dick.”

“Awe. Even in his death, Bruce still doesn’t trust us.”

Laughing as they went in, Alfred had the Batwing soaring into the sky. Silently.

They were going to save her. Them. His family. The one he’d left. The one he thought he hated. The one he almost got killed.

He couldn’t possibly have done anything to deserve this.

With his visor up, he went up to Dick.

“Dick…” he choked.

His older brother turned to him, smiling. He knew what Jason was thinking.

And he didn’t let him speak to make things unnecessarily dramatic. He knew he had his brother back. Dick pulled him into a hug. A sweet, sincere hug that tore out every part of him that wasn’t already consumed by that string of humanity he once had left inside him.

“Thank you,” Jason said to him. Dick patted his back.

“We missed you, Jaybird…”

Jason closed his eyes.

When they pulled away, with Tim watching, he never actually got the change to get to know him. But one of these days, he will. And he’ll be a brother to him, too.

Jason nodded at him, smiling. Tim nodded back.

He never, ever would have thought they’d accept him like this, to help him like this.

And if Bruce were here, he’d have no idea what to tell him. But Jason did forgive him. He forgave him before he even knew he did. Maybe, if Bruce were anything like Dick and Tim, he would have accepted Jason back into his house. He would have helped him, as well.

He let himself think that. For his own sake. For his own peace.

Not long after, they reached the site.

Nightwing, Robin, and Red Hood stood at the Batwing’s exit doors.

-----

Harley must have had the worst of issues for her to be laughing this off, whistling as she marveled over the room. “I have to admit, Ragdoll, you cer’ainly out did yourself than the last time! I remember when all it took was Ivy’s tree to get rid of your toxin!”

Boomerang scoffed. “A tree?!”

“Gag her.”

“Awe, come on! What is it with you people and the gaggi- MMMMMM!”

Held back by a dozen of Scarecrow’s gunmen, with so many of their guns pointed right at their heads, they stood on their knees, hands tied to their backs. They watched Scarecrow walk over to them from his place near the glass. He chuckled, that low, dark, breathy, and utterly disgusting laugh when he went over the squad.

“MMM! MMM? Mmm…” Harley said to him when he passed by her. All he did was glare. When he passed by Frost, he eyed her body and how icy smoke was coming out of her pores.

“Ya know, this ain’t personal. I’d totally be into this. But we got an explosive stuck to me spine here, mate, and I really just don’t want to die,” Boomerang said. Scarecrow ignored him and walked over to Diablo.

She looked over. Diablo had melted away the ropes on his wrists and no one even noticed. He stood still, watching Scarecrow, then the rag-headed man went over to the next one.

The Bullet. The only one who actually hated this man to the bloody core.

Scarecrow looked amused at the darkness of her glower. He leaned over, pulled down her hood and mask with his disgusting fingers before she flinched away.

“Lovely to see you once more, Commander.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“I thought I left you for dead. Turns out you survived your own bullets. Perhaps you're not as good as you thought you are-“

“Go to hell-“

“This is hell, Commander. At least, it will be.” When he stood back, he eyed the creature next to her.

“An animal? They brought an animal to the squad?” Scarecrow laughed.

King Shark roared. The loudest, more nightmarish roar. Then he charged after him with his large mouth littered with almost three rows of teeth on each side. The guards pulled him back, shot a taser to his arm, but it didn’t do much damage.

Scarecrow backed off and immediately he was guarded by his men.

“Kill him.”

“No!” Killer Frost screamed, but even she was held back by three guards.

And it was the most cruel thing they’ve ever seen. The Bullet watched on, as her fellow squad member was shot with three tranquilizer darts. He fell to the ground, unconscious.

Then Scarecrow’s men took out a grenade.

Shit.

They stuffed it into King Shark’s mouth.

And the squad looked away when it detonated not even two seconds later.

His head was blown off. Much like it would have been if Flag had done it himself.

Five of them left.

Against an army of hundreds.

“Now. You all get to watch as the entire country slowly descends into their deepest, darkest nightmares…”

Scarecrow went over to the center, over to the controls where she saw a bright, beeping light coming from one of the screens. She didn’t have so much as an idea about how this was going to blow. Will the building be going along with it? Is everyone going to live through it?

She should know. She was the one who detonated the first Cloudburst.

They were two hours away from the city. And the government already had most of the people in the area evacuate to shelters underground. They didn’t have much else to hide.

The guards around them had masks as well. They were going to sit it through, fight even with the gas all around them.

She had no idea what was going to happen. But all she could do was sit and watch.

Scarecrow pressed the final button, and on the screen, it showed a minute’s countdown

The Bullet closed her eyes.

There was a heat coming to her wrists. Out of view from the guards. A little flame, floating about. It melted away the chains that were around their hands, and suddenly, she could move them around. She looked over at Diablo and thanked him with a nod. Harley and Boomerang were free as well. Frost, on the other hand, rejected that fire and instead froze over the chains herself. They could charge.

But the guards were too many. She couldn’t just attack.

Time was running out. There was nothing they could do.

But they can shield themselves. At the last second when the guards couldn’t react.

“This is… the Cloudburst!!!”

Three.

Two.

One.

BOOM!!!

“EVERYBODY, GET YOUR FUCKING MASKS!” Boomerang screamed. The five of them grabbed their filter masks from their suits and held it against their mouths. Everything was shaking, an explosion large enough to almost take down its walls, then the glass started to break. The gas was leaking on the inside.

Scarecrow didn’t move. He just stood there, amused, all the while his guards started to panic, panting and coughing and tearing the masks off their faces like it only hurt their skin. She ran out of the way before a guard fell to her body, clutching his throat, before he started screaming the ghostliest noises a human could possibly make.

Then their skins. No longer did they look remotely human. They looked like they were burnt out. Their whole body turning into scabs and burnt flesh. The toxin was eating them from the inside. And their eyes. She’s never seen the look on someone’s face like that when they were looking straight at their deepest, darkest fears. Not even when she’d imagine it.

No.

He couldn’t possibly-

No.

These men. These trained soldiers promised with almost million dollars each.

Scarecrow didn’t hire them here to defend the Cloudburst.

They were here to serve as victims for his horrible toxin that turned them into vicious, mindless zombies. And they looked exactly like they would have in their visions of fear, the ones you’d merely hallucinate with his old toxin. This time, they weren’t hallucinations. The nightmarish creatures of the dark, Scarecrow had turned the people’s fears into something real.

The squad, with their masks on, held tightly onto their weapons, watching the horror in front of them unfold.

One of the creatures ran after Harley, so she swung at it with her mallet, crushing his body against the wall. It didn’t even look like it had human bones that cracked when it was hit.

No. No. No.

Everyone started firing at the creatures coming after them. At their heads, at their animalistic mouths. Frost on one side, freezing the incoming animals into an ice block, and on the other, El Diablo, firing at them with an enormous raging fire. They had to get out of here. There was no possible way they could win this here. Not with the Cloudburst looking like it was about to break.

The Bullet fired at everything she could see. With her AK on one hand and her pistol on the other. But the seemingly endless array of lifeless minions came crawling and pouncing right at her. One of them scratched her arm. She hoped this fucking toxin didn’t work through cross contamination.

Scarecrow, he was still at the center, watching it all unfold.

Scarecrow.

Fucking Scarecrow.

The Bullet screamed out, even with her mask, then opened fire as she made her way into the center walkway. She ran to him and pushed everything out of her way, blowing their brains out, jumping onto the railing and running on top of it. She took out a grenade and threw it at a crowd.

Jonathan Crane caught her eye. And with the deathly look on her face, he lost his amusement.

Then the coward started to back away.

She growled and tore through everything, running after Crane. He didn’t have much else to go.

So in a split second, she fired at his leg. The Bullet could have easily fired at his head.

But she wanted him to die from a bullet right between his eyes, that were to look right into hers in the last few moments of his life.

Scarecrow was on the ground, crawling. The Bullet walked right up to him and grabbed him by the collar. Then she aggressively slammed him against the glass where his horrible red toxin was leaking out.

“You killed my son…”

“You did that yourself-“

“No,” she tightened her hand around his neck. “No, I didn’t.”

A pistol. Right against his head. She ends this now. His story ends now. His reign on earth. His madness. His nightmare.

She couldn’t hear the bullet fire out of her hand.

But she did feel the blood spatter when it entered Jonathan Crane’s skull. She heard the crack, and the impact against the glass. She saw the look on his eyes, staring right into her. Taunting her. Waiting for her to pull the trigger until it stayed that way until the worms eat up his body.

The Bullet threw the body on the floor.

She was never, ever going to kill another human being again. She made that promise. To Jason and his family.

But if she were to kill just one last time…

She wanted to make it count.

-----

“Holy…”

“Shit…”

“We were too late.”

“Or the squad failed…”

“No,” Red Hood choked. “No, they can't be dead.”

“They might still be alive. Get your masks on. Come on.”

They put on their masks, Red Hood’s under his visor. As they ran towards the enormous mushroom-shaped cloud of smoke that was spewing violently out of the dome. The ground was quaking enough to feel like it would eventually erupt. And if they were to stay, it might actually split open. They ran towards the center.

And before they could go down the pit. They saw them. Right when they stepped into the are completely engulfed in the horrible red toxin.

They saw the creatures.

In army uniforms of what used to be humans, the creatures were screaming, running and clawing their way around the grass and bushes like they were rabid wolves under a full moon. The bodies, or what used to be bodies, looked like undead carcasses that were walking on their hands and feet. When they caught sight of the three, they started going after them.

Someone grabbed Nightwing’s shoulder.

Rick fucking Flag. He had a mask on.

“You kids better stay away. This is our mission.”

“You really want your boss’s goddamn pride to get in the way of actually saving the world? We’re here to help!”

Flag fired at one of the monsters coming right for them.

“Scarecrow’s baited his own men and turned them into these fucking shitbags.”

“Then let us help,” Robin said. Red Hood, on the other hand, was already shooting at the creatures with his two pistols.

“Red Hood!”

“Oh, don’t give me that! These guys aren’t human!” He fired at one almost flying for his visor. “They never will be again even if we destroy this thing! So get your asses here and KILL THESE GUYS!”

Rick Flag had went on to shoot them with his AK. Nightwing and Robin stared at each other, holding onto their escrima sticks and bo staff.

Flag, despite his guns, didn’t see one of the zombie-like monsters that had grabbed him from behind. It started tearing at its face, claws sharper than a cat’s. Robin and Nightwing went over to get it off him, but it was too late.

Rick Flag’s mask had fallen off.

He stared at the two, with his eyes glowing red and bloodshot from how he was desperately trying to hold his breath. He started clutching at his throat, and his mouth looked like it was about to blow up.

Flag couldn’t handle it. He gasped for air.

Then he turned into one of them. Right in front of their eyes. Nightwing gripped on his escrima sticks.

Then he slammed it against Flag’s head, destroying what was left of his skull. The guilt started to eat him away, but Red Hood was right. He wasn’t human anymore.

“Come on,” Robin said.

Then they attacked everything that came their way. They had to go into the dome. Find the Squad. Hope for the best. But the creatures were running out of the doors like they were in need of air. Hundreds of them in a stampede going out into the field. The trees had cleared, blown off from the explosion. Everything was barren and had fallen under a thick red cloud of his fucking toxin.

Red Hood managed to run all the way to the center. He shot one that had wrestled Nightwing to the ground before he slid down the pit, hands and legs outstretched, and even then, he continued to fire. He reloaded his guns and started firing at the ones going out of the dome.

----

They couldn’t possibly take them all.

So as the Squad rushed down the hallways, out into the first level where it had gone complete barren and destroyed, El Diablo continued to shoot his flames from his hands at all the incoming creatures.

Finally, they reached the door and they all raced outside.

Frost barred the door with her ice, as much as she could, and the monsters were pounding themselves against it with their own bodies and heads. The Bullet, facing behind them, fired at the incoming creatures that must have been the reinforcements waiting to be called. Fuck, there were a lot of them.

Killer Frost couldn’t handle it and the creatures had broken her wall of ice. Unnatural strength. One of the side effects of the toxin. Harley screamed her battle cry and started swinging her mallet around. El Diablo with his flames. And Captain Boomerang with, well, his boomerang.

The Bullet, with her machine gun, fired at ten of the creatures in under a second. She flew in the air. She dodged their incoming attacks. She fired directly at their heads and took out more of them than anyone else with a gun. She fired relentlessly until their heads were blown off, their bodies exploding onto the floor.

She climbed on top of a nearby truck, dropped her carbine, then used her wrist gun and pistol to fire at everything that moved.

“WOOHOO! GO NEW GIRL!” Harley screamed. The Bullet smiled, then went on with her alternating shots until she’d taken down dozens of them.

Everything that moved. Everything that moved. Everything that-

A red hood. Red visor. Gray jacket. And a red bat symbol on his chest.

Oh God.

The asshole.

“Jason!!!”

Red Hood turned around.

A wave that had crashed on the shore, violent and forceful, a wave that tore through everything in its way. Every tree. Every bush. Every doubting thought. The Bullet jumped off the truck, ignored the sting up her knees. She ran to him. She ran to him so fast that two of the monsters smashed into each other when they were going after her. Red Hood recognized her and dropped everything he had on him and sprinted to her way.

The wave was there. A crashing, powerful wave. When they landed in each other’s arms so painfully tight she could have almost fallen over if she hadn’t already clung to him with all her might. All that was left of it.

Yes.

Yes…

Everything lit up. Everything was here again. He was everything. He will always be everything.

It was a miracle they lived through it. Red Hood, with his arms shaking as much as the ground was, buried himself into her and didn’t let go until they heard the world calling out to them, demanding that they give them their attention back. But even then, they held on. Not when they thought it could have been the last. Not after they’ve just been apart. Jason pulled away, raised his visor so she could look into his eyes. He wore a filter mask underneath. And if he could see her smile right then, she was sure he was grinning his face off as well. She could tell with the way his beautiful eyes crinkled up.

“I fucking love the suit-“

Then she held out her arm and shot one of the monsters coming for them.

“We should move.”

“Yeah.”

Side by side, having each other’s backs. She knew something felt wrong fighting with the squad. No, she didn’t belong there. She never fought as well as she possibly could when she was with her partner. Now the Bullet and Red Hood, they fired and shot at everything that came their way.

“Throw me!” She screamed at Red Hood. She run up to him, and he grabbed her legs. Red Hood flung her up at the air and she fired relentlessly at twenty creatures hidden behind the truck. She got to the ground.

Then the fucking Batwing flew in and started firing.

“Woah!” The Bullet yelled.

“How cool is our butler!?”

The monsters started running towards the Batwing, and their attentions were slowly taken away from Red Hood and Bullet. Alfred had them covered.

“We have to get that bomb off you.”

“Where’s Flag? He’ll blow up the bomb if he sees me-“

“He’s dead. He can't blow it up. But we still need to get that off of you before Waller does it herself-”

The Cloudburst dome exploded once again, this time a thicker cloud of smoke blew out of it like a bomb. They held onto the ground, eyes shut. Red Hood grabbed onto her and she swore by her life that she was never going to let go.

When it subsided, they stood back up. “Come on.”

The Bullet stared at him dumbfounded, then the Red Hood grabbed her wrist, pulled her to the back where they could find Nightwing.

“Dick!!!”

Nightwing saw them, slammed his sticks into the creature’s guts, then ran towards them.

“I found a chair at the back. She needs to sit down.”

They moved fast. Waller will find out Flag is dead and detonate all their bombs before they’ll have a chance at escaping.

So they put her into a chair, and she gripped onto the arm rests. The Bullet watched Red Hood give Nightwing a pen-shaped device that had a needle on its end. She swallowed. “Hey, hey…” Red Hood leaned in and held her face. “You're gonna be okay… Scream if you have to… It won't take too long.”

She wished she could see his face. It was the only way she could ever be comforted. But his touch was enough. She held his hand, squeezed it, then Nightwing held her neck.

“Ready.”

Alfred kept firing at all the creatures coming after them. They had a few good minutes.

Y/N screamed out into the air as the needle went into the back of her neck and electrified that one spot by her spine. She gripped onto the wood. She forced her eyes shut. She never felt so much pain from being tased down but with it came the relief feeling that bomb actually stop beeping in the inside of her flesh. The shocks were excruciatingly painful, and it made every agonizing second pass by as long as a minute would have taken. Red Hood turned his head away before the look on her face broke his heart even more.

But the moment it stopped, with her body up in light smokes, she felt everything inside her calm.

It was gone. The bomb was gone. She could actually feel it. Red Hood grabbed her and pulled her to a hug immediately.

“You're safe now…”

“I love you.”

“I love you…”

Robin suddenly jumped at them and took out three incoming creatures with his staff. “Come on guys, Alfred can't handle all this by himself!”

Nightwing. Robin. Red Hood. Bullet.

Like they were all made to fight by each other’s side.

Nightwing smashed his weapons against a monster’s head, threw its body up in the air with his knee, then the Bullet fired at it with her wrist gun all the way down to the ground. He helped her up, gain higher ground, then she fought at Nightwing’s side when he took out the ones coming for her back. Robin, with his bo staff, slammed one right at the gut and let it fly through the air until Red Hood slammed its torso with his elbow, before shooting it in the head.

Red Hood shot three with his pistols, but one of them grabbed him by the head. And man, was it inhumanely strong. Nightwing slammed his stick right through its skull, just inches away from Red Hood’s head. Red Hood elbowed it away, then shot it. The Bullet kept covering them, now with her machine gun. She fired at one going after Robin, at another that had Nightwing in a headlock, and another two that were about to surround Red Hood.

So many were coming to surround her. And as the boys fought them off, she fired at them relentlessly with her gun. She jumped to the ground and fired at them with her wrist gun.

The Batwing was above them, swerving around as it took out everything that stood their way.

The Bullet looked back out at the pit, where the squad was. “We have to help them!” she said.

“What?!” Red Hood screamed. “Are you insane?”

“They just want to live! We all want this nightmare to end! You can go back to being enemies after we’ve saved the world!”

The world. Of course. By now the gas should have dispersed out of the state. They had to move.

The Bullet shot off a creature coming for Harley. And another coming for Boomerang. The man was barely holding up. El Diablo, now a raging monster completely made of fire, tore through everything in its way and burnt down all the monsters to a bloody crisp. Frost was still holding up, doing whatever she could with her ice. And the look on her face when Nightwing came along and hit one of them in the head before it could grab her, she couldn’t describe it.

And it was that way for hours on end. The creatures kept on coming. The fires started raging. The Batwing had landed on the ground but kept its bullets spewing out of its guns in a frenzied attack against the hundreds that were still around them.

But somehow, the dome acted as some sort of beacon. Because there were more incoming. From far away. She had no idea if they were still Scarecrow’s men or if they were people from the countryside that weren’t so lucky…

As far as everybody knew, they were dead.

And they were all going after the dome like flies surrounding a light.

Frost had them in a block of ice, then Diablo fried them up like fish. Harley kept with her hammer and almost hit Nightwing in the head. “Harley!”

“Sorry, handsome! Kinda got used to aiming for your pretty head!”

Jason, standing with his back right up against the Y/N’s side. They shot at the creatures with their guns not knowing if their ammo was going to take it.

“Y/N! You think we’re gonna make this!?”

She shot down a foot, an arm, then eventually a head. Y/N screamed. “It’s not looking good but I sure fucking hope so!”

Red Hood grabbed her shoulder and turned her around, firing at one she didn’t see. Y/N got a circular lid off one of the manholes and flung it into three bodies.

“Y/N! MARRY ME!!!”

She could have been grabbed by the head if she didn’t hear it coming from behind. She held out her wrist gun and fired directly behind her.

“I THINK I’VE ALREADY ANSWERED THAT QUESTION!!!”

Y/N used Jason’s body to haul herself up, swinging her leg in a circle around her before she shot all of them on the ground. Jason grabbed a creature’s head with his bare hands and squished it into its bloody bits.

“NO. I MEAN MARRY ME. RIGHT NOW!!!!”

“WHAT?!”

Almost losing her arm, she slammed her fist against its head, throwing it to the grass and slamming her boot onto its face. Jason kept firing with his two guns, faster than he ever could have fired.

“IF WE’RE GONNA DIE, WE’RE DYING TOGETHER!!”

“WHAT?!?!”

Jason grabbed her arms, flung her around him so she could repeatedly kick them down before they got anywhere near them. She fired her wrist gun and cursed when she almost missed. He started handling them by hand, punching, swerving, kicking them down with his awfully strong thighs.

“YOU EVER SEEN PIRATES OF THE CARRIBEAN!?” He smashed drove his gun into a skull and kicked him off. “THE THIRD ONE???”

“JASON, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!!??”

Y/N pressed her back against Jason, and they didn’t stop firing.

“THEY GOT MARRIED IN THE MIDDLE OF A FIGHT. IT WAS FUCKING EPIC.”

“WE’RE GOING TO FUCKING DIE-“

“EXACTLY MY POINT. I WANT TO GET OUT OF THIS WITH YOU AS MY WIFE. DEAD OR ALIVE. I DON’T WANNA WASTE ANYMORE TIME.”

She leapt up in a backflip over Jason and they switched places.

“THIS NEVER WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF WALLER COULDN’T LEGALLY FORCE ME TO TESTIFY AGAINST YOU. I’M NOT ABOUT TO LET THAT HAPPEN AGAIN. IF ANYONE WANTS TO KEEP US APART, THEY’LL HAVE TO GO THROUGH THE FUCKING LAW!”

“JASON, YOU'RE INSANE!!!”

Five down in a single shot. Y/N kicked them down, grabbed her grappling gun, then shot it at a crate to haul it over to the monsters incoming. Jason went through the whole row of creatures climbing down the pit, and when he had the slightest window, he raised his visor.

“IS THAT A YES?!”

Y/N faced him. and Jason faced her.

It wasn’t even a fucking question. The beautiful asshole.

“YES!”

As they kept firing, Jason pressed on his communicator. “ALFRED!!!”

He tossed Y/N a communicator so they’d both be able to hear him. The butler was still in the batwing, needless to say still firing at all the monsters that have made a mountain coming after it hovering in the air.

“Yes, sir?”

“YOU STILL AN ORDAINED MINISTER?!”

He could hear Alfred sound confused.

“I do believe that is a lifelong thing-“

“MARRY US. RIGHT NOW!!!”

Alfred took out a bazooka gun on the Batwing, a new one no doubt. He didn’t remember Bruce having that when he was still alive, then stook out a crowd of twenty coming after him.

“I’m afraid I’m rather busy at the moment, Master Jason.”

“THEN MAKE IT QUICK. PLEASE, MARRY US!”

“TIM, YOU HEARING THIS?” Dick cried out into the comms. Everyone could hear it.

“I KNOW. IT’S FUCKING ROMANTIC.”

Alfred kept his calm. Then they heard a sigh.

“Alright. Do try not to get yourselves killed, Master Jason.”

“CAN DO!”

Y/N grabbed Jason’s arm, held onto him as tightly as she could, then they turned to meet each other’s eyes. Not after shooting a zombie coming for his back.

“Dearly beloved we are gathered here today…” Alfred fired another bazooka at the crowd. “To join this man, and this woman, in holy matrimony.”

Her wrist gun on a frenzy, she shot at the surrounding monsters and helped Jason kick one down with his knee. They stuck to each other’s backs, firing with their pistols.

“Jason Todd, Red Hood, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Jason’s pistol ran out of ammo, so Y/N threw him a magazine.

“I DO!!!”

She grabbed him, hurled him to the side so they’d switch places, then she started firing at a gun powder barrel she found and it immediately exploded.

“Y/FN Y/LN, Deadsh-“

“THE BULLET! I’M THE BULLET!”

Jason smiled at her with his eyes.

“Ah yes, I do apologize. Y/FN Y/LN, the Bullet, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Alfred fired at the creatures coming up to her just as she spoke. “I DO!”

Endless bullets, flying out of their hands, they fired at everything that came their way, protecting each other, shielding each other from harm’s way.

Alfred cleared his throat.

“Then with the power vested in me by the city of Gotham, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

“DICK, COVER US!”

“I GOT YOU!” Dick screamed.

“You may now kiss the bride…”

Before they’d die. Before it all ends.

They only had a minute before their lungs would give out.

So they ran into each other’s arms, taking off their masks and held their breaths to the best capacity.

Jason grabbed Y/N’s face, pulling her to his lips. Then an explosion happened in the far-off distance that blew off almost everything around them in the air. All except them.

They were one. They were together. Forever. She was his. And he was hers. For as long as they both shall live.

“IS THIS A FUCKIN’ WEDDING?!” Boomerang screamed.

Harley smashed her hammer. “I LOVE WEDDINGS!!!”

Jason leaned down and kissed her despite his chest starting to twist. She grabbed the back of his neck, pushed him back as well. Never has a kiss been more powerful, more meaningful. As far as they knew, they were alone. They were themselves. They were together. And nothing, not even the world, was ever going to pull them apart ever again.

From their first kiss in the meeting room, to the one at the Batcave, to the kiss in her quarters that one rainy night, to the kiss they shared up on that bridge. Everything had boiled down to now. Finally. Finally.

They were fucking married.

They pulled away, stared at each other, and finally they could see the largest smiles on their faces. The places the masks back on and gasped to breathe.

“Shall we?”

“We shall…”

Not a lot more to cover. The fucking monsters were finally starting to run out. And they moved in a dance only they knew. On each other’s side. Never leaving.

They shot, kicked, slammed, tore through the lifeless bodies coming after them and she cried out as another bomb exploded that she threw from her hand. She fought with her fucking husband and man, did it sound like the most beautiful thing in the world.

Nightwing and Robin came up to them.

“CONGRATULATIONS!!!” they both screamed.

“THANK YOU!”

Then Y/N handed them both guns and they started firing at the creatures.

It worked so well.

Finally.

Twenty left. Then there were fifteen. Then another ten died.

Finally.

Gone. All of the monsters. Wiped out.

The Squad was intact. Thankfully, they smiled at the Bullet and they all gathered to the center.

“I can't believe this,” Nightwing said. “But thank you for having our backs.”

“Don’t get used to it, pretty boy, when we wake up tomorrow mornin’ I’m back to slicing your head off with a-“

“Okay,” Red Hood stopped them. “Now we have to figure out a way to stop this.” He pointed up at the beacon.

“Hood,” the Bullet gulped.

“Yes, wife?”

A few of them groaned at that. Red Hood ignored them.

But the Bullet, Y/N, she didn’t look to happy.

She was staring right up at the top of the pit, shivering.

Everyone looked back to what she was looking at.

No.

No…

It wasn’t possible.

Hundreds more. Hundreds of the creatures. From all over the city. Ones with long, blonde hair. Ones that were as tiny as a small child.

It had reached civilization.

No. they couldn’t possibly handle all of them.

Robin looked at Nightwing, whose look on his eyes definitely lost that glimmering enthusiasm that sparked the hope they needed to go on.

And Red Hood.

Well, he made the right choice marrying her.

Jason held Y/N’s hand, and she took it so tightly between her fingers.

