#seeing him laugh at Jim's voice was the saving grace to all of this honestly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alovesongshewrote · 4 years

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Almost A Thousand Years - Wizard Underground | Hisirdoux Casperan

Plot: You’ve known Hisirdoux Casperan for almost a thousand years. You’ve hated him for almost a thousand years. And for almost a thousand years, you’ve been cursed to feel each others pain. But somewhere in that time, things changed. [Hisirdoux Casperan x Mostly Gender Neutral but Probably Female Presenting Based on How Historical Men Treat Them!Reader]

Word Count: 7,579

Warnings: Canonical Character Death!! (and torture)

A/N: buckle up kiddos, it’s about to get angsty. the gif does not match the energy at all, but it’s from the episode so, yeeeeet

Taglist: @furblrwurblr @rainningdoom @fluffydmonkey @blondie0458 @sitherin-mxschief @jinxedleo @lawlesshedgehog @einahpetsyarcip @dolphincommander @sorrels-scribbling @anxious-stitcher @alive-and-afraid @animedweeb333 @douxiesdamsel @saroski05 @justarandomhoman @tales-of-hisirdoux @blixeon @yagirlcheesely

When the green cleared, the sky looked more or less the same. Dark, stars, clouds. It was clear you were home though, both from Douxie saying so and the immediate urge you had to murder him. Well, you couldn’t say you weren’t expecting it, but it still sucked. The drive to end Douxie’s life was always a real mood killer whether or not you were expecting it.

“Welcome back to the twenty-first century!”

“Ah! Sweet pollution! How I missed you!” Steve choked as he inhaled a lungful of said filthy air. Normally, that wouldn’t be a great thing, but you were sort of thankful for it this time. It distracted Douxie from the whimper that left your lips, from the way you sank to the ground, clinging to the railings, struggling against yourself. This was Not Fun.

Steve, however, was still having a wonderful time, “Heh! And reception!! Hot dang! So many messages.”

From the high-pitched chimes that rang out through the air, you could only guess that Steve was looking at his phone. You couldn’t really see at the moment due to the sudden and blinding pain in your stomach. That was new! You weren’t really sure why that was happening, or how Douxie didn’t feel it, but it probably had to do with the Arcane Order and your lack of homicide!

Across the ship, Jim let out a scream, the shard in his chest glowing red and sinking deeper. Fucking lovely. That was two of you in shard related pain. What was next, you losing control and killing not only Douxie but everyone on this damn ship? Another wave of pain rolled through you, which brought an end to your sarcastic thinking. At this rate, that outcome looked less and less insane by the minute. You bit your lip in a silent prayer that nothing else would go wrong. Then Camelot fell out of the sky.

“Oh, shit.”

Douxie’s words shocked you enough for you to open your eyes and look at him.

“D-Douxie, you-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m sorry, hang on tight, love!”

You did as instructed as your wizard flew the ship towards the falling castle, pulling up right beside it at what appeared to be the perfect time.

“Need a lift?”

“Douxie!” you could hear Toby’s voice, but you couldn’t see him. The momentary release granted to you by shock had worn off, and now all you had left was the pain. You shut your eyes and kept them closed, focusing on not passing out, or committing murder, or passing away. Actually, that last one might not have been so bad. At least it would end your suffering and the threat you were to others. That wasn’t going to happen though.

You could hear Archie now, the familiar’s voice was… well, familiar, and it was comforting to you, in an odd way, “But you’re trapped in the past!”

“Not anymore!”

“Took you long enough. We have much to talk about. Like- them?” you didn’t have to see Merlin to know he was talking about you, and in your current state, you were indeed worthy of conversation. You were curled into a ball, shoved against the rails of the ship and trying your damnedest not to cry. You felt like shit, you probably looked like shit, and Merlin didn't even like you in the first place, so yeah, you were something worth mentioning.

“D-don’t worry,” you choked out, “I’m fine. Focus- on Jim.”

Douxie did not want to focus on Jim. He didn’t want to focus on anything except for you at that exact moment. What was happening to you? Why was the love of his life doubled over and in obvious pain when he barely felt a thing? More than anything Douxie wanted to help you. He wanted to make the pain stop, and he wanted to hold you close and make sure you were okay, but Jim, unfortunately, or fortunately depending on the pov, had perfect dramatic timing.

The poor boy let out a groan, the shard glowing red once again, and causing everyone more concern. You knew there was no way in hell he could have heard what you said, and the groan was probably because Aarrrgh, Toby and Blinky had all boarded the ship which made it move a bit, but you liked to think he was on your side.

You could hear Toby scream something that sounded like a question, and you knew that Merlin replied, but there was only one voice that mattered to you. He said your name, sounding scared and anxious. It broke your heart, but you said nothing. You didn’t want him to notice you any more than he already had, because if he did, he would try to help, and that meant getting close to you, and if he did that he’d probably receive a broken neck for his troubles. Nobody wanted that. Least of all you.

“I-I’m getting everyone home safe, as promised.”

Merlin said something else, and you felt another shift as something, or rather, someone, landed on the ship. A small squeak left you, you couldn’t help it. Everything just hurt so bad, and you honestly didn’t know how Douxie wasn’t feeling it. You were thankful for that, of course, you’d never wish for him to be in pain, ever, but this was just so intense! You could barely function, you just had to keep breathing, hoping that the next inhale would somehow end the pain.

Another series of squeaks and gasps escaped you as Douxie maneuvered the ship through a field of castle-shaped debris. In any other situation, you’d have complimented him, but at that moment, you were trying to avoid causing anyone any bodily harm. It was difficult while you were flying, but as soon as you landed, things got wayyyy harder.

Douxie approached you cautiously, not wanting to hurt you and not wanting to trigger anything that might make you hurt him. The rest of the squad had jumped off the ship, so for it was just you and your wizard. For all intents and purposes, you were alone with the person you’d been sent to kill. There was nothing stopping you. His hands were raised in surrender for god’s sake. Why was he making this so difficult?

“Douxie, you need to go.”

“I- no, I’m not leaving you, we have to go, we have to get somewhere safe-”

“No, you need to- just get off the ship, I’ll join you in a second.”

That was a total lie, of course, but he didn’t need to know that. He didn’t seem to register it, either. He just looked at you sadly before taking a step back.

“We’ll fix this. I promise you, we’ll fix this. I’m not going to let anything else hurt you.”

You tried to laugh, but the attempt was pathetic, “I know.”

And then he was gone. You could hear Jim screaming somewhere in the night. The sound drowned everything out, submerging you in a sea of guilt. That kid had suffered through so much, and now this. You knew his pain. He didn’t deserve this, and there was nothing you could do to save him.

Douxie was going through the same motions. You were in pain, you didn’t deserve it, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Not yet, anyway. He was bound and determined to help you, to end the nightmare you were living in. And it was indeed, your nightmare. He couldn’t feel a thing, even after centuries of sharing your pain. Even now, he could still feel the ache of your cracked ribs, but there was nothing beyond that. He didn’t know what was happening to you, or why, but he knew it terrified him. If this, whatever it was, took you from him, he didn’t know what he would do. He couldn’t stand to lose you. Not after all of this. Even as he spoke with Merlin, his thoughts never left you. The image of you curled around yourself, face contorted with pain, lips bleeding as you bit them to stay silent, would haunt him for the rest of his days.

You, however, were haunted by something else.

“Nari, come back to us and finish the work you have begun!”

“You misunderstand our grand vision.”

Oh, fuck.

You pulled yourself up, desperately clinging to the rail, pausing every time your vision went white. You weren’t sure yet whether you were going to run away or fight, but the first thing you needed to do was hide. If you chose to run, they couldn’t see you. If they did, they would chase you, capture you, and torture you again. If you chose to fight, you wanted the element of surprise. So, yeah. Hiding was a good plan.

You threw yourself over the edge of the ship. It was not graceful in the slightest, but no one saw, so it worked out well enough. Your plan was going according to plan, even if everything hurt and you longed for the sweet release of death. You let yourself lean on the ship for a second, closing your eyes against the pain. The cold metal stung where it met your skin. It sucked. Everything sucked. This whole Order ordeal sucked. You wanted to go home. But where even was home? Right, it was the black-haired wizard boy with the shitty dye job who you’d loved for years.

A green light flashed on the other side of the ship, and you knew you had to make a choice. Either run, and keep running, the same thing you’d been doing since you escaped your life as a spy, or stay and fight. Run or go back to the start of your story and change the meaning. To fight, not for Gunmar and an eternal night, but to protect the people you loved, the town you lived in, and the punk wizard who owned your heart. Yeah, no. That choice was already made for you. It had been for almost a thousand years.

Without a sound, you dragged yourself around the ship and waited for the right moment. It came faster than you’d expected, but that wasn’t a huge deal. You snuck behind the green Knight, and when he demanded surrender, you struck him with your sword. He stumbled forward for a second, and that was it. The only solid hit you made in that fight. Ah, the element of surprise, everyone’s favourite element.

You ducked as the Knight's sword sliced at your throat. Your movements were delayed by a few seconds, but you couldn’t focus on that right now. You just had to keep going.

Your sword clashed with his, once, twice, a third time, and on that third, you were sent flying back. You scrambled to your feet just in time for another attack, this one accompanied by words. Whether it was a monologue or a taunt you couldn’t tell. Your brain was focused on not dying. You heard him call you a traitor, and a servant before he declared that your soul was his. You didn’t have a smart response for that, so you just kept fighting.

Up, down, side, dodge, sweep the leg, parry, twist left, over and over again. You were almost on autopilot, one hand still clutching your busted ribs, the other doing its best to keep you alive. There was no coherent thought, just adrenaline and movement. Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, select start. Jeep, dodge, ram him with your face, or whatever the hell else kept you alive. There was nothing left but basic instinct and training that you’d never forgotten. This was your fight. And you weren’t actually that bad for someone who was half-dead. At least, you weren’t until the Green Knight knocked the sword from your hand and grabbed you by the throat.

Everything went numb. Your vision was lighter as if a filter covered the world making everything bright and hard to look at. You heard everything and nothing at the same time. It was all… dull. Like you were hearing the battle from somewhere far away. Douxie screamed something that you couldn’t make out, there was a muffled guitar riff, another scream, someone calling you a traitor, and- wait. What in the fresh hell was that? Did someone just fucking roar?

You were dropped, and you rolled out of the way just in time to see a troll you’d never met charge at the Knight. You sat still for a minute, struck dumb by this turn of events. Then you felt yourself freeze, ice creeping into your veins as you realized what was going on. You couldn’t hear Jim screaming anymore. You looked back to the ship. He wasn’t there. That left one, probably unreasonable explanation. The new troll was Jim. Fuck.

Pulling yourself to your knees, you took another look at your friends, gathered by the ship. It looked, for a moment, like Douxie or Claire would run into the fight. You couldn’t let that happen. So, you did the one thing you could think of, the one thing that would keep them out of this. You stabbed yourself in the leg. It wasn’t a big stab, just a little one. Just enough to convince Douxie that you’d lost control and were now out for his blood. It didn’t work as well as you’d hoped. You could see your wizard fall to one knee. His eyes met yours, and for one second, everything was still. He was there, and you were here, and you were both alive, but on opposite sides of this battle. That’s how it had always been. Maybe that’s how it was always supposed to be. You were back at the start again. A scared kid on the wrong side, clinging to what little light you had left. There were tears in your eyes. You don’t know how they got there. Maybe it was the stab wound, but you didn’t really believe that. Taking a deep breath, you shook your head. He saw you. He stood. And then they were gone.

You smiled, for a second, despite the tears streaming down your face. They were safe, for now. They had a chance. Your momentary peace didn’t last long. Holding his sword above him, the Knight took control of Jim, the red light that ran through his veins turned green, leaving the troll on his hands and knees. At the same time, the pain in your stomach subsided, allowing you to stand, finally. You readied your own blade, but before anything could be accomplished, the Knight turned to you. For once, you could hear what he was saying.

“Attack and the beast dies.”

There was no other choice. You couldn’t let anything bad happen to Jim. You lowered your weapon just as Bellroc jumped from the castle and landed in front of you.

“Take them with us,” you flinched back at their voice. That sound only brought back memories that you would rather forget. Fear took you, and you allowed the Green Knight to grab your shoulder and guide you back to the castle. This was not going to be fun.

Speaking of things that weren’t fun, Douxie was having the worst possible time right now. After hiding in an alley, making his way to Hex Tech, and dealing with a less than pleased Zoe (which involved explaining that he had found you, found out exactly why you left, and lost you again,) he was more than a little bit tired, which was fair. To make matters worse, his leg stopped hurting somewhere between the field and the alleyway. You were on the Order’s ship. They had you, and god knows what they could do to you without him knowing. Quite honestly, Douxie was beyond terrified at this point. He wasn’t really sure what he was. In any other circumstance, he may have been paralyzed by pure fear and anxiety, but someone had to keep Claire from murdering Merlin, so paralysis was a no go. He was sure he’d have time for a nice mental breakdown later, after you were safe. For now, he would focus on keeping the peace, making sure nothing got broken, and forming a plan to get you and Jim home.

You were playing the same game with a different set of pieces. You stayed silent and obedient, making yourself as small as possible to avoid taking up space and pissing off your captors. No matter how panicked you were, you maintained an aura of calm for both your sake and Jim’s. You couldn’t let your emotions slip. Not here, not now. Not that any of your efforts were doing much good. You still flinched with every quick movement, bit your lip whenever someone got too loud. This was not a good situation, and you were straight-up not having a good time. It only got worse with the resurrection of Morgana. It was all too loud, too bright, too- too familiar. This was too close to what happened the last time you were here, and you were terrified.

Your hands were cold. You tried to focus on that, but for the life of you, you couldn't stop thinking about every bad thing that happened to you within these walls. Someone was yelling, someone else screaming, and you couldn’t tell whether it was real, or if it was a memory. You didn’t even care that the Green Knight was the old king. You just wanted to leave, but for now, against all odds, you had to stay calm. It was not working. At all. Especially when the room turned on you.

“And as for you, treasonous witch,” y’know, that wasn’t a very original take coming from a primordial ice god. You were honestly a little disappointed. In terms of torture, Skrael had always been a bit more creative. Perhaps, subconsciously, you’d expected that to carry over. It didn’t. In any other situation, you would’ve told him to get some new material, but Bellroc swiftly prevented that by throwing you into the center of the room. You hit the ground hard. Hard enough to blur your vision and clear your mind, but there was no time to process the pain.

“You have failed us,” the flaming demigod’s voice darted from high tones to low ones, sending a chill down your spine. If Bellroc was angry enough to lose control of their voice, you were beyond screwed.

Both demigods drew nearer to you, looming over your damaged figure, “You will pay for this.”

You winced, preparing for the burn of ice or fire on your skin, but no impact came. Instead, you felt a harsh tug on your hair as Bellroc forced you to face them. Both demigods looked way too calm, though you could feel their anger, a flaming riot beneath their skin despite their icy exteriors. Their rage alone was almost enough to hurt, but what came next was worse.

“You are much too fond of that wizard apprentice… we will make sure he suffers for all of your mistakes.”

You felt yourself shaking as Skrael rasped out the threat, but you didn’t have much more time to react before you were thrown into a wall. That was where their fun began.

Douxie was having a significantly better time than you, but that didn’t mean he was enjoying himself. Over the sounds of Blinky cursing autocorrect, Merlin and Claire were having a battle of ideologies right in front of my metaphorical salad. The audacity. This, of course, was not easy on your wizard. His friend wanted to find a way to save her boyfriend. His mentor wanted to move forward and run away. Douxie also wanted to save Jim and you, but Merlin made a good argument about the fate of the universe and how if they didn’t leave now everyone would die. That argument, however, was not enough to erase the memory of your face from his mind. He still saw that image, you, distorted with pain and struggle every time he closed his eyes. The fighting only made things worse; especially when Merlin decided to put that face on screens around the room, side by side with Jim’s new troll form. I don’t know why he thought that was a good idea, but it was Not helping Douxie.

“James Lake and (Y/N) (L/N) are corrupted, gone! They cannot be brought back!”

“Or you’re just too stubborn to try!”

“Please, you both have solid points!” he could hear the stress and fear in his own voice. Good. Maybe it would make the universe feel bad for him and it would just… throw you through a window at him or something. He didn’t know or care at that point. He was too tired for this and too awake for it at the same time. His eyes hurt. His jaw hurt. Everything hurt except his leg which was just another reminder of how much he missed you. God, he was having an awful day, and it was going to get worse.

“I will not jeopardize the mortal plane for one troll and one wayward witch!”

“It’s what they’d do for us!”

“And look where that got them!” This outburst from his former Master frustrated Douxie enough to make him slam his head into the nearest flat surface and keep it there.

“What!?” Claire exclaimed, the screens around the room went black, your face and Jim’s hidden from view. It would’ve been a relief if Douxie had looked up to see it. “Come on, back me up here. Anybody? Archie? Douxie?”

He heard the question in her voice. Will you stand up for your significant other, Casperan? Or will you fail them again? He let out a strangled groan to answer the question.

Archie’s answer was more dignified, “Don’t look at me, cats don’t have the right to vote. Neither do dragons. Yet.”

