#mercutio has no eyes bc i was struggling with faces when i did him and didnt bother going back sorry bud

[victoronnie]

currently working on a tycutio oneshot fic for halloween where tybalt's a vampire and mercutio's a werewolf, and had to doodle them :3c

[flannelpunkcalum]

The Devil Wears Kevlar - Part 8

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

ok technically it’s thursday my dudes but I had to flesh the chapter out a little at the last minute bc I decided you guys deserved another 300 words on this beautiful May night. and yes I KNOW calum’s head is cut off in the photo it’s VAGUELY SYMBOLIC and I didn’t feel like finding another picture also content warning for violence (again) like and subscribe!

“Aspen.” Liam says. His fingers tighten a little in her hair, trying to direct her gaze. “Aspen.”

But there’s nothing he can do. Aspen looks loosely over his shoulder, sees it on the concrete floor in front of her, laid out like a crime show murder board. The killer’s not someone in spandex with a bad temper. He’s a businessman with a drive for power and people like Liam who will make it happen for him.

Liam. How did he become this… this chimera of corporate and old fashioned violence? She meets his brown eyes. She had thought they were warm, once.

He’s still kneeling by her side, making her neck ache with the force of his grip. “Hey.” He says. He doesn’t know what to do, either. “Just - just talk to me. Who’s it gonna hurt? What time does he get to work? Hey, McMichael. It’s gonna be alright. Just -” He sighs. “I don’t want to hit you again.”

“So don’t.” Aspen surprises herself. She doesn’t know where that came from, she had been meaning to bite her tongue until they ripped it out. But when Liam met her eyes, let go and stood up, he was fucked up. She could see it. And she grabbed on to that shred of weakness. “Let’s go. Hood likes me, and if you - if you get me out of here I can get him to help you too -”

“Shut up.”

“- and we can just go, get out of Gotham and -” This time, Aspen saw Liam wind up to hit her and she squeezed her eyes shut before his open hand made contact. It was worse, knowing it was coming - even as her head snapped to the side again the image of Liam standing over her like that burned on the inside of her eyelids. “Fuck.” She groaned lowly, turning her head and rubbing her aching cheek on her shoulder.

“I’m done playing.” Liam says, pacing in front of her. Maybe he’ll get so worked up he’ll just walk out one of the open windows and fall to his death. He doesn’t, though. He grabs the back of her chair and starts dragging her backwards towards one of the gaping spaces in the walls, and then Aspen panics. She flings her weight around, grunting, trying to knock the chair out of his grip, but he just grabs on with his second hand and keeps dragging her at a forty-five across the floor. Fuck. Fuck. The sound of the metal of the chair against the concrete floor is like horror movie foley, it feels so loud. Aspen gasps for breath as Liam stops, pushing the chair so it jolts back to upright. The wind is stronger here. She can feel the ledge like the edge of a knife behind her.

Liam’s not going to kill her. Falcone knows she’s here, if she dies he’ll be mad at Liam and he’ll be in even more trouble. He’s not going to kill her. He’s not.

Liam spins her chair around easily, to make her look at him. His back is to the window, and she thinks if her ankles weren’t chained she could have kicked him just right. He could have fallen out to his death like a Disney villain. “Tell me now.” He says, clapping on his hand on her face, on the cheek still hot with pain. “Tell me everything you fucking know about Hood or I’ll drop you.”

Fear makes Aspen stupid. “You won’t.”

Liam doesn’t smile. It looks like a smile, but it’s like the blade of a scythe on his face. “No?”

He’s a big guy, but Liam moves fast when he wants to. And he wants to. He gets behind her, even while she’s thrashing against the chains, and grabs the back. She can feel the shapes of his knuckles behind her as he moves her the two feet, towards the edge - he’s not gonna kill her, he’s not he’s not he’s not - and he pushes.

Aspen screams. She can feel her body drop for an inch or two until the chains catch it - but Liam doesn’t kill her. He’s just tilted the chair so she’s dangling out the window. But there’s wind on her face, and she can see headlights tracing themselves below her on the city streets. For one terrible moment, she can see herself falling, ragdoll-like, dropping on top of one of those cars. A dent like a crater in some BMW’s roof. Liam’s talking, she realizes. He’s yelling. “Start fucking talking!”

“I don’t know!” Aspen yells, just on instinct. “I - you know when Calum gets in to work. It’s eight thirty. Liam, stop this!”

