#Tim’s obsession is answers if that isn’t obvious | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole · 3 years

Text

Comfort Crowd

Another song fic inspired by Conan Gray

Slightly obsessed with his album at the moment.

I've also posted this on my AO3 account.

Masterlist

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It all hurt. Saving Paris, hunting for Hawkmoth, helping her parents at the Bakery, trying to maintain designing, managing school and the drama of its social life. On top of that she was now the Guardian.

Marinette felt like she was drowning. All the responsibilities and pressure were starting to cause cracks, but with Hawkmoth still at large she had to keep on smiling. Sticky taping the cracks together.

Tikki, with the help of Kaalki, decided to get her in contact with a previous user, Hippolyta, Queen of Themyscira. Which ended up with Marinette getting support from the Justice League. The help she received was overwhelming from training to detective work, but she still refused to lift the box of suppressed emotions.

Her detective training was mainly with the known “bat fam”, where she connected with them all in different ways as she trained with them. It was Red Robin, though, that she connected with most. He seemed to be one of the few who understand the conflicting pressures she felt mounting on her and didn’t add to them. Plus, their love of caffeine helped them bond. She much preferred tea, with tea ceremonies as a sort of mediation ritual but understood the draw of coffee and instant gratification. She had mentally adopted him as her “big brother”.

With the help of Red Robin, Marinette’s “stalking” board currently now held all her thoughts, ideas and suspects, with evidence, on who Hawkmoth could be. Under his guidance she had finally narrowed it down to the one and only Gabriel Agreste.

“Tikki, it has to be him, right?”

“hmmm, it does look that way Marinette” Tikki replied hovering in front of the board “You were right with your initial suspicion, though I’ve never seen a user to ‘akumatise’ themselves before. How do you want to tackle this?”

Depending on how she tackled this, Marinette knew, could have catastrophic impact of so many people.

“I don’t know Tikki, I... I’m not sure what the best way to tackle this to be? What if I do this wrong, what if I'm wrong about this and make everything worse.... what if... ”

Tikki looked at her holder pacing around her room. Crumpled pyjamas on, messed up pigtails and all. Tikki saw that Marinette needed some grounding. The catastrophising thoughts that were spiralling were obvious to see, and her erratic and chaotic behaviour becoming more pronounced. By the end of this, Tikki knew her holder and guardian would be able to weld Plagg just as well as she welded the miraculous of creation. A balance of creativity and chaos.

To stop Marinettes swirling thoughts of disaster growing, Tikki grabbed her phone and dialled Tim before dumping the phone in Marinette’s hand.

“...Hello...”

Marinette blinked at the unexpected voice drawing her out of the messy thoughts.

“Tim.... I’ve worked out who HE is”

“Bean? Congratulations! Knew you could do it. You had all the potential right there. All you needed was to be pointed in the right direction and how to refine your techniques. So, you going enlighten me who it is?”

Marinette paused. Tim knew most of her hypothesis as last time she visited she had gone on a rant. Sighing, “My original suspect before I was ‘encouraged’ to drop it”.

That had hurt. Being guardian allowed her access to work out who her partner was. She still hadn’t figured out how to tell him she knew, mainly based on how he behaved inside and out the mask. Adrian was naïve to the world and expected it to be ‘perfect’ outside his ivory tower, like a fairy tale. She understood now why he didn’t want it to suspect his father originally. It hurt that he didn't trust her reasons but understood the emotional draw of family. Again he didn't like "Ladybugs behaviour in drawing in “external help” but accepted it when she had spun that it was for her mainly and for him if he chose to. It hurt he had rejected that. That he still trying to live in his “ideal world” and force things to conform to that view. That he was the "perfect superhero", her needing help didn't support his dreamscape either but framing it as needing a "yoda" seemed to help.

Her thoughts derailed again, drifting from the present.

'Why did everything have to hurt her!? Why was everything against her?! Why... why is it always her having to pick up the slack and have to change... Why isn’t she enough?!?!!'

“Did you want to switch to facetime Bean?” Tim enquired. He could hear in her voice that she was cracking and needed a visual to confirm.

“...kay...” was the response he got.

Tim could see the dark bags under her eyes. The gaunt look she was sporting. Her whole body was screaming she was breaking. He really didn’t understand how her parents hadn’t noticed, but then he knew she was good at deflecting so was probably hiding it sufficiently for them and they were believing her surfaces responses that she was ok. rather than digging deeper. He doubted that they wanted to admit that she was struggling as wanted her to tell them rather than having to probe.

“Talk me through your thoughts Bean. We can work on a plan and I’ll call a team up so we can sort this problem out once and for all”

Taking a deep breath Marinette, suppressing the hurt and pain, launched herself into talking in semi coded strategy mode:

“Well, with a big final display and reveal could occur, but the impact on the company. The workers and families would be victims and it catastrophic to so many if the company tanked. The fall out would have so many knock on affects to so many people across Paris. There is also the risk that if it goes wrong well... everyone could see that it went wrong... Their hope stolen and be used to make the situation worse” taking a moment to ponder alternatives “Another solution would be stealthy solution with no witnesses and collecting ALL the missing items without a reveal. An issue with that would be that would be that others would not be aware that the end has occurred. The anxiety of waiting for an event that will never come, that would impact everyone... Plus, there would be no justice so to speak and could cause anger... if... when they decided that it wouldn’t happen. I... I know that there are porbably other alternatives, but I...” Frowning she stared into space “I want justice, but I think I just want it to end more...” she whispered looking at the phone and at Tim.

Tim could see the exhaustion in her eyes. He understood and felt for her. He subtly sent a message to his family to say that they were heading to Paris, NOW. Even through the small screen he could tell it didn’t matter what he said currently she would be doing something soon. He just hoped she would hold off till when he arrived.

“I’m tired Tim...”

This hurt that I'm holding's getting heavy

But I'ma keep a smile on my shoulders 'til I'm sweaty

Begging on my knees

Screamin', someone come and help me

But by the time they're there

I've already hid the body

By the time the Bat Family arrived in Paris, there seemed to be celebrations going on everywhere. Tim first thoughts were ‘What had Bean done’ along with ‘was she ok’. While the rest of the family settled into the hotel before they went out to investigate the celebrations, Tim dumped his bags and practically ran straight to the bakery.

Finding Marinette’s parents at the counter, he asked if Marinette was in. They looked at him before he was ushered up and into their home without a second glace. Tim was shocked, he could really tell Paris was nothing like Gotham. That they didn’t know him and was allowing him into their home. To see their child. He was a stranger to them!

Tim found Marinette curled up in the tiniest ball possibly going on her bed.

“Hey there Bean. I was going to ask if you’re good but the answer is pretty clear as a no. Is it ok if I come up and give you a hug instead?”

Marinette, slowly unfolded a little from her ball to gaze at Tim. It took a moment for her to process and to provide a shaky nod along with a croaky “hug”. Tim climbed over and wrapped her up.

Taking a moment for them both to settle Marinette slowly told Tim what had happened.

“I snuck in using Multimouse merged with others. I paralysed them while they slept and stole the miraculous. I searched the mansion for any traces linking to miraculous and took it all. With the Kwami’s help I erased all their memories of Kwami, miraculous and being involved.”

Pausing though before continuing “There was a fair bit of artifacts to collect. The worst thing though” she had to stop to collect herself again. Her voice wobbling again. “Mrs Agreste is hidden beneath the mansion in a secret chamber. He was willing to destroy Paris, the world, because of grief....” her breathing was getting unsteady, but she continued “Her soul has gone, the only thing he was preserving was an empty shell. If he had wished for her back it.. It.. She would have been a zombie, a shell of herself and not what he would have wanted. What if... what about... what... It would have been for nothing.”

Resting for a moment before continuing.

“I sort of left an anomalous tip for the police to search his building to find her. So, she can finally rest properly. Paris is celebrating as I used the fox miraculous to stage a ‘final show down’ with illusions. Paris witnessed the demise of Hawkmoth, I had him threaten Ladybug, they saw Chat “cataclysm” him, for the pair to take the miraculous and for them all to disappear. I...” she suppressed a sob. “I hope this truly is the end of it all and Paris is free”

My breath's gettin' short and I'm unsteady

Wellin' up in tears as I lay upon your belly

Telling you I'm fine

I don't really need nobody

But you say through a sigh

That I said that lie already

The pair stayed curled up together for an hour or so while both processed what had happened. Tim’s phone was buzzing with messages from his family as to where was he, how is Marinette, are they ok, and finally to meet them at the hotel, eventually he was able to convince Marinette to come with him. It took a while then as he had to work on prying her off him to get ready to face the world.

When back at the hotel Dick immediately wrapped Marinette in a blanket and a hug dragging her to the sofa so he could smother her in reassurances. Tim had been cryptic in his responses to their messages, but the meaning was clear. It was over and now Marinette was finally crashing in a sea of emotions but refusing to release them. Curled up against him, all he could hear was “I’m fine, honest” or a “I’ll be ok” and a “You don’t have to be with me” then a “I don’t really need nobody anyway” through tears which escaped despite how she tried to stop them running. Dick responses were always “shhhh”, “you will be eventually”, “we’re here” and “you’ve said that lie already”.

I just needed company now

Yeah, I just needed someone around

Yeah, I don't care what song that we play

Or mess that we make

Just company now

Comfort crowd

Bruce watched as his family dotted on the broken girl for the fortnight they were in Paris. He made sure to introduce himself and the boys to the girl's parents. He had already created plans mentally to help the girl recover, ever since he first met the child really. She was practically family now anyway. Now he needed to set them in motion.

The boys had taken to making sure Marinette was never alone. Playing loud Jagged Stone music while playing video games. The Dupain Chengs attempted to teach the boys to bake. The flour fight which occurred immediately had them reconsidering the idea quickly. Sabine and Tom could see the boys cared for their girl, and glints and sparks of her former glory could be seen at times with them around.

When Bruce asked Tom and Sabine if Marinette could join them for a break from Paris, they took a moment to consider before agreeing. They didn’t want to send her away but deep down knew she wasn’t coping in Paris. She still suppressed her emotions, the engrained behaviour from grown up with Hawkmoth around. As much as they didn’t want to admit it, she really was a shell of her former self since Hawkmoth rose. They could see that she needed time to breath and not worry about emotional fall out. None of Marinettes former school friends had visited since the downfall of Hawkmoth. Marinette held them, everyone at distance, since the "Lila" incident. These semi strangers though, they insisted that they were there for her. She seemed to seek their comfort particularly the second youngest.

We rot, thinkin' lots about nothing

Yeah, I could spend a lifetime

Sitting here talkin'

And even if I cry all over your body

You don't really mind

Say you like your shirt soggy

In Gotham, Marinette hid out in the library with Jason when it all got to much. Jason would read extracts from novels to the lonely girl. They would theorise what the author was trying to convey, debate about nothing. And when needed something else took to teaching her to shoot.

Damian had taken to training her. Using the physical work out to work out her anger against dummies and training in martial arts for grounding. The sessions ended up with sweaty bodies with anger some finally being released and slowly subsiding. If there were tears, mixed in with the sweat no-one said anything.

Dick took to training her to “fly” in trapeze and acrobatics. A new release for the nervous energy she held on to. Or wrapping her up in blankets and watching Disney or Studio Ghibli to still the frantic mind.

Cass took to teaching her ballet. To speak through dance, let her hurt out in a non-verbal way. Cass understood it was too soon for her to speak of the horrors she had seen. That to speak them would make the surrealness of the past few years real.

Steph and Marinette took to making waffles together. Steph insisting that they were the “gods food”, Tikki giggled at that and was a happy taste tester. While Marinette used the process of baking as a therapeutic ritual. The fact Steph had tricked Marinette into eating more and have some form of selfcare made Tikki so happy.

Late at night when sleep often escaped her. Marinette would creep down to the kitchen to find Tim.

One particular night when she crept down to the kitchen.

“Did I do the right thing Tim?” Marinette queried. Nightmares still plaguing her mind. The Parisian news stated this week that the Police had investigated a rumour that Mr Agreste had murdered his wife. Upon a tip to search the premises had found her body. He had been taken into custody with no bail pending further investigate. Adrian was basically parentless. And the company was now under scrutiny.

Marinettes guilt was eating her as she had effectively caused his downfall and the fallout she was trying to avoid with the company had failed as it too was being investigated.

Tim wrapped her up in his arms and at last the damn broke and she cried. Marinette finally let her self break.

“It's ok Bean. Shhhhh. I’ve got you. You’re not alone. We’re here for you”

Tim stroked her hair and hummed while she cried for all her worth. Dick entered and instantly went to grab a blanket to cover them with. Dick and Tim slowly manoeuvred themselves out of the kitchen into the living room where all the family could curl up and around the small broken girl.

When she was less hysterical. Tim lifted her face to tell the girl, “You did what was necessary, it would have happened either way. AND it's not your fault. You did not make the decision to break the law. You aren't responsible for everyone!”

Marinette gave an uncertain look before saying “I’m sorry I ruined your top” Tim laughed “I don’t mind a soggy shirt” causing a wobbly smile.

From that smile the Wayne's could tell she was starting to heal.

Yeah, I just needed company now

Yeah, I just needed someone around

Yeah, I don't care what song that we play

Or mess that we make

Just company now

Comfort crowd

When Marinette returned to Paris, the numbness started to creep in again. She wanted to miss her found family but as soon as a negative feeling cropped up, she went back to suppressing them. Paris felt, well, it didn’t feel. The engrained behaviour wouldn’t stop while she was there. She didn’t want to connect with those she went to school with. She went through the week like she was a zombie, there but not. Talking to the Wayne’s was the highlight she looked forward to, where she came alive again.

“Mamam” Marinette queried her mother one dinner time, “I was wondering if you and Papa would be ok with me going to university in the states?” Looking down and playing with her food as she worked her courage up again “Being in Paris, is, well its hard. I can’t shake my habits and just, just feel”

Sabine and Tom shared a look, as if they were telepathically communicating with each other.

“Marinette, mon chou, if you feel that is best for your health then of course we would support you” her mother replied. “When you came back from the Waynes you were starting to sparkle again. Your mother and I can see Paris sapping that sparkle again” her father stated. “Do you have an idea of where you would like to study?”

Marinette smiling a true smile. “I was thinking Gotham”

We mess around

And laugh too loud

And make the sounds

We try to hide when people are around

By blood we're bound

Through ups and downs

Through smiles and pouts

Comfort crowd

You can always count on

Yeah, I just needed company now

Yeah, I just needed someone around

Yeah, I don't care what song that we play

Or mess that we make

Just company now

Comfort crow

#maribat #maribat au #platonic timari #timari #timinette #found family #friendship #marinette gets a hug

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skiller0dani · 4 years

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L’amour De Ma Vie | Timothee Chalamet

M A S T E R L I S T

smut requests info wanna be on a Timmy taglist? click here missed part 1? read it here

so I did my Billy Mitman thing. please let me know what you think as the chapters come out, I’m so nervous about it. love you babes xx I’m running out of ideas, please send me requests l m a o

btw I used google translate for the french bits don’t come at me if it’s incorrect. Timmy isn’t here to write the french parts for me :( the translation will be located next to the french, italicized and in quotation marks.

I listened to ‘La Vie En Rose’ by Chloe Moriondo during writing this. is perfectly captures the mood I was going for.

Catch Up! Read Part One Here!

Public relationships are hard to maintain, with all the attention and expectations.

The media and even fans expect the relationship to progress at a certain rate, and when Tim was dating Lily-Rose Depp, everyone was waiting for him to propose. But he wasn’t ready for that. Still isn’t. He wasn’t sure if it’s him that’s not ready or if it was the person. It’s not that Lily had done anything wrong, she didn’t. It was all Tim. Whatever he currently had with you was a huge relief, nobody even knew you existed in his life, not even his parents. Not Armie, not his family, not anybody. Tim wasn’t keeping you a secret because he was ashamed, no it wasn’t that. He needs a secret right now, something just for him and you. Something he could hide away in, and while he didn’t intend on meeting you when he’d gone to the club he can say meeting you was exactly what he needed. Tim did have to do some damage control during interviews when asked about the ‘mysterious girl’ he was seen exiting the club with that night.

Tim always said you were an old friend, he said he hadn’t even seen you since. That it was a huge coincidence that he even ran into you. That’s not true of course, Tim sees you every single day that he can. The days he doesn’t see you, he calls you any chance he can get. Never in his life has he felt so obsessed with somebody, so completely consumed. Sure the sex was great, but talking to you was so much better than any of that. In recent weeks Tim has been avoiding having sex with you, it’s not that he doesn’t want to he does. He just doesn’t want you to think that’s the sole reason he sticks around. Lily took it personally towards the end of their relationship when Tim would turn down sex. He just didn’t feel like it, at least not with her. That’s when he knew he needed to end the relationship.

Sometimes even private relationships are hard to maintain it would seem.

Of course there were a lot of tabloids who didn’t quite buy his “just an old friend” story, and wrote speculative articles as to who you were. The two of you found it quite entertaining to read the theories, and to watch the fans unravel because who the hell are you?? Are you and Tim dating?? No you’re probably just family, oh my gosh but are you just family?? It was hilarious, in a cruel sort of way. Tim worried at first, made sure you weren’t too overwhelmed with all this attention on you even though the paparazzi didn’t even get a picture of your face. When you took him home from the club you had no clue Tim was internationally famous, he feels like maybe he should have told you before you fucked in the nightclub bathroom. You seemed intrigued by his career and the films he’d been in, he found that endearing. When the two of you first started seeing each other more often you’d told him you were going to watch every single movie he’d ever been in. Turns out you’re a woman of your word, because you then proceeded to watch every single movie he had ever starred in. Even briefly.

Tim’s dad was never super inquisitive about his sons dating life, if it was someone Tim really saw a future with then he knew Tim would bring her by sooner or later. However you seemed to be something Tim remained very tight lipped about. Tim almost never mentioned you, and he always changed the subject if his dad questioned him about this mystery women who seems to have captured his sons attention. Tim really doesn’t know why his desire to keep you a complete secret to everyone is so strong, but he feels like he needs to keep you a secret. So when Tim’s phone rang and he saw his fathers contact for the 3rd time today, he grew nervous and nearly declined the call.

“Bonjour fils,” “Hello son.” His father greets cheerfully, but Tim knows better. He knows something is up. “Dad, comment vas-tu?” “Dad, how are you?” Tim wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans as the dark clouds begin to gather together overhead. “I am well, but I do have a question for you.” His accent is thick, but Tim is used to it. It’s not the accent he’s focused on anyway. Tim’s parents become inquisitive only when they know Tim is hiding something important from them which is almost never. The silence on the other end of the phone is unnerving. “La fille, who is she?” Tim falls silent, he’s not entirely surprised this is the question his father needed to ask him right this moment. Tim itches the back of his neck as rain begins to drizzle down, Tim takes this opportunity to abort the call. “Dad? Dad? Sorry I can’t hear you.” Tim says, before faking a bad signal and hanging up. He feels guilty but he’s not ready to answer his dads question.

He was supposed to be walking to your small condo today, but clearly the rain has other plans as Tim stands a porch soaked to the bone.

Normally Tim would drive but his car is too easily recognizable and it’s easier for him to disguise himself when he’s walking. His teeth chatter as his phone rings, he’s not at all surprised when he sees your name pop up on the screen. “Tim where are you? You’re going to get sick out there.” Your voice is thick with concern. It makes the corners of Tim’s mouth quirk up. Checking the closest street sign Tim signs, “still a few blocks away.” He says but is cut off when he hears your keys rattling. Seeing the streets flowing with a few inches of water as the rain begins to downpour, Tim’s voice is a little more worried than he intended when he spoke again. “No it’s way too dangerous for you to drive.” He protests but when he hears your front door shut he knows arguing with you is pointless. Tim slides his phone back into his pocket when he sees a bolt of lightning flash across the sky, luckily it should only take you a few minutes to reach him.

With a flash of your headlights, Tim jogs to the passenger side of your car.

His teeth are chattering hard and his wet hair clings to his forehead. There’s a healthy shade of rosy pink on his cheeks as he shudders when the heat hits him. “If you get sick I’m going to feel so bad for making you walk.” You begin your eyes glancing over at him during the short drive back to your place. Tim reaches over the center console, his ice cold hand finding yours as he squeezes once. “D-Don’t worry ab-bout it. I’ll be f-fine.” His voice is shaky as the shattering interrupts him. You wrap your tiny but warm hand around his as the rain pounds against the windshield. You can barely see. You don’t believe that he’ll be fine, and if he gets sick his director is going to be pissed. You pull into the garage at your house, and rush him inside.

“Clothes off!” You exclaim as the two of you enter your kitchen. Tim raises an eyebrow at you, a playful smile on his face as he reaches for the button of his wet jeans. “Because they’re wet.” You sigh when he waggles his eyebrows at you. He shrugs with a wide grin on his face as you turn to get some of his clothes he’s left here from the laundry room. When you return to the kitchen, you nearly have to squeeze your thighs together at the sight before you. Tim is standing in nothing but his boxers, a towel over his head as he dries his hair. Droplets of water run down his toned chest and along his v lines. His eyes are closed as he pulls the towel away from his tousled damp strands. Tim’s eyes open and he smirks when he sees you, obviously letting your eyes trail down his body. “Can I have my clothes or are you going to stand there and check me out some more?” He teases, loving how your face blooms in a dark crimson blush. You release your vise grip on his clothes and hand them to him, your cheeks blushing even hotter when he sends a wink your way.

You felt arousal rush through your body as you watched Tim yank his shirt over his head.

Tim rolls his eyes playfully after he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and he sees you still gawking at him. He approaches you and presses a quick kiss to your lips before running his hands down your arms. While the two of you aren’t technically together, you do everything a couple does. Tim knows he could ask you and you’d say yes, but even that feels risky. It makes his chest close when he thinks about it, what you two have now is safe. It’s familiar. “Drink and movie?” He asks and you nod with a smile, moving to choose a movie as Tim heads into the kitchen to make drinks. You both feel comfortable getting a little tipsy, it’s obvious he’s going to be spending the night tonight. Even if it wasn’t raining he’d probably spend the night anyway. Tim spends more nights here than he does at his own apartment. You look through the movies, a heaviness in your chest. Why won’t he ask you to be his girlfriend? You know how you feel, you think you know how he feels. The way he acts, it seems like he really likes you.