The familiar’s body glowed gold for a minute as he changed forms. It was only a second of shining light, but it was enough to give Douxie an idea.

“Wait a tick. I know a way we can rescue Jim and (Y/N) without risking the world!”

“Is that so?”

“How?”

“If it works, it will be quite the little magic trick.”

And it would indeed be quite the little magic trick. Risking life and limb to save you and Jim would be one hell of a feat, but if there was anyone who could pull it off, it was this specific team. At least, that’s what Douxie told himself. He had to. He had to pretend there was hope and focus on the plan. If he didn’t, his thoughts drifted to you, to what the Order could be doing to you, and that persistent question in his mind, the one that asked if you were alive at all. You had to be. You had to. There wasn’t another option, though Douxie found, as he boarded the small ship, that fear was building in his chest. A sense of dread surrounding what exactly they would find, lying still on the floor of the Order’s base.

Douxie was shaken from the hell in his head when Merlin spoke, something about being concerned with the plan and heading into a lion’s den. Your wizard was growing tired of this.

“You gave me a staff because you trusted me, right? So, trust me.”

“Very well. I stand by your decision… wizard.”

The comment was shrugged off by its intended audience, “Everyone knows what they need to do. If we pull this off, we’ll get our friends back.”

In his head, Douxie begged whatever godly forces were out there (that were Not Arcane Order aligned) that they would get their friends back in once piece, safe and sound; though as the lights of the Order’s ship shone in his face, blinding him, he knew that wouldn’t be the case. Oh well.

“Arcane Order!” the ship shifted to face him, a sign that someone was listening, “We’re here to barter!”

The skull moved down through the air, clicking and groaning as it’s jaw dropped to form an entrance, or at least something close to one. Douxie cast a glance back to his comrades, “And that means, ‘Come in.’”

“Wait, we’re flying into the bitey devil castle?” Steve asked incredulously, pointing at said bitey devil castle. Douxie nodded and flew them into the bitey devil castle. Bitey devil castle. I want one.

Steve, however, would not agree with that sentiment. Fear crossed over the teen’s face as their ship drew nearer to the larger craft. He shook so much while exiting the boat that he just fell over. Douxie, Merlin and Not-Nari failed to notice or maybe failed to care. Either way, Steve had an opinion on all of this. He did not like it, “Uh, this is supes dumb. Like, even I know it’s dumb and we’re still gonna go inside?”

If you had been in your right mind and entering the skull with them, you would have agreed, 100%. Unfortunately, you were not that. Instead, you were deeper inside the horror-show palace, writhing with pain and unable to think clearly. That sucked for you, but honestly, you were starting to get used to it.

Douxie, however, was not used to nor prepared for the sudden pain that hit him like a wall of bricks as soon as he entered the Order’s den. It started off intense, matching the pain you felt exactly, but it faded fast until it was a dull throb in the back of his mind. They’d hurt you. They’d hurt and maybe killed you because you didn’t kill him fast enough. That thought, that fact was going to haunt him for the rest of his days. He could already feel his breath coming faster, his chest rising and falling rapidly and leading him to disaster if he didn’t control it. To avoid having a panic attack, your wizard took in his surroundings.

The lair was, as many good evil lairs are, made of stone and lit light blue with moonlight. It was quiet, empty, so much so that Douxie had to mention the overwhelming silence just to hear something. Merlin did not respond. At least, not to him.

“Good evening, Skrael.”

The ice demigod appeared in a twister of ice and sleet. If he was anything other than an ice demigod, it would have been very uncomfortable, but alas, Skrael’s gotta Skrael, and that included monologuing in his chilling and creepy voice, “Surrendering already? I was hoping for a little more cat and mouse.”

Douxie was suddenly very uncomfortable knowing that this was the company you were trapped with during your ten-year absence. That this was all you’d heard for a decade. Douxie wondered, for a moment, against his will, what exactly they’d said to you in the past ten years. What horrors had you heard?

The wondering only got worse when Bellroc decided to jump in with a threat of their own. It was a classic, “You will be rewarded with a quick and painful death,” but Bellroc’s intimidating and ever-changing voice added a new level to the threat, something that most other villains lack. The Green Knight didn’t even make a threat, he just growled like a basic bitch.

Merlin didn’t care though. Basic bitches or otherwise, he got straight to business, “A fight here will end poorly for all of us. We seek a truce,” the old wizard turned to his apprentice and nodded. It was time for someone who did care about basic bitches.

“Good evening, doers of evil and ancient terrors. We have a proposal: a trade. One of yours for one of ours,” Douxie moved forwards and back again, his lanky-ass limbs swishing through the air, trying to illustrate his point. It was super effective.

“Our missing third in exchange for your troll mongrel?”

“You would give up your only advantage? What does this gain you?” both Bellroc and Skrael sounded confused, the perfect conditions for a lengthy explanation that would hopefully buy Claire all the time she needed to get Jim and you out safely.

Douxie took a short breath, “Yes, well, an excellent question, one that requires a long, thoughtful, time-consuming answer. Come on, Claire.”

Somewhere above your friends, your pain began to subside. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for you to stand and make your way over to Jim. You knew that it wasn’t really your boy, and you knew that he wouldn’t respond, but you made an attempt to speak with him anyway. You owed him that much.

“Hey there, kid.”

He grunted and moved away from you, retreating into the darkness, “Woah, woah, woah, easy buddy, just- try and stay in one spot for me-” your voice caught in your throat as another wave of agony rolled through you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say the face of your old friend almost looked concerned.

You brought yourself back up, and a little gasp escaped you as the pain subsided. You were okay for the moment, but you didn’t know how long that would last. It was time to talk as fast as you could.

“Jim, honey, I need you to listen to me. I know how hard this is. I know what it’s like, trust me. But we- we have to fight this. You have a life to live, kiddo. You need to get back to Claire, to Toby and the rest of them, and I-” you cut yourself off before you could say you needed to get home, to get to Douxie. As much as you loved Jim, he was under the Order’s control. They’d already threatened your wizard’s life, you didn’t need them knowing exactly how much he meant to you. However, magic be damned, you had to get through to the boy inside this monstrous shell, “I know it’s hard, Jim, but I’m fighting this with you. Neither of us are alone.”

He growled at you but didn’t respond outside of that. It was time to be persistent.

“I know. But I need you to come back. I need-” once again, you couldn’t say what you were thinking. You couldn’t tell him that you needed proof, something to believe in that could maybe restore the last of your faith. You needed to know that there was hope, that you could come back from this. Jim Lake was one of the bravest and strongest kids you knew. He’d been through so much, and in comparison to your age, he was just a baby. If anyone could fight this, it would be him, and if he couldn’t, you weren’t sure if you could. You drew a shaky breath before you continued, “I need you to come back, for Claire, Toby, your mom, for yourself. You deserve better than this.”

He growled again, burrowing deeper into his hiding place. You bit your lip, thinking of what to say next, but you were interrupted. Someone was coming. Now you needed to hide.

It wasn’t a member of the Order as you’d suspected. Instead, Claire portaled into the room. You had no idea how she got in here, but seeing her was better than seeing the alternative. You stayed hidden while she spoke to Jim, almost feeling like you were intruding. At least he actually talked to her. You watched, hidden in shadows while she tried to coax him into leaving with her. You stayed silent, which became a little more difficult when a sharp pain shot up your side. You bit your lip to avoid crying out, but nothing could prevent the gasp that escaped you when you realized exactly where that pain had come from. If it wasn’t yours, then that meant it was Douxie’s. Douxie was somewhere in the castle.

That thought drove a deep, unyielding fear straight into your heart. You had to get to him, to protect him from the Order, curses and shards be damned. You jumped from your hiding place, causing the briefest of distractions to Claire, Jim, and Morgana, who had joined the fray while you weren’t watching. You paid them no mind, though. Claire could portal out of here, Morgana could more than take care of herself, and Jim was Bellroc and Skrael’s new favourite weapon. They would be okay. But you? If the sudden sharp pain in your back meant anything, you had somewhere else to be.

The first thing you saw was Jim, clinging to the ceiling above your wizard, ready to pounce. You would have attacked him if your vision hadn’t gone green. At first, you thought it was Merlin, trying in vain to protect Douxie, but then you realized exactly what was happening to you. And that was much worse.

Here, in close quarters with both the Green Knight and Douxie, the drive to kill your love had increased exponentially. Your mind clouded with bloodlust, your hands seized your sword. Before your eyes, you saw vivid flashes of green and red. It didn’t take you long to realize that the red was his blood. Or, it was supposed to be. At any other time, these visions would have destroyed you, but at the moment they only added fuel to a raging fire; one that had gone out long ago but somehow burned anew in your chest. For a moment, there was nothing but hate and rage towards the person you loved the most in this world. For a moment, you feed yourself.

And it only got worse from there. You leapt clear across the room, grabbing Douxie and putting your blade to his throat. At the same time, Jim jumped down from the corner of the roof he’d been hiding in and collected Archie and Merlin, holding them at bay. Out of all the things you’d been through, you decided that this was probably the worst. You were so close, so close to killing him. To ending his life, wiping his existence from this earth. You could see the horror on Archie’s face, and on Merlin’s, for that matter. You couldn’t see Douxie, but you could feel what he felt. Betrayal, heartbreak, and fear. So much fear. He was afraid of you.

If you went through with this, no one would ever forgive you, and you couldn’t blame them, but their scorn would be nothing compared to what you’d do to yourself.

You were vaguely aware of your surroundings. Of Clarie and Steve getting themselves frozen, and of the ultimatum offered to Merlin.

“We propose new terms,” Bellroc said, their voice much calmer now that they were in control.

“Give us Nari, or he dies,” Skrael pointed towards you. You could hear Archie yowling, Merlin yelling something and Douxie apologizing. In any other situation, you would wonder what he was apologizing for. Was it for trusting you? For what, in his opinion, must've been failing his mentor and Master? You had so many questions, but the answers didn’t matter. You weren’t in any other situation. You were there, in the Order’s castle faced with an ultimatum of your own. Kill Douxie, the love of your life and the person you trusted more than anything, or fight to save him. The answer to that question was clear. You closed your eyes.

The visions didn’t stop. You tried to stop everything your body was doing, to drop your sword and free him, but you couldn’t seem to let go. You bit your lip, tearing your skin with the effort, tears already coming to your eyes.

That’s when it started to hurt.

Excruciating, agonizing white-hot pain spread across your body from deep inside your core. You’d been hurt before, hell, you’d been tortured not much earlier, but this was beyond anything you had ever suffered through. You dug your nails into Douxie’s shoulder, whimpering, slightly. Your hand was clenched around the hilt of your blade, knuckles white, hands shaking. It was all you could do to keep from screaming. Your entire body felt like it was burning and freezing all at once. The smell of blood and acid hung in the air. The taste of metal stung your mouth. Your muscles seized and relaxed in waves. Tears collected in the corners of your eyes as your poor body battled against itself. You strained against yourself, whispering apologies into the back of Douxie’s hoodie. Your words, however, twisted into a mixed groan and scream. Your mind went blank, and for a moment, you were nothing.

The world was a void. A painful, painful void. You couldn’t focus on anything. You ignored Merlin, his fight for Douxie’s life and his escape from Jim. You paid no mind to the blasts of green magic and Bellroc’s frustrated screaming. You couldn’t give any of it a second thought. Instead, you kept going, locked in a battle of your own. You had to keep breathing through the pain, to take back control. And Douxie noticed.

“(Y/N),” his voice was low, and maybe a little broken, “(Y/N), I know you’re in there. You don’t want to do this, you won’t- you can fight this. You have to fight this. Please, come back to me.”

A gasp escaped you as the pain heightened, reaching a brand new peak. You were 90% sure you were about to die. You dropped your sword, and stumbled back, falling away from your wizard.

For a second, there was nothing. Then you opened your eyes.

And you felt everything.

For that second, for that one moment, you felt the world sink into place. The pain was gone, and you didn’t want to kill any of your loved ones, and you were okay. All you saw were hazel eyes. It was all you needed to see.

But it was just a moment. It didn’t last. You felt a tug somewhere in you, within your magic, and you turned just in time to watch Merlin get stabbed.

You’d never been close to the old wizard. It was just how things turned out. You were a spy and traitor and he was, well, Merlin. There weren’t too many opportunities for bonding between you. But you had to admit to yourself, you did care for the old fool. He’d taken you on as an apprentice all those years ago, and even if you didn’t count it as a ‘real’ apprenticeship, it was. He taught you about a side of magic you’d never known before, and for that, you had to be thankful. And Douxie. Oh, god, Douxie. You knew how much the old wizard meant to him. Merlin was his teacher, his mentor, the man who’d saved his life all those years ago and, in a sense, saved yours. Almost a thousand years ago, Merlin had bonded you to that boy and given you the best thing in your life. The two of you had your differences, but you would be forever in his debt.

Which is why you screamed as the blade tore through him. You found yourself reaching out as he was thrown back to the earth, as if you could do anything to stop it. You felt yourself go numb. Douxie had a slightly more emotional reaction.

You braced yourself against a storm of blue magic, radiating from your wizard. You stood, still as stone, while Jim, the Order, the Knight and Morgana (who’d joined the party at the most dramatic time possible) were blown back. As soon as they were out of commission, you grabbed Archie, scooping the familiar into your arms. In any other situation, the cat would have been fine with this, but at that moment, he struggled. Archie frantically tried to escape your hold, motivated by an intense drive to get to Douxie’s side, to support him in whatever way he could. You felt the same way.

You took a step towards your wizard, but before you could get to him, he turned. His eyes were glowing. Blue. He yelled for you to run, to get away from there, but you were frozen in place by a force you couldn’t name. The difference in his magic, in his soul, could not go unnoticed. He was stronger, somehow, and it stopped you. The light behind his eyes sent a shock through your system. Douxie was never one to use offensive spells on you outside of a full-on fight, but he was out of time and out of options. He threw you and Archie towards the others, calling out another “Get out of here!” before breaking a window and flying out of it. You didn’t even have time to process that. You just did as you were told, jumping through a shadow portal without a second thought.

Earth was colder than you remembered it.

But then again, maybe that was just a side-effect of travelling by shadow portal.

The most likely option, though, was that it had something to do with the scene before you.

Merlin was on the ground. He looked smaller, weaker than you’d ever seen him before. That thought on its own was horrifying. Merlin was the definitive master wizard. He was the strongest of your kind, your leader, in a sense. He was everything a good wizard was supposed to be. And you could feel him dying.

You weren’t the only one.

“-Hold still. I can fix this, I-I-I can fix this-”

I can fix this.

You’d heard that one before.

You’d heard that one a lot, actually. If Douxie had a catchphrase outside of kid-friendly swears, it would probably be “I can fix this.”

He was always so determined to keep everyone safe and to prove himself. Every mess he found himself in, he’d insist that he could fix it. He could fix time. He could fix your broken heart. He could fix the world one day if he wanted to.

But you weren’t sure he could actually fix this.

You took a small step forward, releasing Archie from your hold. Douxie said nothing, at least not to you. He kept repeating those words, over and over again. You could hear him start to lose hope.

“Douxie-”

“(Y/N), help me, please. You have to help me save him- we can fix this. I can-”

“Stop, Hisirdoux,” Merlin’s voice brought your attention back to him, “No one can. Do not blame yourself.”

You took a few more steps forward before kneeling at Merlin’s other side. The part of you that was trained in medicine, a part of you that you were almost surprised to still possess after today, took in Merlin’s injuries. You hated to admit it, but he was right. There was no hope here. Dread settled in your stomach as you realized these wounds, and therefore this death, were, in some way, your fault.

“I’m sorry. I should have listened to-” you stole a quick glance at Douxie. He was doing as well as one might expect.

“No, no. I’m sorry,” the old wizard winced and you put a hand on his shoulder, using what little power you had left to ease his pain. It would not save him, but it might make passing a little more peaceful. He nodded at you, the most approval you’d ever received from the old man, before he continued, “I spent a lifetime serving the wrong master, trying to save this world.”

“You can’t! You’re Merlin, the greatest wizard of all time!” Douxie collapsed onto Merlin, and you could tell from the small tremors that ran through him that he was crying. The old wizard put a hand on his back, trying to comfort him. You felt tears spring to your own eyes. You could feel his pain. You’d known it yourself, centuries ago. Merlin offered a hand to you. You took it.

“Merlin- master, I’m so sorry,” you were only whispering, but you know he heard. They both did.

“I saw a glimmer of greatness, of what you could become,” he moved his hand to Douxie’s face, “And the greatest thing I ever accomplished was saving you,” he brought the hand holding yours to hold Douxie’s. You felt your wizard take a shaky breath.

“I’ll try and make you proud.”

“You already have… son.”

And he was gone. Merlin was… gone.

You hadn’t realized you were crying until then.

“No, no, no, you can’t go!” you pulled back as your wizard cried out, your hands covering your mouth, catching your tears as he pulled his mentor closer to him. His voice lowered to a whisper, “No, please. I’m not ready.”

And then Merlin was ash, dust in the wind, a pattern dispersed.

“Douxie, I’m so sorry,” Claire said as she, Steve and Archie crossed the clearing you’d landed in. Claire went to Douxie’s side, Steve went to yours. It wasn’t much, but it was some comfort in this uncertain world.

