#book withdrawals hit hard

[yumemiruuuu]

the other day when I was heading home, I looked over and saw that the lady sitting next to me on the public transit was READING ABOUT THE IMMORTALITY DRAMA??!!! I swear I did 10 double-takes because I was so much in shock.

#anyways… decided to reread 2ha while waiting for volume 5 to come out in April because I can’t keep on spoiling myself #the 2ha withdrawal symptoms QAQ #I should read Meatbuns notes for the chapter while reading the books LMAO #2ha shitpost #2ha #erha shitpost #erha #erha he ta de bai mao shizun #immortality #taxian jun #mo ran #mo weiyu #chu wanning #listening to 2ha playlists while reading hit hard #二哈和的白貓師尊

[cyborg-franky]

Playing with their hair.

SFW GN Reader Chars include: Killer, Marco, Ace, Corazon/Rosinante

Killer

Moments like this with Killer were some of your favorites. Just laying together in his hammock, his strong arms around you. He wore his sleep mask and just rested with you while you read a book. It was nice, a calm that you longed for more of. 

Being a pirate, especially a Kidd pirate, didn’t often afford you moments like this. You sighed and turned the page as you felt him shift to get comfortable. You felt something tickle you, a strand of his long cascading hair.

You couldn't help yourself, playing with it, wrapping it around your finger, and watching how it shone in the light. He had lovely hair, so long and full and it made you jealous. You started to gather up his hair and run your fingers through it. 

He made a noise and you blinked, looking up at him. The sleep mask was pushed up on his forehead so he could watch you. “Sorry, is that annoying?” you asked about to withdraw.

“No,I like it,” he said with a thoughtful hum. He turned his head and let you run fingers through the entire length. It took you a moment to run fingers from the top of his head all the way down to the end of his hair.

“Good, I like playing with it.” You said with a smile.

Marco

He’s working, reading over the papers scattered in front of him, he’s hunched over his desk. Marco worked late into the night and as much as you admired him and knew he didn’t need to get as much sleep as everyone else, you still worried about him.

Getting up from the chair you were sitting in, nursing a cup of tea he’d made you a while ago you furrowed your brows, it had gone cold, you’d neglected it too long. You stretched and walked over to the sink, tipping it out. “Want another tea Marco?” you called and he didn’t answer..

So lost in his own little world until he finally noticed you, looking over his shoulder as you walked over. You stood behind him and started to play with his tuft of hair, pulling it up into a pineapple do before letting it flop back on his head.

You could tell he’d closed his eyes now, leaning into your touch, enjoying the feeling of you running gentle fingers over his scalp, lightly brushing his hair back each time, letting out a happy little hmmm before you kissed the side of his head.

“Another tea?” you repeated.

Ace

Sitting on your shared bed, muscles aching after a long day of work you needed to feel the pillows on your back as you sank into them. You watched as Ace stumbled into the room. Limbs heavy from his duties, his day was even longer, the curse of being a commander you guessed.

He dragged his feet, his boots clomping on the floor before he kicked them off. You could see the bags under his eyes, the tired look on his face, you glanced at the clock. Well, it was close to when Ace would consider retiring for the night.

You watched as Ace managed to remove his belt, the buckle making a clank as it hit the floor. Tossing his hat on the desk, missing with a grumble as he collapsed onto the bed with you, his head on your lap as he sighed into your thighs and mumbled something,

Chuckling at his half-asleep mutter of I love you you started to run your fingers through his wavy hair, enjoying how they ran through, careful of any knots that had formed during the day. You heard him make a happy sound, his body going limp against you, and his breathing slowed down.

You watched him adjust, turning his head to one side and letting you brush the hair off his freckled cheeks, behind his ear. Your loving touches started to send Ace to sleep. You smiled when you heard his soft snores.

Rosinante/Corazon

He’d just come out of the shower, training had been hard work, and he’d had to stay behind longer after because he had knocked over a bunch of equipment. You sniffed the air when the door opened, letting out the smell of his shampoo. 

You watched as he sat on the edge of the bed, a towel around his shoulders which seemed tense, you knew he felt bad when he had caused an inconvenience due to his clumsy nature. You crawled over to him, kneeling behind him and grabbing the towel. 

He made a confused noise before you started to dry his hair, firm but gentle. His shoulders relaxed as he leaned into what you were doing. You smiled when he closed his eyes and let out a happy sigh, just basking in the attention.

Once you’d towel-dried his hair you leaned in, taking a big whiff of his hair and making a happy noise. “I love it when you’ve just washed your hair, it always smells amazing.” You commented and heard the low rumble of his chuckle.

“I never change it because of that,” Rosinante replied, feeling fingers run through his damp hair, enjoying how you played with it.

He always felt happy and relaxed when with you.

#one piece x reader #one piece reader insert #marco the phoenix #one piece x you #sfw #one piece #gender neutral reader #portgas d ace #portgas d. ace #marco the phoenix x reader #marco the phoenix x you #portgas d ace x you #massacre soldier killer #killer x you #donquixote rosinante #donquixote corazon #marco x you #marco x reader #marco x yn #ace x you #ace x reader #ace x yn #killer x reader #one piece imagine #frankys bs #corazon one piece #corazon x you #corazon x reader

[reysdriver]

Phone Sex | E.M.

Day 7 of Kinktober: Phone Sex/Mutual Masturbation — eddie x fem!college!reader smut/a bit of fluff

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI - smut, phone sex, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, pet names (baby, sweetheart), mentions of oral and piv sex

Words: 1.9k

a/n: I know it is absolutely not october anymore but I'm not quitting! I already made a post ab it but I'm gonna keep going until I hit at least 10 kinktober fics!

It’s been tough since you left for university. The feeling of withdrawal from Eddie was already setting in, even though you had only been away from your boyfriend for just about two weeks. The chaos of starting school had just been so much—from the hustle and bustle of orientation week to pages and pages of syllabi you had to read through and prepare for—you had barely spoken to Eddie for more than a few small, rushed phone conversations. 

You and Eddie had even made a big deal of buying a landline phone for your dorm room before you left along with one for his bedroom, and you two hadn’t even got to use them for more than half an hour total. 

But tonight was going to be the night. You had no assignments, and nothing else to do than call your boyfriend for as long as you both could stay awake. 

Taking the handset in your left hand and already holding it up to the side of your head, you dialled your favourite phone number in the entire world. 

You lied on your stomach against the mattress of your twin bed, listening closely to the dial tone. After a few seconds, Eddie answered and a smile tore across your face almost immediately. 

“You’ve reached the gates of hell; what can I do for you today?”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing at his stupid way of picking up the phone. “You know it’s me, Eddie. Don’t try to scare me off.”

“I just had to make sure, sweetheart.”

You decided you would tease him for that. “Oh, you got a lot of people calling you at nine in the evening?”

“Nope. Just one special little lady calling from her smart people asylum.”

Another joke you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of laughing at. “Good. I don’t want to have to beat any other girls away from you when I come back for Thanksgiving.” 

As soon as the words escaped your lips, you started to think about how far away that really was. It had been hard enough being away from each other for two months, you didn’t even want to think about being separate for two more months. 

Eddie was clearly thinking about this too, because he quickly changed the subject. “What about you, baby? Anyone you’re talking to late at night when you aren’t on the phone with me?”

“Nope. Just you, Eds.” You responded honestly. 

His tone changed from flirtatious to more sincere. “But you are making friends though, right? I don’t want you to have too good of a time, but I definitely don’t want you to be lonely.”

“I’m not lonely here, Eddie. Remember I told you about that group I eat dinner with? And I just joined a book club!”

“A book club, eh?” He tutted. “A shame. Bet they’re just gonna fill you up with the most basic of literature and turn you into a puppet for The Man.” 

This one, you did laugh at. You twirled the phone’s cord around your index finger as you crafted your response. “Don’t worry, Eds. There’s only one man I would be a toy for.”

You could practically hear your boyfriend’s jaw drop through the phone. 

“So it’s gonna be one of those phone calls, huh?” 

You suddenly lost a whole lot of your confidence. Did he just want to chat and catch up tonight? Was he thinking the sexual aspect of your relationship would be gone once you left for college?

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay.” You rushed to say. “I was just thinking we could have a little fun and then talk about everything else until we fall asleep—”

“Sweetheart, of course I want to. I just wanted to tease you a bit because I can’t do it every day in person like we’re used to.” He told you with a slight laugh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I would never pass up an opportunity like this with you.” 

That boosted your confidence back again. You shifted around to get as comfortable as you could on your tiny bed. “Oh, really? I’m that irresistible?”

“Of course.” He said honestly. “That’s why it was so hard to let you move away. Remember our last night together before you left?”

You absolutely remembered it. How could you forget? Although you had originally planned to go to bed early so you could get to school, Eddie had made you a romantic dinner at his trailer and he had ravished you all night as one of his goodbye presents to you. 

Although you stand by every one of your dates with Eddie being one of the best nights of your life, that one had to take the cake so far. 

“Yeah, I think it rings a bell.” You told him. “You want to try to recreate it like this?” 

“Like, by ourselves? Over the phone?” He paused for a moment while he pretended to think about your offer. “Well, I’m not sure you would be able to match the euphoria brought on by my special moves, but we can try it.” 

“Oh no.” You said with a giggle. “I don’t know how I’ll survive.”

“Well, you could start by taking off your pants. Wait, maybe I should ask what you’re wearing. What are you wearing, baby?” 

Eddie was just so incredibly funny without even trying sometimes. You thought it was so incredibly him to get caught up on something like that, but still be able to turn it around and try to make it sexy.

You looked down at your body when you realised you actually couldn’t remember what you had even put on that morning. “Um, your Judas Priest tee shirt, some jean shorts, and the black matching set you like underneath.”

Instead of being upset that you stole his shirt like you were slightly worried he would be, Eddie seemed to like your outfit. 

“That’s a good shirt; leave it on. But the bottoms can go.”

And you as he asked. You weren’t exactly sure how this was all going to go down, but you were excited nonetheless. Still lying down, you lifted your hips and shimmied out of your shorts. 

“And what about you? You’re not wearing one of my shirts, are you?”

He chuckled into the phone. “No, sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but I’m wearing a nasty old pair of jeans and my Ozzy shirt.”

“Well, that’s no problem. The nasty old pants can come off. Then we can match.”

“I love the way you think.”

You could hear the clinking sounds made by Eddie undoing his belt through the phone and it shot a wave of anticipation down your torso and right between your legs. You pictured your boyfriend with his phone held between his jaw and his shoulder, so excited for what you were engaging in that he just had to get his jeans off as soon as possible. 

“So,” Eddie started awkwardly, “Do you want to get all teasing with things or should we just get into it?”

You thought about it for a moment, then answered him. “I think we’ve been apart for too long. We shouldn’t deprive ourselves of each other for a second longer than necessary.”

“Amazing point, baby, as always.” There’s more shuffling on the other line, and you’re tempted to ask about it, but Eddie answers before you can even say anything. “Don’t mind me, just getting some lotion from the dresser. Not everyone here is as lubricationally gifted as you are, my dear.”

He was right; you were already getting wet. All you had done was think about the idea of you and Eddie getting off together, then you had taken off your jean shorts, and you had already made a mark on your underwear. 

You didn’t want to start anything without Eddie, so you just opened your legs and let anticipation pool between them. 

You could hear Eddie groan, then the springs of his old mattress creaked loudly. 

“Alright, babe, let’s get into it.” He said. “I mean, I can do my thing here. How about you bring a hand down there and start playing with your pussy?”

It was clear through Eddie’s over-the-phone dirty talk that he was new to this, but who were you to judge? You did just as he told you, taking two fingers and starting to tease your clit. 

The sounds of Eddie moving his hands up and down along his cock, muffled through the landline, just turned you on so much. Every few pumps, Eddie let out little grunts and moans, your favourite sounds. 

“I’ve missed you so much, baby.” He told you, still getting himself off. 

“I’ve been missing you too.” You replied sincerely. “I think about you every single day.”

You dipped two fingers into yourself and pumped them in and out, an attempt to replicate how your boyfriend can bring you to climax with just his fingers when he wants to. It worked somewhat; it was pleasing enough, especially when you used your thumb to rub your clit at the same time, but it just wasn’t Eddie’s fingers. 

“There’s been times where I’ve been in class, not paying attention to a single thing the professor was saying, just thinking about us in the back of your van or out by Lover’s Lake…” You admitted. 

Eddie seemed intrigued by this new idea. He absolutely knew what you were talking about, but he wanted to press more. “Yeah, tell me about that, sweetheart. What were we getting up to in the back of my van?” 

“Remember that picnic we had after graduation? I was running through that whole day in my head, like it was on loop. I loved that day so much. I love you so much, Eds.” 

He let out one loud moan that seemed to echo off the walls of his trailer. You knew exactly what that sound meant, but he confirmed it for you between heavy breaths anyways. 

“Shit, I just made a big ass mess on my shirt.” 

“Well, maybe when I’m done, I can make a mess on your shirt too.”

“Yeah, you just gotta keep going, playing with yourself. Are you thinking about my fingers, my mouth, or my dick?”

“Your fingers. I wish you were really here.” You sighed. “I’m close.”

Eddie told you to keep rubbing yourself and playing with your pussy, and you did so until you felt the knot in your stomach burst. 

You found yourself breathing heavily, just as Eddie was a moment ago, and now neither of you were saying anything. You held the handset of the phone against your chest and watched as it rose and fell with each deep inhale and exhale you took. 

Finally, you heard Eddie’s muffled voice and brought the phone back up to your head. 

“I was thinking I should make the drive up to see you next weekend, what do you think?” He offered. “Maybe we could recreate tonight in person, amongst other things.”You held back an ecstatic squeal from leaving you. Maybe university wasn’t going to be bad at all, you thought.

#xena's kinktober celebration #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson au #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things smut

[vampireimiko]

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, NONE !! i literally only write fluff atp omg

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞, don't even get me started with the title omg.. THIS is something that's been sitting in my drafts for a minute, I was gonna post two requests tn but they're both not done😭 so just take this for neow 🫶🏾

"Hey baby, something bothering you?" You asked as Leon flopped onto your shared bed. Today was a Saturday and you both had nowhere to be, so you and Leon decided to lounge around.

"Just how do you do that? The knowing something's wrong all the time." Leon questioned as he looked at you with pure adoration in his eyes. You surprised him with that skill all the time and it never got old to him.

"Mmm see, I can't tell you, it's a super hard skill to master. Plus it looked very obvious with the way you just fell into bed like that." You shrugged in a nonchalant way with a smile on your face.

"Now come on! Tell me what's wrong."

"My back has been killing me." Leon groans into a pillow, back problems and body aches in general were most likely expected as he had just gotten back from a mission less than a week ago.

"Aw baby, would you like a massage?" You questioned in a affectionate way while beginning to put your book aside on your bedside dresser.

"I mean, if your offering." Leon then sits up to discard his shirt and lays down flat on his stomach. While he does that, you go to the bathroom to get the baby oil and pour it on his defined back.

"Shit it's cold.." Leon shivers as he felt the first few drops of oil pelt his back. Throughout the whole massage you receive huge amounts of praise from Leon as you focused on specific parts of his back at a time.

"Ah, that feels good."

"Ooh yes, that spot right there."

"Fuck how'd you get so good at this?"

Giggling, you respond in a cheeky tone, "I may or may not have a bit of experience doing this type of thing."

"Well, that experience surely has paid off- AH!"

After hearing that you quickly withdraw your hands from his back in a frantic manner, "Are you okay? Do I need to stop?"

"No, no, I'm okay." He laughed breathlessly. "You just hit a really tense spot."

"Phew, that's good to know! Had me thinking I hurt you for a second." You said smacking his shoulder playfully.

"Ow! Well now your gonna hurt me." Leon spoke in a equally playful way.

"Yeah Yeah, I'm gonna massage it out now, just tell me where it is."

"Just a little to the left, down a bit.. Ah, right there." Leon sighed in bliss, he could get used to this feeling, he thought.

After a bit of time, you eventually got the knot out of his back and began to make sure they're weren't anymore.

"You have got to give me more massages after missions, my god."

𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞, this was HARDLY proofread😭 so if you see any issues no you didn't 😁 ANYWAY, hope you enjoyed and reblogs and constructive criticism are appreciated !! 🫶🏾

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

#spirits works 🤍 #x black reader #black!reader #leon kennedy x black reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy x black!male reader #leon resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil x reader #resident evil x black reader

[jacesbeloved]

impatient

summary: aemond’s been studying since morrow and you aren’t exactly the most patient person

pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader

warnings/notes: 18+, MDNI, semi-public sex, (kind of) rough sex, light name calling, choking, hair pulling

"Y/N, no."

Aemond had his gaze fixed sternly on you, daring you to disobey while you looked at him with your lips frowned. Withdrawing your left hand that touched his clothed cock and letting it carelessly run through the books in front of him. You rub your chest up against his arm as you pull the top of your dress down slightly.

Aemond watches you blankly before continuing his readings, trying his hardest to block out the lustful looks in your eyes. Having his hand stuck to the side of his head in concentration.

You whined at him, leaving your chair and pushing his books to the side abruptly before you sat yourself down on the desk in front of him. His eyes narrowed when he saw your body jerking, only to find your hand already inside of your skirt. Your fingers circle your clothed pussy, the wetness seeping through your panties.

The man mutters a curse under his breath, abruptly standing up, his arms wrapping around your waist as he lifts you up. Your legs wrap around his waist before he slams you into the bookshelves beside his table. A mixture of both a gasp and a groan leaves your mouth.

That gasp forms into a smile as he connects his lips with yours, his tongue easily dominating yours and exploring your wet mouth as he practically pulls apart the front of your dress. Your fingers freely tangle in his hair, hissing when he bites your lower lip.

"I needed to finish only one book," Aemond's lips came down to kiss your exposed neck, his tongue licking at the smooth skin while he undid his pants with one hand, making sure to hold you up with the other with no difficulty. "But it seems that an impatient, needy whore couldn't wait."

Your eyelids flutter shut at his words, feeling your panties become wetter at the name. He let his lips claim yours once more after managing to pull his pants and undergarments down to his mid-thigh, his semi-hard cock hitting your clothed heat making you bite your lip.

"Aemond!" You gasped loudly, your eyes widening when you saw your panties in his hands, in two.

He pulls away with a grin, his cock right by your entrance. One thrust and your empty hole will finally get what it wants. The girth made you take in a deep breath as you felt him run his tip along your folds, the blunt head of his cock drenched in your wetness as he flicked your clit with his thumb.

"How could it be that I was just reading, yet you're this wet, you whore." He whispers in your ear. A deep gasp reverberated through the bookshelves as Aemond pushed himself in. His girth made you feel a satisfying burn inside your walls, not letting you adjust to his size as his hips started pistoning in and out of you.

Aemond's arms snaked underneath your thighs and to your ass, massaging the soft flesh as you met his thrust. The sound of skin hitting skin and your hole lewdly squelching with each thrust of his cock fills the secluded library.

"This fucking cunt just can't wait 'til I finish studying, hmm?" Aemond grunts, adjusting the angle of his hips. The sudden change made you arch your back, Aemond smirking at your reaction before he continued abusing that one spot inside of you. He lowers his head to suck on your perked-up breasts. He felt himself grow harder when he saw you playing with one of your nipples, growling lowly before he attached his warm mouth to the other. His tongue swirling and flicking at the erected bud.

Moans and whimpers escaped your mouth, clenching hard on his length when you felt your orgasm building up. A deep and raspy groan left Aemond's mouth as he thrust even harder than before, thrusting out until it was only the tip of his cock inside before thrusting back in with force.

"Aemond- fuck. Right- Shit-" Your voice was shaking, your back arching, fucked-out eyes rolling behind your head when you suddenly locked eyes with the man busy marking your neck and chest with love bites.

"Where? Here? Is this it?" His smooth voice invades your ear, each jerk of his hips emphasizing his point as you feel his tip hit your spot. A devilish chuckle comes from him as he trails his arm up your chest, snaking through your breasts before his big hand grabs your throat roughly. His hand was just the perfect size, like it was made for this exact purpose. His fingers expertly applying just the right amount of pressure on the sides of your neck. The foreign action making you inhale sharply, your core clenching around his length.

"Ahh... my little whore. Is she gonna come? Is my whore going to come for me?" He whispers into your skin, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck for a second before continuing on, watching your face contort in ecstasy.

He made sure to be keen on the way your face looked and how your body reacted, alert to any possible sign of it being too much or you tapping out.

You scratch at his arm harshly. One more push away from your orgasm. Your voice mumbled out "Yes" again and again, like some ritual. Not being able to focus on any other thing aside from the buildup inside of you, your release was so close.

Aemond's smile was almost wicked, the satisfaction of seeing you so fucked out in so little time boosting his ego. The way your hands, which clawed at his hand that was around your neck, contrasted against his thick and firm arm, further aroused him.

"Aemond, shit." You manage to speak up. His hand tightens around your throat again, his head moving beside your ear as he bites your earlobe.

"Go on, cream on me. Come on my fucking cock."

hearts, reblogs, and comments are highly appreaciated if you loved the fic ! ^w^

#hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond smut #hotd smut #aemond imagine #aemond one eye fic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen smut

[barrenclan]

just binge read the entire thing up till the recent update (up till 6 am. Don’t do this) and went nuts looking at things for asphodelpaw bc MM MM I love a well crafted narrative. She reminds me of a character I have as well, whose been affected by generations of trauma, but he deals w it in such an immature, teenager-y way bc well. He is. And so was she. She lashed out at Pinepaw bc she desperately wanted approval, some kind of warm reception from an authority figure, and bc her mother has been so distant, she didn’t seek it from her, instead she looked to her mentor Plumstripe (who, admittedly in very nature of being a mentor, had assumed not just an authority role, but a familiar one, one that was supposed to be close, like family.) and Plumstripe, having internalized the cruelty and generations long self inflicted torture Barrenclan does, began to pass down not just that, but the feelings dredged by a splintered relationship w her sister and family. Plumstripe, who validated her own feelings by passing them down and seeing them repeated. And Asphodelpaw so desperate to be close, to be useful, to feel valuable, gave her everything. And yet none of it was enough. (I noticed that while she didn’t try pursuing Cormorantpaw like Daffodilpaw did, she seemed to try and make up for that by needling her brother, something that Plumstripe, from her constant fights w her sister amd the laugh she gave upon actually being there for some of the sniping, clearly liked. At least to try and catch up w Beenose, who was seen being smug abt Daffodilpaw trying to get Cornorantoaw to open up.) And as time went on, the burden of loneliness, frustration, and despair cracked the walls and mask she had built. And the biggest crack came from Slugpelt trying to reconcile w her children, and Pinepaw coming out and trusting his family w that vulnerable secret. Something that shook her enough that she couldn’t help but look inward, to see that she was unhappy, to look outward, and see that the place and people she had looked up to so blindly were hurting her. And she made the right choice, something that speaks so much abt her character. She didn’t withdraw deeper into herself or double down on this performance for the clan she’d been doing, she said “wait, this is wrong. It shouldn’t be like this. And I have the power to change that.” And she HAULED ASS. She went to Egrettail for advice on her feelings of isolation from the culture and pressure the clans have toward she-cats, and finding her footing in her identity that she had grasped for but never realized she could reach until now. She went to Pinepaw and apologized, something that’s surprisingly hard to do, ESPECIALLY for a kid. Her character arc had hit a new track, and she was building a new, authentic confidence. And then all at once she died. And now she’ll be frozen there, never completing her journey, haunting the world she was ripped from. It’s AWFUL (<- said w a smile) I love deeply flawed characters, they’re just so real. Kind hearted and well-meaning characters like Pinepaw are great too, but to me there’s something so visceral abt characters that do the immature things, the selfish things, etc.