The look on their eyes, watching each other, memorizing the looks on their eyes before they go on to their inevitable deaths.

They couldn’t even see each other’s faces.

Harley slumped to the ground. “Well, this is it, ladies and gents.”

Frost screamed in frustration, releasing a large block of ice and slamming it onto the pit.

The monsters had surrounded them now. All in a complete circle. Trapping them.

And they took their time watching them squirm like worms in a tank full of fish.

This is how they die.

Y/N tightened her grip on Jason’s hand when one of the monsters roared and they all started crawling down to the dome.

“T-Tim?”

Their communicators. It sounded like Barbara.

“Yeah?”

“I hope you weren’t saving that favor for anything special,” Oracle said.

“Favor?”

“You know. That favor with Bruce’s friends…”

“What do you mea-“

Like a lightning bolt striking a tree, their eyes shot up at the brightest flash of light.

A golden, glimmering lasso, coming down from something they hadn’t seen flying in the air. The lasso grabbed onto five of the incoming beings and hauled them up.

Y/N’s never seen her up close.

But goddamn, she was nothing like the pictures.

Wonder Woman slammed against the ground on her knee and her balled up fist, letting the soil ripple at her impact. She didn’t have on a mask, but it barely wrinkled her nose. Her striking beauty was made even more obvious when she smirked up at the four, standing up, then took out her shield and sword from her back. She winked at them.

The four were too dumbfounded to move. As victims exhausted or as fanboys and fangirls watching it all unfold right in front of their eyes. Boom tubes coming from different parts in the air, and out of those circles came the heroes they’ve looked up to their whole lives.

Superman tore through a whole row of that were crawling after them with his powerful laser vision, flying through the sky faster than any of Y/N’s bullets could speed through. He grabbed one by the head, flew up to the sky, then threw it against the ground so hard that dozens of others blew up along with it.

Green Lantern made his own machine gun with his ring. He fired at everything that came close to the dome.

The Flash couldn’t even be seen. All they could see was a buzzing red light, powering all around them in circles and taking down everything that was in his path.

Green Arrow started raining down more than five arrows at a time. Ones from above. Ones from the ground. Black Canary ran up from behind them and let out that famous ear-piercing scream that took out everything that was in front of her. Even the grass.

Aquaman came up with his trident, and with Mera following behind, she let a stream of water pierce through the air like shards and a fucking shark was in it eating the heads of everything the water passed through.

Hawkgirl held her mace up in front of her and let her wings force her through the hundreds in the crowd, smashing their brains out with a single hit.

Shazam slammed on the ground, with sparks coming out of his body, then he screamed at the sky and let the biggest lightning bolt they’ve ever seen clear out a whole patch of the land the beings were standing on.

Martian Manhunter transformed into his true alien form then grabbed the monsters with his bare hands, threw them out of the way, and stomped on them with his feet. Or what looked like feet.

Cyborg. Supergirl. Zatanna. Doctor Fate. Huntress. Hawkman. Vixen. The Atom.

They were all here.

They were all going to live.

The fucking Justice League had come to save them.

Never have they seen them all in action. To them, it might have just been another day. But to them? To Batman’s wards. It was everything they ever wished to become.

It was the best, most beautiful thing they could possibly see their whole lives.

Bruce. How much he would have loved this.

Then the ground started to shake once again. The Cloudburst. It let out another load of the toxin.

They had to destroy it now.

Alfred hovered the Batwing above them and opened up the entry way. He waved his hands for them to come in. Robin, Nightwing, Red Hood, and Bullet ran into the Batwing and took their masks off.

“We can't just run off.”

“We have to go help them.”

“Actually,” Alfred said. “I’ve taken instruction from Ms. Prince.”

“She wanted us to leave?”

“No.” Alfred lead them to the windows and the looked out.

Superman, Green Lantern, Cyborg, and Supergirl were all facing the top of the dome, firing their lasers at the concentrated spot at the center. The heart of the Cloudburst. The whole building had gone up in flames, but it continued to fire up in the toxin.

“The Batwing has one more rocket bomb in its ammunition. When the League has the Cloudburst’s core exposed, we only have one shot at firing right at its center, destroying the Cloudburst for good.”

“I’ll do it,” Dick said.

“No I will!” Tim cried.

“Who said it was your turn!?”

“Who said it was yours?!”

“This isn’t a fucking argument, this is the world’s fate in our hands!”

“Exactly, which means I get to fire the Batwing.”

“Well, who exactly has the best aim in this fucking ship-“

Every pair of eyes stopped wandering around. Then they turned to the woman they called the Bullet.

No.

Fucking no.

“I can't-“

“Y/N-“

“Jason, I can't do this-“

“You can.”

“I don’t trust myself-“

“You never miss-“

“Jason.”

She grabbed his hands that were holding her face, finally she could look up at his eyes and see his lips in a smile.

“The last time I handled a tank, it was the Cloudburst… and I missed.”

“It doesn’t matter. That wasn’t your fault. You have no idea how sorry I am for being upset at that, but I know you can do this. Besides, this isn’t a tank. This is the fucking Batwing.”

“Jay…”

“Please. You're the only one who can do this.”

“I’ve never handled anything like this before.”

“You. Can. Do this.”

Looking up at Jason’s eyes, she saw just how much hope he had for her. Then he leaned in and kissed her.

“Man, is he dramatic today,” Tim said.

“Shut up, they just got married.”

When Jason pulled away, the heaviness in Y/N’s chest had slowly started to fade.

Yeah. He was right.

Her husband was right.

She does have the best aim in the room.

Alfred gestured for her to take the seat at the cockpit. And with Jason holding her hand, leading her to the front, she slowly took the front seat.

Everything was at her control. It didn’t look too intimidating. She pressed onto the buttons and breathed in. Really breathed in.

Breathe. Breathe.

Jason stood back, but not without squeezing her shoulder.

Breathe.

She opened her eyes.

Flying the Batwing over to the top of the dome, right alongside Superman and Supergirl with their lasers still pointing at the center. It won't be long now.

Everything looked brighter. Everything felt hotter. The center of the Cloudburst, at the dome that was once its protective shield.

Irony. She always thought it was what’s going to get her.

Driving the Cloudburst, using it to take down the Batmobile.

Now she was driving the Batwing to take down the Cloudburst.

Yes. Irony certainly did come out to bite her.

But it was in the fucking best way possible.

Doctor Fate and Zatanna had joined in and fired their magical beams at the same spot at the center. Slowly, after each second that passed, she could see its shield slowly start to fade away. A ball around the glass tank of the toxin collapsed. And finally, it was seconds away from its very heart exposed.

Breathe.

The Bullet turned on her optics.

Further. Closer. Brighter.

NOW.

The rocket shot through the Batwing’s bazooka and it came flying out into the air. She waited for that half a millisecond watching it fall to the very spot she aimed at.

Everyone flew out of the sky before it landed on the Cloudburst.

Then the entire dome exploded like a massive nuclear bomb tearing out into the sky with its violently flying debris. The Justice League and the Suicide Squad had cleared out, and with the explosion it took away all the remaining nightmare creatures, dissolving them into the air as nothing but ash.

Everything was loud. Everything was bright. They shielded their eyes away before it blinded them and hid as the dome continued to explode.

They were so high up in the air that they could see the stars up in space despite it already the morning.

And as the bombing sounds had faded…

So did the toxin.

The once red cloud that had covered the sky had dwindled away to its natural white. Everything fell down in beautiful pink ashes. The same ones from when Ivy destroyed the first Cloudburst. They looked up at the sky, and with tears down their faces, everyone leapt in joy and cheered when everything looked as peaceful as it once was.

On the ground where the dome used to be, a crater of soil was left behind. No more creatures. No more darkness. No more Scarecrow.

Everyone took off their domino masks and visors. Dick took Tim and they screamed in happiness, jumped in the air, hugged each other until it hurt like girls at a sleepover. They took Alfred in as well and gave him the biggest bear hug there was.

“DID YOU FUCKING SEE THAT, BABE!?” Tim said into his comms.

Babs was just as ecstatic as they were. “I’M SO PROUD OF ALL OF YOU!!”

“WE FUCKING SAVED THE WORLD!!!” Dick leapt for joy.

“I THOUGHT WE WERE GONNA DIE OUT THERE.”

“I KNOW. THEN FUCKING WONDER WOMAN CAME IN AND DESTROYED EVERYTHING I MEAN HOW CAN ANYONE GET AS AWESOME AS THAT?!”

“YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN THE LOOK ON YOUR FACE,” Tim screamed. “IT’S LIKE YOU SAW HER AT FUCKING COMIC CON.”

“ALFRED.” They pulled him in. “TELL ME. DID BRUCE EVER DO ANYTHING LIKE THAT IN HIS LIFE?!”

“Well, other than the ten times he’s defeated Darkseid over at outer space, no I don’t think he has.”

“ WE STILL WIN. WE FUCKING DID IT!!!”

“JASON, DID YOU SEE IT WHEN GREEN LANTER- Jason?!”

They looked around. Jason hadn’t joined them in their little celebration.

Jason and Y/N were over at the back, kissing for what seemed to have been the last ten minutes and completely ignoring everything that went on around them. She was holding his face, and he was hugging her waist. Didn’t even stop when Tim cleared his throat.

Dick, on the other hand, had went up to one of the compartments and had grabbed a bottle of champagne they had stored there for purposes like this.

“Can't believe we almost forgot. CONGRATULATIONS TO THE NEWLYWEDS !!!”

Everyone in the Batwing clapped for joy and the couple finally stopped kissing, turning their heads over to smile at them.

“THIS CALLS FOR A CELEBRATION!”

“CHAMPAGNE FOR EVERYONE.”

Jason thumbed her cheek. “You alright with our reception being held in the Batwing?”

Y/N shrugged. “I mean, I wanted to book a caterer, but-“

Jason pulled her face again and kissed her with their hearts light and their spirits so high up in the sky.

A future. She could see it. It was all flashing in front of her eyes now.

Finally, something good had happened out of the series of darkness.

They drank, cheered, partied in the Batwing while it went in a really slow autopilot on its way back to the cave. They hung out like any group of friends would have. Like any family would have.

Jason held her hand the whole time. And Y/N held it even tighter.

This was the end. And it was beautiful, peaceful, promising.

And above all else, it was fucking epic.

-----

EPILOGUE

As if the world hadn’t already stopped surprising them, they continued to go through that very same day bringing them almost to the brink of a heart attack.

When the grounds to the Batcave descended, when the Batwing parked itself in its spot, when its entryway folded down for them all to walk down to, everyone was still in their high, laughing, skipping when they walked down the ramp and out into the walkway.

“Babs!”

Barbara wheeled right towards them and Tim held her in his arms, pulling her up to his level so he could carry her. They all cheered.

“I can't believe you thought of calling the League!”

Babs laughed. “Obviously, you needed help.”

Everyone started talking at the same time, each of them telling Babs one side of the story and how it happened. Explaining in detail how Wonder Woman did this and how Aquaman did that. Even Y/N was so excited she couldn’t stop talking about how Green Arrow’s aim was something she’d admired for so long. A bubble of noise, happy noise. Kids being together.

Like no time even passed. They continued on and on about everything that happened.

Then Jason looked behind at the computers. He stopped talking. His smile faded away. His heart stopped. His whole body stopped.

Everyone saw the look on his face and turned to look at what he was seeing.

At first, he looked just about as regular as any tall man.

And if you hadn’t been expecting it, like practically everyone in the room didn’t, no one would believe it at first glance.

Black shirt. Basic jeans. A jacket over his shoulders. Hair so long it had gone down to his neck pushed back.

But it was him. So undeniably him.

“Oh my god…” Babs whispered.

Bruce Wayne smiled at all their faces. Jaws on the ground. Eyes so incredibly wideset. He didn’t look the least bit bothered.

He walked on over closer to them, hands in his pockets. He stood a few yards away so as to not startle them.

His children.

“Dick…” he greeted.

The eldest choked on his breath. “Bruce…”

Bruce looked over at the girl with fiery red hair.

“Barbara…”

“Oh. My. God.”

Bruce grinned, then he looked over at the man beside her.

“Tim…”

“You're alive…” Tim breathed.

Then when Bruce met Jason’s eyes, everyone parted to give him his way. Bruce started walking towards him, and Jason swallowed on his tongue.

He hadn’t prepared for this.

Not by a long shot.

He thought he was never, ever going to see him again.

He never thought he’d have the chance to make things right.

And now, he did.

Bruce stood in front of Jason.

“Welcome back…” Bruce said. “My son…”

Jason pulled him into a hug, much to Bruce’s surprise. Much to everyone’s surprise.

But he wanted to skip all the thinking and the doubts and the holding back to everything he’s ever wanted to say to him.

Jason forgave him. Already after two years. And it meant so much that Bruce had forgiven him too.

Bruce hugged him back.

Bruce never hugs anyone back.

But he patted Jason’s shoulder and held him as tightly as any father could possibly hold his son. Jason was crying. Hell, everyone in the room was crying. Even Alfred was shedding a tear. Everyone watched on as they fell into each other’s embrace longer than they’ve had with anyone else.

Eventually, Bruce had to pull away.

“I’m so sorry…” Jason cried.

Bruce held his shoulders.

“Jason…” he said. “You have no idea how proud I am of you…”

Jason realized he’s never heard those words before.

He hugged him again, just because he couldn’t hold it back anymore. Y/N dried her tears with her shirt and met Jason’s eyes from over Bruce’s shoulder.

“Bruce…” Jason pulled away. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Y/N stood straight up. She dusted off her suit. She straightened her neck.

“This is Y/N,” Jason said with his hand on her back. She stretched out her hand, and Bruce took it.

“I’ve heard of you. Your girlfriend-“

“Wife.”

Her smile was so beautiful when he said it.

“My wife.”

Bruce shot up his eyebrows. “I see. Well, it would have been better if we had a talk-“

“Don’t. Do that.”

“I’m kidding,” Bruce laughed.

Y/N cleared her throat. “Such a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Y/N… I know who you are and who you were…”

“Bruce…”

He nodded at Dick.

“You were the Commander of the militia army. You were Deadshot. You took over your uncle’s old jobs.”

“Bruce, you don’t have to-“

He didn’t even look at Jason’s direction.

“And you drove the Batwing today…”

Y/N was scared shitless shivering on her own two feet. It wasn’t because she was talking to Batman, someone she almost had killed. It was because she was talking to her freaking father in law.

Jason swallowed.

“And I also happen to know… that you worked with my sons like a perfectly trained team and singlehandedly saved thousands of lives…”

Everyone’s eyes lit up. Especially hers.

“What do we call you now?”

“The Bullet,” she swallowed. “I’m the Bullet.”

“Well, Y/N,” he smiled. “The Bullet.”

Then he stretched out his hand.

“Welcome to the family.”

-----

MASTERLIST

THE BULLET MASTERLIST

-----

TAGLIST

@everyartistwas-firstanamateur

@sarcasmismyfirstlove

@damned-queen-of-gotham

@idkmanicantenglish

@wunderstell

@birdy-bat-writes

@get-loki

@everyday-imfangirling

@comic-nerd-dc

@multifandoms916

@icequeen208

@offendedfishnoises

@egdolan

@xemiefx

@arkhamtoddler

@elsenthal

@mythicbitchx

@supremehaunter

@lucy-roo

@roseangel013bf

@loxbbg

@reclusive-chicken-nugget

@l-inkage

@http-cherries

@shadowsndaisies

@river9noble

@zphilophobiaz

@annoylinglyaries

@knightfall05x

@flowersgirl02

@hyp-oh-critical

@satan-s-ass

#Jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd reader insert #arkham knight #arkham knight x reader #arkhamverse #suicide squad #floyd lawton #deadshot #the bullet #the bullet series #batarella

149 notes · View notes

eldritchteaparty · 3 years

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Chapters: 19/22 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane, Melanie King, Georgie Barker, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Basira Hussain, Allan Schrieber Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting, Spiders Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary: The group settles on a course of action much faster than Martin imagined they would.

Chapter 19 of my post-canon fix-it fic is up! Read at AO3 above or read here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

Martin was still tired as they drew close to Hill Top Road the next morning. It wasn’t surprising; the best sleep he’d gotten, other than the first few hours he’d slept before the spiders, had been in Allan’s car on the way out. He’d slept completely through their stop in Canterbury, where Allan had picked up his lab equipment. He woke up with his head on Jon’s shoulder in the back seat of the car, just a few miles from their destination.

“Ow,” he said as he straightened up, his neck cracking.

“I told you you could stay home,” Jon said. “You barely slept.”

“Don’t.” Martin was cross as he rolled his neck, trying to work out the cramp, and Jon put a hand on his arm.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s all right.”

That about doubled the number of words they’d said to each other that morning—and now they were here, back at Hill Top Road. From the street, the house appeared less foreboding than it had the last time; it seemed brighter, somehow, despite the cloudiness of the day. Maybe the owner had been back—or maybe the most recent occupant had left.

Martin waited for Tim to get out of the seat in front of him, then got out of the car himself. He hadn’t really spoken to Tim directly since he’d shown up yesterday, and wasn’t at all sure how Tim was feeling toward him. He was therefore both reassured and taken back when Tim put a hand on his shoulder on his way to the boot of the car.

I must be looking pretty good, he thought. They’re not even asking if I’m ok anymore.

It was just the four of them; Elias and the others had opted to stay together at the house. Jon had of course wanted to go, and that meant Martin went too; Tim had also made up his mind to go once he knew Jon was going. Martin watched as Allan opened the boot and began to pull out a number of padded carrying cases of different sizes, handing a few to Tim as he did.

“I know I fell asleep, sorry—what exactly are you—”

“We’re going to attempt to measure this—gap between the dimensions.” He handed Martin one final bag, and closed the boot as he did. “All of these instruments are designed to measure different types of energy.”

“They’re all from your lab?”

“Most of them,” Allan said, a small grin on his face; Tim shook his head.

“If I get in trouble for any of that—”

“I told you, no one will even know they’re missing. We’ll get it all back this afternoon.”

“So wait—this will show what, that the gap—exists?” Martin asked.

Allan shrugged. “Well—in all honesty, not really. If we get no unusual readings, that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. It could just mean we don’t know how to measure it. And if we do—it doesn’t really tell us why. It would just be—well, consistent with some combination of my ideas about the entities and dimensional travel, really.”

“Um—oh. Ok.”

Jon sighed, and Martin recognized it specifically as Jon’s impatient sigh. It was one he had heard a lot in the past, although not so much recently. He supposed from Jon’s perspective, it was kind of a waste of time to not really prove the existence of something he already knew was there. As far as Martin was concerned, though, they could take all the time they wanted.

As they approached the porch, Martin found his impression from the street had been correct. There were many fewer cobwebs on the porch than there had been the last time. The lock, however, was still broken when Jon tried the door, which suggested the owner had not been back.

“You think she’s gone?” he asked Jon.

“Yes.”

“Who?” Tim looked at them suspiciously.

“Annabelle,” Jon replied casually.

“Annabelle.” Tim halted at the top of the steps on the front porch. “She’s here? Was here?”

“Was. I would have said something if—" He trailed off as he saw the look on Tim’s face. “Yes, well, the point is she’s not here.”

“Sure,” Tim said, in a way that made it clear he was not at all sure, but he did follow the rest of them into the house.

“This way.” Jon led them back to the spot in the center of the house where the scarred floorboards resided.

He’s so confident. Martin remembered how different it had been the last time they were here. Jon had been so sick; he had been grasping at straws for any way to regain his connection to the Eye. Martin certainly hadn’t wanted that to happen, but he also hadn’t wanted him to be miserable. Now, though, Jon was pushing ahead, jumping in—he was eager, excited even. Given the circumstances, Martin didn’t like it much more than he had liked things the last time they were here.

“That’s it?” Allan said, staring down at the floor. “Not really what I was expecting.”

“Well—obviously it’s not the gap itself,” Jon explained with slight irritation, as if he were offended at Allan’s disappointment. “It’s a representation of it. Certainly someone would have reported it if it were a cavernous maw extending into the infinite reaches of—”

“Yes, all right,” Allan, unbothered, set down the equipment he was carrying and seated himself on the floor next to it. “Let’s see—Tim, bring those over here, please.”

“Yes, sir.” Tim set his bags down on the floor next to Allan and stepped back near Martin to observe.

“So I’m thinking—hmm—let’s just start with this.” He unpacked a small handheld meter and held it up for them to see. “This is a Geiger counter.”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “That’s for radiation, right?”

“Yes,” Allan replied, as he pressed a button and the instrument’s screen flickered to life. He looked up in their direction just long enough to catch the anxious look on Martin’s face.

“No need to worry,” Allan said cheerfully as he stood up. “I’ll be looking at this from several angles, and this is just somewhere to start. Don’t let the idea of radiation bother you. There’s some level of radiation around us all the time—background radiation, it’s completely—well, not harmless, exactly, but well within the bounds of what the human body can withstand. This particular instrument is sensitive enough that we should be able to see relatively minor deviations from what we’d expect.”

“Oh,” Martin said, not knowing what else to say.

“All right, here we go.” Allan held the instrument up in the air and pressed a button and waited while it emitted an uneven series of a few clicks, and then checked the screen. He repeated this several more times, then nodded.

“Well?” Tim asked.

“Oh, sorry. I haven’t really done anything yet, just measuring background levels. Nothing out of the ordinary, pretty much what you’d expect for this part of England. But now I’ll know what I’m comparing to when I measure—that.” He gave another unimpressed look at the jagged mark running over the floor before bending over it with the instrument in hand. He moved it close to the mark and repeated the same process of measurements—pressing a button and then waiting for the clicks, then repositioning it to another spot, pressing the button and waiting again. “Huh.”

“What?” Martin couldn’t read Allan’s expression at all.

“Nothing,” Allan said, shrugging as he stood straight again. “I was averaging in my head, of course, so I might not be quite right, but—it would be like taking your temperature and reading 37 degrees exactly.”

Martin was relieved, but Jon, standing apart from the rest of the group, did not seem to be feeling the same way.

“Well, let’s move on,” Allan said, returning to his equipment pile and choosing a new device. “Let’s try this one. It’s for—oh—electromagnetic fields, radio frequencies—it’s sort of a cheap piece of equipment, actually, not very precise—but it should give us a good general picture.” He squatted down next to the mark on the floor again, adjusted a dial on the instrument, and began to move it closer and further away. He adjusted the dial several times as he continued to move it around the floor.

“Still nothing,” he said after a few minutes, sitting back on his haunches.

“Then that’s not the right way to measure it,” Jon said.

“I said when we came in that was a strong possibility,” Allan said, but it was clear Jon didn’t like this turn of events. “I’ve got a few more things we can—"

“It’s here,” Jon said.

“Can’t you just know the right way to measure it, then?” Tim’s tone was sarcastic, but Jon paused.

“Well…” He concentrated for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Apparently I can’t.” His growing frustration was obvious.

“Hey.” Now that Martin was starting to feel a bit easier about everything, he felt a little bit bad for Jon. “That’s—that’s all right. That just means we’ll need more time to—”

Martin’s attempt at soothing him didn’t work. “But it’s right there. Damn it, I know it’s there. I can feel it, it’s like it’s just on the other side of—”

“Oh,” Allan said. Martin’s eyes jumped back to the instrument in his hand, still hovering just over the mark in the floor, and there was some kind of movement on the digital screen. A moment later, it had gone quiet again.

“What was that?” Tim asked.

“I don’t know.” Allan frowned. “It’s like there was a sudden—pulse of electrical activity. A lot of it.”

��Jon,” Tim said, looking over at him, “did you do something? While you were talking?”

“That couldn’t possibly—” Allan started to say, but Jon cut him off.

“Yes,” Jon said. “I—I don’t know, I was looking for the—well, really, the tape—it’s—”

“Oh,” Allan said again, as the numbers on the screen resumed their movement. He walked it intently over different parts of the floor, then moved it further away and then closer again. Martin couldn’t really follow the whole thing from where he was standing, but Allan’s body language was enough to concern him. “This—this doesn’t make sense. Even if—Jon, stop. Whatever you’re doing, stop.”

“All right.”

“Incredible,” Allan said after a moment had passed. “That really shouldn’t be possible. There’s no—” He stood and walked toward Jon, and extended the meter toward him. “Do it one more time.”

“Don’t—” Martin started.

“I’m all right,” Jon snapped, but then softened as Martin felt the slight sting of his tone. “I’m—I’ll be careful. I’m fine right now.”

Allan was concentrating hard as he looked at the screen. “What was—have you done it yet?”

“No, I was—”

“It’s just that—never mind. Do it again. If—if you’re ok.”

Jon nodded, and glanced briefly in Martin’s direction. “I’m ok.”

Martin watched as Allan moved the instrument around Jon for the next thirty seconds or so, again switching the dial several times.

“Well?” Tim asked, as Allan stepped away.

“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely. “Tim, can you—can you fetch the Geiger counter for me again?”

Tim did, and Allan stood back from Jon as he held it up into the air again. They heard the occasional irregular click as he did.

“So for now, don’t, um—just don’t,” he said as he stepped toward Jon. The frequency of the clicks began to increase as he moved the meter closer to his head, and Allan made a small sound in his throat as he flipped a switch on the instrument. “Let’s just—keep the sound off for right now.”

Martin could feel some of the blood drain from his face.

“Ok, now—know something,” Allan asked.

“What?” Jon said. “Sorry, it’s always difficult to think of—”

“Anything. Just not the—the gap. I want to see if—”

“Did I have coffee or tea this morning?” Tim asked.

Jon thought. “Coffee.”

“Stop,” Allan said. “Stop.” He took a step back, white faced, and looked at Jon as if he had just appeared there.

“What?”

“Can I ask—how long did you say you’ve been doing this?”

“Knowing things? Uh—a few years? I mean—not always like this, at first it was much harder, and—"

“A few years.” Allan turned the thought over. “Ok. I’m going to say this once—because I think you should know. I don’t see—I don’t see how you’re—well, alive.”

There were long seconds of silence before Jon answered.

“I’m fine.”

Martin exploded. “You are not fine.”

“I just meant in the sense that—”

“I know, and—”

“I am alive. That is the point.”

More long seconds ticked by.

“You heal though, right?” Tim said quietly. “Like—after you—like when I found you in front of the Institute.”

“Yes.” A look of sudden understanding passed across Jon’s face. “Yes, that’s right. That—that would make sense.”

“Would it?” Allan looked at Martin. “You, um—sorry to—you’re—well, you’re sharing a room, so—I imagine you’re—close?”

Martin wasn’t sure what Allan was getting at. “Um—”

“Yes. He heals too. Or, he has, in the past.” Oh, Martin thought, after he heard Jon’s answer.

Oh.

“Wait. Are you saying that being near Jon is—”

“I don’t know,” Allan said. “I really don’t know. This is entirely unprecedented. It really shouldn’t—” He started to say something else, but hesitated.

“What?” Jon asked.

“I—” he hesitated again. “I want to do more tests, but I’m not sure if it’s—well, entirely ethical.”

“To ask me to keep going, you mean.”

“Yes.”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Allan looked at Martin.