“I-I can’t believe he’s gone,” Archie nudged a little closer to Douxie as he spoke.

And he was right. With a final gust of wind, Merlin left you, leaving behind a thick, leather-bound book. His grimoire. Your last hope.

“What is that?” Steve asked as Douxie picked up the book, clutching it to his chest.

“It’s all we have left to guide us,” he stood, “Other than that… we’re on our own.”

He was right. You were more alone than you realized. More than you had been for the last few hundred years.

#hisirdoux x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie x reader #douxie imagine #hisirdoux imagine #almost a thousand years #aaty #angst #hisirdoux #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #toa douxie #toa hisirdoux

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musicalskater59 · 4 years

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Daylight December: Hunter

Alrighty! First of all, I'm writing this one on my phone so if my grammar or shit is off a little, that's why. Second of all, sorry for the lateness today! Had a pretty hectic morning/afternoon so far lol Also, this one is more of an AU write-up in comparison to my last few I've had on here soooo I hope that's alright with all of you.

Anyway! I hope you guys enjoy it!

Ever since I was young, I was told I was meant for great things. It was not just expected, but destined for me.

I guess that comes with being the son of a trollhunter.

Our family line of hunters dates back centuries. All the way back to the days of Mark Anthony and Cleopatra, as my father would say.

But no matter how great he told me I would be, I never felt as such.

Especially in moments like these.

I huffed heavily as I tried my best to calm my breaths.

"Hunter!" The growl of the towering Gum-Gum broke through the silence of the forest with ease as I let out a small yelp in reply. "You cannot hide from me forever!"

Are you sure about that, Bular? I'm pretty sure I'm big enough of a coward to find a way.

A large smack echoed through the forest as the troll knocked the trunk of a tree hard enough for it to snap in half. The tree falling to the ground with a loud thud as I just pressed my back against the tree I was hiding behind.

On second thought, you'll definitely be able to kill me before then.

"Come on. Come on. Think Lake. Think!" I muttered the words to myself as I looked around my surroundings. The only sight to be seen was the thick mass of trees around me.

If I start running now, there's no chance that I'll be able to outrun him. Trolls run as fast as an automobile while I can barely run a mine in under five minutes. If I keep hiding here, he'll find me for sure. So what to do, Lake? What do you do?

I leaned the back of my head against the trunk as the soft clink of my helmet made itself known to me.

Proud of me now, Dad? Your only child you paid your life to save is a coward when it comes to a single Gum-Gum you fought countless times. That's something to be proud of, right? Totally.

I whipped my head toward the sound of a sudden whoosh beside me as the sight of a black and purple hooded figure joined my side through a purple portal.

"Hunter." I smiled at the sight as her familiar soft voice joined me.

"Witch." I nodded my head toward her since she couldn't see my smile due to my armor. "Or was it Wizard that you enjoyed being called?"

"THERE YOU ARE!" I whipped my attention toward the Gum-Gum's voice as the witch grabbed my bicep and pulled me into the portal she had jumped through a few moments prior.

"I've told you to call me Claire."

"Well I told you a million times now to call me Jim, but you seem to enjoy Hunter better." We turned our attention toward the thunder of fast footsteps before Claire pulled me into the portal behind her.

"Let's worry more about living and less about names at the moment."

"Whatever you say, Magic Lady." We stepped through to the other side as our eyes were welcomed to the sight of Troll Market as the portal whooshed shut behind us. "Thanks for the save there."

"No problem, Lake." The witch pulled the hood off her head before toying with her hair to adjust it behind her neck. "Count it as a thank you for the last time you saved me."

"When I helped you it was with a horde of goblins. It was nothing like getting a getaway from Bular the goddamn Butcher."

"Nope. We're even."

"But-." She turned toward me and tapped the collar part of my armor so that my helmet retracted into it. Her index finger then tapping the edge of my nose with an amused tone in her voice.

"Even." I blushed as she just turned away from me and started heading further into Troll Market. The glow of the heartstone crystal gracing her figure as she entered the beauty that was Troll Market.

Huh. A beauty entering an equally beautiful scene. Ironic.

I felt a dopey smile appear on my face as I followed after Claire. The memory of the two of us first meeting as The Hunter and The Witch of Troll Market ringing through my head with each step I took.

I stared at her with wide eyes as she flung her hood off her head.

"The name's Claire." I looked down at her hand as I swallowed dryly at the sight of it. "I'm not going to bite you, you know."

"I know." I swallowed once more as I took her hand into mine. "I know you already." She gave me a curious look as I tapped that the collar of my armor. My helmet retreating into it as I gave her a nervous smile. "I'm-."

"Jim. Jim Lake." She gave me a soft smile as she shook my hand once as I just gave her a shocked look.

"You know my name?"

"How could I not?" She gave a soft giggle after her response. "We've had classes together for what? The last two years?"

"Sorry, just thought you wouldn't notice me."

"And why wouldn't I?"

"Because I'm-. Well. Me." I gave her a nervous smile once more as she just gave me a smile in return.

"I quite liked the you I knew."

"Really?"

"Really."

"You're getting a lot better with dealing with Bular though." I shook myself out of my memories as I looked over toward Claire who was now by my side as we made our way further into Troll Market together. "You're just frightened of getting hurt like anyone else is. You don't trust yourself and honestly, you need to give yourself a bit more credit."

"Credit for what? Hiding like a coward?"

"Credit for being out there in the first place." I gave her a shocked look as she just gave me a wide smile. Her fist knocking into my left bicep in a friendly manner. Even if the pink tint of her cheeks was telling me otherwise. "Any other guy in your shoes wouldn't even bother running out there like that. Especially since you ran out into the forest for what again?"

"A lost whelp." I mumbled the words under my breath as I pulled my gaze away from hers. A bright blush taking over my face as her praise caused a bashful feeling to take over my chest.

"Exactly." Her hand placed itself on my left shoulder as she shook it lightly with a laugh. "This is why you're a good hunter. If you were a true coward, you wouldn't have gone out there in the first place." I looked back over toward her as she squeezed my shoulder plate. "You just gotta have a little faith in yourself."

"Well the only faith I have right now is that you'll have my back." I gave her a wide smile as a blush continued to burn at my cheeks. The wide smile she gave me in return causing a nervous swell to take over my chest instead.

"That you should." She engulfed my left bicep with her right hand as she dragged me toward The Forge. "Now let's go tell Blinky about what we saw. He'll know what to do with our little Gum-Gum problem." I smiled as I let her pull me along.

I might not be a great hunter, but I will be one day. I'll be everything that my father thought I would be. It'll take a little time though.

Claire flashed me a smile over her shoulder as we went further into Troll Market. The hustle and bustle of the underground city going silent as all I could hear was the rush of my heartbeat in my ears.

At least, I will be. With her by my side.

#daylightdecember #jlaire #jim lake jr #claire nuñez #jim x claire #trollhunters #tales of arcadia

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mercifuldeaths · 6 years

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Vertigo: Chapter 5: Walls

Vertigo: Chapter 5

Walls

This fic is in progress.

Jim Mason x Reader

Warnings for this chapter: Smut, mentions of drug use

Summary: Things are finally good and Jim is starting to think that maybe, just maybe, things will get even better.

Notes: Oh my sweet, Jim. Really just some fluff and smut as Jim’s newest relationship is explored. Enjoy it while it lasts because.......it doesn’t last :)

Word Count: 6.1K - hope that makes up for the wait :)

Long shadows stretched over the wooden table, now littered with both their empty mugs, notebooks, and laptops. The sun was setting, a far cry from the high light that shone in when she entered the coffee shop. Jim guessed that they had been there close to eight hours, neither of them getting much work done.

His phone vibrated against the table, again. Y/N signed and snatched it up before he could. She held it so he could see “Gremlin” pop up as the contact name. Of course, it was Medina.

“Answer the phone, Jim,” she deadpanned. Medina had called a few times over the course of the day, Sandy, too. He had declined them all, repercussions be damned.

“No, it’s fine. It’s just Medina.”

“She’s worried about you. Just let her know that you’re fine,” she stopped herself from answering the phone herself, feeling that maybe that was taking things a little too far.

She could tell that Jim was a very private person despite the way he acted when all the boys were around. He seemed much smaller sitting there, pinched brows looking at his laptop and notes. He had shrugged off his denim jacket hours ago and was just in a tee shirt she had to stop herself from imagining herself wearing to bed. His arms were exposed, tan and toned from hours in the sun. She always thought he was most beautiful with the sun on him, soaking in its light and radiating it out.

“She needs to stop worrying about me. I’m fine,” he leaned over and gently grabbed the phone from Y/N. “I’ll text her, how about that?”

“Fine,” she said with a graceful simplicity. “But are you fine?”

His eyes flashed something of fear, fear of her finding out more than he had intended. “Because I’ve had you here hostage for like, hours now,” she continued and he exhaled the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Sorry your one night stand became,” she gestured to their messy table and herself, making a face.

He laughed, a little uncomfortable. Was that all that was? A one night stand? Swallowing thickly he said, “Doesn’t have to be a one-night thing.” She gave him a quizzical look, seeking an explanation.

“Jim. I can’t believe that I have to be the person to remind you, but you have a girlfriend.”

He felt his stomach tie itself in knots. If he was Phil, then this was his sidepiece reminding him of his real relationship. He tried to push his feelings down, deal with them later.

He hesitated. “I don’t think Heather is...that anymore,” he murmured, feeling his face burn. “She hasn’t answered my calls or texts for two weeks.”

“Oh,” Y/N responded, her voice small. “I’m so sorry. I would never have-I didn’t know-” she tried to find the words she wanted to say but all of them fell short.

“It wasn’t you!” he reassured her. “I’m pretty sure I said some shit earlier that night. I don’t really remember that part…” he trailed off, still embarrassed.

“Okay...I’m still sorry,” she consoled quietly.

“Don’t be,” he managed another smile and she felt her heart waver. “What is that saying? Liquor reveals true feelings or personality or whatever?” He looked to her. “And I really didn’t like her that much, anyway,” he mumbled, a little more quiet.

“Yeah, I remember you saying that,” she let out a sad laugh. “Are you going to break my heart, Jim?” her voice lilted and he couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not.

He answered honestly, anyway. “Y/N, I don’t think I could if I wanted to.”

Somehow the conversation had turned to other things. That’s how he found himself awkwardly standing in the foyer of her massive house. Arched ceilings, high windows, sweeping staircase. He admired the architecture but chastised the luxury. I’d all be torn down in a few years anyway.

“What do your parents even do?” he shouted to her after she had run upstairs. He didn’t follow. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. No more quick and dirty fucks, at least not until he had made sure she actually liked him for him. He couldn’t bear to hurt her and he didn’t think he could take any more hurt, himself. He wanted to move slow.

“It’s just my dad. He does something for the Pentagon. Defense or something?” her voice traveled down the stairs where he could hear her rummaging around. He found himself imagining her bedroom. “Is it bad that I don’t really know?” she said reappearing at the top of the stairs, a playful smile on her lips.

He laughed and kept looking around, sort of in awe. There were family pictures scattered throughout the halls and on the coffee table. It’s just my dad. But there was a woman in some of the photos. A tall brunette with a heart-shaped face was in most of them when Y/N looked young. As Y/N aged through the photos he noticed that she was no longer there. The stoic man with greying hair, broad and stern, was in all of them with a protective gaze over Y/N’s shoulder.

What really confused him, however, was the other girl. A small one, definitely younger than Y/N. She had the same eyes and lips as her...sister? He couldn’t be sure but that’s absolutely what it looked like. Photos of them on beaches were everywhere. A sandy toddler’s hand being held by a young Y/N, waves high and rough in the background. If he had to guess there was maybe a five-year difference between the two.

The most recent looked...recent. He didn’t like that at all. It was the two of them on what looked like the same beach from when they were kids. The younger one zipped into a wetsuit, smiling at the camera while Y/N was behind her, resting her elbow on the shorter one’s head, wrapped in a knit coverup. There was only one small surfboard cast aside.

He could place some photos after that day by the young one’s noticeable absence. Like Y/N said- It’s just her and her father. He knew Medina mentioned that she was an only child and he knew almost no details, but he could piece together that something horrid had happened. His blood ran cold.

He snapped out of his reverie by her bounding down the stairs, meeting him by the front door. Acting casual, he tried to hide his new discovery. If she wasn’t ready to share he wouldn’t push her.

“So these are the ones that Chad gave me. He promised they’re pure but I don’t know if I trust him,” she opened an Altoids tin to reveal some pills and a dime bag of coke, her dwindling stash. He didn’t know why, but seeing her holding his poison of choice made his stomach drop, sadness washing over him. She placed some small blue tablets into one of the small plastic baggies, sealed the top and handed it to him.

“What did we take when,” she hesitated, obviously alluding to the night that they had become quite...acquainted. A nervous laugh escaped her. “I was rolling.” Her smile was small and he became aware of the fact that he wanted nothing more than to kiss her.

Jim faltered. “I, uh. I don’t know,” he admitted and started picking at his fingers.

“It’s cool. I can ask around.” She smiled, not aware of how he was embarrassed. He couldn’t untie the knot in his stomach when he saw her pick through her collection of pills, contemplated taking one, and then decided to save it for Skeezer’s birthday later that week. “It’s going to be insane. I don’t even think I’m ready for it,” she informed him.

Truth be told, he was ready for that rager. What he was more ready for was the inevitable group of people waiting for him on the top of a cliff, ready with booze and anything else he wanted. Just a little. You’re doing so good. It wouldn’t be much, just enough. He tried to tell himself but he knew what the next few evenings would consist of.

He’d been out so often lately he owed it to his mom to stay in.

The little blue pills Y/N had gifted him would absolutely help with Sandy’s nonsense and he was grateful. He knew the tightness in his gut would disappear the second he placed it on his tongue.

“I would invite you up, but you said you have plans” She stepped closer to him and he could feel her warmth. Plans. Yeah. Go fish, shitty reality TV, and bitching about his father. Those were the plans for the evening and probably the whole week. It would be his plans for his whole life if Sandy had her way.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled leaning into her. He pressed a light kiss to her lips. He kept it innocent and slow. He was going to do it right this time. This wasn’t how it was with Heather. This time it was real, he knew it in his bones. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promised.

“Dinner? Soon?”

“Anything you want.” He placed another kiss on her forehead and she smirked and he started on his way out of the door. His eyes shone under the night sky-her personal universe.

“Anything? Now that could be a lot of things, now couldn’t it?” She stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he made his way down the driveway to his car.

“I’ll give you this whole world. I promise.”

And she knew he was telling the truth.

The next few months passed in a blur of salt water and stars. Nothing was forced or unnatural. In fact, it was the most Jim had ever felt like himself. It was unexplainable, and he had tried to explain it to Medina but he just sounded like a moron. She had told him as much.

“It’s like...she’s just,” he blew out the cloud of smoke he had been holding in his lungs. The beach was quiet that morning with mushy grey waves lapping at the rocks. It felt like he and Medina were back in their treehouse-just the two of them where nothing could hurt the two of them. “It’s like we’re the same? You know?”

“So you’re dating yourself?” She rolled her eyes.

“No, it’s like-she kinda reminds me of you.” He looked to his twin and tried to tame his hair that was tangling in the wind.

“So you’re dating me? Jim, that’s even weirder.” She leaned over and flicked his ear.

Flinching, he responded, “No! No. God. It’s just like, you know how you and me are connected? It’s kinda like that. It just works.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know, I can’t explain it.”

“Yeah, you really can’t.” She slapped him on the shoulder and stood up to grab her board. “Let’s go, stupid.”

He raced her into the water, now determined to get the first good wave.

Sandy had been an issue, of course. When she found out he had a girlfriend, and had one for six months at that point, she just about lost it on him. He found himself curled on his side in her bedroom getting the lecture she always gave when she had the slightest suspicion he was seeing someone.

“You could get her pregnant! She could force you to marry her!” Her shrieks reverberated in the house.

“I’m not getting married, mom. I’m too young,” he mumbled, head half buried in the pillow. He didn’t tell her that he would gladly marry Y/N in an instant, no thought process required. Sometimes at night, when things were getting bad, his thoughts would drift to her in an ivory dress, barefoot on the beach, palm trees creating shadows over her face.

“Well then, there’s no point in seeing her. I forbid it.” With that, he sat up and turned to face his mother.

“I’m not going to stop seeing her, mom.” He shrugged and went to stand. She pushed him back to the mattress with a press of her hand onto his shoulder. He gently removed it and stood. It felt strange, looking down at her. Sometimes he forgot that he was taller than her, and had been for some time.

Sometimes he forgot he wasn’t a kid anymore.

Medina had been standing in the doorjamb, watching things unfold. Jim couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he pushed past her while she did her weird staring thing he always begged her to stop doing, for the sake of his friends.

“The fuck are you looking at,” he hissed at her. She was the reason that Sandy knew about Y/N. He wasn’t even sure of how Medina let it slip, but she did. He briefly thought that maybe she was jealous that her friend started dating her brother, but Medina didn’t get jealous. And Y/N still spent plenty of time with just Medina. She had no reason to tell Sandy, but a small part of Jim told him that she did it on purpose, just to spite him.