You’ve crafted a very interesting story here, with lots of little lore tidbits that make the world feel so much more real, and you’ve backed it up w characters and narrative w so much passion and thought. You care, not just about the story and characters you are writing, but the narrative it presents, the reaches it has. Thoughtfulness is one of the marks of a good writer, and you’ve got lots of it here. Thanks for making such a cool story. If you ever finish the human version, I think you’d have a solid chance at getting it published as an actual book. But if that’s not something you want, please be proud of your hard work and remember to sit back and admire it sometimes.

Thank you both for your very kind words on completely opposite ends of the spectrum.

#ask #anon #op 1 i love your huge well thought out massively touching analysis of asphodelpaw and the comic that is so kind :'D i'm very flattered #op 2 the comic is kissing you back with tongue #analysis #asphodelpaw

[chvnnie]

Minho barely checks his surroundings before slamming you against the metal bookshelf hard enough to knock the wind out of you. Your gasp is quickly muffled by his hand over your mouth.

“Now, now, angel.” He tuts lowly in your ear, easily unbuckling your belt with his free hand. “We don’t want anyone to hear you, do we?”

SMUT - MINORS DNI

Voices, footsteps from further down in the heart of the library carry in the silence, seeming a lot closer to the abandoned corner than you would like. It made things feel a little riskier, heart hammering against your chest as a cold hand slithers into your jeans. Anyone could venture back here, in search of a book that hasn’t been touched in years and instead stumble across a scene that surely would get both you and Minho in deep trouble.

It’s funny. How little that seems to matter once the tips of his fingers come in contact with your clit.

Your eyes flutter back, softly moaning against his palm as he gracefully teases the sensitive bud. Minho’s nose nudges your jaw, tilting your head to the side to allow access to your neck. While his teeth graze the expanse of your unmarked skin, his fingers journey down further, spreading your folds open.

“Oh, aren’t you a needy little thing?” His fingers are sticky with your slit, only getting wetter as he gets closer to your entrance. “Can’t even go a few hours without my attention?”

It’s rich of him to say considering this was all his doing — he compliment your ass in your jeans (“It’s like you’re begging me to fuck you.”), he couldn’t stop rubbing your thighs, he’s the one who shoved your laptop and textbook in your bag before pulling you to the emptiest corner in the library. This is all his fault, and yet you find yourself nodding, agreeing with him.

Minho needs to be needed. And you’re more than happy to oblige.

Fingers finding finding your hole, he teases the rim of it, applying just enough pressure to make you think he’s going to slide in. The feeling makes your back arch, swelling of your ass pressing against his firm erection. He chuckles before biting your neck, a yelp silenced by his hand.

“Greedy, greedy, greedy.”

He withdraws his hand, much to your dismay. You barely have time to protest or question the action before the sound of his own belt clinking hits your ears. Feet nudging yours apart a little further, you feel his hips wiggle before he’s grabbing onto your jeans again.

Quick and nimble, the thighs denim is pulled down just enough to expose your core to him (or anyone who happens to walk by). His hips pin you against the surface, tip of his cock sliding up and down your cunt.

“Luckily for you, I’m in a giving mood.”

Without sparing even a second, Minho plunges inside, filling you to the brim before you have a chance to even process the fact that he’s inside you. His thrusts are short and deep, hardly separating his body from yours in an attempt to stay quiet.

You’re convinced that you never knew pleasure until you met Minho. No one had ever touched you so gently, took the time to study your body and learn the language of your body alongside you. No one had dared to spend hours between your legs, mapping your cunt with his tongue and exploring all the different ways to bring you to orgasm.

You also needed to needed, but not just by anyone. Only by Minho, where all the wrongs felt blissfully right.

His cock fills you to the brink, at home nuzzled inside your warm walls. Careful movements bring him closer and closer to the spot that he discovered, body melting against his own as he closes in on it. You’re hardly aware that you’re drooling against his palm, full moans borderline pornographic as you clench around him.

A hand finds your ponytail, roughly pulling on it until your head meets his shoulder. Minho’s glasses are slipping down his nose, shiny beads of sweat rolling down his temples. Though his thrusts are borderline brutal, the look in his eyes is soft. Affectionate. A fuzzy feeling in your lower belly making your eyes roll back as you let it consume you. It’s almost impossible to believe that he’s making you feel this way, smitten and fucking insatiable. The hours you spent in class, staring at him, never did you think he would make you feel so…complete.

There’s a sharp tug on your hair, making your eyes bounce open. The shock on your face makes him chuckle, dropping the hand from your mouth to instead cover it with his own. It’s a gentle kiss at first, one that drowns out all your surroundings and makes your knees weak. Minho’s tongue teases your lips, begging for a taste of you.

It’s impossible to not need him.

Tongues dance, moans filling each other’s mouths. Your walls begin to twitch around his length, the bookshelf keeping you upright or else you’re sure you’d crumple to the ground.

“Milk my cock, baby.” He mumbles into your mouth, sharply giving your hair another tug just to hear you cry for him. “Show me how fucking good I make you feel.”

The kiss becomes sloppy as you reach the peak, books falling from the shelf as you grip on the shelf steady yourself. There are fireworks in your eyes, the ground crumbling beneath you as the mind numbing rush takes over. You barely register the sound the books make when they hit the floor, the feeling of Minho emptying inside of you.

Maybe you are greedy. As he pulls out, quick to pull your panties back up before his cum spills out of you, you can’t help but crave his touch again. Wanting to spend forever tied to his body, lost in the never ending, earth shattering pleasure only he can bring.

Minho spins you around in his arms, carefully petting your flyaways down. “Feel good?”

You hum, wrapping your arms around your lover’s waist. There’s a pout on your lips, one he knows all to well. Chuckling, he captures them, always quick to give into your demands. “Thank you.”

He pulls back, ready to say something when he catches a glimpse of the mark he left on your neck. Purple, swelling. Skin looking like it could break. He fixes your hair again, skillfully covering the hickey before giving you a warm smile.

“Make sure to cover that. I like to keep the details of my meetings with my favorite student…private.”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee know smut #lee minho smut #minho smut #chvnnie thots

[iheartgracie]

jude duarte badass quotes

Instead of being afraid, I could become something to fear

The odd thing about ambition is this: You can acquire it like a fever, but it is not so easy to shed.

I kissed him on the mouth, and then I threatened to kiss him some more if he didn't do exactly what I wanted.

Vivi is right; it cost me something to be the way I am. But I do not know what. And I don't know if I can get it back. I don't even know if I want it.

I'm not a monster, I'd told her, back when I said I would never hurt Oak. But maybe being a monster was my calling.

You put a curse on that girl over there,” I tell him. “Fix her immediately.”

“She admired my ears,” the boy says. “I was only giving her what she desired. A party favor.”

“That’s what I am going to say after I gut you and use your entrails as streamers,” I tell him. “I was only giving him what he wanted. After all, if he didn’t want to be eviscerated, he would have honored my very reasonable request.

“If I cannot become better than them. I will become so much worse.”

“Sorry if you can’t read my handwriting,” I say, grabbing the notebook. The page tears, leaving most of my night’s work shredded. “But that’s not exactly my disadvantage.”

“I brush myself off. “Are you calling me out? Because then it’s my right to choose the time and the weapon.” How I would love to knock her down.”

“I don’t feel particularly miserable right at the moment.” I can’t show him I’m afraid.

His mouth curls. “What happiness do you have? Rutting and breeding. You’d go mad if you accepted the truth of what you are. You are nothing. You barely exist at all. Your only purpose is to create more of your kind before you die some pointless and agonizing death.”

I look him in the eye. “And?”

He seems taken aback, although the sneer doesn’t leave his face.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. I am going to die. And I am a big liar. So what?”

“You had the advantage of me twice, and twice you gave it away. Good luck getting it again.”

“Perhaps someone will ask for your hand and you’ll be made a permanent member of the High Court.”

“I want to win my place,” I tell her.”

“They talk about honor, but what they really care about is power. I am good enough with a blade, knowledgeable in strategy. All I need is a chance to prove myself.”

“Take a big bite.”

“Make me,” I say before I can stop myself”

“She can show us how sorry she is,” Cardan drawls. “Tell her she doesn’t belong in the Summer Tournament.”

“Afraid I’ll win?” I ask, which isn’t smart.”

“Nicasia's wrong about me. I don't desire to do as well in the tournament as one of the fey. I want to win. I do not yearn to be their equal. In my heart, I yearn to best them.”

“I don’t care if they don’t like my being in the tournament. Once I become a knight, I’ll be beyond their reach.”

“Do you know why Madoc won’t let me try for knighthood? Because he thinks I’m weak.”

“Jude,” she cautions.

“I thought I was supposed to be good and follow the rules,” I say. “But I am done with being weak. I am done with being good. I think I am going to be something else.”

“Cardan’s gaze catches mine, and I can’t help the evil smile that pulls up the corners of my mouth. His eyes are bright as coals, his hatred a living thing, shimmering in the air between us like the air above black rocks on a blazing summer day.

“Have you lost your wits?” Taryn demands, shaking my shoulder so that I have to turn to her. “You’re making everything worse. There’s a reason no one stands up to them.”

“I know,” I say softly, unable to keep the smile off my lips. “A lot of reasons.”

She’s right to be worried. I just declared war.”

“Give up.”

“Never,” I say.”

“I leave my books and cross the grass toward them. Cardan half-turns, and I shove him so hard that his back hits one of the trees. His eyes go wide.

“I don’t know what you said to her, but don’t you ever go near my sister again,” I tell him, my hand still on the front of his velvet doublet. “You gave her your word.”

“I’m not withdrawing from the tournament,” I tell her.

“Even if it wins you nothing but more woe?” she asks.

“Even then,” I say.”

“My good intentions evaporate on the wind. My blood is on fire, boiling in my veins. I do not have much power, but here is what I have—I can force his hand. Cardan might want to hurt me, but I can make him want to hurt me worse. We’re supposed to play at war. When they call us to our places, I play. I play as viciously as possible”

“You’re no killer, Madoc said.

Right now I feel that I could be.”

“Get down on your knees,” Cardan says, looking insufferably pleased with himself. His fury has transmuted into gloating. “Beg. Make it pretty. Flowery. Worthy of me.”

“Beg?” I echo.”

“You think because you can humiliate me, you can control me?” I say, looking him in those black eyes. “Well, I think you’re an idiot. Since we started being tutored together, you’ve gone out of your way to make me feel like I’m less than you. And to coddle your ego, I have made myself less. I have made myself small, I have kept my head down. But it wasn’t enough to make you leave Taryn and me alone, so I’m not going to do that anymore.

“I am going to keep on defying you. I am going to shame you with my defiance. You remind me that I am a mere mortal and you are a prince of Faerie. Well, let me remind you that means you have much to lose and I have nothing. You may win in the end, you may ensorcell me and hurt me and humiliate me, but I will make sure you lose everything I can take from you on the way down. I promise you this”—I throw his own words back at him—“this is the least of what I can do.”

#judeduartequotes #badass jude duarte #jude duarte soft #jude duarte badass #judecardan quotes #jude duarte quotes #judecardan #judeduarte #jude duarte #jude x cardan #the cruel prince #the folk of the air quotes #the folk of the air

[meghantheduchyofpitstains]

The stages of ‘Meghan the Narcissist’s’ relationship with Harry. Three basics stages of a Narcissist’s relationships: Idealize, Devalue and Discard

iDEALIZE

It is a dizzying whirlwind

Meghan and Harry were married after knowing each other for about 2 years. The majority of this time they spent on separate continents. Markle pushed it quick and hard to get to the altar.

“Love Bombing - the initial stage can feel like a drug or a love cocktail as potent as cocaine or heroin because the same feel good chemical called Dopamine is released in the brain by both and we know Harry likes a drug high. During this phase there is intensive sex, exciting travel, constant praise, being put on a pedastool and focused ego driven attention (all release the same feel good brain chemicals as regular cocaine or heroine use would) so the victim feels an addictive high.”

- the traveling from continent to continent spending a few days at a time together so when together it is intense sex which is like a drug in Harry’s brain - releasing the same Dopamine etc. and we know he is a feel good drug addict.

- intense sex fest in Africa

- intense sex as they holed up at Nottingham cottage - seeing the addiction pattern???

- getting the fairytale wedding

- traveling to the South Seas and Africa for work

- clothes and jewelry shopping spending hundreds of thousands of dollars, basically buying anything you have ever wanted

- meeting famous people, private jets, staying in huge mansions

All the Love Bombing high for Harry and the superficial, materialistic, super fame high for Megan

Stage 2: Devaluation

Harry doesn’t know what hit him. He is probably in a state of pure confusion trying to figure out the mood swings and the up and downs. He gets glimpses of how it was during the love Bombing stage but most of the time it is walking on egg shells, repressing himself, confusion and just trying to do what he can to get back to how it was in the beginning and the get those addictive feel good chemicals in his brain flowing again.

Meghan has started to - subtly, insidiously, and covertly—to devalue Harry. “This may happen via putdowns, gaslighting, intermittently lacking emotional or physical intimacy, withdrawing affection, seductive withholding, inexplicably disappearing from contact, or blaming the target for the narcissistic person’s issues (projection).”

What we see happening in the devaluation phase.

- Harry is not protecting her from bad press and looking bad, she is not getting the super stardom and fame she wanted. It is Harry’s fault.

- Harry not making her the belle of the ball, she still is always number 2 to Kate. Harry needs to fix this.

- Harry not getting her a huge Mansion/ mini castle to live in like all the other Senior Royals

- the money/budget being pulled back as the public and the press finds out about how much she is spending on clothes alone. Harry needs to get her the money she expected.

- she is now pushing herself in front of Harry at events and greeting dignitaries and ordering him around at events while she controls him with her hand on his back or clawing his arm at all times. She has always been more important than him.

- making jokes about Harry at her events and stunts. Harry becomes the court jester.

- she is speaking first or cutting Harry off to do all the speaking when they are at an event. Even South Park made fun of her doing this.

The devaluation is in full force in LA as Meghan is trying to break out as the star speaker without Harry, solo events with celebrities, working to be the Princess Diana of Hollywood.

Stage 3: Sooner than later the DISCARDING phase will happen. Probably when the money is cut off or reduced, she will then file for divorce and get the guaranteed payouts and keep the mansion he will have to pay for. She will write a book bashing the hell out of Harry and Telling the world she never loved him because he is a whiney, drug addict, loser.

“Inevitably, the discarding occurs when the person with narcissism either disappears or orchestrates his or her own abandonment by engaging in some form of egregious emotional abuse. The outcome is often shocking for the survivor, unclear as to how someone that he or she fell so deeply in love with could throw it all away.” - Source Good Therapy

I believe the public discarding has started.At its worst, she will use the kids and keep them from Harry. I really believe it will end in tragedy for Harry. Being the grieving widow may be more enticing for her then being a divorcee again?? She will still technically be a part of The Royal family.

[mymoonagedaydream]

Part 5

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Language, anti-religious sentiment throughout

Author’s Note: So I would’ve posted earlier but I wrote this whole chapter once and then accidentally deleted the whole thing without a backup. Could’ve murdered someone. Anyway, here’s version 2.0.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

---

Soft sunlight bled through the gaps beneath the blinds and caused your eyes to flicker open. As they adjusted to the brightness, the slightly stained roof of the trailer came into focus. Only a few more seconds passed before memories of the night before began to trickle back into your mind, prompting you to smile to yourself, stretching your arms out sideways with a groan. Your blissful mood dissolved, however, when they both dropped straight onto the mattress. There wasn’t another body there to break their fall, you were alone.

You jerked upright and started scanning the inside of the trailer for any signs of life. The bathroom door was wide open, no inhabitants there. Maybe he was having a cigarette outside? Wrapping the sheet around yourself and scooching over to the window, you tugged gently at the blind and peeked through the gap, but you couldn't see him outside either. It took you another second to clock that his bike was missing too.

A mild panic started to set in as you were unable to prevent hundreds of depressing scenarios racing through your mind simultaneously. Why would he drive off without saying anything? Why didn’t he leave a note or wake you? Was he planning to sneak out on you like this all along? Was this even his trailer? 

You gathered your clothes, dumped unceremoniously in a pile on the floor, and threw them on. Your muscles were tense and your fingers were starting to shake. Taking a few deep breaths, you tried to calm yourself down, but you struggled to fight off the intrusive thoughts. The rational part of you knew that he’d probably just nipped out quickly, that he’d return soon, but in the back of your mind you couldn’t stop worrying that he’d got what he wanted and left for good. You spent the next fifteen minutes searching, pacing and overthinking until finally you heard a motorbike engine approaching in the distance. A wave of relief hit you.

‘Oh hey,’ Bucky came through the door with a paper bag full of groceries, circled an arm around your waist and planted a kiss on your cheek, ‘I grabbed a few things from the store, figured you were probably tired of hot dogs.’

He waltzed over to the kitchen and dropped his cargo, beginning to unpack what he seemed to think was a successful trip's worth of food. You were distracted for a second, wondering how he figured a meal consisting of sliced cheese, M&M's and garlic mayonnaise would be an improvement on hot dogs, but that issue quickly fell by the wayside as your eyes wandered up to his face. You moved over to the counter and lent yourself against it.

‘You didn’t wake me up, I would’ve come with.’

‘You’ve never seen yourself sleeping, waking up that face would'a felt like slapping a puppy.’ Chuckling, he glanced over, noticing that you were a little subdued. He squinted, ‘were you worried?’

You slid your hands into your pockets, trying so hard to look relaxed that you probably ended up looking like a junkie in withdrawal. ‘Worried? About what?’

Admittedly, you might have overreacted to his unexplained absence a little, but you really couldn't help it. You knew that if this fling with Bucky went on much longer it would grow into something with the potential to absolutely shatter you, it was terrifying to think how invested you were in a guy you’d only properly known for a matter of days. You couldn’t shake your mother’s shrill voice, incessantly warning you about him and his reputation; at least if it ended now it’d be a little easier to pick up the pieces.

‘Man, I can read you like a book. You thought I was gone for good, thought all I wanted was a roll in the hay, didn’t ya?’ He grinned and stopped what he was doing, instead moving over to you and placing his hands on your waist. ‘I mean, that last part is true, but I thought I might as well come back for seconds.’

You smacked him on the shoulders, trying to suppress a smile. ‘Asshole.’

With a reassuring kiss on the forehead he waved you away while he finished unpacking. You wandered back over to the bed, folding up all the sheets before attempting to convert it back into a couch. In all fairness, you’d only seen it done once, but even so you knew that your efforts were pathetic. Bucky just snickered behind you.

'I think this thing is broken,' your words were punctuated with grunts as you tried to ram one confusingly shaped piece of wood into another, 'how the hell do people live like this full time?'

Your host swooped in and took over, fixing your mistakes in a matter of seconds. 'I hear ya, this place can get kinda cramped. Maybe we should head out for a while.'

'Yeah? Whereabouts?’

He curled his arms around your waist, smiling at your obvious excitement. ‘Wherever you want, baby.’

‘I might need some ideas.’

‘Hmm, there’s a beach nearby?’

‘Great,' with a kiss on his nose you unlatched his grip, turned and headed towards the shower, adding over your shoulder, 'I've never been to a beach before.'

Then, suddenly, you weren’t moving any more. Your arm had been grabbed from behind by a young man wearing an incredibly shocked expression.

‘What, never? Seriously?’

‘Seriously. Church summer camp was more of a deep-in-the-forest type deal.’

‘Jesus, looks like we gotta do some making up for your tragic childhood then, eh?’ He winked as he slipped past you, maintaining heated eye contact while strolling backwards into the bathroom. ‘Plus fresh air will take your mind off the whole runaway boyfriend complex thing you got going on.'

The rickety door clicked shut. You folded your arms and once again leaned against the counter, preparing yourself for a long wait while Bucky showered and intricately styled his hair. That was, until his head and bare chest reappeared around the corner, a suggestive flash of the eyebrows beckoning you in to join him. The rest of the morning was a write off after that.

---

You’d only been driving for ten minutes when you started smelling the sea air. Fresh and briny, you couldn’t stop pulling in lungfuls of it, drinking the scent like a thick soup. You watched over Bucky’s shoulder as the green horizon was gradually swallowed by blue, as far as the eye could see. It was breathtaking.

The bike eventually pulled up close to the edge of the sand. The weather was cool and breezy with clouds covering the sky, so the beach was basically empty. The only signs of life were a few dog-walkers dotted about and a group of fishermen hanging their poles from an old jetty in the distance. You swung your leg free and took a few steps towards the water, surveying the vast expanse of sand stretching in both directions. It actually began to make you feel quite emotional. You didn’t know why it took an intervention by Bucky for you to realise how much more there is to the world than god and grades, but you did know that you owed him a hell of a lot for doing it, and you wouldn’t let him forget that in a hurry.

Too distracted by the view and by your profound inner monologue, you didn’t notice what he was up to. He’d pulled his shoes and socks off along with his jacket and dumped them next to the bike. He only caught your attention when he raced out in front of you, shouting.

‘What the hell you waiting for, doll-face?’

You quickly followed suit, undressing and running to catch up with him. The crisp sea breeze and soft sand between your toes should probably have been relaxing but the gradually closing gap between you and Bucky was making your heart thump like a bass drum; as soon as he slowed down you took the opportunity to jump up onto his back. Holding onto your legs, he started spinning around, but you somehow slipped from his grasp and landed in the sand with a loud thud.

‘Shit, are you alright?’ He dropped onto his hands and knees over you, concern melting from his face when he realised you were laughing.

‘Didn’t realise you had such a weak grip, Barnes.’

‘Right, that’s it,’ he gathered you up in his arms, ‘you’re going in the sea.’

He hastily waded up to his knees, threatening to drop you whenever you tried to wriggle. It took some convincing before he let you down amicably and he roared with laughter at your reaction to the freezing water. The two of you only managed to paddle for a few minutes before giving up, willing your numb legs to carry you as fast as possible towards some comfortable looking rocks on the shore.

You brushed all the windswept hairs out of your eyes, your feet were tingling and sand was making your thighs chafe, but the giddy grin didn’t shift from your face for a second. Bucky took out a pack of cigarettes and placed one between his lips, fumbling around in his pockets for what was now probably a very soggy lighter. You considered for a second before hesitantly holding your hand out to him. He looked down at it then up to your face, raising one eyebrow in suspicion.