“It’s not up to me,” Martin said.

Allan looked between Martin and Jon. “I’m, uh—I’m going to run out to the car for some extra equipment. Tim, come with me? I could use your help.”

“Sure,” Tim answered, and followed him out.

Martin waited a moment after they were gone, then said quietly, “I’m not sleeping away from you.”

“Martin.” Jon walked over to where he was standing and reached out to touch Martin’s hand. “Of course not. That’s ridiculous.”

“Good.” He had more to say, but he didn’t.

“Come on. That’s not what this is about. You don’t want me to do this.”

Martin sighed. “Fine. No, I don’t. I don’t want you to do any of this. Not just the tests, or whatever. Like—any of this.”

“I have to,” Jon said. “You know that.”

“Why do you think I didn’t say it? I can’t stop you. And I’d rather you not shut me out.”

“Martin, that—” He stopped himself, and squeezed Martin’s hand instead. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

Martin let his hand fall away as Allan and Tim returned; Allan had put on a long-sleeved lab coat, and was holding a pair of gloves and a mask. “Just a precaution,” he said. “If you want to go ahead.”

“Yes,” Jon said. “I do.”

Martin watched as Allan pulled out yet another meter from a different bag. “Martin—can you hand me that?” he asked, indicating the case Martin was still carrying. He’d forgotten about it.

“Oh. Sure.” Martin handed it to him and he began to unpack that as well.

“So—this is so I can record the readings,” he said, as he pulled some wires out and began to connect them to the new meter. “And this is—it uses a more powerful method of detection than the Geiger counter. It’s not as sensitive, but that’s, uh—well, that’s not going to be an issue.”

Martin suddenly realized how much he didn’t want to be there anymore.

“I’m going outside. I’ll just be out front.” Without waiting for anyone’s reaction, he made his way back to the front of the house. He stood on the porch, his arms folded and resting on the railing. He looked out over the lawn. The rest of the neighborhood, apart from this house, really was a suburb. It seemed nice enough; maybe not a great neighborhood, but not a bad one, certainly. It hadn’t really done anything to deserve this awful place.

He sat and watched the clouds roll overhead and wondered it if would rain. He tried not to think too much about what was going on inside the house, what they were doing and where it would lead. He had no idea how long he had been standing there when he became aware that he wasn’t alone.

“Hey,” Tim said, as Martin looked over at him.

“Hey,” Martin answered, then went back to looking up at the sky. “So—what’s going on in there?”

“I don’t know,” Tim said. “It’s like some sort of weird playdate? It’s over my head. Allan keeps turning dials and saying things like incredible and amazing and then Jon—”

“Never mind,” Martin said. “Just—is he keeping himself together? Jon, I mean?”

“He seems to be.”

They looked out at the sky and lawn together.

“Martin,” Tim said eventually, “I know I said this before, but I want you to know I meant it. Jon is lucky to have you.”

“Hm.”

“Listen, I know—I know this has to be hard for you. Before we—before we make any decisions, I want you to know that—”

“Don’t,” Martin said coldly.

“All right.” Tim nodded and returned to looking back over the railing. “Do you want to be alone?”

No, Martin thought. I don’t ever want to be alone again. He wanted to scream it.

Instead, he just said, “Not particularly.”

“Good,” Tim said. “I don’t particularly want to go back in there.”

***

“So—wait,” Melanie said, looking at Allan over her half-empty dinner plate. “You’re saying you don’t really know anything at all, then?”

“Well, yes and no.” He was struggling to find words as they sat together in the great room again. “What I’m saying is—from a scientific perspective, which of course is why I’m here—there’s no way to know what any of this means. I’ve never heard of anything like this before. It’s completely unique, as far as I know.”

“So we can’t prove there’s a gap between dimensions, and we can’t prove the entities exist,” Sasha clarified.

“Correct,” Allan said. “I can’t even begin to suggest a mechanism for anything I saw today.”

“But you did see something today,” Melanie prodded.

“Well—yes,” Allan said. “That’s an understatement. We saw massive fluctuations of energy just—across almost the entire spectrum. And—again, I have no way to explain it or understand it, but—Jon does appear to be able to manipulate it, to some extent.”

“Well, that’s definitely something,” Melanie said. “You said you recorded your readings. Do you think you’ll learn anything else from going back through them?”

“Not—not in a way that could help us. It will take years to even begin to make any real sense of this. As—as a scientist. To be perfectly clear, I—I can’t vouch for any particular course of action. I have no way of verifying that there has ever been any travel across dimensions, or that—starting an apocalypse would provide the energy required to do it again, or—or that anything we discussed yesterday is even a possibility.”

“As a scientist,” Georgie repeated. “What about—as a person? What do you think?”

“I’m—I’m not sure that’s really what’s important here.”

“Yes, it is.” It was one of the few things Elias had said at all since they’d come home.

“I agree,” Sasha said. “I’d like to know what you think.”

“Well—personally”—he looked around at the group— “after what I’ve heard from all of you, and after talking with Elias last night—I believe Jon.”

It was quiet for a moment as the group absorbed this. Martin’s stomach, which had already rejected even the concept of any food he’d thought about putting in it that night, tightened painfully.

“Ok,” Georgie said slowly. “Well—for the sake of argument—Jon, do you really think you could do it? Could you—could you really move us to another dimension? In a way that—well, will actually help things?”

“I can do it,” Jon said, without hesitation.

“No,” Martin said.

The discomfort was tangible; Martin could tell nobody wanted to speak.

“Martin,” Sasha finally said, “why—why are you so against this?”

“I’ve already said. It’s too dangerous.”

“So you think he can’t do it? That it won’t work?”

Martin drew his hand down firmly over his mouth.

“Say what you have to say,” Jon urged him. Martin didn’t care for how calm he was. “They should hear it.”

Martin stared at him. “Ok, fine. Fine, I’ll say it. If you think you can do it—I’m sure you can. I’m just not sure you will. What if—what if this time—what if the Eye finally just takes you?”

“It won’t. It didn’t last time.”

“Didn’t it?”

“No. Not—not like that. I still—I still got to choose.”

“And we still don’t know what Annabelle’s been trying to get you to do.”

“She doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, really?”

“Do you believe me that I’ll never let them out of here? The entities? That’s what she wants.”

Martin paused; he knew his panic was coming across to everyone. “Yes. But that’s not—even if you don’t—look, if it fails, that’s it for us. We’re stuck in an apocalypse. This world is stuck in an apocalypse. You said that yourself.”

“And it’s still true. It is a risk. But I don’t think I’ll fail.”

“But what happens to you? What if—what if we lose you?”

Jon looked away.

“Jon?” Georgie prompted.

“It’s—it’s a possibility.”

“How much of a possibility?” Georgie asked.

“It’s—um—” Jon cleared his throat. “It’s not unlikely.”

“I see,” Sasha said.

“That matters, right?” Martin somehow managed to get the words out. “Tell me that matters to the rest of you.”

“Of course it matters,” Sasha said. “I didn’t—"

“No, it doesn’t,” Jon said.

“Jon—”

Several people began to talk at the same time, but it was Tim who won out.

“Listen,” he said. “Listen. I know—I know this is going to sound awful, but—I agree with Jon.”

“It does sound awful,” Sasha reprimanded him. “It sounds completely awful.”

“Just hear me out.” Tim spoke his words slowly and deliberately. “If I were Jon—if I could stop this—if I had this chance to—to save the people they haven’t hurt yet—I would. I wouldn’t hesitate. And I wouldn’t want anyone to stop me.”

“Yes, you would,” Jon said. “You did.”

“And—I know I’ve been angry—but this isn’t about that. It’s not because I blame him. It’s because he’s the only one who can. I think—I think this should be Jon’s choice. That’s all.”

“Thank you, Tim.” Jon was still calm, controlled. Martin hated it.

Tim briefly met Martin’s eyes before looking down to the floor in front of him. “And I wouldn’t wait. I’d—I’d want to just do it. If we really can’t learn anything else, I say we do it soon. Tomorrow, if we can. Prevent as much further damage as possible.”

“I agree,” Jon said.

“No,” Martin said. “That’s insane. Are you insane?” He looked around at the group; none of them would look back at him. “Have you all lost your minds? Are you considering this?”

“I—I don’t know,” Sasha said, finally raising her face. “Are we?”

“Jesus Christ.” Martin got to his feet, not really sure where he was going; he was halfway there before he realized he was headed for the door to the back of the house. Behind him, he heard several people speaking, although he had no idea if they were talking to him; he couldn’t process it anymore. He couldn’t think at all until he felt the cool night air on his face. He stopped, heart pounding, and crumpled onto the porch against the back of the house. For the first time in his recent memory, he wanted to cry; of course, now he couldn’t make the tears come.

Behind him, he heard the door open and close.

“Go away.” He didn’t really care who it was.

“I’d rather not.” Beside him, Jon lowered himself onto the porch; for some reason, Martin had assumed it would be one of the others. He was surprised to find he felt slightly mollified. “We don’t have to talk. It’s just—I don’t have anywhere else I want to be right now.”

“Come off it. Go back in and keep explaining why you need to martyr yourself.”

“I’ve said what I need to say. It’s better if they talk without us.”

Martin sighed heavily. “They’re going to go for it, aren’t they?”

Jon didn’t answer him. Instead, he moved closer to Martin, leaning into him and resting his head on his shoulder. Hollow as he felt, Martin didn’t even think; his automatic response was to put his arm around Jon, pulling him in even closer. He pressed his lips to the top of Jon’s ear.

“We never had a chance, did we,” he said. “The two of us.”

“We still might.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“I never believed we’d be here, either.” Jon said.

“That’s not very reassuring.”

Jon turned so that his back was against Martin’s chest, and Martin did what he always did; he slipped his hand up under the edge of Jon’s shirt, bringing it up to the scar on Jon’s ribcage. Instead of protesting or merely tolerating it, though, this time Jon brought his own hand to rest over Martin’s on the outside of his shirt.

“I loved you here too, you know,” Jon said quietly. “Before this, I mean. In this world.”

“Oh, I know,” Martin said.

“Well. Here I thought I was making a grand romantic confession, but—never mind, I guess.”

“No, it’s—I’m sorry.” He kissed Jon’s temple softly by way of apology. “Thank you. I just meant now that—now that we’ve been together, now that I know what you’re like when you—it’s sort of obvious, looking back. Plus, there was your pin.”

“My pin?”

“You know—when we had forgotten everything when we first—and you couldn’t remember your pin number on your laptop.”

“Oh,” Jon said, and even in the dark Martin saw a smile play across his lips. It had been too long since he had seen Jon smile. “Right. I used your birthday. That’s—is it odd that I feel embarrassed?”

“Frankly, yes.”

“Sasha just—she insisted I set it in front of her, and then she kept guessing them—”

“Because you kept typing 1234.”

“Well—yes, but—anyway, it just came into my head, and I knew no one would ever guess, because—because I was never going to tell anyone how I felt. Especially not you.”

“Yeah, well—I wasn’t going to either.” He held Jon tighter. “We’re a couple of idiots. You know that, right?”

“Yes.” Jon turned his face up and back, and Martin couldn’t help but kiss him.

“Martin,” Jon said, “I know—I know I’ll never change your mind.”

“If it were me, you would never go along with it. You would never let me—you didn’t, actually.”

“I—” Jon paused. “No. You’re right. I’m asking you to do something I couldn’t do.”

“Thank you.”

“I just—I want you to understand. I want you to hear me.” He paused.

“I’m listening.”

“Nothing will ever fix what I’ve done.”

“You didn’t do this. Jonah Magnus did this. The Web did this. The—never mind. Go on.”

“Nothing will ever undo it. Every day I think about—about Sasha. And Tim. And Daisy. The other ones, the ones who—and an entire world of human beings who suffered because of things I did. And then there’s everyone here in this world who—none of them should ever have—” Jon’s voice cracked. “But I can stop it. I can make it so it doesn’t get worse. Or at least—at least give it a real chance. And I have to try.”

“And you have to try tomorrow.”

“Tim was right, Martin. Every day that passes like this is—”

“Tim is just worried about Danny.”

“Is that wrong of him?”

“I—no. No, I guess not. My point is just that it’s not like he’s—it’s still completely selfish.”

“He’s not being any more selfish than you.”

“I know that.” His chest ached as he breathed in, and he sighed reflexively. Jon turned just enough to tuck his head against Martin’s collarbone, and he felt his chest loosen just a little. “Ok, but really—what about Annabelle? That’s not being selfish. We both know what she wants—but we have no idea how she’s trying to get it. And we’re probably walking into it.”

“Probably.”

“Well then, why—”

“Because I don’t intend to give it to her.”

“But that’s exactly the point, we don’t know how—”

“Do you really think that waiting will solve that? Even if she is trying to push me—do you really think that she won’t just—change tactics? Adapt?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“If we wait to—I don’t know, learn something, let something happen that she doesn’t want—do you really believe she won’t have some other plan?”

He hadn’t ever thought that far ahead, to what would happen after they waited, whatever that meant. He realized with a sinking heart that no, he didn’t really believe it.

“But then—why are we doing anything at all? Why are we even bothering? If we can’t ever do the right thing—”

“Because we have to try. I have to try. I just do. Doing nothing would be—and maybe—maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Yeah. That—that’s our thing, for sure. Luck.”

Jon reached for Martin’s free hand, the one that wasn’t against his heart, and pulled it to his mouth; he kissed each knuckle in turn. “We haven’t been entirely unlucky.”

Martin was out of things to say. Once more, Jon had already won. Everyone in the room behind them was deciding to go ahead with this stupid plan. There was nothing he could do that was going to stop it.

Well—as he thought about it, he did have one more thing to say.

“Jon—I don’t—I don’t want to go into this like—like last time. So—just so you know—nothing’s changed. I’m going with you. Wherever that is.”

Jon held his breath for a moment before answering. “And if I can save you—"

“Then you’d better save both of us.”

“Martin—”

“No. You know what’s out there for me without you, and—I don’t want it. You can’t—" Jon turned suddenly in his arms, so that Martin’s hand slid from his ribs to his shoulder.

He kissed him.

“Jon—”

“Please.”

They were still kissing several minutes later when Jon abruptly sat up; he opened his mouth to say something, but then learned back in toward Martin.

“No,” Martin said, putting a hand up to Jon’s face. “You know something, don’t you? They decided and you know.”

Jon nodded, sliding his hand over Martin’s as he did. “Yes.”

“Ok.”

“They want to do it. Tomorrow.”

***

It was hours later; Martin didn’t know how long he had lain awake. He’d come back to the bedroom on his own at first; he’d stayed for some of the planning, listened to their excitement, their nerves, their arguing—but it had quickly gotten to the point where he couldn’t do it anymore. He knew where he would be anyway, and that was with Jon; he had nothing else to contribute. The looks he’d gotten when he’d stood up had been seared into his consciousness, a mixture of worry and pity.

“Martin,” Sasha called to him as he was leaving, “are you—”

“Yes,” he’d said.

He’d gone to brush his teeth before getting in bed. He didn’t know what possessed him, particularly, but when he saw his reflection in the mirror, he did something he hadn’t done in a long while. He removed his shirt to look at his own scars. They were still there; they were exactly the same as they had been on the day he’d first seen them, dark red to pale white, torn and jagged and alternately smooth.

He was tired, he’d realized. He wanted to sleep, of course, he was still exhausted from the night before—but it was more than that. This was all just enough. Maybe it was all right. Maybe he and Jon had already had more time than they were meant to. Maybe it was time to let it go. Just—just so long as he didn’t end up alone.

He’d gotten in bed. He’d almost fallen asleep before Jon had come in, but after Jon had undressed and slipped under the sheets next to him, the restlessness had begun. Each time Jon moved, or sighed, or breathed even a little bit out of rhythm, Martin’s brain nudged him awake again. And now, here he was, sleepless and empty.

He breathed out, trying to reset his mind.

“Martin.”

“Sorry.” He’d thought Jon had been asleep.

“What—no, don’t apologize, just—go to sleep. You need rest for tomorrow.”

“I can’t.”

There was silence, and for a moment, he thought Jon had drifted off again.

“Martin, I’m—I’m not leaving you. I won’t go without you. You need to sleep.”

“I—I know.” He was lying, and Jon knew he was lying.

“Martin, this isn’t—this isn’t like last time. For one thing, I’d—I’d have to steal a car to get back to London on my own. All right? Can you trust me?”

Martin swallowed; that was exactly the problem, he realized. “I want to. I just—”

“Ok. All right. You’re right, of course you—that’s not fair for me to ask. I—hang on.” He saw the light from Jon’s cell phone; he heard him stand up and rummage through the suitcase on his side of the bed before sitting down on the mattress again.

“Jon—”

“Here. Give me your hand.” He held up his arm; Jon grabbed his hand, and Martin realized Jon was trying something around their wrists in the light from the phone.

“What—”

“It’s an old drawstring that pulled out from a pair of shorts. I never took it out of my suitcase.” He grabbed one end of the string in his mouth and pulled with his other hand. “There. I can’t possibly untie that without waking you up.”

“Are you going to be able to sleep?”

“I think so.” Jon turned off the light on his phone, and Martin felt the tug on his arm as Jon leaned over to put it back on the table next to the bed. “Anyway, I’m—I’m all right. You’re—not.”

“This—” Martin started to laugh. “This is ridiculous.”

“Yes. It is. Does it matter?” Jon interlaced his fingers with Martin’s and carefully folded up their bound arms between them; he brought his head to rest on the pillow next to Martin’s shoulder.

“I—I guess not.” He didn’t even realize he was finally crying until Jon reached up with his other hand to touch his cheek. He felt better for it, somehow; feeling something was good. It was better than the emptiness.

“Sleep.”

He did.

#the magnus archives #tma #mag pod #tma spoilers #jonmartin #tma fanfic #my writing

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eideticmemory · 4 years

Text

EVER SINCE NEW YORK II | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

Description: Description: I was messaged saying: “If you don’t write a young Matthew enemies to lovers fic featuring an obsession with sucking on boobs then what’s the point 😔.” So, here it is, folks! The ultimate College!Matthew fic.

PART 2! Read Part 1 here.

Soundtrack:

Maps - Maroon 5.

Me & Ur Ghost - Blackbear.

Keep You Close - Frenship.

Word Count: 3,341.

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Sexual intercourse, substance use, a bit of angst.

Fall, Sophomore Year.

Tisch School of the Arts,

New York University.

New York City.

“Okay, you know what?” You scoffed, throwing your hands up in surrender. “I give up. I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

Claire laughed from behind you, “You alright over there?”

“No,” you grumbled. You pressed down on the black frame, using all your might to make the command strip stick to the wall. Yet, when you stepped back, it would pop off of the surface, and your ballet poster was lopsided. It’d been a vicious cycle for 10 minutes. “This goddamn command strip won’t stick. What the fuck?”

“Okay, grumpy, step away from the poster,” Claire ordered, grabbing onto your shoulders and escorting you to the center of the room. “The room looks great, [y/n], why are you so stressed?”

“I am not stressed. I am frustrated, and those damn command strips aren’t cheap. I’m pissed.”

“Okay, staples queen, tell you what,” she sighed. “I will go buy you a pack of command strips and personally mount the poster myself, okay?”

You looked up at Claire, giving her a soft smile. “Did I win the roommate lottery or what?”

“Yeah, but better not say stuff like that too much. People are gonna start thinking we’re a different type of roommates.”

You laughed, and shook your head at her.

“[y/n], what’s up?” Claire asked. “You’ve been moody as fuck ever since we moved back in for the semester. Classes haven’t even started yet and you’re moping around. What’s going on?”

Well, Claire, you thought. I’m glad you asked. I’m glad you brought it up, because I’ve been dying to talk about it for a while. You see, I fucked my mortal enemy, and it was so good that I did it a second time. And no, I’m not talking about my cinematography professor, I’m talking about Matthew. Gubler. I fucked Matthew Gubler. Yes, I know. Hell has frozen over. Because I hated him. I hate him. I think he’s awful. Especially since he thinks it’s okay to fuck someone, ignore their existence, fuck them again, ignore their existence, and then leave them with a vague ass note? 505. 505! I’ve looked up every possible meaning of 505 that there is. The song, urban dictionary, numerology. And I can’t figure the shit out. And it doesn’t help that Matthew didn’t say a word to me over summer break. I’m just lost and confused and I know you would understand and you would know what to do.

But it’s Matthew.

And I can’t tell anyone. Especially you.

“Last semester was a royal disaster,” you sighed. “I just don’t wanna overwhelm myself again. Y’know with class, and shows, and parties. I wanna do right this semester, but it’s a little stressful. So, I’m a little stressed.”

Claire looked at you for a long time, eyebrows lowered and her eyes scanning your face. She had a gut feeling that you were lying, but didn’t wanna be a bitch. So she bit her tongue.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” she smiled.

Classes started that following Monday. Your first lecture was at 10 o’clock. And you woke up at 10:15. Having showered the night before, you brushed your teeth, put on your outfit and fixed your hair all in ten minutes and hiked it across campus in 4 minutes. You rushed up to the classroom door, and entered the lecture very calmly. People were scattered about in the auditorium, some towards the sides, a lot front and center. But only one person sitting in the very back row.

Matthew.

Too occupied with explaining yourself to your professor, you didn’t notice Matthew until a few minutes after entering. You refused to make eye contact with him, nervously staring at your feet as you walked over to him. And took a seat at his side.

“Hey.”

Those were the only words spoken for an hour and fifteen minutes. However, within 10 minutes of seeing you again, Matthew began to rub your thigh. His fingers grazed the top of your leg, slowly but surely making their way to your inner thigh. You held your breath, staring up at the professor the whole time and pretending to take notes.

When Matthew’s fingers pressed against your clit, you almost gasped. But you kept your mouth shut, stifling the sound. He smirked to himself, only glancing at you when you were too shaken up to notice. You propped up the screen of your laptop, hiding your face behind it so you could let out quiet moans. You were so sensitive, and very glad that you wore a skirt to class.

Matthew’s fingers slid your panties to the side and made skin to skin contact with your clit, applying pressure as he rubbed you. You exhaled for a long time, swear words wanting to fly out of your mouth instead. The professor’s words drowned out a long time ago, and at this point you didn’t care. You just needed to come.

Matthew remembered the way you liked to be touched, he had to. Because he was able to bring you to the edge so quickly, it was insane. You clenched your thighs around his wrist to signal your nearing release, and he grinned.

You rested your head on the keyboard of your laptop, hiding from everyone as you came. Your jaw dropped, and you had to stop yourself from groaning too loudly. Matthew removed his hand from under your skirt. He sucked on the tips of his fingers, just to get the taste of you on his tongue. Then, with only 2 minutes left in class, he packed up his stuff and walked out.

You should’ve dropped the class. At the very least, sat somewhere else. But you didn’t. You stayed in that course. With Matthew. In the back row. And wore skirts every other day for a month. Some days he would repeat the action, and some days he wouldn’t. It was like he could tell how desperate you were each time. And if you were really desperate, he simply didn’t touch you. It sucked, but it kept you on your toes.

He missed class one day, and to cope, you had a dream about him that night. You imagined him using his mouth on you, in an empty lecture hall, bending you over the desk, making you come. When you woke up, you were in a cold sweat. You couldn’t believe you were having thoughts like this about Matthew Gubler. But you were.

You hopped out of bed, put on your slippers, and left the room to go to the vending machines. Holding a soda and some candy, you walked back to your dorm room silently. Alerted by the sound of footsteps, you turned your head down the hall to see Claire walking out of someone’s room. She noticed you and rushed up to you with a big smile.

“Hey!” She beamed. “What are you doing up?”

“Oh, uh, I couldn’t sleep. Where you been?”

She sighed happily, “I’ve been doing adult things, [y/n], I cannot lie.” She wrapped her arm around your shoulder as you both walked to your room. “I’m in love, kid. It’s crazy.”

“You’re in love? With who?”

“Ah, that will soon be revealed, my dear [y/n].”

That weekend, you two invited everyone to come hang out at your dorm. Someone was able to swipe some liquor, and it was a party. A handful of people, getting a little tipsy, music in the background. Claire insisted Matthew be invited, but you weren’t expecting him to show up. But of course, he did. Because he’s a nuisance.

He laid down on Claire’s bed and she sat beside him, the two of them quickly joining the conversation at hand. You tried not to look like a kicked puppy, tried not to pout, to sulk, to watch. But inch by inch, second by second, Claire moved closer to Matthew, until by the end of the night, her head was on his chest.

That Monday, you sat in the front of the class.

And every class after that for the next month.

Missing your daily release, you became cranky and nasty and moody. You didn’t mean to, but that’s how it happened. To help you get over the nagging feeling, you went out one Saturday night. A group of friends dragged you along to a dorm party in the next building over. You used it as an excuse to dress up, ignore your homework and get some fresh air. In a tight purple dress, you walked into the booming dorm. It was packed, smelled like booze and filled with heat.

A cup of vodka in your hand, it wasn’t until about two hours in that you realized you didn’t want to party. You sat on the couch the whole time, fiddling with your hands and the hem of your dress. You’d drank an entire solo cup of alcohol by then, and you were starting to get tired. Your friends had gotten lost a long time ago, and you knew it was fruitless to look for them. So, you picked yourself up and started to head for the exit.

“[y/n]!”

You turned around to see a guy walking towards you. Jonathan. “Hey, John, what the hell is going on?” You asked, noticing him supporting another guy on his shoulder. His friend was a drunken, sloppy mess, and could barely stand.

“Our boy Steve here had a little too much to drink,” John replied. “I’m taking him back to his room. You going back to your place?”

You nodded, “Yeah. I am.”

“Okay, do you mind helping me with him? Please? I’ll give you a dollar.”

You laughed, shook your head and put your arm around Steve’s waist. “Ooh, a dollar! Sounds exciting.”

It was cold, and you shivered on the way back to your dorm building. Steve only lived down the hall from you, so helping wasn’t too far out of the way for you. John used Steve’s key to let the three of you into Steve’s suite, guiding both of you to Steve’s room.

You both worked together to lay Steve down on his mattress. You covered him with his blanket.

“You’re a lifesaver,” John told you. “We both are actually.”

“Maybe we should start a business. We escort drunk people home for a small fee of $100.”

He laughed, “I’m in as long as you dress like that every time.”

You blushed, and ducked your head down to hide it.

“What’s going on in here?” A voice called to you two.

You looked up at the threshold to see Matthew standing there, looking sleepy, disheveled, shirtless, and beautiful.

“Hey, Gube,” John greeted. “[y/n] and I were just dropping Steve off. Kid couldn’t hold his liquor.”

Matthew scoffed, “You could’ve left him there. Let him get dicks drawn on his face.”

“Well, aren’t you full of love?” John laughed. “No, seriously, I’ve gotta text Lindsey and let her know I’m staying in for tonight.” He padded at his pocket, followed by a loud groan, “Fuck, I left my phone at the party. Fuck me.”

“That’s a higher power trying to tell you that you need to stay out longer,” Matthew said.

John smirked at him, “You’re right. Wonderful insight, Gubler.”