“Jim!” Sandy stormed out of her room, rattling the china in the cabinets. Jim was throwing some water bottles and granola bars into his backpack. “Jimmy, what are you doing? Where are you going?” she asked, breathless. She ran up to him, balling his tee shirt into her fists, clinging to him. “Stay,” she sobbed out.

Jim, very gently, Medina noticed, unraveled her fingers from his shirt and peeled her away from him. His face was drawn and he looked exhausted, eyes burning from lack of sleep. He still wore his stress on his face.

He slipped on his jacket and pulled on the sneakers that were next to the door. Sandy was now collapsed, full tears staining her face. “Jimmy, no, no, baby. I’m sorry, mommy’s sorry, baby.”

His heart ached but he kept his face still. He looked to his twin, still watching-not moving toward their mother. “I’ll be back soon,” he said directly to Medina, avoiding Sandy.

His heart thrummed in his chest as he walked to his car, making sure the usual beach blankets were in the back. He pulled out his phone and tapped her contact name: “Snake Queen” an inside joke from when Y/N would snake every single wave from the bay boys, just to prove herself.

She answered on the first ring. “Hey!” He let out a sigh, trying to slow his breathing.

“Hi, babygirl. Get some shoes on and bring a jacket. I’ll be by in five,” he rushed out, but he couldn’t tell why he was moving so fast. Nobody cared enough to come after him, anyway.

“What? I thought you were in with Sand- I thought you couldn’t go out tonight?”

“I’ll be by in five-better be ready or I’ll leave without you,” he threatened but they both knew that for her, he would wait forever and a day.

He tore down Palos Verdes West Drive and turned onto Laurel, already seeing her house in view. According to Google, it was supposed to take six minutes to get there but if he went fast he could get there in three. He had timed it.

The outside light was on, their signal that she was home alone, father gone to DC. He beeped the horn to the rhythm of the song on the radio until she crept out of the front door, already laughing. Just seeing her smile, he already knew it was all worth it.

She locked up and slid into the passenger seat. “Jim, it’s late, be quiet!”

He just looked at her, a goofy smile on his face. He stuck his tongue out. “I do what I want,” he mocked her higher pitched voice. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, loving his silly mood.

“So, what is this? Where are we going?” She looked around the car for any hints but there were none.

“Can’t tell you. It’s a surprise.” He smiled and started to pull away from the house, driving a little too fast. “I can tell you that we’ll get pizza on the way. But after that, surprise.” The car wove in and out of traffic, always making her a little nervous, but she supposed that was where the thrill came from.

Under his good mood, she could tell that something was off about Jim that night. He wasn’t high, she could tell that immediately, all too acquainted with her boyfriend’s second personality. He was talking a little too fast, driving too reckless, eyes a little manic. There were no drugs involved, but she could tell he was high off something else. If she had to wager it was that he wasn’t with his mother.

Something must have happened. She swallowed thickly but was more than happy to be happy with Jim. Seeing him smile was really the most beautiful thing, she thought. She looked at his profile as he sped down the street. His eyes were bright, the blue shining with every headlight that shone on them. The crinkles next to his eyes told her that the grin she fell in love with was authentic. He let out a genuine laugh and placed his right hand on her thigh, thumb stroking over the soft fabric of her leggings.

“What?” He looked at her, a little self-conscious.

“Nothing.” Her eyes widened. “Sometimes I just fall in love with you all over again.”

They had been driving for three and a half hours, taking the long way despite his fast speed. It being so late, she had pulled her legs onto the seat and started napping while he drove, unable to keep her eyes open any longer. He kept a hand on her knee anyway.

At some point, she had put on one of his sweatshirts that he usually kept in the back seat. She pulled the hood over her eyes, drawstrings tight and he couldn’t help but giggle at her-never forgetting how lucky he was.

Finally arriving, he pulled into the dirt site, cutting the lights. “Baby,” he whispered really not wanting to wake her up. “We’re here.” He ran a thumb over her lips, the only exposed part of her face. She started to stir and he gently pulled the hood off, revealing half mass eyes.

“Where are we?” She met his quiet volume.

“Come on.” He bounded out of the car and jogged around to open her door, blankets tucked under his arm.

She tentatively climbed out and looked around. “The woods?” she guessed, sounding incredibly confused.

“Joshua Tree,” Jim corrected, throwing blankets over the roof of the car. “Climb up.” He gestured to the now padded and warm surface.

She finally understood what was going on, and she was more than happy to oblige. “You just want me to go up first so you can get a view,” she murmured, perfectly content burying her face in his chest.

“You are absolutely right. Now up,” he gave her bottom a gentle pat followed by a firm squeeze. She grumbled but listened, using the open door to boost herself up. “Mmmm,” he hummed. “That is my favorite view. You know what those leggings do to me,” he laughed and followed her lead onto the roof.

He situated himself next to her, feeling her warmth. She pressed herself to him, still feeling the chill in the air. Her gasp surprised him when she rolled onto her back.

There was the entire galaxy above them. In stunning detail, no light pollution, she felt like she could feel the stars’ light shining on them.

“I know, right?” Jim sighed next to her and turned over to look at the display of the universe. He swore if he stayed still enough he could feel the earth’s rotation. They both lay, taking measured breaths, fingers intertwining. “It doesn’t look real.”

“But it is,” she whispered to him. She wasn’t sure if he was talking about the stars anymore. She took the hand that wasn’t holding his and raised it to the sky. “Cassiopeia, right?”

He noticed Gemini wasn’t visible, a set of clouds covering it.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her temple. He curled around her, the whole universe above them but his whole universe in his arms.

They still partied. It was how they met, afterall and something that they both enjoyed. Jim, for the ability it gave him to become someone else, even just for a little bit. He’d wash his mind out with liquor and refill it with a poison of the night. And he knew it was bad but he enjoyed Y/N’s company when he was like that because he knew she was feeling just the same way.

Slowly though, he noticed that he was going through his stash slower, more tablets piling up after his weekly pick up from Chad. Eventually he went to getting more every ten days, then two weeks. His mind became clearer in class, he was actually able to get a significant amount of work done on his thesis, and he started to enjoy the sun more. When he was in the waves balanced on his board he started to actually feel the sunlight rather than just seeing it, as if it were far away.

She never asked him to stop or slow down. Yes, she worried immensely but when Y/N saw that he was slowing down to her pace, that worry died down. Recreational use wasn’t all that bad, she reasoned with herself. Especially for someone coming back from true addiction, like Jim. He was doing good. And they were fine.

People around PV started noticing them always with each other. Partners in crime, Bonnie and Clyde. They’d walk around with their mischievous smirks, really just happy to be together, ready to laugh at any moment. The bay boys gave Jim shit, of course.

“The hot one, really, Jimmy? Leave something for the rest of us.”

“Medina’s friend? Come on.”

“Snake Queen? You’re just fucking her so she stops stealing your waves.”

But even the boys saw a change in Jim. He was lighter. Something about him seemed right. Less darkness behind his eyes, shoulders pressed down rather than bunched up, and always a smile after sealing a glance at Y/N during a set or at a bonfire.

It was at one of those bonfires he knew that he really was in it. The fire lit up her face, framing her from where she stood swaying to the shitty music Alex was playing on the guitar. She stole the beer out of his hand and took a small sip. In the other hand she laced his fingers to hers.

“Dance with me,” she said, hips still swaying. She looked completely in her element, nobody could tell if the confidence came from a few beers but that hardly mattered.

“No, no baby,” he laughed and shook his head, eyes suddenly fascinated with the sand between his toes.

“Pretend...that it’s the last night. That the world doesn’t exist.” She lifted his hand in hers and spun herself under his arm. He couldn’t care less what the boys though, but he knew they’d make fun of him the next day. He also knew he didn’t care.

He grabbed her hips and rocked to the music, holding her close. He rested his head on hers and pressed his lips to her soft hair. Looking out to the dark horizon he knew that it was going to hurt when it was all over. Because everything ended. But he also knew that there was no going back.

Deciding to get away for the day had been her idea and it wasn’t too far, but it wasn’t Palos Verdes and that’s all that mattered. Sure Manhattan beach was more crowded, less exclusive, but that was the point. To escape the judging eyes and oppressive cultures of both the bay boys and the tennis moms was a vacation in and of itself.

He had spent the night at hers, waking before dawn just to watch the moon’s light shadow over her face. Still dark, they packed up their boards and wetsuits in her Jeep and headed out.

Y/N had always loved this time of day, the dawn. Things were still except for her fluttering heart every time she looked at Jim. Jim, certainly not a morning person, felt exhilarated, escaping in a getaway car. For the whole day he wouldn’t have to be a ‘bay boy’ or his mother’s keeper. He could be Jim.

The crowd there was used to tourists, people who came and went, so the pair wasn’t questioned.

The sun rose and lit up the beach with it’s warm glow. Jim couldn’t help it-maybe he was romanticizing things, but he really didn’t care. He’d watched her all day like watching a movie-just taking in her small movements, fascinated by anything and everything she did.

Their boards were much too close for them to be properly waiting for any waves, but they were floating next to each other, intertwined fingers dipping into the water. He lifted them and kissed her palm. She leaned over meet his soft lips with hers and they just took each other in, every breath, every soft sigh until one of the other surfers told them to break it up or move somewhere where the swells sucked so they wouldn’t be hogging the good waves. They unwillingly parted, wanting to get just a few more sets in.

He did like watching her. From the start. But now she was his to watch.

Y/N cut through the water, impeccable balance, her hips shifting to accommodate the oncoming waves. He couldn’t help but appreciate her body in the skin tight, slick wetsuit. Could only be improved if she wasn’t wearing anything, or maybe just his denim jacket.

As fast as the sun rose and peaked, it started to set and the couple found themselves sprawled out on a blanket under the pier, the sand still warm under them.

“Stop it,” Y/N playfully chastised as Jim stole another piece of watermelon she was snacking on from the container.

“No,” he said simply and leaned over across the blanket to kiss her cheek. He looked out towards the water where the last of the surfers were coming in for the evening. “We could probably get one more set if…” he started but saw her sigh, a little conflicted. “But I’m exhausted, too.”

“I wish everyday could be like this,” she whispered longingly, knowing she was changing the topic but really unable to think of anything else. It was true, and her thoughts had kept returning to the fact that their day was perfect.

“Who says it can’t.” He looked to her, leaning back onto his elbows, long legs stretched in front of him. She mirrored him, sitting the same way while digging her toes into the sand. “One day, everyday will be like today,” he promised her.

He saw the tension in her face, her brows a little pulled. “Baby, what’s the matter?” he asked, a little nervous that he had taken it too far suggesting that they would share their days like this.

Maybe she wasn’t having the same ideas of a beach house and worn in surfboards and a dog and a few kids with another on the way….He had to cut himself off-knowing he was getting his hopes up for nothing. Who would ever want that with him. Nobody, his mind supplied.

Jim leaned over to her, propping himself up on one arm while the other went to rest on her thigh. She shook her head, trying to stop the negativity. Sometimes she couldn’t help it.

It was always on the best days she was reminded of her. And it wasn’t anyone’s fault-truly. It was just the idea that her sister would never have days like this. As good as this. She didn’t have any days, anymore.

By then, Jim knew what was happening. He saw the small changes in her. The pulling of her brows, the smallest frown gracing her lips. He always wanted to kiss it off-turn it into a smile.

It had only been a few years since Noel had died. Y/N mentioned to him once that it had been bone cancer, but he could tell that getting into specifics was too painful. It didn’t just ravage her sister’s body but it split her family- ruining everything they had tried to build. Their mother left shortly after Noel’s diagnosis, unable to cope. Her father became almost obsessive over Y/N’s safety and happiness until he, too decided to start distancing himself from her. Y/N had turned to pills and booze, granted in a much less spectacular fashion than Jim had. They had packed up and moved across the country to forget everything, just like everyone else in Palos Verdes, it seemed.

Jim didn’t know all the details and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. It confirmed his beliefs that every family has its own brand of fucked up, however. Y/N and Jim were the same, caught in the crosshairs of a familial dysfunction far too gone to repair. And she, like him, didn’t like to talk about it. But with him she didn’t have to, she knew he understood.

“I’m sorry,” she shook her head again, trying to clear it. “I shouldn’t be upset, I’m just-” She took a deep breath trying to steady herself. “I just wish she could be here, too. She’d love it here.”

Jim solemnly nodded, understanding but unable to process what it was like to lose a sibling. He couldn't imagine life without Medina.

“Don’t worry. You’re fine,” he mumbled, lips pressed to her cheek as he maneuvered himself closer to her, placing her in his lap.

She felt his toned arms circle around her and she was home.

“I’m sorry I get like this-I just have to spoil everything, don’t I?” She turned sideways, resting on his thighs.

“You have, in so circumstance...ever, spoiled anything. Ever,” he laughed trying to lighten the mood a little. “In fact, I think you make everything better.” Small tears started to leak from her eyes and he quickly leaned in to kiss them away, his lips brushing over her soft skin. “Baby, you always make everything better.”

He pulled away to look her in the eyes, her eyelashes still wet but the tears stopping.

Jim held her tighter, placing his lips on hers, moving slow-no need to rush. She was too pliant under his capable hands, turning to face him, thighs straddling him.

He hummed into her mouth and allowed his hands to slip lower, settling over her hips, while her wrapped around him, her fingers tangling in his hair.

Shifting their weight, Jim managed to lay her back onto the blanket, her hair fanning out around her. He thought it looked like a halo-so fitting for someone he considered an actual angel. Her legs, still wrapped around him, pulled him down onto her to tease. Not being shy of playing her game, he ground his hips into her, hard. Going by the gasp she let out, he knew she could feel him hardening.

“Jim, I don’t know about this…” She turned her head to the side to see if anyone was looking at them. A beautiful red flushed her skin and Jim smiled. He turned his attention to laying love bites across her collarbone.

They were in a relatively secluded area under the pier and because it was nearing dusk, it was quiet. Jim continued to travel southward with his little open mouthed kisses, now getting sloppy as he licked over her hip, just above her bikini bottoms. “I don’t see anyone around,” he mumbled, still fascinated by the smooth skin under his tongue. That and the little shifts and twitches he was able to draw from her. “And I just really want you, babygirl.”

He knew he had her.

He slipped her bikini to the side dip his tongue into her, desperate for a taste. He hummed and the vibrations made her tighten her hands in his soft hair. He looked up to her from between her thighs, blue eyes gleaming mischievously. He couldn’t help smile into her dripping core, nuzzling his nose against her clit as his tongue continued lapping at her not wanting to miss a drop.

But his cock straining against his board shorts was becoming an issue. He wanted to bury himself in her. Pulling away from her, her wetness on his lips, he traveled up her body and took lips in his own. “You taste that? You’re sweeter than honey,” he said against her lips, unable to separate himself from her body for even a second.

“Jim,” she sighed. “Please, I’m-”

Before she would say anymore he had slipped himself out of his shorts and pressed his cock against her warm cunt. Fucking tease.

“Please, please, please,” she whispered against his mouth.

“That’s what I like to hear.” As a reward Jim pressed into her-slow. He knew he was holding back but her reactions were priceless. The little moans and gasps, her fluttering eyelids, her arms pulling him closer because all she really wanted was him closer.

“God,” She managed to choke out when he bottomed out. He watched her head loll back, exposing her neck where he sucked a few light bruises. He was soft, but she was still his.

He moved slow, taking his time watching her come undone. “Babe, I need more,” she moaned. Jim shook his head and kept the slow pace he had set. “We’re doing this right, me and you. Slow.”

“Fuck,” she resigned as he continued to rock into her. Y/N tilted her head up to meet him in the softest kisses, him gently lapping into her mouth while she swallowed his moans that were starting to get louder. Briefly, she thought about them getting caught but as the sun went down there were even fewer people around.

She could feel Jim’s pace falter, start to get faster, more rhythmic, despite him wanting to keep a tap on things. Their kisses were sloppy, not even completely on each other’s mouths, just searching for skin.

He was getting a little rougher, hands going to her ass and squeezing all the while he continued fucking into her. She knew he was close, but holding back, savor the moment- she was too.

“Babe, I gotta-”

“Me too. Fuck,” he groaned, a little too loud.

To her displeasure, but surprise, he slowed down and pulled back. He took a full moment to take her in, her swollen lips, wet. Her hair was starting to curl from being in the water and fanning around her, her legs wrapped around him, open for him. He smirked when he saw the tanline his favorite bikini made on her smooth skin. She was practically glowing. And he really just couldn’t believe that she was his. All his.

“Jimmy,” she said to break him out of his reverie.

In two more gentle thrusts he found himself spilling into her, all of his body weight pressing them together. He watched her as she came around him while he was filling her. Her eyes rolled back a little as she threw her head back, her chest rising, back arching off the sandy blanket.

“I love you.” It wasn’t what he had planned to say. But seeing her so blissed out, clenching around him, pulling him in, chanting his name like a goddamn prayer, her cunt milking him for everything he’s worth--he said it. Not going back, now.

“I love you, too, Jimmy. God I love you.” She came down from her high, waves still rolling over her, as she nuzzled into his neck, placing kisses.