‘You ever tried one before?’ You shook your head faintly, a little embarrassed at your lack of experience. He smirked and pushed the pack back into his pocket. ‘Nah.’

‘Nah?’

‘I mean I’m flattered, but you don’t have to do shit like that to impress me,’ he lit the cigarette and put an arm around your shoulders, ‘I like you just how you are.’

His words prompted a warm glow to ignite in your chest and spread through your entire body. Embarrassingly enough, you had been aiming for a Sandy-from-Grease type situation there, but it was reassuring to know that Bucky was as unimpressed with the whole change yourself to impress boys message as you were; besides, it was probably a good thing that he shot you down before you humiliated yourself with a violent coughing fit.

‘C’mon,’ he stood up and offered you his arm, ‘you’re freezing, let’s go back.’

---

'Honestly, I'm all good.'

You did your best to reassure your nurse as he draped yet another blanket around your shoulders, the soup he was warming on the stove beginning to audibly bubble.

‘You might wanna tell your hands that,’ he removed the pan from the heat before it boiled over, ‘s’like being touched by a vampire.’

You rolled your eyes, attempting to hide how touched you were that he was looking after you so attentively; you’d barely managed to talk him out of wrapping you in aluminium foil after he’d felt the temperature of your cheeks. The soup was decanted into a bowl but it was pretty quickly abandoned on the table, the delivery boy instead deciding to abruptly dive onto the couch and squirrel his way under your blanket fort, somehow managing to pin you on your back.

‘Right, s’no good, time for extreme measures. We gotta warm you up quick.’

You smiled at the sensation of his toasty hands making their way under your shirt and connecting with your admittedly chilly skin. ‘What do you have in mind, Dr. Barnes?’

‘Do it like they do in the north pole, body heat.’

A sharp breath entered your lungs as his face disappeared into your neck, his hands gradually caressing their way further and further up your torso. You involuntarily threw your head back, fingertips digging into his shoulders and back, thighs squeezing his waist and pulling his body closer to yours. You were so close to being completely lost in the moment when, suddenly, the trailer door swung open, hitting the outside wall with an almighty crash. The sound made you jump out of your skin. Bucky snapped his head round before swiftly launching himself off you.

A heavy boot landed through the entrance, followed by two shaking hands fumbling around to grab the door frame and heave a stooped, burly body through the gap.

‘The hell are you doing?’ Bucky was almost shouting at the swaying figure standing in the doorway, ‘I told you I was here.’

‘You didn’t tell me nothin’, boy.’

The stranger had the voice of a lifelong chain-smoker or an alcoholic who only drank kerosene, and by the looks of him he was quite possibly both. The two of them stared at each other, unwavering, the tension in the room growing to an unbearable level. You swung your legs off the couch and scooched yourself to the edge of the seat, readying for some kind of fight-or-flight situation, not that you’d be much use in either.

The guest nodded towards you. ‘Who’s the broad?’

‘This is y/n.’ Bucky spoke through clenched teeth, then turning to look at you with some kind of vague warning in his eyes. ‘Y/n, this is my old man.’

Ah. Shit.

---

Part 6

---

#bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky fanfiction #bucky fluff #bucky imagine #BUCKY AU #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes imagine #biker!bucky #biker!bucky x reader #biker!bucky x you #biker!bucky x y/n #Biker!bucky au #biker!bucky barnes #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #Marvel AU

[batmansymbol]

I hope this isn't a weird or too random question (and if it is, feel free to ignore ofc!) but I was wondering if you had any advice for someone thinking of writing full-time? The obvious question is, of course, can one make a living from it even if they're not like Stephen King or GRR Martin or something? Do you have any tips from your experience that you would have found helpful when first starting out? <3

Hi, sweet anon! Not weird at all. I'm happy to chime in with some (long) thoughts.

Firstly, yes! Authors can make a full-time living from writing even if they're not GRRM &c. I know a number of full-timers, and some of them aren't even NYT bestsellers.

As a caveat, I know very little about the indie/self-publishing space, so the following is based on my experience in traditional publishing.

I spent around 2-3 years writing books full-time. I no longer do that, and don't plan to return to it unless I have a big commercial breakout. It was just a never-ending parade of financial stress. It's hard even to give "tips" because so much is out of your control -- but if you're considering trying to write full time, you should definitely know what you're signing up for.

Here's an average situation for a non-bestseller trying to full-time it:

Let's say you've published two books, and your third is on the way (awesome!). For your first two novels, you got advances of $40,000, but maybe they've only sold 15k copies apiece -- not enough to "earn out" your advance and start making new money. So, you're not making a cent off your older books. Probably won't for years.

Let's say your book 3 is supposed to publish in June 2025, and it sold for more than your last books: $75,000. Pretty good! Advances are usually divided into thirds these days: 1/3 on contract signing, 1/3 on delivery of the fully edited manuscript (D&A), and 1/3 on publication. So that makes a $50,000 salary this year, yes?

Kind of. Right off the bat, your agent gets 15%, so that would make a $42,500 salary. A little tighter, but still seems doable. Also, you need to make estimated tax payments to the IRS. So, let's ballpark your taxes at $7,000, state and federal, which you'll pay in installments throughout the year.

Contract negotiations take a few months as usual, and let's say in April, you get the first payment: your first $21,250. Nice.

Unfortunately, your editor's swamped, and 2 months go by before they send you edits. When you get the letter in June, you're like -- shit, this is a more extensive revision than I thought. You start rehauling the novel, but after your month-long deadline passes, it's still not right. You take another six weeks before you're happy. It's now September.

Suddenly money is very tight. You got $21,250 in April, but since then you've paid $5,250 in estimated taxes, and every month you pay $2,250 in rent, health insurance, and food. You were supposed to have your second payment already, because the contract's estimated D&A date said September. But you still need to do line edits. You now have $2,500 in the bank. You are very aware that this will last a little over a month.

Your editor gets back after a few weeks, having loved your revision, and has sent you line edits. Thank God she didn't want a second round of bigger edits. But it's now October. You rush through the line edits, turn them in after a single jam-packed week. You have $250 in the bank. Your D&A payment is now due.

A week goes by. Where is the payment? You email your agent. She badgers the publisher. They say the payment will be sent through in a pay run next week, so after agency processing, it'll be with you in early November.

You have $75 in the bank. You start putting everything on your credit cards. Then your utility company makes a direct withdrawal from your checking account. You wake up to an overdraft notice and zero dollars in your account. Holy shit, you think, why did I choose this career. November hits. You are late on rent. Maybe you should start drawing from your retirement account, which you put $5,000 into, one time, three years ago?

When your payment arrives, you're not happy so much as ready to cry with relief. You start paying off your cards and sending late, embarrassed Venmos to your friends. You can finally stop declining invites to hang out because you have no money.

And by then it's November, and you're realizing that you really need to be thinking about your next book. If you were working smart, you got a jump on it earlier in the year, when your editor was late with your edit letter. Let's say you wrote an entire first draft back then, between January and June. (Which, to be clear, IS fast for a novel, do not believe the ridiculous standards of writing speed you see online.) If you now take six months to mold that first draft into actual art, then send it to your agent next May, and she wants changes, and you submit in July, and it sells after an average couple months on submission, you won't get your next contract payment until January, 2026.

ARE YOU ANXIOUS YET?

The above scenario is ordinary. An editor having a delay on an edit letter for a month or two, or an author getting stuck and running over deadline for a month -- that stuff is barely worth commenting on.

And there are all sorts of other bumps in the road. Let's say the publisher has turnover in the contracts department. Immediately, that'll be a delay on your signing payment. I've waited 6 months for a contract payment before. I've waited months for a simple email reply from an editor because the company was going through layoffs.

Add more people into the process, and it gets slower. Are you working on IP, let's say a novelization of a TV property? That team might take months to get back to you even on your proposed outline. Working with a freelancer or cowriter? Add weeks or months to every step. In publishing, you spend half your life waiting. You know what doesn't wait? Rent, taxes, and health insurance.

Anon, this is the shoestring, desperate kind of full-time author existence. If you're doing a little better -- still midlist, but better -- you might have earned out one or more of your backlist titles. That means you'll get additional royalties twice a year, usually April and October. That will help.

Or maybe you're a super-fast writer who's always, always juggling multiple contracts and shooting drafts in and out of your door. That's a decent way to make a healthy living as a full-time author, but you'll need to complete multiple books a year, for sure.

This is why I have a survival job half the week that pays my rent. The stress is still there, but it's less frequent and less intense. Honestly, given my sales figures, which are (checks notes) bad, I'm lucky to get to keep doing this after five novels. Because the biggest looming threat is that if you don't break out, editors will start shutting the door immediately because of your lack of established audience.

The only really reliable way to pay your bills is to break out. Then if your editor leaves your publishing house, and you get reassigned, and that pads 3 months onto the editing process, or whatever, it doesn't matter. You'll have actual, substantial royalty payments twice a year. Your advances will always be over six figures. You can live a normal life where you're not staring into the murky distance, wondering when some payment is going to soar out of the night and into your terrible bank account.

Or ... you can just get a day job. And you will get paid biweekly, reliably, on SPECIFIC DATES!!!, forever. When I tell you this shit was life-changing for me. Good God.

Obviously the biggest problem in this whole post is the bit where I wrote "every month you pay $2,250 in rent, insurance, and food," and worried if I was, in fact, lowballing that amount. What a broken world!

Anyway. Best of luck with the writing, anon -- no matter what your experiences in or around the industry, I hope the work itself continues to feed your soul.

RR

#reply #publishing #advice

[indouloureux]

hung up on you

peter parker x reader

summary: you and peter parker are left to deal with the aftermath of the snap, both grieving in your ways that includes inconsequential bickering and redundant jealousy. what happens when you get hurt during an unexpected mission and he's left to take care of you?

word count: 8, 729

warnings: enemies to lovers! mentions of grief, thanos' bullshit, knives and guns, violence, and someone's throat getting split open. reader uses she/her bc this is one of my old works and ive yet to study the usage of second pov back then so im sorry 😭

a/n: i wanted to write a fic about how peter didn't get blipped bc poor baby did not deserve that honestly. this fic includes wilson fisk, during the times he hired the ronin (as mentioned in hawkeye?), akihiko is here too, the person ronin killed in endgame. i wanted to try something new so here it is! ava orlova is an original marvel character and i do not own her.

MASTERLIST

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

“Any plans for today? Or are you just going to sit in your bedroom reading a book on how to lose your virginity?”

“Hm, and you? Pushing eggs out of your stick-covered ass, insect?”

She pivoted her right arm. Peter swerved, panting as he bypassed her punch. She wasn’t convinced if the blush on his face was from the sweat he got from training too hard, or if he was flustered at her spider joke. Either way, it was amusing to see his ears turn red.

“For the last time, (y/n), I don’t push eggs out of me,” he stammered on his words, huffing. She chortled, brooking advantage as she drove downwards and swiped her leg beneath his, striking him down. “Ah, fuck. You hit like a girl.”

“I am a girl.”

“Really? ‘Cause last time I checked penguins don’t look like that.” He affronted, pushing himself back to his feet.

The groan that fled his parted lips when she punched the bridge of his nose using her uncovered knuckles assembled an impish smirk on her face. “And last time I checked, Spider-Man dodges punches.”

“I was just beginning to stand up,”

“Still.”

Peter took benefit when he caught her withdrawing the other glove from her left hand. But (y/n) was swifter, precluding his punch with the base of her palm and directly aiming for his unprotected stomach.

“Give up yet, Jabba?”

“Not a chance, Yzma.”

She headed toward him, vaulting and kicking him mid-air. But he seized her leg, hauling her to the ground. The impact rendered her a gasp, witnessing black spots in her vision from how badly she struck her head.

He bent down, legs on either side of her, squinting his eyes. “You alright, sunshine?”

Groaning loudly, (y/n) snagged both her legs around his neck, ploughing her heels harshly on his back and flipped him over so now she sat on his chest. She grasped his shoulder, positioned it between her legs, spreading down obliquely beside him, tautening on his arm.

“I’m grand, Spider-boy.” A harsh laugh followed. “Tap out, bitch.”

(y/n) may have underestimated his potency because he lifted her using the arm she harbored against her chest Broadening her eyes, Peter unexpectedly collided her down once more on the mat, allowing himself to hover over her and stapling her arms down to the ground with both his hands.

His chest upheaved laboriously, damp curls dangling from his forehead while he stared at her vehemently with a smirk on his facade, hands seizing her wrists in nuanced coarseness.

“Not a chance.”

With a scowl, her knee aimed for his crotch.

He let out a bitter cry, hands plugging down his genital region. (y/n) stood up, wiping her hands on her thighs; moving her hair out of her face.

“Not fair, Yzma,” he wheezed, forehead on the ground. “Not fair.”

She threw his towel at him. “No. What’s not fair is you using your weird super strength on me, Parker.” (y/n) placed her hands on her hips, bending down to smile at him. “Too afraid to let everyone know you got your ass handed to yourself by a girl?”

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Peter glowered at her as Natasha descended underneath the net, proffering both of them bottled waters. “(y/n)’s right, Peter. You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I- she punched me in the face while I was standing up! That was unfair. And she was ungloved!”

“No, that was strategy.” (y/n) spoke aloud. “Never wait for your enemy to recover, Jabba. Or else you might have an unfair advantage.”

“No, neither of you were fair,” Natasha commented. She pointed at (y/n), an arm crossed on her chest. “You punched his face without a glove.”

“It’s training, isn’t it? He’s gotta know what it feels getting punched in the face without a glove.”

Natasha sucked her cheeks in - a semblance of aggravation, although she retained it in, availing herself in toleration. “If it were training, both of you would know better than to not follow my rules. I’m assuming both of you came here to resolve some petty fight?”

“It wasn’t petty,” Peter grumbled. “She ate my sandwich. And hey, I’ve been punched in the face without a glove before.”

(y/n) groaned, turning to face him. “You wear a mask, Parker, it doesn’t feel the same. And for the last time, it wasn’t me that ate you’re god damn sandwich!”

“I come back home to help and this is the thanks I get? Babysitting?” Natasha whispered to herself, massaging her temples. (y/n) flipped Peter off, dipping beneath the net to clasp her own towel, patting the sweat off. “Anyway, I came here to stop you guys. Mission in 20.”

“Wait,” (y/n) jogged her way to Natasha, giving her a confused look. “Mission?”

Two and a half years ago the entire population of the universe got demolished in half. She witnessed the people around her shift into dust, get frittered away by the wind and by far it was the most cataclysmically mortifying thing she had to encounter. (y/n) had been in Wakanda when it ensued, reaching her friend instantly but when she left five voicemails she knew they were one of them.

Since then, the only people she had left in her life were the remaining vigilantes on Earth.

(y/n) wasn’t the one to grieve but she did – she had lost the only person she had left in her life.

During her times of affliction, she had lost hope – lost hope in herself; to the people around her. And if she had lost hope, she thought maybe that it meant everyone else did too. So (y/n), aside from presuming about how alone she currently felt, figured criminality would stop, with the world hopeless.

The only thing that held her up and made the world feel ordinary even for a split second at sullen junctures, was her endless puerile altercation with Peter. It was a shocker, and she felt vexed about it because it was true.

Crime did stop, nevertheless. The world felt despairingly amicable with corruption gone, and it left some of the people to think that Thanos’ sadistic, genocidal plan was for the greater good. With the lack of missions, it left the vigilantes, and (y/n), stuck inside the compound helping those in need instead of fighting and protecting that they used to accomplish.

Up until now.

“Yeah,” Natasha answered her. “Mission.”

“No one’s done crime in two years, Nat,” she mumbled. “What could they possibly be doing?”

“That’s what you think,” she replied. “Remember a couple months ago where you would always ask me why I always stayed in the surveillance room? And I said a bunch of murders started occurring, but you were too drunk to function?”

Natasha gave her a long stare, eyebrows raising. She stared back, pondering what she might have meant until her thought clicked into one person Natasha searched for in her sleepless nights. “You don’t think…”

“I found him,” she sighed. “I caught Intel from Mexico. This is it, (y/n).”

“What’s going on?” Peter approached the two of them and for the first time, she didn’t roll her eyes at his arrival. Instead, she pursed her lips.

“Natasha found the Ronin who she thinks is Clint.” She squinted her eyes at Natasha. “Which is impossible because no one has seen Clint in years.”

“No way,”

“Yes way,” Natasha began walking away from them, in which the two followed suit. “We haven’t heard from him since he got home arrest. And like you said, no one has seen Clint in years. None of us are sure if he blipped or not. And as for the Ronin,” they arrived in the living room, where Natasha mostly spent her time. Her finger swiped over the sent surveillance video, widening as it hit the center of the screen. “I know a Clint Barton when I see one.”

It was the Ronin, in Mexico, sent two hours ago, killing another group of rebels.

But something felt off.

“I don’t know, Nat.” she whispered. “It’s…I think it’s too dangerous. Going after him, I mean.”

“Too dangerous for you,” Peter mumbled, and she shot him a glare.

“This is the first sign of hope for me in years, (y/n). The thought of Clint out there, alive. It’ll help us. All of us,” Nat proposed, her hands on the edge of the table screen. “I can’t catch him alone. Steve’s out there being a shrink to strangers, Tony’s MIA, the weird space dudes are in a galaxy far, far away. You two are the only ones that can help me right now.”

Peter scratched his neck. “And Rhodey. He’s not AWOL, right?”

(y/n) shook her head. “Look, even if that is Clint, that’s not enough help to get everyone back, Nat. We don’t have the stones, they’re gone.”

Natasha severely tugged on her cheek sideways. (y/n) decided not long ago that being unpretentiously honest was the best for everyone. With the stones gone, there’s no reason left for people to be optimistic about the retrieval of those who perished. But perhaps she’d been too blunt at Natasha, who lost her sister, and possibly, Clint.

“(y/n), Peter, please,” Natasha almost begged. “I know Steve told me to look at the bright side but fuck it, there is no bright side in this world. Everything is just fucking grey.”

(y/n)’s eyes shifted to Peter’s, who was already staring at hers for some sort of approval – the one time they’re actually relying on each other to make a decision. She took a deep breath, eyes returning to Natasha’s, which were already bloodshot.

Perhaps there wouldn’t be such a bad thing to have another person in the compound.

“Okay,” (y/n) whispered, nodding vigorously. “I’ll meet you guys at the departure in 20. Besides, it would be nice to visit Mexico. Never been there.”

She swore she saw Peter smile a little on the corners of her eyes.

-

The gentle mechanical sound of Peter’s nanotech suit was the one that got her out of her daze. Natasha and Rhodey have yet to be seen, and it would be a shame to say that (y/n) appreciated Peter’s presence as of the moment.

Peter. He also mourned the loss of those who are important in his life – May, Ned, and MJ. As soon as he set foot on earth he did the first thing he could do that he couldn’t do in space, which was call aunt May.

He found out from some stranger who stole her phone that she blipped. And Peter found out from Brad Davis that half of Midtown high’s students were gone too, including Ned and MJ.

He mourned, like (y/n) did. But he attempted to look on the bright side, that he still had Tony and the rest of the Avengers. Yet he couldn’t prevent himself from crying every midnight, pondering about the people he loved that he lost, and blaming himself for what happened.

The only thing that kept him sane was the same as hers – the incessant bickering with (y/n). With her, everything felt almost normal. The only thing that would make him remember the present condition the world was in, was the absence of those he loved.

Even if he’s varied through this before when he lost Uncle Ben, that didn’t stop him from grieving. For Grief is a sensation that no one, even a stoic sociopath, could get used to. It’s inescapable; it’s never-ending.

“I’ve never seen Natasha like that,” Peter said softly, breaking the silence. “I haven’t – I didn’t imagine that she could be vulnerable.”

“She’s human, Parker,” she replied. Though her comment was sarcastic as opposed to practical, Peter though the latter. “She can be vulnerable.”

Peter sat on the stairs of the plane, body suited except for his face that looked unusually pale. His eyes scanned the area, his elbow on his knee. “I know. I just, didn’t think that she’d let herself be vulnerable in front of us.”

A sigh for another short reply. (y/n) crossed her arms, foot tapping in a slow manner as her hair blew across her face. “Neither did I.”

He stared at her for a moment, as if his aspect was plain observance. But really it was just curiosity – how could someone, despite losing everything, be so strong?

Despite the immense nuisance Peter felt for her, he couldn’t help but feel strong formidability for the girl. (y/n), from what he understood, lost almost everything in her life. And as for Peter, he was fortunate enough that he still had Tony to get him through his swarthy days.

Her mien demeanor signified a novelty of altruistic valiance for herself and for the people who presently need her. Did Peter need her? Maybe. He wasn’t confident enough to answer that question. But he hoped for her to abide in his life because she was the only one that kept his life moderately intriguing nowadays.

Peter shook his head to stop thinking about her, and instead: “Why do you stand like Quasimodo?”

“I- what?” her back straightened. “I do not!”

“Hm. I think I know a bell ringer when I see one.”

“It’s called scoliosis,” She scoffed, taking offence. “At least I don’t look like an idiot who dances around the campfire wearing badges and holding a stick of marshmallows in their hand.”

“I told you I was a boy scout one time!” Peter stood up. “And, hey! I said that with confidence.”

“Of course, you’re being defensive.” She gave him an amused grin, fingers formed for mock salutations. “Once a boy scout, always a boy scout.”

“I’m never telling you things about me ever again.”

“Oh, I’m so ashamed. Poor me, how will I live with myself?” she gasped in faux despair. “A life without the knowledge of Peter Benjamin Parker’s nerdy hobbies? Oh, the horror!”

Peter held himself in from webbing that pretty mouth of hers, knowing he’d be getting himself in trouble for taking (y/n)’s voice for at least two hours. Sure, he was pissy that she made fun of him for the hobbies he once had as a child, but he also felt his heartbeat rise — (y/n) remembered something about him that he told long ago.

Instead, he rolled his eyes, sitting down on the stairs once more. “At least I have hobbies.”

“Honestly, Parker, when are you going to have comebacks that don’t make you sound like you’re eight?”

“When I have a peaceful life, (y/n). So that I can look back at this day and tell myself how much of a loser you are.”

She grimaced. “Now you just sound like an eight year old kid who got bullied.”

“Aren’t you bullying me?”

“You started it!”

“I was stating a fact!”

“Both of you are eight year olds,” Rhodey stopped them from shouting at each other as they were on the verge of it before he and Natasha arrived. “’d you have your bags?”

Peter lifted his. “Yeah. Why’re we bringing a suitcase, anyway?”

“Because we don’t know how long we’d be staying there,” Natasha came out from behind. “Intel said that Cli- the Ronin strikes in alternated days. Which means, if he attacked yesterday, he’d hide today. Then he’d attack again tomorrow, then hide the next day. So on, so on, whatever.”