Holding your movie choice in your hand you skip back down the stairs, seeing that Tim has set up the DVD player and is waiting on the couch.

“Whatcha pick babe?” Tim asks, popping an almond into his mouth as you kneel down to insert the disk. You smile but you don’t say anything as the DVD player reads the disk. The opening screen for ‘Call Me By Your Name’ comes on and you hear Tim groan. “It’s the only one of your movies I haven’t seen yet.” You smile as you snuggle into the couch next to him. Tim’s arm wraps around you as he keeps munching on the almond, watching the opening scene come on. “Yeah but this has sex scenes, you think I enjoy watching myself have fake sex?” Tim asks, discomfort on his face as you laugh. You reach over to take an almond from him, “I know I’ll sure enjoy it.” You smile and you feel his lips press against your head briefly. Your head rests against his chest as you take a sip of the drink he’s decided to make you. “Hm been forever since I had a gin and tonic.” You smile when you feel him squeeze you.

When you see Tim come onto the screen, you can’t help but gush over how cute he is.

“Oh Timmy! You’re so cute.” You squeal, loving how his cheeks tint pink at your complements. Tim only shakes his head at you as you continue to coo at the Tim on the screen, the only way he can get you to stop is to press his lips against yours for a short, sweet kiss. As the movie continues, you can’t stay focused. It’s not the movie, it’s a really good movie and you’re certain it’s become one of your favorites. No it’s not that it’s a bad movie, it’s the stupid adorable boy sitting next to you. You’re tired of the two of you dancing around what you really want to be, you don’t know what he’s still waiting for. Your cheek presses into his chest as you only half watch the movie. You take another big drink of your gin and tonic before resting against Tim again. Almost as though he can read your thoughts Tim pauses the movie and sits up to look at you. “What is it?” He asks, turning to sit in front of you, his legs folded. You blink as innocently as you can, but when you see the look in his eyes you know you can’t beat around the bush any longer.

“I really like you Tim, I want to be with you...it just feels like you don’t want that too.” You admit, your eyes not meeting his as you stare down at the couch. You hear a deep sigh come from Tim before he takes your hands, his thumbs rubbing along the backs of your hands. Tim reaches forward to hook a finger under your chin to bring your eyes up to meet his. He was afraid he’d make you feel this way, he never meant to. He wants you more than you could ever understand. “I want that, more than I could ever put into words. I guess I’m just afraid that if we go there, what we have will change. I don’t want this to change or to become the ‘medias’ relationship rather than our relationship.” Tim says softly, and your eyebrows pinch together.

“What do you mean?” You ask him, your hands curling around his tighter, and you see him nibble on the inside of his cheek. “When I dated Lily, she always wanted us to act a certain way for the camera. Or maybe I just felt like we needed to be different for the medias eyes. It was so much work always having to be careful about what I did with her or said to her because there were eyes on us all the time. What I have with you makes me feel so free, I don’t want that to change. I don’t want us to be poisoned by the media.” Tim says, and you can tell a huge weight has been lifted from his chest by him saying this. Your hands reach up to cup his cheeks as you pull his lips to meet yours.

“That won’t ever happen to us. We’ll be careful about the media, we’ll keep this a secret.” You reassure him as you crawl into his lap. You see the look of fear on his face beginning to melt away as he winds his arms tightly around your waist. Tim’s forehead presses firmly against yours, “so do you really want to do this, with me?” He asks and you know he isn’t joking. He’s being dead serious. You wind your arms around his neck with a smile on your face as you brush your nose against his. “I want to be yours.” You whisper and he smiles before he stands, with your legs wound around his waist. “Then be my girlfriend.” Tim whispers and instead of answering you press your lips firmly against his. He carries you up the stairs, his lips beginning to move more frantically against yours. His hands slide down your back to grab at your ass, causing you to gasp into his mouth.

He drops you unceremoniously onto the bed, his hands immediately sliding up to hook into your sleep shorts you have on. Tim’s lips pepper kisses along your collarbones and neck. Your back arches into him as you card your fingers through his damp hair, still mostly wet from the rain. Tim pulls your shorts down your legs slowly and groans softly when he sees you’re not wearing panties. He kisses his way down to the swells of your breasts. You start to lean up to remove your tank top but Tim reaches up and grabs your shirt between his hands before yanking, splitting the fabric in half. You moan as he does so, immediately pulling his head down to your chest. Tim chuckles against your skin as you arch against him, whining as his right hand slides between your bodies to toy with your clit. “God Tim,” You moan, your voice broken as you wriggle your hips against his hand. Tim’s lips latch to your nipple as he slides 2 fingers into your wet opening.

You spread your thighs wider for him as his teeth gently sink into your nipple causing you to cry out. Tim begins to quickly pump his fingers into you while whispering dirty words into the skin of your breasts. “Gonna cum all over my fingers baby?” His voice is husky and you can’t offer more than a frantic nod as he scissors his fingers open to stretch you. “Fuck Tim!” You cry out, your fingers curling around your bed sheets as he crawls down your body to latch his lips to your clit. He sucks your clit into his mouth to flick it with his tongue and as he does so you explode around his fingers but he doesn’t stop. Your eyes roll back as he continues to pleasure you, the overstimulation becoming too much. As you feel your orgasm approaching a second time Tim bites gently at your clit and it’s like a switch flips inside you, and you squirt all over him.

Your chest is heaving as Tim pulls away, quite literally covered in your cum. You blush hard as he wipes his face, his pupils dilated as he gazes down at you with a lustful smile. “Fuck baby you’ve never squirted before, you’re so sexy.” Tim growls as he leans down to press his lips against yours again, to try and kiss away your embarrassment. You feel the head of his cock nudging against your entrance and you immediately part your thighs wider to make room for him between your legs. “Mine?” Tim asks, his eyes soft as one of his hands reaches up to brush hair away from your face. “Yours.” You confirm, nuzzling your nose against his as he slowly pushes into you. With one languid thrust Tim slides all the way inside you, and you both gasp in pleasure. You press a hand to his hip to hold him deep inside you. Tim’s forehead presses against yours as he sits still inside you, “L’amour de ma vie.” He mutters, his French rolling smoothly off his lips. You smile as you press your lips to his, even though you don’t know what it means you’re sure it means something beautiful.

Tim pulls his hips back and gently slides back into you, and you see starts when he hits that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. Tim continues to slide sensually and gently into you before drawing his hips back and driving into you softly again. Your forehead stays pressed against his as both of you pant into each others mouths as you feel your high coming up on you again. “I’m gonna cum baby,” You cry out softly as you grab and claw at his shoulders. Tim continues his slow and steady pace, his lips finding the skin of your neck. With a few more swift thrusts into you, you come undone around his cock. Feeling you squeeze him Timothee groans, cumming inside you in gentle spurts.

Tim pulls out of you with a wince before rolling onto his back beside you. “What did it mean?” You ask as you turn your head to look at him. A cheeky smile crosses onto his face as he presses a kiss to your lips. “Maybe learn some French and you’ll know.” He teases and you roll your eyes as you hop up from the bed. Tim smiles as he pushes off the bed, “come on! We still haven’t finished the movie!” Your excited little voice calls from downstairs and Tim smiles while shaking his head. He doesn’t even bother to put his clothes on, you didn’t.

You really are the love of his life.

***taglist*** @irishbish @y2k-wildfire @newletas @londonmademedoit @80sangelics @swim-reaper @elisaaru

#Timothee Chalamet #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet smut #timmy chalamet #timmy chalamet imagine #timmy chalamet smut #lil timmy tim #smut #soft timmy

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3.

Chapter 37: Martin Prime

It was weird hearing his fiancé arguing with someone who sounded like him but wasn’t, Martin mused idly. Like listening to a tape he didn’t remember recording.

It was also weird, and would probably always be weird, that he could tell the difference between Jon’s voice and Past Jon’s voice, at least when he was paying attention and not overly upset. Theoretically they were the same person. Practically, they were very different, just because of what they’d both been through. Jon’s voice had just the faintest rasp to it, the lightest bit of scarring on his vocal chords from both Daisy’s knife and Jane Prentiss’ worms, and Past Jon’s voice was a tad softer, less hardened by time and circumstance. The distinction in their voices was subtle, but it was enough.

“You knew about the bullet. You should have said something to her,” Jon said, for what was at least the fifteenth time in the last week. Martin could imagine him waving his arms as he did so. “If she gets shot because she didn’t know to avoid it—”

“It wasn’t like I had an opportunity in the conversation,” Past Martin protested. “I did tell her to be careful.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jon demanded.

From the stress on you, Martin guessed he’d turned the argument on someone else, and it was Past Jon who answered. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, don’t worry, you’ll come back alive but with a ghost’s bullet in your leg that’s going to make you irrationally angry’? I did the best I could. We were recording.”

“I’ve told you before, the recorders aren’t the Eye—”

“Uh, I need to take this back to the library before it closes for the weekend,” Tim said, but it didn’t seem to make an impression on the argument that Sasha was now chiming in to.

“He’s right, you should have told her. Should have warned her against joining the Institute, too.”

“I can do that when she gets back,” Past Martin pointed out.

“I told Basira what was going on,” Sasha said.

“But not in relation to herself,” Past Jon said. Martin could imagine that being accompanied by an accusing jab of the finger, but he wasn’t going to make assumptions. “Besides, that’s different. Basira is the type to weigh all evidence and theories against her options when making a decision. Melanie’s more the type to give in to emotion, especially anger. It’s impossible to tell which way she’d go if you gave her that kind of information first. It’s very likely to make things worse.”

“Don’t you Know at me, Jonathan Sims.”

Tim made a noise imitative of a supermarket’s tannoy crackling to life. “Manager to Mr. Kettle, manager to Mr. Kettle, there’s a Ms. Pot for you on line two.”

“Would that be the pot calling the kettle back?” Martin asked. He was rewarded with a choked-off laugh from Tim’s direction, but he was pretty sure nobody else in the room heard either one of them. With a sigh, he heaved himself out of the armchair. “Want me to come with you to take that book back? This is going to take a while.”

“Sure. We’ll be back, guys.” Tim evidently directed this at the others, but again, no reaction from anyone. He sighed. “Here, give me your arm. Bringing your cane?”

“Better not, just in case we run into someone. Get me to the stairs and I should be okay.”

The sound of the argument faded into the background as they made it to the steps; Martin let go of Tim’s arm and gripped the railing instead. By leaning forward, he could anticipate when they hit a landing. “Thanks. What’s the book on, by the way?”

“Oh, it’s one of the circus books. I—I know I’m obsessing a little about it. I know the circus itself isn’t the important bit, but…I don’t know. Forewarned is forearmed, I guess.” Tim was silent for a moment. “Unless it is something about circuses that are important.”

“No, not really. Just…an excuse, I guess.” Martin tried to put into words what even Jon had never asked his opinion on; there hadn’t been much of a chance before the Unknowing, and after it there hadn’t been much of a point. “I’ve noticed that’s one of the places the Stranger is drawn to, is the entertainment industry. Not just the circus, but the theater. I-I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not the only one drawn to it. You know as well as I do the damn things overlap, like the bleed on the edge of colors.”

“Mm…hang on, I have a question, but we’re hitting the main floor. I’m gonna throw my arm around your shoulders like I’m telling you a bad joke, okay?”

“Thanks. And thanks for the warning.” Martin braced himself against the railing.

Tim’s arm came down heavily over Martin’s shoulders, and he turned his face towards him, hoping anyone passing them would assume he was engrossed in Tim’s extremely skewed sense of humor. True to his word, Tim picked up in the middle of a joke as they left the stairwell. “…the Brother Superior stands up as usual and sings, ‘Good morning, broooo-theeers.’ And all the brothers sing back, ‘Good moooor-niiiiiiing,’ except for the one little brother who’s rebelling. He sings out—”

“’Night, Martin,” a sweet, young-sounding voice called.

“Night,” Martin called back. It sounded like Manal, but he didn’t want to risk saying the wrong name and drawing attention to himself.

“Oh, hey, are you heading upstairs?” The voice got closer, and Martin and Tim drew to a halt. “This came in the mail drop for Mr. Bouchard. I meant to bring it up right away, but we got slammed with students and I forgot. Must be the first paper of the term coming up due. Can you give it to Rosie, please?”

“Sure, no problem.” Martin reached out uncertainly and—fortunately—touched a cardboard packet; he was able to grab it before it became obvious that was luck. He hoped. “Have a good night, Manal.”

“You too.”

Tim got them started walking again, continuing as he did, “Anyway, so the brother who’s rebelling sings, ‘Good eeeeeeve-niiiiiiing.’ A hush falls over the whole refectory. Brother Superior stands up, looks around the room, looks each brother in the eye, and then sings, ‘Someone chanted eveniiiiiiing…’”

Martin let out a long, protracted groan. “God, Tim, how long have you been sitting on that one?”

“Years,” Tim admitted sheepishly. “You’ve got to have the right audience for it, you know? Someone who both appreciate puns and knows enough about music to catch the reference.”

“If I could see you, I would hit you.”

“Must be my lucky day. Mind the steps.”

Martin switched the cardboard packet to his other hand in favor of the railing, and was surprised when someone tugged it away from his fingers. “Hey—”

“Sorry, should’ve warned you I was doing that,” Tim said. “I just figured it’d probably be better if I hand it off to Rosie, since…” He trailed off.

Since Martin couldn’t see her, wouldn’t know where to find her, and the last time he’d been in her office it had been…somewhat different. He tried to push the image of the top of the Panopticon out of his mind. “Yeah, probably for the best. If she’s still there.”

“She will be. Always one of the last ones out the door. Not sure how much of it is Elias keeping her to the last minute and how much of it is she doesn’t want to miss anything.” Tim paused. “Speaking of being unbearably nosy, wonder what Elias is getting from one of the Lukases that can’t be delivered in person?”

“They don’t like doing anything in person if they can help it, Tim. It’s kind of their whole…deal.” That close to Elias’ office, it didn’t feel safe to mention the Lonely out loud, or any of the fears, really. “I very much doubt we’ll find out, though.”

The railing didn’t level out—it just stopped, something Martin discovered when he almost pitched forward from abruptly not having something to lean on. He caught himself against the wall with a rather loud slap and thanked his lucky stars he’d always had a (mostly undeserved, to be honest) reputation as a klutz. Assuming anyone was still around, they’d probably just think oh, Martin tripped over his own two feet again, insofar as they thought about it at all. Rosie was probably watching, though.

That was confirmed—more or less—when Tim said in a bright, jovial voice, “Rosie! Good to see you. Can you give this to Elias? Manal asked us to bring it up.”

“Of course.” Rosie’s voice sounded just like Martin remembered it, and he curled one hand into a fist to stave off the memory of her staring up at them, face perfectly blank except for her eyes, somewhere between dazed and terrified, as she blandly asked if they had an appointment…

Not for the first time, Martin wished there had been any other way of protecting him from the Eye than by destroying his vision. Setting aside the usual, mundane difficulties that came with total blindness—difficulties any person faced with complete loss of sight would have to deal with—there was the simple fact that the last thing Martin had seen, live and in person, had been a post-apocalyptic hellscape. The last time he had seen the Institute, it had been a tower of black glass and twisted steel looming up into the stratosphere; the last time he had seen London, it had been swarming with very interested cameras and monitors and paintings of eyes; the last time he had seen the sky, it had seen him back. He could remember the way things had been before, but those last impressions were awfully powerful, and it hurt.

“Was there anything else, Tim?” Rosie asked. Martin frowned slightly. Under her voice was something eager, something…hungry. She wanted something, and he wondered what it was. He remembered Jon’s unwilling statement, where he’d talked about her constant desire for secrets—she could probably give Sasha a run for her money in terms of snooping, and no wonder Gertrude had always talked to her as if she was in the know. Was that all it was? Was she prying for secrets? Or—Martin bit his lip—was it possible she’d been taken over by the Not-Them, that she was drawn to Tim because of his Stranger mark? She sounded like he remembered, but if she were replaced in this past, would it replace his memories of the future, too?

He bit back a groan. Douglas Adams was wrong about the biggest problem to time-travel being grammatical tenses; clearly, the biggest problem was making sense out of the recursive nature of body-stealing, memory-altering creatures.

“Nope, that ought to do it. Gotta get to the library before they lock it up for the night. Have a good weekend, Rosie.” Tim knocked twice on something wooden, probably her desk, then came over and touched Martin’s arm. “Let’s go, Freckles.”

“Night, Rosie,” Martin called, because he would have before and Past Martin would too and there was no sense in making Rosie—or Elias, if he was still there—suspicious. He could imagine the false, charming smile she flashed in his direction, but there was no audible response and he didn’t expect one. Instead, he simply linked arms with Tim, let him lead him down the corridor, and prayed nobody had left a door open for him to run into.

The sensation of stepping into the library was instantly a familiar one to Martin—the feeling of stepping into a soaring, open space, but an oddly safe one—odd because of the sheer number of truly dangerous and terrifying works contained there. Any book with Jurgen Leitner’s bookplate on it was destroyed long before it got this far, of course, but even before he’d gone to the Archives, Martin had wondered if someone would be able to tell one of Leitner’s books if the bookplate was papered over or removed. Once he’d learned the truth, that Leitner had been a collector rather than the author or even the commissioner, he’d wondered how many books of power were actually in the Institute’s library. On the one hand, it didn’t seem likely that Jonah Magnus would allow any genuinely powerful books to get this far; on the other hand, it would certainly explain the library’s asinine and borderline ludicrous lending procedures.

Martin hung back by the door, sliding his hands into his pockets and hoping he was sufficiently out of the way of everyone bustling to get their assigned tasks completed so they could be out the door on time. Idly, he wondered who was on the desk. He’d usually ended up working it on Friday afternoons; everybody else hated it because, as Rebecca had once complained, there was always one person who came back with an enormous stack to return with ten minutes to go before they were supposed to clock out. Every book had to be checked against three different lists, certain inspections had to be made, and the identity of the person returning the book had to be checked twice. And it all had to be done by hand; every attempt to automate and bring in a computer had been met with catastrophic failure. Martin had actually kind of enjoyed it, especially since it usually meant he was left alone at the end of the week and could take his time, lingering over shelves and experimenting with the acoustics. If he thought he could get away with it, he might creep up here some evening after the Institute was closed and throw a few more songs into the darkness. It was different in the Archives.

“Well, hello there, Martin!”

Martin almost leapt out of his skin and whirled around, his heart pounding. “Jesus!”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” The voice was coming from roughly Martin’s height, but that was about all he could tell, that and that it was female. It had no distinctive characteristics, nothing to trigger a name in his mind. And yet, whoever owned it knew his name, which meant it was someone he should know. He’d have to bluff. “Haven’t seen you up here in a while.”

“Yeah, just—been busy,” Martin said lamely. He waved in the direction of the desk. “Kind of figured you’d be glad to see the back of me, to be honest.”

“Oh, now, why would you think that?” The woman, or at least Martin presumed it was the woman, patted him on the cheek with a soft, fleshy hand; he tried not to flinch at the unexpected touch, or the unpleasantly dry feel of her palm. “You’re such a hard worker, and always so cheerful. You’ve been missed, but I’m sure Jon appreciates having you in the Archives.”

If this was a joke, Martin didn’t think it was very funny, but he managed a smile anyway. “Well, we all had a settling-in period, but that’s in the past now. I do miss it up here sometimes, but I like being down there, too.”

“And we’re very glad to have him,” Tim said, suddenly right next to Martin. “C’mon, buddy, we’ve got a weekend to catch before it slips away…have a good one.”

“You, too, Tim. And you, Martin. Don’t be such a stranger—come back and visit us more often. We’d love to see you again.”

“Sure,” Martin said softly. “’Night.”

Tim didn’t say anything the rest of the way back down to the Archives, which Martin appreciated. Going down stairs was a hell of a lot more complicated than going up; he couldn’t lean as safely, and the kick-and-drag method was a bit less effective. It took concentration to keep from pitching forward and tumbling down the entire flight, and if he tried to spare any braincells for conversation, Martin was pretty sure he’d end up missing his footing. Tim’s hand at his elbow helped, especially since the main floor was crowded with people leaving for the day. A few called greetings to Tim, but they all ignored Martin, which was fine by him.

There was a sense, when they re-entered the Archives, of an argument put on hold, something that was confirmed when the first thing Martin heard anyone say was Jon’s voice. “What do you think, Martin?”

“Gender is a social construct, Shakespeare is overrated, and paisley is horrendously tacky no matter what color it is,” Martin replied promptly. Someone hastily turned a snigger into a cough.

“I mean, about whether or not you would have told Melanie more about what to expect in India.”

Martin felt around until he located a chair. “I think my opinion doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” Past Jon protested.

“Not in this.” Martin met Jon’s hand coming towards him and squeezed it gently. “What I would have done doesn’t have a lot of relevance here. It’s not our story anymore.”

“What?” Past Martin sounded genuinely confused. “Of course it’s—”

“I mean,” Martin said quickly, “that you’re not us and we’re not you. What I was like at this point in things isn’t anywhere near where you are, and vice versa. Same with Jon and your Jon. To be honest, I don’t even know if I would have made the effort to be friends. But at this point, things are different enough that telling you how we would do it isn’t very…efficient, I guess? It’s your story, your lives. You’re the ones shaping it. Trying to do things the way we wish we’d done it…well, if the circumstances aren’t the same, it won’t have the same outcome necessarily. You’ve got to do what you think is best.”

“That’s…a good point, actually,” Jon admitted. He sighed. “I apologize for lecturing.”

“’S all right,” Past Martin said. “Gave me a chance to stand my ground and all.”