They ended the night by stargazing, deciding to move out from under the pier. Y/N fell asleep on his chest, wearing his jacket, breathing in his scent.

Jim loved the stars-loved to look at them. But he really couldn’t help but keep stealing glances at her.

Really cool people that actually enjoy my garbage: @ccodyfern @langdonsdemon @coloursunlimited @thecinderellaposts @michael-langdon-appreciation @langdonalien @tarkofetis @stupidocupido @katiekitty261 @ovarydosed @lovelykhaleesiii @starwlkers @aveiangdon @heelsamizayn @sojournmichael @oneday-i-will-fight-luke17 @tickled-pinkmoodpoisoning @codysfallenangels

Special thanks to @thecinderellaposts @michael-langdon-appreciation @starwlkers and @ccodyfern for putting up with me <3

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unconventional-hero · 6 years

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Chapter 8-- Under False Colors.

Written by “The Countess”

(In which our Jacks are invited to dinner.)

* * * * *

He found his way back to the hotel. How, he could never tell, but he had never been lost in all his life.

After a sleepless night he came down to breakfast looking pale and haggard. He wondered how he could enjoy fried eggs, fresh fish and muffins when his heart was so heavy, but a man’s appetite is a wonderful and fearful thing, stronger than sorrow or love and rarely absent from its owner.

Certain it was that after the daintily served meal he felt much better and, upon regaining his room and lighting a cigar, he argued the matter, which so disturbed him, pro and con with his conscience.

“Henry Ashton!” he said, watching the smoke form a shadowy likeness of Clyde. “He called me ‘Henry’ when he saw me first. He couldn’t be confused! Blast the man! He’s more than half devil now!”

He kicks an unoffending ottoman viciously.

“He has the clearest brain in all the world and the blackest heart. I hate him!” The ottoman receives a kick this time which sends it flying across the floor. Then comes a pause. A mist suffuses his eyes and is hastily brushed away.

“He was my best friend,” he murmurs under his breath. “And to show him up in his true light would ruin him and do me no good. No, Clyde is too young to marry,-- her folks won’t let her fall in love till she been off to school and then-- ten to one she won’t care for either of us! But any way she’s a little lady and my raising a fuss would only maker her sorry and angry and she would never want to see me again. Yes, Jim’s head is clearest. I’ll forgive and--” with a great gulp-- “forget. And now--” rising and gazing into the depths of the pier-glass opposite-- “take a look at yourself, Henry Ashton!”

He smiles, sarcastically. “And Jim is me! Pshaw, I’ll be sure to call him Jim!”

A knock at the door. A porter with a letter-- no, a card elegantly engraved, “Mr. Jack Morningstar.”

“Somebody making me a present of a set?” he asks genially. “Awfully clever of him! Here’s a quarter.”

The surprised porter eagerly catches the “tip” thrown to him and so misses the dark look of remembrance that comes to Jack’s face. On the reverse side of the card he reads:

“You’re invited, as my friend from Montana to dine at McClure’s to-night with me. Remember, Henry, that Western men are all the go here and don’t polish up. Will call for you at 5:30. --Jack.”

He closes the door after very politely asking the now almost hysterical porter if he won’t “come in and set awhile,” and having the invitation promptly rejected.

“Dinner at McClures’!” he repeats, dazed. “That’s New York for stay to dinner. But ‘at 5:30!�� There must be some mistake! S’pose Jim meant ‘sup.’ Well, well! It’s all one! But at McClure’s! With my little Clyde! And Jim talking of saving her life out West and acting like me! Oh, I can’t do it!”

He throws away his cigar and looks from his window into the street below. What he is thinking of we can but guess. After a while he says it would be rude to refuse, even if he must take a heart of lead with him, and begins to lay out his best attire, polishing his boots until they rival patent leathers, and wondering if “the dudes here put bear-grease on their hair when they go out to dine!”

* * * * *

At 5:30, Jim arrives, picturesque, debonair and handsome. He knocks at Jack’s door, then enters without waiting for an invitation.

“Seems like the West, Jackie, old boy!” he cries gayly. “There, don’t start. Honestly, I’m horribly sorry for what I’ve done. But I’ll make it all right yet. See if I don’t! And I haven’t won the heart of the fair McClure either. The way is open to you. Come, shall we bury the hatchet?”

Jack makes no answer,-- only looks keenly at his companion’s face.

“Hurry, old fellow!” Jim says. “Dine at six, you know. Shall we be friends again?”

Jack starts forward impulsively.

“God knows you’ve hurt me, Jim! I’ve suffered-- there, your paw! Blast me! I love you better than life!”

“And to partly atone for my unaccountable treachery, old boy, I’ll talk to old Miss Dorothy all evening while you’re doing the agreeable to the pretty heiress. Could human friendship further go?”

Jack thinks not. He is as happy as a boy again. At peace with all the world and going to call on Clyde!

They descend the stairs and find a hansom cab waiting for them.

“It is handsome!” Jack says, after Jim has told him what the vehicle is called.

And then they are whirled away to the McClure mansion.

“You’re Henry Ashton, recollect,” Jim whispers eagerly, as they alight. “And I’m Jack Morningstar. Don’t give the game away!”

* * * * *

Miss Jennings greets them most politely and presents Clyde, radiant in rose-colored faille, to “Jack’s” friend, Henry Ashton.

“Really,” she says, calmly surveying them through her single eye-glass, “you are remarkably alike! Are you cousins?”

“Only friends,” responds the pretended Jack, glibly, with an anxious glance toward the real Jack, who is still standing feasting his eyes on the budding beauty of Clyde. “Here, Harry, my boy, take a seat!”

This is a breezy dash of Westernism on “Jack’s” part which is overlooked, though with a short pang, by Miss Dorothy.

She, however, seconds the invitation.

“Mr. Ashton, be seated, pray!” she says in her most genteel tones.

“I forgot where I was!” Mr. Ashton apologizes. “Thanks, I will.”

He takes a stiff, medieval chair at the other end of the room. Clyde’s pretty eyes dance with merriment.

Miss Jennings resolves to treat this new Western acquaintance with great coolness. She makes no effort to have him come into the circle and, turning to the elegant man near her says something about the weather and asks if he is still pleased with New York.

He replies gracefully, exulting secretly over his friend’s solecism and hoping that to the ladies he may appear doubly refined when compared to this “raw specimen,” as he mentally styles him.

After a while Mr. McClure, cordial and breezy as usual, arrives and dinner is announced.

“Dinner?” Mr. Ashton ejaculates, as he rises to his feet and walks rapidly across the room. I do hope that you haven’t kept the victuals waiting six hours for us, Miss McClure!”

Which he considers a graceful stroke, worthy of Jim, but which is greeted with a surprised but merry look from Clyde and utter silence from Miss Jennings.

They are ushered into a long and handsome dining room finished with oak. The table is covered with damask and buttercup satin and an enormous silver epergne, filled with fruits and flowers, graced the center. A dainty, antique water-carafe and the napkins and individual silver complete its furnishings.

Miss Dorothy asks quietly if Mr. Morningstar will ask a blessing.

Honest Jack, quite forgetting the part he is playing, begins, “For what we are about to receive--” when he hears Jim’s voice joining in. In a moment he has remembered all and stops. Jim has honored him, he thinks, by assuming his name. He cannot imagine himself as repeating such choice clauses and pious phrases as he now wonderingly listens to. He is scarcely conscious that he, to all outward appearances at least, has committed another blunder for beginning the grace and save for Miss Jennings’ haughty glance in his direction at the close, no attention is paid to it.

A well-trained butler brings in a bowl of bouillon and a thin square of bread for each of the diners.

“Mr. Ashton, what is the matter?” coos Clyde at his right. “Don’t you like bouillon?”

“Oh, yes, yes!” he answers, his heart leaping into his mouth at the sound of her voice. “I was only looking for the butter for my bread!”

Clyde hides a dimpling smile in her handkerchief. “They never use butter for the bread served with bouillon,” she explains, secretly glad that “Aunt Dorothy” is congratulating “Mr. Morningstar” on his early religious training at the time of this last ridiculous remark.

“Is that so? Funny now, isn’t it?” and Mr. Ashton cooly changes the subject to his great admiration for flowers such as those in the epergne. “And the vase is so odd,” he adds.

Clyde finds him to be great fun and allows him, through successive courses, to monopolize the conversation. Miss Dorothy almost ignores him.

When the lobster salad, fresh from the skillful hands of a chef, is brought in, “Mr. Ashton” sotto voce, tells Clyde that he believes “salading the fish is better than biling them,” only he is afraid the olive oil used in its manufacture may prove “too rich for his blood.”

“And tell me,” he says, at the end of the fourth course. “Did you actually cook all these things yourself? Why! you’d take the premium at the Gallatin county fair for those hot rolls! But maybe you keep a hired girl!”

Clyde laughs aloud, so merrily that “Mr. Ashton” congratulates himself on his fascinating powers, and so unrestrainedly that she meets a look of reproof from each end of the table and a quizzical glance from “Mr. Morningstar” opposite.

Covered with blushes, her face rivals her gown in color. She is sure of a lecture at the close of the dinner.

“Mr. Ashton,” elated by her laugh, says he knows some good conundrums and asks the time-honored “chestnut,” “Why was Eve sent into the garden of Eden?” which is more than Clyde can endure and she laughs again and shakes silently for several moments afterward.

After dessert coffee is served in tiny after-dinner coffee-cups without cream. Jack, the real Jack, does not comment on this fact however, secretly feeling worried at Miss Jennings’ hauteur.

Then come the finger-bowls, a yellow bit of lemon gleaming in each.

“Mr. Ashton” takes his eagerly.

“If there is one thing I’m fond of, it’s lemonade!” he says, and swallows a liberal mouthful of the water, while the dignified butler loses all dignity and rushes to the kitchen.

#Victorian era #period drama #romantic drama #1800s #late 1800s #An Unconventional Hero #volume 2 #the Countess

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theabominableblogger · 6 years

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My Reaction to “Gotham” S2E22

HOoollly CRAP!

AN: I managed to record my reactions to this episode and hopefully I can transcribe what I said into this post.

GOD no, and the Fake Jim’s gonna walk out and call it off! Nooooooo....

THAT IS SO OBVIOUSLY CLAYFACE! HO MY GOD!

“Hoss?” What?

“Hinky?” Hinky is a word?

Whoa...

IS THAT A BOMB?!?!?

“Prepare the patients for transport to the upstate facility.“ Wait wha- what’s the upstate facility? What is this place?!?

[Instruction Protocol Ready] Screw that noise!

*flips off the air with both hands*

“Okay quiz kids, who's ready to play Life or Death?“ Nobody!

“Who runs Indian Hill?” Hugo Strange!

Well yeah, technically it’s Hugo Strange, but the person in charge of Hugo Strange *in raspy dramatic voice* is the Court of Owls!

“What is that?” “Honesty serum. I [Hugo] need to know what you [Jim] know.“ Noooo....

OK, but truth be told, truth serum works like craaap! It just makes you really suggestive to stuff and really drowsy.

Like this whole scene would not even happen whatsoever

[Jim] Punch him [Hugo] in the face!

“If I don't check in with the GCPD by noon, tell them I'm safe, they'll come after you.” “Yes. Yes, I know. You did check in with the GCPD. Nobody's coming. You can relax.“ FREAKING CLAYFACE!

I hate this...

*freaking loses it at Clayface!Jim trying to make a neutral facial expression*

*trying not to laugh* How do people not know that this is Clayface I hate this! I hate this!

Oh my God! I hate this! Like, what the heck, guys?!?

“Wayne Enterprises runs Indian Hill, but who runs Wayne Enterprises?“ This should not be hard, you guys!

“We'll get to you [Fish], Number 13.” “Your mama may be Number 13, but I'm a human being.“ HOOO... hahahoooo....

Where the heck is Hugo getting all these weird outfits for the Re-Animants?

Oooohhh, I don’t like this...

*Oswald sets up Grace van Dahl’s head as a statuette* OH MY GOD!

I love Oswald’s leitmotif

Truth serum does not work like this... come oooonn...

I’m actually mad about this

“Close your eyes. Imagine that I am God.“ NO, MY GOD, NO!

“All-powerful. I am God, and I absolve you of all of your guilt.“ NO!

“It's gone. Your burdens are gone.“ No. Nope. Mmm-mmm. Nope. I hate.

*flips off air with both fingers* Every other person has Messiah complexes in this show... nope nope nope...

*starts drawing lines in the air with my middle fingers*

“Jim, now that we're relaxed and speaking honestly, tell me: what do you know about our work here at Indian Hill?“ You better not!

“And who controls Wayne Enterprises, behind the scenes? Who controls everything in Gotham, behind the scenes?” The freaking Court of Owls!

I hate this. I hate this so much.

“What you said about Lee. I should have gone after her.” “Oh, no doubt. Guilt has compelled you to sacrifice your heart to your conscience. But guilt is useless. Love, Jim. Love is our guide.“ I can’t fricking believe that probably most of the events concerning Jim and Lee in the next few seasons is because of this little interrogation scene between Strange and Jim.

Wait, so did Hugo tell Ed about the Court of Owls?

AN: He didn’t. He hinted at something to Ed but didn’t tell him.

*groans in frustration*

What the...

Whoa!

What... the...

They [Hugo Strange] freaking gave Ed a white lab coat and a new suit...

*The Court of Owls start talking in the background* Whoa...

How the heck is the Court of Owls hijacking the security feed cameras in Hugo’s office?

*slides out of chair in frustration* HOW DOES NO ONE KNOW THIS IS CLAYFACE?!?

*flips off screen with both hands* I HATE THIS! I hate this! I hate this!

THIS IS SO OBVIOUSLY CLAYFACE HOW DO THEY NOT REALIZE THIS I hate this episode! I hate this so much! I hate it!

“He's [Jim] got a touch of the flu.“ Bullshit!

*flips off screen again with both hands* I hate this!

“I [Selina] got you [Bruce] wrapped around my pinky. Always have.“ ...Yeah.

What the heck is that?

WHAT THE-

What the...

WHAA?

I AM CONFUSION!

“Stay calm. No one's going to hurt you [Fish].“ You [Ms. Peabody] say that as you hold up a syringe full of a bunch of weird green liquid.

*starts making fun of Hugo Strange’s accent*

Who are the other people on the bus?!?

“You [Hugo] would have made a great pimp.“ OH HOOO!

*Hugo starts the timer on the Indian Hill bomb* OK, we got twenty minutes until the end of the episode. They’re gonna deactivate the bomb.

“Holy crap, are you [Alfred] still here?” HOW DO PEOPLE NOOT KNOOOW THAT THIS IS CLAYFACE!

Punch him [Clayface!Jim] in the freaking face! And then you’ll know it’s freaking Clayface!

*gasps* Barbara!

“Question: what the hell is going on down at Arkham?” “Two questions back at you, gorgeous.“ Oh my God... oh my God...

“Hey, spring is here, baby.” Oh my God...

Nooooooooooo my God...

“You’re not Jim.” Thank you!

*Barbara slaps Clayface!Jim across the face* Whoooooo!

*Clayface!Jim turns around toward the screen* THERE WE- AAAAAHHHHH!!

Mr. Freeze!

Whoaaa that shot of Hugo’s glasses though!

Holy snot!

*gasps when Mr. Freeze and Firefly turn on Strange*

How the hell does he [Hugo] survive that?!?

What happened to Clayface!Jim?

“I [Hugo] surmise my plan must have gone awry.“ No dip, Sherlock!

What, she [Fish] has a cape too? Get the heck out!

Seriously, who’s on that bus?

For some reason, this episode doesn’t feel like a season finale...

*Jim deactivates the bomb by pouring water on the wires* Are you freaking serious?

That is the second time in this show that Jim has saved the day with a glass of water.

Welcome to “Gotham,” everybody.

Fish’s hair is fabulous in this episode.

Fish, what are you doing?

ARE YOU GOING TO PLAY CHICKEN WITH THE COP CAR?!? FISH!

*gasps when Butch and his gang take down the bus and the cop car*

Holy crap!

Crap, he’s [Butch] gonna see Fish!

AAAHHH! AHH, they’re both [Butch and Oswald] gonna see Fish!

They’re gonna flip their crap...

*Fish tuts at Oswald* Yep, that’s Fish! That’s Fish! That’s her tick!

Haha Butch is like “Uh-uh! I’m getting out of here!”

“Bruce. I [Jim] have to go.“ Where? Where are you going?!?

“I have to find Lee.” Oh but of course! Because freaking Hugo told you to!

“Chocolates. Girls like chocolates.” *chuckles*

“And that's the end of your [Bruce’s] adventures with the police, eh?“ *cups hands around mouth* IT WILL NEVER END!

Selina’s like “Oh my God, Alfred, can you freaking believe this guy [Bruce]?!?” She’s like “I’m never gonna stop this dude!”

“We got monsters to find!” “And you'll find them. I have to go.“ Really, Jim?

“And I [Jim] have more important things to do.“ Like my love life!

I wish they would give Jim a storyline that did not involve his romantic relationships with other women. Please!

“That’s my [Harvey’s] car!” Hahaha!

GOD NO THE BUS!

NOOO THAT NICE HOBO LADY IS GONNA OPEN THE BUS!