(y/n) carried her bag up the stairs, clutching it to her chest. “So we’re staying there for three days?”

“Maybe more than that,” Natasha replied. “Besides, Rhodey has a condominium in Mexico that we can stay in.”

“Bet (y/n)’s going to enjoy Mexico. You haven’t been out of the country in years, right? Because you’re too busy reading enchiridions while drinking the blood of a virgin?”

“And you? Too busy trying to look cool in children’s birthday parties at New York?”

“Three days of this,” she heard Rhodey mutter to Natasha. “I might kill myself tomorrow because of this nonsense.”

The entire flight felt as if though God Himself heaped miracles onto them. It was incredulous that both Peter and (y/n) lingered in silence the entire trip, as they were deep asleep. Of course, not that Natasha missed their endless quarrels – it simply felt uncanny to not encounter the hellacious arguments they had to witness from the two young adults that often transpired in enclosed spaces.

When they arrived, the air felt crisp against (y/n)’s exposed skin. She hadn’t felt fresh air for a while, since Peter was partly correct – she did spend most of her time in her bedroom.

The airport, in spite of how large it was, had merely ten people inside that weren't staff. The Blip militated on certain companies, particularly in public areas made specifically for the people’s entertainment. It felt as though the world had been desolated; like it had gone through extinction.

(y/n) was sure there was grass spurting from the cracks of the floors.

“I’ll go ahead and rent a car,” Rhodey spoke after a long silence, his voice echoing a bit from how quiet the airport was as they all took their passports. “Peter, you know how to drive?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“He knows how to drive bumper cars.” (y/n) retorted sleepily, rubbing her eyes. Yawning, she continued, “I’ll drive.”

Peter glared at her. “I failed my test five times, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to drive.”

“That ‘five times’ you said was enough proof that letting you drive is going to kill us all.”

Natasha shook her head, smiling a bit. “(y/n)’s driving. Sorry Peter, can’t risk it.”

Peter glared at (y/n), who winked at him as Rhodey tossed her the keys when he returned.

Rhodey’s apartment was an hour away from the airport. Stoplights were transient and traffic was inevident, permitting the car to drive steadily on the undulating highway. Though (y/n)’s eyes remained directly on the road only, she couldn’t help but detect the vandalism on the borders – do people actually believe that Thanos was right?

Sure, perhaps the absence of crime signified peace; the halt of overpopulation implied more resources; the scarcity of pollution from diluted oxygen meant nature’s retrieval, but how are you going to relish the drastic evolutions when the people you love aren’t with you?

She thought it was selfish – thinking about your own safety rather than long for those you lost.

Or maybe that was just her.

The two adults fell asleep the backseat, leaving Peter with (y/n) as company once more. His fist was on his chin and the other tapped gently on his knees as he stared out the window in boredom, mouth sealed. But when he sighed, knocked his head on the headrest, Peter looked at (y/n) with a small pout.

“I’m bored.”

“I have nursery rhymes on my phone if you want. Oh! I’m pretty sure I have a coloring book in my backpack, too.”

A long stare for a pause. “You have a coloring book?”

“You know, for when I’m babysitting you. I also have a 64 crayon Crayola!” she pipped, a sarcastic smile on her face

“You’re serious?”

“If I smacked you with a book would you believe me?” (y/n) raised a brow. “No but seriously, I do. It’s a stress reliever. Try it out, just, be careful with my colored pencils.”

Peter looked back, assembling his web shooters. “Which bag? Is it the red one? You always bring that bag when you’re visiting the compound.”

She frowned at his observance. “Yeah, it’s the red one. Careful, please.”

Her bag linked to his hand in less than a second. With the book on his lap and the pencils on his hand, Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration. She wondered if he didn’t feel the subtlest bit of nausea – she can hardly skim at a sentence sent on her phone as the car drove. And here was Peter, coloring as if he sat on the table.

It descended into silence again. The fainted gentle bumps of the car and Peter’s scribbling filled the quietness filled her ears. Yet despite his attention being glued to his activity, she had sensed that Peter was disputing with himself on speaking to her, as he evidently glanced at her through his peripherals with twitching lips.

(y/n) waited.

Peter soughed in dissatisfaction a minute later, banging the open book on his head. Underneath, he looked at (y/n) with shy eyes, and she glanced at him when they stopped at the red light. She raised a brow. “Do you…have the nursery rhymes on your phone as you said?”

(y/n) looked straight back to the road, and answered, “No. But I have data, so if you want to watch-”

“Do you think Mr. Barton’s the Ronin?”

She hindered down. There were no cars around them except maybe for three more, yet she still slowed down, terrified of hitting someone as her head pivoted towards Peter’s direction, who looked at her with sincerity in his eyes and anticipated her candid answer.

If there was one thing (y/n) was adequate at, it was being candor. She could keep a secret, no doubt. Though regardless of the pest in honesty or the benefit of validity, she was too pragmatic to care about the chaos; better to be honest early, or let the truth divulge itself late that could convey chaos.

But when it came to Peter’s question, she felt like she had just sinned by the thought of lying to him. Which of course, it was.

An arbitrary question after another. It caught her off guard yet she couldn’t bring herself to be genuine with him because she was ashamed of her answer. But she consistently felt ashamed around him, or maybe it was internal shyness – when Peter’s around there were moments where (y/n) just couldn’t think nor function straight.

Her fingers tapped on the wheel. “I don’t know.”

Peter looked behind, seeing Natasha still sound asleep. But he didn’t need to observe her looks, given that he could just listen to her heart beat. Like (y/n)’s, which raised at each second.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t let my expectations up,” she glanced at him. “I don’t expect Clint to be Ronin nor do I expect us to catch him because I’ll just be disappointed in the end.”

He looked at her, hand twitching. “Y-yeah. You’re right. If you expect disappointment, then you can never really be disappointed.”

(y/n) raised a brow. “Wow. My first time hearing you say something wise out of your mouth.”

“It’s not my wise word,” Peter looked out the window, a small frown on his face. “It’s MJ’s.”

Rhodey’s apartment was as big as the whole first floor of the Avenger’s compound. There were at least three cabinets full of resources, and it occurred to be his so-called ‘bachelor pad’ as a bright-neon sign nearly blinded his guests as soon as they strode in through the door.

“Welcome, to my third home,” he placed his bags on the couch nearby. “I only have two rooms. I’m willing to sleep on this couch,” he patted on the one with his bag, “And you guys can figure out who shares with who. My suggestion is we lock these two kids together.”

Natasha looked at Peter and (y/n), who looked at her in horror. She rolled her eyes. “I’m only allowing this for precautions.”

“At what point in putting he and I in the same room are taking precautions?”

“I- You guys don’t even like each other! How will you even have se-”

“No, not like that! I meant that we’d most likely die by killing each other than a murderer killing us.” Peter had never witnessed her so flustered by a dirty remark, noticing her cheeks tint pink felt entertaining, despite himself feeling and appearing the same way. “I know you don’t want anyone’s death on your conscience.”

“It’s good that you know that, so please don’t kill each other. For me.” Natasha shoved their bags to their chests, looking at both of them. “And both of you are nearing adulthood. You know better than to be irresponsible, and you know better than unsafe sex.”

“Oh my God-”

“Now get inside, please? Get some rest. Better yet, strategize. Both of you will be working together anyway so if you’re not going to sleep, go ahead and plan.”

-

(y/n) was never fond of Peter Parker.

She tautened as he threw his bag aside, both of them gaping at the one small bed in the middle of the room. If she couldn’t stand being near him in confined spaces let alone an entire floor, what would happen if they share a bed?

Perhaps she could ask Natasha if she could sleep with her, but she felt too shy to say so. Besides, she respected Natasha’s love of privacy; maybe she could ask Rhodey to bunk with Peter instead?

She didn’t know, because her agendas are tackled by the thought of sharing the bed with the person she despised the most.

Unless, of course, one of them sleeps on the floor.

“I’ll sleep on the ground,” she offered, grabbing her bag and throwing it beside the window. “I…like sleeping on the ground, anyway.”

It was true – (y/n) primarily consumed her sleepless nights laying on the ground. Somehow she found solace in laying down on the cold floor with the covers over her body. She felt as though she didn’t deserve to sleep comfortably in the condition (she’s) everyone’s in. Besides, what use is the relaxing bed if she didn’t feel relaxed on the inside?

“Okay,” Peter didn’t oppose; he needed the comfortable bed. His evenings are spent rousing up every 10 minutes, eyes bursting open once the occurrences in Titan reappeared in his head. He didn’t care if her body ached the next day from laying down on the ground – Peter cared that he would at least get a whole, hopefully, dreamless sleep so he could focus the next day.

Dinner came by quick and they ate faster than dinner itself came, all rushing in their perspective areas. Natasha was in her room, studying Intel and Rhodey went somewhere neither of them knew. As for Peter and (y/n), they didn’t strategize – they bickered. Like they always did.

“Can you breathe quietly?”

Peter sighed loudly. “Sorry. I have asthma.”

“Bullshit. You’re breathing too loudly it makes me want to kill you so it would be quiet in here.”

“You talk too much it makes me want to staple your mouth shut.”

“You talk too much it makes me want to shoot myself in the head!”

“I’d actually be glad if you did that.” He ignored her violent threats.

She threw her head back, slumping on the chair. If she weren’t being careful she might possibly break her laptop by smashing it on Peter’s chest. Instead, she pulled her earphones out, giving him an exasperated tight-lipped smile before putting it on her ears.

Before she hit play she had heard Peter’s muffled voice, “Of course she wore earphones. Can’t even finish her problems.”

(y/n) threw a book at him.

He caught it, obviously, and he rolled his eyes at her.

Peter himself knew that he wasn’t like this before; he used to be a nervous, horribly skittish wreck. Hell, each sentence of his included at least two uh’s before getting to the point. But when the snap happened, where he had lost those who were in his life, he found himself altering into someone he’s not.

It was partly because of (y/n). Peter used to like her, but when he conceded that she was enduring things better than he did (even if he actually respected her because of that), immaturity had dominated him that despite the impressive fierce bearing she delivered out, he began to slowly detest her because of envy.

He envied her because she could handle grief better than he did-

They were both suffering, and he envied the fact that she was still strong and he wasn’t.

The other part was because Peter began to realize that he’d have to quit being such an apprehensive mess and stop being too nice to everyone – he was being too much of a pushover; he consistently saw the good in people that it put his life and those he loved in jeopardy.

So he changed, for himself, and for everyone around him.

And there was another reason. There were times where he couldn’t quite put his finger on it but when he looked at (y/n), sometimes he felt like he knew.

She sat there, in front of him, eyes glued to her screen. And Peter sat on the bed, staring at her with an amalgamation of abhorrence, and stoic ardor. Then he fell asleep.

-

“I got eyes on Ronin.”

Natasha’s voice startled (y/n). Peter smiled a bit, which made her roll her eyes before looking back at the window, having a clear view of Fat Man Auto Repair. She placed her fingers on the comm. “I got eyes on these guys wearing tracksuits. All…of them are wearing tracksuits why are they wearing tracksuits?”

“Some type of pop culture reference?” Rhodey suggested. “Millennials only do that. These idiots are in their forties.”

“What? Since when did teens wear tracksuits?”

“In the 90’s?”

“Wait,” Peter interjected, approaching the window with his mask finally on. “Kids wear tracksuits in the 90’s?”

“I didn’t,” Natasha scoffed. “Tracksuits are for rich losers, makes them look fat and lazy. Now, focus. We can’t miss any details. CCTV’s are down.”

A static after another before Natasha and Rhodey fell silent. (y/n) sat in front of the window, arms crossed yet her fingers tampered with the knife on her palm dangerously. Peter anxiously monitored her do it, fingers jolting for him to stop her from getting herself penetrated.

She tossed the knife at the wall, puncturing it onto the concrete before she pulled it out and reprise it.

Peter was upside down, a single strand of web stuck to the ceiling to sustain his weight. With his phone in hand, he resumed to explore through Star Wars theories and what-not; as of the moment, he was missing Ned and his weird fun facts that he sent to Peter every five seconds.

With no one to send Peter fun facts, he started looking for it himself, and thank God someone still posted them – the same author Ned favored did not blip.

(y/n) missed no one but her friend, Ava – Ava was the only one left for her to regard as family. With both her parents deceased and the anonymity of her siblings, she’d been the only one (y/n) deemed important enough to stay in her life.

In their past times, she and Ava would throw knives at each other. The leisure to them had no connotations of infliction, merely a practice of their dexterity and reflexes. There were points where their hands had been shrouded by little cuts by the end of the day; now (y/n) threw the blunt knife at the wall.

Peter bit his lip – he wanted to ask (y/n) a question, but he fretted the discussion might end into another brawl, as it consistently did. He was used to it, anyway; the boundless, pesky quarrels. He’d have to get used to it eventually, or else he would clog his ears with webs so he wouldn’t have to hear her silk voice that made his knees wimpy at moments.

He chuckled at his own morbid joke, cheeks reddening from what came after.

It caught her attention, spinning herself around to look at him with hooded eyes. She raised a brow. “Something funny, Parker?” she drawled. (y/n) tipped her head back, where Peter was convinced it would ache a few minutes later. She set the knife on the tip of her nose, lips parted in engagement.

The hasty blood rush to his head caused his eyes to sheer white. Peter shook his head, gradually dipping from the ceiling and onto the filthy, holed up bed. He rubbed his eyes. “N-no.”

“Sure? With that crackhead of yours-” she took the knife off her nose, drumming the tip to her temples. “-you might be hearing voices, Jabba.”

“I’m laughing because I remembered how sad it must be for you to spend your free time writing Smurf fanfiction while you ate cranberries out of the can.”

“Hey, I do not write Smurf fanfiction,” she sneered at him. “It’s Star Wars.”

“What was that?”

“I said I fucked your mom.”

“My mom’s dead.”

“Thank God I have enough patience for me not to stab you.”

“Thank God I have enough patience for me not to ruin you.”

She made a face at him before returning to the window. Just in time, she’d noticed a black van parked in front. The door unfurled, displaying a large man in a white suit, a caduceus in hand for an asset. (y/n) squeezed her fingers on her comm once more. “Nat- Nat there’s a big guy out here.”

“What big guy? Banner?”

She could discern Peter standing up from the bed, arranging himself behind her to take a glimpse – Peter recognized the man, somehow. He’d seen him around, in abandoned alleyways, always with a suitcase in hand that he’d be offering to nonnatives before walking away.

It was the same guy Peter kept tabs on but seemed to have forgotten about.

“No,” Peter answered. “I-I know him. His name is…Wilson Fisk. Kept tabs on him a few years ago but I forgot about it after the Snap happened.”

“Wilson Fisk,” Natasha muttered. “Know anything about him?”

“He used to take authority over juvenile gangs who run drugs for the mafia clans and what-not. He goes by the appellation ‘Kingpin,’ a name which he uses when he employs bad dudes. Has a niece named Maya Lopez, and studies Japanese art of sumo,”

“You don’t think he’s here for the Ronin, do you?”

“Intel said he’d be here, and now so is this dude. Pretty sure it’s not a coincidence,” (y/n) answered, feeling her dual batons inside her holsters. “Should we stay or should we follow them?”

The shuffling made her wince, as it was too clangorous. (y/n) glanced at Peter, whose eyes remained on the man outside their window. She winced once more when she heard Natasha’s voice. “Stay there, I need someone to keep an eye on them. I’m following Clint.”

“I don’t think that’s a good ide-”

Natasha turned her comm off. And she heard Rhodey’s voice next.

“I’m going on air to get a better view,” he informed them. “You two better stay there until we say so, got it? We still need backup and lookouts.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good ide-”

He turned it off.

(y/n) groaned in exasperation, pulling the knife off the wall. “Why won’t they let me finish my sentences?!”

Peter’s suit formed his mask, and he opened the other window at the back of the room where no one could see, adjusting the comm in his right ear before he looked at her with negligibly squinted eyes. “I’m going, too.”

“What?” she hissed, standing up, “No, you’re not; You three are about to do something stupid and the best I could do for this mission is make it two people doing something stupid.”

“I have to help them, (y/n),”

“The only way we could help is if we stay here.”

“Are you only saying that because you want to follow Natasha’s orders, or you actually want to come with me but you can’t and you want me to stay so you wouldn’t feel left out?”

Her back straightened, lips pursing and eyes anywhere but his as her foot tapped lightly on the floor, her hands quivering as it grasped her own waist. (y/n) dodged his (what seemed to be) delighted stare, in hopes he wouldn’t notice her shyness and chagrin in her eyes. “…both.”

His mask extracted itself, so she could see his wanton Machiavellian manoeuvers. Peter looked at her softly – in a way he never did before, and he chose to gaze at her like that in a moment where he wasn’t supposed to be. Her determination in persuading him to stay was ebbing away; his kind eyes seemed pious.

“Then come with me.”

“Someone has to stay and keep an eye.”

Peter tapped the spider on his chest, the emblem ascending to reveal a miniature flying camera, which established itself on the edge of the window as if it were an operating monitor. “I have that to watch over them.”

She hesitated. “If I come, it’ll be four people doing stupid things.”

“(y/n),” Peter started. “We always do stupid things. Besides, they can’t do it alone. I mean- not that I don’t trust Natasha because she’s really good- not that I also don’t trust Rhodey either- look, my point is: we haven’t done anything in two years. Catching them will stop the murders, and I know you’ve been wanting to go on a mission for a long time, and Natasha brought us with her for a reason.”

“Yeah, it’s because Steve and the others are AWOL.”

“You know what I mean. They need us too.”

She sucked her cheeks in. “Well, I haven’t really been in any missions since- since Natasha found me.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, but his mask formed itself around his face once more. “I don’t know what you mean, but we have to go.”

Her eyes ricocheted between the small camera watching Kingpin, and Peter, who stood by the window with his hand dawdling on the frame. (y/n) sighed, yanking on the grappling hook stuck to her waist.

“Fine. But we have to be quiet. We can’t let them know we followed, and we only attack when they say so, okay?”

She did not linger for a response. (y/n) sat on the sill, enfolding the rope around her waist. Peter, existing like the indisputable dick he was, shoved her without warning.

The hook didn’t stick anywhere, and she was vamoosed, dropping 6 stories without any support. Peter hopped out the window, attached himself to the wall and shot a web to her torso.

It caught her before her back smacked to the ground, and from afar she could witness him giggling at the mortified look on her face not even a second ago.

Peter gently rested her to the ground, leaping down. His oblivious affront pushed her to haul a baton off her holster and torment him violently with it; to him, it may have looked humorous due to his morbidity, but to her, it seemed as though her dread of heights had been taken into frivolity.

The baton stung even through his metallic suit. Peter unmasked, looking at her with a painful smile. “Dude, ow!”

“That was for pushing me off,” she pointed at him. “You’re lucky I didn’t scream or else the both of us would’ve been dead the second I hit the ground.”

“Sorry! Just needed a little laugh.”

“And making fun of my fears is funny?”

“Yeah, because, well I hate you.”

“My God, Peter, that’s so fucking rational.”

He pouted before masking up again.

Kingpin walked toward a truck, a green one with a big sign painted Trust A Bro moving company. She hid behind one of the cars, with Peter beside her overhearing their conversation.

Peter etched closer. When (y/n) peeked over the hood of the car, Ronin had already been there, hood down but mask up. Her fingers fiddled with the comm, trying to contact Natasha but nothing came.

She glanced at Peter, who pulled her down. “He’s saying something about how he did a great job the other day. He’s sounding like he just hired a prostitute.”

“Peter.”

“Says he has one last thing to do before going to Japan. What’s in Japan? And this Ronin guy’s not talking at all, it’s just Fisk.”

“Ronin could be after the remaining Yakuza subordinates and Akihiko,” she suggested. “Nat had an entire dossier over Ronin that she showed me earlier before we left the condo. He’s been searching for Akihiko for almost a year now.”

“Why?” he shook his head. “Well whatever it is, we’ve got to stop him before he kills more innocent people.”

“The Yakuza’s aren’t innocent, Peter. They’re criminals.” She whispered harshly. “Besides, Natasha’ not here to stop all the murdering – she’s here to get him back.”

“Then why is he killing all these innocent people?!”

“Clint doesn’t kill people who are innocent. And right now, he’s been hired by Kingpin and we don’t know why he started Ronin in the first place and he sure as hell won’t be hurting innocent people without a proper reason-”

Peter unexpectedly tensed, grasping her wrist tightly. He placed a finger over his lips, gesturing for her to dwell in quietness. (y/n) furrowed her eyebrows before peering over the car once more, ultimately constructing eye contact with Ronin.

She plopped down once more, looking at Peter with widened eyes. Finally, Natasha’s voice emitted from their ears. “Where are you guys? Are you two behind that car? I told you to stay put!”

Peter’s hand made a spasmodic motion, clinging a man to the wall that (y/n) hadn’t detected was there from the hasty alarm she felt upon hearing Natasha’s voice. Her fingers dug on the ground, forcing herself up but Peter flung his body over her, deterring her from doing so.

Gunshots tinged everywhere, splitting through the glass, perforating through her exposed skin. With the other hand cladding her ear, she tugged a baton out, flogging the guy on the knee before she towed him down and captured his pistol.

“You know how to use one?” Peter shouted over the loud noise.

“Obviously! I can do anything.” Despite her answer, (y/n) threw the gun aside.

“Seriously?!”

“Can you be a useful arachnid and web the others up?” she commanded. “I’m going after Kingpin. Nat’s after Clint I’m sure.”

“Why do you get to go after Kingpin?”

“Because I’m more experienced?” she stated as more of a fact rather than a question. “Just do it if you want to live.”

Peter scoffed when she slid over, utilizing the exact approach she used on him yesterday – kicking their chest. Except this time she successfully managed to kick someone, dismounting on her foot before punching the next one on his face.

Peter’s hand aimed for the running man’s wrist. “Nice watch, man! My friend had one of those,” pivoting his arm in the other direction, he crossed the man’s hands, latching him. Peter yanked his pants down. “Now those boxers are amazing. Is that me? I’m flattered to have my printed face over your crotch man.”

He webbed the next one in the eyes, sticking another one in the chest before Peter pulled him to himself, fist positioned to his covered face. He winced mockingly. “Ooh. Sorry dude. Webs dissolve in two hours, don't worry.”

(y/n) propelled herself off of two guys, sitting on the man with her crotch at his face. She pulled on his hair, before her knuckles collided with his nose. She hissed at Peter. “Less talking, more fighting.”

The man threw her to the side. (y/n) wrapped her legs around his neck once more, using her might to flip him over onto the car. She struck the next one in the face with her baton, evading his punch with the palm of her hand, enclosing it so she could wrench it around his back, booting him from behind to send him down.

Unbeknownst to her, someone had come up behind to haul on her foot. Her chin banged on the ground, feeling her teeth clash together before she’s twisted over to see Clint’s eyes through his mask.

He wavered, staring at her but his sword remained dangerously close to lacerating her neck open. Kingpin had sauntered away, and Peter was too preoccupied to notice what was ensuing at the moment.