“Which you need to do more often,” Tim said cheerfully. “Anything to boost your self-esteem.”

“Ouch, Tim, really?” The effectiveness of Sasha’s reproof was lessened by the obvious smirk in her voice.

“Yeah, okay, I probably shouldn’t have said it like that, but it’s true. I’m not completely oblivious, you know. I can put the pieces together, and from the little you’ve said about working in the library, I got the impression you thought they hated you up there. Especially Diana.”

“They did,” Past Martin protested. “The only one who ever even spoke to me directly was Diana, and even that was just to give me orders. It’s hard not to know someone hates you when their method of asking you for help is to wait until you’re in earshot and then tell someone else to ‘just leave that for Martin, he’ll fumble his way through it eventually’.”

“Did they really do that?” Jon asked quietly.

“Constantly,” Martin affirmed. “Speaking of, Tim, who the hell was that who was talking to me while you were checking that book back in? I didn’t recognize the voice.”

“Wait, seriously?” Tim said with an audible frown.

Martin sighed. “Look. Down here it’s pretty easy to tell who’s talking. You’ve all got pretty distinct voices from one another. It’s hard to tell my Jon and your Jon apart if I’m not concentrating, but there’s enough of a difference and I know you well enough to be able to figure it out, usually. But out there? If it’s not someone with a distinctive pitch or accent or speech pattern or whatever, it’s hard to tell. And something like ninety percent of the people who work here speak with the exact same voice. About all I could tell was that I was talking to a woman.”

“I guess that makes sense. Just figured you’d recognize Diana’s voice when you heard it.”

“Pretty sure I would. So who was that?”

There was a half-second’s pause before Tim said, “Diana.”

“Diana?” Martin repeated incredulously.

“You’re sure you didn’t recognize her?”

“No, and it’s not just the accent. I didn’t think the ladders got that close to where I was standing.” Martin rubbed his forehead. “God, my mental map of the library is all off now.”

Jon wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. Tim sounded bewildered. “What do ladders have to do with anything?”

“It sounded like whoever was talking to me was around my height. I mean, that could’ve been the way sound bounces in the library, but—”

“No, that’s—she is around your height. She always intimidated the hell out of me.”

Martin sighed. “Okay, I think we’re talking about two different Dianas here. Which Diana was this I was talking to?”

“Diana—what the hell is her last name? The head librarian?”

“Caxton,” Past Jon supplied.

Something cold trickled down Martin’s spine. “Describe her.”

“Uh—tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair that she usually wears piled up on top of her head, looks like a Quentin Blake illustration come to life—?”

“That’s who the artist is! I can never remember his name,” Sasha said, punctuating the remark by—from the sound of it—slamming her open hand against the desk.

“That’s not Diana Caxton,” Past Martin said decidedly. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, or why she would have told you she was, but—”

“It’s the Diana Caxton I know,” Past Jon said. “And you should, too. She was there when I took Melanie up the first time, said they missed seeing your smiling face up there.”

“Look, that’s not Diana,” Past Martin insisted. “I should know. I worked there for ten years, Jon. She’s shorter than five feet tall, her hair’s been completely silver for a while now, and she has a Korean accent. I don’t know who this woman is you’re describing, but it’s not Diana Caxton.”

Jon tensed, his arm tightening around Martin’s shoulders. Softly, he said, “I think it is now.”

There was a moment of horrible silence as that sank in. Martin had to admit that the idea of the Not-Them taking over Diana hadn’t even occurred to him. He’d just…assumed that if it was anyone, either it would be someone in Artifact Storage foolish enough to disregard the warnings or it would be Rosie. And, okay, maybe there’d been a foolish little part of him that had hoped it wouldn’t take over anyone. But somehow, the idea of it being Diana Caxton just felt wrong. It was true that she hadn’t liked him all that much when he’d worked for her, but then, he’d been unqualified and incompetent, bluffing his way along, and she’d likely had to pick up a lot of his messes. And he knew for a fact that the twice-widowed bookworm had a flock of grandchildren who adored her—he still remembered the day her youngest had come to visit, just before he’d been transferred to the Archives, and attached herself to Martin with a thousand innocent questions and bragging stories about “my Nana”. It wasn’t fair for anyone to be taken by that thing, but especially not someone like Diana.

There was a banging noise, like the Archives doors had just blown open, and Martin jumped, clutching at Jon’s arm. His first thought was that it was the Not-Diana, having realized they knew, coming to take them out. His second was that it was Elias, the jig would be up, and they would have to try and implement their plan now, and what if Jon wasn’t strong enough to do what had to be done and—

“Basira?” Sasha said, sounding somewhere between shocked and relieved. “What are you doing here?”

Oh. Martin relaxed, but not much. There was absolutely no hiding his or Jon’s presence. Past Jon sounded nervous as he said, “I can explain about—”

“Save it. I don’t care.” There was a thump and a rattle as Basira—her voice was unmistakable, too—dropped something on the desk in front of them. “Here.”

“Are those the tapes?” Past Jon asked.

“As many of them as I could get,” Basira replied.

“What happened, Basira?” Sasha’s voice was gentle, but—surprisingly—there was no static in it, even though Martin could almost feel it building in the room. It hit him, suddenly, that Sasha’s ability from the Eye didn’t enable her to ask for secrets. Only to take them. He decided to keep that particular unpleasant realization to himself for the moment. “I thought you said you were done with the Institute.”

Basira let out one of those frustrated noises Martin, unfortunately, knew all too well. “They’re covering it up. Altman’s death. Saying he was dirty. That he got stabbed in a drug deal gone wrong.”

“Wait, so the operation you went on—” Past Jon began.

“Doesn’t exist. I mean, I didn’t know Leo well, but…it’s not right. And they seemed happy enough to get me out the door.”

Someone poked at the box, if the rattle was any indication; Martin guessed it was Sasha, since she spoke again. “So why bring us the tapes?”

“Well, they’re sure as hell not going to solve Gertrude’s murder,” Basira said. “And from what you said the last time I was here, they’re probably of more use to you anyway, even if her death’s not in here. Before, I guess I had enough police in me not to steal evidence, but…”

“They’ve rather lost your loyalty,” Jon supplied softly. Martin slipped his arm around his waist and pulled him close.

“You won’t get in trouble for this, will you?” Tim asked, actually sounding concerned.

“Don’t think so. Daisy knows I’m bringing them to you. They won’t know they’re missing until they do inventory, and then only if they check the sectioned stuff.”

“Thanks, Basira,” Sasha said. “I owe you a drink or two. Just say the word.”

“Long as you promise not to talk shop,” Basira replied. “If I never hear another thing about this place…that’ll be enough for me.”

Martin heard footsteps starting to retreat across the Archives floor. Impulsively, he called out, “Basira.”

The footsteps stopped. “What?”

Martin looked in what he hoped was the right direction to look her in the eyes. “Keep her close. You’re her tether, and excuses only carry you so far.”

It was the same thing he’d said to her, once upon a time and simultaneously in a nonexistent future, loitering in the hallway of an abattoir outside an instrument room. She hadn’t wanted to listen then, and if he was honest, he hadn’t really taken his own advice all that well. He could only pray she would listen now, and that she would understand what he was talking about—and what he wasn’t saying. Don’t let your partner turn into a monster because it’s easier than saying stop.

After a moment, Basira said, her voice so soft it almost wasn’t audible, “Right.” With that, evidently, she left the Archives.

Jon pulled Martin around and wrapped him in a tight hug; Martin could feel his face pressing into his shoulder as he hugged him back. He, at least, had understood. They held each other for a moment, both hoping—despite what she’d done to them months ago—that Daisy could still be saved.

There was another rattle as someone poked at the tapes. “Where do we start?” Sasha asked.

“We go home,” Tim said firmly. “It’s Friday, and it’s past quitting time. Let’s just—let’s just go home, take the weekend to regroup, and we can come back and look through these on Monday. Maybe, um, maybe you two can go through and pick a few you think we ought to listen to.”

“Or,” Jon suggested, “we can sort them out. Gertrude labeled some but not others. If I set the blank ones aside, that might be good practice for you to sort out the color muddle. If that’s all right.”

“Either way, Tim’s right,” Past Jon said softly. “It’s late and we’re all tired. Especially…now. Let’s just go home. We’ll see you on Monday.”

Everyone wished one another goodnight, and the team departed, leaving Jon and Martin alone in the Archives. Martin waited a moment, then asked, “Do you want to start looking through them now?”

To Martin’s surprise, Jon hesitated for a minute, then said, “No. I think I want to put these in the Archivist’s office, and then I want to take a walk with my fiancé and maybe go out to dinner. What do you think of that?”

Martin smiled. He could feel himself blushing a little, but he didn’t care. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #time travel fix it au #jonmartin #gaslighting tw #canon typical stranger content #arguments tw #terrible puns cw

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ghostbustermelanieking · 4 years

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okay hear me out on this; archivist melanie au

• the major switch in this au is that melanie's encounters with war ghosts and the end of ghost hunt uk happens earlier -- right around the time gertrude dies. the other major switch is with melanie's father. who is still in ivy meadows when the corruption and john amherst comes, but he manages to survive. melanie is visiting when it happens and gets him out alive, but not before they've both encountered plenty of the corruption

• when gertrude dies, there's no obvious candidate for the archivist in elias's eyes. there's sasha, but she isn't marked by anything yet, and since gertrude wanted her, elias wants to avoid promoting her mostly out of spite. there's others who have been marked -- tim for example -- but none of them feel quite right. he transfers sasha, tim, and martin to the archives with the subtle offer of a promotion to head archivist for one of them, but he makes no promises, like he is still holding out for someone else... and then the very first week, they get a live statement for the Archives, a real one. from former ghost hunter, doubly marked by the entities already, melanie king

• melanie is as skeptical of the Institute as she is in canon, but it seems worth it to go in and give a statement. just to talk to someone who might believe her. (georgie has been telling her she should talk to SOMEONE about this, and this qualifies, right?) she hits it off with the archival staff, particularly sasha, and feels a surprising release after giving her statement. she keeps staring at the Archives, all the statements and unanswered questions -- and yes, maybe all of them arent real, but odds are that some of them are. that some of them might have answers. she definitely isn't expecting to be offered a job by the creepy apparent head of the place, but, well. she's gotten weirder offers

• melanie's primary focus in archiving is on investigation, and accrediting the various statements. she figures out the correlation between the digital and tape recordings pretty quickly, and starts disregarding any that will record digitally. and there's an even larger focus than usual on chasing down leads post-statement, something that melanie will often participate in herself. tim and sasha and martin are a little skeptical of an outsider taking a promotion that should've gone to one of them (or at least another employee), but they all warm up to each other at a decent speed. melanie and sasha hit it off to the point where melanie starts inviting her out with georgie, and then sasha starts inviting tim, and then martin, and the resentment more or less goes away after that

• melanie stays invested in war ghosts, and trying to figure out what happened with sarah baldwin (she reads the anglerfish statement and her eyes bug out when she recognizes the name from the follow up), but she latches onto figuring out other things. one of these things ends up being gertrude's disappearance. melanie has literally none of the history before she gets hired, and she gets curious after a few months, starts asking questions. sasha's able to provide the most context, having actually MET gertrude, but tim and martin have heard rumors of their own, and they end up swapping conspiracy theories for hours one night at the pub. someone throws out elias offing her. melanie can't quite let the stories go. she starts digging into gertrude's history in her spare time, wanting to put the pieces together. sasha helps her on that one, too.

• this is where jon comes in: he never works for the institute, but he stays interested in the supernatural. he also stays closer to georgie over the years, helps with research on what the ghost sometimes. this results in georgie being the only one who knows about the mr. spider incident. she ends up suggesting jon give his statement to the institute -- maybe a little reluctantly; she doesn't fully trust the institute, has seen how obsessive melanie has grown over the past few months, heard her talk about how creepy it is when she loses herself while recording statements. but she trusts melanie, and the others, and she knows they'll do proper follow up. maybe put jon's anxieties over the whole thing to rest.

• so jon goes in and gives his statement. and despite the fact that he and melanie don't see eye to eye on a lot of things (ghost hunt UK, how the institute is run, etc), he hits it off with everyone in the Institute, and seems intrigued by everything after it's all over. they promise to follow up on his statement, but there... isn't much to find. aside from a few mentions of the book on old internet forums, and a few potential missing person cases in connection, there isn't much to find. (jon's bully never reappeared, but this isn't a surprise.)

• the dead ends are disappointing, to a number of people. jon seems dissatisfied when he comes to follow up and they have nothing for him. georgie seems disappointed at the lack of clear answers. martin mentions once, to melanie, of how the statement reminds him of the carlos vittery statement, and maybe the two are connected? melanie suggests they look into it that evening.

• this time, jane prentiss doesnt follow martin home. why bother when the archivist is right there?

• georgie notices when melanie disappears; prentiss doesn't bother messaging her. she calls sasha and the others.

• georgie encourages melanie to quit after it's over, when melanie is staying in her guest room. tells her how worried she is. melanie agrees, she really does, but she isn't sure what else to do. even if she quits, the worms will still be in the institute (tim finds a nest under his desk three days after melanie gets out), and the mystery will still be there. she'll never know what happened to gertrude, never know the truth behind all these statements they've found. she wants to leave, can feel herself changing the longer she stays, but she isn't sure how she can leave

• things go pretty similarly after that. the only thing that's different is that jon feels guilty when he hears what happened to melanie, and comes by the institute to apologize. then he starts hanging around, asking sasha and tim and martin questions about statements and experiences and all of it, laughing stiffly and quietly at sasha and tim's jokes. martin sees how interested he is and actually invites him out on an investigation one night. melanie sighs and tells georgie to start inviting jon to pub night

• prentiss comes. this is the same. melanie kills the spider. she and martin and sasha end up in the storage room, tim is on the other side. tim saves melanie and martin. sasha goes up to artifact storage

• this is where things really change: sasha is taken, although she doesn't die. she's put in the table. but when the not-sasha comes up and hugs tim and martin in relief, asks worried questions, talks to the police and the employees and everyone like she is sasha... melanie still sees through it. she doesn't understand why this is happening because that is NOT SASHA. and tim and martin and georgie have no idea what she's talking about. the not-sasha just smiles at melanie when she protests and says, "don't you know me, melanie? it's just sasha. your good friend, sasha."

• melanie won't let it go. and she won't stay home and recover. she insists and insists until georgie says she believes her, and agrees to go along and help her look as long as melanie doesn't strain her leg. they go and they look in the archives one night, nearly tear it apart, and somehow they find it. the adelard dekker statement. it's the table.

• melanie tells tim and martin, but they don't believe her until she brings an axe down on the table, splits up and sends a shivering sasha tumbling down on the floor. until they are being chased with something with the face of the only sasha they'd recognize, and the real sasha is telling them again and again that it's not her

• they decide to quit, all four of them, tim and melanie still worm-scarred, tim and martin wide eyed and horrified by the way they don't recognize sasha. melanie ignores her sneaking suspicion that it won't work, ignores the sinking feeling, right up until she's standing in elias's office and he's smirking at all of them, stammering, unable to force the words out. i quit. but they can't

• melanie is furious. she shouts, she threatens, she pulls a knife on elias, but none of it works. it falls on deaf ears. no way out for any of them, even after everything

• the next morning, elias brings someone down to the archives and introduces them as a new archival assistant. it's jon, who's maybe a little eager, and certainly confused and hurt when everyone responds with horror

• elias meets melanie's eyes over her assistants' heads. he mentions how nice it will be to have someone new around, someone with experience in researching the supernatural... and what a shame it was that it couldnt be that nice young host of the what the ghost podcast

• they understand each other now. melanie grits her teeth and looks away. no way out now

#melanie king #wtgfs #tma #tma au #the magnus archives #magnuspod #i wanted to do this as a one shot and i still might but in case i cant...

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1oserjk · 4 years

Text

— full stop | 01

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a series.

a messy divorce, unrequited feelings, and a five year old.

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... ⇋ 02

x full stop masterlist | x masterlist

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full stop | 01: he’s late

When you received the call that your daughter had been the last student in the school to be picked up, your heart slowed to a rate of disappointment - mainly to jungkook and to yourself for even trusting that he’d have his shit together far enough to be able to pick up his own daughter he barely managed to make time for.

It was the third time this week for your ex husband to be late. At least for you, it wasn’t a surprise - he’s done this plenty of times during your marriage and even after, today being one of the prime examples of it.

There’s a skip to your daughter’s step as she grapples onto your arm. Yeona is a bit clumsy with her walk but nevertheless giddy when she crosses the street with you. “Did you have a fun day today?” You excitedly ask.

“Yeah!” She perks. “We painted with our fingers today!” Your nose scrunches in adoration when you hear the small lisp she accumulated from having the two of her front teeth she lost simultaneously two weeks ago. When you look down at her, the bright vest she fists tightly almost takes your eyes out completely.

Lately, she’s been really obsessed with dressing herself in a monochromatic theme. Each day of the week was a new color. She claimed that she wanted to match the sun today when she practically busted through your bedroom - and with your groggy state, you managed to mumble out a questionable yes. And thus, became the bright yellow themed outfit she proudly wore that almost resembled a traffic cone.

You gasp with feigned shock, “You did?”

It only eggs her on to describe in full detail, “Yes! My teacher even complimented mine! Only mine!”

“Really?” You reach out to slide a thumb over her soft cheek and you gush proudly, “My talented baby.”

She bursts into giggles when you fully bend down to poke a few times at her tummy. Her small but strong arms do a great job at wrapping around your neck so she could smother her nose in your gentle scent. Your fingers massage at your scalp and drag all the way down through the length of her hair, deciding on the side that she’d need a trim soon from how long it’d been getting.

When she finally reaches up for air, she giddily goes to tell you more. “I told Mrs. Kim that daddy was an artist too and she said that I’ll be able to take it home tomorrow so he could see. I want to show daddy what I made, can I?”

Your throat constricts at the mention of her father and your eyes can’t help but widen. Fortunately, before she can notice the shift in your emotions, everything slowly loosens when you catch her hopeful expression.

Brushing through her hair one last time, you assure, “Sweetie, it’s always okay to show daddy. You know he loves you, right?”

“I know,” she smiles thoroughly. “I love him too.”

You give her a big kiss on the cheek, “I’m glad, baby.” Pointing to the car, you prompt, “Why don’t we go home now? Your tablet is inside.” She brightens at that, slipping herself inside of the back of the car.

When you finally get yourself situated inside with the air conditioning pumped up and the radio playing mindlessly in the background, you get a call.

You eye the mirror above your head to cautiously watch your daughter. Being too absorbed in whatever toy unboxing video she watched, you doubted she’d pay any mind to your beckoning conversation with Jungkook.

So you answer with a sigh, “Hey.”

“I know I’m late,” he starts. “And I’m so fucking sorry.”

“You’ve said the exact same thing the two other times this week, Jungkook,” you exhaustedly remind. “All I ask from you is to be present enough to pick her up towards the end of the week.”

“I know,” he sighs in regret. “I know, and I promise-“

“Look,” you interrupt. “Stop by my place and we can talk about it there. I can’t keep arguing over the phone, not when she’s here.”

“Yeah,” he quickly agrees. “Of course, I’ll be there.”

You stare up at your ex husband, long locks that were close to caressing the top of his cheekbones with a tattooed arm and knuckles.

Even with all of the intimidating piercings and dark clothing he carried himself with, Jeon Jungkook looks the same as the last time he stopped by to visit: young and boyish. And it seemed to be two characteristics you deemed as hard to get rid of, not when he looked this good.

Your hand tightens immediately around the knob when you meet eyes.

“Hey,” he breathes out.

“Hi,” you quietly manage to say back.

“Can I..” He looks around some more, asking for entrance. Opening the door wide enough to get his bulky body in, you shuffle behind it, “Go ahead.”

He strides to the couch, “Is Yeonie here?”

Your arms crossed protectively against your chest while you trail behind him. “Yeah. She’s taking a nap, though.”

His expression drops disappointedly, “That’s too bad, I’ve missed her.”

You laugh fakely at that, “Enough to miss three days of perfectly fine time to spend with her? That’s rich.”

His eyes close to blink harshly a few times, “_____..”

“If no one says anything eventually, I don’t even think you’d be able to get it.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes again. “It’s been crazy with my schedule.”

You scoff, “And you don’t think mine isn’t?”

He stares back with guilt.

“I’m a nurse, Jungkook. I can’t keep requesting to leave so early when my shifts just started! All of my colleagues look at me like I’m a kicked puppy when all I want to do is scream that I have a perfectly good father for Yeona, but I can’t,” your voice wavers. “Because you’re not there to prove it.”

He sighs with a shuddering breath, resting his forearms against his thighs and dropping his head forward. “I’m sorry.”

Running a hand through your hair, your other catches the cushion behind you when you lean back tiredly.

“You know,” you begin slowly. “She finger painted today.”

He looks up with softened eyes, “She did?”

You nod. “She’s waiting to finish tomorrow so she could show you - even bragged about how you were an artist.” Your eyes can’t help but loom down to his arms and each design you used to kiss down on, now they sit there, glaring instead of holding any welcoming values - like it wasn’t your home anymore - and they were right, it wasn’t.

He chuckles lowly. “That’s my girl.”

“Jungkook..” You whisper. His eyes shot up, almost with a hopeful expression, begging for you to say something about you - anything. He hasn’t had much of a chance to ask about how you were doing these days, he doubts you’d open up enough to even give him the chance. Everything had shifted now. Things were different. “She misses you.”

“I - I miss her too.” Then, he buries his face in the palms of his hands, cursing at himself for being bad at the one job he had for himself: to be a good father. “_____, I miss her so damn much,” he manages to confess out to you and your heart starts to drag heavy. You knew fully well on how much Jungkook liked to pick at his mistakes. He wouldn’t let go until he knew he’s done morally right to prove it.

“Hey..” You lead a hand up to his shoulder and you press down comfortingly. “I know your sad about not being there, and I know I’ve given you a hard time about it - but I’ll always forgive you.”