“Finally have something to say, huh?” The chair tips forwards even more. The ends of the legs slip a fraction of an inch. Aspen screams again, a strangled little whimper. She tried to remember how she was tied to the chair. How likely it was that she’d slip. “What else?”

“I don’t know!”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, I know you write it down!”

Aspen can barely hear him over the wind and blood rushing through her ears. “I can’t - just stop and I’ll tell you!”

The chair doesn’t pull back. She’s still dangling, her eyes still fixed on the headlights below. “Tell me what his lunch plans are.” Liam growls, and she swears she feels the legs of the chair slip a millimeter closer to the edge. 

Bar Mercutio with the head of Hood Auto. The answer is right on her tongue. She opens her mouth -

“Liam.”

Aspen gets yanked back inside so fast it almost makes her dizzy. Her back slams against the chair but she’s thankful for the sting. She’s alive and upright and sweat is coating her like a second skin and she’s alive.

“Liam, that’s no way to treat a guest.”

Wait. She knows that voice.

She’s still catching her breath, but she hears Liam behind her, stepping away from her chair. “She’s not cooperating, Don Falcone.”

“She wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place.” Aspen doesn’t dare look over her shoulder. She hears some meaty thud, knuckles on some soft body part, and she hears Liam try to swallow a groan.

If that’s how Falcone treats his fucking employees, what’s he gonna do to her?

She hears “Angelo, bring her over,” and she hates that all she can do is sit there and listen to heavy footsteps on the concrete floor before she feels knuckles on the back of the chair and she’s being dragged again. This time, she doesn’t bother to thrash and struggle. She couldn’t if she wanted to. Her body is heavy with fear. 

The chair gets swung around and rattles to stillness in front of Falcone, who looks almost exactly as polished as he did in Calum’s office that morning all those weeks ago. At least he’s giving her a little respect before she dies.

Because that’s what happens next. Of course it is. She knows Liam’s working for him, knows Falcone is behind all the CEO killings - she doesn’t know why, to fill the power vacuum or something, but it doesn’t matter. Calum’s next and she knows when he’s going to be alone, or in transit, or whenever you kidnap someone, and they’re gonna hurt her until she tells them and then they’re gonna kill her.

No one even knows she’s missing, for chrissake.

“Hello again, little girl.”

Aspen bites down on the inside of her lower lip to keep herself from crying. “Don Falcone.” She says, after a long moment.

“I hear you’ve been uncooperative tonight.”

She knows it’s stupid, but in her terror she tries lying again. “I don’t know his schedule off by heart, I’m sorry.” Her voice is slick with fear, she can hear it.

Don Falcone doesn’t even raise his eyebrows. “Not very good at your job, then, are you, my dear?”

“I-I guess not.”

“Hmm.” He says, pulling a white piece of paper from his pocket. Aspen’s heart sinks as she recognizes it. It’s the schedule he stole all those weeks ago from Calum’s office, dog-eared and battered by now. He wants her to know he knows she’s lying, she can tell from the little look he gives her over the top of the page. Her chest heaves. Fuck. “You should have talked to Liam,” He says, folding the paper and putting it back into his pocket. “I might have let him keep you. Oh, we could have gone far together, Ms. McMichael.”

Aspen doesn’t say anything. She becomes aware of Liam lurking in a dimly lit patch of the room, but she can’t take her eyes of Falcone. Keep him talking, a little voice whispers. Evil monologue. If he’s talking, he can’t hurt you. “What would you want with me?” She says, and she doesn’t have to try to make her voice shake.

“A woman of your talents? All manner of things,” He says. “I’m a businessman, same as Mr. Hood. I always need people like you, loyal people. Look at Liam. I need him same as I need men like Angelo here. It’s not like the old days, little girl.” He checks his watch, like this is a meeting running a hair too long. “I don’t have to bribe the police anymore. I am the police.”

“What I don’t understand -” And Aspen knows this is risky, showing her hand, but Falcone obviously intends to kill her and she’ll take every second she has left - “what I don’t understand is why. Sionis and Trident and- and Mr. Hood, what did they have that you needed? You rule Gotham -”

“I don’t rule Gotham. Yet. But I will. Fear is a powerful tool. You’ll see.” Falcone jerks his chin at the man standing behind her, the one who dragged her in here again, and he squats to the floor. Aspen looks to see him rolling out a leather knife roll, like chefs carry, but the metal that catches her eye is glinting off pliers, and then a hammer, and next to that is a scalpel, and she can’t look anymore. With a small sound she turns her eyes back to Falcone, who watches her like a hawk as she licks her lips. “Once the Gotham elite are pissing their designer suits, they’ll be desperate for any solution. And I’ve built myself a reputation for running a tight operation. It’s one thing to take control, but it’s much more delicious to have it handed to you.” 