“Clint,” she whispered, hands raised on either side of her head. “It’s me.”

By the time Peter adhered another man to the wall, his eyes caught sight of Ronin looming over (y/n). She glimpsed at Peter, and he couldn’t decipher if her eyes denoted fear, or it was apprising him to stand down.

Either way, he would not have listened to her – Peter clung his webs on both Clint’s wrists, hauling him back. The sword on her neck had scoured scarcely to her skin and formed a slim slit over the base of her skin, yet it had no deterrence of bleeding profusely.

She inducted her palm gently over her neck, glimpsing the viscous red substance flaring thinly over her stained complexion. Peter tossed Clint aside, standing over her in sabbatical moratorium, eyes on his mask broad as (y/n) stared back at him with quivering hands and lax blood.

Another gunshot and Peter roared out in pain, hands shooting down to clutch his right thigh, kneeling to the ground. A man in a tracksuit held a gun in his hand, aiming directly for her head. If she wasn’t too jolted from how brisk things were happening—her having her neck sliced open the slimmest, and Peter getting shot—she would have shot the man first.

If only she hadn’t threw the pistol aside.

Natasha appeared out of nowhere, heeling the man in the front. Rhodey strode down, glancing at Peter who managed to stand up and web his open wound. “Get out of here. Get her anywhere, just get out safe. We’ll find you.”

Peter nodded too swiftly, carefully pulling her up. With his hand on her waist, she reluctantly encased her arms around his neck before being lifted off the ground and onto somewhere neither of them knew.

-

Her chest upheaved laboriously, and Peter gently positioned (y/n) on the floor. He located an abandoned warehouse, where they hid right after he made a quick stop at a store nearby to assemble supplies. Peter’s unmasked face goggled at her, his opalescent skin gradually going pale and so did hers.

“H-how’s the bleeding?” Peter asked her. She shrugged, wincing.

“Feels like I have a cough, but it’s painful both inside and outside,” she whispered. “What’s that?”

“I asked Karen how I could stop the bleeding on your neck and how to properly cover it up. I-I don’t think that needs any stitches.”

“And yours?”

“I just need to get the bullet out and I’ll be fine.” He sat facing her. “But I’ll do you first.”

(y/n) chuckled. “Do me.”

He rolled his eyes, but smiled afterwards.

His touch against her tainted skin felt like a thousand fires – painful, fortuitous, imminent; sentient. Something about it felt so wrong yet so right. (y/n) hated him – despised him, yet his skin against hers felt complex on ataraxy. His devout eyes were gentle on her weakened state instead of pridefulness, a contrast to what she expected.

The sanctification of Peter’s hand drafting the shape of her neck appeared as though he was treating her as if she were such a fragile métier he’d be too afraid to break. He scrutinized upon her unfamiliar eyes, desolated in trauma and somnolence.

Unfamiliar – Peter never knew her, the knowledge of his simply from his abidance in observation; from what he’d witnessed, she was strong, cosmopolitan, stubbornly obnoxious, complicated. He based it on his own facts, rather than asking her herself on who she was.

She chose to dwell in silence, as for him:

“When you told me, back at the apartment,” his hand carefully dabbed on the battered bruise on her neck, “how you’ve never been in a mission since Natasha found you, what did you mean?”

(y/n)’s eyes darted between his, blinking rapidly. “I grew up into espionage,” she began. “I’d been indoctrinated in the Red Room as a child, years after Natasha left them. They sent me out on a mission one time, undercover with people I barely knew, and I met this girl.”

“Ava,” Peter answered. “You talk to Nat about her a lot.”

She nodded. “Ava Orlova. She told me Natasha got her out from a Russian Mafia, and- I don’t know. Hearing her name made something click inside me. Like, it made me mad. All I felt was, when I heard her name, was that it was entirely taboo.

“One time, Dreykov sent me out and Yelena caught me, and she poured that weird red powder thing all over my face and I got out of my trance. I felt – I felt free,” she paused, shifting uncomfortably when Peter accidentally pressed on her open wound. “Natasha found me a safe house, and I took Ava with me. We stayed there until the weird flying donut came here.”

Peter placed the gauze over her skin, taping it gently. “How old were you?”

“Fifteen,” she whispered. “We stayed inside the safe house for two years, and I felt like I was normal. The whole thing about me being mad at Natasha was something Dreykov drilled into our minds.”

(y/n) grabbed the tweezers off of Peter’s hands when he began to poke on his wound. He let her, an unanticipated wave of trust relaxed upon her shoulders. Peter placed his hands behind him, leaning backwards.

“I got bit by the spider when I was fourteen,” he softly said, having the sense that she were to ask the same thing. “I was at Oscorp for a field trip and I wandered around into this room full of radioactive spiders before I got bit.”

She snickered. “Kinda boring.”

“Hey! I got cool powers, you know: super strength, heightened senses-”

“Being sticky, horrible senses.”

“My senses aren’t horrible.”

“If you were, you wouldn’t have gotten shot, Parker.”

The smile beginning to form on his face dropped, but hers remained. “I did it on purpose.”

He ignored the immense pain he felt when (y/n) left the tweezers halfway through his skin. “What?”

“He was about to shoot you,” Peter whispered. “I blocked him as soon as he pulled the trigger, (y/n).”

“What?” she hissed, yanking the tweezers off his flesh, “Why would you do that, you idiot?”

“Well I couldn’t just let him shoot you, couldn’t I?” he hissed back. “A thank you would be appreciated!”

“Jesus, Peter, you could’ve just let me take the shot!”

“You would have died!” Peter grabbed her wrist. “Why can’t you just accept that I saved you? Are you ashamed?”

“No! You got yourself hurt all because you don’t want me to maim your conscience? Do you realize how stupid that is? I thought you hated me?”

“I never hated you, (y/n) - I envied you and I've been in love with you.”

This- this was the answer he was looking for: he changed himself because he was undeniably, unconditionally, irrevocably in love with her. He changed into someone he wasn’t to force her away from his life because if he let her prevail like everyone else did, his heart would be vastly desecrated by anguish once more when he forfeits her.

What’s ironic was that he loved her the same reason he envied her.

"I envied you because of how good you handled grief- how good you were at handling things and I wasn't. I was vulnerable, and you weren't and it was unfair for me, and I wanted everyone to be vulnerable like I did and it was also unfair. The craziest part is that I love you because of the same reason I envied you. Your determination in trying to be strong for everyone, and how even on the inside you were vulnerable like me too.

“Trying to deny my feelings for you made me hate you because of how hard you are not to love. I hate loving you, and I love hating you."

Lachrymose on the threshold of her eyes, hand inching along the undulating arm of his that trembled in distress and fury. The specificity of what he felt caused her heart to flutter; his impetus aching for more of her tactile trace. He was a hamartia, falling for a girl he hated the most in the world.

Shamefully, she looked down on his wound. “I hated you because you talked too much.”

He laughed, curling his finger underneath her chin so she would look up at him. Peter tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What? No I love you back?”

(y/n)’s lips tugged downwards in a teasing manner. “Ask me again tomorrow where I feel okay.”

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[my-brothers-corrupted]

My Brothers, Corrupted

Book Five: Intro

After Anti's death, the first trip in time is towards the UK, to try and make a new home. It doesn't go well. Things are difficult and the price of freedom has been high: but they are free. Masterlist

Tws for distress and grief, hypnosis, violence, abduction, ableism, xenophobia, psychosis, and discussion of medication withdrawal. Tws may not be completely exhaustive - keep in mind the heaviness of the fic and look out for yourself.

Thank you to @lehhoh7822 for taking the time to compile this book!

Chapter Intro

The landscape rushes past the window like waves past the stomach of a ship, rising and falling with hills, rising and falling with sheep and trees and grass for miles.

It’s green this time of year. Summertime. It’ll be Jackie’s birthday soon enough. He wonders if his brother even remembers.

“I’m going to get it,” says Chase beside him, gripping your camera a little too tight. “I am. I can do this.”

The instructions Jackie left him flutter to the floor. Dapper turns to the red light of the camera, but he doesn’t have the energy to tell Chase he’s already turned the camera back on.

The train rattles soft. Everything is quiet. Henrik’s staring at nothing on the floor, his gaze glazed, his glasses crooked. Dapper’s fingers itch to push them back to place. He turns away.

Chase notices your red light. He pauses, turns you, blinks down at the camera.

“Oh,” he says, and there’s a faint relief there, but not much else.

They all glance at the lens.

For the first time in a long time, not one of them has the faintest smile for you as you come back.

“Hi,” says Chase softly.

And the green fields rush away beside them.

Hi.

darkiplurrr asked: How’s everything going with the Septic bros? You guys okay?

“Oh, it is working,” says Chase, shifting in his seat, a little color flushing back to his face. “Okay. Hi. Sorry… are you mad at us? Ro didn’t think it was safe to turn the cameras on in America. Cause Dark was maybe going to come grab Dapper. And we, um, killed Anti, and I think some of you liked him. I’m sorry. It’s been a couple weeks, I’m sorry. We’re - ”

Someone moves past the alley of the train and Chase jolts, ducking his head and pulling Henrik close to his body. He turns his gaze away and hides. They pass. He breathes out.

Dapper watches the stranger go, rubbing at his eyes.

“We’re okay,” says Chase, still pulling his hood down low over his eyes. “It’s been kind of hard. We’re trying to get settled. It’s been pretty scary I guess. It’s been kind of hard.”

nikkilbook asked: Y’all look so tired. How’s things going? No need for a big recap if you haven’t got the energy. I’m happy to accept grammatically incomplete and/or one-word answers.

“No, I’m awake,” says Chase hurriedly, sitting up. “I got this, I’m good. I told Blue and Red I’d look after everybody til we meet up again and I will. I can handle it. Um, so. Yeah, well. When was the last time we saw you?”

Chase closes his eyes and thinks.

“Ro burned Anti’s body. JJ got so sick that night. His nose bled til he passed out in the old bed. We got scared Dark was coming to get him or avenge Anti or something, so we ran away. We got everything out of the house and pawned as much shit as we could. Red and Blue got us food for a couple days and I didn’t ask where from.”

He glances down at his hands. “We’ve been scraping enough together to survive but we need doctors and things like that. Cause Dok’s… still not talking. And Dap needs a shrink and some other things. And Blue hides it, but I think he’s going to snap in half. He scares me lately when he’s upset. He hits things now like Red. Not us, but he just… rages. And burns. Blue does, he burns. I know it doesn’t hurt him but it looks like it does. The way he grits his teeth and tears at himself like that.”

Chase is gnawing on his bottom lip, already torn from his stress-chewing. He licks up a little blood, distracted.

“Red, though, you should see Red. Cause honestly I thought he’d get overwhelmed. But he’s so calm. He’s just had his mind on getting us out of America and making sure everyone’s okay and it’s like nothing else will distract him. He hasn’t broken down once. And even when he said we should take two separate trips to get here, he didn’t cry when we split up. Sometimes he gets scared when he can’t be around us but he said he knew I could do it.”

Chase looks over at Dapper like he’s waiting for something, but Dapper is scrawling in his sketchbook now, filling up pages already coated with chalk in more chalk, squishing pictures into the margins and spaces between.

“I have nightmares that Anti comes back to life,” says Chase. “And then the next night I cry because he’s gone. It’s shitty. Are you mad at us? We didn’t know if we should turn you on again. Dapper says Anti can still see us in the eye of the camera.”

Dapper’s tongue flicks out for a moment, licking his mouth. He doesn’t look up from his papers. His face twitches.

“Are you sad?” asks Chase. “Is this… do you still want to be here? He’s gone. It’s just us. And I thought maybe it would be more fun if things were less scary. But it’s not fun. I’m sorry. We’re pretty hungry and Blue thinks we might have mites in our feet. That’s all that’s going on. We’re going to get a place to stay, though. I promise. Things are going to be okay. Ro said I can do this.”

Chase closes his eyes tightly. “It’s just been kind of hard… it’s just been kind of hard.”

crystalninjaphoenix asked: Well it's a big change in what was, and is, a complicated situation with a lot of complicated feelings. And things were... scary for a while there. It's okay if it's hard.

There it is - Chase’s smile. Well, it’s Trick’s smile. Small and nervous. But they’re closer each day.

“Yeah,” he says. “Thanks. It’s okay. Yeah, we’re okay, aren’t we? Dap. Hey. You don’t gotta draw shit like that. Dude, stop.”

Chase takes Dapper’s hand, trying to stop him from drawing eyes over and over and over again, each one circled by the gaze of a camera lens.

“Dap. He’s not watching you. He’s not coming back. Nobody’s there but the people who have always been there. Dap? Look at me, man. I can’t keep you and Dok both from drifting away.”

The chalk snaps in half in Dapper’s hand. He shudders and jerks his head back, blinking as he turns to Chase.

“I’m here, my man, I’m here,” says Chase, squeezing his palm. “We’re going to get you some help soon. Jameson.”

Dapper flinches, pushing at his hair. He’s all dressed up to the nines again. Tight white shirt. Black shoes. Everything’s dirty and wrinkled, but it grips at him.

“Don’t tear your bangs,” says Chase softly. “We’re okay.”

aether-mae asked: Dap dap..JJ..I’m truely so sorry that you lost your brother. I know that despite everything you really did love him, and at times he loved you back, as much as his twisted heart could. I’m far from an expert on abuse and grief, so all I can say is your feelings are valid and true, and I hope you can heal and see this all from a new perspective when times are brighter and calm. I wish you nothing but the best

Dapper stares at you for a long second. There’s a flicker of something silver in his eyes, just for a moment, and then gone again. He makes a small movement with his hand, not even a sign, just a movement. Like he doesn’t know what to say.

“I was being a baby,” he says finally. “Forget about it. When he comes get me next time I’ll tell him I think Blue should kill him again. I hate him.”

“Dap,” begins Chase, helplessly. Even Dok has glanced over at him skeptically. Dapper flushes and shakes his head, flipping the page of his notebook.

“He knows Anti’s dead most of the time,” says Chase after a moment, mumbling. “He acts delusional about it cause he’s in denial.”

Dapper shoves him with a sudden vitriol, biting his teeth. Dok jumps, blanching, and turns away. Chase shoves their little brother back, alarmed. “Hey! Don’t scare Dok!”

“I hate all of you,” snarls Dapper. “You killed my brother.”

“You wanted him dead too and you fucking know it. You just can’t admit it now cause it hurts.”

Dapper grabs his fringe again, shoving himself against the window of the train, hiding his face.

“You just need your medication - ”

“I’m dead now that he’s dead,” signs Dapper, shaking. “You killed me too!”

“And therapy, a fuckload of therapy. You’re totally all over the place. Dap, the cameras are on, can you breathe for a second?”

Dapper’s expression changes so fast it’s almost like he was hit, though he still doesn’t look over you. He wraps his arms around himself for a moment and rocks, face scrunching up in pain. “Trick, Trick, don’t let him look at me, I don’t want to go back to my room, I can’t breathe, it’s so small in here!”

Chase doesn’t know what to do anymore. He stares at Dapper with this dark fear in his eyes. Eventually he just reaches out and pulls him to his shoulder, closing his eyes and letting Dapper rant in the silence, shaking against his heart.

“I’m sorry too, Dapper,” says Chase, wrapping his arms around him. “I’m really sorry too. We need… we need time. Red says it won’t be so bad with time.”

Henrik stares at them, eyes blank. After a moment, he puts a hand on Chase’s shoulder, slumping back against the seat of the train and letting them rock.

“We’re in England now,” says Chase. “Blue and Red said they think you’re British. So you can remember yourself again. So you can be home.”

They thought about going to Ireland, or heading back to Peru, or finding somewhere new to live, away from all ghostly fragments of memories both bitter and sweet.

But Red said England. At the time, he was holding Dapper down so he did not hurt himself.

nikkilbook asked: If there’s one thing I can promise, it’s that I was never here for him.

“Yeah,” says Chase, trying to summon some fervor. “Fuck that guy.”

He looks down at the burn mark on his hand. Then he turns away from you, because he is ashamed to be in mourning.

darkiplurrr asked: Hey it’s okay, no need to apologize, guys. I’m sorry things have been tough. Where are you planning on going? And . . . Don’t worry, we’re just glad to be here with you. Is there anything we can do?

Chase takes a deep breath and does his best to grin at you. “Thank you. So, we’re meeting Blue and Red soon. And that’s why we’ve got you! Well, and cause we wanted to talk to you again. But Blue and Red will turn their cameras back on once they get off their train and find some wifi - turns out, without a professional glitch for a brother, you actually need an internet connection to talk to people - and then we’ll find each other again if you guys will help us.

“We would rather go all together, but it’s, uh, the criminal stuff that gets in the way. We all got about the same face. If any of us get recognized by someone, it’s a problem. And places like airports and train stations, they’re really dangerous. Cameras and security… so we flew in to London and we’re taking a train to Brighton. And Blue and Red flew in to - shit, I forgot. But we’ll meet in the middle. We just have to keep trying to throw anybody off our trail. We have no idea half the shit we might be wanted for, especially Red and Dap. Going to prison would be really bad. As you can imagine.”

Chase looks at his nails, suddenly dejected. “We’ve been running and hiding for three weeks. Turns out it’s pretty hard without, um. Well, it’s been hard. But Ro is working his ass off to make sure we all have fake documents and that we’re okay and that sort of thing. I just want to find somewhere we can sleep and feel safe. I want to stop running. All I remember is running.”

He’s tired of being in danger. At the time, he thought he was scared of cops, magicians, gangs, Jack - anyone Anti told him to be scared of. But he was really just scared of Anti. That was always the cause of his adrenaline and his nightmares. He rubs his face. How many times did anyone come after them? Cops once, back in Italy, magicians in Peru, and then Dark in America. But in retrospect, he knows Anti coaxed them all to their doorstep and smiled when the blood started to flow.

He can’t start getting in his head like this. He has to stop thinking of it.

“Anyway,” he says, nodding his head, again and again. “Anyway. Anyway.”

It’s now that you see landscape turning into buildings. Not much longer.

scunneredzombie asked: We're not angry at you, Trick. I understand everything must be scary and confusing, especially for the less stable of you. There's no right or wrong way to grieve. Grief can involve a lot of extreme emotions and reactions, different in everyone. Be present for each other and talk compassionately. Ask each other about how you're feeling and show acceptance for those feelings. Assist each other w/ practical things if they're having a down day. Most of all, learn to accept that he's gone. For good.

Chase’s mouth flickers into a smile - a grimace - a smile - a frown. He glances at his brothers, and if the shock of everything that’s happened has affected each of them differently, they still share the same exhaustion. It’s sort of touching to him. His tired fighting family.

“Aw, you’re making me soft,” he grumbles at you, laughing as the train begins to slow. “Right… yeah, we can do that. We can do all that. We’re going to be okay. Someday. I hope so, anyway. Shit, do I ever hope so. I could really use some… some… I don’t know. Some peace, I guess. Some sleep and some peace. We just need… ah, someone’s getting on the train.”

They’ve stopped, but no one gets up to start ushering people off. The doors do not open.

Chase glances at his brothers. Henrik looks like he’s trying to fall asleep, laid back against the seat, content to wait or maybe not having noticed they’ve stopped. Dapper stares out at the aisle of the train with dark eyes, his face twitching a little.

“We’re fine,” Chase assures him. “I’m sure we just have to wait a minute. You good?”

Dapper winces slightly, closing his eyes. “Feel like I’m losing my mind. Are we.. where are we?”

“You’re okay,” Chase soothes. He’ll say it as many times as he needs to. “We’re going to find home, Dap.”

He guesses they just have to wait for the train doors to open.

But it’s fine. Probably they’re just getting off one section at a time. Probably.

“Glad you guys are here,” he adds after a moment, relaxing to wait. “Nice to talk to someone who’s not stressed to the fucking max for once. Well, maybe some of you are. If so, same, dude. Same.” nikkilbook asked: You know, I think sometimes we act like we’re all-knowing when in reality we’re just a bunch of dweebs with internet access, and we repeat things to you boys just because it sounds like something a Smart Person would say and we’re trying to be helpful. I caught myself about to say some generically wise thing about mourning an abuser, but I honestly don’t think that would help, because generic is useless and I’m not an expert.

So I’ll just make an observation.

All you boys, every one of you, love. Chase, you’re the protector. Henrik, you heal. Marvin is strength, and Jackie is truth. Jameson, you see. Everyone of you is made of love and you give it to everyone.

He didn’t love you. We’ve established.

But I’m not sure that meant you didn’t love him, because that’s who you are.

And who is anyone to say that isn’t worth mourning?

Chase looks down at the floor. Dapper’s gaze clears slightly, eyes shifting over to you. Henrik is asleep. He doesn’t look to be in pain when he’s in sleep. Even though he’s still covered in bandages and scars. Dapper looks down at his brother’s gauze-wrapped fingers. There’s something worth mourning. The fact that he let someone do this to his brother. That he let Anti do this to his family again and again and still didn’t have the fucking stomach to watch him die like he deserved.

“I guess it’s worth mourning,” says Chase softly. “Hurts that I was blind as long as I was, but doesn’t mean I didn’t… maybe… love him. I’m grieving the loss of someone who never existed, really. Not Anti. And that’s…”

Chase keeps going, because he’s a talker and always has been, but it’s just drivel to Dapper. He rubs at his face, exhausted with himself. At least Chase loved someone who didn’t exist. Dapper loved the monster.

He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to forgive himself for it. He looks at you, pupils slightly blown. Doesn’t know if he’s allowed to forgive himself for it.

He looks up and at the doors of the train. What’s standing there is enough to make him shift again, sudden and disorienting, shoving him back into his terror and his delusions.

“No, no, no,” he begs, tugging at Chase’s shirt. “No, no, don’t let them take me away, I’ll be good, I will!”

Chase looks over and shrinks in on himself slightly, once again pulling Henrik close to his body. There’s cops outside the train, talking to someone. He tugs his hood down low like Red always does.

“They’re not here for us,” he promises Dapper, because how could they be? “We’re okay. We’re okay. We’re okay.”

Again and again and again. He’s said it for weeks.

“Red said I can do this,” he tells himself, nodding. “And those assholes are not here for us. We’re going to get off this train and find somewhere where we can be okay.”

He looks back at the officers.

Dark eyes meet his own, and flicker with a terrible gold light.

“Oh, shit.”

Anonymous asked: "Take care of everyone" includes yourself Chase. Make sure you're allowing for your own mourning as well. There's no shame in mourning.

“Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic,” Chase begs himself, letting his eyes slide shut. “Just a coincidence. Not here for us.”

He has to stay calm. Has to stay distracted. Like two nights ago, when Blue started screaming about how he should have torn Anti’s ribs out one by one and made Henrik so scared he threw up, and Red just sat and talked to him about Spider-man until it was over.