John walked out of the door, heading for the exit, and you followed him, avoiding eye contact with Matthew. As the two of you approached the front door, you froze. John exited the suite, not noticing that he was leaving you behind. And you would’ve moved if you had the power.

Hanging on the door of the suite was the room number: 505.

Your breath caught in your throat. 505. The room number. The room number of the suite you saw Claire leaving that day. 505.

“What took you so long?” Matthew asked, standing behind you.

You released your breath, goosebumps crawling on your skin as you felt him get closer to you. Your heart raced, your body trembled. You had a physical response to being near this boy. It was intense.

“I’m not doing this, Matthew,” you whispered.

“Doing what? We’re just talking.”

You turned around to face him, suddenly very angry, “No! You know what I’m talking about! You know what I’m talking about! And it’s gone on for long enough, Matthew. I’m out!” You kept your voice quiet, but still aggressive. You turned to exit the dorm, but he grabbed onto your waist and pulled you into him.

“Listen, Princess Peach,” he said.

“Fuck you—“

“Listen. I don’t know what your deal is, but I do know that I miss you—“

“You’re full of shit. You just wanna fuck.”

“That’s what I said. I miss you. I mean, for such a short person, your pussy packs a punch.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Face it,” he murmured. “You may hate me, but your pussy doesn’t.”

Your body melted into his at the sound of his voice. The feeling of his hands running down your body, landing on your thigh. “Just admit it. Or tell me to stop.” His fingers trailed under your dress, the tips grazing you through your panties. Your head rolled back at the gentle touch and he took that as an invitation to kiss your neck.

“Cmon, shortcake, tell me to stop,” he mumbled. “Tell me to stop.”

You responded by wrapping your hands around his throat, using all your strength to push him out the living room couch. He chuckled under his breath, stumbling back onto the cushion and pulling you into his lap.

“Oh, you gonna choke me?” He asked, his voice coming out strained. “Okay, princess, you hate me so much? You can’t stand me?” He pushed his pants down to reveal his erection. “Fuck me like it then.”

You crashed your lips onto his and pushed him back onto the couch, reaching down to grab his cock. You pulled your panties to the side and teased him against your core, moaning as his tip rubbed against your clit. You sank down onto his dick, feet pressed into the couch, hands holding his neck.

He stared up at you as you fucked him — fast and careless. Swear words fell off of his lips uncontrollably, his hands pawing at your breast. Your boobs fit perfectly in his palm and he was obsessed. He had to bite down on his bottom lip to stay quiet, grunting into his mouth.

“F-fuck,” he panted. “Wait, wait.”

You leaned in and kissed him roughly, grinding your hips against his. You made sure to stay silent, giving no indication that you were experiencing so much pleasure.

“H-hey — shit, fuck,” he groaned. “Wait.”

Matthew placed his hands on your ass, his eyes closed tight, his body tensing up as you rode him into the wall. “Oh, fuck!” He exclaimed, and lifted you off of his cock. Quickly, just in time for him to release all over his stomach. He panted, he quivered, he mumbled soft, dirty words. Whispered something about you.

As pretty a sight as it was, you refused to sit there and stare. So, you stood up, pulled the hem of your dress down. And this time, you left. Not a word said. Nothing.

Matthew followed you on instagram that night. You didn’t accept the request for a week, and when you did, you didn’t follow him back. He tried to add you on snapchat, but you declined it. You continued to sit far away from him in class, giving him no access. He brought you a drink at a party once and you asked for water instead. When he returned with the water, you had already left.

He had met his match. You dominated him, successfully, fearlessly, and without even trying. He wanted more. But you liked to watch him so squirm, so you didn’t give in.

Christmas break rolled around, and instead of focusing on the actual holiday, you and your friends planned your first spring break vacation. A group of you would head to South Beach for the week, and stay at a relative’s beach house.

You sat on your bed, trying to map out the cost of the trip. “So it’s me, you, the four of them...Claire, are you listening to me?”

“Is this a good Christmas gift for Matthew?”

You turned your head to her quickly, “Huh?”

“This,” she held up the book - The Magic Encyclopedia. “You think Matthew will like it?”

“Claire,” you sighed. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“What are you doing simping over this boy? Buying him gifts? This isn’t you, Claire.”

“Leave me alone, [y/n], okay? We’re just friends. And he told me he bought me a gift so I got him one. Jeez, do you have to hate him so much?” She pouted, dropping the book into a gift bag.

“Um, actually, yeah I do,” you nodded. “He’s a dick.”

A knock rang at the door, and as Claire hopped up, she pointed her finger at you, “That’s him. Do not pick a fight.”

You rolled your eyes and went back to planning. Matthew stepped into the room, carrying a bag in one hand. He used his other hand to cup Claire’s face and give her a small kiss on the cheek. “Santa Claus is here!” He exclaimed.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme!” Claire pleaded, reaching for the gift bag.

“Wow, Claire, I’m hurt. You’re so materialistic.” He chuckled.

“Oh, please, Gube,” she scoffed. “Give me my gift.”

“Okay,” he reached into the bag and pulled out a small box, wrapped into festive paper. “I got this for you, Claire,” he handed her the box. “And I even got something for your roommate here.”

You picked your head up, face ridden with confusion. Matthew licked his lips as he held the gift out to you, “I saw it and I couldn’t help myself. Merry Christmas, short stack.”

“Aw, Gube!” Claire squealed. Matthew let her tuck herself under his arm and hug him. “You’re so sweet.”

You stared at the tiny box in your hands, feeling it’s weight. “Thanks...” you whispered.

“Here, open what I got you,” Claired ordered Matthew, stepping over to her bed and grabbing the gift bag. She handed it to him with a wide smile, and giggled as he reached inside.

“Wow!” He cheered, holding the book in his hand. “Holy shit, Claire. This is incredible, thank you!”

“I knew how much you wanted that book so I remembered to get it,” she said. “So, I hope your gift for me is as impressive.”

“It is.”

As the two of them spoke, you opened up your own gift, quietly, hiding it behind your pillow. Claire unwrapped Matthew’s gift, and squealed. “Shut up! Where did you find this film?”

“Amazon!” he replied. “That fancy camera of yours only takes a certain type of film so I wanted you to be stocked.”

You pulled the item out of the box, focused on figuring out what it was. It was cold, metallic, and shone under the light as it was revealed.

“Oh, Gube!” Claire pulled him into a hug. “This is incredible!”

It was an antique. A silver polished miniature ballerina, perched on a pedestal. There was a knob on the side, and when turned, the ballerina twirled. It was precious.

You looked over at Matthew and Claire, watching as they broke out of their hug and looked at each other. “I expect a bunch of pictures when I get back,” he told her, backing out of the room.

“And I expect a professional magician,” she winked. Yuck. Claire turned her head to you after Matthew left, grinning, “What’d he get you?”

You quickly pushed the ballerina back in the box, shaking your head. “Socks. Mismatched socks. Very funny.” You replied.

She giggled, “But hey, a gift! That’s growth!”

“Yeah, whatever,” you grumbled.

“Matthew’s great,” She said. “You’ll get to know him better soon, since he’s coming to the beach with us.”

“He’s what?”

[PART 3.]

#mine #college!matthew #matthew gray gubler/reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler fic #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #mgg imagine #mgg smut #mgg x reader #esny

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weclassygirl · 4 years

Text

𝐃𝐮𝐥𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐮𝐦

DISCLAIMER this is my first ever fic, EVER, never written anything before

Word count: +2.9k

Pairing: santino d’antonio x f!reader

Summary: reader gets transported into the John Wick Universe. She lands in the scene where Santino is supposed to die. She’s there to prevent that.

Author’s note: give me your most brutal honest opinion so I can improve. English is not my first language so beware.

"I knew they would hunt us. Consequences."

THE FIRST WRITING/DRAFT WILL ALWAYS BE SHITTY AND I ACCEPT THAT

dulce periculum series: ... 02

Gif credits (x)

The moment you plant your feet on the ground you can feel that something's not right. Your whole body hurts, the bruises you're sure are already forming. It doesn't help with your slightly heavy breathing, a kick in the ribs is not very pleasant. You look at the surroundings around you with a frown.

You are standing in a place that looks like a lobby of an expensive hotel, but you notice something else. You know this lobby. You've seen those marble walls, golden hue of light, this whole structure hundreds of times on the screen.

It can't be you think to yourself. There's no way that- you cut off your thought mid sentence when you notice a few things.

The whole lobby is empty and you can only see the concierge behind the marble desk looking at the screen of a computer in front of him.

He does not acknowledge you right away but you're pretty sure that he knows you're there. You realize one important thing. This place is always filled with people even at these late hours, which could mean one thing…

You head towards the reception, your eyes set on the concierge. He looks up at you with a calm demeanor.

"Welcome to the Continental, how may I help you?" he says, noticing your appearance.

"Which way is the lounge?" you ask quickly.

He doesn't say anything but can see that somehow you know. You know who just went through those doors, what is about to happen. Yet he answers your question.

"To your right, down the hall."

You nod in thanks and speed to the lounge area. You can already hear distinct voices as well as your heart, beating in your chest.

The moment you arrive at the venue you yell "Wait!"

The few of the guests look up in your direction as well as the man holding a gun. You walk quickly down the stairs and place yourself in front of him. Shielding the man sitting in a chair behind you. You raise your hands up.

"You don't have to do this. Think of the consequences." you say in a surprisingly calm voice. "If you kill him you'll be excommunicated, haunted. That contract will double up and go international."

The man’s face flashes with a emotion that resemblances surprise. He doesn't point his gun at you but his stare might as well feel like it. He doesn't know you and yet he listens, he wonders if you're somehow connected to the Italian, if you're a threat.

"If you kill him you'll drag a lot of people into your mess. You'll use your ticket to Ruska Roma, you will never be able to go back there, Jardani."

At this John reacts. How can you know about the ticket, his real name?

Who are you?

You can hear Winston telling the guests and the staff to leave the lounge, they scatter quickly, not wanting to be involved in the matter in front of them.

"I know that you will also go to Sofia with her marker, I know what will happen once you pull that trigger cause I saw it already." you say desperately.

"What do you mean by that?" your eyes quickly move to Winston’s, but go back to John, fearing that if you lose him from his sight he might do something that will make him a target of the High Table.

"Listen I know you won't believe me, I'm pretty sure I look like crazy person now, but… I'm not from here."

Both men give you a confused expression. They take you all in, bruises on the arms, neck and a growing yellow and purple patch on the jaw. You might as well look like one of the bowery.

"Where I'm from all of this happened in a movie. And I know it sounds unreal but you have to believe me."

You were right, you did look like a crazy person to them and your words even made it more convincing. Yet the way you said it made you look like you're telling the truth. John knows when people lie, so does Winston. They can't be easily fooled, they see that you're not lying.

Your heart starts to beat a bit faster, anxiousness fills you whole but you continue.

"Give me a few minutes to talk with him. Let me try to recall the contract."

"He won't recall-"

"At least let me try!" you cut him off with a shout that echoes faintly across the lounge. “Please.”

He stares at you, considering your request and nods, giving you a permission to talk with the man behind you.

You turn slowly in the direction of the man that's been silent throughout the whole exchange. You still keep your eyes on John who grips his gun even tighter.

Santino D'Antonio sits in his chair with a calm demeanor still showing on his face. This man who made all of this happen still has the guts to smirk at the man that could easily end his life.

"Call off the contract." you say right of the bat with a demanding look in your eyes.

"And why would I do that, hm? You're in no position to order me around." he says it with a hint of an Italian accent. He's whole appearance seems as if he's been dealing with people like you his whole life and he probably has.

"Listen to me very carefully, if you don't call of this contract you'll be met with a bullet in your head. Your family, Camorra will be left without a leader, it will probably be overrun by other Italian families when they see that there's no one to rule it." you say it looking straight into those green eyes of his.

"Do you want that to happen? Don't you value your life?" you whisper. Pain mixed with worry etching on your face."You could finally be the head of the family and claim that High Table seat. A contract is not worth the life that you worked so hard for. Everyone knew that you wanted that seat, but you knew that Gianna wouldn't give it to you so easily." you pause, catching your breath. "Call off the contract for John and you'll have it, all of it. The seat, Camorra, everything. Don't let your hard work go to waste." you exhale, feeling like the whole sentence was said in one breath.

Santino doesn't say anything only looks at you. He eyes you with noticeable question. Why would a complete stranger risk her life protecting him from the Boogeyman.

"I assume that in your world I am a villain of this story, isn't that right? Why do you want to see me live?"

"Believe it or not, somehow I understand you. You're not the only person here that worked their ass off just to get somewhere in life. Only for them to be looked over by everyone around them, telling them that they won't make it." you whisper.

He considers your statement. What have you gone through to make you say that? These endless questions fill his head, but only one slips out of his mouth.

"Chi sei?" Who are you? He asks in his mother tongue.

"Uno nessuno che è la tua ultima speranza ora." A nobody that is your last hope now.

He's astounded, he didn't expect you to reply in his language. Minute by minute Santino is even more interested in your being.

It feels like it's just you and him in the lounge, John and Winston somehow forgotten but still there. Both of the man watch the interaction like a tennis match.

The only sound that fills the room is shuffling of Santino who reaches for his phone and dials a number.

"Put it on speaker." you say coldly, still keeping an eye contact with the Italian.

Santino surprisingly obeys your command. The line beeps before a woman is heard through the speaker.

"Operator, how may I direct your call?"

"Accounts payable."

"One moment, please." Seconds pass before an older woman’s voice speaks. "Accounts payable. How may I help you?"

John watches intently, never loosing the grip on the gun, ready for whatever happens next.

"I'd like to close an account." Santino speaks into the phone.

"Name on the account?"

"John Wick."

"Verification?"

"9305-05." he says it slowly, as if to reassure John of his decision.

You notice that. You hope that Santino or John won't do anything stupid, that this will work out. Because it has to.

"Processing. Please hold." says the operator.

After a few seconds of an awkward silence all three men can hear two words that sound like heaven to you.

"Order confirmed." Santino ends the call.

There's an eerie atmosphere feeling up the air. The contract has been called off, you sigh relieved. All three men suddenly look up in your direction as if they just remembered that you're in the room.

You keep eye contact with Santino before moving to John's. His hand is not gripping the gun so tightly anymore. That eases you even if you're not sure if you just prevented an action that could cause more harm than good.

Winston is the first one to take a voice. "Jonathan?" He looks up at him, expectantly, dreading his decision. John lifts up a gun and you fear the worst, yet he simply pulls out a magazine and puts the empty gun on the table. His scowl remains on his face, his eyes focused on the Italian.

"I believe that you, young lady, owe us some explanation." you turn your head to Winston. His face calm, unmoving. He gestures towards the chair next to Santino, while he himself sits beside him. John is still standing but as soon as you comply with the managers wishes he does the same.

There's an awkward silence in the air. Santino's dinner long cold, but he still sips on the red wine as if it's just another evening and not one that almost ended his life. All eyes are turned to you, with the exception of John and Santino who still glance at each other. Like before, Winston is the one to break that quietness.

"Now that we have a form of reassurance that Mr. Wick won't do anything to endanger Mr. D'Antonio's life, the only question left is, who are you?" His light eyes find yours. You expected him to ask this question, but now you don't know what to do, so you say the first thing that comes to your mind and as soon as you say it you want to disappear.

"Don't you think that it would be unwise of me to tell you my name? In this world?"

You see their reaction, eyebrows raised. Why would you say that? Why would you say that to the man that controls New York, head of the most feared mafia and the deadliest assassin in the world. You truly feel like you should start digging your own grave, but your thoughts are interrupted by a small snicker of the Italian man.

"The lady is right Winston. In this world you can't trust anyone with anything, even your own name. Isn't that right, Jardani?" his face smirks, that arrogant man of power coming through as he faces John. The latter says nothing, just glares at the man opposite him. “But then, how should we call you?”

“Jade” you say simply. They looked at you doubt founded. " What? If I am to stay here then might as well use my second name that I don't use anyway." After a short break you whisper. "God, I honestly hope that I passed out in that alley and fell asleep. And when I wake up, I'll be back home. Watching this" you gesture around yourself "on my laptop."

"An alley?" John asks suddenly.

"Yes. I um… some guys took my bag so I chased after them, threw a few punches, in return they beat me. Before I got here I heard some noise, and it was really irritating so I covered my ears and closed my eyes. Next thing I know, I'm at a Continental in a middle of the ending scene of John Wick Chapter 2."

"So you're here because of some high-pitched noise that you've heard? Might as well start believing in that little lie of yours." Winston says with amusement in his voice.

"I'm not lying, it's true. I heard some noise and now I am here, somehow."

"You seem to be very sure about it. Tell me, how do you expect to survive in this world? You know what kind of people exist here, do you think you're safe here?"

You look at the manager with an irritation that slowly turns into confusion.

"I don't know how to answer this, but I do know that I am not that helpless. I know how to fight, I understand multiple languages. Until I am here I'll just be careful and try to figure out how to get back to my world."

The three men look at you, scanning your face for any sign of weakness, hesitation. Your world is not filled with an underworld society of assassins. It’s dangerous, sure, which world isn’t. But the thought of spending an unknown period of time here sends a shiver up your spine.

You’re taken back from your thoughts by John’s voice.

"What languages?" he asks.

"What?"

"You said you speak multiple languages. Which ones?" he questions further.

"Um, well, besides Italian it's Russian, Polish, German, French, Korean, Japanese, Spanish, Norwegian, and a bit of Arabic and Chinese."

You liked learning, still do. Languages are just a mean to experience more culture, even if you can’t go to your desired places. It’s changes your mind perspective.

"That's impressive." you hear Santino say beside you.

"What about fighting?"

"I took some self defense classes, but later I moved to boxing and hand to hand combat… "

Winston contemplates your answer for a brief second before speaking again.

"I have a feeling that you are as you’ve put it, not hopeless at all."

"Thanks…" you say warily.

The manager looks between both men, while they still shoot each other warning looks.

"I believe that concludes our lovely conversation, but do tell us one last thing." his head snaps to you. "Where do you plan to stay? I'm sure you're aware of this hotel policy and it's form of payment, which you do not possess, isn't that right?"

You didn't think about that, well, not entirely at least. But you knew about one solution that could keep you somewhat safe, while in this world.

"Well I can always go to the Bowery King, maybe he'll take me in. From what I know he might even expect me, since he has eyes all over the city." you say a matter of factly.

"I, might have a more suiting option." All heads snap to the Italian.

"Come with me." he simply says.

"What? Why?"

His face is adorned by a smirk yet it still holds a bored expression.

"You saved my life, consider this as evening out the odds."

You ponder at his offer. This can't be that easy. He's the new head of Camorra as well as a newly installed member of the High Table. There's a tension filling up the air.

"What's in it for you?" you turn your whole body in his direction and lean in closer. "A person like you will take up any opportunity to get something in return."

He holds your gaze. Those emerald eyes just burning into yours.

"Maybe I have a change of heart… due to recent events." his gaze moves momentarily to John while he and Winston watch this whole interaction with worried looks.

"So? What say you?"

"You don't have to if you don't want to." John calmly says. He shifts as if ready to fight at any moment.

"I don't have much of a choice." you turn to him. Your brows drawn together.

"And I think that me going with him - a boss of one the feared mafias - is the only reasonable option."

"Reasonable option? You know who he is, what makes you think that he won't use you for his needs." Winston protested at your response.

"You said it yourself, I don't have any coins on me so I can't stay here. And I'm sure that sooner or later the High Table will find out of what happened here or rather almost happened, so... I could use some form of protection."

What if I stay here with no way to get back home? you wonder. You're an outsider here, no one would think twice before killing you. You don't matter here. It's the only choice. Might try and take an advantage of it.

"Very well, that's your choice. But remember that I warned you." Winston says as he rises up from his seat, adjusting his suit. John stands up as well giving one final look in Santino's direction.

A warning.

When they're both gone you relax your tensed muscles with a small grunt.

"Well, that went better than I expected." you sigh.

Santino still stares at the spot above where both of the men just disappeared.

"Ah, yes, Winston prefers to play by the rules, so does John… to an extent."

The man turns his head to the forgotten glass and drinks the rest of the wine. His movements slow, measured.

You look around the lounge, the quiet is deafening. It's just the two of you.

He stands up from his seat, the sheer of elegance just reeking off of him. He fixes his suit before reaching his hand to you.

"Shall we?"

You think before taking his hand.

What have I gotten myself into?

I'm making a deal with the devil here.

You take his hand. Feeling the warmth coming from his palm.

"Where are we going?"

"Home, cara. I don't own properties only in Italy."

#santino d'antonio x reader #santino d'antonio #riccardo scamarcio #john wick #john wick chapter 2 #john wick 2 #john wick 3 #john wick parabellum #keanu reeves #my first fic #don't be rude #i tried #lowkey wanna make a second part #feedback much appreciated #fic; dulce periculum

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gideongrace · 4 years

Text

For @harringrovetrashh 😊😊😊💜💜💜😍😍😍

There's this tiny, little, oddly upscale pub a few blocks from the bakery that's got these dark red walls, deep, velvet lined booths and waiters that wear fancy all-black suits and ties.

And it also has truly excellent food, which is why they go.

And the drinks are cheap, which is why they stay. Often for hours and hours, just talking about nothing at all in particular and everything they can think of, often at the exact same time.

So one night, after hours of doing just exactly that with Billy, Nancy and Jonathan, Steve starts telling them the story of how Dustin met his girlfriend, Kali. He goes into extravagant detail on just how awkward Dustin was being and how hard he had to work to get him a date.

Nancy and Jonathan both laugh but Billy gives him this funny, one eyebrow raised, Oh, really? kind of look. Then he says, "Like you've never been weird."

"W-well, I… I never said I wasn't," Steve says less than gracefully. He would have loved to have sounded cool and unaffected, but he knows he missed that mark so bad it's three towns over, sleeping soundly, completely and utterly unaware of his existence entirely. It might as well be in the next state, hell, a whole other country, for how badly he's missed it.

So with this in mind, because of this, really, Billy, of course, keeps going.

"First day we met, you were so awkward," Billy says, tone teasing but eyes bright like he's decided to dig in, and Steve means really dig in, like full stop.

"Sounds about right," Nancy says knowingly.

Steve is stunned into silence.

Nancy laughs and reaches a hand across the table to put her hand over Steve's. "After high school, once you stopped with all that cool kid King Steve bullshit, you became the loveable, awkward dork you were always meant to be." She pauses and almost winks at him. Almost, but not quite. "I like you much better this way."

Billy laughs. "Wait. Excuse me, what? Did people actually call you that?"

Steve can feel his face getting embarrassingly warm. "They… ummm… they might have."

This time Jonathan speaks up. "Oh, they totally did. They called him 'King Steve' and Steve 'The Hair' Harrington—"

"Now that one I can believe," Billy interjects.

"He was the most popular kid in school because of his hair and the fact that his parents were never home," Nancy says, continuing on for Jonathan like he'd never even stopped, like they just share one brain now after all this time together, like she just knows exactly what he's going to say anyway.

But underneath the table Billy's knee knocks gently into Steve's and Steve knows without Billy having to say it in words that Billy gets how much it sucks that his parents were never around. He knows that Billy understands the kind of scars that leaves behind. He wishes Billy didn't, he wishes he were alone in this, that the scars he's got in all his dark and quiet, broken places weren't perfectly matched in all of Billy's dark and quiet, broken places, but… they are. And it's sweet, what Billy is doing right now.

Billy isn't that sweet for long, though; in the next instant he's right back to it, giving Nancy this dagger sharp grin and saying, "He 'was', huh?" He even licks his lips expertly, readying himself for the next juicy tidbit of gossip he thinks he's about to uncover.

Steve, unfortunately, knows better. Steve, unfortunately, knows that what Billy's about to uncover is more trap than treat.

And he's powerless to stop him.

"What changed?"

It's like watching a car accident a split-second before it even happens. Steve's insides brace for impact as Nancy's face twists like she's been hit, her lips turning down at the corners and her eyebrows pulling together. Steve can feel the way Jonathan's hands reach out and grab at his knees from across the table, can sense the way his whole body goes tense just by looking at him and the way his shoulders twitch.

Or, in a word, it's bad.

Nancy, without saying anything, looks away and takes a long, slow sip of her wine.

Jonathan, rather bravely in Steve's opinion, clears his throat and picks up the thread of the conversation. "He started dating Nancy."

Billy's eyes go wide. "What?" He waves wildly between Nancy and then Steve. "You two?" He looks caught between laughing and choking before settling on just straight up gawking. "How?"

Steve shrugs and looks over at Nancy. She refuses to look at him, instead deciding to look down at her hand that's still covering his.

She doesn't move it.

"I dunno," Steve says. He puts his other hand on top of hers. "There was just something about her."

The tension breaks as Nancy smiles at this and it's shy at first but as she starts to lift her head, it grows into something bright, something warm. "He was sweet. Even though he pretended to be this cool jock, I knew he was a good person. A good man."

Billy just looks confused. "So…" he starts but trails off and Steve can tell he's trying to find a nice way to ask why they ever broke up if they loved each other so much.

Rather than wait out another live and in person car crash, Steve decides to just answer his unasked question and skip that part. "We broke up for a couple of reasons," he says and as he does so, he pulls his hand away from Nancy's, but he keeps his eyes on her.

She continues the story, picking it up like they're weaving a freaking friendship bracelet or something.

"First," she says, her voice still cracking, even after all this time, "my best friend Barb died. She, uh—" The crack becomes a break and her hand slinks off of Steve's to rest with Jonathan's on the other side of the table, where it belongs.

"Drowned," Steve says. "In my pool. At a party."

Next to him Billy goes tense and Steve's not a mind reader but he knows exactly what Billy is thinking. He's thinking, Shit, I should never have asked. He's thinking, Shit, this is my fault. Billy breathes out once and it leaves Steve with this ice cold feeling, this worry over what Billy's about to do, but then, surprisingly, maybe even to Billy himself, Billy melts. He wraps an arm around Steve's shoulder and draws him close, switches from ice to fire in an instant and starts pouring warmth into Steve just by gently touching him.

Steve still feels cold, feels, sees, smells cold and imagines chlorine and bright, neon blue water but he stays quiet, letting someone else pick up the story.

Nancy carries it on. "We…" She bites her lip and the hand holding the stem of her wine glass tightens until it's gripping hard enough Steve thinks he's about to hear the glass start cracking. "We were distracted. We weren't paying attention. She hadn't even been drinking, she just slipped and hit her head and fell in and…" Her hand drops from the glass and she shrinks in on herself. Jonathan wraps around her without even consciously seeming to decide to do so, it's just an instinct buried somewhere at the core of him to be protective and kind. And especially over Nancy, especially now.

And Billy, Billy's just as protective but he's ten times more wary. Billy's whole body goes tight again, goes rigid and under the table, next to Steve's thigh, Billy's hand clenches into a fist like he's just waiting for something to fight, for a monster to appear out of the table roaring and screaming, with its long, sharp claws brandished and teeth gnashing viciously. Or like he's expecting a man with a shotgun to come barrelling in through the front door and demanding everybody get down and make real good friends with the floor and they better do it real quick.