YOU BETTER NOT. YOU BETTER NOT!

OH MY GOD, SHE FREAKING DID NOT. OH MY FREAKING GOD, WE’RE ALL FREAKING DEAD.

WHAT THE-

*literally in shock with jaw dropped for the rest of the episode*

*completely flips her shit when we hear a very familiar laugh*

WHA-

WHA WHA HAAA... HAHAHAAAA..

*sinks out of her chair down to the floor when the end logo appears*

#transference #Gotham #FOX #the blogger reacts #looked at the stars and considered a reaction #jim gordon #harvey bullock #bruce wayne #hugo strange #fish mooney #oswald copplepot #mr freeze #firefly #clayface #barbara kean #edward nygma #court of owls #indian hill

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jxpper · 7 years

Text

New World Order - Part One

Joyce Byers is your typical background shadow, living out her days as a nurse at Manhattan’s Bellevue Hospital. But when an Airborne virus breaks through, causing chaos about the city, she’s rescued by a mystery man named Jim Hopper and his foster family of supernatural misfits. It isn’t until the near end of the world that she realizes she isn’t just the unnoticed, she’s the epicenter of it all.

(AU - Apocalypse)

(I love the song Soldiers from the ST2 soundtrack to go with this chapter)

January 1st, 2000

3:14 pm

Manhattan, NY

It was a paralyzing fear, that’s the only way I know how to describe it. They say you know when you’re going to die and now I know that to be a fact. Honestly, I had no clue how I got to the top of that building. Everything from the moment I saw that ‘creature’ to the moment I found myself standing on the ledge, 25 stories above the ground. It was all a blank. The memory disappearing into thin air.

Smoke everywhere. Clouds of ash and dust crowded over the city like a newly found oxygen. The distance over the busy roads of Manhattan sounded like a mantra of car alarms and horrified screaming. It must’ve gone on for hundreds of miles, farther than the naked eye could even begin to process.

I could hear the booming sound of clanking metal growing closer and closer. Those… things, whatever they were, they were coming and they were coming quickly. The breath I had been holding onto was lodged in my throat as if my nerves were shutting down from fear, cutting off any signals my mind could send for me to just BREATHE!

Boom! Fists against the metal doors.

10 seconds left.

Hail Mary full of Grace,

9 seconds.

Nowhere to run.

8 seconds.

Maybe I can jump.

7 seconds.

But then I’ll die.

6 seconds.

I’m gonna die anyway.

5 seconds.

I can’t do it.

4 seconds.

I don’t want to die from those creatures!

3 seconds.

Just do it, Joyce. Just jump.

2 seconds.

Just close your eyes and fall.

‘BANG!’

Were those gunshots?

“HOLD ON!”

That was the moment I truly started believing in God because there was no way that wasn’t a miracle. Thick and brawny arms wrapped me up, holding me tighter than I thought could be possible.

Then it was bliss. He jumped off the roof of Bellevue Hospital and I could’ve sworn we were flying. I didn’t care though, I wasn’t going to die alone. I would die in the arms of a man whose face I haven’t even seen yet. With my head buried in his sweat-scented chest, I could hear the erratic pounding of his heart.

Just as my instincts told me we would hit the ground, our speed from the roof started to slow. The deafening sound of shouting and car horns was suddenly gone, only leaving me to hear my heartbeat.

“THUD!”

I closed my eyes, hoping it would somehow cushion the shock of death striking us. But… nothing?

“C'MON, ELEVEN!” the man yelled behind him as he threw Joyce over his shoulder, running like all holy hell broke loose…because it did.

Joyce couldn’t feel herself breath as she bounced along over his shoulder. Of all the saints of Christendom, what the fuck was going on? All she could see was the streets passing her as the man went like the speed of light while a young girl with a bloody nose followed in tow.

Countless amounts of whatever those creature things were hoarded in the streets, climbing on top of cars, attacking people, breaking through glass storefronts. This had to be a nightmare, that was the only explanation possible.

Joyce tried to close her eyes, willing herself to wake up from whatever fresh hell this was. It wasn’t working, she couldn’t bring herself out of it. This was real.

Suddenly, she was placed in the front seat of a doorless Jeep while the man and young girl climbed into the vehicle.

“START THE CAR, DAD!” the girl cried as he jammed the keys in the ignition, flooring it as soon as it shifted into drive. Joyce held onto the safety bars as the man weaved through the empty parts of 1st Avenue.

“What the fuck was that?” Joyce barked as she finally took back control of her voice. The miracle man was layered in camouflage clothes and covered in dirt and sweat. He was so buff that she could probably wrap both of her hands around his bicep and still have room left. The only thing she could compare his look to was a dirty old army action figure in the 99¢ bin at a Goodwill.

“No time to explain, just hang tight!” he yelled back as the Jeep shifted into 5th gear, speeding them along the catastrophic streets.

“We didn’t die? We fell from the roof and didn’t die!” she screamed, completely and utterly confused as to why she wasn’t a pile of broken bones on the street.

“Yeah, you’re welcome for that! What’s your name?” the man asked, continuing to maneuver through the avenue of chaos.

Her name? She could barely remember how to breathe, let alone her name!“ “J-Joyce Byers! Thanks for that back there! But how are we not dead?” she shouted back over the increasing volume of the city-wide turmoil.

“I’m Jim Hopper, nice to meet you Joyc- FUCK!” Jim interrupted himself as he swerved out of the way of a screaming jaywalker.

“How the hell did you save me?” she questioned as she turned to him, her brown eyes as wide as saucers. None of this made sense, none of it! First, zombie creature-things chasing her out of her job, then G.I. Jim appears, they survive jumping off a building, now they’re driving through the Manhattan while the end of the world commences? This had to be fake! Th-this shit didn’t happen in real life!

“Like I said, no time to explain! Just buckle up and hang tight. Elle, you still with us?” Hopper shouted towards the backseat. The curly headed girl confirmed before throwing her seat belt on while Joyce did the same.

“We have to get somewhere safe!” Joyce cried, fear and adrenaline ripping through her veins at record speed.

“Sweetheart, safety is just an illusion at this point.’ Hopper replied with a morbid laugh. "Anyways, we gotta get back to base! It’s the only place we won’t get eaten alive by those fuckers.”

“Base? Where’s the base?” she asked, still gripping to the safety rail for dear life. The Jeep continued to topple over piles of the zombie-like creatures as they drove through.

“Jersey. Won’t be but a few in this puppy.’ Hopper laughed obnoxiously as he slapped the dashboard of the vehicle. Joyce watched in horror as he tore through the streets, ripping past the utter bedlam that now occupied all of New York.

"Woah Woah Woah, there is no way you’re gonna get through the Washington Bridge!” Joyce howled as she saw them veer towards the overpass. The entire bridge looked like a mayhem of parked cars and screaming people.

“Wanna bet?” he replied with an eerie grin before turning to Eleven with a nod. Putting a lead foot on the acceleration, he gassed the car as fast as it would over the on-ramp. As if a way through the havoc was clearly paved, Jim sped over the bridge.

“DUCK!” he cried as the Jeep pushed through the toll caution bar, ripping the yellow and black barrier right off its hinges and sending it over the car.

“Home sweet home!” Jim smiled as he pulled into a warehouse out in the middle of nowhere. Two more unmarked Jeeps found their homes in the lot of the base camp, which led Joyce to believe they wouldn’t be alone.

“Ellie, go get washed up for dinner. I gotta talk to Joyce.” the kid ran off with a nod, leaving the two alone as they stepped out of the Jeep. Joyce gulped, still trying to wrap her head around all of this… even though that was pretty much impossible.

“Alright, so I’d assume you’re pretty confused,” he stated as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his vest pocket.

“No shit, Sherlock! You wanna explain?” Joyce replied angrily. Confused? She was fucking mortified! Zombies killing their way through Manhattan? She’d be a fool not to be confused.

“Walk and talk with me, toots.” he motioned with a small wave of his hand. Usually, Joyce would’ve chastised him for calling her 'toots’ but the confusion from the armageddon was enough to trump any fuck she could give.

“So, I’ll cut right to the chase. Those mongrels you saw back there? Those are pretty much zombies.” Hopper said flatly before taking a long drag off of his cigarette

“Zombies?” Joyce laughed with an incredulous glare up at the man. “You want me to believe that zombies took over New York?”

“After everything you’ve seen today, is it that hard to believe?” he asked with a smartass smirk on his face.

“Guess not…” she sighed with a confused frown. “That doesn’t explain how we didn’t splat on the concrete though.”

“No, but this might.” he grinned as he opened the door to the warehouse. As Joyce walked in, she looked around at the small house-like setup. The entire first floor must’ve been at least 5,000 square feet, filled with furniture and makeshift rooms.

“Daddy’s home!” Hopper called into the warehouse with a laugh.

“This is Joyce. She’s gonna stay with us for a while.” he pointed to the small woman next to him who was still shaking with fear inside of her scrubs. Joyce looked around at the four teens scattered across the room, all of them way too enamored in doing their own things to even care that he walked in.

“What the fu-” Joyce tried to catch her language since there were young kids in her presence, but as she looked over, she could’ve sworn the curly headed girl from earlier had picked a towel up out of thin air.

“Yeah, a lot of that happens around here.” Hopper smiled when he saw Joyce’s reaction. “This is our little family of freaks and geeks. Ellie isn’t the only one. We all uh- we all do shit like that.”

“Oh…” Joyce whispered under her breath, still not completely able to process what was in front of her.

“Yeah, so I’m Jim, also known as Dad, Hop, Chief, and Five. Right now I can tell that you think I smell like sweat but you also think I’m cute. Mind reading.” he said with a mischevious grin. “I also lied about not knowing your name, sometimes an introductory is nice.” he explained before turning to a young teen girl who was nose into a book.

“That’s Kali, she’s known as Eight. Mind manipulation is her trick of choice, she makes you see anything she wants you too. Say Hi, Kali.” he raised his brows, giving her a look of authority.

“Hi, Kali.” the teen girl repeated sarcastically.

“She thinks she’s cool because she has purple hair.” Hop whispered just loud enough for the girl to hear.

“Jonathan, that one.” Hopper pointed to a teen boy fidgeting around with a radio. “He’s known as Nine.” Suddenly, the boy disappeared out of thin air and appeared in front of Joyce, causing her to give out a startled yelp.

“I’m Jonathan, nice to meet you.” he smiled, holding out a hand for her to shake.

“Yeah, yeah. Show off.” Hopper snorted as the boy reappeared back where he was when they walked in.

“That’s Will, known as Ten. Show Joyce what you’ve got, Will.” he pointed to a younger teen who looked like he was drawing.

“Joyce Byers, 31 years old and from Queens, New York. A nurse at Bellevue, right? Watch this.” He looked at a pillow at the end of the sofa, and with a quick nod, it turned from green to red.

“Yeah, the kid got lucky and doubled up.” Hopper said as he glanced down at Joyce. “He can tell you anything about anyone he’s near and he can also change the color of any object too. Good job, bud.”

“You’ve already met Eleven, but her real name is Jane. Telekinetic little devil kid, but we still love her.” the curly headed girl turned and waved with a weak smile.

“So that’s why we didn’t die? She pretty much levitated us down?” Joyce asked with a confused expression.

“Yeah, I was kinda waiting to explain that until I could just explain it all at once. It’s easier to grasp it all that way.” he answered as he scratched the back of his neck.

“Wait, where’s Six and Seven?” she asked, looking up at him with her head turned.

“Sar-Seven isn’t with us right now.” he stuttered, causing each of the kids to look up at him with sad eyes.

“Oh, where is six?”

Hopper smiled down at her again, the mischevious grin she had seen earlier.

“I’m looking at her.”

To Be Continued

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iphoenixrising · 7 years

Note

You are an amazing writer and I love your stories. I was reading one of your crossover prompt responses and couldn't stop wondering about the part you left unanswered. Who do you ship Tim with in the Marvel verse?

Hi babe. Just, okay, soooo. Ah, @yozoraarashi talked to me about the possibility of Tim staying in the MCU at one time (it’s here) so O_O here’s a little something. Ah, it’s terrible and unedited, however, the saving grace is the suit. So, I regret nothing.

The golden R on his chest gleamswickedly, sharp, in the night, and hejust breathes.

He might be older now, wiser than thelast time he did this, but it’s acrazy thing how his heart is pounding so hard,like when he was new to everything and throwing himself off buildings wasn’t second nature.

And standing on the Iron Man platformof Avenger’s Tower, looking out over this world’s version of New York City, hegets that incredible feeling all over again—like he’s starting over. Like hecan do things right this time. He’sgot the knowledge, the fight, and the right reasonsto put on the domino, to let the black and yellow hang to his heels, to heftthe bo like it’s an extension of his limb. He still has the same drivecultivated during his tenure, the need to be part of the Mission—to doeverything he can to make sure the baddies in the world don’t get to hurt otherpeople, to make sure no other little eight-year-old boys have to watch theirmommies and daddies die.

Robin is goingout there tonight—and he’s bringing a whole lot of please, try me along for the ride.

Behind him, the others have come outinto the night to watch him make thislittle leap.

At dinner, before the suit went on, hegave them a brief outline of his intended route, gave appropriate yet vagueanswers.

Widow talked to him about his techwhile he taped his hands past the wrists and ankles (six around the wrists,eight around the ankles) before the boots and gloves go on. She hands him thebelt, then the gloves, watching theritual with interest and a little allhe’s missing are knives, maybe a nice .40.

And even though he takes to theshadows, makes his way up to the platform through vents in the Tower, they’restill already outside waiting.

It’s a nice team effort—one he doesn’treally expect, but it’s nicenonetheless.

Tony hitches, hesitates, because healready knows how much the kid needs this—a hell of a lot more than heinitially let on in the beginning, but Tony, who feels absolutely responsible for the brilliant vigilante(and sure he wants everyone tobelieve it’s because of his brain power or whatever, but really, a kid with absentee parents, a kid that wanted to be partof something, a kid that wanted to save his hero…that’s so much of his own past, his own pains, his own regrets that making the Robin suitwas really for both of them, wasn’tit?) had to make sure the suit had the best weaves of Kevlar and Nomac just because. And (even if the others just followed him to the Iron Man platform)he came out here to wait just because he needs to throw it out there before the vigilante dives off their building (again—we have a jet, you realize) that this world, the Avenger’s world,isn’t kind to people without super-something that try to play thegame. He knows all about it.

He wants to take Tim Drake (Robin) by the arms and tell him to checkin at least once an hour, not to hesitate to call if things get out of control,not to push himself to some ridiculous idealized standard of what Robin should be—no one here is going to hold youto that.

But Tony knows better. Nineteen is really only a number in regards to Tim—the kid probably hasn’t been that young before he hit puberty.

So instead, the engineer just puts out a hand ina hold up motion and steps in toRobin’s left side, leaning in. Robin meets him, waits for it.

“The R is a tracker. Just in case. Onetap will activate it.” The if you needanything is left unsaid, but understood.

The return smile is sharp in the night,whiteouts gleaming, “thanks. You never know when I might need take-out or someshit, right?”

And Tony laughs easy, moves a hand toRobin’s shoulder, squeezing lightly until Jim’s metal fingers around his wristpull him back, away so Robin canstride to the ledge of the roof, the cape a mesmerizing swish, flash of goldand black. Steve’s hand is on the small of his back, palm warm, Jim’s metalthumb rubbing against the soft skin of his wrist in a soothing motion. He feels better while they watch Robin’s bodyarc sharply in mid-air as he leaps.

His sensible argument: in any world,this is New York. There will becrime.

And he totally swore he would not take on any supervillain megalomaniacs bent onworld domination by himself (mmhm, sure he won’t), so it’s just simple thingson the roster for tonight.

But fuckif it isn’t a whole different kind of headspace when he’s wearing the R again—theoriginal. Even though this world knewnothing about the basics of Robin and what he was supposed to stand for, eventhough the majority of the world thought he was just some make believe character out of DC’s fantasy land, he still leapsa little higher, kicks a little easier, and rides the line between shadows alittle stealthier.

It’s the most alive he’s felt in who knew howlong.

He’s two muggings and a foiled robberyin when the massive sounds of utterfucking destruction make him perk up noticeably from a tenement rooftop.

A few swings to take him further uptown, closer to Time’s Square and—

Holy Shit

“I think we did this dance last time,and you still have all the samemoves!”

Swinging around, the friendlyneighborhood Spider-Man has the art of wittybanter down to a science. It would be really nice if the governing Leagueof Bad Guys would give them some better material? Just a little script of afew doozies, some pointers on how tocarry a bad guy monologue. Something.

Guys like the Rhino? No rejoinders at all.

“STAND STILL SO I CAN CRUSH YOU!”

See? Where’s the fun in it?

“Who would ever agree to that? I mean, you’re not serious, are you?” Spidey landsit in time to dodge an oncoming trash can, keeping an eye on the gawkinginnocent bystanders that have nosense of self-preservation. Something that never ceases to amaze him, no matterwhat battle is going on, like hm, why notrun like hell right about now? Aw,and miss the free show?

That’s New Yorkers for you.

“Tell you what,” Spidey slings the web,swings to snatch flying debris, “I’ll thrown down for one month of free lessons? How about that?”