“Okay, alright, I am mourning Anti,” admits Chase, letting out a slow breath. “And I hate it because… the more time I spend away from him, the more my head clears. Fuck, guys, I’m starting to remember things. Not from before Anti reset me, but just from when I was… I was hypnotized. He made me lose so much of myself and I didn’t even fucking notice. I let him take so much of me. Wasn’t strong enough to fight back. And I know maybe that’s not my fault either, but I hate that I was the weakest damn link. That I broke like that while my twin was fighting so hard. He fought until - look at him, he fought until it broke him in half. And I was lying in Anti’s bed. I hate that. But I loved him too. He was like - like a god to me. I worshiped him. I’m ashamed. Of all the parts of myself you saw me give to him. I’m ashamed.”

Anonymous asked: Do I spy a tiger?

“A tiger?”

“Max,” signs Dapper faintly.

“Is that who that is?” asks Chase frantically. “Please?”

“No,” answers Dapper. “Max doesn’t look like that man. Max is Indian and he always looks nice and he’s older than that man. And Max is not looking for us anymore. I didn’t even try to go with him… I was on the cliff edge…”

Chase looks back at the officer. Their eyes are a clear deep brown again, no hint of gold. Like it was never there. The same way Blue’s eyes flare and Dapper’s flicker silver.

It was magic he saw, not the light in the eyes of someone who loves you. It was a flash of magic.

And he remembers Peru - and magicians grabbing his twin by the waist while he screamed - irises full of glowing, vicious light -

He is squeezing Henrik’s hand too tightly. His brother does not flinch.

“If there’s magicians here,” he whispers. “What are the chances they’re here for someone other than us?”

Anonymous asked: Ah, twas not a tiger but a stray magician! I doubt he's here for you guys though. From what I recall, magicians are extremely common in the British Isles. If he is here for you, I have no idea what it could be for. Perhaps he recognizes the remnants of Anti's magic on you?

Chase pauses, glancing at Dapper. “Do you think?”

Dapper shrugs.

“You’re a British magician, right, Dap?”

“I’m not anything,” answers Dapper dryly.

“Come on, don’t sulk.”

Dapper pouts a little, pressing into Chase’s side and fluttering his long eyelashes.

“Hey, and don’t play baby either, dude, Blue’s talked to you about this. You don’t have to be anybody’s puppy for us to keep you safe. I’m not going to give you to the cops. Help me figure this out.”

Dapper’s tired and confused by his own brain, but he’s trying. He sighs and glances over at the cops. “If they’re magicians, they’re not cops too, that’s all I know. Magicians run their own law enforcement. And I don’t know anything about British magicians. I’ve never met hardly anyone. Just you guys, mostly. Maybe Anti does still linger on us… he’s always watching, he - ”

“Stop, stop,” Chase cuts him off, reaching out to squeeze his hands. “He’s not watching us. He’s gone. He’s not going to get us again. I hope they didn’t sense Anti… they might think we’re… like him.”

“Please make them go away, Trick, please.”

“Don’t beg, Dap, okay? No puppy eyes. Let’s not let Dok know we’re nervous.”

“What do we do if they are here for us? Do I have to kill them? Blue took Anti’s knives from me but I have my hands.”

“No. No, I mean - maybe? No, they’re not here for us. It’s fine. Hey, have Red and Blue turned their cameras on? Will you ask Red what we should do? He always knows best. I can do this, I can do this.”

Anonymous asked: Ello ello, patching in to Red and Blue? Jackie is your camera working? The other boys have some issues with cops (""cops""?) and Chase asked your advice on how to handle this.

“Jackie, we need to fucking move!”

His fingers are digging into the camera. You see a flash of his pale face and hunted eyes. Something strikes the wall beside him - the shitty wifi connection cuts out for a second -

Swinging back and forth as he runs. For a moment, Blue is beside him, racing across the pavement and darting down alleyways at Red’s side.

“They could be tracing the cameras!”

“They’re not, it’s your - I need to tell - how do we? - just got a connection, can’t keep a connection - tell them to - ”

He cuts in. Cuts out. There’s blood on his face now, welling up like ink. Tracing down his cheek and hitting his mouth, tracing the curve of his lips. He licks it up and spits it away, coughing. Someone shouts.

Chase is right about Jackie. His eyes are still calm. Even now.

“Tell them to - ”

You lose him again. The connection returns. A cold, thin figure with a blood-red scarf dripping down their chest is standing in the alley behind them as they run. Jackie’s face. Marvin racing along beside him. A flare of red light in unfamiliar eyes.

“Tell them to - tell them - ”

They were waiting for them at the train station. They were waiting.

“Tell them I’m sorry,” croaks Jackie. “I’ll find - ”

Darkness. Silence. If you close your eyes, you can still see the color of his blood drizzling down his cheek.

Connection lost.

And in that silence - in that moment when, for the first time in weeks, the cameras are on, but the connection is gone -

Someone speaks to you.

Well, well, well.

Aren’t you all clever?

They live and I die. Guess you got what you wanted. The threats were just threats. They live. All of them. I came close, hope you know. Could have killed the little brat or that knock-off Spider-man easily. Easily.

You got lucky, little eyes.

Well, it’s what you wanted. They’re all alive. Congratulations. Happy ending.

Right?

Let’s see if keeping them alive is all you hoped it would be. Let’s see if the struggle’s even worth it.

Fools.

You should have let them die when I did. Dapper you may as well have killed. You will see the hatred I taught him soon enough. The marks I left on Dok were not meant to fade either. All you will do is watch them fade and fade and fade. I am Antithesis, Antiseptic, Antagonist - with me gone, the story will not be worth telling.

T҉hȩr͖̗e̟̮͙'͓̦̦͝s ͍̗̩no̤͞ s̨̳͓u͘c͉͎͡h͘ th̷̹i̼ng as͈̰ ̙̳a ̗h͘a̷̻p̖̦̠p͉̞̬y ḙ̭͍nd͚̬in͡g.̼̝

nikkilbook asked: Screw you, you literary incompetent. There are plenty of stories without antagonists, far stronger and more powerful than some with. Read a frackin book for once in your pathetic life. You are the villain because you wanted to be, not because the story ever needed you.

This is man vs self, man vs the maladaptive coping mechanisms and survival strategies that are primed to face a danger that is no longer there, man vs nature as they try to find some place to call home, man vs all the magicians and law enforcement that you turned against them. This is a story of healing now, and of catharsis. You are no longer invited to this party.

Do not quote the old magic to me, glitch. I was there when it was written.

Anti’s message flickers and dies in green and blue flutters. It leaves the screen dark. Even the thought of his own death, it turns out, was enough to make him angry at you.

But you’re right. This is just a remnant. He’s gone.

darkiplurrr asked: Guys- Guys, come in- Anti just spoke to us, somehow! And Jackie . . . Jackie says he’s sorry. I think he’s going to try to find you. He seemed to be having some difficulty at the moment.

Fear flashes through Chase’s face, but after a moment you see that old hardness slide over his eyes - Trick’s soldier stare, his eyes trained on the window, his gun in his hands.

He doesn’t have any weapons now - airport security - but you watch him pull his own determination around him.

“Okay,” he mumbles. “It’s just the three of us but we’re okay. Blue and Ro can handle themselves. I hope.”

Anonymous asked: Chase I think something seriously wrong is happening with Jackie and Marvin. They seem to be being targeted by magicians as well. Tread carefully, be safe, trust no one but each other for now.

Chase nods, glancing at his little brother. “So what do we do?”

Dapper just looks back at him, blinking with big earnest puppy dog eyes. You see Chase purse his mouth with a unique blend of fatigue and resignation.

“You know, I don’t remember JJ well,” he says, and Dapper turns bitterly away, “but sometimes when I look at you I’m just so fucking aware of how much you’re… not him. Like a gap where I know something used to be. I think, for a second, when we were in that bedroom together and you told me to keep fighting, I saw him, but then he goes away again.”

Dapper stares at the floor. Chase turns back to the camera. A twinge of guilt in his mouth and then he’s focused again.

“We could run for it,” he mutters, glancing at the emergency exit at the back of the train. “Or we could let these guys come to us and… go from there, I guess.”

scunneredzombie asked: You can do this Chase. Just remain as unassuming as possible and don't let your brothers out of your sight.

Chase bites his lip and slinks down in his seat, glancing over at Henrik. His brother looks back at him, but if Dapper is an emptiness where JJ used to be, Henrik’s body seems to just be this… tether for something that’s far away from him.

Henrik hasn’t spoken since the day Chase pulled him off that porch, bleeding and bruised. Blue thinks it’s a head injury. Red thinks it’s trauma. Chase, for his part, tries not to think of it as a big deal. Henrik does this, sometimes. Dok does this. The memory of that day back in Norway so long ago when Dok wrapped his hands around Trick’s throat has become a bizarre comfort to him. Dok does this sometimes and he’ll snap out of it. Someday. He will.

It’s just never lasted this long before.

Henrik looks at him and he sees him, but there’s no more recognition. He used to look at him like he could see through to his heart.

But Chase refuses to be hurt by it. His twin just needs a break. In the meantime, he’ll protect him.

“Just follow my lead if something goes wrong, Dok-Dok,” he says, squeezing his hand. “I got you.”

scunneredzombie asked: Henrik, can you sign to us? Just "Hello" or some fingerspelling? Show us you're there, buddy.

Henrik’s eyes slide over you. For a second, he looks at Dapper, but Dapper shrinks away from him, avoiding his gaze. Henrik still has bandages on his cheek from some of the deeper cuts. He scratches absent-mindedly at the latex.

Anonymous asked: If I were you guys I would sit tight and try to be unassuming and quiet, but the second you think there's danger to your lives, run for it, Chase.

“Would you be able to run?” asks Chase, patting Dok’s thigh. “Still kind of hurt. We couldn’t get him to a doctor in America so I did most of the taking care of him. I can’t tell if he’s in pain or not. Right, but, yeah, you’re right - we’ll be ready to run if we need to.”

crystalninjaphoenix asked: If you think you can do it, then I suggest you run. We don't know what these guys want or their capabilities, and if you ask me, it's better to avoid confrontation until necessary. Be careful, though.

Chase gets to his feet to scope it out, looking out at the faux cops now starting onto the train. He pulls nervously at his t-shirt, eyes narrow.

Anonymous asked: The last thing we need from these magical cops or whatever is a chase, the one thing you're brothers need is YOU, Chase.

(Yes pun intended, no better time for a pun, I don't care how lame and awful, loosen up, damnit!)

“Hey, Chase is a good name!” he protests. “I’ve decided I like it. It’s… okay. I’m adjusting. I want to try it. But Dok, you can call me Trick if you want, I don’t mind. I’m just not his Trick, that’s all. Okay, but yes - we’ll try to avoid a chase. If we can.” Anonymous asked: Chase, Anti got an electronic remnant of himself through to us and mentioned he "left a mark" on Henrik. I think something more on the magical side might be blocking him inside himself.

Chase blinks and turns around, looking at his brothers. “Is that possible? Dapper?”

“I think Anti died about as thoroughly as he could,” answers Dapper coldly. “There’s nothing of him left but stupid messages and ghosts standing over me.”

“I think it could be worth looking into.”

“Talk to Blue, then, I don’t know. I told you I’m not a magician.”

“What are you, then?”

“You know I’m just a remnant of something dead. Sit down, Chase, they’re looking at you.”

There are eyes on him from the front of the train. He slips back into his seat, tense.

“Can we just get this over with?” asks Dapper, rubbing at his face.

“You’re more fucking cynical now that your torturer’s gone than when you were locked in that room,” snaps Chase.

“Anti cut the self-awareness out of me and made me into a dazed little pet,” answers Dapper. “Now I keep waiting for him to come and make me feel content again, at least for a moment, at least for a moment when I let him hold me against him and it makes me forget, no matter how humiliating it is. But nothing comes and nothing changes. Chase, you were an addict for years, don’t you understand any of this?”

But there’s footsteps coming towards them before he can even open his mouth to speak.

Anonymous asked: Don't get too bitter Dapper. I understand what Chase means. Sometimes we get to see JJ and the man we know and love, but sometimes you lose yourself in the storm behind those eyes, and it's so hard to get you back. Try to stay with us right now, Jay?

Dapper covers his face with his hands, letting out a shuddering breath. He sees Anti crumple in front of him, screaming for him as blood slithers out of his glitching flesh.

“I hate JJ,” he signs. “I hate being him. Just let him die with his twin.”

Chase is standing in front of Dapper and Henrik. A pair of men in cop uniforms fill the doorway of the train car. Brown and green eyes size him up like a fighter on the other side of a ring.

“What the hell do you want?” hisses Chase. “Leave us alone. None of us have done anything to anyone. We just want to be safe somewhere.”

The younger of the two men purses his pale mouth, and those dark eyes flare with venomous gold.

“Move,” he says. “Give me the younger one. And stop pretending you don’t know what’s happening - your magical signature is so powerful I bet even the mortals can smell blood in the air when you cast. There’s no record of you anywhere in our system. At your age, that means one thing - you’ve been hiding from us.”

He leans forward. His form flickers and for a second, he is wearing a bright red scarf.

“That wasn’t very wise, changeling.”

“Back off him,” says Chase, very quiet. “Back off.”

Anonymous asked: Tell them about Anti maybe? That a demon was hiding you and you're trying to escape? If they're magicians it might make them go easier on you?

“My brother’s a magician,” says Chase, chest heaving slightly, keeping himself standing straight, the way Jackie does. “We weren’t trying to hide from anybody. It was our monster. He could hide signals. He hid Dapper for years, and then he took Blue’s magic so he could hide that too, so the Ravens didn’t find us.”

“What?” snaps the magician, looking genuinely taken aback. “What the fuck? Just move. If you’re mortal you don’t have to be involved.”

“He’s my little brother, don’t touch him.”

“That is not anything’s little brother. He’s barely human. Does he age?”

“Leave him alone.”

nikkilbook asked: Okay, I have an idea, but I don’t know how well it can work. JJ, you said that magicians have their own police. To what extent to they follow things like due process?

“My brother’s a - a - what are they - a magician from Ireland, he has a tattoo - ”

“Lapwing,” signs Dapper uncertainly.

“A lapwing, Marvin’s a lapwing - ”

“What? The lapwings are fucking gone, everyone knows that. Now shut the fuck up before I make you shut the fuck up.” He shoves himself into Chase’s space and Chase tries not to breathe, refusing to back up.

“Maybe we shouldn’t bank on due process,” signs Dapper.

nikkilbook asked: Point of grammatical clarification, my dude, but it’s that they’ve been hidden from you. Also hypnotized. By a sapient glitch that was capable of erasing people from records. Maybe sit down and have a conversation with them all before getting your Harry Potter-themed panties in a bunch.

“Okay, fuck Harry Potter, first of all,” snaps the not-cop.

“I’d be in Gryffindor,” offers the other magician.

“Mateo, keep your damn mouth shut.”

nikkilbook asked: Hi Mateo, nice to meet you. I’m talking to you now. Grumpy McGiilacutty doesn’t get to be recognized as a person until he chills the flip down.

You said the lapwings were destroyed. When was that? And do you have record of who some of the magicians were? Or if any of them were living in or frequently visited the Brighton area?

Mateo shrugs. “We were not exactly on good terms with the Lapwings before they just… stopped answering, one day. Who knows?”

“Don’t talk to that,” warns the grumpy one. “Stop it. Mateo, step back.”

And Mateo obeys.

Anonymous asked: "That?" Excuse you, grumpus, we are a highly technological communication device designed and set up by the demon they're talking about! Do we reek of magic as well, hm?

“No, you don’t,” answers the magician flatly. “You’re a camera.”

nikkilbook asked: Hey Grumpface. Did you hear what happened to the Sunbirds?

Chase’s face darkens slightly. The magician looks at him, eyes cold.

“Maybe you don’t want to be connected with what happened with the Sunbirds.”

And Chase knows he should say something about how it was Anti, about how the monster that killed the Sunbirds was the same one that has hurt him again and again, but all he can hear is Caleb howling.

Anonymous asked: Dap-- JJ-- I'm not sure who you prefer to be right now, and I'm still happy to recognize both if need be... You'll help, won't you?

Dapper closes his eyes.

“Don’t want to go with them,” he signs faintly. “But I don’t… want…”

Blood and unseeing eyes. He is just Anti’s killer. He hides himself in his hands again. For a second, Henrik touches his hand.

nikkilbook asked: Henrik, are you reading me? If you’re okay with it, could you show them what Anti did to you?

The magician’s eyes drift over to Henrik, who stares impassively back at him, sat beside Dapper.

“Did he do that?” he asks, pointing at JJ.

JJ’s expression crumples with a sudden anguish. He squeezes his eyes shut, beginning to shake, his leg bouncing rapidly against the cold metal floor of the train. His hands raise to cover his ears. Shut up shut up shut up.

“He’s off his medicine,” snarls Chase, the vitriol rising in him again. “Leave him alone.”

“You have ten seconds to move before I make you.”

“You think carefully about what you do next, asshole, because you’re goddamn right about one thing - my family can be a fucking threat when we need to be.”

Anonymous asked: What do they plan to even do with JJ if they do take him? Defend your brothers Chase, you can be okay, just don't let them out of your sight unless you know exactly what's happening to them.

“Ten,” warns the magician, his cold voice dripping with some dark anticipation Dapper recognizes all too well. Oh, fuck, what will they do to him if they get him? He can’t go back in his room. He can’t go back in his room. Anti is laughing at him. Shut up, shut up.

Anonymous asked: These guys were in South America a while ago, with the magicians there! They can vouch for their story. Chase, what was the group name again? Ravens?

“We did meet the Ravens, we did, they helped my brother. They can tell you we’re not a threat - ”

“Nine.”

“Go on,” coos Anti in his ear. Dapper feels a hand wrap around the meat of his thigh. “Show them what I taught you.”

“No,” he mouths. “No more.”

“Eight.”

Anonymous asked: Leave these guys alone. Jameson is a human, and he does age. They truly are just a group of brothers trying to escape captivity. You don't need to hurt them in any way.

Mateo steps up to the plate a little now, putting a soothing hand on the smaller man’s shoulder.

“Look, mate,” he says, and despite everything Chase wants to laugh because they’re in England and this is exactly the accent he was hoping for. “We have an investigation, that’s all. We can’t know if your friend here is a risk until we get this sorted out. For now, we have to assume he’s dangerous.”

Chase wavers.

The truth is, Dapper is dangerous. He’s always known that about his brother. It’s why Anti kept him up in that room - keeping him for himself, yes, but also to try and make sure no one ever made him snap. He’s heard Dapper ramble about it, sometimes - changing realities, broken timelines, and creators who forget they made you. Not to mention that he’s seen Dapper kill with his bare hands and Anti’s fanged grin mimicked on his mouth.

But he can’t be someone’s prisoner again.

“Seven,” continues the rude one.

He can’t. Chase doesn’t know what it would do to him. Here he is, so fucking deep in his agony he can barely get out of bed most days, teetering between Dapper and JJ, and someone wants to take him away from the world again?

No.

“Six,” sings the magician with the gold magic.

Chase turns to look at Dapper. It can’t be normal for him to be shaking that hard, can it? He’s rocking himself. He doesn’t usually rock himself. He’s pressing his hands too hard into his ears.

Anonymous asked: Magicians, stop this! You don't need to hurt any of them, they are all human and mean no harm to anyone at all. You need to back off, seriously, you could die here. Jameson is a very, very powerful magician, but he won't hurt anyone. Can you not just *put* him on your registry? Why do you have to hurt anybody?

The magicians exchange glances. The cold one stops for a second, glancing away from you.

“What do you really want with him?” asks Chase, reaching back to pull Dapper to his stomach, feeling him shake like he’ll fly apart against his side. “He’s not dangerous, I swear, I swear. Just let me take care of him. I thought that Anti hid him because he wanted him for himself, not because other people would hurt him.”

“No one’s here to hurt him,” says Mateo. “But, shit, man, don’t you know your brother’s a packed explosive?”

Dapper strikes his head, once, twice.

“Don’t, don’t,” begs Chase, grabbing his hands, but Dapper’s already losing it, panting hard. He needs to move move move. It’s buzzing through him it’s buzzing it hurts. He has to get up he has to move.

“Don’t tear at yourself - you’re okay - Dapper, JJ, please - ”

He needs to run. He has to move, he has to. There’s strings on his wrist and his bones are made of wood. He’s going to be sick.

“You’re having an episode, just breathe, I’ll - ”

The younger magician grabs Chase by the shoulder and his eyes turn gold.

“I’ll make him stop,” says the magician, and he reaches for Dapper as Chase rag-dolls, gaze blank, against the seat of the train.

Henrik draws slightly away, pulling Dapper with him, eyes faintly uncertain.

nikkilbook asked: Mateo, ever dealt with someone who has schizophrenia, PTSD, and reality-bending timeline magic? You guys seriously need to back off for a second and let him breathe. Yes, JJ is dangerous. But there are a thousand different ways to be dangerous. JJ’s a fighter, and he’s good at it. He’s also struggling with his own brain right now, and reality takes a back seat to that. His magic is very volatile like this. Please explain what kind of dangerous you are concerned about and why you suspect him of it. These boys have had a very, very hard time lately, and their survival coping mechanisms are cranked up past 27 right now. They will fight to protect each other, because even if they don’t share the same blood, they are brothers.

“Okay, I’m actually a little freaked out by that, and we’re kind of on a public train, Cedar,” Mateo cuts in, grimacing at the sight of Chase limp on the seat. “The people behind us can probably hear.”

“I can control it,” answers Cedar mildly. He moves his hand from Chase’s shoulder to his head, tugging on his hair. “Look how fucking easy he went under my compulsion. I’ve never seen anyone just crumple like that. They’re right, he’s been hypnotized before. He’s like… a Ken doll.”

Chase has tears in his eyes. He can’t move his body. His expression is as dead as Henrik’s.

His twin is looking at him, eyebrows drawn slightly together. He doesn’t move until Cedar reaches for Dapper. Henrik flinches, pushing Dapper back against the window.

“Cedar, seriously,” warns Mateo. “Stop it, okay? I think these guys are kind of fucked up. Something bad’s going to happen.”

“We’ll get them back home and they can deal with them there.”

crystalninjaphoenix asked: If he's *really* as powerful as you say he is, WHY are you antagonizing him?!? Even if you don't believe us saying he wouldn't hurt you, why would you take that risk?? That just seems *incredibly* unsafe anyway!

Cedar shrugs. “I’ve never met anybody who could hurt me,” he says, reaching for Dapper. “Not when I could get my hands on him. Everybody’s dangerous until I’m in their head.”

“No,” screeches Chase with a sudden gasp for air, hands grappling slightly at the chair. “No, he’s had enough of that for his whole life.”

“Don’t fight,” answers Cedar mildly, petting his hair. “This isn’t about you.”

But Chase is panting now, determined, his eyes roving wildly. “Don’t, don’t, don’t. He’s had enough. They both have.”

“Be quiet, Trickshot.”