It's like he needs something, or someone, to fight. Like he's useless in this situation as it is.

"So how did… when did… I mean, how did that lead to..." Billy stammers. His face is carefully blank or at least it's trying to be, but Steve can see the confusion and the panic peeling at the edges. He knows Billy too well not to, at this point.

Not that he's about to mention it, of course. Billy hates getting accused of having emotions in public, even if that 'public' is only a small bar filled only with two other very drunk patrons and a bored-looking bartender who seems much more invested in whatever's happening on her phone's screen than in anything that's happening in the bar.

"Well, we didn't exactly… handle it well as a couple," Steve says, which is the kindest understatement he thinks may have ever been spoken in the English language. Maybe in any language.

"And I was kind of in love with someone else…" Nancy says.

"Yeah," Steve says. He feels frozen in time, feels glued to his seat, until he looks up and sees the way Nancy is staring at Jonathan and the way Jonathan is staring back at her, like they're the only two people who exist for each other in the whole entire universe and he feels himself settle back down into his bones. He can't be upset when they look at each other like that, he just can't.

He can admit, however, he is big enough to admit, that sometimes it still stings a little, what happened between them, no matter how old the hurt might be. He is big enough to admit that there have been a few times, on his worst days, when Nancy's voice in his head chimes in with his father's and he hears her calling him 'bullshit'. He hears her asking him, begging him, pleading with him to just tell her why she wasn't good enough, why after sex with her just one time, he lost all interest. He didn't have a word for it then, didn't know what 'asexual' meant, then. And he didn't know how to be honest, then, either. With her or with himself.

But sometimes he's still just a little mad about it, internally (and only ever just internally) but then he sees them looking at each other like that and he can't be mad. He sees them looking at each other like that and he knows that everything the three of them went through together after Barb died was worth it. Because he's not really ever been mad at her, anyway, but at himself. For not having the right words. For not being honest. For not knowing.

But he knows now. He's honest now. And she has Jonathan. And he has Billy.

So he unclenches, a little.

And then a lot.

At his side, Billy's fist loosens up until it's just his hand and his hand starts stroking a long, soothing line along the seam of Steve's jeans like he can burn into Steve's skin through the fabric and Steve leans into the touch, pretends he can feel Billy's strong, sure fingers against his skin and he feels himself breathe, well and truly breathe properly for the first time in a while.

He leans into Billy with his whole body and allows himself a moment to just enjoy it—Billy's warmth and the sure certainty he brings to every moment he's not looking for something to fight—before tuning back in to some conversation that seems to have progressed without him to hear Nancy saying, "I will never doubt again," in this soft and dream-like way that sounds like she's quoting something Steve is sure he's heard at least a hundred times before and yet is still having trouble placing.

Jonathan clearly knows exactly what it's from, though because on hearing it he smiles at her, his expression just as soft, just as dream-like, and he says, "There will never be a need," like this is some commonly repeated joke the two of them share.

And who knows, maybe it is?

Billy, for his part, snorts. "Really? The Princess Bride? You guys were watching The Princess Bride when you first said 'I love you' to each other?"

Nancy scowls at this but she's still all wrapped up in Jonathan so the look goes nowhere fast. "And what's wrong with The Princess Bride, huh?"

"Nothing," Billy says with this smile Steve just knows means trouble. "It's just a much nicer story than ours and I'm jealous, that's all."

And Steve knows he's not going to be able to stop Billy from telling it, either, so he doesn't even bother. Doesn't even say a word.

"The first time we said 'I love you' to each other was after a fight in a grocery store that started with Steve throwing—" Billy stops short to giggle like a freaking five year old. "That started with Steve throwing down an avocado and shouting"—again, more giggling— "'Fuck the avocadoes! We're leaving!'"

This time it's Nancy's eyes that go wide and Jonathan that says, "Wait. What?"

And then Steve and Billy have to explain that story.

#billy hargrove #stranger things #harringrove fanfic #steve harrington #asexuality #asexual #asexual fanfic

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willel · 5 years

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Random Season 4 Wishes

Here is a random list of things I want to see in season 4 in no particular order. Some of these are more like predictions than wishes, but at this point, any prediction made is just a wish.

A break from all out romance. The romance wasn’t really handled all that great last season. Other than the looming monster danger, it was the forefront of season 3. I would like a return to a season 1/season 2 formula where while there is still romance, it is never the focus. Stranger Things excels with subtle tender moments and meaningful physical contact.

Character growth over character drama. Another issue season 3 had is too much conflict between character. Hardly any of it really contributed to character growth. The only character growth to be seen is Mike being a little less clingy and El being a little more independent. Nothing else noticeably changed, not on screen. Conflict is important... but it should be pushing our character forward, not locking them in place.

Recapture the importance of family. Our cast has been divided in two. The Byers + El are somewhere new while the others stayed behind in Hawkins. This leaves an excellent opportunity to revisit old threads long forgotten. I would love to see Nancy and Mike actually interacting. Not just one conversation or exchanging a glance. Full out brother and sister duo. I feel similarly about Jonathan with his own family. I would like to see a plot where all the Byers + El are in it together.

Return of Kali. Kali, I feel, is a very important piece of El. While season 3 would have us forget her influence of El, I hope next season doesn’t completely ignore her presence. It would be interesting if Kali’s prediction comes true, that no matter where she hides or who she’s with, “they” will never let her live in peace or have a normal life. Not because I want harm to come to El, but because I don’t for a second believe the government is done with her or the other experimented children.

Proper strategist Michael Wheeler and proper action man Lucas Sinclair. I would like to see the return of the strategist Mike who always seems to have a plan and can get everyone on the same page. In season 3, he was fumbling around distracted. I feel normally, Mike would have set a trap for the Mind Flayer or would’ve formulated a proper plan to escape the mall or the cabin. In Lucas’s case, they did ok with him in season 3 actually, but it was really out of character for him to freeze up while El was being choked out. I want to see a more forward athletic Lucas.

Will to make new friends. In season 3, we saw at least 2 of the 4 boys interests changing drastically and the other was all too eager to go off and hang around new people. Given Will’s situation (new town, new house, new school, distant old friends), I’d like to see Will gain some new friendships. That’s not to say he’d drop the old ones. They’re the OG after all. But, before all the drama of next season picks up, it would be nice to see Will being happy and acknowledged by new friends.

US Government becoming a threat again. Personally, I did not enjoy the Russian plot. Everything seemed like a joke. When the US government were the bad guys, everything felt more dangerous and dire. You never knew who was listening. Who was watching. What would happen if they found El or if they would hurt the boys and their families. Next season, I feel they could make the Russians feel like as much of a threat as the US government if both governments are clashing and in a race to the bottom. By that, I mean the government should become a major foe again racing against the Russian government to do bad things. Open a gate? Control a demogorgon? Allow the Mind Flayer in again? Both these governments should screw up equally.

A slow return of El’s powers. I want El to get her powers back, but I want it to be a slow daunting process. It’s like she starts back at square one. She can move and pick up small things, but even that has taken her months. She’s stuck between being seemingly normal with no powers, but also missing the power she once had.

Casual power training. As we know, Will is really into comics. El might be too since Max introduced her to them. A classic of comics is the super hero training to regain their strength or to become stronger. It would be really interesting if Will contributed to El slowly regaining her powers by setting up obstacles and challenges just for her. Maybe on the weekends, he designs a building and she must use wooden blocks/legos to make it with her powers. Or, build a house of cards. A game of darts using powers only. A game of catch. (I was going to say Jenga, but it looks like that didn’t get released in the US until 1987) Anything Will can creatively come up with that he thinks will help her regain her strength. (whether it does or not is up for debate) It’s mostly casual fun. Some bonding opportunities. Who doesn’t enjoy training the hero/super hero? (basically, it’s roleplay)

Will’s power expanded. I am writing a proper theory page on Will’s/the Byers’s powers, but let me explain exactly what I mean here. It’s clear Will has powers, but they severely limited them in season 3. Examples:

Instead of only sensing the Mind Flayer when it’s nearby, he should be able to close his eyes, concentrate, and locate the center of activity

Will should have great insight into the Mind Flayer’s intentions even if it’s just honest guesses on what the Mind Flayer wants and what he’s trying to do (like in season 2)

Will’s danger senses should happen immediately, not delayed like we saw in the hospital or in the mall. He should be able to tell the Mind Flayer is coming for them from miles away or even across dimensions.

Will should retain true sight, the ability to see into the Upside Down. A dangerous ability to be sure, but can be useful if we’re going to have gates popping in and out around the world like what’s been implied.

Karen possibly discovering the truth. Honestly, Season 1 Karen is such a good mom. And in season 3, that discussion with Nancy was superb and beautiful. I would love for Karen to learn a little more what her two eldest kids have been up to. If not that, I’d like for her to at least give more guidance to her kids. I’d like for Nancy and Mike to vaguely come to her for advice and she’d grant it, no questions asked. (ok, Karen used to be very nosy so maybe she does ask questions, but takes a step back and respects their privacy)

Joyce to be believed right away. I honestly do not understand why people doubt Joyce, you know? She’s been right 3 years in a row now (Nancy too). I swear if anyone questions her intuition next season, she should give them her classic Joyce sneer until they realize how silly they’re being. In order of “alarm bells”, I think it will go like Will >> El >> Joyce >> Jonathan in quick succession. All 4 family members should be very sensitive to weird things as this point.

Jonathan gets a plot. I want to see things from Jonathan’s perspective again. After season 1, we’ve barely gotten anything. I want to see Jonathan putting forth plans or leading the charge, at least for a little while. There is a great opportunity for this next season since he’s the man of the house about to graduate from high school if he hasn’t already. (*sobs remembering Will is taller than him now, officially). Heck, if we want to switch around the order of “alarm bells”, maybe Jonathan becomes alert of something wrong before Joyce does this time.

Less product placement. In season 1/season 2, there was product placement, but that was because they were really setting the scene. It was 1983. This is what products used to be like. This is what was popular at the time. But season 3? They cranked that dial up 2000% when they didn’t need to. It really made it feel less serious and set in reality. Don’t dare use Lucas to spit out a damned Coke ad ever again.

Genuine friendship moments. I’ve mentioned this earlier, but with less romantic drama and stuff, I’d like to see genuine friendships return. The El and Max friendship was great and all, but it’s really a shame it was so heavily focused on Mike. I hope in the future, these two girls are able to share screentime without the boys being mentioned or thought about. Same with the guys, it would be nice if they could hang out like before without splitting off into pairs or focusing entirely on their romantic lives. They don’t really feel like a friend group anymore, just a group of double dates (hence why I’d like for Will to make friends outside the original group.)

Proper use of the supernatural. Season 3 was weak when it came to the Mind Flesher imo. They had this whole idea of the Flayed who seemed to be totally normal (and sweaty) just walking around town living their lives until a flip was switched. Whyyyyy in the world weren’t they used to try to get at our cast? The only time they did it was in the hospital, but we saw dozens and dozens of people who could’ve served the same purpose except it could happen anywhere. Maybe there were other ‘patients’ in the waiting room that also turned on the kids that they had to fight off? Maybe strange people came to all their houses trying to find them or break in? They could’ve gone full creepy like season 1/2 but they didn’t. I’d like to see them fully use the horror aspects next season.

That’s what I got off the top of my head.

#stranger things #theory

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luckynovak · 4 years

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❝ AND WHAT ABOUT ME, MOM? WHAT ABOUT THE DAUGHTER WHO'S STILL HERE? LYDIA WAS TAKEN BUT YOU? YOU LEFT. ❞

— PARS UNA: the rumbling.

Lucky doesn’t want to believe the rumors floating just outside her social circle. Her mother’s name is one very few dare to utter to the actress’s face but they certainly didn’t mind mentioning her behind her back from time to time. Lately however it seemed to be on the tip of everyone’s tongue. Lorraine Jacobs, playwright extraordinaire, back on the West coast to turn one of her infamous plays into a motion picture. At first it felt too outrageous to be true. Lorraine Jacobs hated Hollywood and she’d sworn to never step foot in Los Angeles county again regardless of it being where her children resided and yet it was all true.

She couldn’t be sure what hurt more that her mother moved back for a job opportunity rather than to mend faces or the fact that she had to find it out through complete and utter strangers congratulating her for the early Oscar buzz her mother’s play turned movie was getting. By the time Lucky’s manager sat her down with news that the director assigned to the project was interested in screen testing her for a part she had already reached her limit. “Excuse me?” She all but shrieked manicured fingers digging into the expensive leather of his couch. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. No, no, fuck no.” What exactly was her mother thinking? That she could make up for years of abandonment by spoon feeding her daughter a role in her movie? Did she really think so little of her own flesh and blood?

“Luce, listen, I know how you feel about your mother but this is a golden opportunity,” Jonathan attempted to reason, large hands reaching forward to engulf the one angrily tapping on the surface of his coffee table. “Even if the role you're given is small, it’ll do wonders for your career. It could be the big break you were looking for.” It barely takes her any time at all to pull herself out of his grasp. Her slender frame ricochets from the couch, golden hues burning as they search for the purse she’d abandoned somewhere in his office during their weekly meeting. She should have known something was up when he offered to read through scripts with her rather than just handing her a stack of them and sending her off. “How many times do I have to tell you that I want to earn my big break?” The question leaves her laced in thinly veiled venom. Disappointment etched into her features just as she finds her abandoned bag by a half-dead fern.

“I don’t want it handed to me because my father knows someone or because my deadbeat mother rolled back into town and wants to rid herself of some guilt. Now if you’ll excuse me I have somewhere to be.”

— PARS DUORUM: the explosion.

How she managed to track her mother’s location couldn’t be spoken for. In fact much could be said about the last hour and half of her life. It passed by in a blur of was anger, hurt, and sheer force of will to hunt down the person responsible for her current less than pleasant head space. Ironically enough her mother had only been located fifteen minutes away from the set Lucky traveled to each day. Some may have been comforted by the knowledge of their mother being so close but it only fueled her anger. Tinder to the ever growing fire within the pit of her stomach. Lucille barely gets through the small talk it takes to trick the front desk into providing her a key to her mother’s room and the entire elevator ride up to the woman’s hotel suite is spent perfecting the monologue she had pieced together in the car ride over.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Lucky demands to know the moment her mother swings open the door. She crosses through the threshold without permission, brushing past the older woman with more force than needed. “You can’t just waltz back into town expecting to placate me with a role in your movie. Don’t tell me you think that makes up for a decade and a half of skirting your duties as a mother?” There isn’t a pause long enough for Lorraine to answer, like an automatic with a finger on the trigger, the words kept spewing from her mouth. “You know what’s so funny to me?” Lucky continued, the laugh following her question far from one of amusement. “ You didn’t even have the balls to offer me the role yourself. You had to do it through the director.”

The last couple words spill from pink painted lips in a sneer. Her gaze wild and angry as she runs her fingers through wavy brunette trusses not unlike the style being worn by the woman before her. She can feel the tears building up beneath her lids and attempted to will them away. The last thing Lucky wanted to do was shed tears in front of her mother. Even if they were ones caused by years of built up rage. “I’m not sure what you thought you would accomplish by coming back here but,” it’s then Lucky finds herself cut off for the first time since her abrupt entrance.

“I’m trying to accomplish a movie. That’s it. I’m sorry you worked up all this courage to come here and yell at me but your anger is misplaced.” If Lorraine’s intention were to calm her daughter down the sound of her voice seemed to be having the opposite effect. “If you got approached by anyone to do this movie I can assure you that it wasn’t my doing. In fact I strongly advocated against it.” Girl Rising had been a biographical play based on Lorraine’s real life. Once it became apparent that the success of the play could be repackaged into a successful movie she had been hounded to sign the rights away. Unable to part completely with something so personal she managed to negotiate a position for herself as co-screenwriter which gave her full control of the script but little control anywhere else.

When producers began to suggest that her daughter play the titular role as a gimmick to get even more eyes on the movie she had done her best to steer the conversation elsewhere but it seemed that her suggestion of other names hadn’t been enough to rid them of the idea completely. Hesitantly, as if she were holding out for Lucy to decide to leave, Lorraine shut the door behind the hurricane otherwise known as her estranged daughter. She maneuvers past Lucille to head directly to the mini bar. She needed something to subdue the headache forming in her temples. “You’re not going to take it right? It would make things extremely difficult for me in you did.”

Her mother might as well have slammed one of her Tonys into Lucky’s chest, it would have hurt a lot less than the damage being inflicted upon the actress’s heart by the callously dismissive words of the woman. In fact I strongly advocated against it. The statement repeats itself within her subconscious, ripping through her psyche much in the similar fashion to that of runaway freight train. How naive could she have been? Of course Lorraine wasn’t capable of extending an olive branch. She barely seemed capable of looking Lucky in the eyes since the disappearance of Lydia. Embarrassment floods through her system, olive features falling into expression devoid of any emotion as hazel hues silently watch the older version of herself cross the room. She barely manages to process the blow inflicted to her ego by her own mother before the woman delivers yet another.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she’s quieter now, her response barely above a whisper. The anger she had entered with suddenly depleted along with most of her energy. Slender shoulders slouch forward, the invisible weight against them threatening to crush her as her mind attempted to pick up the pieces of her heart in real time. She doesn’t mean it, a small voice promises somewhere from the labyrinth of her wounded soul. She loves you, she does, it continues to urge sweetly. All pretty lies meant to sooth her and maybe they may have if it weren’t for the cold gaze in her mother’s eyes as she waited for a response. It was easier to convince herself that the woman who brought her into the world actually cared for her when she wasn’t right in front of her looking anything but the loving mother of her memories. “It would make things difficult for you?”

“Is that all you care about? Yourself?”

“Don’t be dramatic, Lucille. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But you did mom, you did.”

God, Lorraine made it so easy to be hated, so why was it that even after all these years Lucky searched desperately her approval? Her love? Any ounce of affection she could drain from the seemingly cold hearted woman left in the place of the mother she once knew. She hadn’t always been so dismissive, cold, cruel and sometimes Lucky couldn’t help but wish that she had been. If she had been a monster from the start then maybe the actress would have been spared the heartbreak of losing a mother. “I've been making excuses for you my whole life and I’m tired. I’m so tired,” her voice breaks with the declaration. Resolve wavering the longer she stays in the presence of her Achilles heel. Hot tears spill over flushed cheeks as shaky fingers pick at the fabric of her skirt. “I can’t imagine the pain of losing a child and I hope I never do but what about me, mom? What about the daughter who’s still here?”

It’s a question she never dared to utter before this moment, yet as she spoke it she knew it had been one that haunted her ever since the departure of her mother all those years ago. “Lydia was taken, but you? You left.” Her sister held no blame in her departure from Lucky’s life, her exit had been forced upon her. Lorraine Jacobs on the other hand chose to leave Lucky behind and never look back and in the end that had done more damage to her heart than her twin sister’s disappearance ever had. “I never gave myself permission to hate you because I knew you were hurting but why should I care anymore? You clearly don’t care when you hurt me, so you know what?” Lucky asks as she lifts a hand to wipe away at her tears. “I think I will accept the offer to screen test for the movie. Consider it karma for being such a shitty mother.” With nothing else to say and no stomach to stick around long enough to allow her mother enough time to retaliated the actress spun toward the door and made her second dramatic exit of the day.

#𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 ━━━━━ * ∗ ∵ ▸ selfparas.#𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 ━━━━━ * ∗ ∵ ▸ featuring.#𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 ━━━━━ * ∗ ∵ ▸ lorraine jacobs ( mother dearest ).#guess who misses the dash & is feeling musey af #almost 2k words of just pure word vomit #but anyway time to finish nadia's sp #<3 #kidnapping tw #child loss tw #horrible parent-child relationship tw

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lexthemondo · 5 years

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Dirty Dancing {1}

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Park Jimin; Radio-host!Yoongi; Fem!Yoongi; Translator!Jimin; Alternate-universe!AU; Non-Idol!AU.

Warnings: Language, mentions of smut, violence, transgender character, mentions of suicide, eating disorder, talks of mental health, mentions of self-harm, talks of racial discrimination; POLITICS

Other Notes: V-Hope, NamJin, Sana of Twice is in this story, SanKook, Lisa of Blackpink is in this as well, Liskook, Trans!Hoseok

Summary: Local radio talk show host, Min Yoongi, has been running from his past for years, but when his closest friend Jung Hoseok introduces him to a handsome translator from Korea, Yoongi thinks he might have found something- or someone- to run to.

Song of the chapter: You’re So Cool, Jonathan Bree

Word count: 3,507

“Now I’ve had the time of my life…”

Yoongi sang along happily, letting his eyes close slowly as the lyrics flew out of his mouth. His body slowly started grooving along to the music, and without a second thought, he got off the couch and started dancing along with Johnny and Baby. Yoongi twirled around the living room without a partner, and barely missed trampling his precious Holly by mere inches.

“You’re the one thing, I can’t get enough of…”

Yoongi continued to sing as his not-so-perfect dance moves made him feel invincible. He was on cloud nine, and it wasn’t until something cold and wet splashed on his feet that Yoongi snapped out of his daze. He groaned loudly, Holly’s water bowl was upside down and the freshwater was now soaking his carpet. Yoongi ran a hand through his hair and looked at the tv to see that his favorite part of the movie was coming up. Baby ran as fast as she could towards Johnny, and his strong arms lifted her up into the sky. Yoongi sighed and looked at the floor. Holly was licking his foot.

“Holly,” He said sadly, “You’re lucky you’re a dog. You don’t have to find someone who can beat 1980s, Patrick Swayze.”

He got a small whine in response. “I know girl,” Yoongi bent down and picked up the toy poodle, “They don’t make them like they used to.”

Yoongi walked back to the couch, completely ignoring the mess, and plopped down. Holly curled up in his arms while he finished watching the last few minutes. Dirty Dancing was easily Yoongi’s favorite movie, he could recite it word-for-word at this point, and even being a hopeless dancer, he managed to engrave the choreography in his mind. It was at the part where Johnny is mouthing the words of the song to Baby when his phone chimed making Holly let out a squeaky bark.

“Hush, it’s not the doorbell,” Yoongi scolded, mentally reminding himself to change his notification tone.

Hobi [11:43 PM] Bonjour hyung!

Yoongi smiled fondly at the screen. Hoseok had been his closest friend since middle school. The pair were never apart, and even when Hoseok had come out to Yoongi and told him of their gender crisis, Yoongi had never turned his back to Hoseok. They had formed a bond, and when Hoseok had fallen in love with a foreign man during college, Yoongi did not feel anger when the two of them did not see one another as often. If Hoseok was happy then so was Yoongi.

Me [11:44 PM] Salut. What’s up? I thought you were with Tae.

Hobi [11:46 PM] Oh, I still am! He’s such a dreamboat, hyung! Propre sur lui, charment, tres beaux.

Me [11: 49 PM] Are you just going to talk about Tae because I’d like to know how your doctor’s appointment went. I’m sorry for not being able to come. I had to finish my script for tomorrow night’s show.

Hobi [11:55 PM]

No worries! Well, the surgery is going to cost a shit ton of money which I was expecting. That’s not really a problem. I have the money for it. The weird thing is… the doctor was kind of rude once I told him that I didn’t want breast implants

Yoongi felt his ear heating up. Most doctors reacted the same way. Hoseok’s decision to keep their flat chest was a popular topic at their support groups and therapist office. To keep it frank, it pissed Yoongi off. He knew how much it hurt his friend when someone downplayed their gender identity solely because they did not want fake breasts. Hoseok had explained to Yoongi that they had thought about it and realized that it was a decision that they were very firm on. Hoseok did not want implants, not because they were confused or having second thoughts, but because they were a professional gymnast. Hoseok was constantly surrounded by muscular women who had a chest like their own. Of course, this did not stop the weird glances at them once they let this little fact about themselves be known.

Me [11: 58 PM] Did you tell him your view on that whole situation? Maybe he was trying to see if you were serious because of how expensive a vaginoplasty is?

Hobi [11:59 PM] No…kind of seemed like he didn’t take me seriously after that.

Me [12:01 AM] Are you for real? What the hell happened?

Hobi [12:03 AM]

Yeah. He went from being supportive to trying to talk me out of the procedure. I just told him I would go somewhere else.

Hobi [12:06 AM] It wasn’t a great feeling at all

Hobi [12:15 AM] Kind of like I wasn’t woman enough to be getting a sex change. He even commented on the fact that I’m still going by my “male” name. I had to share personal shit with the guy. Then he misgendered me twice and even said it was odd that I wanted a sex change even though I don’t go by female pronouns. Like dude what the fuck?

Yoongi stared at his phone and felt the heat from his ears spread across his entire body.

Hobi [12:17 AM] Anyway, Taehyung’s friend from Korea is coming to France for a few weeks and he wanted to know if you were down for dinner with us. From what I’ve seen of him, he’s super cute 😉

Me [12:19 AM] Are you seriously trying to set me up with some dude right after telling me about some fucking asshole treating you like garbage when he’s supposed to be helping you? Really Hobi? Are you okay?

Hobi [12:21 AM] Yeah, I’m great. I’m used to this kind of shit by now. I don’t completely blame the guy for being hesitant. It is a life-altering surgery. I won’t be able to go back afterward. I didn’t appreciate the comments about my sexuality or the misgendering, but my entire transition has been a wild ride for everyone involved. Even you. I promise you that I’m okay. I would’ve called you crying by now if not and we both know it lol. Are you coming or not?

Yoongi felt himself cooling down. His heart filled with adoration for the woman Hoseok had become. It had been a very confusing and hard journey to get where they are now, but Yoongi was so proud of his friend. Hoseok had gone from ‘Henri,’ the only other French-Korean kid in Dijon, to ‘Henri’ the “flaming gay” in middle school, and finally Hoseok, the professional gymnast in their woman’s league during their freshman year at university. Yoongi would always cherish those memories. Though they had been the hardest times of his life, and even harder for Hoseok, he would not change a single thing. Those were the days that gave him the most important person in his life.

Me [12:26 AM] Yeah, I’ll be there. Is it just me, you, Tae, and his allegedly cute friend?

Hobi [12:27 AM] Those are the definite ones, yes. Kook said him and Sana might drop by before they go back to Japan

Me [12:29 AM] Great.

Hobi [12:31 AM] I’m not happy about it either. I don’t like her any more than you do, but Jungkook is Taehyung’s best friend and I’ll put up with her so they can see one another.

Me: [12:32 AM] I miss Lisa. Kook seemed happier, and he is miserable in Japan. Jungkook misses France. Jungkook misses Lisa. I wouldn’t be surprised if he snuck out to see her.

Hobi [12:34 AM] Everyone misses Lisa, hyung. If Kook’s willing to deal with Sana, then let’s let him be happy. We can’t bring up his ex every chance we get just because we don’t like Sana. But that doesn’t mean I’m not team Lisa all the way.

Hobi [12:37 AM] Oh, he hasn’t...yet. We did make reservations at the most wonderful Korean restaurant in town though. Who knows, maybe a certain Kim Namjoon’s little cousin will be waiting tables... and our table just might be in her section as told to me by the uncle’s husband himself. Apparently, Lisa got a phone call last night and ran out during closing. I think she was running after her white rabbit.