That was the thing. You’ve always forgiven him. Every single time he managed to fuck up in any sort of way, after all of the yelling, the lecture, and the tension - you still gave him the chance to try again.

He slowly picks his head up from out of his hands and he can’t help but lean more into your touch. Your thumb was unconsciously rubbing to ease the tension in his shoulders and you don’t stop until he’s given you a look you can’t decipher. Whatever it was, it was too weird for you to stay like that.

Your throat clears, “Stay for dinner?”

His forehead creases as his eyebrows furrow, “I - Huh?”

You’re confused also, as if your reasoning for the offer wasn’t obvious, “Don’t you want to see Yeonie now?”

It felt like cold water had slapped him in the face, bringing him back to reality that you weren’t inviting him for yourself, but he’d take the chance anyway, “Oh - Oh! Yeah, of course.”

You stare oddly when you slowly stretch your legs to stand up, “Why don’t you stay here while I wake her up..”

He’s quick to stand with you, “Actually - Uh - I was wondering if I could come with? If I could wake her up too..?”

You blink. “Oh, sure! It’s - Er - This way,” as if he doesn’t know the layout of the house he used to live in, of course he knew where his daughter’s room was.

You rush up the stairs with reddened cheeks, something you were glad Jungkook couldn’t see.

The bright white LED lights blink at her door with the words Yeona written across a painted board Jungkook had the chance of designing. You personally asked him to.

When the door is opened up, you’re both met with the same room Yeona loved to call her own. Especially when daddy took a big part of it.

“Same as always,” you whisper to him.

The bedroom is painted in all white, except for one particular wall she saved for her father. He stares at the wall opposite from her bed that was painted all up in flowers.

His footsteps are quiet when he lands himself on the other side of the room, tracing his fingers across the lines of some of the lilies and roses. All different types of breeds of flowers take up the whole wall, being approved by the princess herself of course when Jungkook presented her a book full of them, letting her choose to her desire on all of the flowers she wanted shown.

However, there was a spot saved for you. A small part of a cherry blossom tree was drawn delicately on the left corner where the window had the chance of letting sun shine through it, as if it’d become real enough to sprout through the walls and outside if anybody had the imagination to believe in it enough. Actually, you had drawn it after one time he found sketch papers full of soft colorings of it on his desk, claiming yourself that it was the only thing you were decent at drawing at.

You lacked in knowledge to realize that the time that you were together with Jungkook, he saved a corner of the room for you to blossom in by your own fingers.

“I don’t think she’ll ever grow out of this room,” you let out a small laugh, “she loves it too much.”

“I’m glad,” he says with a smile turned to you. You curse the way your heart picks up all over again. “Though I might have to come back some time to retrace some of the lines — they’re fading.” They weren’t, but it’d be a good enough excuse for him to come by again.

“I think she’d like that.” You weren’t sure if you were speaking more for yourself or for you daughter. “Even better if she could help.”

“Oh, definitely,” he’s quick to say. “With those talented little hands of hers made with my DNA? Definitely.”

You snort, “She’s mine too, you dork.”

He knew that very well too, every single time he looked into the eyes of Yeona, he saw you.

“Yeah,” he stares. “She is.”

You deliver the same intensity back and managed to get lost in some of the depth of his orbs, falling back in the state you hated to be in. You couldn’t help it. At least, not right now.

“Mommy?” A small voice calls out, and you rip yourself away from his gaze, letting your eyes fall back to your groggy daughter. You both go to rush in to the shriveled sheets and the small frazzled body.

You can’t help but giggle seeing most of her hair stick up just from a small little nap and go to brush it down for her sake. She smacks her lips tiredly, not even noticing the tall figure standing right beside you.

Finally, her eyes go to open and she stares for a few seconds before widening.

“Is it my birthday?”

It’s silent before Jungkook bursts into chuckles.

“Baby, what are you talking about?” You laugh, cradling her closely to your chest. “Daddy is just here for dinner.”

She’s still confused, “So it is my birthday?”

You cackle, “Sweetie, no. He’s just here for a visit. Right, Daddy?”

Your head tunes up and you find Jungkook with wide eyes. You tilt your head curiously until you gasp in sudden realization.

You’ve just called your ex-husband, Daddy.

Sure, you’ll indirectly name Jungkook as “daddy” a few times but never ever have you ever gone out of your way to call him it directly. This was new to both of you.

Clearing your throat, you pinch at the side of his thigh until he hisses, “Right?”

“Ah! - Y-Yes baby, I’m here. Daddy’s here,” he adds to push annoyingly and if it weren’t for the five year old clinging onto you so tightly, you would’ve kicked at his ankle harshly.

“So why don’t you tell da-“ Your throat automatically clears when you manage to catch yourself and he snickers. “Dad all about your day while I go and look at what we have that I can cook, okay?”

She nods eagerly.

Before you can even reach out the door, you hear Yeona call excitedly, “Daddy, I’ve missed you!” When you turn, you find her whole body wrapped around one of his legs.

You look one last time with a smile while he settles her back onto the bed to deliver tickles and kisses.

You’ve missed this.

After dinner, the couch was quickly occupied by the two who pleaded to watch a movie to make Jungkook’s stay a little longer. However, you didn’t join the movie time Jungkook suddenly offered. Your plan was to stay behind and clean up while they spent some more time together. After, you’d stay in your room until they finished.

Jungkook didn’t allow any of that, patting the spot next to him for you to come sit with. You hesitated with arms that hugged yourself protectively.

Shaking your head, you give him a polite smile while it only furthers the confusion for him, “I better go clean.”

Quickly rushing to the kitchen, you make a good effort at scrubbing aggressively on the dishes that were left out.

It took you a year to finally get over him, to convince yourself that your divorce was the right thing to do, but every time you land yourself in a situation that involves him, your feelings completely revert back to your younger and oblivious self.

Even all the way from today, he still continues to make mistakes somehow and in some frustrating way.

In all honesty, You could’ve made it harder on him, put some boundaries and leave him wallowing in his own guilt, however he was Yeona’s father, the absolute light of her life. You wouldn't dare take that away from her.

You didn’t have the time or ability to be selfish in this situation. So you’d do what you do everyday, letting him completely bombard your life with the sole thought of the both of you - together.

It was close to nine when Yeona felt drowsy. She waited until the movie credits rolled before she allowed herself to close her eyes, which was perfect since it was close to her bedtime anyway.

He calls your name when he doesn’t find you at first, searching through your bedroom.

“In here!” Your voice muffled between the walls.

He has to walk a little further towards your walk-in closet to find you sitting on the ground, feet tucked underneath you, putting away the clothes you’ve just folded. You’ve slipped on something more comfortable during the time of your own, a simple hoodie that was most likely three times larger than you that reached just the tops of your thighs. His eyes narrow on the back, a stubborn stain he remembers putting on the hoodie he coincidentally left here. Whatever it was, he doesn’t mention it. You looked too good in it to disrupt the fact that it was his. He doesn’t mind anyway.

His dense boots clunk on the surface as he lets out an airy laugh, “She’s knocked out.”

Your back twists to face his towering form who leans close to the door.

“Oh, I should bring her up.” A hand stops you from getting up.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “She’s already in her room.”

“Oh,” you slump back down. “She must’ve been clinging onto you, huh.”

He chuckles again, “Yeah, she was practically wrapped around my hip.”

Your eyes crinkle when you let out a soft laugh, and for some reason, it takes some of the weight off his shoulders.

“I wrapped up some of the stew we had tonight for you to take back.”

“There was a lot of leftovers though? I’m not sure if I could finish-“

You tsk, “It’s for you and the boys. It’s enough food for everybody in the shop.”

There’s a twinkle in his eye. Always so selfless, taking care of everybody without even realizing it. You didn’t have to make dinner for him tonight. You didn’t have to let him stay here. You didn’t have to pack everything up for him and his friends. You didn’t have to do anything, Yet you did everything.

“I’m glad you came,” you say honestly, interrupting his loaded thoughts of how angelic you truly were, and if Yoongi were here, he’d smack him behind the head for being so stupid in losing someone like you. “She likes it when you come.”

His hands dig into his pockets and he rubs at his fingers unconsciously in a nervous manner, “I - uh - Then I should come by more often.”

Shrugging you pick up a shirt to fold. Neatly, your hands are quick with the piece and it stirs something within him. For two reasons actually. The domesticity and feeling — but also for the fact that Jungkook went crazy about laundry, weirdly enough. You did everything right.

“You’re welcome anytime - You’ve always been.”

His heart goes erratic. Why was it so easy for you to say such things like that?

“I was actually planning to ask why you didn’t join us for the movie - Yeona would’ve liked it.”

It takes you a while to answer. Standing with a huge bundle of Yeona’s clothes to set on the bed to put away for later, you walk further into the room while Jungkook meekly follows. You huff tiredly when they’re all laid out. When you meet eyes with Jungkook who waits patiently, your cheeks puff out. “I just - I don’t want to give her any ideas — about us.”

“Oh,” is all he says with downcast eyes.

“Yeah, it’s better after what we put her through when we said we’d be divorcing - you know? It’s just better for all of us so things don’t get messy and she doesn’t assume anything crazy, like we’d get back together or something.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. He hated the way you said it, absolutely despised it. Like it’d be impossible — but was it?

He tentatively takes a look around, spotting any changes you might’ve made ever since he moved out. You’ve changed the bed sheets and curtain colors, but you’ve always done that when the seasons changed. There’s a candle being burned on top of the nightstand that used to be his. He remembers a time when you’d specifically let him know that the other side was definitely yours. But oddly enough, there’s more pillows on where he used to lay.

You’d never let him know that it was only a lame way to mimic some warmth on the other side. Hence the stupid candles and pillows. In short, you were lonely and touch deprived.

Rubbing up your own sides, you prompt, “Anyway, you should go home now. It’s getting late.”

Checking the watch that adorned his wrist, it was indeed. He needed to head back before the tattoo shop closed to finish some of his sketches that needed to be done this week.

“Yeah, I - uh - I guess I’ll see you soon?”

You smile, “Definitely.”

“Well then.. Have a good night.”

No goodbye kiss, no hug, and no confessions to be made. It was simply, real life. Unfortunately so.

“Goodnight, Jungkook.”

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pls give this couple lotz o love. they r dumb n clueless but aren’t we all.

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#full stop #mine #bts #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jungkook #jungkook scenarios #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble

901 notes · View notes

superboyz · 4 years

Text

clone/human error (timkon)

in which Damian plays inadvertent match maker but only so Tim will stop being such an embarrassment.

--------------------

Damian’s mind had drifted off, brow furrowed and hunched in his patented thinking position. How long had he been staring at the same words? But he couldn’t stop puzzling over the odd behavior he had witnessed- a kind tone of voice shocked him out of it.

“What?”

Grayson leaned over the back of the chair and began reading the screen, “what’re you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” he responded, a gut reaction. But he soon thought better of it: Dick understood that some actions that might seem normal to other people were incomprehensible to a thirteen year old ex-assassin- no judgement if Damian asked. And he was sometimes the only one who could make sense of Tim’s actions like the time he had starting investigating the Illuminati and filled a board with red string and pictures of the Denver airport, Dick knew that it was time to feed him and put him to bed.

He cleared his throat and waited until Dick’s eyes were fixed on him expectantly before asking, “Drake, and that kryptonian clone… I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, Timmy and Conner- understand what?”

“Well,” he had to remind himself that Dick wouldn’t reprimand him for asking questions- force of habit. “Are we not supposed to acknowledge- is father-“ it was odd for him to stumble over his words, even more odd that Grayson was looking at him with a very confused expression.

“I’m missing something Damian.”

“Well,” he started impatiently, “I asked Jon about them, and he claimed that he was unaware they were in a relationship together. And Brown laughed, although it’s all very obvious… was I not supposed to mention it?”

Dick’s initial response didn’t help- he blinked listlessly before covering his hand with a guffaw. Damian’s face hardened and he quickly turned somber, “I wasn’t laughing at you Dami. It’s- well, Jon was right, they aren’t dating. What would make you say that it’s obvious?”

Now it was Damian’s turn to laugh, maybe Grayson was that obtuse. “Physical affection, pet names, dates, gifts: these are all signs of romantic partnership. You should know this better than me, Richard,” he admonished with a smirk.

“They’re just friends Damian.”

“He brought the clone as a date to the Christmas party,” he deadpanned.

“Not as a date per-say.”

“You would never invite Wallace to the Christmas party!”

“Exactly! Because- ... well-,” Damian smiled to see Dick falter for a few seconds. “Hmm,” he said finally, cupping his chin thoughtfully. “Good question,” he said finally.

“Well?” Damian prompted, impatient again.

“Well what?”

“Was it wrong of me to mention it? I’m aware father doesn’t allow meta-humans in Gotham, and they’ve somehow convinced people-“

Dick shook his head, "they aren’t together Dami.”

He sighed heavily, "Grayson, I find it hard to believe you already forgot our conversation of a few seconds ago-“

“They’re not dating."

“Well why not,” Damian exploded. He was even more confused than he had been before Grayson arrived, it didn’t make sense. At this rate he would never understand his peers, their actions were so counter intuitive. And just when he thought he might understand more than Grayson.

Dick laughed softly, "calm down Damian. If you care so much, why don’t you ask Tim? He’s coming home to pick up some things tomorrow.”

“I don’t care, only that it’s stupid,” he scowled as Dick continued to smile his amused smile, “and I will ask.”

“Good initiative Robin, tell me what you find,” Dick encouraged. Damian smirked ‘I will’.

-----------------

“What are you starring at me for, demon spawn?” Damian’s gaze had been unsettling him all night, and did even more when he just smiled softly when Bruce yelled a half hearted ‘knock it off!’

Tim was confined to the table until he finished his food, a childish punishment that was sure to frustrate him in addition to Damian’s tactics to unnerve him, which seemed to be doing their job. The perfect conditions to launch his attack. Tim mocked Bruce under his breath but continued to sit petulantly, just pushing the spinach and bits of chicken across his plate with his fork. More confusing to Damian than his relationship-not-relationship was the fact that anyone would want to date Drake when he had such an affinity for acting like a petulant child.

“Don’t you have anyone else to torture,” Drake mocked with a mean smile. Damian responded tactfully with a kind one which made succeeded in making Tim even more frustrated and unnerved. “Fuck off.”

Bruce yelled something else unintelligible and Alfred peeked his head in to give Tim and his plate an unimpressed look before ducking his head out again.

“I’m hoping,” he started finally, “that you can answer a question for me.”

“Are you the worst Robin?: yes. Now leave.”

“You and your Superboy,” he continued.

“What do you want with Conner, demon spawn,” Tim snarled. ‘Protective’ Damian noted, as if ticking off a mental checklist.

“The nature of your relationship seems to be… close.”

“Yeah Damian, it’s called friendship- I’m sure its completely foreign to you,” Tim sneered. He punctuated this with a bite of chicken that he chewed noisily, and with his mouth open.

“Colin and Jon are my friends,” he pointed out good-naturedly. “But we’re not as close as to use pet names,” Tim cocked an annoyed eyebrow, suddenly clued into the line of questioning, “and I don’t take them as dates to social functions.”

Tim was silent, staring levelly at Damian and taking little bites every so often. After about a minute of the stand-off Damian finally continued as if Tim had replied, “those types of things could be mis-construed by some people, some very rational people, into thinking that the two of you might be in a romantic relationship.”

“Very rational is objective,” Tim said, suddenly calm and reasonable as if he was suddenly engaged in a debate in class, “for example I would say killing people isn’t very rational, but to a little psychopath like yourself, it could seem normal to a point of being instinctive.”

Damian felt a tt of annoyance if only because he found it irrelevant and unnecessary that Tim would dredge up the past, “killing is no longer something I can justify. I haven’t done that in a long time.”

“I’ve never killed anyone ever.”

“We’re not talking about me,” Damian said, trying not to let his frustration bleed through.

“Right,” Tim said, with his mouthful of a dainty bite of spinach. He punctuated his words with his fork, “we’re talking about how you’re obsessed with me and my relationship- I’m not entitled to answer any of your questions.”

“I only have one,” Damian tongued the inside of his cheek, “and I haven’t even asked it yet.”

“Fine, what is it?"

“What are you planning to do about your feelings for him?”

You could’ve heard a pin drop. Tim stared at him, eyes comically wide, before he suddenly started choking on an invisible bite of food. Damian smiled to himself, watching as Tim seemed to flounder.

“What the hell are you talking about,” Tim eventually choked out.

“Surely you don’t think that people wouldn’t notice,” it was his turn to sneer. “Physical affection, pet names, extended amounts of time alone, together, gifts, all markers of a romantic relationship. And if that wasn’t enough you talk about him incessantly, call for him in times of emotional distress, prolonged stares, and a rational person might say that when someone dies, the obvious next step isn’t attempting to clone them.”

“You wouldn’t know how to interpret that behavior, let alone understand it,” Tim said, face livid at this read.

“Wouldn’t I? For example I can interpret Graysons caring actions towards me and understand it as brotherly love. Maybe you’re just saying that because your actions aren’t being interpreted or understood by the clone, and maybe you’re too afraid to voice them aloud. Or maybe you never realized it, which would be surprisingly idiotic even by your standards, or you have never let yourself acknowle-“

Damian was cut off by the loud sound of Tim’s chair scraping as he pushed it back. In a tense moment Tim considered his now empty dinner plate for a second before lobbing it at Damian’s head and storming off. It shattered behind Damian’s head and from upstairs Bruce swore loudly. He had gotten too off track with his line in questioning, Damian concluded, and then became annoyed with himself, he never got his question answered.

----------------------

“I just don’t understand why you’re pushing this unless, of course, you care about Timmy and want him to be happy because you’re his brother,” Grayson teased him. Damian didn’t feel the need to even justify that with a response.

“It’s just frustrating.”

“Frustrating why?”

“I find it insulting to Father that he would chose to entertain partnership with someone so stupid. And you too, Grayson.”

“Gee thanks,” Dick scoffed, “but I still don’t think that that’s the reason.”

“Think what you want," Damian said, combatively, “but I’m going to bed now.”

“Goodnight Dami.”

“Goodnight Richard." He ended the call and set his phone on his bedside table. He looked restlessly around the room. Of course Tim would choose to whine to Dick. The idiot had stormed off without even grabbing the files he came for in the first place and had to double back for them, more than that he broke a plate that had been in the Wayne family for generations- thoughtless. In hindsight Damian guessed he could’ve been less pointed, but he just wanted Timothy to realize how stupid he was being and hopefully push him in the right direction. It may even be a nice initiative, but as shown by tonight, Timothy was filled with so much spite he would sit in front of his dinner for an extra hour just because he didn’t like steamed spinach. It was embarrassing by proxy.

And hey- maybe if Timothy started dating Superboy he would come home even less. And maybe if Todd started dating his useless partner Roy Harper, he wouldn’t come home either…

Just as Damian was being lulled to sleep with the nice prospect, Titus, who was at the foot of Damian’s bed gave a start. He rushed to the open window, ears alert and eyes trained on something in the darkness.

“What is it Titus?” His ear twitched, but he wouldn’t move when Damian called for him again. Damian climbed out of bed and shuffled over to his pet, intent on making him settle on the bed so Damian could sleep without interruption but when he gazed into the night sky he could see two blurry shapes on the horizon. He shied away from the curtain on instinct but wasn’t very much afraid as Titus’ tail began to wag and he began to whine, the way he did when he saw someone he knew… Through the open window he could hear the latch to Tim’s balcony open and without any warning Krypto came sailing through the open window, immediately hyperactively jumping around the space between Damian and Titus. He tried to quiet the Superdog, giving him a hug to keep him still and shushing him, but it was no use- over the panting he couldn’t hear a thing. Krypto wriggled in his arms, trying to get to Titus or to Damian’s closet where he kept some dog treats but he kept a tight hold on the dog, straining his ears to catch the conversation next door, but it would be impossible to make out from in his room. And if he let Krypto go he would surely make enough noise to alert Bruce that Superboy was in the house and then it would all be over, whatever it was.

It was a dilemma, but ultimately Damian knew what he had to do, he had to keep the dog still. He spent a whole five minutes wrestling with the pup until he started whining and pulling Damian towards the open window. He tried to hold on but ultimately couldn’t as Krypto began to pull him off the ground. In a last ditch effort he grabbed the stupid cape the clone kept tied around his neck but it ripped with what seemed to be an earsplitting sound in contrast the the quiet night. Krypto went sailing out the window and crashed the glass balcony door, so eager to get to his owner. Damian face-palmed, there was nothing he could do now.

He walked to Tim’s door and pushed it open without knocking, but the sight inside gave him pause. Superboy was straddling Tim on the floor, the two of their faces only a inch apart and they only looked away when Damian announced himself to the two of them. “I hope it was worth it to bring that stupid dog.”

“He was only protecting me from the glass,” Tim stuttered pathetically.

“Whatever you say Drake, but father will see through that straight away if your boyfriend doesn’t leave before he gets up here.” That sentence was punctuated by Bruce’s feet thundering up the steps. Within a second both boy and dog had cleared and Tim was left laying in the middle of the floor when Bruce came barreling in.

“What the hell happened?” He didn’t even bother to grapple with which one of them did it, immediately and harshly yanking Damian around to face him.

“I’m sorry father, it was childish of me. I just wanted to give him a fright.”

“I thought you knew better than that Damian. I’m very disappointed in you- no patrol for a week.”

“Fine,” he said. If he sounded oddly compliant, or didn’t notice the way Tim looked after Damian as he padded off to his room, Bruce didn’t seem to notice.

------------------

The window was fixed within a week but by the time Christmas came around Todd not only knew about the incident months later, but kept bringing it up.

“-sent a drone to attack him in the middle of the night!” Dick didn’t even try to give the proper response to what Jason considered to be a very funny story, and just gave Damian a costly look. Grayson’s admonishments had hurt much more than Bruce’s and continued too. He almost wished had just told the Dick the truth in the moment, it would’ve even sounded more likely than the lie, but he didn’t for some reason. He just waited until Jason left to go get another glass of “adult eggnog” and avoided Tim’s eyes.