He drags the name out of his head and uses it to burn Chase like a branding iron.

nikkilbook asked: JJ. Cross your hands across your chest with your palms flat against the meat of each shoulder joint. Tap one hand at a time, slowly. You’re here, and your body is yours. Doesn’t matter what else you’re hearing or seeing, you are here, and your body is under your control.

He’s bent over himself, shaking his head frantically. For a second, Cedar draws back in the fear that Dapper is actually having a seizure. Drool drips out of his mouth. He can’t breathe.

Henrik curls Dapper’s fingers slightly, like he might push them to his shoulders.

“Well, what does he need?” asks Cedar, flustered. Mateo’s right. They’re in public and they can’t cause a scene. “Fuck’s sake. Don’t you think it would be better for me to reign him in just a little?”

Dapper croaks out a noise you’ve never heard him make before. Yes, yes, please. He needs someone in his head to make it stop. Anti is whispering reassurances to him. He cries for relief. Please, please.

“If you put a hand on my brother,” chokes out Chase, still fighting the power over his brain. “He’s going to kill you and it’s going to be your fault.”

Anonymous asked: Dont touch him someone will definitely get hurt!!! Sure, assume hes dangerous, hes also having a mental health crisis and he needs help! Can you call someone else whos equipped to help or at least deescalate? Do you really think this is the safest way for everyone to proceed?

“What, like, call humans? Like non-magic humans? This fucker’s got a doctor’s coat on. Why don’t you do something? Are all three of you messed up?”

Henrik is just looking at Chase writhing, his mouth slightly parted. Chase meets his gaze and throws his head like he can get Cedar’s power off him. He tries to tell him with his eyes: I’m here, man, I’m here.

I’m fighting this, I am.

Anonymous asked: Chase, no matter what you've been told, you weren't the weakest link then and you're not the weakest link now. You've always been a fighter and we've always seen it in you, even if you've needed some reminding from time to time.

I've quoted Winnie the Pooh to Jackie before, and I think you may need it too: "You're braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think"

I know witticisms and children's quotes can't instantly improve your self worth or get you out of a sticky situation, but words are all we have, Chase. We only have our voices, the rest is up to you. We believe you can carry yourself and your brothers.

“I’m not, I’m not,” pants Chase, shaking his head. “I fought Anti and I will - I will get you off me, I will not - I am done being anybody’s pet. I am done. You hurt my brothers. You’re hurting him.”

nikkilbook asked: Okay, Jackhole McGee, you need to step. off.

You need to go grow yourself a set of freaking human compassion and look around at what you are doing to them. Are you seriously the kind of guy that would push a wheelchair user out of their chair and proceed to kick them while they were down? Because that is what you are doing right now, my dude. You are not god-king of humanity, and I don’t CARE what rules you magicians play by, this is a frackin human rights violation and you need to back the frick off.

“All we want is to have somewhere safe to stay,” coughs Chase. He gets to his feet and Cedar shoves him back down. People are beginning to get up in the cars of the train around them, murmuring at the commotion. “We just got out of the fire and you’re going to put us right back into the frying pan. No. No.”

He gets back to his feet again. Cedar looks unimpressed, squeezing his arm, and Chase braces against the wave of it -

My Trick. Forget about everything else. Look at me. You’ll get those necklaces off of him or I’ll kill him in his sleep and leave the corpse in the bed beside you. My Trickshot. Be good, Trick, be good.

“No!”

He strikes Cedar in the face.

There’s this yelp of shock from Cedar and Henrik jerks beside him, alarmed. Chase grabs Dapper and hauls him to his feet, shoving him out of the train car and throwing himself at Mateo, fists cocked.

“JJ, run! Henrik, go, go, get the fuck out! Someone help, this cop assaulted me!”

“You little fucker,” snarls Mateo, his facade snapping, and his eyes light up green.

Anonymous asked: Jameson needs to be medicated, badly. He's been without his medication for a while and he's possibly having a psychotic episode. Let his brothers comfort him and hold him for now. And to our boys, talk in soft, short sentances until he can fully understand you, validate his experiences and delusions without lending truth to them, put pressure on him unless he pushes you off, don't let anyone threaten him, and keep him from hurting himself.

And shit, you’re right, he needs his medicine and some mercy.

But no one’s going to give him that right now, and Chase doesn’t even have a chance to think ‘this might be a bad idea’ before he realizes that Dapper is gone like a fucking shot.

It stopped being about escaping a few minutes ago for Jameson. Now it’s just this fire he has to get out, this fire fire fire in his blood, this need to move, to move, to move! He shoves past people, races through hollering and confused shouts, and he’s tearing out through that emergency door like a feral cat, racing, racing, running so hard he stumbles as he sprints, chaotic, overwhelmed, mindlessly focused on the fire, the fire, the fire -

He did not mean to leave the others behind. His body didn’t give him any other choice.

And he did not bring a camera with him.

Anonymous asked: I don't know what you were expecting to happen, Tree Sap. You may be proficient in magic but your people skills are pretty trash. Did you really expect our dangerous, unstable friend to comply with you and go quietly? After all the shit they've gone through? Maybe you should have assessed things first and not ran in blindly approaching them like animals instead of people.

“Yeah, fuck you, Cedar,” snaps Mateo, throwing Chase onto the ground with a grunt and grabbing his wrists, trying to pin him. Mateo has a hundred pounds extra on Chase, but you can see him fighting the way Anti taught him to, dirty and furious, his eyes fixed on Henrik pushed into the corner of the train car, too absent from himself to be able to run away. “I thought you said you could handle this.”

Cedar shakes blood from his face, coughing. He recovers herself and you see his dark eyes thin with hatred as they fix on Chase. Since he was five years old, only four times has anybody thrown off the thrall of his power. Yes, he thought he could bring them in quietly. He has never failed to do so before.

scunneredzombie asked: Cedar, seriously, you need to back off. Jameson's magic is so powerful that he's literally broken timelines in two when he got this upset. Mateo is right, he's a packed bomb. You need to tread lightly here and think rationally. For lords' sake have some crisis management skills, lads.

“Bomb’s already gone off thanks to you,” spits Mateo, glaring at his companion. “Grab that little dead-eyed one and put some pressure on his neck.”

“What?”

Mateo grabs a phone from his coat pocket and throws it to Cedar. As it spins through the air, just for a second, you see what it really is - a wicked little pocketknife. Cedar catches it with a slight yelp.

“Now stop squirming or you’re going to watch that knife drive into your friend’s stomach,” snarls Mateo.

Chase shakes his head wildly, stuttering around the words of protest he’s trying to get out. Cedar grabs Henrik and puts that “phone” much too close to his chest. Henrik glances uncomfortably between the knife and his brother, head slightly tilted and mouth parted in confusion.

“Okay, okay,” Chase chokes out. “I’ll be quiet, just don’t hurt him, please.”

Anonymous asked: So are you guys like... an evil British scarf-wearing magician gang? What avian name are you guys under? And does it matter to you at all that 2 among them are magical and all of them have been to help and back with a glitch demon? Can you really dismiss information for a situation like this?

“Let’s talk about information when we get back to our place,” says Mateo all-too-coolly. His eyes flare green again as he pins Chase down and suddenly you see both Henrik and Chase’s forms shift, an illusion settling over them the same as the uniforms Mateo and Cedar are wearing. Two completely different people appear to be pressed into the back of the train car or pinned under Mateo’s hands, hiding them from any watching eyes.

Anonymous asked: Out of all the magicians Anti (the guy who kidnapped and abused and hid the people you two are currently treating like criminals, btw) has killed, why couldn't he have added you two pigs to the list? You've got an asshole with a control fetish and his shitty little wingman who's perfectly content to let him run amok. Well, now that Dapper's escaped I'm sure you'll reap what you've sown soon enough.

“Yeah,” spits Chase as Mateo drags him to his feet. “I hope you get in so much fucking trouble for letting my ‘time bomb’ brother get away. I hope he makes you never have existed.”

“You and Cedar are kind of alike,” answers Mateo mildly, handling him towards the front of the train. “You both actually think you’re scary. Shut the hell up and let’s go.”

“My big brothers are going to kick your ass.”

Anonymous asked: Is it so hard to believe that these bedraggled, clearly-traumatized guys could be, you know, victims? Instead of perpetrators? And maybe the disappearance of the Lapwings is connected to the monster that tried to hide them? Use your heads, guys. Cops was an apt disguise choice, y'all seem just as eager to shoot first and ask questions never.

“You know what,” says Mateo. “Who gives a fuck? At his age he knows he isn’t allowed into a country unregistered. He was probably identified within two days of his presentation with magic that powerful. And he should especially know not to be sneaking around with all this going on - the Lapwings disappearing overnight, the Sunbird Prince coming home to his order in bloody remains on the floor. Magicians dead in Peru, Italy, Japan, apparently just for the fun of some sadist. And then what do you know… today, months later, not one but two matching magical signatures appear on our radar, entering our country and apparently converging on Brighton. Now, it’s pretty clear what’s happening - a pair of magical terrorists has suddenly lost their ability to hide from the rest of the magical world. Because you know something? Things like that don’t happen.

“Magicians know how to hide from the things that would hurt them. Orders know how to recognize and destroy threats. When one of us dies, everybody hears about it, and we all know that a week later, we’re supposed to get a report saying that the perpetrator has been caught and contained. Then the Peruvians start warning about a technimagic possessor with a multitude of powers and no recognizable species? Fuck off. That’s crazy. And we know you’re all wrapped up in it.”

He pushes Chase towards a car waiting in the crowded streets.

“But even if you weren’t, I’m so sick of foreign magicians sneaking into my country. So you can choke on your complaints. Get in the car.”

“You’re scaring Henrik - ”

“Get in the car. Cedar, stop sulking and tell Creighton the other one’s on the loose. We don’t have much time in. If we can’t contain him we’ll deal with it the easy way.”

Anonymous asked: Helping them live and heal will always, always be worth it. Fuck you, Antisepticeye. Their survival will be a final fuck you.

That’s what this is supposed to be. They’re supposed to be surviving. Moving on. Healing.

“We can’t do this again,” chokes Chase, feeling tears well in his eyes. “We’re not doing this again. We can’t. We can’t. You’re scaring him, please, please.”

“Stop talking.”

Henrik is stuck beside the door of the car, his teeth drawn back in alarm, a faint panic beginning in his eyes. Cedar grabs the back of his neck and Henrik shudders, his arms wrapping around himself protectively.

“He’s been through enough, please.”

“Give him a moment,” says Mateo levelly. “Go slower and he’ll stay more calm.”

Anonymous asked: Chase, I'm sorry about this, but I suggest you go with it for now. We don't want to see you or Henrik get hurt. We can figure something out.

“Let me help him,” pleads Chase. Mateo’s eyes fixate on him for a moment before he gives a nod of his head. Chase reaches back towards Henrik and takes his hand.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. Last time I know we weren’t on the same side until the end, when I was able to see what was happening to you. But I’ve got you this time. I’m here. I’m on your side.”

Henrik shakes his head at him. Chase sees the fear in his face. He can’t stand it. Not this.

He closes his eyes.

“Not this,” he prays, and then someone answers, and you see the flash of m

Dapper sits straight up in Anti’s bed, blood weeping from his nose. You clatter off the side of the bed, giving you a full view of the California forest outside the great window, where a pyre is smoking in the trees. You can hear Dapper retching and choking, stumbling out of bed. If you were there, you would smell blood and old books.

“Dapper!” someone shouts from downstairs. “Hey!”

He crashes to his hands and feet beside you, blood raining onto the floor.

Anonymous asked: Oh there it is! The godamm xenophobia and intolerance. Wouldn't be britain otherwise, uh? You guys are seriously the worst, I hope you miserably fail and get what you deserve.

“Hey, I’m British,” protests Dapper sluggishly, trying to draw himself to his feet. “Sorry he was mean. I - ”

He crashes back onto his hands and knees, tears running down his face. You can still see his catatonia in the way he is shaking out his hands between words, trying to get that fire out, trying to move enough to cool the flames.

“Dapper!”

Jackie is there a moment later, grabbing his shoulders and holding him.

“Dap, here I am. What the hell did you do? You shouldn’t be time-traveling without magic. What happened? Did Dark come to get you? You’re safe, Dap. It’s okay. I’ll fix whatever I need to to make sure that whatever happened that scared you enough to time travel - I won’t let it happen again.”

It is the past again, weeks back. Anti has been dead one day.

Chase was right about him. Jackie looks like himself again. Jackie feels like himself again.

“I’ll fix it,” Jackie promises. “I will.”

His voice does not know fear.

nikkilbook asked: Wow, you are incompetent. Henrik is a heart surgeon, you absolute paperclip. On top of that, he’s family, and family can’t treat family. Pretty sure that’s a form of medical malpractice. Third, exactly how many times have we told you in this conversation that all three of them have been through the ringer? The thing that killed the Sunbirds and lit a swath of the Peruvian jungle on fire has been keeping them captive for months. Torture, hypnotism, conditioning. They are a mess right now, and they’re just looking for somewhere safe to rebuild themselves. Just freaking listen to them and keep your hands to your freaking self.

Jackie blinks over at the beeping camera.

His hands reach out to take you from the floor.

“You turned this back on?” he asks. “The signals could lead Dark to us.”

Dapper is just shaking, trying to come back to himself. Jackie sits back with him against the side of Anti’s bed, mouth pursed, and he

reads the message over.

“Well, shit,” he sighs, and he kind of lets you fall to the floor beside him, sinking back against the bed. “Nothing’s ever easy, is it?”

Anonymous asked: Jackie? Marvin? Are you guys reconnected yet? Tell me you're safe. Chase, Henrik, and Dap got a surprise visit from some magician guys, Chase and Henrik have been taken and are otherwise okay, but Dap ran off during an episode and we have no idea where he is and we don't have any way to contact him.

“Are you having an episode now?” asks Jackie, trying to get first things first.

Dapper shakes his head.

“Are you telling me the truth?”

Dapper shrugs, his head falling down against Jackie’s shoulder. Jackie nods slowly and wraps an arm around him, gaze distant as he thinks, and waits, and guards him til he can tell him what it is he needs.

“He doesn’t leave me be, Jackie,” signs Dapper. “He’s dead for the rest of you but he’s still here beside me.”

“Give it time,” murmurs Jackie.

“What will that change?” answers Dapper. “My own head is the home of his ghost.”

“Once I get you out of America, I can make sure you have medication again. It will make things easier.”

“There’s just more people to hurt us wherever we go.”

“We don’t have to go to England, Dap.”

But it only seems to deepen the misery in Dapper’s face.

Anonymous asked: Aagghh! The one time I go to bed early on a Friday you guys come back online. Didn't get to speak with you last night but I'm glad to see you're starting to find yourselves again. We're all still here for you.

Jackie smiles at you.

“Well, I don’t want anyone tracking these cameras, but you guys are still cool,” he says. “Yeah, we’re… we’re doing our best.”

His gaze drifts back out to the pyre in the forest.

“It’s been just a day but it feels… longer. I don’t know. Like everything has changed. I guess it has.”

Even in a day, he looks different. He seems different.

“I feel different,” he says. “Like some part of me got free of something it didn’t even know it was stuck in. I’ve been thinking all this time about how I have to get them out of this, have to get them out of this, have to get them out. And now I realize I was trying to get out too. And I can breathe again. Does that make sense? I can breathe.”

He looks back at you, blinking.

“So hi is what I’m trying to say,” he grins.

nikkilbook asked: There’s my brilliant boy. There you are, Astrifer.

Jackie laughs, letting his head fall back. “Ah, it’s nothing. Just glad I’m not freaking out. Thought I would be. Kind of proud of myself. Maybe it’ll hit me later but right now I’m good. Um, but it’s not… it’s not easy for everyone.”

tristarlolly asked: Okay, so no answers for anyone then. Great talk, assholes. And in case you're wondering if we'll shut up too, the answer is fuck you. And in case you've caught some other wayward magical persons, fuck you again

“What the hell did you guys get into?” asks Jackie, unable to fight a small smile on his face. “Well, you know you’ve always got someone watching your back, right, Dapper?”

Dapper turns away, eyes exhausted. Everybody else is always having to fight for him because he can’t do it himself. He covers his face with his hands.

“Hey… you’re okay. You’re okay.”

“What’s going on?” murmurs a familiar voice, and Blue is moving over towards them, his hand falling down on Dapper’s shoulder. “Darling, what did you do?”

“He got into some trouble and turned back… I think something happened with…”

He lets them tune out. Anti is sitting in front of him, legs crossed, head tilted.

“Come on.” His monster rolls his eyes, flipping a knife in his hands. “You were the one all determined to fight. ‘Oh, Trick, I can’t see you hurting anymore!’ So sad and so strong. Just to cry over me at the last minute, hahaha. Look at you now. Shaking like a bird. Little brother all alone… no one will make this better, Dapper. It only gets worse from here.”

Voices hissing at him and laughing. In his mind, Henrik is still lying on the porch, screaming.

nikkilbook asked: Hey JJ, do you remember Poe? Do you want to play a game with us?

Dapper slumps, shrugging. Anti always gets rid of his pets.

Anonymous asked: You are not dead Jameson. We've had this conversation before, back in Columbia. You are not dead and never have been, love. Just pushed into a sleeping state of being. You can wake yourself and be more than what he tried to make you in to.

Dapper wipes at his face wearily. Blue goes to the bathroom and gets him a washcloth. He starts wiping up the blood around his nose and mouth, purring reassurances at him, and Dapper just stares up into the face of the person who killed his twin, and wishes he knew what he was feeling.

Helplessness? Disappointment? Relief? Anger?

Blue strokes his hair and it feels nice. He just wishes that he could stop imagining Anti’s hands in his hair - but then again, wouldn’t that be a comfort to him?

I’m so fucked up, he thinks to himself, and you see the way the exhaustion slides through his face.

To be alive - to be himself again -

Would he want that? Does he want to want that? What would it be like? And how?

“Poor thing, making yourself sick,” says Blue, scratching his beard for a second. “Come on. I’ll make you some breakfast.”

Well. Better than nothing.

“Choke on it,” spits his image of Anti, watching over him from the bed. “Little traitor. I’ll still be dead when your stomach is full.”

nikkilbook asked: Henrik, Chase—I know this is freaky, but you’re doing great. You’ve both done so good. These guys are self-righteous jackholes, but I don’t think they’re sadists and they definitely aren’t on Anti’s level. Pushing back hasn’t really worked so far, so let’s try another approach. Try being compliant, but not submissive. Listen to what they say, and walk there under your own power. Stay together, and keep your heads high.

“So,” says Jackie, sitting at the table and flipping through messages as he shovels bites of muffin into his mouth, ignoring the golden cat mewling for a snack by his feet, “it looks like some fucking asshole magicians tried to scoop my little brothers off the street and kidnap them. Well, we’ll see those fuckers again because there’s no way they’re getting away with hypothetically doing that to them. Shit, but we’re not flying out of America for a while. Did Dapper turn time back this far?”

He glances worriedly over at his younger brother. Blue is fussing over him in the kitchen, making him hot cocoa and snacks. For a second, Jackie’s eyes slide to Blue instead of Dapper, puzzled. He can mother-hen, definitely, but why is it almost frantic now? Blue won’t stop touching Dapper, petting his hair or squeezing his hand or turning around to touch his shoulder. He paces. There’s an edge to him that Jackie does not recognize. He puts his chin in his hand and sighs out, taking another bite of muffin. Noodle leaps up on the table and shoves his determined face into Jackie’s plate. Jackie pushes him off the table again and turns to you.

“Well,” he says. “We’re in for some wild times, I think. The next few weeks would be nuts even if we weren’t moving and broke and, like, wanted by the FBI or whatever. It’s going to be quite the fucking journey.”

He hears Chase begin chattering to Henrik in the other room, talking to him to distract him as he rebandages his injuries and looks after him. Blue is trying to help Dapper ground himself in the kitchen, brushing at his hair. And out in the forest, the pyre is still smoking. Hours and hours later, it is still smoking, and the cloud of it hangs in the sky like an omen.

But Jackie can see the sun beyond it. The summer’s coming.

“You’re welcome to join us if you want,” he says softly, and when he turns, he gives you a smile like he used to, years ago, before he forgot and relearned what it was to hope for something.

nikkilbook asked: Jackie, do you have a way to reach out to the magicians? Like, make it happen on your terms? Heck, America is so heterogenous that it seems like it would make sense for, where there are Irish Americans, there would be—what, Lapwing-Eagles? No one’s ever accused us of being good at names. Maybe find someone who had a connection with Marvin’s order before they went poof, or reach out to the Peruvians or somebody who can help you get like the magicians’ version of a visa or something. There’s gotta be a way to run this so that nobody ends up hurt and you guys don’t have to hide anymore.

“Reach out to magicians? I don’t like magicians.”

Jackie glances back at the other room, where Blue and Dapper are pulling linens from a closet and shoving them into garbage bags.

“Except one, I suppose.”

“Want to come help?” asks Blue a little chidingly, turning to his twin with hands on his hip.

“I’m trying to figure out where to go,” mumbles Jackie, scrawling notes in a torn up copy of Pride and Prejudice. “If we can’t go to England… but maybe we could. We’d just have to know how to deal with the magicians who came after my little brothers.”

He pauses, rereading the message.

“Shit, maybe I do need to try and get some more info,” he sighs. “Don’t know who I could trust, though. Or even how to contact them. Don’t have the cash to fly to Peru. All I’ve got are a couple tickets Anti left for himself, Trick, and Dap, and the rest we’ll have to buy with whatever we can pawn.”

Blue has moved to the kitchen, pulling silver from the drawers to load up into backpacks. They’re stripping the place and moving on before Dark starts coming around to ask questions.

Jackie closes his eyes for a second, mouth pursed.

“I would really like to go to England,” he admits quietly.

In the other room, Chase is sharing a roll with his twin, talking to Dok. He isn’t as settled as you saw him a couple weeks in the future and you can tell he hasn’t slept. You can hear him trying to coax Dok to talk to him, but his brother will not answer.

nikkilbook asked: We saw. Schneep’s still kinda catatonic, Chase is having nightmares, JJ’s grieving, hallucinating, and withdrawing all at the same time, and Marvin’s a lit fuse. You’re all processing, and not a one of you has a professional to help you through it. All you’ve got is a bunch of voices in a camera.

“You’re not catatonic,” protests Chase hastily, pushing the camera slightly away from Henrik. “You’re fine, man, don’t worry. Come on, have something to eat.”

His leg is bouncing a thousand miles a minute. He feeds Henrik another piece of roll.

“Maybe he does need some professional help,” suggests Blue, wandering up beside them to drape himself over Chase’s shoulders like a heavy-weight scarf. “He - ”

“No, I can pull him out of it!” insists Chase. “He’s okay, Blue’s Clues.”

“Let’s just get used to the idea a little, yeah? Trick, yeah?”

Chase glances up at him, blinking. “Actually… I want to be Chase now.”

Blue blinks back at him before a faint discontent falls into his eyes. “Alright,” he says. “You and Ro both. Jackie… fine. You’re my amata however.”