Me [12:38 AM] Team Lisa > Team Sana

Me [12:47 AM] I do love Jin’s lamb skewers. I don’t know Hobi. That seems like we’re stepping over certain boundaries. Jungkook is a grown man. He’s not our little bunny boy anymore. You know that. Whatever is going on between him and Lisa is between them. Sana is his girlfriend. I don’t like her, I don’t think I ever will, and you just said you were going to play nice. All this is going to do is stress out Kook, piss off Sana, and really hurt Lisa. So, please don’t make her wait our table and give Sana another reason to keep Jungkook as far away from Dijon as possible.

Hobi [12:40 AM] I hate it when you’re reasonable. Look, I understand that and all, but Sana is hardly a girlfriend. Kook doesn’t even smile when she’s around. I don’t want them together. I want him to dump her and get his head back on and get with the most perfect girl. I’m going to make this happen Yoongi, one way or another I always get my way. Anyway, I’m tired. What are you talking about tomorrow? Make sure to message me when you’re about to start. You’re my only source of entertainment when Tae’s at work. Get some sleep, you need it. No more all-nighters. Thanks for being wonderful and supportive. Don’t worry about me so much! I love you~~~~~~ niiiiiight!

Me [12:41 AM] I know you’re trying to help him, but please just let Jungkook figure these things out on his own. I’ll talk to him if that’ll make you feel better... just don’t put Lisa through that. You know how she feels about him and seeing him there with a supermodel on his arm is going to destroy her. Do you really think Jungkook deserves Lisa after all he did? Do I miss them? Yes, but I understand that everything changes. Let her move on and let Jungkook become an adult on his own. We’re talking political parties and shit. Namjoon’s idea. It’s about as exciting as watching paint dry. You’re going to pass out within the first two minutes. Sadly, I don’t have a funny or entertaining story to tell, and Joon really wants any excuse to rag on the communist party. I don’t blame the guy, but I hate talking about the same shit repeatedly. I’ll text you. I’m out of my pills and melatonin doesn’t work. Not a problem. I’ll always worry about you. You too. Night.

Yoongi tossed his phone on the coffee table in front of him. Not even flinching when the impact made a loud clang. Holly jumped, suddenly startled, and hid her face in the crook of Yoongi’s neck. He laughed, although he didn’t make a sound, and began to soothe his puppy.

“It’s alright Holly,” He said, lightly stroking her curly hair, “It’s nothing. I’ll protect you from the vicious sound demons. I promise.”

Then, without a second of hesitation, Holly turned her head and gave Yoongi a big lick on the mouth.

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“Good show tonight,” Yoongi said, flipping his hair behind his shoulders in search for a rubber band. “I can’t say the same for my hair, though. I have to go to dinner with Hoseok and Tae tonight, they’re trying to hook me up with some rando.”

“Tragic,” Najoonn replied, raising an eyebrow and picking up his duffel bag from off the floor.

“Cool it with the whole ‘being an asshole’ thing you got going on,” Yoongi looked at Namjoon and then the coffee cup in his hand, and then back again, “What’s the matter? You’re not usually this pissy.”

“Fucking Jin. He keeps on saying that Jungkook and Lisa are getting back together. It’s pissing me off. The guy is in Japan with some model now. Lisa was just starting to get back to normal and now I hear this prick is coming for a visit. I don’t get it. If he doesn’t want to be with Lisa, then why won’t he leave her alone?”

Yoongi pursed his lips and looked at the ground. He was not sure how to respond. He loved Namjoon dearly, and Lisa as well, but picking sides was not his style. He knew that Jungkook had hurt Lisa, which in turn, turned half of their old group against him, but Yoongi was aware of Lisa’s faults as well. He was a bad listener, but she was a control freak. When Lisa would make a mistake, Jungkook would be uncontrollably angry, but when the roles were reversed, she was spiteful. They were not picture-perfect, but for every bad thing that had ever happened at least a hundred, good things did. They were happy until the very end. Until Jungkook abruptly ended things and moved to Japan. Until he was on the cover of magazines. Until he was with Sana.

“Joon, look,” Yoongi began, finally finding his hair tie and wrapping his hair up haphazardly. “Lisa and Kook are grown, and for your information, it wasn’t just your husband making all this planning. Who do you think put the bug in his ear?”

Namjoon rolled his eyes and wiped his hand down his face, “Hoseok.”

“Bingo. Don’t worry, we’ve been talking about this for the past three days. I convinced them to let me handle the situation and just talk to Jungkook. I just want to see where his mind’s at. They’re just trying to help.”

“Help?” Namjoon stood up hastily, fumbling a bit, his cigarettes falling out of his lap. “Do they think any of this is going to be good for my baby cousin? No, of course not. All they care about is Jungkook and how he feels. He left Lisa. He hurt her. Why are they so worried about him when he’s a rich model with a rich model girlfriend?”

“Because he’s miserable, Joon.” Yoongi replied.

Namjoon’s expression fell. Yoongi could almost hear the “you may speak now” when he looked into his friend’s eyes. Namjoon was getting defensive, and when he gets defensive there is nothing you can do but let him get it out and move on. If you do not leave it alone, then he becomes excited and angry, a real hot-head, and when it is all over, he will not speak to you for at least two weeks. Luckily for Yoongi, however, he and Namjoon work together every day. He could not escape him even if he wanted to.

“I know Lisa is your cousin, I get it. You need to remember that you used to be the one that would talk to Jungkook when he was down. You were his favorite. He looked up to you like a God. You were the big brother he never had and the father he always wanted. He is miserable. Miserable enough to call Lisa the first night he gets to Dijon to meet with him. Miserable enough to come back home knowing that his best friend hates him. Miserable enough to sit at a table with half of the people he cares about not there because of him. Jungkook is not happy, and Sana is nothing more than a distraction. You know that as much as I do.

“I agree with you, Joon. Lisa deserves so much better and I have tried time and time again to reach out to her, but she won’t answer my calls. You and Jin are the only two people who she speaks to, she avoids us like the plague and didn’t even have the decency to tell Hoseok she wanted to switch gyms until the last minute when she knew they needed her for competition. But the second Jungkook is in town she drops everything she’s going to see him. She is a grown woman. I’m mad at them both. Stop making the boy feel guilty for breaking up with someone.”

“Lisa is not ‘just someone’ Min Yoongi,” Namjoon picked up his cigarettes, slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, and walked away, roughly shoulder swiping Yoongi on his way out. “Have a nice time at dinner. Hope your new boy toy doesn’t end up like the last.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Yoongi replied, but the door was already slamming shut.

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Yoongi checked his appearance in the car mirror once again. His hair had been tied up to hide how awful it looked after wearing a beanie for the entire show, and he was still skeptical of his makeup. He never did the best job when he was angry. After touching up his eyebrows and mascara that he had put on that morning before going to work, he lightly concealed his under eyes and the small acne scars that dotted his cheekbones, powdered, and applied a generous amount of lip gloss to his lips. He was nervous that the small light in his car was deceiving him into thinking he looked better than he did, but it was too late to fix anything. He was already running late.

He stumbled out of his truck, ankles almost giving out and he could not figure out if it was a bad hop or the heels, he picked out specifically so he would not bust his ass.

“Of course, I fall,” He said to himself, “I should know that always happens when I try to look cool.”

He knew Hoseok was there the second he walked in. He did not have to see them to know they were there. That laugh was distinct and the Korean flying out of their mouth only solidified that fact. He followed the sounds to a little booth in the back of the restaurant, a small divider giving the party some privacy. Yoongi gave it to Jin, at least they would not bother the entire restaurant…hopefully.

“Hyung!” Taehyung exclaimed, his smile widening in a cute box shape, and it reminded Yoongi just how boyish he was. “You’re here!”

“I said I was coming, didn’t I?” Yoongi replied, finding a seat at the floor table.

“Well, you were late so I wasn’t sure you would show up.” Hoseok added, giving Yoongi a dirty look.

“Don’t look at me like that. I can’t control traffic or Namjoon’s bitch fits at the end of the day. I’m sorry I fucked with you OCD, though.”

“Geez,” Hoseok rolled their eyes, “What was his problem this time?”

“The whole Jungkook situation. He got pissed off that I was coming to dinner with you guys even though Kook would be here. Things escalated from there. He brought him up, too.”

“He did what?” Hoseok’s eyes widened, and slammed their drink on the table, “Are you serious? That bastard.”

“Eh, this is Joon we’re talking about. The most melodramatic person on the planet. It’s no biggie. Anyway,” Yoongi looked around, “where’s this ‘attractive’ friend of yours, Tae?”

“Oh, he went out for a smoke. He should be back in a minute.”

“You’re hooking me up with a smoker? Really? That’s gross.”

“Smoking is the dirtiest thing that boy does,” Hoseok defended, “Just give him a chance. Jimin’s your type. Small, fair, funny, sweet, and his butt is nice. He used to be a dancer before becoming a translator for advertising companies in Seoul and let me tell you… you’re going to change that tone when you see him.”

“See who?” Someone suddenly piped, making Yoongi flinch and turn his head.

He turned around and there he was. The small, fair, funny, sweet, dancing angel. His lips were full and plush, his nose small and slightly flat, but still buttoned enough to frame his face, his eyes shined a warm, chocolate brown, and his hair was a charcoal black. His skin almost glowed and not a single imperfection was insight. Yoongi suddenly felt very insecure. He was hyperaware of the coffee stains on his pants and the fact that he was wearing a five-year-old thrift store shirt with small holes in certain spots, while Jimin was dressed to the nines in the most casual way possible, black jeans, a black button-up, and some worn black dress shoes.

“Oh!” He exclaimed, and Yoongi melted at the sound of his voice, “Pardon me. I’m Jimin Park. You must be Yoongi. Hoseok has told me so much about you.”

Yoongi almost laughed out loud at the awful accent Jimin had when he spoke French, but simply smiled and shook his hand.

“I speak Korean. Don’t worry, it takes a lot more than going out for a smoke break to get me worked up.”

He was shocked, the words falling from his lips completely backtracking from what he has just told Hoseok.Yoongi could only imagine the shit-eating grin on their face right now. I told you so. Yes, yes you did, he thought.

Jimin sighed and returned the smile, “You know, those two kept trying to tell me that you were cute, but they didn’t do the best job at explaining just how cute you actually, are.”

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guardgomabroa · 5 years

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Answer 17 questions and tag 17 people you want to get to know better

I was tagged by @mariocki

Nickname: Closest I’ve got is “Dungeon Master”

Zodiac: Taurus

Height: Somewhere between 5′5′‘ and 5′6′‘ I think

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuffs represent!

Last thing I Googled: Avatar: the Last Airbender (checking what year it first aired)

Favorite musicians: Weird Al’s probably the single artist I’m most a fan of, but my tastes are all over the place, I don’t really play favorites and I’m more likely to like one or two songs by an artist than their entire portfolio. I like Jonathan Coulton, Flight of the Conchords, Stan Bush, Ron Wasserman, MC Skat Cat and too way many others to list.

Song stuck in my head: Why Should I Worry - Billy Joel

Following: 254

Followers: 558 (at least, according to tumblr. Probably like 4/5ths of that are pornbots)

Amount of sleep I get: 6-7.5 hours on school days, 8-9 hours on off days

Lucky number: Never had one, unfortunately. Seems like a fun thing to have.

Dream job: Tenured English Professor with a single-author-focus class about Terry Pratchett

Wearing: Pajamas, cause today was a lazy day

Favorite songs: Might as well ask me what my favorite organ is. If I had to throw something out I’d say that the song that got me rocking the hardest during my last commute was Eye to Eye from A Goofy Movie

Instruments: In theory I used to play percussion back in highschool but I never practiced and only ever really got to play the bass drum during performances. I’m much more of a vocalist than an instrumentalist

Facts:

- I consider myself a writer, which is to say, I have half a dozen potential, half-started projects that might eventually see the light of day at some point in the future. Maybe.

- The word “favorite” in the previous questions in this quiz were originally spelled “favourite” but I changed them because I’m American and petty.

- People always said I’d get more conservative as I got older, but I just keep getting more radically progressive and liberal. I also identify more and more with Dennis from Monty Python’s Search for the Holy Grail. Oh, to be a muck farmer living in an anarcho-syndicalist commune...

Aesthetics: Shelves upon shelves of books (mostly YA novels), cute animals being dumb, glowing screens in dark rooms, rainy windows and gray clouds, glittering piles of dice, notebooks full of doodles and dumb ideas, alien landscapes with spiraling horizons and glowing mushrooms

Tagging: @apocalyptic-dusk @noone-ofconsequence @spirit-swordsman @arrestingknave @sleepyspoonie @yaldobaoth @frosidon @fuuthedarkoverlord which is like, barely even half of how many I’m supposed to tag but I don’t feel comfortable tagging anyone else

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excalisbury · 5 years

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Skullcrusher Mountain by abbynormalj (hufflepunky)

Carry On Countdown Day 12: Song/Music-Inspired

I’ve had the beginning of this AU of Jonathan Coulton’s song, Skullcrusher Mountain, written for a while as a part of a series I have in mind called Weird Songfics. I love weird story songs and the idea of putting my favorite characters into those little worlds in plotty songs is just delicious, so that’s what I did.

Summary:

Dr. Tyranny is out to destroy the world. Sir Simon Snow knows this. The mad doctor has stolen state secrets, destroyed government laboratories, and even taken over a small island in his quest for power and world domination. And Simon Snow is the Golden Hero the Mage has chosen to fight against Dr. Tyranny’s evil schemes.

But when the mad doctor manages to kidnap him, Simon is forced to reconsider everything he’s known to be true about his world, his mentor, his nemesis, and even himself...

Dr. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch knows he’s been made out to be a villain. After all, even his henchmen think he’s crazy. But if that’s the price for protecting the world from a dystopian dictatorship, he’ll take the hit.

That is, as long as it doesn’t involve seeing or hearing about Sir Simon Snow, Baz’s childhood crush and the Mage’s Golden Knight. Unfortunately, his carefully constructed emotional walls all come crashing down around him when Dev, Baz’s favorite henchman, kidnaps Snow on a mission and brings him to their secret lair...

on Skullcrusher Mountain.

SIMON

The Mage’s Golden Hero, Sir Simon Snow, awoke in a bright white room. Simon blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to his new surroundings. He looked down to find himself still clad in his sweat-soaked, slightly bloodied, golden armor. His helmet and sword were both gone. Simon’s eyes wandered the strange room, but nothing stood out aside from the brightness of its smooth white walls. The room was bafflingly seamless. Simon wondered how he had even gotten into it. Where would the door be in a place such as this?

The last thing he remembered was fighting a mechanical monster at the Watford National Library. It was probably a nefarious invention of Dr. Tyranny sent to burn down all the books in the kingdom. As that thought crossed his mind, he shook it from his head. Dr. Tyranny wasn’t the type to burn books. He may have been evil, but he loved knowledge. He was probably planning on stealing the books with his strange robotic contraption.

Simon readjusted his sore body and made to stand and get a closer look at the walls of his little box. At his movement, a screen suddenly flickered to life on the wall to his right and a voice said “Hello!”

“Ah!” Simon shouted and fell back to the ground. Simon caught himself, but barely. He hoped no one was watching him. Simon shook his head again at this thought. There were no windows in this room. Although he had thought there were no screens or speakers in this room, either, and he was clearly wrong about that.

Simon directed his attention to the screen for lack of anything else to do. There, he found a close-up shot of Dr. Tyranny himself. The infuriatingly-handsome bastard sneered at Simon from the screen, his characteristic black lab coat impeccably ironed. It wasn’t fair. Villainous mad scientists were supposed to be old and wrinkly with wild grey hair. Dr. Tyranny, with his long, pitch-black hair and sharp jawline, probably had his pick of the femme fatales that he partnered with throughout the years. And he was always perfectly put together, unlike Sir Simon Snow, the Mage’s Mess of a Golden Hero.

Simon grimaced.

The recording on the screen continued, “My name is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch and I would like to offer you a warm welcome to my secret lair on Skullcrusher Mountain.” Simon snorted at this. Baz was anything but warm. Simon had known and fought against him since they were both boys at the Watford School of Heros. Baz had always been cold and aloof. The first day they met, Baz refused to shake Simon’s hand, even though they had been magically linked as roommates for their time at school. From there, their relationship only soured.

“You may know me as Dr. Tyranny,” Baz’s voice droned. “Despite this nickname, I assure you I mean you no harm. I only seek to usurp the Mage from his unjust position of absolute power over my beloved home of Watford. Thank you for your consideration and I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay.” Simon’s mouth fell open at some point and he remained gobsmacked. The screen flicked off and the walls, of what he now realized must be a very clean dungeon, returned to unblemished white.

Simon mulled over the absurdity of Dr. Tyranny’s claims as he began to unlatch his armor, expecting to be trapped in this room for a while. Of course, the silliest thing about Baz’s little introduction was his "warm" welcome.

Then he had the audacity to say he meant Simon no harm. How could he claim that when all they’d done was fight for the last thirteen years? Years and years of fistfights and sicing monsters and robots on him and verbal sparring during school, followed by an escalating scale of violent encounters in which Simon was proud to say he’d come out on top in every battle, vanquishing a slew of Baz’s convoluted inventions, and foiling a few of his secret plans, usually with Lady Penelope’s help.

Ever since Baz left Hero School abruptly in their last year, he and Simon gone from bitter rivals to mortal enemies. How, then, could he claim to mean Simon no harm? After everything they had been through, Simon had to scoff at this assertion, even if it was from a prerecorded message.

Finally, Baz had presumed the Mage’s position of power was unjust. The Mage had done more in the name of justice than any leader of Watford before him. Of course Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, a product of two of the most powerful old families that used to rule Watford, would accuse the Mage of injustice. The Mage had stripped a lot of power from the former rulers of Watford, but in doing so, he’d been able to enact policies that had better united the kingdom. He’d constantly fought against the elitism of the oligarchical rulers that preceded him. And Simon, himself would have been a poor nobody orphan from a distant town without the Mage.

Simon sighed, trying to will the tension in his shoulders to melt into the stupidly clean floor. As he unlatched the last of his armor, he pushed thoughts of the strange video message from his mind and meditated, instead, on more pleasant matters.

He leaned back onto his breastplate where it now lay, closed his eyes, and imagined himself making a daring escape from wherever this Skullcrusher Mountain place was located. He smiled at the absurdity of such a name. It was exactly as theatrical as he would expect from someone like Baz. Baz had also called it his Secret Lair, which is so dramatically villainous, Simon can hardly believe Baz had the gall to insist he wasn’t ‘Evil Dr. Tyranny, M.S.’ (the ‘M.S. stood for mad scientist, of course) as the world knew him. Simon would laugh about it with Penny when he did make his escape. But thinking about Penny just made him miss her. She was his best friend, his partner in heroism and solving mysteries. He has never known what to do with himself without her there to advise and admonish him in equal measure.

What would Penny say about Baz’s little video message if she were here? Probably, she would scoff with Simon about how dramatic and posh the recording was. And the odd cleanliness of this strange room. She might side with Baz about the Mage, though. Penny may have agreed with many of the Mage’s policies, but she consistently accused him of hoarding power.

(“It’s tempting fate, Simon. One person having that much control over Watford,” Penny said to him once. Simon scoffed at her, but she glared at him and continued. “No Simon. You know I agree with most of his rulings, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that isolating power is always dangerous. People need to be checked. Power has to be balanced or it will corrupt.” At this, Simon questioned Penny about how she thought Watford should be ruled if not by a king or ruling class. “Well,” she began, and her tone told him to expect a lecture, “I know it’s a new and controversial theory, but I would love to see Watford under the rule of the people, directly. It’s a theory called ‘Democracy...’”)

Agatha would side with Simon, though. Or she would have before she left him. She always believed Simon when they were in school and he said Baz was evil. Penny would usually just scoff and say that he was just a kid like the rest of them, which was true, Simon supposed. But then Baz left school and became Dr. Tyranny and Simon’s worries were proven valid.

Suddenly, Simon wished he had been wrong about Baz. He wished they all had a normal childhood, without becoming heroes and war strategists and runaways and mad scientists. Simon wished that the Mage didn’t put the worlds brightest spotlight on him by declaring him his personal ‘Golden Hero.’ Maybe then Agatha wouldn’t have had to run away from the immense pressure of being his betrothed (which he didn’t begrudge her in the slightest. Not anymore.) Maybe then he and Penny could have lived together peacefully, somewhere far away, like she talked about. Maybe he and Baz could have even been friends. Someone as sharp as Baz would be a great friend to have in any reality.

Simon’s stomach picked right then to growl loudly. The sound echoed around the room slightly, and Simon groaned. He was terribly hungry. Hopefully, Baz would take pity on him and feed him while he was held prisoner. The alternative would be the worst kind of torture Simon could imagine. Even thinking of something so evil agitated Simon, so he stood and began pacing the room.

It was only minutes later that a door appeared suddenly in the opposite wall of the screen, opening to reveal Simon’s savior. His savior from the horrible torture of hunger, at least.

BAZ

“You brought WHOM?” Baz shouted at Dev, who had just returned from his latest reconnaissance mission in the capital.

“Simon Snow,” he responded, his scarred face not showing a hint of remorse. Dev knew Baz dangerously well, which was unsurprising considering the two were cousins and had been working together for the last five years.

Baz forced himself to breathe deeply in an attempt to control his quickly-beating heart.

“So let me get this straight,” Baz began (although nothing about this situation was straight). “You captured Sir Simon Snow: the Mage’s Golden Knight, my mortal enemy, the same Sir Snow that I have banned as a laboratory discussion topic.” Baz took a deep breath, hoping Dev hadn’t noticed that his voice broke when he said Snow’s name, then he continued, “then you decided, in a fit of apparent delusion, to bring him here? To my Secret Lair on Skullcrusher Mountain?”

Dev’s expression didn’t change one iota. “Yeah. Your ex-roommate from school, Simon Snow, the Mage’s Chosen Golden Hero.” He shrugged. He shrugged. Baz couldn’t believe Dev, his right hand man, his favorite henchman, his assistant, would defy him so.

“I-” Baz started, shaking his head, “I don’t know what else to say.”

“Well, he’s here,” Dev answered, “in the holding room. He’s just seen the introductory recording.”

Baz sighed. He supposed he would have to work with the situation that had been handed to him, whether he liked it or not. “I guess I’ll have to go see him, then.” Baz closed his eyes, trying to repress the way his heart jumped at the simple idea of seeing Simon again.

Baz walked through several hallways and at least one hairpin turn before reaching the control room for Skullcrusher Mountain’s security. Sure enough, there was Simon on the monitoring screen for the holding room, lounging back against his dirty armor, which was spread across the floor of the room haphazardly. Baz sat down quickly in the chair of the control room before he fell to the floor in a full swoon.

Baz had almost forgotten how strong his feelings for Sir Snow were. All it took to remind him was Simon sitting in Baz’s holding room in only a tunic and leggings, sweat sticking his bronze curls to his forehead. As he watched the screen, Simon sighed and fidgeted, his eyebrows pulling together for a moment while he lifted his arms to pillow behind his head. Baz looked away quickly before he was too overwhelmed. There was only a certain amount of Simon’s shoulders and biceps (and curls and cluelessness and bravery) Baz could handle at once after months without contact.

Baz Pitch had been in love with Simon Snow since they were fifteen. Of course he knew, even back then, that they could never be together. Baz could never align himself with the Mage and Simon would never leave the Mage.

They were a mismatched pair in so many ways, but that didn’t stop Baz from pining for years. For one thing, Baz was quite probably the smartest person in the kingdom. He was certainly the best in his classes when he was still at Watford School of Heros. And Baz was the youngest Doctor in all of Watford. That, he was immensely proud of. Sir Snow may have been a ridiculously brave and brash hero, but he was too much of an idiot to see that the Mage was using him. Or that Baz was in love with him. And once, after a battle with a dragon that they eventually managed to banish, Simon told Baz his strategy for dealing with his difficult problems was just to not think about them. Sometimes Baz railed against his illogical feelings for someone so dense, but he never resisted for long.

Then, when he was supposed to begin his eighth and final year at Watford, Baz began hearing from the ghost of his dead mother. She was smart, too. A genius, really. Probably smarter than Baz. She figured out a way to encode a sliver of her conscience into his DNA. At first, when he started hearing her, he just thought he was crazy. (Maybe he was crazy. He still wondered sometimes if he was making this whole thing up.) Then her voice explained. When she died, she used her final and most advanced invention. She embedded a piece of herself in him. In her son. Her flesh and blood. When she felt he was old enough to cope, she revealed herself and he began his quest for revenge and for the truth.

Baz had been pursuing his mother’s dying wish for the last five years since leaving hero school, and he didn’t regret a moment of it. However, following a voice in his head for five years did make the people around Baz question his sanity. Even Dev and Niall, Baz’s favorite henchmen, who fully believed in his cause, doubted his original motivations. After all, transferring any portion of human consciousness to another person was unprecedented. Niall even thought Baz should see a psychiatrist, which was absurd.

Baz looked back to Simon, still lounging on screen, and thought about their various fights across the years. Simon certainly thought Baz was evil. If Simon knew about the voice in Baz’s head, Baz wondered, would he think Baz was crazy, too? That would be the fly-infested icing on the shit cake of Baz’s love life, which had thus far only consisted of pining and wanking.

In a move sure to increase his misery, Baz replayed the recordings from when Sir Snow arrived to Skullcrusher Mountain. The first few minutes consisted of Dev dumping him in the holding room and then Sir Snow lying unconscious on the floor (Baz appreciated the peaceful look on Simon’s face). Eventually, he started to stir in his sleep. He groaned as he awoke (Baz felt his heart rate increase, traitorous thing). Snow stared blearily around the room from his place on the ground. Finally, he began to stand up, which triggered the motion sensors in the room, and in turn, the introductory recording Baz had standardized for when he took prisoners, which was generally his last resort.

As the recording began, Simon startled and fell to the ground with an adorable shout before looking around the room and blushing under his freckled cheeks. (It was moments like these that destroyed any resentment Baz imagined himself to have against Sir Simon Snow. The man was simply so good and so well-intentioned that Baz couldn’t help falling for him over and over again.) Simon frowned when he saw Baz speaking on the screen. The camera that recorded the room was just above the screen, so it seemed to Baz as if Simon was frowning directly at him through the screen. He huffed and puffed through Baz’s welcome message and rolled his eyes after it was finished.

If only Simon weren’t so afraid of Baz, so entrenched in the hate the Mage (and Baz himself) had encouraged over the years, maybe Simon could be swayed to Baz’s side in their mortal conflict. It was probably wishful thinking on Baz’s part. And definitely not good for his already tenuous mental health.

Baz rested his chin on his palm, eyes fixed on the screen as Simon decided to settle into the room and began removing his armor one piece at a time. When Baz checked his chin for drool and his hand came away wet, he was mortified enough to stop the recording and switch back to the live feed, in which Simon was now pacing the room, his hand dragging along the wall.