He honestly couldn’t tell if Tim was still preoccupied like the incident like Todd or if he just missed his boyfriend, but it soon was clear that the latter was the truth because Conner showed up a couple seconds later wearing a hideous ugly sweater, Tim didn’t look at Damian for the rest of the night. Their PDA had become more tolerable with time but Jon, who had tagged along, stuck out his tongue and mock retched when the clone pulled Tim in for a kiss under the mistletoe.

So his plan to get Tim out of the house had backfired, and now he had roped his stupid boyfriend into coming by too. Even if Todd became as annoying as Drake with his partner, Damian decided that he wouldn’t intervene in anymore romantic relationships, ever. Drake still wanted to rub his victory in Damian’s face however. When he got to his room in the evening the idiot had scrawled him a little ‘thank you’ on a holiday card. Damian put it in a box under his bed for safekeeping, but only so he would never have to look at it again.

#timkon #tim drake #red robin #superboy #kon-el #kon el #conner kent #timkon fanfiction #my writing #young justice #teen titans #robin #damian wayne

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bottomtimmonth2021 · 3 years

Text

Rules

Official rules for the event! Please make sure to read all of them and more important to respect them. We’re all here to have a good time, let’s make it so for everyone else too!! For any additional questions, please either send us a DM or an ask!! 1) Category of the event: This is a NSFW event focused on bottom Tim. Prompts will be sex-related. Therefore, this is an 18+ space.

2) Type of art accepted: Any type of art is accepted. You wrote a drabble fic that you shared on Twitter? Send us a link and we will share it!! Any type of art can participate, even playlists or stop motion. Make sure to use the tags, so that we can see and reblog your creations! 3) Tagging: In Twitter and Tumblr, please use both the #bottomtimmonth and #bottomtim tags. In AO3, we recommend to use the same tag (BottomTimMonth) and add your work to the future collection. If you are posting on fanfiction.net or wattpad, please send us a link and we will share it here as well! 4) Due Date: Whille the official last day of the event is September 28th, 2021, works will be accepted even after that. The AO3 collection will still be open after that date as well.

5) Pairings: This is a Tim event, so of course your main focus should be Tim in any ship of your liking. All ships are accepted as long as they are properly named and tagged. Tim/Reader or Tim/OC is also accepted, as long as you respect the role Tim is supposed to have in this event. Please avoid negative Tim content at the expense of other ships. The idea is to have Tim as your main character, so avoid submitting works where Tim is a filler character as well. 6) Dynamics accepted: As long as you follow the prompts of the bingo, Tim’s role and tag correctly your work, there is no dynamic that won’t be accepted. Role reversal, Earth 3, Bad Ending AU, everything is accepted!! Just tag them (especially dark stuff) and respect the prompts delivered in the bingo. 7) Extremely specific questions: - Can Tim be a switch in my work? No. The goal of the event is to focus on bottom Tim, so that’s the only Tim we will accept. -Can I have multiple bottoms? Yes, as long as Tim is the main one and isn’t potrayed in a negative way or compared to the others. -Are there any things forbidden? Well, besides the obvious ones, we would like to emphasize that Tim should be potrayed in positive light, which is why we ask you to be careful with sensitive subjects, such as stalker Tim, body shaming, shaming of depression symptoms and obsession related plots. We cannot forbid them, but please use them carefully and analyze them in your narrative. 8) My question wasn’t answered here! Feel free to reach out via DM, or, if it’s a question more people might have, via an ask or a submission.

Thank you! We can’t wait to see what you’ll create!!

#bottomtimmonth #bottomtim #timdrake #bottom tim #bottom tim drake #tim drake #event #event rules #rules

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welcometohellweofferimagines · 4 years

Text

DC Headcanons: Final Farewell

BATBOYS x READER | BATGIRLS x READER — LOSING THEIR S/O

REQUEST: [...] Headcanons for the Batboys and Batgirls losing their s/o to a murder? - xiaolinweretiger

sorry, i’m not familiar enough with betty and helena and duke to write for them :(

also, the only character with which the reader is of a specified gender — female — is kate. with the others, the reader is gender neutral and interpreted however you wish. xx

[sips cold tea] ah, a fresh taste of angst. lovely. 💔

[ PART ONE / TWO ]

DICK GRAYSON:

Loss isn’t foreign to him. But it doesn’t mean that it ever stops hurting.

Dick feels it keenly – the grief, the guilt. He thinks, he should have saved you. I’m not a kid. I’m not helpless anymore.

Dick sort of crumbles. For a week, he locks himself in his apartment, bedridden, dreaming of you lying beside him only to awaken alone, unable to comprehend that you, like his parents, are truly, irreversibly gone. He eats little, and sleeps too much – if only so he can hold you one last time in his sleep.

Bruce and Alfred call. And he answers none of them. His brothers send texts upon texts upon texts. Those he leaves unread as well. Nothing matters to him anymore. All he feels is pain, and when he doesn’t, he’s just numb.

Once the week is over, he’s determined to investigate your murder himself. The precinct’s Captain wants him to take more time off, and especially doesn’t want him on the case of his significant other’s homicide, but Dick can’t be swayed.

He even pulls strings, calls on Bruce and his other influential acquaintances, just to get this case.

It’s of course not just as Officer Grayson that he investigates. When night falls, he slips out and forgets his other duties as Nightwing, trusting the other vigilantes to take care of patrols, focused solely on bringing your murderers to justice.

He doesn’t sleep during this time, leaving him irritable and far more anguished. All he thinks about is you, not having been there for you, and the ones who took you from him so cruelly.

Dick doesn’t rest until he’s tracked down the murderers. Arrested, he then follows their cases so closely that his Captain tries again to send him home, worried about Dick’s obvious obsession; but again, he won’t rest until they’re behind bars for life.

Once that’s done, he kind of deflates. Once more, nothing matters. The world is numb and colourless, and Dick drifts through each day without much direction.

He still sleeps on his side of the bed. He still accidentally orders two sets of meals from your favourite Chinese restaurant. He can’t even bring himself to throw out your toothbrush. Your clothes remain in the closet, your scent long since faded from their fabric.

Dick is afraid of losing you entirely. So much so that he kind of becomes stuck.

His family is determined to help him through this. Bruce sends Alfred to stay with Dick for a few months, and although this ticks him off a little at first, he soon loses the energy to argue about it.

Then, Jason and Tim turn up. Followed by Babs. Even Damian visits on weekends. They’re all piled up in his living room, Damian and Jason fighting over the remote control, Tim and Babs attempting to coax Dick into a game of Scrabble, Alfred minding the roast in the oven.

And it doesn’t feel quite so dead in the apartment anymore.

It’s still not the same without you. It never will be. Ever.

But life cannot be static. Have no doubt that Dick will always love you. He’ll carry that with him forever, but his family will make sure that he lives his life until the end.

JASON TODD:

There’ll be hell to pay.

He’ll think it’s his fault, that he should never have dragged you into this world. His world. The guilt will overwhelm him, much like it did Bruce when he died; unlike Bruce, however, Jason will take his revenge.

He hunts down all the souls involved. His brothers, Alfred, especially Bruce, try to make him see mercy.

But Jason just can’t. You were, no, will always be the love of his life. How could he let the ones who murdered you take another breath longer than they allowed you to?

He does however leave those who were accessories to your murder inside the police station, awaiting arrest.

His family will be there for him, try to help him overcome the grief. To, for a lack of better words, “move on”.

No.

It takes a week after avenging your death for him to devise a new plan.

Jason had died too, after all. And here he is, living, breathing.

Why couldn’t you be too?

He tracks down Talia to bargain with her in order to resurrect you. Her father had done so to himself, with the aid of his followers. Surely, he reasons, she could do the same.

But Talia reminds him that it would just be your mind. That her father had planned to use Damian as a vessel. That, sometimes, some things are better left to rest.

Jason can’t stomach this. He thinks that if that’s so, he should have been left to rest too.

Because then he would never have met you. And you might still be here. And this pain he’s feeling, he wouldn’t have to carry for the rest of his life.

It’d never be the same without you. Jason insists, “I don’t care if it’s just [Y/N]’s mind. I don’t even care if [she/he/they] [doesn’t/don’t] get another body. You might not know the magic yourself, but we could find someone. If we bring [her/his/their] mind back, somehow, so that I could just talk to [Y/N]—”

Talia isn’t the heartless woman most assume she is. She can feel his pain, wonders what she would do if she lost Bruce like this too (though, she had lost him, just not to death).

“Do you not think that would be torment for [Y/N]? Would that be a life? To be trapped, as just a mind, waiting. Just to talk to you?”

It’s not until Jason lets that sink in, the thought of you suffering, the thought that he might drag you into another world of pain, that he gives in.

He’s resolved to be a better man, if just for you.

He lets his family in, lets them support him. But the hole is ever filled.

Someday, he hopes, he’ll see you again. In a world better than this one.

TIM DRAKE:

Oh boy. Tim is an astute young man who has been, and still is, a bit of a distant individual. But god, did he love you.

Sure, you’d led separate lives most of the time throughout your relationship, but it was in such a way that, although your lives were your own (Tim with his vigilantism, yours a little more mundane), you shared them together.

So now, without you, it feels like there’s a chasm. And does he blame himself for not having been there when you were attacked? Oh god, yes – he completely and utterly does.

We all know he’s a workaholic.

He sleeps even less now than he did before the murder. Not just to investigate, but also because he’s afraid – of the phantom of you, alive in his sleep, dead again when he wakes; he’d rather remain in reality, where his mind can’t trick him into believing something wonderful but untrue.

But, as time goes on, and his sleep deprivation mounts up, Tim starts seeing you everywhere. He’s clever, he knows you’re a hallucination – but it still terrifies him, because it just hurts so much, and he has no control over it.

Despite this, he’s used to the effects of sleep deprivation, and can solve a case quite easily. It’s just the emotional side to it, this time, that makes things a bit more difficult.

Life sheds purpose once he’s solved your murder. The culprits are sent to prison and, if spirits were real, he hopes yours has found some peace from this justice. But, when he returns home, silent and empty without you to welcome him in open arms, he just... breaks.

For a long time, he lives stuck in a world of regret. There’s nothing for him but guilt, that he’d been absent, not just when you’d been killed, but also during most nights at home, and even some days. He’d taken it for granted sometimes – having you and your love in his life.

And now he’s without both.

Tim will continue, he’s resilient. He’ll be Red Robin, he’ll be a good son, a nice brother, a helpful friend. But nothing will ever be the same.

He’ll hide it, though his family knows he’s smothering all his pain; until it just hurts too much.

Tim is often self-sufficient – another term that’s kinder than distant. But he’d been an orphan. He was used to being alone. He’ll shut himself off from them when he can’t bear to pretend anymore. Unable to shoo them away, however, when Jason breaks into his house with Dick and Damian, and sometimes even Alfred and Bruce in tow.

But when he is able to be alone...

You, the hallucinations of you, he’ll want to see.

No sleep for days, he’ll search for a glimpse of you in the shadows.

Until he’s so sick he collapses – and then, he can only hope you’ll be there when he dreams.

DAMIAN WAYNE:

Damian is, in a sense, traditional. He has always been cautious with his affections, and does not offer them lightly, nor often – romantic or platonic. From the moment he asked you out, he planned to be married someday.

So, for the person he sought to live the rest of his life with to die before their time, let’s just say Damian will never, ever, ever get over it.

His assassin’s instincts return. His grandfather is the Demon’s Head, that rage is familiar to him; he’ll want to burn it all down, the city, the world, to avenge what happened to you.

But he’s been with you for some time. He’ll try to battle against that instinct. To practice mercy. To serve justice, not vengeance.

Much like Jason, however, Damian wouldn’t be able to help it. He doesn’t think your murderers deserve to live.

He’ll then travel the world to find the right magic to bring you back. His family is worried sick because they haven’t heard from him for months. He’s left a trail of blood and nothing else. Each of his brothers have attempted to track him down, and one by one each fail.

No one knows why he vanished. His plans had been his own, never shared. Perhaps, deep down, it had been kept secret out of a fear of failure. Or perhaps unwanted judgment. For sure he knew they’d try to stop him, at least; insist it a madness.

When Damian returns, he is silent. No one can get him to talk. He’s gone again as soon as he’s come home. This time, however, the others can find him.

He starts at the Wayne family plot.

Your grave has been freshly dug, and the horror of finding a decomposing corpse settles in.

But, when he’s tracked down, there’s a much bigger surprise than finding him with the body of his dead beloved.

You’re alive. Albeit, a little out of sorts. And by a little, I mean a lot. Damian ignores their cries of disbelief, some of them attempting to reason that this was just plain wrong; he just turns to Jason and says, “Will you help me take [Y/N] to the Lazarus Pit? I must first find my mother.”

Jason, a little less spooked, agrees. And of course, at the sight of her son in distress (though, Damian being Damian, he tries to hide it), Talia relents as well.

It takes a long time for you to recover. There are times Talia wanted to tell Damian to just let you go. But she knows he will never give up.

At last, when you have regained your memories, and are no longer in pain, Damian weeps with joy. He proposes after a month, allowing you to recover a little longer.

He doesn’t want to take you back to Gotham. But it’s your home. And his father calls to insist that for you to be brought back to life, only to not be allowed to live it, is cruel — if that’s what he wants to do, even Talia tells him he should have just let you rest in peace.

Nothing is ever quite normal again, however. Damian is ten times more protective. The others are too, afraid of again losing both you to death and Damian to grief. Jason becomes your closet brother-in-law, as he went through a gruelling resurrection as well.

You’ve been given a second chance. Now live your life to the fullest, with the man you love.

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goldandbluesmiles · 4 years

Text

Hidden Scars

Summary: Jason brought Damian to Gotham months ago and Bruce still hasn't said anything bout introducing him tot he world. The batkids hold a little intervention on his behalf.

It doesn't go the way they planned, not at all.

TW: Talk of past physical assault and miscarriage. Assault was not between a couple.

Ao3

XXX

"So, we're doing this?" asked Stephanie

"Oh yeah," said Jason, "This has been long overdue. I came back with Damian months ago and he still hasn't introduced him to the world as his son. It's messing with Damian,"

"Bruce needs a bit of a push," said Dick, "You know how he gets,"

"And he can't ignore all of us," said Tim

"How?" asked Cassandra

"We corner him in his study when Alfred takes Damian to the store and force him to talk about his plans for Damian. That way at least he can't ignore the issue," said Jason

"I mean I wouldn't say he's been completely ignoring Damian. He spends time with him. He just doesn't say anything about how they're handling the situation," said Tim

"Maybe he doesn't want to admit he sent a kid away," muttered Jason, his Alpha growl leaking into his words

"Come on guys," said Stephanie, "That's a bit harsh. We don't know what happened,"

"He gave a kid up and won't explain why. That's pretty obvious," said Jason

"Which is why," Cut in Dick, using his position as head Alpha to get everyone to quiet down, "We're going to talk to him,"

"He's scared," said Cassandra

"Being scared doesn't give him a free pass from responsibility," said Jason

Cass didn't say anything to that.

"So we're doing this," said Stephanie

Slowly everyone nodded their agreement.

xxx

Three days later, they finally got their chance. Alfred had taken Damian to get some summer clothes to match the changing season. Dick stood with the rest of his siblings and one not-sibling-but-still-sibling in front of Bruce's study.

"Alright," he told them, "Here we go,"

Bruce was sitting in his chair, a few papers spread out in front of him. He looked up when they came in, giving them a small tired smile and Dick almost felt bad for doing this.

Almost.

"Hey," he said, "Something you need to talk about?"

"Yeah," said Dick, glancing sideways at his siblings

"Okay...?" said Bruce, "Take a seat then,"

"Nah," said Jason, "We're good, B,"

"Okay," said Bruce, coming to lean at the front of his desk, "What's this about?"

"Damian," said Jason

The smile slipped off Bruce's face, "Oh?"

"Yeah," said Tim, "You've been a little vague about what you're going to do with him,"

"It's being handled," said Bruce, "Anything else?"

"You gotta give us something more Bruce," said Stephanie

"Like I said-"

"Yeah, not good enough Bruce," said Jason, "You've been avoiding this. You haven't said anything about how you're going to introduce him to the world while it took you very little time to make a statement about the rest of us,"

Bruce stayed silent.

"Is it because you carried him yourself and then gave him up? Are you ashamed of that? Because that's not an excuse.," said Jason, "Also, what made you think that was a good idea? Giving him to the League?"

Nothing. No reaction.

"Dad?" whispered Cass, voice laced with a little bit of fear.

That got Dick's attention. If Cass could see something wrong, something was wrong.

"Bruce?" asked Dick, "Bruce, what's going on?"

Bruce took a deep breath, "It's complicated,"

"Well un-complicate it," said Jason harshly

"He's twelve years younger than you," he said, looking at Dick, "Don't you think you would have noticed?"

Dick's eyes widened, "I don't remember you being pregnant,"

"Are you saying that he's not yours cause that's a load of bullshit,"

"Jason-" started Stephanie but Bruce was already moving. He went to his desk took out a file and handed it to Jason, everyone gathered around their brother to see what was going on.

Dick as shorter then Jason and couldn't exactly get a good look from behind Tim, Cass and Steph but he saw the moment both his brothers lost colour in their faces.

"What?" whispered Jason

"What is it?" asked Dick

Tim took the file from Jason and looked at Bruce, "This says you can't have kids. And that you had a miscarriage...when you were seventeen,"

"Bruce?" whispered Stephanie, "What is this?"

"You were seven months pregnant," said Tim, "And there are a lot more injuries here. Bruce, what happened?"

"Dad?" asked Cass

"My last year of high school," said Bruce, "I got pregnant. The Alpha and I had been dating for two years. I loved him. I was happy with him. And when I got pregnant, it threw us for a loop for a while but we figured it out. His mom was supportive and Alfred was disappointed but he was supportive too. In the end, we decided that I would take some time off between school and college. I had a skipped a grade earlier which meant it wouldn't be too much of an issue in the first place,"

Bruce took a deep breath, "We were good, everything was good,"

"Then?" asked Stephanie

Bruce gave a little laugh and Dick flinched from how hysterical it sounded.

"We went out for a drive and our car was stopped around the Narrows. It wasn't really unheard of, people would stop cars that seemed like they had rich people inside and ask for money. That's what he thought was happening. We both had cash and some jewelry on us and we were ready to just give it over,"

Bruce was pacing now, his movements becoming erratic. No one made any move to stop him.

"They pulled us out of the car. They were so angry. I don't know what exactly they were angry at, maybe just the way their life was, maybe they needed someone to take it out on. They had a bat and they beat both of us. Six or seven of them I think. I don't know what happened exactly. I blacked out. I woke up in a hospital bed,"

There were tears in his eyes now. Tim carefully reached out to him but he just avoided the touch and continued his pacing.

"They told me I'd lost her, my little girl. My little Georgia Martha,"

He looked at them with shining eyes, "I was going to name her that. Georgia Martha,"

"Bruce," whispered Dick, his heart aching for the omega

"They told me her father was in a coma. He woke up two months later and we tried, you know. We tried a lot to be there for each other but it was too painful and we were so young. It just didn't work,"

He let out another little laugh.

"You know, I didn't think I would have any other kids and then you all happened and I was happy and then Jason here died and came back with that little boy in tow,"

"I can't have kids. I have heats and I have my cycle and they both hurt like a bitch," said Bruce, barely above a whisper, looking like he was about to be sick, "But I can't have kids and there's a little boy wearing my scent walking around this place,"

Dick wanted to say something, anything but all words seemed to have left him. His siblings seemed to be having the same problem because they all watched the older man while standing very still.

"Not to mention people know I can't have kids," said Bruce, carding a hand through his hair and frantically walking around the room, "There was a trial and sure it was sealed because we were minors but still there were people there. Doctors, police officers, lawyers, judges. I've told people about my condition and sure I could say that I went through treatment, and that would need fake papers and reports, but then why would I talk about not being able to have kids when I already had a kid,"

Bruce's voice kept getting higher, and his words sped up the more he talked.

"Also, where was this kid? I could say that he usually lived with his Alpha but then why should I go through the trouble of having extensive treatment to have a child just to not have them live with me. Not to mention, said Alpha would be expected to be someone close with me and Talia isn't going to be much help with that. I could say someone stole my eggs but that would put Talia in a bad light and Damian isn't going to like that. Not to mention, with the media's obsession with our family, any of these scenarios could put Damian in a bad position, especially with Talia not being able to be here,"

He finally stopped and turned to look at them.

"I don't know what to do," he said, shrugging and helplessly waving his hands around, "I don't know where to go with this, I really just don't know,"

He gestured to all of them, "So if you kids came up with some brilliant idea while planning this little intervention, I'm open!"

"Bruce," whispered Tim, "Bruce-

But Bruce just shook his head, "I need some fresh air,"

With that, he quickly walked out of the room, his footsteps going toward the gardens.

"That was unexpected," said Stephanie

"We fucked up," said Tim

"No," said Jason, throwing the file on the desk, "I fucked up. I shouldn't have pushed like that,"

"We all backed you, Jay," said Dick, still feeling it a little shaken up from the whole thing. He had never seen Bruce like that.

"Fix it," said Cass

"Yeah," said Tim, "We're going to fix it,"

xxx

Bruce was curled up in his room when he heard the knock on his door. His kids weren't masking their scent and for a second he wanted to send them away but then he figured he's avoided them enough. He had to talk to them eventually, preferably before dinner. Alfred could keep Damian oblivious for only so long.

"Come in," he called out

His kids came in one by one, Tim at the head and Cass at the back.

He should probably get up but he was having a hard time getting himself to move from the pile of blankets he had arranged around himself.