“WISE ASS!”

Rhino is starting to get angrier sincehe’s dodging, catching flying debris, trying to keep the damage and injuriesdown. There hasn’t been enough fight yet for the former thug andcurrent test subject, and that’s justwhat Spidey is waiting for. He’s learnedfrom previous experience, let Rhino tire himself out and then boom. Cut the bull, the banter, and bringthe real fight.

Spidey makes another dodge, anotherroll, fwips another web out, a pull of super strength and he’s over Rhino’shead, making sure to bop the bad guy on the back with his foot, something toget the villain just that muchangrier, push him to make a misstep.

“C’mon, Sytsevich, I’m already wearingred here! Toro, toro!” He half-laughs as he lands it again, waving a casualhand in a come and get me kind ofway. He’s already placed himself against a bus bench away from people, so whenRhino charges—

“That’s for bulls, you know,” a voicefrom right behind him deadpans. “Rhinoscharge anything because they’re assholes.”

And Spidey spins to catch sight of theyoung man with a line clenched in one fist while he swings like a boss. With hisown propensity to dodge between buildings on patrol or use his epic mid-air capabilities, Spider-Man knows when some noob is trying out his luck with the forces of gravity. The blur ofred, black, yellow, and green isn’t one of them—as a matter of fact, he lookspretty damn at home in the sky.

Spidey’s whole body tenses, watching,ready to jump, fire a web, swing, whatever he needs to do in case this kid getsright in Rhino’s way and maybe starts a charge—

“Hey Rhino!” The apparently brain-damaged costumed guy calls when helights down on the sidewalk, right by theangry villain! “Is that a horn onyour head or are you just happy to see me?”

Said supervillain honestly does see red and turns incredibly fast for someone his size, charging.

Spider-Man yells as one arm shoots outto throw a web, shove himself into the air becausethat guy is going to get himself killed, but he’s not going to make it intime to get that idiot out of the—

And it’s another death on his hand,isn’t it?

His pulse is meaty, coppery on the backof his tongue, nerves frayed, Spider-Sense tingling (at what, Rhino never sets it off that much, and this guy is?) because he can already visualize what the aftermath is going tolook like, how the ribs of that tunic are going to crushed into ripe redviscera and bone fragments and—

But while he’s in mid-air, headingtoward the charging bad guy, other arm out to throw another web, he onlystutters a second because the masked guy leaps.

The new player jumps like he’s anacrobat, arms extended in the backflip, the double-booted kick taking outRhino’s jaw (which is impossible fora regular person to just!); the villain has a second of some woozy look at the pretty birdies going onwhile Robin leaps around him for another shot, this time strafing around thebigger fighter to hit the Rhino suit with two very pointed nerve strikes. Withouteven getting winded, he takes the Rhino’s legs out from under him, making onearm go completely numb and his legs utter useless.

The masked man throws a batarangattached to a hard-tensile jump line. It circles the criminal several timesbefore coming back to him, the ropes tight enough to keep the good arm fromdoing much.

Robin makes sure the rope is good whilethe Rhino struggles and yells pointless curses—something about “I’ll get youand your little dog too!”

Whatevs. He’s heard worse from Bane,okay?

“Whoa,” Spidey lands right next to him,masked face turned toward Robin, and with years of wearing a mask under hisbelt, Robin can tell when the brows are notched up. “You…You’re the real deal, aren’t you? Another crimefighter?”

A slow smile spread, the old Robinsmirk, one that feels familiar on his face. And just, well, Spider-Man, is so absolutely kick-ass.“I guess you can say that. I’ve, ah, been at this for a while. Not here though.”

The two heroes back away as the NYPDand special crime unit in charge of detaining super-powered bad guys step up toget the Rhino on his feet and to the waiting transport.

Robin grins over at Spider-Man, capearound him to keep the whole aura ofmystery thing going on.

“I can tell. Not everyone can take downsomeone like the Rhino,” Spider-Man holds out a hand, “but it’s always good tomeet such nice boys in the neighborhood. Superheroes meet on Wednesday nightsin Midtown at Kiss My Slice andnewbies buy.” And yes, Spider-Man had been doing this for the last four yearshimself, starting in high school not long after the death of his Uncle Ben,realizing he had this…this opportunityto do the right things—

So he knows real training, a professional(and no noticeable powers at this point, but really, who knew what he was hiding under that killer cape?), and this guy? Is someone to watch out for(he might have taken a second toplace a tracker. You know, maybe).

Robin chuffs a laugh and shakes theoffered hand, “Superhero? Not really, but a vigilante? Absolutely.”

Spider-Man grips the gloved hand, “weall have the same goals, right? I hope. I’m Spider-Man, by the way, in caseyou’re not from around here.”

“I’m…not, actually, but still a big fanof your work, Spider-Man.”

The Web Head chuffs a laugh this time,“and so, what do I call you then?”

And even with reporters, police,people, and all the commotion of Time’s Square, Spider-Man’s heart gives a hardbeat when the masked man smirks at him, teeth white against the black domino.

“Robin…you can call me Robin.”

An hour later and they’re literallydiscussing the elements of space/time and dimensional travel. You know, for fun.

“I can’t—”and Spidey paces back and forth on the roof of his own apartment building (nota fact he’d let Robin in on just yet), waving his hands back and forth. Theremnants of pizza and drinks are still sitting on the spot while Robin watchesover the ledge, looking for any trouble on the ground. His radio has been tunedto the police scanner frequency, and really, it’s only a matter of time (New York, remember?).

“It’s a lot to take in, I definitelyget that,” Robin replies, the whiteouts up so he can see Spider-Man with hisown eyes. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve collected your comics for thebetter part of a decade. This? Thisis totally a fanboy’s dream.”

The laugh coming out of the WallCrawler is slightly strained as his scientific mind works at the data—and Robinknows exactly what he’s thinking.

“I’m totally real, promise. I startedwith the Robin mantle when I was twelve. At the time, I was trying to get thefirst Robin—”

“Dick Grayson.”

“…yes. Trying to get Dick to come back,to be Robin again. When he couldn’t…I stepped up.” He shrugs, “a lot of shitwent down between then and now, but suffice to say, we’ve been able to provethe multi-verse theory is apparently morethan just a theory.”

And Spidey finally stops pacing to sitnext to Robin (Tim) again to regardthe Caped Crusader, one currently propping an elbow on a raised knee to resthis face on a green fist.

“Honestly, none of this should beshocking,” the wall crawler admits after a moment of thought. “Really, it makesperfect sense considering the alignment of continuous alternate realities.”

Robin lifts his face with a there you go gesture.

See? Same page. Someone around his agethat actually speaks English.

“You already know who I am?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the originalSpider-Man, but Marvel went through some crazy continuities and ret-conned someof your backstory.”

Spider-Man’s held tilts curiously.

“Peter Parker is the original.Considering we’ve been having a conversation about the laws of physics andapplication of Star Trek tech to a particle accelerator—”

“—while taking out muggers andthieves,” Spidey interrupts and holds out a fist for bro knuckles.

Robin gives him one, grinning, “—I candeduce you are the Peter Parker version of Spider-Man, probably at the part ofyour backstory where you work for J. Jonah Jameson, taking pictures of—” hebrings up the quote fingers, “—“Spider-Man” for the Daily Bugle.” And Robinglances over his shoulder, eyes sweeping the immediate area while Spideywhistles even with the mask on.

“Yup,” Robin points a green finger upthe corner of a building not far from their rooftop pizza session, “there’s oneof your cameras. You had three positioned close to the fight with Rhino. Goodangle and still hard to see.”

And yes, the professional Nikon seriesis obviously webbed under the lip of the roof. Now, Spidey is impressed,staring at Robin with wide eyes behind his mask.

“I’m also a detective,” Robin fills inwith a quirk of the lips, “not just a fanboy.”

And Spidey leans back, head tiltedback, so he can laugh. The mask stretches, moves, and he finally reaches underhis chin to pull it up and off; notnecessary to keep it on if the crime fighter across from him (trans-dimensional traveler, one that workswith the Tony Stark!) already knows the big secret.

Robin’s eyes get wide behind thewhiteouts and Marvel… is really not doing Peter Parker any favors.

At all.

He’s handsome in that unknowing kind of way (just like Bart inso many respects), grinning back atRobin with genuine goodness in his dark eyes.

“They we’ll do it right this time,” andthe hand sticks out again, “it’s nice to meet you Tim, I’m Peter Parker, yourfriendly neighborhood wall crawler.”

And welp,when Robin grips that hand a second time in one night, his heart might give aharder beat against the R, and he might just have found something in the worldhe had least expected.

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althoughidontplayfair · 7 years

Text

Malone has the Music Shop - Part 1 || Monologue

Malone’s parties were always underwhelming. In fact, most of what Malone did was overdressed and overpriced to the point where the entire venture seemed fake and sickly sweet. The champagne was too bitter, the lighting was garish and the music was far too modern for Oliver’s tastes. Of course, Oliver considered that he might well be biased in his observations, and that most people who wandered in to one of his extravagant parties had the time of their life; sucked into the whirlwind of splendour and decadence only 1920′s America could lavish upon them. That was the only saving grace of the gathering: The people. The company Malone kept was an interesting variety of nobodies and somebodies. Movie stars mixed with college boys and businessmen met with penniless dreamers. It was enough abnormality to trick the mind into thinking one was having a good time. Not Oliver. He saw through the thick facade, no matter how deep it went.

Being offered a glass of Champagne by a smartly dressed waiter, Oliver shook his hand in front of it. Someone had to tell Malone that the expensive alcohol wasn’t always the best. However, that person would not be him. Glancing around the room, he searched for the man himself. He’d been called in by one of his many lackeys to have an amicable meeting regarding ‘business’. Alone. Of course, every one of the Snake Eyes gangsters had objected to Oliver meeting him for a variety of reasons, and after having told them he wasn’t going to go, naturally, he’d sneaked out under their noses. Whatever Malone wanted, Oliver was sure he could handle and, if not, he always had a gun.

“Mr Bolton?” a creaking door of a voice reverberated behind him. Turning, he met the eyes of tall gentleman with short black hair and dark eyes. He made a sharp gesture with his head towards a booth in the corner. “Mr Malone will see you now.” Throwing a short glance to the booth, Oliver caught sight of Malone. His arms were thrown over the edges of the booth, a cigarette between his lips and a woman curled into his frame. “Follow me.” the man told him, gesturing out in front of him with a paw-like hand almost as big as Oliver’s entire head.

With a curt nod, Oliver tagged behind him like a lost puppy. People watched him pass with wandering eyes and dry looks. Most of them probably knew who he was and those that didn’t were about to be in for a surprise. “Bolton!” cried Malone in his raspy, New York accent. “Glad you could make it. Take a seat!” His escort brushed to one side, allowing Oliver room to slip into the booth. He eyed him carefully, prompting a breathless laugh from Malone. “Oh, don’t you worry about Jeremy!” He leaned forward to stub out his cigarette. “He’s really a big sap under all of that muscle, eh Jeremy?” Jeremy only gave a grunt of response. Malone’s golden filling glimmered in a smile. “So...” The woman at his arm drew out through plush red lips. “This is Mr Bolton?” Her deep brown eyes swept over him excitedly. “You never told me he was so handsome.” Eyes locked on hers, Oliver removed his hat and placed it on the seat next to him. All the while, the woman regarded him like a viper about to strike for the neck. Malone gave a tight smile. “Oliver, I don’t believe you’ve met my lover, Miss Jenny Montero. One of the finest singers this side of Illinois.” Jenny slapped him playfully on the chest. “Stop, you’ll make me blush.” she teased. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Montero.” said Oliver courteously with a quick nod.

Her gaze loosened, becoming more inquisitive. “Pleasure’s all mine...” Catching Malone’s eye, they exchanged unspoken words and she rose from her seat, shuffling out from the booth and sauntering away into the mingling crowds. “Sure is somethin’, ain’t she?” muttered Malone, watching her wander away with hungry eyes. When he turned around, he noticed how Oliver’s gaze hadn’t moved from him and clearly realised his deviation was not working. “So, let’s get down to business, shall we? You’re probably wonderin’ why I called you here-” “I can guess.” retorted Oliver flatly. Malone’s brow raised and he raised a glass of obscure alcohol to his lips. “Oh, really?” he challenged, waving out a hand. “Surprise me.” Oliver heaved a breath and looked off into the crowds. “You want Snake Eyes, Jim, and we both know I ain’t budgin’-” “As you shouldn’t!” exclaimed Malone innocently. “It’s your hard earned business, after all!” A frown cast across Oliver’s brow that Malone picked up on quickly. “Look, Bolton. Wouldn’t you rather we weren’t enemies? Times are boomin’! We should be workin’ together, not against each other!” “What?” he interjected, unable to believe Malone’s words for one second, no matter how convincing they sounded.

“We’ve had some rough times in the past, why should ya trust me? But, do you really wanna be fightin’ me for the rest of your life? Don’t you wanna settle down someday-” His gaze shifted and Oliver followed it to where Jenny was now standing with a group of people, smiling and talking. “-start a family? You’re in the prime of your life, Oliver. You could have the pick of any woman ya like!” “What are you suggestin’, Malone?” snapped Oliver, growing impatient of him playing on his morals. “Work with me, Bolton.” insisted Malone, leaning across the table. “Help me to help you. You can keep Snake Eyes an’ everything in it, but let me help you with your other properties - like that Chemist in 110th - you need somebody to help you manage all of this.” “Clark helps me manage it all.” persisted Oliver. “A Brit?” He rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Bolton! What does he know ‘bout this life?” “More than us both put together.” Silenced, a nerve in Malone’s jaw twitched. He was angry, Oliver could see it. Yet, he smiled at him and moved back against his seat. “This is a lot to take in, I get it,” He looked up from where he’d been staring at his shoes. “But, consider my offer, eh? It’s always open.” Oliver picked up his hat. “Unlike my Casino, which needs my attention right now.” he retorted, getting to his feet. Malone rose to his feet, putting his hand out. “Pleasure to see you, Bolton.” Oliver took one look at his hand, frowned and strode out of the booth towards the door.

Oliver was sitting at his desk in his apartment late that night mulling over Malone's words. He'd seemed so confident, almost excitable - as if he were a young child with one pocket full of candy and the other full of quarters. His smile had been gleaming through every word, and while their conversation had been civil, there were undertones of pure, unrelenting scorn in his voice. That had been Oliver's one and only comfort. At least he was assured their feelings towards each other remained mutual.

Running a hand over his damp face, he began to wonder if he was looking into things too deeply. Perhaps Malone simply wanted to give him a good deal; maybe he was honestly tired of a life of tit-for-tat bickering and gang confrontations in the street. Yet, Oliver's better judgement persisted. He knew Malone too well. There was much more to this than met the eye.

The next morning was the same as any other. Oliver opened up the Casino at seven am and Thomas arrived shortly afterward through the back door. The only difference was, Thomas seemed less communicative than normal. Oliver was used to his monotone grunts and lackluster replies to his comments first thing in the morning, but today he remained deathly silent, even as he sat down to read his newspaper. "Cat gotcha tongue, Scruff?" Oliver eventually tried. The dishevelled man visibly bristled, a nerve in his jaw twitching, but remained silent. Oliver leaned against a table and scuffed his shoes on the floor. He was getting nowhere fast, it seemed. After a considerably long silence, Thomas finally spoke. "How'd it go with Malone?" His voice was hoarse, as though he'd been shouting and had almost startled Oliver. "Pretty good, I guess." he admitted. "Well, as well as can be expected, anyway..." "What did he want?" "What else? To talk 'business'. Although..." Thomas raised his head. "...Although?" Oliver shifted his jaw from side to side. "He seemed...happy. Far too happy, as though he knows somethin' we don't." Thomas' brow raised. "What?" "He was talkin' about business ventures, offered me a chance to join him again...but he wasn't as angry at me turnin' him down this time. He just kinda laughed an' told me to think about it." A strand of Thomas' hair crossed his face. "You think he meant it?" Oliver shook his head. "Not if I know Jim, it's not. He'll do anythin' to get what he wants. We’d better keep our eyes open on this."

"Indeed you had, Bolton." James' voice startled both gentlemen in the room, causing them both to immediately divert their attentions to the back door. James stood like a wooden mannequin in a shop window, brown, tweed suit immaculate and glasses thinly poised on the tip of his nose. He observed them both with a cautious eye, brows furrowed just below his hair line. "How the fuck did you get in here?" barked Scruff, his voice ringing. "Take it easy, Scruff!" coaxed Oliver, despite taking out his own burst of anger on him instead. "The door was unlocked." replied James flatly. "And wide open. You should take caution, Shelby. Perhaps you're unwell. Something had to be on your mind for you to forget such a thing." "James-" interjected Oliver impatiently. "If you're here early, that means you want somethin', so you best start talkin' before I kick your ass outta here."

There was a tension between Thomas and James so thick it was almost visible, a dark glare locking their gazes until James decided to be the bigger man and tore his gaze away, though the hot embers of Thomas' stare remained. "No need for violence, Bolton. I merely came to ask how your audience with Mr Malone went." Oliver shifted his right leg on top of his left so that it made a triangular shape and scoffed. "As well as you'd expect." he huffed. "What did he want?" "Same as usual. Didn't offer him the world." "You wouldn't need to." Oliver frowned. "What?" "I have it on good authority that Malone has invested in a property on the outskirts of Chicago."