At some point, Baz would have to deal with the fact that Sir Simon Snow was his prisoner. He would rather live in a world where he didn’t have to confront Sir Snow, but Dev had forced his hand. Baz’s finger hovered over the two intercom buttons at the communication center, unsure of how to proceed. When he glanced back to the screen, Simon was stopped, inspecting the wall that housed the screen. He was strangely distorted so near the edge of the fish-eye lens of the room’s camera. Suddenly, he looked straight up at the camera. Baz’s heart jumped and he pressed the intercom button.

“Dev. Would you escort Sir Snow to our best secure guest chamber? I have other business to attend to.”

Baz did not have other business, but the momentary illusion of looking into Simon’s plain blue eyes (a little pouchy, the only plain thing about him) reinforced the fact that he was very much not ready to confront Simon.

“Sure, Baz,” Dev droned back over the intercom system. With that, Baz hurried away along the labyrinthine hallways of his secret lair on Skullcrusher Mountain.

SIMON

Simon jumped violently when the door to his strange dungeon revealed itself. He had been inspecting the wall that had been a screen only minutes before, but had yet to find a single divot or imperfection in its surface. Predictably, the door was at the complete opposite end of the room from where he was looking. He reacted quickly (he was a knight, after all) and reached for his sword. When he realized it wasn’t by his side, he turned and picked up one of his greaves from the pile of armor on the floor. His armor had served him as makeshift weapons in sticky situations several times before.

The corridor beyond the open door was dark in contrast to the white room in which he’d spent the past several hours, so all he could see in the doorway was a looming figure.

“Who goes there?” Simon asked, squinting through the door.

The hulking figure stepped into the light and Simon realized quickly that he recognized him. It was Dev Grimm, commonly called ‘Scarface,’ and a known associate of Dr. Tyranny. Of course, Simon also recognized him as Dev, Baz’s cousin from school. The scar was a relatively new part of the equation, but it didn’t scare Simon, who had always been friendlier with Dev than with Baz.

“Oh. Hi Dev. Didn’t know you’d be here.” Simon dropped his greave back on the floor and it clanged loudly. Dev cringed.

“Yup. I’m here.” Dev said, nodding. “Dr. Pitch wanted me to take you to your guest chambers.”

“Guest chambers? Wait. Dr. Pitch? Aren’t you, like, his cousin?”

“Yes. Even more reason for me to respect his achievements, don’t you think?”

“His- I’m... Wait, is Baz an actual doctor?”

“Yes. He’s just finished his second PhD.”

“Oh. I... I thought Dr. Tyranny was just a name. Huh. That makes sense, I guess.” Dev’s already-scarred face twisted further as Simon spoke, but he didn’t respond this time. Instead, he tilted his head towards the door, gesturing for Simon to follow. He wondered briefly why Dev wasn't restraining him. He was a prisoner, right? “Uh. What about my armor?”

“We’ll have it brought to your guest rooms after it is cleaned.”

At this, Simon shrugged and followed Dev through a maze of winding white hallways that eventually became smooth stone walls. He wondered idly why he was even here. He wasn’t sure what The Evil Doctor Tyranny, M.S., or The Evil Doctor Tyranny, M.S., PhD, he supposed, would gain from keeping him prisoner. Simon was under the impression Dr. Tyranny wanted to kill Sir Snow. Their eventual epic battle was practically prophesied. Simon was privately not very hopeful of his own chances. Baz was wicked smart as well as strong. He was never great at swordplay, but it seemed unlikely to Simon that their battle would resort to such measures. (The current prisoner situation also deserved consideration in their fated duel-to-the-death.)

Finally, they reached a dark-stained wooden door, deep in the complex, or lair, as Baz had called it in the video (typical). Dev opened the door and turned to Simon.

“This is where Dr. Pitch will be hosting you during your stay on Skullcrusher Mountain.”

Simon nodded at Dev and paused. “Yup. Well, thanks Dev.” He started toward the open doorway, but paused before he was all the way through. “Uh. Sorry. Actually...” Simon trailed off, trying to figure out how to properly word his question. “Can I ask you why Baz wants me here? Why did he take me prisoner instead of killing me?”

Dev had backed partially into shadows again, but Simon swore he saw him smile. “I think,” Dev said, “you will have to ask him yourself.” Simon quirked his brow at that answer, but stepped fully into the richly decorated room that was to be his new prison, wondering what nefarious tortures and interrogations might be in store for him. For now, though, he fixated on the beautiful tableau of food set on the table near one rocky wall of the room. Simon couldn’t resist a feast, especially when he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He pushed aside any niggling thoughts that the food might be poisoned and dug into the bread, roast beef, and fresh fruit spread before him on fine china.

Once Simon had devoured the possibly-poisoned food, he was overcome with exhaustion, despite being unconscious for an undetermined amount of time earlier in the day. He turned toward the bed, which was decorated with a disturbing number of skulls and gargoyles, intent on a nap. Simon inspected the bed from a few feet away before turning to the couch instead. Some things were a little too creepy to sleep on.

BAZ

Baz was loitering in the lab, watching a test for a new batch of automated decoding software he was planning to use against some of the Mage’s private records, when Dev returned from escorting Sir Snow to his new chambers. That particular test didn’t actually need to be monitored. The test was run by Baz’s main bank of computers, whose AI was more than capable of reporting and fixing any errors that might occur. Dev was aware of this, so Baz decided not to snap at his cousin for the judgemental look he sent Baz.

“I’ve fed him and locked him in the first secure chamber.”

Baz cleared his throat and nodded. Dev was a good man. “Good, good. How was it?”

“He came along with me easily. No struggle. Even without restraints, as requested.”

Baz nodded again, still avoiding looking directly at his cousin.

“You should go talk to him. He asked why you kidnapped him.”

“You kidnapped him, Dev.”

“Yes. And now you have a chance to talk to him again. Stop with your determined misery.” Baz met his cousin’s eyes and frowned. Dev really did know him too well. Or maybe he had an accomplice. It was a rather complex plan for Dev to execute on his own. Not that Dev wasn’t an adept minion. Creativity just wasn’t his strong suit. Baz narrowed his eyes in a glare.

“Someone helped you with this, didn’t they?”

Dev simply nodded. “It was Niall’s idea, but Fiona has been in on it, as well.”

Baz sighed. “Figures.”

It took Baz another hour or so to work up the courage to go down to the secure chamber to talk with Sir Snow. It was, unfortunately, shaping up to be an unavoidable task, though. Three of Baz’s most trusted henchmen (henchpeople?) conspiring against him was a real blow.

Baz arrived at Simon’s door (he was already calling it ‘Simon’s door’ in his head? This spelled disaster) laden with tea, biscuits, and a set of spare toiletries for the en suite. He knocked twice and waited a moment before scanning his palm to unlock and open the door. The knocking was technically unnecessary as Simon had no way of opening the door from the inside. Baz simply hoped that some manners might soften their relationship now that--. He sighed. What a silly thing to hope for. They had far too long a history of animosity for anything to improve between them.

The door opened and there stood Simon, his hand reaching out toward the door as if he could have done anything to open it. His hair was on end and his clothes dirty and rumpled. Baz wondered if he had been sleeping. They stared at one another for a moment, stunned into silence.

“I--,” Simon started, “I was expecting Dev.”

“Ah. Yes.” Baz responded. “I’m glad you met him. My assistant. Scarface.”

Simon made a face. He couldn’t raise one eyebrow, though, so he raised both and just ended up looking surprised. It was entirely adorable. “You know I’ve met him before, Baz. We went to school together for years.”

Baz cleared his throat. “Yes. Well, it has been a while. I know Dev’s appearance has... changed.” Simon shrugged, bless him. “He’s generally as harmless as when you knew him; the rumors are untrue, as usual. He’s always been a bit of a romantic, really.” Baz coughed, surprised at his own admissions.

Simon still wore his baffled expression. “Yeah. He seemed the same. Called you Dr. Pitch, even.”

Baz could feel the corners of his lips twitch at this, but he held back his full smile. Dev was a good man, despite his meddling. “Ah. He does do that. He says it’s a reclamation of the good parts of ‘Dr. Tyranny.’ Here, take this.” Baz paused to hand over the tray of food. “I brought tea for you. I know you don’t function without constant caloric intake. And these are fresh toiletries for the en suite.”

SIMON

“Yeah,” Simon muttered, taking the tray and placing it on a table just inside the room before returning to the door where Baz waited, holding an expensive looking zipper bag. Why was Baz doing this? This was the nicest conversation they’d ever had. But Simon was apparently his prisoner? He should ask about it now, right? Baz was right here. He should ask why he was taken prisoner. Why hadn’t Baz killed him when he’d had the chance? So many questions were swirling through Simon’s head, he felt as if the correct one was sure to pop out of his mouth at some point.

Then he was at the door again, staring Baz down. (Well, staring up at Baz, technically.) He looked older than the last time Simon had seen him. He still looked good, of course. Great, even. But Simon didn’t miss the bags under Baz’s eyes. Or the anxious slope of his shoulders.

“Ummm,” Simon said, unable to find any of the words he was supposed to say. He leaned against the door frame and lifted up his arm to run his fingers through his hair. His hands were itching to do something, but he couldn’t figure out what. He clenched them repeatedly so they would stop.

Baz handed him the zipper bag before flicking his gaze to the ground. He opened his mouth and closed it, also at a loss for words. Simon had never seen Baz like this. Frankly, it concerned him.

“Dev doesn’t deserve the reputation he’s gotten by associating with me. I hope you can see that.” Simon simply hummed in response, a bit surprised at Baz’s choice of subject. “He’s a good man and is good at his job. And,” a smile cracked Baz’s facade, “he has a way of finding pretty things and bringing them to me.”

Suddenly, Baz looked up, into his eyes, and Simon was hit with the full force of his grin and his words at once. Simon stumbled back from the doorway, only one question running through his head now: Baz thinks I’m pretty?

As soon as Baz took in Simon’s reaction, he dropped his smile, glaring instead, and grabbed the door handle to lock Simon back into his opulent prison. The last thing Simon heard from him before he shut and locked the secure door was a terse, “goodnight, Sir Snow,” and then the room was silent.

BAZ

Baz walked down the hallway toward his lab in a daze. He couldn’t believe he’d just said that to Simon. To Sir Simon Snow The Mage’s Golden Knight, and also his prisoner. (Baz wondered what on Earth he was thinking keeping a prisoner such as Simon. The two of them were fated to kill one another. Why not take the chance now that Sir Snow was disarmed? He really should. He never could.) His hands were trembling at his sides and his feet were taking him, by muscle memory, to his own chambers.

Suddenly, Baz’s mind cleared enough to recognise there was a voice in his head. He had a difficult time untangling it from his own thoughts. The longer his mother’s voice had lived in his head, the more he’d gotten used to it there. And the more he had gotten used to it, the harder it was to separate from his own stream of consciousness. Now, though, he heard her message loud and clear:

You shouldn’t kill him yet, you shouldn’t kill him yet, you shouldn’t kill him yet.

#fanfic #my writing #carry on countdown 2019 #day 12: Song/Music-Inspired #coc #carry on fanfic #my fic #it's still december 6th where I am so this counts!#also I put it on ao3 way earlier today #simon my idiot son #baz pitch

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sunlitroom · 6 years

Text

Gotham – s5e01 – Year Zero

As I watched it, and some random observations here and there.

Previously on Gotham:

Ra's saw a vision. Selina was shot. Jeremiah’s obsession with Bruce reached heights where even Hannibal might suggest some restraint. Bombs! Kaboom The government declared the city off limits. The city is now a battleground - each man for himself. Ed and Lee stabbed each other in as sexual a way as possible. Oswald got revenge for Gertrud’s murder.

Jeremiah told Bruce that as Gotham falls - we rise. There go the bridges. Babs and Bruce killed Ra's. Everyone stares aghast at Jeremiah’s destruction.

As always, long post will be long. There are likely to be rambling digressions. Gobblepot might appear (although I welcome all shippers and non-shippers alike :)). There will be naked favouritism and naked not-favouritism. Broader comments at the end on plotlines and parallels and general direction.

We open on the city on fire, smoke billowing.

We can hear sirens,helicopters, gunshots and....

In a wood-panelled library, we hear a record being played – Dame Vera Lynn’s We'll Meet Again.

I’m not sure if this song is as meaningful for an American audience – but for a British audience this song is inextricably linked with World War Two, Blitz Spirit, Our Finest Hour – doing without, self-sacrifice, and coming together to defeat the worst foe. Does it have the same associations for you guys? Just trying to get a sense of their purpose in using it here. Ed pulling on leather gloves, taking an ace of diamonds and putting it in his breast pocket. He smiles in the mirror and leaves with a shotgun.

Jangly East European music. Oswald is being made-up by his people. They slide his glasses on, and he takes his gun.

Harvey’s in what I think is what’s left of Scottie’s bar, also looking fondly at a gun. Vaguely western music plays. I think it was western, anyway. Was it supposed to be Irish?

In his office at GCPD. Jim puts on his badge. He’s also carrying a big gun.

Tl;dr – guns! The perfect accessory.

Oswald walks downstairs with his gun. Harvey put on a hat and heads out with his gun. Jim strides out in a bullet-proof vest. They’re joined by Ed. Then Oswald steps out from somewhere and flanks Jim.

They line up at a huge barricade. Jim growls out

Fire on my command. For Gotham!

The one thing they can all agree on

They start shooting, and what looks like the army fires back.

But we’re not quite at this point yet, and so we cut away to the title screen

Day 87

In GCPD, Jim is having a frustrated conversation with some government official. Jim is trying to outline the situation to the official, and giving a helpful catch-up in the process.

The city is now up for grabs. Oswald has taken city hall. He’s stockpiled weapons and is manufacturing ammunition.

(An aside – which in itself would require supplies, I imagine?)

We go to see Oswald. His place is all cold greys and blue – chilly looking. His tailoring, too, is very hard-edged – none of his usual flair or ornamentation. Even his hair is rigid.

He shoots his gun up at the ceiling

Some acolytes, all thin and worn looking, clad in shapeless grey uniforms, applaud him – clearly terrified.

(An aside – Gotham, you know I love you. I wreck my wrists to type out recaps. But that leaden reference to totalitarian regimes? That's just plain old tacky. It was heavy-handed and unnecessary and tasteless, and just felt uncomfortable to watch.

In short, no.)

Jim continues his helpful catch-up. Oswald’s control of weapons has made him unassailable.

Meanwhile, Barbara runs her own portion of town from Sirens – which is the only part of town which is good for food and booze. She mostly trades information.

(An aside - What information is unclear. It’s not like the situation is massively complex. I don’t feel like this would have a lot of mileage. Pssst – we’re still all fucked!)

Men can apparently buy ‘windows of time’ at Sirens. Barbara is said to enforce her rule with an iron hand.

In the west - Jonathan is doing fuck knows what. It seems to involve crucifixion and making your own ragged leather outfit.

Victor and Firefly are warring further north. Jeremiah has not been seen since the bridges exploded.

Jim continues.

Then there's us - GCPD controls a ten block area round the precinct. We’re feeding 150 civilians: families, children, the poor and sick.

Basically – the weaselly official is having none of it. Gotham isn’t the government’s responsibility. He refers to Jim as Mr Gordon – and he tersely corrects him to Captain.

Jim asks him to evacuate children at least. Weaselly official says they’ll form a committee. A weary Jim tries to convince him that the government has a duty of care. Again – there’s wriggling, and Jim eventually asks him to just admit that they’re on their own. The silence he receives in return says it all.

Selina lies in a hospital bed, facing away from other people in room: Bruce, Alfred and a doctor. Her face is flat and bleak.

We hear the doctor tell Bruce and Alfred that paralysis aside, they need to operate before her spine collapses. Alfred said they tried to evacuate her but couldn’t make it on time. Bruce asks if they can operate there and the doctor says they have no choice.

Bruce approaches Selina and softly says her name. This makes Selina start to cry silently. He crouches down and tells her the dr wants to operate. She flatly says fine – whatever.

Bruce crouches down

I’m going to be here the whole time

Poor Selina’s face twists, and she continues to cry

Back on GCPD turf, Harvey argues with an angry hungry man who’s getting mouthy and accusing the police of taking extra food for themselves. Lucius appears and says everyone gets the same share or else supplies run out.

Jim approaches, looking over from higher on a staircase and calls out.

That's enough.

They all look over at him. Jim, it seems, commands obedience and respect these days.

He looks at the argumentative man

You don't like the rules? Leave

Shouty man backtracks - just sayin’

Harvey tells him to say it walking - putz

We hear discontented murmuring from the crowd.

Jim asks how they’re doing – to which Lucius responds that they only have a month of food left. Harvey fulminates about the lack of support and says he’s never paying taxes again. Jim thinks the government will eventually do the right thing – they just need to keep everyone alive long enough for that to happen. Harvey replies that they’re almost out of ammunition. Anyone makes a move, and they’re sitting ducks.

A snoring, dishevelled Ed wakes up on an old sofa on a rooftop, sporting Sharleen Spiteri’s 90s hairstyle. A dog barks at him while weird, discordant music plays.

We see him now in an untidier version of the library we saw at the beginning. He’s talking into a recorder. He seems to be having black-outs and losing time. Someone get him to draw a clock!

He looks angrily in the mirror

Show yourself - I know it's you inside there, Ed

Apparently, Idiot Ed still won't appear. Ed yells coward at himself, and says he knows that it’s him controlling him when he’s asleep

He stares back at the map spread out on the table where he seems to be keeping track of the spots where he wakes up – trying to find a pattern.

On the precinct roof, Jim stands next to the spotlight. Bruce tells him he could ask someone else to do it – but Jim says he likes it. Bruce asks if it’s because it reminds people that in darkness there’s still light – and Jim says it reminds him too.

He adds that they’re low on supplies. The government refuses to evacuate people, and is ignoring their suffering. Jim looks tired.

Bruce says that he gave Lucius permission to scavenge Wayne Enterprises Research and Development – it’s not much, but it’s something. He then says he has to go – the doctors are going to operate on Selina. Her condition is getting worse.

Jim listens, and then asks him to let him know how it goes.

A troubled-looking Bruce turns to leave. Jim calls after him

Are you sorry you stayed?

Bruce thinks. His face looks determined.

No. You?

Jim replies

Hell no

Bruce smiles and leaves. Jim stares out over the city.

At Sirens, Mr Penn places a bullet on Barbara’s desk. She regards it. He makes an offer

Mr Cobblepot offers 1000 rounds of ammunition in return for 1000lbs of steak

Barbara smugly says the cupboard is bare in Penguin Land, but Penn says Oswald just wanted red meat. Mr Penn’s neck is noticeably narrower than his collar. Was he always this thin, or is this to underline the idea that Oswald isn’t feeding his employees well?

Tabitha watches all this from the corner of the room.

Barbara continues, saying that Oswald wants to get fat on steak while his minions starve.

An impatient Tabitha cuts in, and asks if Oswald too scared to leave his citadel, knowing that she wants to plant a knife in his neck.

Barbara says Tabitha is still raw about the business with Butch – so they’ll want 2000lbs of ammo in return.

An infuriated Tabitha turns to Barbara and says not they’re not giving that bastard anything – he killed Butch

(An aside - does Tabitha really think Barbara would have let Butch live on Sirens’ turf? For how long, before she got jealous and irritated and decided to put another bullet in him?)

Barbara wants to trade with Oswald, but Tabitha says no. Barbara says she’s not asking her to forget – but they need ammo to protect the women who come there.

(An aside - A quick glance round suggests that Sirens can offer food and protection if you’re a good-looking woman of probably 18-40. The older woman we saw earlier in the crowd of refugees at GCPD? The young girls? The mothers who won’t leave their families? Yeah – didn’t think so. As @rhavewellyarnbag suggested elsewhere – it seems likely that Sirens is pretty much a brothel by any other name)

Barbara promises her that Penguin's time will come. Tabitha puts Penn’s sample bullet in her gun and tells him that Oswald will regret giving her this, and leaves.

Barb smiles at Penn, and tells him to make it 3000lbs

(Is ammunition measured in lbs? Is this a usual thing?)

On GCPD turf - an anxious policeman stares out through the barricade and says he saw something move. His friend laughs it off – but we see a shadow. Jonathan suddenly appears, and sprays the man with his serum through the space in the door

Would you like me to make it stop? Open this door

The other cop tries to stop him – but the infected man desperately opens the door, and is promptly scythed down by Jonathan. He tells his silly acolytes to split up, steal, and kill anyone who gets in their way.

Inside, Jim talks to Harper, telling her to reinforce the barriers round Oswald's turf. The lights suddenly go out. Jim tells Harper to find Lucius and tell him to meet at the generator.

At the hospital, Selina's operation is underway. Bruce and Alfred are watching from the corridor outside when the power goes off. Alfred says hospital has back-up generator, so it’s fine – it’ll all be

Ship-shape and Bristol fashion

Bruce is not convinced, though. Vindicating this, a nurse puts her head around the corner and says men in the basement stealing medicine. Bruce goes to investigate and tells Alfred to stay with Selina.

Careful

Jim is at the generator, which is sparking and making fzzzt noises. He hears a sound, and draws his gun. Jonathan appears and scythes at him, before riffing on Dirty Harry.

I know what you're thinking….

He remarks that Jim has so few bullets – is shooting Jonathan really worth it?

I mean – he’s controlling part of the city, randomly crucifying people, and now he’s looting and murdering. I’d say yes? Jim disagrees though

No - it's not

He picks up an iron bar instead

He asks why he’s here – not for the generator?

Jonathan doesn't want light - fear lives in darkness

Oh, do shut up, Jonathan. Everyone’s trying to survive and you’re dicking about in a stupid coat with a bunch of teenage edgelord prats.

Jim concludes that he came for supplies. Jonathan adds that he’ll also take his life. They fight. Jonathan asks how long it’s been since he’s tasted his toxin. That super-scary toxin that is seemingly rendered useless by water, iirc.

He asks Jim what he’s scared of now.

Not you

Harvey chases some of the other looters down – but they manage to steal some food.

Back at the hospital, Bruce uses the night vision goggles Lucius found in R&D to watch Jonathan’s acolytes roam around the basement. He swoops in and out, knocking them out. One follower realises something isn’t going well and calls out for – now, I might have this wrong: Scad? Is that a name? Is this why he joined this group – embittered at being christened Scad?

Bruce swoops in again to take him out. Unfortunately, the lights come on and – momentarily blinded – Bruce is shoved back while they escape with the precious supplies.

Back at GCPD, there’s understandable discontent that supplies have been lost. They only have a week’s worth of food left. Jim tells Lucius to drop to half rations. Lucius tells them they’re already at half rations – but Jim tells him to halve them again. Lucius says that gives them two weeks at most.

Harvey starts to rant a little, frustrated. Bruce appears from nowhere and says that help is coming: he’s going to fly in supplies. Jim reiterates the government line on no contact. Bruce says he won’t ask for permission.

Harvey comments that it’s nice to have a billionaire around. Jim’s less happy – and says that it’s only a one-time solution. Bruce says medicine has also been stolen, and there are people in pain. His eyes wander – and he’s clearly thinking of Selina.

Jim watches him, and tells Harvey to go tell the people that help is on the way.

Once he and Bruce are alone, Jim asks how Selina is. Bruce looks troubled. Jim tells him that Selina is strong, and she’ll pull through.

Back at the hospital, where Bruce sits by Selina’s bed. She flatly tells him the surgery was a success – but adds she’ll never be able to walk again.

That's a bummer

Bruce says there’s only limited resources – but there’s hope once they rejoin the mainland. Selina shrugs this off. Bruce says he knows that she’s in pain, but there’s medicine on the way.

Selina regards him coolly and says it’s funny –

Jeremiah shot me to get to you. After all the things I've done, what did me in was being your friend

Turning away from him, she says she wishes Jeremiah had killed her.

A pained-looking Bruce leaves.

As he’s exiting the ward, a nurse whispers over to him urgently

Doctors can't help her - she needs the witch

Bruce stares.

Back at GCPD, Jim asks Harvey what the mood is. He replies that they love their Jim Gordon – but that the chopper needs to come.

Back at Oswald's place, a full plate is placed on Oswald’s desk. Soviet-ish style music plays in the background – just in case I missed the North Korea stuff earlier. Yes – I get it, show. Now stop it.

We hear a creak of leather and see Oswald testing some kind of leg brace. I’ve given up guessing at the precise nature of Oswald’s leg injury - the show is not exactly consistent with injury and illness – but whatever this is seems to help. He’s pleased and says it feels good, striding about while the man who presumably made it – again, one of his thin, worn minions – watches. Oswald tells him to add a knife on it.

Penn enters – there’s another shutdown at the factory. A weak, starved worker fell into a press. Oswald insincerely says he feels for all his workers, but cannot give what he doesn't have

He takes a bite of the steak from the plate on his desk, and pulls a face. It’s apparently overcooked. We hear a whine. It comes from a bulldog Oswald has christened Edward – to whom Oswald offers praise, and then feeds the steak.

Penn visibly struggles at the sight of this. He says quality is suffering at the factory due to conditions. Oswald irritably interrupts him, and shoots at the ceiling to demonstrate the quality of the product. The dog whines in fright. Oswald then tells Penn he upset the dog, and shoots again in temper. This time, the gun doesn’t fire properly, and Oswald seems to hurt his hand. Penn cuts in again about better quality products, but Oswald shushes him

Do you hear that?

At Sirens, Barbara and Tabitha are arguing. Barbara says Oswald is locked in city hall with a small army

(A random aside - Barbara's hair looks fried)

Barbara says she knows Tabitha misses Butch. Tabitha stubbornly says she needs to make it right. Barbara asks how she’s going to do that without being killed. Tabitha’s not really listening. Barbara tries again

I need you too

Tabitha is now distracted by the sound of a chopper

Barbara tries again - wide-eyed.

Tabby - do you hear me?

On the roof, Jim and Bruce spot the chopper. The pilot says he’ll meet them at the rendez-vous point. As he flies down the street, though, someone shoots at it – and it starts to crash.

Heading out, Jim says the chopper is down in Low Boys’ territory – they’ll need to fight their way in and out. Harper asks for ammo – but Harvey tells her to be grateful for what they’ve got. Jim asks Alfred if Bruce is about, and they have a confusing little back and forth about whether Jim has given Bruce permission to be there – which Alfred seems to think he wins. That was just a bit baffling, to be honest.

The downed helicopter is being raided when Oswald arrives in a big shiny car. He introduces himself. The leader says this isn’t his turf. Oswald says he’s going to claim it anyway. The leader remonstrates, but Oswald’s men shoot them.

GCPD arrives. Jim gets out of his car

Oswald!

Jim! I thought you might show up. so good to see you, old friend. How are you faring in these troubled times?

Jim tells him to step away from the chopper, but Oswald refuses.

Sorry - mouths to feed - and you know all about that - I hear you’re up to your ears in refugees

Jim says they’re protecting children and families

You shouldn't have shot it down, Oswald.