"Can we come up?" asked Dick

"Yeah," he murmured, "Come on,"

They neatly arranged themselves around him, doing their best not to disturb any of the blankets around him. Tim ended up on his right and Cass on his left. The other three took their place so he had a semi-circle of young adults around him.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I shouldn't have-

"No Bruce," said Dick, "We're sorry. There were better ways to ask for answers,"

"Still," he said, "I should have explained it without having an outburst like that,"

Cass carefully leaned against him and said, "Stressed,"

"She's right, B," said Jason, "You were stressed. A good outburst is healthy once in a while. You used to tell me that,"

Bruce chuckled, "Yeah I guess,"

"We came up with a solution though," said Tim, pulling out papers from seemingly nowhere.

Bruce felt guilt churn in his stomach, "I'm sorry for what I said, you didn't have to-"

"Oh shush Boss," said Stephanie, "it's pretty simple. Can't believe you didn't think of it,"

"Stephanie," Tim warned

"Just saying," said Stephanie and Jason snorted

Bruce smiled, "What is it?"

"When you said that thing about someone stealing your eggs I figured we could go with that but blame it on Damian's grandfather. No one would expect us to tell them their name, especially if we make it sound like Damian's Alpha didn't have a choice either. I mean it's not too far away from the truth, right? We all know Ra's drugged you that one time which corresponds with Damian 's age- and I have a hard time believing Talia was in on that. She cares about you,"

"So," said Dick, "We tell them Damian has an insane grandpa who wanted a grandchild with good genes and decided that his Alpha child and you would make a perfect baby and made it happen. You were kidnapped -much easier to fake- and Batman found you-"

"Which will make people automatically assume it was another crazy person doing experiments," added Jason, "Not that they'll be off,"

"Exactly," said Dick, "The Alpha didn't realize that the eggs that they fertilized were from someone unwilling, that story can be fine-tuned a little, we're sure Talia will go with it, it's not far from the truth anyway,"

"See," said Stephanie, "The issue is solved. You can relax,"

Bruce shook his head in amazement, "Wow. I can't believe I didn't think of Ra's,"

"It's alright," said Stephanie, "You were stressed,"

Bruce winced, "I'm so-

"If you say sorry one more time," said Jason, "Stop apologizing Bruce,"

Bruce felt fondness bubbling in his chest as he looked at every one of his children.

"I love you all so much," he whispered

They smiled back at him murmuring the words back.

"Hey Bruce," said Tim, "If you don't mind me asking, you said something about your heat and cycle hurting. What did you mean?"

Bruce thought of the best way to word his answer, "I still need to go through my heat but the scars make it hard on my body. I take suppressants but the doctors still make me have at least three heats a year to stay healthy. They said they would lessen them as I got older but for now, I'm stuck with the whole thing,"

"Damn," said Stephanie as Cass snuggled closer

"You know, B," said Dick, "You should talk to us. We're all pack and while we're your kids, we're not all actually kids anymore. You can talk to us about things that are bothering you. Not to mention you have actual adults in this pack too. Talk to them, talk to us. Don't bottle it up,"

Bruce smiled at his eldest, "I'll try. Thanks,"

"Also," said Tim, "You're going to have to talk to Damian. You don't have to tell him everything but you gotta tell him something. He knows what the League is like, just simplify everything. Let him know you didn't give him up. That's all he really wants to know. Needs to know,"

Bruce sighed. Tim was right of course. Damian deserved to know that he had never been unwanted, he just hadn't been known.

"Yeah," he said, "Yeah. I'll do that,"

Dick grinned, "Group hug!"

His kids all jumped on him and Bruce could safely put this moment in the top ten of his life.

xxx

Bruce found Damian later, sitting in his room and reading a book.

He sat up straight as soon as he noticed him standing at the door.

"Father," he said, "Is there something you need?"

"I wanted to talk to you," said Bruce, "May I sit with you?"

"You may," he said

Bruce went and sat beside him on the bed.

"I’m going to get to the point here," said Bruce, "I know you think that I gave you up to the League but it didn't happen like that,"

"Oh?"

"I can't have children," said Bruce, "Something happened when I was seventeen that rendered me unable to carry a child,"

Damian's eyes widened. The boy was smart and knew everything there was to know about the League's technology. Bruce could pinpoint the exact moment when he realized what had been done to both him and Bruce.

"I see," he said voice barely above a whisper, "Did Mother...?"

"I don't think so," said Bruce, "She has a good heart. I can't see her hurting either of us like that. I'm thinking that she probably didn't know at first and then she couldn't risk letting either of us know,"

"Ah," he said, "And now that grandfather has basically lost his mind, she wanted to make sure I wasn't anywhere close by,"

"That's what we're thinking," said Bruce

"We?" asked Damian, looking a little curious, "Have you been discussing me with the others?"

"You're siblings held a little intervention on your behalf. Told me I should explain a few things to you. Make sure you know that you're wanted here,"

"Am I?" asked Damian, looking up at him with hopeful eyes

"Oh Sweetheart," said Bruce, "Can I hug you?"

Damian nodded and Bruce pulled him close, tucking the little pup under his chin.

"You are a surprise, Damian," Bruce told him, "But then all my children were in one way or the other. The only difference with you is that you are my biological child. You have a place in my heart already and I can feel myself accepting you as Pack,"

"Really?" asked Damian

"Yes," said Bruce, "You know, I've already added one of your sweaters to the little nest on my bed,"

"Oh!" said Damian, sitting up straight, "Is that where my grey one went? I was wondering,"

Bruce smiled at him sheepishly, "Yes. Sorry about that. I should have asked,"

"It's alright Father," he said, "Maybe we could replace it every once in a while so I can keep wearing all of them,"

Bruce's heart could have burst from happiness right then, "Yes, I would like that,"

After a little while, the little pup raised his head again.

"I am glad that I get to be here, Father," said Damian

"Me too, son," murmured Bruce, giving his hair a kiss, "Me too,"

#batfamilyaobweek #bruce wayne #dick grayson #tim drake #Jason Todd #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #damian wayne #hurt/comfort #miscarriage

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wordsfromthesol · 4 years

Text

Aren't You the Bad Guy? (3/3)

Author: @wordsfromthesol Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader Summary: You are Lex Luthor’s secret daughter. Why does he keep you so hidden? Warnings: Language, suicidal thoughts, violence, blood Word Count: 2.6k Tag list: @ghost-brocolli A/N: The last part is kinda long...sorry not sorry guys. Also should I do more on this series? I’m not sure, let me know!

Part One Part Two

Several weeks passed and you had finally gotten used to the dull pain constantly in the back of your mind. You began exercising and regaining your strength, and finally made the decision it was time to leave. These boys had grown attached to you, and you to them. Which is why you had to leave, you couldn’t put them at the mercy of Lex Luthor and you knew it was only a matter of time before your father had found you. You grabbed a backpack and began to pack your things. Now how do I get out of here without tipping those idiots off. You tracked the fire escape to…Dick’s room. Of course. You slowly open the door, hoping that he’s not there. No such luck.

Dick immediately notices your backpack and calls for his brother’s aid.

“What, do you guys just sleep in your coms?”

“Doesn’t hurt when we are on a mission.”

Right, a mission. You had to keep reminding yourself that that’s how they saw you, as a mission. “Well good news then, your mission is over. Congratulations.”

“Y/N, you know that’s not –” Jason, Tim, and Damian emerged in the doorway.

“Do not expect to be leaving so abruptly Y/N.” To your, and everyone’s surprise, Damian was the first to speak.

“Dami…didn’t think you cared so.” You put your hand to your chest as you made your way to the window. You stopped short when you heard something, what is that…wait. You knew that sound, you pushed Dick out of the way and slammed your fist into the glass. You didn’t have time to notice the shocked faces around you as you turned on your heel and proceeded to push them out the window. Just as you began to climb through yourself an explosion knocked you through the window and over the railing. Am I finally free? Is it finally over? Suddenly, you felt arms around your waist as you no longer fell, but instead glided through the air. A tear fell down your face, as you realized that this was not, in fact, the end. You looked up and saw Dick, sweatpants and t-shirt, and…grappling gun. He landed the two of you on a nearby rooftop, where Jason, Tim, and Damian were already waiting.

“Y/N, what the hell?” You held your hand up towards Jason, as you walked over and sat on the ledge, watching the building you were just in crumble to the ground. Once the building was reduced to rumble you stood up to face the boys behind you. Only you watched their eyes trail down to your hand. In all the commotion, you had forgotten that you had just punched through a window. You began to pick the glass from your hand when Dick quickly approached and swatted it down.

“We will deal with it at the Manor.” He mumbled as he discarded his shirt and wrapped your hand, creating a temporary sling. He grabbed you by the waist yet again, and jumped off the ledge, only to carefully lower the two of you to the ground. His brothers followed in suit.

“Let’s go, it’s a quite a walk.”

Tim reached out to stop his eldest brother. “I have plan –” his explanation was cut short as Alfred pulled a car up to the alley and ushered them into the car. The entire ride back to the Manor was silent, and as you went to get out of the car, Dick picked you up once again. I’m getting real tired of this… but after looking at the expression on Dick’s face, you knew it was best not to protest. He carried you up the stairs and into his bathroom, placing you on the counter. He proceeded to open drawers and cabinets until a multitude of medical supplies was strewn out beside you.

“Opening the damn window would’ve been just as easy,” he mumbled. “Your hand is probably broken to pieces.”

“It feels fine,” you said as you began to curl your fingers into a fist.

Dick looked up at you in awe, but then continued with his disgruntled demeanor. “Well stop moving it as I’m trying to get all this glass out.” Finally, the last piece was pulled out and he lathered his own hands in soap and carefully cleaned the blood away from your own. Once satisfied, he covered the wounds in Neosporin and began wrapping it in gauze.

“You’re turning me into a mummy.”

“Well, maybe that would explain how your hand isn’t shattered.”

You gazed into his eyes, your own filled with sorrow and yearning to tell him everything. He continued on, “Y/N. What happened?” when you didn’t respond, he carried you over to his bed and turned to walk away. You caught his wrist with your good hand, though you were still unsure why. The look of hope he gave you melted away your uncertainties, and so you began.

“Lex, for obvious reasons, isn’t the best father.” You turned to lay on the bed, as Dick crawled beside you. “He doesn’t love in a healthy way. His manifests itself through obsessions. I guess he was obsessed with making me the best. Though, the best in what context, I’ll never understand. I was put through more physical and mental training…” you stopped and turned towards Dick, “well I guess probably as much physical training as you.” You gave a half-hearted chuckle, and instinctively drew yourself closer to him. “The physical stuff was easy, the mental stuff…to have someone in your mind, manipulating and molding it…” Dick was the one to pull you closer this time, feeling the tears against his body. “I got really good at hiding away the bad memories, the painful ones. I got really good at only showing him what I wanted him to see.”

Dick kissed your forehead and looked down at you, thinking your tale was over, “It’s okay Y/N, I’m going to do everything I can to keep you safe.”

You let out a laugh, “Oh, I wasn’t done. That’s the easy stuff to talk about…to remember.” He looked down at you with concern and worry plastered across his face. “Look, I don’t want your pity. But I’ll tell you more, if you still want to know.” He nodded, so you buried your face once again into his chest, “training was just half the battle. I never knew when I would be experimented on next, and I never knew exactly what those experiments would do. I knew about the explosion because I could hear a bomb ticking. I guess whatever Lex did to me, this latest run, allowed my hand not to break when I punched through the glass. Sometimes I…” you tried to hold back the oncoming hysteria, “I don’t know what’s actually me…and what’s property of LCORP.” With that, you broke, sobbing into the chest of a man you met a few months ago.

Dick held you tighter, “Y/N, you will always be you. Look at what you’ve overcome, look at the mind games you’ve played. All to remain you. Nothing can ever take that from you.”

You guessed you must’ve fallen asleep, as you awoke to a knock at the door and Alfred voice calling out from the other side.

“Miss Y/N? Master Dick? The family is awaiting your presence at the dinner table.”

Dick responded for the both of you, “Thanks Al, we will be right there.” Dick reluctantly loosened his grip on you, and the two of you crawled out of bed. He grabbed a t-shirt and threw it on as the two of you stalked downstairs to the dining room. You sat at the end, with Dick to your right and an empty chair to you left. An empty chair, that would not remain empty for long…as an older man strolled into the dining room. The boys all glanced nervously at each other.

“I see we have a guest,” the man ushered towards you. “Boys, do you care to explain?”

Jason, Tim, and Damian all glared at Dick. “Uhm, this is Y/N.” Dick began, conveniently leaving off your last name. “She needed our help…to escape someone from her past.”

The man looked pensively towards you, “Well, my name is Bruce. I hope my boys were able to help. Are you planning to stay long with us?”

Making sure to keep your mummified hand under the table you said, “I’m not really sure. There have been some unusual complications, but I don’t want to put your family in any danger, so I will be off as soon as I can.”

The rest of the meal was relatively silent until Bruce let out a long sigh, “Alright boys. I have been patient. Who is going to tell me the full story here? WHO is SHE?”

You stood up and brought your hands up in surrender, but before you could speak Bruce continued glaring at your hand. “What happened. I need answers now. Dick?”

You hadn’t realized Dick rose to his feet and was already standing behind you, but you answered Bruce’s question anyways. “Look, my name is Y/N Luthor. The infamous Lex Luthor is my dear old dad. Not that he’s ever done anything father-like.” Now you had let the dams open, you couldn’t stop. Dick wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest, “I have been experimented on and tortured my ENTIRE life. I just wanted some peace, I just wanted to be free.” You pulled away from Dick, “And don’t think I don’t know why you came to me. You wanted to use me to get to my father…” You felt the pain creeping back into your head, M’gann couldn’t completely get rid of it, and being in the presence of the entire batfamily was beginning to take its toll. Dick, and the rest of the boys noticed you grimace in pain, but you continued on “It wouldn’t have mattered. I don’t know anything that he does, he makes sure to wipe that clean from my memory.” You stagger backwards into Dick. “Not that he cares enough to remove the pain, or the scars.” Without thinking you rip off your shirt. “Do these look like something a FATHER would do?!”

Everyone, except Dick, stared at the scars you had accumulated, while they tried to process all the information you had just handed them. Dick just steadied you and turned you to face him.

“Y/N, you need to calm down. What is happening? I’m right here, tell me.”

“M’gann…couldn’t get rid of it all.”

“What?!” All four of the boys exclaimed in unison. Dick was the only one to continue, “You mean you’ve just been living with constant pain, why didn’t you tell me? Or…someone?”

“I’ve lived with worse,” you forced a weak smile. “I think…all of you at once…it’s just –” Dick cut you off, turning to Bruce.

“I need to get her out of here. They can explain.”

Tim and Damian immediately looked to Jason.

“What, since I’m the fuck up, I get to tell the Old Man what happened?” The boys nodded in unison. “Fine…” Jason detailed the events so far, as he came to a conclusion, Tim chimed in.

“I’m already looking into the cause of the explosion. It could just be a coincidence.”

“Considering we were there, I would highly doubt that Drake.” Tim kicked his younger brother under the table and gave him a ‘duh, but I didn’t want Dad to know that’ stare. Damian just shrugged and turned his attention back to Bruce.

“Tim, I want to know as soon as you have something on that explosion. We need to figure out if they found Y/N again, and how”

“So you are not kicking Y/N out, Father?”

“Of course not, Damian, she needs our help. She can’t control who her father is.”

***

“Y/N, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I have already put you through so much…all of you…you didn’t need to worry about this as well.”

“That’s not really fair for you to decide for me…us.”

“It doesn’t affect you.”

“It affects you, so it affects me. Stop thinking you’re in this by yourself.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? You met me, what three months ago?!”

“ARGH! Who cares how long it’s been?! God, I fucking care about you Y/N.” With that he crossed the room and wrapped you in his arms, smashing his lips to yours. “Next time, you tell me, okay?” You looked up at him and nodded.

The next morning came too quickly, you woke up enveloped in Dick’s arms, as if he was afraid you would leave in the middle of the night. Which, to be fair, you had thought about once or twice. You tried to wriggle your way out of his grasp but failed at every turn. Instead you began to think. I’m not even sure if Lex is my real father. He wouldn’t have kept me otherwise, right? Can I ever be free? I mean, he knows Bruce is Batman, and yet he’s still alive. Anything to protect his public image right. Suddenly, a realization struck you.

“He kept me hidden in case one of his experiments killed me. He never did it to protect me.”

Your words had caused Dick to stir, “What?” he questioned groggily.

“Dick. Lex, he…he kept me hidden all this time. He always told me it was so you guys didn’t come after me, trying to get to him. But that was all a lie. Everything is about his image, everything. He did it in case he accidentally killed me.”

“Uh..huh...”

“I mean it all makes sense, even if I’m not actually his daughter, if I’m connected to him in the public eye…ha! He will have lost his built-in test dummy.”

“Wait…what do you mean even if you’re not actually his daughter?”

You shrugged, “guess it’s more of hoping, I mean what father could do this to their daughter, right? Now I just need a way to get in the public eye, quickly.”

“I may have an idea.”

***

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“Look, Y/N/N, it’s the easiest way. Plus Tim already uploaded all the files he found, the ones that Lex scrubbed. Once your name is said, once you’re linked to the Wayne family…everyone will know who you are. You know you can’t come back from this.”

“Dickie, there’s no other way. Even this, I’m not sure if it will work, but hopefully it will at least make it harder for Lex to get a hold of me.”

Lights flashed as you stepped out of the limo, linking arms with Dick Grayson. You heard dozens of people shouting his name, trying to get his attention. Finally, he stopped you in front of a reporter, one you thought was a little too eager to meet him.

“Dick Grayson, don’t you look dashing this evening? Who, may I ask, is on your arm tonight?”

“Well, Melody, I’d like you to meet Y/N Luthor.” Dick gave you a quick peck to the cheek.

The reporter glanced over to her crew, her eyes demanding they look you up immediately.

“Luthor, she wouldn’t happened to be related to the famous Lex Luthor?”

This time, you spoke up, “I am, he’s my father…all the rich kids end up together, don’t we?” you shot the camera a mischievous smile before ushering Dick inside.

“That was awful” you mumbled as the two of you walked into the gala.

“But you played the camera so well, almost like you’d been in the spotlight your entire life.” Dick kissed your forehead.

“Well, I have been hiding my true self my whole life, what’s the difference, right?” The two of you made your way over to his brothers, just before you approached them, Dick turned you to face him.

“I don’t want you to have to hide, ever again.” And he planted a soft but passionate kiss on your lips.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x you #dick grayson #nightwing imagine #nighwing x reader #nightwing x you #nightwing #batboys imagine #batboys x reader #batboys fanfic #dc imagine #fanfic

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primalrageanddumbassery · 4 years

Text

But Now I’ve Come Back To Wash Out The Stains

Summary: Jon and Martin have been wandering through the Fearpocalypse for Fear Gods only know how long (cause we all know that gods are vicious two-faced pricks). One day (or what passes for a day), they happen upon an Avatar of Death who thinks that they deserve something nice and offers to bring back Sasha and Tim for twenty minutes. Or The One Where Jon and Martin Can't Stop Being Tooth-Rottingly Sweet and, Oh Yeah, Tim and Sasha Are Here Too

CONTENT WARNINGS- Existentialism Long Musings about Death Description of Death Mention of Religion-Related topics (Heaven, afterlife)

Words: 6,827

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982298

Jon took a deep, shaky breath. The door ahead of him was plain and gray with a simple black knocker. It was set in the frame of a drab little house painted completely white. There was no color around it- no grass, no trees, no bugs to decorate the dull black earth. Even the sky was clouded over here. He knew exactly what lay before him.

"Jon?" Martin's voice brought him out of his thoughts. Jon glanced up at him, trying his best to look brave. He certainly didn't feel brave, but he hoped his acting had improved since last he checked. Apparently it hadn't, as Martin reached out and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"What do you see?" Martin asked. Jon smiled, even chuckled a bit at the repetition, the familiarity.

"You. Of course, you." Martin nodded, satisfied with that answer.

"And I'm not going anywhere. Unless, of course, you have to do a statement, but even then I won't be very far away." Jon hummed happily.

"You're better than I deserve," he said. Martin chuckled.

"I must respectfully disagree, but thank you." Jon turned his eyes to the door again.

"Well, into the valley of death, I suppose." He raised his free hand to the knocker and let it fall once, the door swinging open before he could knock a second time. Jon jumped back in surprise, bumping into Martin who rested his steady hands on Jon's shoulders.

The man who had answered the door was very tall and built like a twig. He had dark brown skin, frizzy black hair pulled back into a ponytail, and wore a torn and dirty blue shirt with a red and yellow bird sporting the letters 'KU' on its side. Even with the filthiness of the apocalypse that hung around him, like everything else, he was the brightest-colored thing for miles around. His brown eyes surveyed the both of them.

"Oh. Okay," was all he said. He had an American accent. Jon glanced up at Martin.

"We're- um, we're-"

"-The Archivist and a former Avatar of the Lonely. I know. You've been well acquainted with my patron, the way I understand it," he said with a smile. Jon couldn't tell how genuine it was.

"Unfortunately, yes," he replied, hoping he betrayed no emotion. The man nodded.

"I'm Elliot," he said. "Please, come inside." Elliot disappeared inside the house. The two exchanged a look.

"He seems... okay," Jon reasoned. Martin's brow wrinkled in thought.

"Yeah. I guess he does." His eyes trailed to where Elliot had just been standing. "Well, Death isn't in a huge hurry, right? 'Cause it happens eventually? We probably won't, y'know, die in there or something... right?" Jon shrugged.

"Sound reasoning. In we go, then."

The inside of the house looked as normal as it possibly could, other than the lack of color. A small mudroom led into a sparsely decorated living room with high ceilings. Elliot gestured to a gray couch.

"Sit." It wasn't a request. They quietly complied as he took a black armchair.

"This, um, this is a bit different than most of the other domains," Martin pointed out. Elliot nodded. When he said nothing, Martin tried again. "It's not exactly what I'd expect for the domain of Death itself." At this, Elliot raised an eyebrow.