With his brow raised and a smile on his face, Oliver turned to a rather sour faced Thomas. "Well, that explains why he was so chipper." He looked back at James. "What he buy? A club?" "No." replied James simply. "Barbers?" "No." "Restaurant?" Oliver grinned. "Don't tell me he's bought a Casino?" "No." "What, then?" There was the ghost of a playful smile hinting at James' eyes. "You will not believe this," he whispered, stepping away from the door to lean on the back of a chair. "He's bought an abandoned music shop-"

Oliver's feverish intrigue slowly melted away as James began to explain how the place had been abandoned for nearly ten years and was all but rotted away. "Where'd you say this shop was?" "In the old town, on old the high street." Oliver abruptly stood. "You're sure of this?" James looked confused. "Yes, Bolton. Though, I shouldn't worry, he's most likely going to demolish it and use the land." "Who told you this?" growled Oliver. James bristled. "You know I never give my sources, Bolton-" "Just this once-"

Behind them, Thomas ran a hand over his face, dragging out his lower eyelids. Oliver could tell he knew, already; he could hear him whispering expletives under his breath. "Bolton, it's just a shop in an abandoned town, you have-" "The shop belonged to my Uncle..." James silenced in an instant, his look of indignence melting into surprise. "...I know it did." He ran a hand through his hair and yelled a very loud expletive. "It could easily be another music shop-" "I know that place like the back of my hand. There's only one shop." snapped Oliver. "Calm down, Oliver." grumbled Scruff from his seat, the harsh click of a lighter following his sentence and cigarette smoke puffing up shortly afterward. "Calm down?" he spat. "Calm down?" He raged towards Thomas' chair, drawing no alarm from the disheveled man. "You KNOW how much that place means to me." "If it did, why ain't ya bought it before now?" asked Scruff plainly. "Piece of shit buildin' like that don't cost much. You could've bought it years ago."

Oliver withdrew from Thomas, his words echoing in his mind, resonating with truth. He was right. Oliver had all the opportunity in the world to buy the music shop, so why didn't he?Was it because he was too afraid to keep the shop going, like he was still a young boy? He didn't know what had stopped him. And now his rival had it and wanted to tear it down. "Fuck..." he breathed, turning away from them both. "I can't let him do this...I hafta get it back." "Get it back?" repeated James in utter disbelief. "Bolton, everything has been done according to our laws-" "Since when have we followed the law?" "This is different!" snapped James. "How?" Oliver's eyes were wide and wild. "We break the law every single day an' nobody gives a shit!" "Because we are cautious!" he barked, looking Oliver over. "Or some of us are, at least!" Oliver withdrew from him, running a hand over his face. He couldn’t believe this. Was this Malone’s way of trying to convince him to join him besides that fruitless meeting? A hostage situation with a shop? "You can't just run in there, all guns blazing, and expect to get what you want!" "What would you have me do, huh? Let him have the place? Let him destroy it?" "No-" "Because I'll be fucked if I let that happen!" "For fuck's sake, Bolton! Listen to me!"

The sudden expletive that shot from James' mouth like a bullet alarmed Oliver and made Thomas laugh in shock. He had never heard James swear before and, had he not have been so enraged, he might have been impressed. Taking a deep breath and smoothing himself over, James spoke once more. "The way I see it, you have two options. You could come to a negotiation with Malone, or you could claim reposession of the land by some other means." "I'm listenin'..." he murmured, feeling the bite of his fingernails against his palm and loosening up. "You say the Music Shop was once your Uncles?" Oliver agreed. "An uncle I presume is now deceased?" Oliver confirmed once more. "Good. In that case, we may be able to have the law work in our favour..." James saw the looks of confusion on the other two gentlemen's faces and heaved another impatient breath. "We forge a Will leaving the land to you.”

END OF PART 1

#monologue #[I've decided to try a parted monologue series for this one since it's got a LOT of exposition to it xD]#[Hope you like it!! <3]

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ohmnonsquish · 6 years

Text

Second Best [Gotham]

- Accalia Point of View -

The music was making the room shake. The bass was thumping and the beat itself seemed to be alive. Some things are just that; alive. The people on the floor are alive. They are dancing, quite dirtily I might add, with each other. There is no such thing as traditional dancing anymore, this is what we call dancing these days. The dancing consists of grinding on the opposite or same sex and trying to get them to want to bone you.

That's it.

The ideas that once went into a club like this are null. Void. Nada. Even when Fish Mooney was in charge of this place there was none of this nonsense going on in her club. Now that it is under new management, there is no stopping point. Once part of the Underworld of Gotham, this club has risen in popularity and has made Falcone happy for a change. It's all due to the clever deception of one Penguin.

Not the cute little black and white animals that waddle around making their strange bird noises that seem to get anyone awwing. I'm talking about the person. He once despised the name, but, now he has grown into it. That's the name everyone knows him as. If anyone asked who Oswald Cobblepot was, they would be more confused than a fox trying to dig up a bed sheet.

I know who he is.

He used to be Fish Mooney's umbrella boy. Now he has risen to the top of the food chain. Just under Falcone, of course, but I don't doubt that he has a plan to rid Gotham of Falcone once and for all. Some things are just so predictable. Things such as the dark glint he has in his eyes right at this moment. He has something planned, or is planning for something to go horribly wrong.

"Accalia," Butch says hushed, clicking his fingers in my line of vision.

I shoot him a small glare and slap his hand away. "What now, Butch?"

"Penguin requires your assistance. He says it's urgent."

"Fine. I have to finish up here first. Make sure the silly little bird knows that."

"Sure thing, miss."

You see, Penguin may have control, but so do I. He is not the only one personally hired by Falcone in this joint. Me? I'm not just a pretty-faced bar attendant. I am Falcone's second best assassin. Victor Zsasz is always going to be number one. I'll stick with second best any day. Zsasz can shove first place up his ass. I'm kidding. Of course. Zsasz is a real sweetie once you get to know him.

I push the hair behind my right ear and smile at the barely legal teenager in front of me. I hand him a beer and he hands me the money, accompanied with a flirtatious wink. I take the money and turn around, my face twisting in disgust as I put the money away. I turn back around and go completely still as I see the intense eyes of Edward Nygma, Penguin's best friend.

"Mr Nygma," I say sweetly, trying to stay on his good side. "How are you this evening? Good, I hope."

Edward smiles at me, sliding a bill over the bar to me. "I am quite well, Miss March. Yourself?"

"I could be better." I slide him his regular whiskey. "Oswald has me working a double shift tonight because of all these barely legal Gothamites. Honestly, Edward, can you talk to him? I get that he only has two or three bar attendants, but I'm not free to work all the time."

"I can try, but I cannot guarantee anything. You do know that right, Miss March?"

"I know, Edward. I do. Also, what have I told you about calling me 'Miss March'? If I recall correctly, and I do, I did ask you to call me by my name."

Edward laughs, taking a drink of his whiskey. "That is true, Accalia, but I also requested that you did not call me 'Edward' or 'Mr Nygma' any more."

"Sure thing, Ed. Go have some fun tonight, will you? You need to loosen up. You seem really tense."

"True, but I'm on a personal job."

I place my hands on the bar and raise my eyebrow. "You're not still taking those disgusting drugs are you?"

"No. Of course not, Accalia."

"Hand them over."

He looks like he is about to protest, but thinks better of it at the last moment. He doesn't budge though.

"Now, Ed!"

Edward sighs and pulls the all too familiar container out of his pocket. I hold out my palm and he places the container on it. I curl my fingers over it and place it in my pocket, laying my hands on Edward's free one after I let it go. He meets my eyes and I can see the disappointment and anger in them. He is angry at himself for using them again to go about daily life. I remember him doing this after he accidentally killed Kristen, and it didn't end well for him.

"Hey, Ed," I say softly. "You don't need these. Okay? You're stronger than this."

Edward sighs, squeezing my hands and then releasing them. "I know, Accalia. Old habits just die hard."

"Go make some new, fun ones. Go out there and use your charm. Pull in a couple of girls and have some fun. This is the one time I am going to condone any of this, so use it to your advantage."

"Fine. I will."

As he walks off, something hits me. "Hey! No killing them, mister!"

Edward faces me and grins. I roll my eyes and shake my head, turning back to the clamouring teenagers that are desperate for alcohol. I clean off the bench and hand out a couple more beers, internally bashing in the heads of the wasted males who try to hit on me. Honestly. They're disgusting. If Zsasz ever found out about the slimy things they did, their heads would be separated from their bodies, as well as the offending body parts, and would be on their parents doorsteps by the next morning, and just in time for the morning paper.

As the crowd around the bar disperses, I throw the towel down on the bench and pull Gabe over. He keeps an eye on the bar while I weave my way through the sweaty bodies and alcohol fuelled actions. In the crowd I see a flash of blonde. Barbara is here. Of course. That means that the rest of the gang aren't too far behind. Not too far from her I see her bodyguard, Aaron, and next to him is Tabitha. Of course. The three of them are inseparable. There is nowhere you can find one without the other two.

Just before I head into the back room I catch a flash of a dangerous ginger. Great. The great psychopath himself is here. Jerome Valeska. The one who has never lost anything but his life - and his face. It's healed up quite nicely I must say. He no longer needs the staples, but, instead, there is almost invisible thread holding his face there. Not many people know it's there, but I do. Of course I do. I mean, I put it there. No one else was brave enough to be close and personal with a homicidal maniac. Personally, he is quite kind.

Oswald looks over at me with a glare. "I'm glad you found time to grace us with your presence, Miss March."

I bite back my smart reply. "I apologise, Mr Penguin. There were a lot of....customers."

"Save your excuse for Falcone. I have informed him of your attendance record."

And I have informed him of a lot more.

"Now, onto business. Who is here tonight that is important?"

"Edward is here. He is out on the dance floor for once."

Oswald's expression brightens. "Ed is here?"

I try not to roll my eyes. "Yes. Barbara Kean, Tabitha Galavan and their bodyguard, Aaron, are here too."

"Anyone else?"

"Jerome Valeska himself."

His eyes darken beyond recognition. "Who let that blundering, homicidal, ginger haired maniac in here?!"

The door swings open and someone walks in, taking no time to look at the small gathering in front of them. An arm goes over my shoulders and I roll my eyes, looking up at the ginger himself. Jerome winks at me and then turns to grin at Oswald. That sure ruffled the Penguin's feathers. Oswald jumped to his feet and shook with rage, making Jerome laugh like the maniac he is.

"Oh, Penguin," Jerome says, grinning wildly. "Do you really think I would stay away?"

Before Oswald can reply, Edward comes stumbling in, a full glass of whiskey in his hand. He sees me and walks over. He wraps his hand around my waist and grins down at me. He is totally wasted. He wouldn't do this if there was any sober part of him. That just goes to show that Edward can get loose and let go of his burdens for a couple of hours. It does him some good. Then I feel his hand going into my pocket.

I grab his wrist. "No you don't, Edward Nygma. You're not having them."

He pouts at me. "Just one. Please, Accalia? One last one."

"One. That's it."

I pull the container out of my pocket and open it, placing one in his hand before closing it and returning it to my pocket. He grins at me and swallows it down with a mouthful of whiskey. I watch as his pupils grow bigger and a strange light appears in them. He kisses me on the cheek, lets me go and walks back out of the room, closing the door behind him. I roll my eyes and look up to see everyone looking at me with confusion.

I glare at them. "What? They're none of you concern. Shove off!"

I promptly turn and start to walk out of the room, completely ignoring the fact that Oswald needed me for something. Jerome's arm slides down my back and he hits my ass lightly. I turn around and raise an eyebrow at him. He grins and my expression vanishes. It's the only warning he gets before I punch him, my knuckles smashing into his teeth and sending his head snapping in a painful direction.

"Think before you act, Valeska," I warn, staring passively at him. "You know exactly who I am."

Jerome turns his head and grins at me, blood running down his chin from his mouth. "Oh, I know. I am aware of that. Who else is?"

"Now's not the time to play games. Go back to your circus and terrorise the Gothamites more."

My phone starts to vibrate and I walk out of the room, pulling the phone out of my pocket and answering it. Jim Gordon's voice fills my ear and I go still. He has another case that he needs help with. Something about a drug deal gone wrong. I tell him I'm on my way and hang up, sliding my phone into my pocket and walking back over to the bar. I get Gabe to get the crowd out soon. It's almost one in the morning.

I pick up my coat and slip it on over my disgustingly slutty uniform that I have to wear. I push open the door and walk out into the cold morning air, shivering slightly at the temperature difference. It is something I'll never get used to, but something I'll tolerate. As my annoying heeled shoes click on the pavement, I pull out my phone and call Zsasz. The phone rings for a moment before he answers, silence being my greeting.

"Really, Vic?" I ask, mocking sadness. "No greeting for your girl?"

He chuckles. "Sorry, babe. I'm on a job at the moment."

"Oh. So sorry for interrupting you stalking easy prey."

"It's fine. What's the matter?"

"Gordon called. He has a case he needs help with. I'm not sure how long it's going to take."

"Let me guess. Your next words are 'don't wait up'?"

I smile, laughing slightly. "You know me so well, Vic."

"I'll drop by the precinct to pick you up when I'm done here."

At that, he hangs up and I'm left with radio silence. I roll my eyes and shove my phone back into my pocket. Zsasz is a strange person, but, then again, that's what adds to his charm and mysterious persona. He's really a nice person, you just have to get to know him. He's my best friend in this cruel city, but even he can't fully dull the sense of loneliness and abandonment eating away at me. I just wish someone could help with that. I haven't found anyone yet, but he's the best so far.

"Accalia," Jim says, opening the door to the precinct. "I didn't think you'd come on such short notice."

I smile up at the young detective, walking into the empty precinct. "I'm always available. It gave me an excuse to walk out of the club for the night. God knows I'll have hell to face from Oswald tomorrow."

"Just go to Falcone. Go behind Oswald's back if you have to."

"Oh, Jimbo. You really have no clue do you?"

"What?"

I jump up and catch the railing, swinging myself up and over, and landing beside Jim's desk. He stares at me passively as he tries to make the connection. I raise my eyebrow and grin as he gives up and walks up the stairs, shaking his head and muttering to himself. He sits at his desk as I recline on Harvey's chair. No one has claimed his seat yet, and no one is going to. Falcone won't allow it. Harvey isn't going to be replaced with some noob.

"Figured it out yet, Jim?" I ask, grinning over at the detective. "It's not that hard."

Jim stares at you. "You are personally employed by Falcone. I have gathered that much."

"You'll figure it out soon. Anyway. What's this case?"

Jim opens the folder and hands it to me. I stare at the bodies and roll my eyes. Goddamn amateurs. They're leaving too much blood behind, and the amount of wounds show that it is something personal that has driven them. A bullet through the head would do the same job, and it's less messy. It's not the wounds that catch my attention though, it's their clothes. Rich bastards. Of course. Someone has a bone to pick with those in charge.

"Inexperienced killer," I say, looking up at Jim. "They have a personal vendetta against the victims. Although, these guys weren't rich for a good reason. Then again, it's Gotham. Who is rich for a good reason? Anyway. Drug lords. That's who they are. Tony Mcintyre and Gordon Sampson. Horrendous bastards."

Jim barely reacts. "Do you know who killed them?"

"The list of people who'd want to kill them is a long one. Look at how clumsily they were killed. Someone hired an amature to kill them. That narrows it down. Not many people can afford an assassin these days, and that includes an amateur. I'd say probably one of Maroni's old men. These two are Falcone's men. It would make sense if it were Maroni's men. A lot of them are still against Falcone and his people."

"Maroni, huh? That does make sense. Thanks, Accalia."

Before I can respond, the door to the precinct opens and someone walks in. Jim's eyes fly to the person and he tenses, his hand resting on his gun. Just by that, I know who it is. I lazily close the folder and throw it towards the person, knowing they can catch it without a hassle. They open the folder and sigh. I laugh lowly, knowing they are shaking their head at the amature work. The folder closes and I hold up my hand, catching it and placing it back on Jim's desk.

I lean my head back and look down at the lower level. "Who do you think?"

He mockingly thinks for a moment. "Oh, I don't know. How about Maroni?"

"Cheeky bastard."

I lean on the railing and slide over it. Jim jumps to his feet suddenly and I laugh, rolling and ending up on my feet. I walk over to Zsasz and stand next to him, looking up at Jim's priceless face. Even Zsasz smiles and I know that I got the detective good. The sudden realisation and shock in Jim's eyes is all I need to know that he has figured out who I am. He rests his hands on the railing and looks down at Victor and me.

"You're one of Falcone's top people," Jim says.

I place my finger on my lips and pretend to think. "That is true, but who I am I, Jim?"

"Let me guess. You work closely with Zsasz by the looks of things. Assassin. That would make a lot of sense."

"Second best assassin," Zsasz says, putting his arm around my shoulder. "Little protegee she is."

I look up at Zsasz with annoyance. "Get your goddamn arm off me if you're going to be a prick."

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