Oswald frowns. He says he didn't shoot it down - he didn't know that the chopper was coming. He’s still taking everything, though.

Jim says it must have been him – who else has that kind of weaponry? Oswald says that’s a fair point, but it still wasn’t him. He would just admit it, if he had: it’s not like he can be arrested. He also tells Jim to skedaddle while he can

Jim and Oswald stare tensely at each other in their annual new season tiff

Harvey tells Jim they’re outgunned – which is maybe the most redundant observation ever made – but presumably to stop Jim reacting stupidly because his pride has been nettled. Oswald tells Jim to listen to Harvey. After all they’ve been through, he doesn’t want to kill him. Not like this.

Before the situation can progress, we see arrows through Oswald's men – and a glimpse of Tabitha. The cops raise their guns – and Tabitha grabs Oswald, a gun to his throat.

Listen to me – I know you’re upset about Butch

Tabitha yells that Butch thought Oswald was his friend

(An aside. Really? Because the last I saw of Butch, he spent a lot of last season shoving Oswald around and threatening him. Oswald offered their old working relationship, and Butch rejected it in favour of choking him for a bit. But anyway.)

This infuriates Oswald. He sounds sincere, and his voice breaks slightly as he says

I was his friend - you put a knife in my mother's back - his blood is on your hands!

Tabitha asks him if he thinks that she expected to come here and kill him and walk away. Poor Barbara. Given the choice, Tabitha opted for Butch again.

Hilariously, Oswald falls back on what he knows best

Jim! are you going to let her kill me like this in cold blood?

I promise it’s not shipper goggles – but Jim does an infinitesimally slight shake of his head. Oh Jim. Never play poker.

Oswald continues

You are not only the one keeping Gotham from the abyss - I am too: I supply stability

Tabitha turns Oswald to face her. He reiterates the cold, hard truth:

I may have pulled the trigger - but you killed Butch

Tabitha has no real response for that

Shut up and die

She pulls the trigger – but the gun doesn’t fire properly. Oswald is saved by his defective stock. He laughs maniacally – and quickly pulls his knife on her. They struggle. He taunts her a little.

If that was one of my bullets, I’ll be having a word with the foreman – unacceptable quality!

He then tells her to say hello to Butch, and overpowers her – stabbing her in the chest.

There’s a scream – Barbara, who runs out from hiding to stare.

Jim watches the scene unfold. Tabitha falls to her knees as Oswald watches. She manages a couple of words – presumably advice to Barbara about the futility of ongoing revenge.

Barbara - don't….

Oswald runs for cover as Barbara roars and fires blindly

We get a close-up of Tabitha's body as Barbara shoots and a gunfight breaks out. Oswald calls out that it’s sounding a bit quiet from Jim’s end – they’re out of bullets.

Outside – we see Bruce break into a van with a propagandistic image of Oswald on it. He beats the guards easily and steals some ammunition. He delivers this to a grateful Harvey and Jim.

Barbara reloads and runs out into the room. Oswald appears, and shoots her in the shoulder. He looks down at her.

For the record – that is not how I wanted things to go

Barbara screams that she'll rip out his heart

Oswald tells her to be quiet - talk like that will force my hand!

(An aside. See - the thing is - Oswald is pretty much lawful evil here. Tabitha already had it coming for Gertrud. Oswald took Butch instead. She then tried to shoot him in the heart. What is he supposed to do? He doesn’t actually want to kill Barbara – unless he’s pushed – as is evidenced by what he says next.)

Oswald looks at her

For old times’ sake – I will give you a chance. Can we move past this? Say the whole Tabitha/Butch chapter is over?

For what it’s worth, he sounds sincere. And it’s consistent with past actions from him. Oswald will tend to want to even scores. But he’s also as likely to want to shake hands and move on when he’s truly done with something. This is likely why both Victor and Penn and Butch still ended up working with him after various betrayals and conflicts.

Barbara screams at him. She’ll feed his guts to the rats - you beaky-nosed freak.

(An aside. As I said, I am biased. But beaky-nosed freak compared to you stabbed my mother in the back is just my problem with this plot encapsulated. The worst Barbara can come up with in the heat of the moment is that Oswald looks odd. Tabitha got off listening to an old lady crying, and then stabbed her in the back. Who’s uglier?)

Oswald looks genuinely...sad for a moment. Credit to RLT for managing to give this writing nuance - because he’s Oswald’s been forced to pantomime villainy for most of this episode.

He then flips back to sass. So, no – then?

Barbara smirks at him.

Jim walks out. He says he wants to make a deal. They can split 50/50 if he lets Barbara go.

Barbara shrieks that he does not get to limp out alive. And, again, yes, they’ve tried to be as unflattering as possible with Oswald in the first half of this episode – make a monster of him. But Barbara’s frequent resorting to freak and physical insults – it just leaves a bad taste in the mouth.

Oswald smacks her in the face to silence her.

He offers another deal for Jim. He kills Barbara and takes everything. Jim gets to stay alive – and go home to reflect long and hard on his generosity

Jim asks what happens when the government finds out he killed the only cops in Gotham. What? He basically just said you were all getting to leave. There’s more than one line in this episode that actively makes no sense.

Oswald tells him nothing would happen – and that Jim has nothing to offer.

Now they have extra ammunition, Harvey shoots. Jim shoots Oswald’s bad knee. Oswald screams. Jim says that’s not true anymore. He was never going to make a deal: he needs all those supplies. One of Oswald’s men ushers him away.

Back at GCPD, supplies arrive.

Harvey asks Jim if Oswald is going to pull through. Jim says probably – and that this will at least put him out of commission for a while.

Harvey says he could have put him down, but Jim makes noises about regulations and laws and shooting a man without warning.

Harvey says they’re fighting for survival and asks again why he didn’t do it.

Jim looks away. Harvey tells him

You win or you die - next time shoot to kill

Jim gives the tiny headshake again as Harvey walks away. I honestly promise I’m not fibbing – go back and look.

Bruce approaches Jim and says he’s going to see Selina. Jim asks again for Bruce to let him know how she is. As Bruce leaves, he calls after him

You want to help - just ask. You’ve earned a place

Bruce smiles and leaves.

Up at Jim’s radio desk, a woman removes a mask. It’s Ecco. She looks over his map – and listen as the radio crackles.

Captain Gordon, come in.

She watches from shadow as Jim approaches and answers. The voice at the other end replies.

You have allies across the river. We will find a way to help you

Jim listens – face serious. He turns sharply, feeling watched – but there’s no one there. When he glances back to the map, he sees one of Jerome’s ‘ha ha ha’ tags on his map.

A man searches dumpsters in an alley. We see Ed burst out of one, angry.

Really? A dumpster?

Back at the library, he pounds the map table.

What are you doing to me?! Show yourself!

What is happening to me?

At Sirens, we see Tabitha's corpse laid out on a table. Barbara kisses her, turns to her acolytes, and looks straight out to us. She’s dressed and made-up more softly than earlier.

I promise - if it's the last thing I do, I will kill him!

Her scream of rage merges into Oswald’s screams of pain. He’s seated, dressed in white linen/cotton old-fashioned underwear, as someone digs for the bullet in his leg.

My leg - he shot my leg! I just fixed this!

He spits as he screams. Wouldn't his mouth be dry from pain? Whatever – for some reason, they’re insistent in reinforcing physical loathsomeness for Oswald.

Penn asks him to hold still. Oswald grabs at his shoulder. He tells him that there’s 1000 rounds to whoever kills Jim - he wants his head.

The bullet is finally removed. Oswald stares at it, wide-eyed, breathing hard.

At the hospital, a nurse is in Selina’s ward. She leaves her trolley for a moment. Selina sees a scalpel on it and hurls herself out of bed to get it.

As Bruce approaches, he hears screams from the ward. The doctor and nurse are restraining Selina as she weeps and screams. They inject her with something, and lay her on the bed. She’s insisting that she has no reason – they should have let her do it.

Bruce is confused – but the dr tells him she was trying to kill herself, and they’ll need restraints for when she wakes. Bruce reaches down and touches her face.

(An aside – this was honestly the strongest and most emotional moment in the whole episode. I teared up when we heard Selina screaming and crying.)

The nurse hisses at him again

I told you - the witch!

Bruce asks where he can find the witch.

Back on GCPD turf, Harvey refers to Jim as

St Jim of Gotham

(A quick aside – I would have maybe expected to see some kind of church presence in Gotham – trying to help.)

Jim tells Harvey he wants new refugees questioned about Jeremiah. Lucius approaches, and says they now have 6 weeks of supplies. As they talk – a small boy is brought up to them, who was apparently found at the Thompson St. barricade. Jim crouches down.

What happened, son?

The boy can’t say much

My brothers and sisters - they’re killing us. You have to help us

The boy wobbles on his feet. Jim tells them to get him to the clinic

He looks around to the cops who have gathered round him

I know you’re all asking why we’re here when the government won't help us. It’s simple. We’re supposed to give people hope: if they’re in danger, someone will come. We will come. Suit up

So. We’re back

General Observations

The big picture

Some things aren’t making much sense. I know we’re supposed to think Jim represents law and order, while everyone else presents selfish lawlessness. But the backstory we have with these characters means this doesn’t quite work.

We know Jim will ally with criminals when he has to (at the drop of a hat, actually). Both Oswald and Barbara are amenable to him. Both Oswald and Barbara see Gotham as home. The Oswald we saw last season (not this ooc mess) couldn’t imagine anything worse than citizens being killed by Jerome’s stupid blimp. If Jim is as desperate as suggested, then why hasn’t he tried to communicate with them before the impromptu get-together at the downed chopper? The worst they could have done is say no, or make wildly unreasonable demands. If he’s not willing to cede anything to them – then fair enough, walk away – but to not even have tried to talk seems bizarre. I would guess he’d want to know he’d exhausted every option to help the people.

St Jim of Gotham

Jim’s had a bit of a character shift. He’s squarely law and order and selflessness here. He tries to hold out hope that the government will help. Even smaller things amount to a shift in character. He listens quietly to people when they talk. He repeatedly asks Bruce to update him on Selina’s progress. He’s generally quieter and softer.

As for his shooting Oswald, @rhavewellyarnbag convincingly explained elsewhere that shooting an injured limb isn’t actually doing Oswald any favours at all. In-universe, though – I think that possibly in the context of a show where mangled hands magically heal and people recover fast from life-threatening injuries with no consequences, and Harvey tells Jim off for being merciful (and we’ve just seen Oswald shoot Barbara non-fatally) – we’re supposed to regard it as a merciful alternative – building on this new character shift for Jim.

Whether or not he’ll maintain this shift of character is another question.

The whole business by the downed helicopter.

Well, gosh. It’s almost like actions have consequences. Barbara should know that herself, given that Tabitha murdered her a couple of seasons ago in retaliation for shooting Butch. Sorry – but if this is supposed to make me hate Oswald and root for Barbara, then it’s a mess. Oswald has ample cause to hate Tabitha and want her dead – and she forced the issue here by trying to murder him in front of a bunch of people, where he cannot lose face.

Come to that, he’s got reason to have gotten rid of Barbara before now, if he’d wanted: she was heavily involved in Ed’s attempt to drive him mad, humiliate him, and murder him. Yet here he still wants to move on. You can’t sell Oswald’s actions here to me as an example of villainy that’s somehow worse and more wanton than anything that other characters have perpetrated. Especially when the characters directly affected – Tabitha and Barbara – themselves have a reputation for casual sadism and violence.

Oswald’s empire

Oswald was at his cleverest and most daring back in season one, when he was trying to make his way. We can assume that this has been the case in subsequent seasons, too – although we never got to see it. He managed to claw back power after his stint in Arkham, and later capitalise on the post-Tetch-virus landscape. When he’s actually in power, things don’t tend to go as well for him.

However, that’s not usually because he’s being outright dumb. Oswald wheedles and manipulates – reading people and their motivations so that he can gain from them. But now he’s OK with blithely alienating people and inviting resentment and rebellion? Doesn’t see any potential problems with that scheme?

What’s more, this is out-of-character. Yes, Oswald craves power. But he also wants – at the very least – loyalty and popularity. Remember how infuriated he was when Selina wanted to know what she would get in return for helping him? At most, he wants to be adored. Remember how he teared up at Ed’s stunt with the little girl during his mayoral campaign? How genuinely shaken he was when he won - proof that the people liked him? Wanted him? Trusted him? Remember how Ed’s crude commedia dell’arte mocked Oswald’s need for the love of this people? Oderint dum metuant doesn’t really do it for Oswald.

Intellectually and emotionally for him, then, this just doesn’t fit. Not only does he have an emotional need to believe that he’s loved – he knows that starved, angry people are less likely to be loyal, and way more willing to sell him out for a better situation, or rebel outright.

Barbara

I’m guessing this is the beginning of some sort of redemption arc for Barbara – we’ll be invited to feel sympathy for her now, then root for her revenge, she’ll become more of an ally to Jim, and then she’ll be pregnant. I liked season one Barbara, was still interested in her in season two but since then, to be honest, she’d been so flattened as a character that it was hard to care much about her. The fact that her redemption storyline is being enabled by trying to make Oswald as unsympathetic as possible – and while giving her a lot of season one Oswald’s characteristics – really just sticks in my craw, to be honest.

I suspect that it’s also a bit problematic that her redemptive arc can start now that Tabitha is removed from the picture.

Selina and Bruce

There’s not much to say other than it’s painful. Poor Selina.

Yet to be seen: Lee, Zsasz, Strange, Jervis, and Jeremiah. It sounds like Ivy is the Witch.

#gotham commentary #year zero #gotham s5e1

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the-magnus-archives-archiver · 6 years

Text

Arachnophobia

Case: 0150409

Name: Carlos Vittery Subject: His arachnophobia and its manifestation Date: April 9th, 2015 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

I hate spiders. I know, I know, everyone hates spiders. Any time there’s any list of the top however many fears, they’re always up there, and whole horror franchises have been built on the basic premise that people hate spiders. But not like me. Not like this. It’s not the sight of a spider that gets me, not the legs or the eyes or even the webs they leave behind with only the drained corpse of their insect victims still inside. It’s the presence of a spider. The knowledge of its being, somewhere near, waiting to crawl on you, and all the warning you get that gentle tickle of its legs as it climbs upon you.

I’m not explaining myself very well. Let me try and phrase it in a different way: I can watch any number of films about the things. Documentary or horror, it doesn’t matter. I can read books on them. I can stare at close-up pictures of their weird spider faces all day long, and there’s hardly a shudder from me. But I had to move from my last house after discovering how many spiders made a home in my garden. I walked out there one day with the intention of smoking a cigarette, sat on the rusty garden furniture that had come with the place, and looked up. There it was – stretched between two large branches, silhouetted against the sky it sat. Objectively speaking the thing was tiny, couldn’t have been more than half an inch leg-to-leg, but up there, suspended high above me, its body black against the slate grey sky, it filled me with a sickening dread. I leapt up, and started to head back inside, but as I did my eyes flicked wildly around the rest of the garden, and everywhere they came to rest I saw more lurking spiders, more webs. There were dozens that I could see, which meant there must be hundreds more I could not.

There was no way I could live there after that. How could I sleep knowing how many crawling horrors moved and twitched and spun their filth just a wall away? I’m not a fool; I know that all gardens contain spiders. Every single one is filled with them, nestled in any crevice or hiding spot they can find. But now I knew. I had seen them in their spindly multitudes and I could not unknown how many were there. And I could not stop thinking of when winter would come, and they would seek to find a way into the warmth of my home. So I had to move.

Renting in London moves very quickly, which is a pain if you’re looking to find exactly the right place to live, but if you just need to get out and into a place as far away from a garden as possible and you aren’t choosy, it can be sorted out very fast indeed. I found a place in Boothby Road in Archway. While nearby Elthorne Road was full of houses and gardens – no doubt infested with spiders – my building was surrounded by concrete driveways and parking spaces, and the only vegetation were a few window boxes the other residents kept. The place was old, but had been kept clean enough that I didn’t need to worry about hidden webs, and the rooms, though small, were open enough that I could keep an eye on all corners. I was on the second floor, so any eight-legged intruder would have something of a climb to access it; although I was acutely aware of the distance a spider can shoot its web when it wants to get somewhere. The building was also quite happy with pets, so I got a cat. I had heard from a friend who had a pair of them that they have a habit of catching spiders and eating them – slowly and torturously. This sounded good to me, so I invested in an older tabby, from a local shelter called Major Tom.

This is all a lot of superfluous information, I know, but you have to understand the lengths I went to; how little I would tolerate a spider to live in my presence, to fully grasp how unnatural it was, what happened to me. What still is happening to me.

I saw a spider about three months ago. Not unusual. Certainly not as unusual as I would like – even with all my precautions they still manage to get into my home once a month or so. My normal course of action is to immediately flee the room and leave Major Tom inside to deal with it, returning after a few hours. In all previous cases this had worked fine – I believe Major Tom definitely ate the majority of them, and those spiders that had simply fled back into the shadows, well, I can trick myself into believing they also suffered such a fate. It may be that my grey feline companion never actually ate any of them, but he was a fine enough placebo that such a thought didn’t concern me as much as it might.

I remember that month there had been a few of them. Our building had acquired something of an infestation of some sort of insect I didn’t recognise – small, silvery worms, almost like maggots but slightly longer – and I assume that they provided a good meal for the eight-legged little monsters.

This spider was different. I felt it the moment I laid eyes on the thing, standing in the middle of kitchen wall, displaying itself boldly, as though it wanted to be as visible as possible. I felt that familiar rushing fear, as though the floor had dropped away and a thousand tiny legs are crawling upon every inch of my skin. But there was something else there. I was aware of this spider in a way I had never had been of others that preceded it. It wasn’t the biggest, maybe an inch wide, but its abdomen was swelled grotesquely. I could feel every one of its void-black eyes focused upon me, see each hair on its fat, bulbous body, and smell the venom I knew dripped from its fangs. I hate spiders, as I have said, but I would have sworn that this one hated me back.

None of this was enough to make me think twice about gingerly pushing Major Tom towards the thing with my foot and fleeing the room. I made my way into the living room and closed the door behind me, leaving cat and spider to deal with each other. I sat there, watching the TV, some panel show re-run, trying not to think about the thing on my kitchen wall. An hour passed, then two, and finally I felt like I had enough stability of mind to open the door and confirm that the damned arachnid was gone.

The moment I opened the door I felt something furry brush against my leg. Choking down a sudden moment of panic, I looked and, sure enough, there was Major Tom, hurrying out of the room at a run. He didn’t seem hurt or upset, so I assumed his job was done. Then I turned back to my kitchen, and froze. The spider sat in that same spot. It wasn’t eaten, it hadn’t fled, from what I could tell it hadn’t even moved! The only way I was sure the thing was real and alive was that I swear to you I could see its mandibles twitching with anticipation. I stood there, unable to summon the will to close the kitchen door or enter into it fully and cursed Major Tom for a useless bag of fur.

It was another hour before I was finally able to move. The whole time I stood motionless in the doorway, watching the fat spider that paraded itself on my wall. Still it remained in place, and I couldn’t help but feel that it was daring me to do something, to take action, to kill it. I began to move. Slowly, ever so slowly, I approached it, reaching a hand over the table and taking the half-drunk mug of coffee, now long cold, in my hand. I gripped the handle so tight I was sure it would snap off in my fingers. Finally, I stood before the spider, preparing myself to calmly crush it against the wall. Then it moved without warning and I hurled the mug against the wall with all my might.

It hit the spider dead on and exploded in a shower of coffee and china. I stood there for a minute, breathing hard, but all that remained was a large stain on the wall and mug shards littering the floor. I should have cleaned it up immediately, but I was so tired, as though killing the spider had taken every ounce of wakefulness that I had within me. I simply turned around and went to bed. My dreams that night were many-legged but there’s not much unusual in that.

I spent the next morning cleaning up the detritus from my battle with the spider. I wished that I had gotten the coffee cleaned before it had dried, but by lunchtime the place was looking very much as it had before. As I swept up the smashed mug, I noticed that the largest shard, emblazoned with the design of a stylized blue owl, had a vivid smear on it. Brown, red and green were crushed onto it where it had hit the spider. It disgusted me, but looking at it I couldn’t help but feel a small surge of triumph, and I smiled as I threw it into the garbage bag. Major Tom watched, impassive as always.

The next few days passed without incident. Major Tom had never been much of an indoor cat, so I had installed a cat flap some time before to allow him to come and go as he pleased. After that first encounter he seemed to spend more time outside, and I saw him less and less as the week progressed. I didn’t think much of it; we’d had a particularly mild Christmas, so it made sense that he’d be enjoying the outside as much as possible before winter really set in.

It was the Friday after my first encounter that it happened. I came in from work, tired after a difficult week – I used to work as a data analyst at an online betting company – and decided to order takeout and relax in front of some TV. I eased myself back into my armchair and reached for the remote. I was aware that Major Tom wasn’t anywhere to be seen, which was odd, since he usually got fed shortly after I arrived home and he was never one to miss a meal. Still, I didn’t think of it, and turned on the television. I hadn’t turned the satellite box, so what showed at first was an empty blue screen. I reached to the other remote to turn it on, when I realised the blue screen wasn’t empty. There, sat upon it, black against the glowing background, was a spider. And not just any spider, but I swear to you, and here’s where you march me out of your little institute as a time-wasting lunatic, but I swear that it was the same damn spider.

It was the same size, the same shape, the same thick, pulsing abdomen. But more than that, I felt it. I felt it in that fear that hit me like I had been punched in the stomach, and I felt it in the way that the thing just sat there, unmoving, waiting for me to kill it again. I was stuck to my chair, just watching this spider as it stood there on the screen of my television. I called for Major Tom, but there was no response.

God knows how long I sat staring at the spider on my television. I don’t wear a watch, and I couldn’t move my arm to check my phone. If I hadn’t been sat down I would have run already, but standing up was more movement than I could bring myself to make while it watched me.

Finally, I got to my feet. It was less effort than I expected when I finally mustered the will to do it. Although that’s not really how it felt at the time – at that point it felt almost involuntary, as though some something were lifting me, hoisting me to my feet by unseen strings. I began to walk, but rather than fleeing the spider I found I moved towards it, until I stopped there, so close I could have touched it, though my mind recoils at the thought. Before I realised exactly what I was doing I lifted my leg, and kicked the television, instantly crushing the bulbous spider beneath the heel of my shoe, and now I think about it, narrowly avoiding a nasty electrocution. I had had no inkling I was capable of such a thing, but once again the spider was dead, and I had a slimy stain on my shoe.

I threw the shattered remains of the television away, burned the shoe and tried, desperately to return to something approaching my normal life, but it was no good. The spider that I had killed had come back, of that I had no doubt, and a deep paranoia began to set in as I waited for it to return again. I saw Major Tom only once in the weeks that followed. He came in, sniffed at the bowl of food I had continued to put out for him in the vain hope of luring him back, and turned around and walked away. As he left he gave me a look that I could have sworn was one of pity.

I called in sick to my job, as I wasn’t really sleeping and so much of the time was spent checking nooks and corners for the spider, that I was a nervous wreck. More than once I did find spiders, but they weren’t the one who was after me, so I killed them without a second thought. My life descended into the mess that it, well, it still remains today.

I was right, though. Two weeks after I kicked it to death on my TV, there it was. Over my bed. Standing on the wall over the spot where my head lay each night as I tried in vain to sleep. It was that damned spider. And I recognised it. My bedroom is better lit than the kitchen, and it wasn’t silhouetted against a screen, so for the first time I got a really good look at my tormentor, and I realised that I had seen it before the kitchen.

I was not born with a fear of spiders. In fact for the first six years of my life I can only assume I existed in peaceful harmony with them. But that changed in the autumn of 1991. I didn’t live in London then but with my parents in Southampton, and we would visit my grandparents every Sunday, out in the nearby New Forest. They lived on the edge of a suburb, and from the bottom of my grandmother’s garden you could see fields stretching away for a half a mile to the tree line. I used to spend a lot of time down there, and if you were lucky, sometimes there would be horses.

That day, there were no horses, just an overcast sky and wind that threatened to blow off my blue woollen hat. I was wandering through the scattered trees by the fence I wasn’t allowed to cross, and I noticed a fallen log. I had seen it before, of course, as there was little in that place that changed much between my weekly visits, but there was something different about it. In one of the hollows sat something that I did not recognise. It was a pale brown, and looked soft and lumpy, like a small sack. Knowing no better I approached it, and saw, perched on its top, a small spider. It watched me, warily, its fat abdomen twitching, but it did not move.

In my childish ignorance, I thought it looked silly, and I reached over for it. But I tripped. My hand hit the spider, killing it instantly, and plunging into the egg sack below, causing it to tear open and explode. I was suddenly covered in thousands of small, white crawling things, those tiny, dripping, half-formed and unfinished spiders. They covered my hands, my face... my eyes.

I can never forget that feeling, and since then the presence of spiders has filled me with the deepest dread. And that was the spider that sat before me on my bedroom wall. Though I remembered little of what the long-dead thing had looked like I knew it was the same. Can you be haunted by the ghost of a spider that destroyed your childhood? It sounds absurd. It sounds laughable. But there it was. I didn’t know why it was here. And I didn’t know why I was reaching for it. My mind screamed to stop, and I let out a terrible cry, but my hand kept moving towards it inexorably, as though willed by something else. This ghost spider felt real enough when I crushed it beneath my palm, legs splayed and body bursting warmly against my skin. Once I had control of my limb once again, I spent the rest of the night washing my hand.

I am moving out of that building. I officially gave Major Tom’s paperwork to the family on the ground floor he decided to move in with, and will be leaving the moment I find somewhere, anywhere, available for immediate rental. I can’t risk seeing the thing again. I’m also seeing doctors, trying to get a referral for psychiatric treatment or possibly some antipsychotic medication, but I felt I should probably give you a statement as well. I don’t expect you to believe me, but if “ghost spiders” falls under anyone’s remit, I suppose it’s yours.

Archivist Notes:

I think the most important lines in this statement come at the very end. Antipsychotic medication and disbelief are, I think, exactly what Mr. Vittery needed to get through his problem with, er, “ghost spiders”. There simply aren’t enough details given in this statement to actually investigate, short of Martin confirming that Mr. Vittery did indeed live at the addresses he provided.

I would have asked Tim to follow up with Mr. Vittery himself, but he appears to have passed away shortly after giving his statement. He was found in his Boothby Road residence, after neighbours complained of the smell, and had apparently been dead for over a week. Coroner’s report lists asphyxiation as the cause of death, probably due to choking, though it doesn’t say what he choked on, simply lists “foreign organic material” blocking his throat.

If I were of a more alarmist nature I might think the appearance of Mr. Vittery’s corpse lent some credibility to his tale. But as I told Martin earlier, he was there for over a week, so there is very likely a perfectly natural explanation for the fact that his body was completely encased in web.

Source: Official Transcript and Podcast (MAG 16 Arachnophobia)

#the magnus archives #magnus archives #MAG #MAG16 #MAG 16 #Arachnophobia #Statement #The Web #Spiders

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