“So why Calum?” 

“Calum?” Fuck. Falcone leans down until his eyes are level with hers, putting his hands on his knees for support. Aspen tries very hard not to squirm. “Is that why you’re holding your tongue?” He reached out and cupped her face with one hand, soft and moist like a toad’s belly. At this point, she didn’t have the control to try and hide her revulsion. His thumb rests on her cheekbone, dangerously close to the whiteness of her eye. “So sweet, thinking of him in your last moments. I promise you, he won’t return the gesture.” 

Aspen felt the remnants of champagne toss in her belly. That was what she was doing, wasn’t it? Pathetic. 

“Look at you. Loyal as a dog.” He said, patting her cheek twice - well, it was closer to a slap - before he let her go and straightened up. “What did he do to deserve you, hm? All he had to do was reach up your skirt, and -” 

“It’s not like that. You’re wrong.” Aspen said, curling her hands into useless fists. 

“Am I?” Falcone smiled. It was worse than his disdain. “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you see him one more time before I have you killed. You’d make such a pretty picture, you two lovers, yes? The intrepid little secretary, gutted like a fish. Like a sweet promise on the other side.”

Aspen swallowed hard. She wished she had a watch. Play for time, play for time. It was just - this was impossible to ignore. “You’re a poet.” She managed around the bad taste in her mouth. 

“Of course. I don’t enjoy this.” Oh, he did, he clearly did, looking down at her, watching her test her chains like a moth jerking on a pin. “I’m not a violent man, sweetheart. I have Angelo for that.” 

She really was going to throw up. This abject fucking man. “So why Calum, then? I’m sure having his net worth parceled off into a trust for the kid isn’t in your best interest.”

Don Falcone eyed her for a second, and for a moment fear tightened like a fist around her lungs. He knew she was trying to waste his time. But after a moment, he let himself answer. After all, she was going to be dead within the hour. “Oh, I don’t need his money now. After his gala? After everything he’s done for the city? His death will be the tipping point. No, no. He could never be the first, either. You see that.” 

“Of course.” She did understand. Calum’s d- fuck, she couldn’t even think the word, but it had to be the climax, not the overture. 

He glances at his watch again, then back at her wan little face. Aspen knows with cold certainty that this is it. “I’ve done enough talking. It’s your turn, my dear.”

Is she really gonna let herself go through this? Keep playing dumb? Her mom is gonna be so sad, she realized, when they can’t have an open casket, and she has to gasp for air for a second. “No, wait, please, I - I can’t tell you anything, I’m so sorry. I don’t know anything!” she hears herself babbling, some small part of her making the choice for her. These minutes of life are precious, even if they’re going to hurt.

Falcone’s not even listening, she realizes, as he talks over her. He’s still so fucking cool, even while he’s figuring out where to dump her body. “Angelo, the ear, I think.” He says, and Aspen breaks as he grabs a handful of her hair and hauls it out off the right side of her face. She’s gone weak - she thinks she’s saying wait, wait, no, please - but he’s not listening. He’s not listening. “Maybe you’ll behave better once you know I’m serious. Don’t bite your tongue, please, or you’ll be no more use to me.” Aspen’s crying again now, she can’t help it, her heart is pounding in her ears - fuck - and the grip in her hair gets tighter until she thinks if she moves he’ll rip it out. Her head is locked in his grip and braced against his body, he smells like leather and something mechanical, she can’t escape it this close. Out of the corner of her eye she sees something silver glint at her like teeth. No. No. No.

That thing about knives being too sharp to hurt? That’s bullshit.

She feels it slip through the first layers of skin, body jolting despite the hold he has on her. And then it starts to /hurt/ and then he meets the cartilage and he has to saw for every millimeter and she can feel the movement go through her body. There’s blood trickling down the side of her face now. Through her blurry vision, she sees Falcone in front of her, and she doesn’t need to see his face to know he is unmoved.

And then she sees something else.

It happens like this - all at once. Cause and effect jumbled.

Someone all in black comes through the window she was dangled out of.

The grip on her hair eases.

Something flies through the air with a shriek.

Something clicks with electricity. It smells like ozone.

Aspen turns to look.

And the knife slips.