"No? How so?" Martin gestured around them.

"It's, you know, cozy. It's a home. I'd think death would be more... I don't know, dark? Gloomy?" Elliot smiled as though he'd been expecting that answer.

"The way I see it, this is just as likely a place as any to house Death. A living room for a wake. A home where somebody quietly passes in their sleep. The site of a cooking incident, fall down the stairs, a slip in the tub. There's a reason people don't want their parents living alone in their old age. It may not be a traditionally violent place, but Death knows the home just as well as anywhere else." Martin squirmed a bit. Jon grabbed his hand in a way that he hoped read as reassuringly, rather than 'wOW I'm freaked out too, babe hold my hand' (which it was).

"That's... fair enough, I suppose," Jon said.

"But enough about this place," Elliot said. "We have business." Jon's grip on Martin's hand tightened.

"W-we do?" Martin asked. Elliot nodded.

"Of course. Did you think I would just invite you in to chat? I assure you, Freeman, my patron has no shortage of Avatars. If I just wanted some company I have plenty of compatriots to choose from." Martin frowned.

"Um, no, no, my name isn't 'Freeman'. It's Martin Blackwood."

"Didn't ask for your name, Freeman, and I didn't misspeak. You're one of the few who got away from a fear. Do you know how rare you are? Sure, people touched by entities escape them every day, but to be claimed, fully claimed, and find a way to walk out..." Elliot's eyes were almost glazed in fascination. "You're a freed man. Hence, Freeman. It's a high compliment with those who see past the obsession with their patron." Martin looked lost in thought.

"Huh," he said quietly. Elliot's gaze turned to Jon.

"As I was saying, I have an offer for the two of you." Jon's eyes narrowed.

"We aren't making any deals," he said firmly. Elliot looked exhausted and annoyed, like he'd been trying to explain astrophysics to a very dull child.

"Archivist, did I say that it was a deal?" he asked slowly. Jon crossed his arms, taking his hand out of Martin's.

"You expect me to believe you're just offering us something that we'd want with no catch?" Elliot sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Something that I think you fail to grasp, although I'm not sure how, is that I'm getting anything I could want because of this apocalypse. I thrive off of the fear of death, I hope you at least understand that at this point?" He waited for Jon to reply, which he did reluctantly with a nod. "Then you understand that the fear of absolutely everyone in existence is feeling me more than well enough. This 'ruined' world that your..." He thought about it for a second."...boss is so proud of ruling is more than enough for me, my peers, and my patron to thrive off of. You'd be hard pressed to find anyone who isn't afraid to die in the apocalypse. As such, we hardly have to do anything at all to keep satisfied. So no, I don't want or need anything from you."

"Then why would you want to help us? We only just met you," Jon pointed out. Martin softly elbowed him.

"N-not that we aren't grateful for your help, of-of course," he added. Jon nodded. Elliot leaned forward, propping his elbows up on his knees.

"Simple," he said. "Pity." They frowned.

"I'm sorry?" Martin asked, incredulous.

"You heard me," Elliot said. "I've heard about the two of you, what you've been through to get here, and I gotta say- I don't envy either of you. When it comes down to it, I just feel bad for you. Like I said, you've become well acquainted with death, whether it's brushes with it yourselves or losing loved ones. While I can't permanently fix either of these, the latter I may be able to temporarily undo." Jon's eyes narrowed.

"You don't mean... you can't-" Elliot sat back in his chair.

"If you would let me finish, Archivist?" he requested. Jon's mouth closed. "Thank you. As I was going to say, all Avatars have specific skill sets that they are gifted to serve the one who claimed them, as I'm sure you know. More often than not, these skills are unique to the individual. I, personally, was given the power, for lack of a better word, to temporarily control the souls of the dead. I usually force my victims to see their loved ones at their last moments of life, especially if it was grizzly, amongst other things. Anyway, to my point- I think you two deserve something nice. As such, I will allow you each a chance to speak to anyone you please for twenty minutes, one person each. How does that sound?"

They were speechless and pale.

"I-" Jon exhaled, trying to determine his next words.

"We... we need time," Martin said. "We need to talk for a few minutes? In private?" Elliot nodded.

"Understandable, take your time." He stood up and went into another room. "Let me know when you've decided," he called, then shut the door.

They let out a collective breath.

"So," Jon said, but it was clear he didn't have anything to follow it up with.

"So," Martin agreed. They looked at each other as if the other's face might hide the answer.

"We... we have to make a decision," Jon whispered. Martin nodded, sighing.

"I mean, the obvious choice for me would be my mum, but I don't... I don't really want to see her?" he admitted, his cheeks flushing. Jon took his hands.

"Martin, that's perfectly okay. And very understandable with the way she treated you," Jon added. "You would be much better off choosing somebody who was good to you." Martin scoffed.

"Well, that narrows down the list significantly."

"Good, now it's easier to choose. I mean, obviously it's not good that your 'list' is populated by so many people who were unkind to you, I just meant-"

Martin kissed him on the cheek.

"I know what you meant, Jon, it's alright." Jon smiled.

"Let's see... oh! You could pick Tim or Sasha," he suggested. Martin's eyes lit up, but immediately dimmed.

"Oh, Jon, I couldn't pick just one of them! No, no, I'm better off picking my mum."

"You don't have to choose one, then," Jon said. Martin frowned.

"Um, yes, yes I do, remember? One each," he reminded Jon. Jon shrugged.

"Sure, but if you pick Tim and I pick Sasha, we can have both. So no, you don't have to choose just one." Martin eyed his warily.

"Jon, are you sure? Don't you have anyone you want to see?" Martin asked.

"Of course," Jon said with a shrug. "Tim and Sasha. I miss them too, you know." Martin thought about it.

"O-okay. Okay then. So... Tim and Sasha? Final decision?" Jon nodded, unable to stop a smile from creeping onto his face. Martin grinned back, feeling a little childish. "Alright. I'll go. Tell him, I mean." Jon gestured towards the door Elliot had disappeared into. As Martin went over and knocked on the door, Jon set to thinking about seeing his friends again, if he could even call them that. With a sudden chill falling over him, he remembered the state of his relationship with Tim right before he... before the Unknowing. Would Tim even be willing to talk to him? Would Sasha, after learning about what he'd done? Maybe this wasn't the best idea... well, it was too late now. Martin was excitedly telling Elliot of their decision. If nothing else, it would be worth seeing Martin happy, if only for twenty short minutes.

"So, Timothy Stoker and Sasha James, huh?" Elliot said. Jon nodded as Martin sat back down next to him, taking his hand again. "Friends of yours?"

Jon hesitated.

"Yes," Martin said firmly, seeming not to notice Jon's lack of confidence. Elliot nodded.

"Alrighty then. Now, it'll take a few minutes for them to show up, and I can only call up one at a time."

"Wait, we can't see them together?" Jon asked.

"That's not what I said," Elliot reminded him. "When both are here, you can see both together, but I have to call them separately. Does that make sense?"

"The twenty doesn't start until they're all the way here, correct?" Martin asked.

"Correct. And, just because I'm feeling strong today, I'll give you twenty minutes starting when the last one has arrived."

"Thank you," Jon said.

"Yeah, thank you so much," Martin echoed, his huge, sunshine-reminiscent smile lighting up his face and Jon's entire heart.

"Now, I'll need complete silence to do this, if you don't mind," Elliot said.

"Of course, of course," Martin said, looking around. "We'll..."

"-be in another room if that's alright?" Jon finished. Elliot nodded.

"Please. You can wait in the kitchen," he said, pointing to a wide doorway that they hadn't noticed.

"Okay, thank you," Martin repeated.

From the kitchen, they could see the back of the couch they'd been sitting on and it front of it where Elliot was kneeling, whispering things.

"How do you think it'll go?" Martin whispered. His eyes were full of so much emotion that it seemed a wonder he didn't burst on the spot.

"Truthfully, Martin? I don't know," Jon admitted. "I want it to go well so badly." Martin's kneejerk reaction was to say 'of course it will go well!', but knowing their situation, knowing who was involved in said situation, he couldn't rightly promise anything.

"Whatever happens, I'll still be here afterwards," he promised instead. That was the one thing he was positive of. "I said I'm not going anywhere and I meant it." Jon smiled as he was enveloped in a hug which he happily returned.

"I'm glad." There was a very brief silence. "Martin?"

"Yeah, Jon?"

"I love you so much. So, so, so very much," he said into Martin's jumper-clothed shoulder. Martin's arms tightened around him ever so slightly.

"I love you too, Jon. More than you know." Slowly, they pulled away. Jon glanced over at the living room and the Avatar.

"Wh- Martin! Martin, look!" he stage whispered, remembering their promised silence but still very excited. There wasn't a lot to be seen if you didn't know what you were looking for, but when you did you could tell that there was very visibly some pigment where there wasn't before. Some lilac purple in the vague shape of a skirt maybe? A hint of brown where hair could be? It might have been Jon's wishful thinking, but he swore he could make out the shape of a woman. A woman he knew he wouldn't recognize, but one that he knew he should.

"Sasha..." Martin breathed. As they watched, she slowly became clearer and clearer, although she stayed statue-still.

"I... I forgot that we didn't- we don't know what she actually looked like," Martin said softly.

"We will soon," Jon replied with a smile.

She was mostly there now. It was like looking at her without glasses on; unfocused, fuzzy, some color from one place bleeding into another. It was, Jon noticed, oddly similar to how he'd imagined her all these years. He knew what she wore, knew that her skin was light brown (courtesy of Melanie), knew her big, round glasses that took up a large percentage of her face, ones that were almost the same as Martin's (leading to plenty of 'twin' jokes from Tim). But as much as he knew about her, what she was supposed to look like, he could never even begin to picture her. This blurry, out of focus freeze-frame was the closest he really ever got. The current situation was oddly reminiscent of a dream where you're anticipating something you want more than anything, but you wake up the second before it happens. He didn't know who he was praying to, but he prayed that wasn't the case.

It was two whole, agonizing minutes before she was clear. And there she was.

"Almost done with the first one," Elliot called. He whispered one last thing, and then stepped back. She was still frozen, Jon noticed, his heart sinking.

"Why isn't she-"

"Patience, Archivist," Elliot hissed.

Sasha gasped, her eyes suddenly coming into focus.

"Wh... where am..."

"Hey, Sasha, it's okay," Martin said calmly, jumping at the chance to help. He slowly made his was towards her. She squinted at him.

"Mar...tin?"

"Yeah! Yeah, it's me!" he said, laughing a little. Tears that had been waiting for her to show pooled in his eyes immediately. Her face softened.

"Martin, what's- oof!" He bowled into her, enveloping her in one of his huge, warm hugs that almost knocked her over. His chest shook with sobs.

"Sasha, I'm so sorry we couldn't save you! We would have in a heartbeat, I swear! It's been hell since you..." He faded into sobs again. The look on her face was nothing short of confused, but she rubbed his back gently.

"Martin, it's alright, it's okay. Easy there..."

Martin pulled away when his breathing had evened out, almost a full minute later. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his jumper.

"Sorry that I'm... a mess," he chuckled. She smiled.

"It's alright, love, it's perfectly fine." Her eyes drifted around the room until they locked with Jon's.

"I'm sorry, is that- Jon? Jon Sims?" He smiled, giving a small wave.

"Hello, Sasha. It's really, really good to see you again." The double meaning of his words were lost on her.

"Good grief, your hair! Jon, your hair is so long! And almost completely gray! What on earth is going on?" Jon frowned, his brow creasing slightly.

"Do you... do you remember what happened?" he asked, keeping his voice as calm as he could. She pushed a stray strand of oak-brown hair behind her ear, as she always used to do when she was thinking. Her simple habits were so familiar that it hurt, even if the body doing her habits was alien to him.

"It's really fuzzy," she admitted. "But... the institute was attacked by Prentiss. Right?" Jon and Martin nodded. "And then we realized Tim was gone, I tried to save him, I talked to Elias, then..." Her face paled. "Oh. Oh, I remember," she said quietly. She looked at her hands. "How am I here?"

Jon gestured to Elliot, standing quietly off to the side.

"Avatar of Death. Wait, I forgot- you weren't there when we learned about-"

"I know about the Fears," she said, her expression cold. She glanced at Elliot. "Are you sure you can trust him?"

"For the most part, we think," Jon spoke up.

"Gee, thanks," Elliot said drily. "Now, do you want me to bring up your other friend or not?"

"Ah, yes. Sorry. We'll go back to the kitchen," Jon said apologetically. They led Sasha out of the living room.

"Other friend?" she asked. Martin smiled.

"He's bringing Tim back too, we get twenty minutes with you two," he explained, unable to mask his smile.

"Just... just because?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

"He said he feels sorry for us," Martin said. "And quite honestly, I'm too tired to be suspicious of him anymore. I just want to spend twenty minutes with my old friends, alright?" Sasha surveyed his face, slightly red and bordering on annoyed. Jon took his hand, rubbing his thumb over Martin's knuckles to soothe him.

"Alright, Martin, if you're sure," she said finally, offering her own smile. "Now, I haven't really gotten a good look at my boys yet." She stepped back, looking them up and down. "Wow, you two look old," she said. Jon laughed abruptly.

"Thanks, Sasha," he said with an eye roll. She watched him, clearly amused.

"And Jon, you're so much more... expressive." He smiled.

"Well, I don't have the stick up my ass anymore, so that certainly helps," he quipped. Sasha roared with laughter.

"I imagine so," she said. Martin chuckled, putting an affectionate arm around Jon's shoulders.

"He is a lot better and I'm very proud of him," he said, the love in his eyes spreading to his smile. Sasha shifted her weight to one leg and crossed her arms, but said nothing.

"Suppose he's almost done with Tim yet?" Martin asked, straining his neck to see over the couch. Sure enough, Tim was almost completely visible, but there was something different from the way Sasha had appeared. While Sasha had slowly faded into focus, it was almost like Tim was burning in reverse. Small, almost imperceptible fragments at a time, but they could still see the bizarre process. The parts of him there were frozen in a stance with his knees bent, one arm clutching his torso and the other up at an odd angle with his hand in a fist. Like he was holding something.

"Oh my," Martin breathed.

The boys knew exactly what he was supposed to be holding.

"What is he doing?" Sasha asked, squinting. Jon turned his head away, his eyes clamped shut. He subconsciously rubbed the burn on his side from the blast.

"It's... how he died," Jon said quietly. "Explosion." Sasha looked like the wind was knocked out of her.

“He- oh, Tim,” she whispered.

“So you didn’t, you know, see anything?” Martin asked. “From, like, heaven or something?” he elaborated. Sasha thought about it for a second.

“I remember… some things, but I don’t think I can tell you any of it. I mean literally, if I tried I think something bad would happen.” Martin looked a little disappointed.

“That makes sense, I suppose,” he said. She put her hand on his arm, unable to rest her hand on his shoulder due to his enormous height.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Martin. You have a while yet before you have to deal with the afterlife, I’m sure.” He laughed humorlessly, opening his mouth in what was probably a protest, but she interrupted him. “That wasn't a suggestion. I’d better not see you there anytime soon, Martin Blackwood,” she said, leaving the threat open. He shut his mouth, blushing. “And that stands for you too, Sims,” she said pointedly. Jon gave a small smile.

“We’ll certainly try,” he promised.

“Hey, you three,” Elliot said. “You’ll want to be over here when he comes to.” Sasha’s eyes lit up.

“Tim’s almost done!” she gushed. She grabbed their wrists and dragged them back into the living room. Elliot was just stepping back when they reached him.

Now that they could see him clearly, the desperate, crazy, pained, and triumphant look on his face was that much clearer. It was terrifying, in all honesty. Sasha tried not to dwell on it, instead waiting in earnest for him to come to life.

“You might back up, Sash, so you don’t overwhelm him,” Martin suggested. “Last he knew, you were dead; seeing you might be a bit of a shock.” Sasha reluctantly took a few steps back, but no more. At last, Tim gasped, looking around wildly.

“What the hell?” he muttered. His eyes caught on Sasha, softening.

“S...Sasha,” he whispered. She smiled.

“Hi, Tim,” she said softly. He searched her face almost hungrily, drinking in every detail.

“Holy shit, I’m dead,” he said finally, more to himself than anyone else. Elliot seemed to have enjoyed the last sentiment, so he piped up.

“Usually, yes, but not right now you aren’t,” he corrected. Tim squinted at him.

“And who the hell are you?” he demanded, crossing his arms.

“My name is Elliot, but what’s important to you is that I’m an Avatar of Death,” he explained. Martin stepped forward.

“He’s agreed to help us, Tim,” Martin explained. “He brought back you and Sasha for twenty minutes for us.” Tim’s eyebrows raised gently, a smile slowly growing on his face.

“Martin,” he said. Martin grinned.

"Hi, Tim." Tim's smile suddenly dimmed.

"Wait… us?" he asked, looking around until he spotted Jon. Jon seemed to shrink into himself under Tim's gaze.

"H…hi, Tim," he said quietly. Tim's expression betrayed nothing, positive or negative. It was almost worse to Jon than if he'd been outwardly angry.

Sasha frowned, looking back and forth between Jon and Tim, visibly confused. She opened her mouth to say something, but Martin caught her eye with a fierce glare and swiped his hand in front of his neck, miming to stop. Sasha closed her mouth.

"Hi, Jon," he said stiffly. Jon winced, his eyes misty.

"Look, Tim, I-I know this means nothing, but I really am-"

"Oh, save it," Tim interrupted. Jon's mouth hung open, mid sentence.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me, Sims. You've apologized before. It didn't work then, definitely isn't working now, but if we only have twenty minutes for this, there's no sense in spending it at each other's throats, right?" Jon's eyes were filled to the brim with gratefulness. And tears.

"Thank you, Tim," he said softly in disbelief. Tim shrugged slightly.

"Yeah, yeah. Just remember that you aren't off the hook. The second you get up there, it's pure spite 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, got that?" he asked. Jon chuckled, wiping his eyes.

"Yeah, yes. Yes I do." Tim lightly punched his arm. Jon fidgeted with the ends of his sleeves, smiling a small smile.

"Awww, my boys!" Sasha gushed, pulling them all into a surprise hug. "You three are such a mess without me," she cooed.

"Can't argue with that," Martin chuckled, leaning over a bit so he didn't completely tower over the five-foot-four Sasha. Jon let himself be smothered by the hug, melting into the arms of everyone around him. It had been so long, so long since he'd felt anything resembling safety, even longer still since he'd been around so many people he trusted. Martin was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him, no doubt about that, but there's only so much void one man can fill when there used to be three.

"Oh dear, Jon," Martin cooed, taking his arm from around Sasha's shoulders and using his sleeve to wipe at Jon's damp cheeks. He hadn't even realized that he had been crying.

"Oh good grief," Jon sniffled, swiping at his own eyes. "I'm s-sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright, love," Martin said softly, lightly touching his forehead to Jon's from across the hug circle. Jon smiled, letting out what was somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Tim made a sound of surprise.

"I- I'm sorry," he said, pulling out of the hug so he could gesture at his living friends dramatically. "Is that what I think it is?" Sasha chuckled, pulling away as well to look them up and down. Martin wasted no time putting one of his free arms around Jon whose eyes were slowly drying.

"I knew it!" she said, grinning. Tim turned to her, a betrayed expression on his face.

"You knew about this? And you didn't tell me?"

"To be fair, Tim, we've been reanimated for all of about three minutes. 'Hey, Tim, by the way, I think Jon and Martin are a couple' wasn't exactly at the top of my priorities." Martin let out a small chuckle. Tim turned back to them.

"So it's true then?" he demanded. Jon looked up at his much taller partner with an expression nothing short of completely in love.

"Yes, Tim," he said finally. "Martin and I are… a couple." Martin's face lit up and he planted a kiss in Jon's long, tangled hair. Tim whipped around to Sasha.

"I am so mad," he declared. Sasha raised her eyebrows.

"Tim, they look really happy together…" she pointed out, the look in her eyes a vibrant blue Tread Lightly, Stoker sign.

"Oh, I know," he said, "I've known for five years, Sash. I made a bet about it with you," he hissed, punctuating 'you' with a pointed jab into her sternum.

It was clear that he wasn't actually angry in any way, but when Tim went off about something, he went off.

"You what?" Martin demanded, his voice going up several octaves. Tim ignored him and kept going.

"And you know what, Sasha? We're dead! We don't use earth currency anymore! Meaning you can't give me the 15 pounds you owe me!"

Sasha threw her head back in laughter, her fringe bouncing. Jon made a point to remember this action. It seemed like it should look so familiar to him. It was something he knew she had done frequently when she laughed, he knew that. He decided to ask Elliot if he had any Polaroid cameras around before their twenty minutes was up.

"Seriously, you two bet on whether or not we'd get together?" Martin squeaked. Sasha smiled sheepishly.

"To be fair, Martin, you two have been at least a little bit in love for pretty much the entire time you've worked together," she pointed out. Jon thought about this.

"I… I suppose that's true," he said quietly, blushing. "On my side, at least." Martin looked down at him, brow wrinkled and mouth upturned in a disbelieving smile.

"Uh, Jon, did you even see me the first year we worked together?"

"Yeah, mate, he wasn't exactly subtle," Tim pointed out, chuckling. Jon frowned.

"Really?" he asked, looking up at Martin. Martin nodded with a small giggle. Jon hummed.

"News to me," he said. Sasha snorted.

"Martin Blackwood is morosexual, part two-hundred-and-four," Tim muttered. Jon laughed in surprise.

"Shut up, Tim!" Martin cried, trying not to laugh (and failing). Tim grinned that shit-eating grin of his.

"I'm right and I should say it." He glanced at the arm chair behind him. "Okay, was anybody going to tell me I could've been sitting down this whole time or was I just supposed to figure it for myself?" Sasha rolled her eyes, taking a seat next to him. He shifted to sitting on the arm rest so she could have the whole chair.

"Tim, it's a perfectly big chair and you have the width of a telephone pole. We could've shared," she pointed out. He shrugged.

"Curse of the bisexual, Sash; you know I can't sit correctly." Martin and Jon sat on the sofa together.

"Oh my gosh, Jon is the same," Martin interjected. Jon froze, legs already contorted into some weird version of the pretzel. Martin laughed. "Case in point." Jon pulled his ponytail over his shoulder so he could mess with it, a little embarrassed.

"Guilty as charged," he admitted with a small smile. "Sitting normally is awful." Tim waved his hands at Jon, keeping perfect eye contact with Sasha as if to say 'See? He gets it!'

"You're both weird," she said with a shrug.

"Seriously," Martin agreed. Jon gave him a playful shove. "What?" he said with a laugh. "You are!"

"To quote one of the greatest minds of our time," Tim said, promptly clearing his throat, "'We know, but hey!'" Sasha exhaled sharply in place of a laugh.

"Did you just quote John Mulaney?" she asked.

"Of course I did. I'm ashamed you had to ask."

With his own laugh, Jon recalled the week that Tim discovered John Mulaney. You were lucky to hear him say anything that wasn't a quote for at least a month afterwards. His favorites were "I said, y'know, like a liar" and "y'know those days when you're like 'this might as well happen'?", or so it seemed, as Tim used the two religiously.

"You are the only reason I know that," Sasha said, shaking her head.

"And I'm very proud of that," he returned. Suddenly, his face fell.

“Tim?” Martin asked, ready to get up if necessary.

“I just realized that Mr. Mulaney is either dead or in a fear prison,” he said quietly. “Holy shit, so is literally everybody else. Holy shit.” Jon looked at the ground. He felt Martin’s huge hand envelop his and give a gentle squeeze. It’s not your fault and you know that, the squeeze said. You were manipulated. We don’t blame you, love. Jon smiled ever so slightly, putting his head on Martin’s shoulder.

“That’s why we’re going to the panopticon. We’re gonna kill Elias," Martin said firmly. Tim looked pleasantly surprised by this.

"A- you? You, Martin Blackwood, are going to kill Elias Bouchard?"

"Jonah Magnus, actually," Jon corrected. "But yes, that's the plan." Tim whistled.

"That's some intense character development, right there," he said. Jon smirked up at Martin.

"He's been… more murder-y, of late," Jon said teasingly. Martin's jaw dropped.

"Out of context!" he cried.

"So you have been more murder-y, then?" Sasha asked, the awe visible on her face. Martin flushed red.

"In broad terms, yeah, I guess so. I have been a bit…" He sighed. "Murder-y." Tim howled with laughter. "To be fair, most of them deserve it!" Martin added.

"Most of them!" Sasha wheezed.

"He hasn't actually killed anyone yet," Jon assured them.

"Keyword- yet,"Martin muttered. Jon snorted. "When we find Simon, though-"

"Martin, we are not killing Simon Fairchild," Jon said sternly. Martin pouted.

"Oh, come on, not even a little murder?" Jon laughed abruptly.

"A little murder? Sure, I suppose, as long as you only murder him a tiny bit," Jon chuckled. Martin smirked.

"Score."

"How does one murder a little bit?" Sasha whispered to Tim.

"Frankly, Sash, I'm too afraid to ask at this point." They all erupted into laughter.

Jon had missed this more than he could say. Meaningless chatter, conversations that had no purpose other than enjoying the company of those around you. Sasha's motherly tone, Tim's easy smile… he absorbed everything around him and held them close to his heart. They were so familiar to somebody he used to be, somebody he was glad that he was not anymore. He tried to relax back into their patterns, even with his part having changed. The Jon whom Sasha never met, the changed man Tim was too hurt to see, he fit well into their little group. The old archival staff, bruised and battered and torn and traumatized, but together again.

But as hard as Jon tried to relax, he Knew their time was drawing to a close. At first he ignored it, too overwhelmed with joy to pay any mind to that itching knowledge. As the time went on, though, the voice grew louder in his head.

You have three minutes, Archivist, it hissed now, sounding like old, crinkly paper and whirring tape recorder and knowledge itself.

"Jon?" Martin asked softly, bringing him back to the present. Jon looked up tiredly.

"Three minutes," he said quietly. Martin's face fell.

"Oh." They looked at Tim and Sasha in the armchair.

"Well," Tim said grimly. "I guess we should… finish up, then." Suddenly, Jon remembered his idea about the Polaroid. He stood up abruptly.

"Hold on," he said. "Elliot! Ellioooot!" The avatar poked his head out of his office.

"I'm death, Archivist, not deaf," he deadpanned. "What do you want?"

"Do you have a Polaroid?" Jon asked timidly.

"Like, a camera?" Elliot asked. Jon nodded. Elliot thought about it for a second.

"I mean… I think so? Yeah… yeah, in my laundry room, I think."

"May I borrow it?"

"Oh, I suppose. I'll look for it, you go spend spend the rest of your time with your friends." Jon nodded.

"Thank you." He rushed back over to the three of them, locked in a hushed circle, not sure what they could possibly say that would mean enough.

"Tim, Sasha," Jon said, breaking the silence. "I- that is- I'm- I'm glad we had this," he said at last. "It meant the world to me that I was able to apologize, to… say goodbye…" He sighed deeply. "I miss you two."

"We both do," Martin added. Jon nodded.

"Yeah. I…" He took a deep breath. "I love you guys so much," he croaked, his throat tightening as he felt the tears return.

"Oh, Jon," Sasha cooed, closing her arms around him. "We love you too." Tim followed suit, then Martin. They cried, oh they cried. Everyone cried into the fabric of everyone's clothes, all too much of a collective mess to care one way or another. A great, messy group hug featuring two almost-ghosts, a puppet for a malevolent eye god, and an ex-errand-boy for the spirit of loneliness itself in the living room of a junior angel of death. What a sight.

"I got it!" Elliot called. They all looked up, disoriented, having forgotten about him entirely. He waved a Polaroid camera at them. Jon's face lit up.

"Oh! Yes, thank you!" Jon said, wiping his eyes. "Guys, could we take a picture? Just so I'll believe it actually happened tomorrow," he said, only half joking.

"Oh! Sure!" Sasha said, readjusting her glasses. Tim groaned.

"Right after we've been bawling our eyes out? This is when you decide to take a picture? I look awful, and I'm the hot one. You guys don't stand a chance!" Sasha elbowed him.

“Be nice, Tim.” He put his hands up in defense.

“Basira said it, not me.” Jon wracked his brain for when that could have occurred. He frowned, the realization dawning on him.

“Timothy Stoker, were you listening in on me and Basira’s conversation that day?” Tim grinned.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Jon rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. Alright, guys, everybody group in.” He held the camera out to take the picture but Martin sighed and took it from him.

“Wh- Martin!” he whined.

“You have the shortest arms of anyone I have ever met, my love,” Martin said in his defense. Jon pouted but didn’t protest. “Smile, Jon.” Jon forced on a smile that looked just as fake as it was. Martin kissed him on the cheek, making him erupt into a fit of giggles just as the camera clicked.

“Martin!” Jon complained between laughs as Martin took the picture out of the camera. Sasha cooed.

“You two are legitimately made for each other,” she said. Martin pressed a kiss to Jon’s mess of hair.

“I certainly like to think so.” Tim scoffed.

“Sasha, you always complained when I was that cheesy! What is this ridiculous double standard?” Sasha stood on her tiptoes to kiss Tim’s nose.

“Because you were bad at it, Stoker.” He sighed.

“There’s just no pleasing you, is there?”

Martin made a small squeaky sound, the Polaroid picture fluttering to the ground.

“Martin?” Sasha asked, concern written all over her face.

“You’re… you’re fading,” he said softly. They looked down. Just as they had appeared, Sasha was starting to become less visible and Tim looked like he was fading into dust.

“Good lord,” Jon breathed. Sasha had a mildly panicked look on her face. She gathered all of them together for one last hug.

“Hey, give Elias a hard time for me, a’right?” Tim said.

“Be careful, take care of each other, we love…” Sasha’s “you” was barely audible. It might not have even been there; maybe the sound Jon thought he heard was wishful thinking, but he clung to her voice as the last bits of their friends disappeared. Then it was just the two of them, hugging each other and crying in the empty, monochrome living room. Jon couldn’t say how long they just stood there, holding each other as tight as possible. Jon marveled at how Martin was so solid, so here, one hand on Jon’s back as the other held the back of his head, buried in his ponytail. Jon rubbed his back gently, admittedly just as much for his own comfort as it was for Martin’s. After a few minutes, the sobs having died down to hiccuping, Jon cleared his throat.

“Martin?” Martin hummed in response. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Martin pulled out of the hug just enough to look at Jon’s face. He cupped Jon’s jaw with a big, soft hand.

“There is nowhere else I’d rather be. Even if we weren’t in the fearpocalypse.” Jon smiled, turning his head to kiss Martin’s palm.

After a while, Martin remembered the picture he’d dropped on the ground. He picked it up and turned it over.

“Jon, have a look at this.” Jon took it from him. If not for the slightly shimmery state of Tim and Sasha (apparently having started to fade even before Martin pointed it out), it could have passed for a normal picture of a group of friends. Tim was winking, Sasha’s head was tilted back in a laugh, Jon was blushing profusely and caught in a giggle, and Martin’s lips were pressed to Jon’s rouged cheek.

“We look happy,” Jon said with a smile. Martin put an arm around Jon’s shoulders.

“Yeah.”

“Great, you’re happy, fantastic. Will you please get out of my house?” came Elliot’s voice from behind them. They both jumped.

“Oh, uh, right. Right,” Jon said. Martin caught his eyes, mouthing 'Forgot this was his place'.

Jon tried to stifle a chuckle, mouthing 'Same here'.

"Thank you for this," Martin said. "Really, it meant the absolute world to us." Elliot nodded.

"You're welcome. Good luck, you two," he said as he showed them out the door. It was closed in their faces before they knew it.

"Well," Jon said, breaking the already minute-long silence.

"That was… a lot," Martin said. Jon nodded.

"I hate to ask this, but shall we press on?" he suggested. Martin shrugged.

"I suppose we should."

And so they pressed on.

THANK YOU FOR READINGGGGGG

The song used for the title is Aged Pine by Della Mae, PLEASE check it out! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvDO2-b2JF4

Hey! You! Yeah, you! I think you're pretty neat, and that's saying something because yesterday I saw a cat perched on somebody's shoulder like a parrot. And you know what? You're neater than a cat perched on somebody's shoulder like a parrot. Drink some water, eat if you haven't eaten in a while (or if you have!), take your meds if you need them, and remember that I think you're pretty damn cool.

#the magnus archives #fanfiction #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #timothy stoker #sasha james #fluff #angst #so apparently this fic made a lot of people really sad?#that wasn't my intent!#i mean kinda yeah it was #but like mainly i hoped it would be fluffy and sweet #well i guess it's the definition of bittersweet #season 5 spoilers

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michelles-garden-of-evil · 3 years

Text

Episode 36 Review: The Séance

{ YouTube: 1 | 2 | 3 }

{ Synopses/Recaps: Debby Graham | Bryan Gruszka }

Welcome back to my Garden of Evil and thank you for patiently waiting for me to return to reviewing Strange Paradise. It’s been a wild and chaotic past few weeks and I’ve just gotten around to returning to the course of events on Maljardin. And Great Serpent, this time we have one hell of a wild episode!

Because I already miss the bad puns in the earlier episodes.

Of all the episodes of this show, this one is my #1 favorite. It embodies everything I love about Maljardin-era SP: it stars Colin Fox as both Jean Paul and Jacques, features some delightful Jacques scenes, and is genuinely suspenseful and scary. There are also unintentional laughs as usual, but somehow none of them detract from the frightening moments. If I had to introduce SP to someone who had never seen it before (say, my mom, who only knows a little about it), I would use this episode, not the pilot which (IMO) is less scary and far more ridiculous. The magic of Ian Martin’s SP is on full display here. Although he doesn’t leave the show immediately after this episode, it feels like a last hurrah, and a spectacular one at that. You know you want to read about this episode, so what are you waiting for?

We open with Vangie napping on the couch shortly after the events of the previous episode. Over her, Jean Paul and Alison are arguing about whether to go through with the séance to contact Erica. Alison begs him not to because of the risk of death, but Jean Paul insists on pushing through with it anyway because, as Raxl recaps, “The Conjure Woman didn’t see her death, only [Jacques’].” Jean Paul interprets this as meaning that he himself might die, but it’s not clear if he truly believes this or if he’s trying to cover up his frequent possession by the handsome devil.

Vangie recovers and announces that she plans on going through with it, no matter what happens. Still angry from last episode, Matt protests and Jean Paul gives him this nasty smirk that reeks of passive aggression:

Either that, or Colin is trying hard not to laugh. I can’t tell.

“This is not your concern, Reverend,” Jean Paul spits, and Vangie agrees with him. Although she knows that she will one day die on the Island of Evil, she feels that the séance is her duty as the Conjure Woman.

Matt once again reveals his status as the Fool (or, rather, le Mat) when he remarks that Jean Paul and Jacques are indistinguishable “except by [their] manner of dress.” Evidently, he hasn’t considered the possibility that THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES can possess Jean Paul and thus wear the exact same clothes as him. In fact, Padre, he’s worn that same extremely flattering blue suit before when talking to you, and you don’t even know it.

Jean Paul orders Vangie to begin the séance and we get a lovely overhead shot of the glass-top table. I’ve already posted high-quality photos of the table, but I love it so much that the laws of obsessive fandom require me to post it again:

Oh, how I love that table and those chairs. Actually, I love the whole Maljardin set.

Jean Paul volunteers to help Vangie, Raxl, and Quito set up, which seems to surprise them because otherwise he spends no time cleaning up after himself and all his time brooding, throwing glasses at priceless artifacts, and--of course--getting possessed. Elizabeth and Holly see them setting up, and the former heads down the stairs to watch.

Elizabeth is wearing this fabulous ensemble with a checkered dress and a red scarf pinned with a brooch in the shape of a dahlia. It most likely came from her actress Paisley Maxwell’s own wardrobe, as she mostly wore her own clothes on the show and even provided some costumes for the other actresses. (LINK CONTAINS SPOILERS THROUGH THE END OF MALJARDIN)

A shot with a better view of her brooch.

Vangie tells Jean Paul that the room needs to be dark, and that the only light in the room during the ceremony should be candlelight. Cue Jean Paul glancing up to the chandelier precariously suspended directly over the glass-top table:

If this isn’t painfully obvious foreshadowing, then I don't know what is.

The chandelier even sways ever so slightly as he stares at it!

Holly asks if she, her mother, Dan, and Tim can attend, and Vangie tells them no! According to her, they are all “disruptive influences” who will derail the séance, which will likely be too frightening for her anyway. Jean Paul tells Elizabeth to go, too, which she takes as a personal attack because Jacques has tricked her into believing that he’s in love with her.

LMAO

They are almost ready to begin the ceremony, but first, we need more blatant foreshadowing! We need Jean Paul to glance up at the swaying chandelier again, apparently without thinking of the slight chance that it might fall and cause an accident:

Seriously, Jean Paul? You have an IQ of 187. You should know better.

This is some heavy-handed foreshadowing, even for a show that constantly reminds us that Jacques Eloi des Mondes is THE DEVIL and cuts to close-ups of him every other time THE DEVIL is mentioned. I think you can guess what will happen about halfway through this episode. I normally try to avoid spoilers and to warn about any that I include or link to, but let’s face it. You know that chandelier is going to come crashing down at some point in the episode, because of all the emphasis that the script and the cinematography have already put on it. It’s a foregone conclusion. And I’m sorry, but Jean Paul with his alleged super-genius IQ has no excuse. Move the table! Have Quito tighten the chain! Replace the chandelier with a single candle or small candelabrum on the table! Do something to lower the chances of the accident that we all know is coming!

Vangie begins the séance to contact Erica.

After commercial break (hence the lack of the Drive-In Classics logo), the séance begins. We have Jean Paul, Vangie, Raxl, and Quito, plus Alison and Matt and an empty chair for Erica’s spirit. It’s a marvelous scene with just the right amount of eerie atmosphere, which Vangie’s hypnotic voice only enhances. They bridge the divide between the worlds of the living and the dead and all seems like it will succeed, but then

The third one is my favorite.

Jean Paul contorts his face again as he tries to resist Jacques’ possession of him, but ultimately his efforts are in vain:

Jacques’ beringed hand attacking Jean Paul. This also means that the chain created when the séance participants joined hands has been broken.

Matt asks Jean Paul what’s wrong and Jacques answers. “Everything is under control now,” he whispers with evil relish.

“No! Not now! NOT NOW!” Vangie screams, and then comes the inevitable:

Well, there goes one of Jean Paul’s astrological sign tables. Good thing he has another in storage.

I’m not going to lie: the first time I watched this scene, I shouted “No!” when the chandelier fell, even though I could see it coming. Somehow, despite the foregone conclusion and Jean Paul’s ridiculous headache faces, the scene creates enough suspense and horror to be effective. Plus, if you’re like me, you care about Vangie and don’t want to see anyone hurt her, even if that someone is 6′4″ with amazing cheekbones, a devilishly sexy smile, and the most beautiful hands on any man living or dead.

The power also goes out at the same time, and the handsome devil denies all responsibility for it despite his history of screwing with the electricity:

Classic Jacques sarcasm.

Conveniently, the lights come back on a moment later. They come just in time for Alison and Matt to tend to Vangie, whom the chandelier has knocked unconscious:

You can tell her injury is serious even before her close-up, because the Reverend is in shirtsleeves.

A close-up, showing the blood on Vangie’s forehead.

Jacques tells Holly that there was nothing seriously wrong with the electricity, and Dan flips out on him, insisting that “one day you’re going to blow us all up.” (Does he suspect that Jean Paul is somehow playing with the lights?) Jacques insists that even he can’t afford to buy a nuclear weapon. The fact that he knows what a nuclear weapon is serves as yet more evidence that he’s really the Devil and not a ghost from the 17th century (although, if he were a ghost, perhaps he would have overheard Jean Paul talking about nuclear weapons before).

I think that this is one of maybe two times that I ever envied Holly.

Vangie stands up, but doesn’t say a word to any of the characters, just stares blankly ahead of her. She doesn’t even react when Alison slaps her. Jacques cruelly snaps his fingers in front of her, which Alison demands he not do because it might cause her to be “destroyed, locked into a world of darkness, less living than dead.” She adds that “[she] can’t help but thinking that what happened to her is so like [Quito],” and turns to face the zombie who is watching the now cataleptic Conjure Woman, horrified:

It makes you wonder what sort of traumatic memories from Quito’s human life the sight of Jacques turning Vangie into a zombie evoked. Also, we never learn who turned Quito into a zombie in the show canon, but this scene shows that Jacques knows how and is therefore a possible candidate.

This is yet another point where the plot of the aired episodes differs from the original story as indicated in the Lost Episode summaries. In the original Episode 36, Vangie would have revealed Jacques’ possession of Jean Paul to all the participants at the séance, thus confirming for Raxl that Jean Paul is two different men. I suspect that Matt would refuse to believe it because of his lack of belief in devils and Dan because it sounds irrational and like a cover-up for Jean Paul’s alleged crimes, but Raxl, Vangie, and possibly Alison would have the evidence they needed.

Anyway, Jacques and most of the others leave Quito to clean up the mess while they have some drinks in the dining room. Mostly, it’s Jacques trying to pressure everyone into drinking while trying to gaslight them into believing that there was a storm outside even though there wasn’t. They’re not buying it, least of all Dan, who now has yet another reason to be suspicious of him.

I should also add that Part 3 of the YouTube version of this episode (which contains this scene) is out of sync, meaning that most of the subtitles are combined with the wrong shots and the wrong characters. Sadly, we don’t get anything on the level of “NO NO NO YES YES YES,” but the out-of-sync audio does make Dan’s accusation almost look like Jacques is confessing to making the chandelier fall:

YES YES YES

He offers brandy to both Matt and Holly, but Matt tells him not to give it to either of them, so Jacques brings the glasses he just filled over to Elizabeth instead. He starts talking about how no one was hurt, meaning that she has to remind him that Vangie was injured. Still, “she wasn’t really seriously injured,” so I guess for him it doesn’t count. He sends her away and starts to drink, which I guess lets Jean Paul recover his body because he de-possesses him, finally letting Jean Paul see the mess he left behind.

I already posted a lot of headache faces in this entry, so here I’m just going to include my favorite from this scene.

For a moment, Jean Paul looks like he’s going to cry, but his sadness turns to shock when Quito shows him the writing box. The wooden box which previously only held sand, now bears a message written in grains of rice in the shape of the symbol of the Great Serpent. Quito appears terrified by the message, but sadly he can’t translate it for Jean Paul. Raxl, too, freaks out when she sees it and says it’s “from the Conjure Man, but he needs the Conjure Woman to translate it and she’s still in a trance!”

Apparently, the Conjure Man communicates in grains of rice.

Although she can’t translate the whole message, she can tell Jean Paul, “It tells of more accidents. Spirits are very angry...with you!”

This final scene, like the scene with the crashing chandelier, is genuinely chilling, resulting in one of the scariest episodes of the Maljardin arc. This is one of SP’s finest episodes and certainly one of Ian Martin’s finest from his nine-week period as headwriter. I’m not certain what led the producers to decide to have Vangie enter a trance instead of revealing Jacques’ possession to the other characters, but most likely it was to increase the suspense and the terror. Also, I’m starting to wonder if perhaps Quito isn’t actually undead, but instead is an immortal like Raxl (and Vangie?), but stuck in a magically-induced trance. Perhaps when he recoiled in fear over Vangie’s transformation, it was because Jacques (or perhaps the Conjure Man) did the same exact thing to him three centuries ago.

Coming up next: Jacques continues to meddle in affairs on Maljardin while Raxl struggles to interpret the writing box. (But before then--hopefully--the next part of my review of Shadow Over Seventh Heaven.)

{<- Previous: Episode 35 || Next: Episode 37 ->}

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