“Amata,” repeats Chase, a blush rising on his cheeks. “Hey, you’re teasing me.”

“Nah, just love you,” insists Blue. “Both of you. Come help me pack up the house, babe.”

“No, I want to stay with Henrik.”

“Jackie’s right there, hun.”

Chase shakes his head and forks another piece of roll.

nikkilbook asked: Didn’t the Ravens have a tech guy? Someone who was able to shield Schneep’s camera from Anti? They have tech, you’ve got you. Is there a way to use your super sneaky hacking skills to reach out to them? Or maybe reach out to Gigi and see if he can help you get through? Lean into what you’re good at, Jackie. You don’t have to play this Anti’s way anymore.

“Gigi,” mutters Jackie, chewing on his nails. “Well… or Host, fuck. Was he a magician? Kind of? But they live with Dark. I’m scared he’ll take JJ. Do you think? Maybe one of them would know.”

“Or we could go to Ireland,” calls Blue from Chase’s side. “Where I might actually know other magicians.”

“Dapper’s British. We should take him home so he can get some of his identity back.”

Blue flashes him a skeptical look. “Is that why you want to go to England?”

Jackie shrugs and purses his mouth, picking at his hangnails til the blood comes, eyes drifting away. Dapper tries to sneak past him on quiet feet a moment later, but blue eyes fix on him before he can get up the stairs.

“No, Dap! Enough time lying in that bed. You’re starting to creep me out up there. Come on, I’ll help you empty all the valuables out and then we can get out of this fucking house.”

“We’re really leaving? My brother is here.”

“He’s ashes, Dap. Ashes. Fuck him. Let’s go.”

crystalninjaphoenix asked: Hey Jackie, if there's another reason you want to go to England, you should be honest. With us, at least. Besides, I think I have a good idea about who you want to see, anyway.

Jackie sighs through his nose. “Right now I just gotta focus on them. Once everybody’s feeling better… well, right now I gotta be big brother. But seriously, I think it would be good for Dap to be home. And I think that might be where all of us have some connections. I think that’s where we were living before Anti got us. I want to find… people I don’t even remember. People they don’t even remember. The ghosts, you know? I think there are ghosts in the UK.”

Anonymous asked: There's no shame in missing or grieving Anti, JJ. It's in fact common to miss your abuser, to miss someone who manipulated you into loving them and instilled a sense of comfort into you. He gave you no one else to hold on to, gave you no allowance to love anyone else. It's perfectly normal to have loved him with how intense his manipulation on you was. You may have loved the monster, but it was never your choice to make. You don't need to feel shame.

“Yeah, he’s just in your head a little,” says Blue, taking Dapper’s arm and pulling him upstairs before he can even raise his hands to respond to you. “Give it a couple weeks and his power will fade. You’ll be yourself again. Just bear with us a while, starling. I saw you fight for yourself out there on the grass. I know you’re there. I’m going to help you get some weight back on your bones and we’ll take you to a shrink and you’re going to feel so much better, love. Trust me, okay? Now go get the jewelry out of the bathroom, there’s a good boy.”

nikkilbook asked: I’ve officially decided that the Robins are ridiculous in both name and temperament. I have no patience for you or your order.

Blue snorts, picking at Anti’s stash and shoving the good things into a backpack.

“Are British magicians really called Robins?”

“I don’t know, honestly. Hey, hey, wait, Blue!”

“Don’t clap at me, I’m looking.”

“That’s mine, give, please?”

“Don’t sign like a baby, Dap, I’m not going to smack you for asking for something.”

Blue has Dapper’s golden Christmas knife in his hands.

“You don’t need to carry this anymore. And you’re off your medication. You don’t need weapons. Besides, how will we get it on the plane? Ask your big brother for a new knife when we get to a new country and you’re not so sick.”

“Anti gave it to me,” protests Dapper shakily, climbing to his feet. “Please can I have it, Blue?”

“Dapper, go get the jewelry. You don’t need to keep presents from your fucking abuser.”

Dapper’s face goes through an alarmingly rapid cycle of different colors. You don’t know if he’s about to cry, collapse, or throw himself at Blue like a rabid cat, but he isn’t looking very stable.

Blue looks up at him, eyes cool.

“Go sit with Red,” he tells him. Evidently aware of the change in him, Blue gets up and finds Dapper’s stuffed bear somewhere on the bed, holding it out for him. “You’ll calm down.”

Dapper stares at him, mouth twitching.

“Don’t be a brat,” says Blue. “You’re fine. Everything is fine now.”

Dapper seems to sink in on himself, his gaze evening out and his eyes widening in a sweet look of apology. He takes the bear and turns to slink back to Red’s side, wrapping his arms around himself and sitting down beside Jackie, who absent-mindedly reaches out to rub his back.

Blue gets the jewelry himself, shoving it into his backpack beside a wrapped golden knife.

Anonymous asked: It's okay to feel ashamed for giving so much of yourself to Anti, Trick. That type of abuse is so humiliating and dehumanizing, and you were faced with hypnotism and magic to add on top of it. You'll start to get yourself back, man. Give it time, & don't blame yourself so much for what happened. Focus on your present actions and how you all can heal now, rather than being stuck in the shame. I've been through similar abuse and I know these feelings effing suck. Try to grieve and heal healthily.

Chase sits with Henrik, the pair of them lounging with a book between them. Henrik looks down at it intently and Chase is hopeful that he’s actually reading it. He sets his head on his brother’s shoulder and gives you a small smile, though his eyes are ringed in tired circles.

“He really did humiliate me, didn’t he?” murmurs Chase, glancing out the window, where the birds are flicking through the trees. “I don’t… don’t know how to get over what I let him turn me into. But I hope you’re right. Cause I do want myself back. I can’t take back that I didn’t come to help Dok or Blue or Red faster, but I fought in the end. So… I guess I can work on taking care of them now. And, um.”

He looks down at his burned hand and shakes his head, eyes burning for a second.

“Wish I didn’t miss him,” he whispers. “But, uh, I guess that’s just part of it. I’ll keep moving. It’s… okay to miss him. Even if he did do those things to me. It’s okay.”

Leaning over the railway of the stairs above them, Blue looks down at them with something dark in his flickering eyes.

nikkilbook asked: Once again, not an expert, but I feel like that kind of behavior is an excellent way to reinforce trauma, Marvin. Ripping away the things that he associates positive memories with instead of him choosing when and where and if to let them go doesn’t feel like it’s going to help anything. Do I need to warn Chase that you’re going to make him leave his cat behind in a ditch somewhere?

“I know for a fact that Anti’s cut him with this knife,” snarls Blue, throwing his backpack to the ground for a second to tear it out. And for a second, Blue makes this weird motion - circling the blade at his neck like he’s imagining someone cutting into him - before he throws it back down again. “He’s just clinging to shit that hurts him. Same way he couldn’t kill Anti. I was the one who did it. I’m the one who has to clean up the mess for everyone. Who has to suck the poison out. He’ll feel better once it’s done.”

Anonymous asked: Blue, what's wrong? Why are you being an ass to JJ? You need to take things slow, you can't just immediately expect everything to be perfect. Your brothers need time to mourn and so do you.

“Mourn?” Blue barks out a laugh. “Did you miss the part where I killed him? I’m not mourning… everything’s good, like I said it would be. Dapper’s still a little hypnotized and Trick’s just scared for Dok. But it’s fine. Hell, Red and I are fucking fantastic. Once we all get settled and get some help, yeah, then you’ll see. Nobody’s mourning. He was a monster. Let him rot.”

His hands shake for a second. His eyes burn with that same frantic fire you saw the last time you talked with them, when he would not stop petting at Dapper. He grabs the railing of the stairs and wraps his arm around his stomach, looking a little more green than blue.

Anonymous asked: Blue, it's okay to be grieving you know. Don't let this anger and sadness change you. In the future we were just in, you shouted so much, scared Henrik so much, that he threw up. You hit things and screamed at people. Best to nip this in the bud now than let it consume you, yeah?

“Did I?” asks Blue weakly, sinking to the ground as though the information has taken his knees out from under him. “I was probably just… probably did it for a reason? I - I protected them! I did… on my own, I was the one who did it. He was screaming for me to stop, but I didn’t.”

tristarlolly asked: Hey Blue? Not for nothing, not everyone has taken Antis death the same as you. And I don't mean that as an attack or a chastisement, you did the right thing. You managed to do what needed to be done even when everyone else hesitated. Just remember that there's a lot of hurt and confusion behind that hesitation. I just don't want things to brew into resentment and a big part of avoiding that is going to involve patience with one another.

Blue runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

“They were all just standing there,” he whispers. “Why didn’t anybody help me?”

nikkilbook asked: Jackie. You can be more than one thing at once. You’re allowed to want things. You’re allowed to be someone independent of your brothers needs. You need a support system, too. You’re not just the big brother. You’re a person, too. You’re you.

Jackie flips idly through his notes, breathing out a sigh. “I don’t know… maybe later. I like being big brother.”

And if he pulls his gaze away from the camera a little too fast, well, he isn’t volunteering any more info.

“And you are little brother,” he adds teasingly, grinning down at Dapper.

Dapper’s mouth is slightly parted. His eyes are glazed.

“Dapper?” asks Jackie, reaching for him.

Dapper glances up at him after a moment. His hands rise, fall, rise. “Am I a brat?”

“Uh,” says Jackie. “I don’t know. I don’t really even know what that means. You’re a little spoiled, I guess, but not… actually spoiled. Like babied, I guess. You really whine sometimes.”

“Oh.”

“But you can be whoever now,” adds Jackie cheerfully.

Dapper stares up at him for a moment before curling in over his bear and sticking the curve of his thumb in his mouth, digging his teeth into it. It strikes Jackie as slightly odd, but he isn’t one to judge, especially with the way he’s been chewing his hoodie strings to bits.

Anonymous asked: They didn't help because they had been under his control and gaslighting for much longer than you. You were also very much in a moment of rage. They should have helped, you're right. It's like Chase said to you. You never should've had to carry this burden alone. Talk to them about it. Communicate and tell them how it made you feel. Don't let feelings sit and fester, and it might help the anger in the future.

Blue sighs, rubbing at his face. He can feel the bags beneath his eyes, the pockmarks of acne, the scratches his brother left behind. His short hair feels oily beneath his fingers.

“No,” he protests. “No… everything’s okay. I’m just a little overwhelmed. But I’m good. You’re right, I was angry. I still am. But that anger kept us safe. Burns the same way my magic does.”

Anonymous asked: Blue, we were JUST in the future, weeks from now, before JJ decided to rewind. Nothing much had changed in the mourning department. And you were not "fantastic," and you aren't right now. At the very least, don't lie to yourself.

“Well, but I will be,” he says, almost whimpering now. “This is going to ease out. Just give me a day or two. It’s fine. It’s - it’s trauma, really, from all the shit Anti did to me. I was having bad days before I killed him too. This is just more of the same. I don’t care about killing him. He deserved it. Yeah.”

He seems to have convinced himself a little, nodding his head.

“I just want to keep taking care of the others. Okay - maybe I was a little abrasive with Dap. I have to keep control of myself.”

nikkilbook asked: Maybe focus on sucking the poison out of yourself, Marvin. Cuz that was like. Twelve red flags all at once.

“No, it wasn’t, I’m fine, I told you,” mumbles Blue, burying his face in his arms. “That’s not my name, anyway. Anti killed him, weren’t you there? Marvin couldn’t handle it. I’m the one who fought. Blue. Blue fought. Blue killed him, nobody else. I’m myself and I’m fine. I’m just… just…”

He hugs his stomach. Green again. Digging his nails into his skin.

“Blue, I’m Blue, I’m…”

crystalninjaphoenix asked: Hey Marvin, Blue? I get that youre trying to be helpful, and you want everything to move on now that Antis gone, but I think you could have handled that better. Dappers going through a rough time right now, he was WAY more attached to Anti than you were, and hes having trouble letting go. Its not his fault, its that Anti was such a big part of his life that he cant help but be upset. I dont see the problem with letting him keep the knife for now. It might ease the process and help him feel safe.

Blue licks his mouth, breathing picking up a little as he thinks, sulking there at the top of the stairs.

Dapper upset. Dapper upset. Huh.

His arms curl tighter around himself. Tighter, tighter.

And then he jerks forward, gritting his teeth. He picks that knife off the ground and squeezes it between his hands until the blood comes from his palms.

With it, fire.

Pure heat pours from him.

You watch Blue melt that knife into liquid, leaving it searing into the carpet and gnawing black the floorboards beneath.

He drops what remains of the handle, hearing it clatter to the floor.

Molten steel drips off his fingers.

#book five intro

[vchroniclesin2022]

So, people hooked up on AMC IWTV are like "what do we do for a whole year? I need vampire husbands content now!! How to survive this hiatus"

And, while content withdrawal is awful, this time there is a very simple solution!!

The books!!

Like, please be mindful of the warnings. They are not for everyone. They are also different from the series. They are a trip. They are weird as hell. But.

They also slap so hard. Not all the time, maybe, but when they hit the spot, you fucking feel it in your bones. 

Also they are very queer. Gay, bisexual, non-binary, androgynous people abound. Yes in the 80s.  

Many posts on Tumblr show a gourmet selection of awesome pieces to devour.

If you need more Loustat (without DV!!), if you want to know who canon!Lestat is and why half the fandom is angry with the writers for the OOC, if you are curious about Armand, if you want to know what Devil's Minion is, if you want to know Lestat's backstory, if you are hungry for Claudia being Lestat's baby and Lestat loving and spoling her, if you want to know what will happen to Louis, if you crave vampiric blorbos...

Then read the books! 

Finding them is very easy!

You have already read this many many times, but: start with IWTV. Then try TVL. If you are intrigued, continue with QofD. At this point, you have already devoured the best, so if this is not your cup of tea, that's totally fine. 

If instead you are still hungry, you may try with TofBT, MTD and TVA. At this point you should know who are your faves and may look for their books.

If these books disappoint you (valid!!), you can always give a chance to Prince Lestat trilogy, a soft reboot that I personally prefer to 90s and 00s books.

Here you go! 

(And feel free to ask for advice or such! Older fans are very nice to newer fans!!)

Tumblr book club power activate! 

#the vampire chronicles #loustat #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #the vampire claudia #the vampire armand #amc iwtv #iwtv amc #interview with the vampire #devil's minion #daniel molloy #iwtv

[starlit-hopes-and-dreams]

Chapter 17 ~ Called out

Hidden Depths

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next

Also on ao3

Genre: Fantasy whump

CW: ANGST - do i gotta keep adding this LOL. withdrawal (as in withdrawing into oneself), knowingly using a person's disability against them (but not maliciously-part of the withdrawal)

WC: 3435

In which some of these issues that've been piling up get dealt with, much to Carr's dismay.

AN: This is one of those chapters that is just massively revealing in regards to the character's personality, and I love it. I love the angst and fear and anxiety that rise up in these situations, only to be laid to rest when those fears aren't realized.

Like yeah, Carr is a badass, but that isn't all she is. And it pleases me greatly to be able to showcase that in this chapter.

Also, Resh finally snapped. Do you realize how hard it was to push that guy to a breaking point? 😂😅

Carr

Gods, she hated traveling in this carriage. 

The cabin was so small; even though she had a whole bench to herself, it didn’t feel like it. Even though she tr–wait, trusted? Fuck, not a word she’d ever expected to use. Carr shifted in her seat, peering out the window for the hundredth time–still no one. 

Even though she trusted Resh and Orla, their presence had its own weight, one that pressed against her same as the walls, same as the closed door. The door was accessible, sure, but leaving wasn’t exactly an option unless she wanted to chance breaking something. 

Trapped. 

It made her skin crawl. 

She knew Resh sensed something was off, but what could she tell him? Wasn’t like there was anything to be done for it. And now there was this other… issue. Carr picked at a dried fleck of blood she’d missed under her nail, avoiding looking at him. If she couldn’t see him trying to talk, she could pretend nothing was wrong. Right? 

Yeah, sure. Could she also pretend she hadn’t triggered Resh last night, bursting into his room and drawing her blades like that? Covered in blood, no less. Disgusted with herself, she threw her head back against the wall, a sharp crack sounding as bone hit wood. Orla’s head popped up from her book, her eyes questioning. Carr shrugged, and the girl sighed, returning to her reading. Carr didn’t look at Resh. 

Nothing is wrong nothing is wrong nothing is wrong

She wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her head on her knees. 

One could cut the tension in the carriage with a knife. Carr knew the pretending couldn’t last, but still, she wanted nothing to be wrong. Wanted it so badly–

A rush of air followed by a loud banging on the wall to her right brought her head back up, and she flinched back into the corner, more out of surprise than from fear, to find Resh on the bench beside her, slamming open the partition to the front of the carriage. 

He shoved his notepad through the opening, which their driver took, sounding the words out slowly as he read. 

A flash of jealousy sparked in Carr’s chest, that this carriage driver could communicate better with Resh than she could. 

“What…” she started to ask when Resh returned to his seat, but the carriage pulling off the path answered the question for her. She uncurled her limbs, wondering if she needed to put her boots back on. They were stopping for something. Maybe Resh just needed to take a piss? 

It didn’t really fit with the force of his motions as he caught the carriage driver’s attention or the hardness in his brown eyes, something Carr could say she’d never seen there before. Oh fuck, she’d pushed him too far. She hadn’t even been able to make it one fucking day. 

Her heart dropped into her stomach even as her mouth twisted. Should’ve known she couldn’t do this. Try to be part of something like the family Resh and Orla had. They obviously loved each other; what was she even doing here, interfering with that? Swallowing against the lump in her throat, she started replacing the few items she’d removed from her bag and tugged her boots back on.  

“Resh says he just wants to talk,” Orla’s clear voice piped up, and Carr slowly raised her head. “I’m assuming without me, as usual.” She sighed. 

Carr looked at Resh for longer than two seconds this time. He still appeared angry with his jaw clenched like that, but his brow was creased. The numbness that was trying to creep back in to protect her halted as he held her gaze, not even looking away as he scribbled something in his notebook and handed it to his sister. 

Orla rolled her eyes. “You know… Oh. Haha. He says he’d like to talk in private, but if he has to use me to talk for him, he will. That it’s up to you, Carr, if you can bring yourself to look at him long enough…” She trailed off, frowning as she read on.    

“Resh, that isn’t being nice to yourself, and I won’t say it,” she finished, twisting to face her brother. 

He scrunched his nose at her. 

Carr stared, her cheeks heating as she realized how thoroughly she’d been shutting him out. Gods, she felt like shit. He should ask her to leave. 

The carriage lurched to a halt. Resh was up and out before Carr fully registered the surcease of motion, and she was left staring at his back through the open door as he strode across a field of clover toward a stand of trees in the distance.  

“Well, are you going to listen, or am I coming too?” Orla asked, using her finger to mark her place in her book. 

Shame made Carr stumble over her words as she said, “I-I’ll listen. Shit, does he really, really think…” 

Orla glanced at his abandoned notepad, her eyes sad. “I think that’s the most blunt thing he’s said to me since he returned, and I don’t much like it. My brother is one of the strongest people I know, but maybe…” She shook her head, jostling her cap of small curls. “He cares about you, Carr. More than I’ve seen him care about anyone before. And I think you care too, or you wouldn’t be here. So go talk.”

She opened her book again, which Carr took as a sign of dismissal. It would’ve been amusing, getting lectured by a frail twelve-year-old girl, if she hadn’t hit so many nerves. 

The pink and white flowers dotting the clover field might’ve been pretty if Carr hadn’t felt like she was walking to her own execution. She started to chew on her thumbnail, only to pull it back out when copper bloomed on her tongue. She’d done a shit job of washing up, it seemed. Her hands went to the hilts of her daggers instead, but she jerked them away when she noticed, crossing her arms over her chest. 

She would walk up to him and listen, she told herself. No interrupting. No fidgeting. Stand still and watch his mouth. Let him speak his mind. It was too easy to interrupt him or to lose focus and miss words. Too easy to turn away if he was saying something she didn’t want to hear. 

He couldn’t speak because of her. The least she could do was listen. She didn’t have to like or agree with the words, but he deserved to say them in whatever way he still could. 

Her nails dug crescents into her upper arms as she approached. The small copse of trees he’d found provided shade from the blazing summer sun, which was now at its zenith. Carr figured they had traveled far enough, and this stop would be safe. There was no body to chase them for, after all. 

A small, gurgling stream caught her attention, and she glanced at it before looking back at Resh. He was leaning against one of the trees, watching as she closed the remaining distance. A breeze stirred the waves of hair covering his forehead, giving her a glimpse of the still-reddened flesh hiding beneath the strands.

Guilt flared, and she tried to chew on her thumbnail again before pulling it away with a sound of disgust. Instead, she sat by the stream; less chance of her forgetting herself and beginning to pace that way. 

His boots whispered over the grass as he moved to join her. 

“Do you want me t’ leave?” she blurted, forcing herself to turn and face him. Yeah… so about that listening part. 

The hard mask of his features cracked, showing… uncertainty? His mouth opened and closed, like she’d taken him by surprise, before he finally started forming words. 

Do you want to be here? he asked. 

She waited a moment, then scowled when he said nothing else. “Why would’ya think otherwise?” 

He crossed his arms. I don’t know, Carr. Why wouldn’t I think that? You seem uncomfortable, you won’t talk to me, you won’t even look at me. 

A pause, which lengthened until she realized he must want her to indicate she understood. She made a little ‘go on’ motion with her hand, and he continued.  

You relax when you talk to Orla, so it must be me that makes you uncomfortable. Am I that disturbing to look at,–he tugged at his sleeves–or is it because I’m male? Did you come because you felt sorry for me? Responsible? 

Carr’s mouth fell open. How could he possibly…? When she didn’t say anything, he seemed to get even more agitated. 

Did you understand what I said? It’s hard to tell–

“Yeah, I understand. You think you’re the problem, which is ridiculous, by the way–” Movement in her peripheral caught her attention, and she turned her head to find a leaf floating by, caught in the little stream’s current. She watched it move past, using the distraction to force the rest of what he’d said out. 

“And asked if how you look is the issue, or if it’s cuz you’re male, or if I felt sorry for you, responsible.” 

Repeating words he’d said back at him wasn’t the same as coming up with her own. Carr had plenty of thoughts, but none would stick with her long enough for her to string them together in a way that wouldn’t sound crazy. How could he think those things? She blinked, feeling helpless as she returned her gaze to him. This wasn’t something she could fix with hardness or violence, and it had been a very long time since she’d been in a situation where that wasn’t the case.   

Okay. Resh waited for a minute, in which Carr realized he wanted her to answer, but evidently, she didn’t say anything fast enough. The corners of his mouth turned down as he started speaking again, taking away her chance.  

I don’t need a minder. Just because I can’t speak doesn’t mean I can’t work out other ways of communicating. His gloved fingers dug into his knees. I realize I didn’t handle that situation at the inn very well, but I promise that I’m capable of taking care of myself and my sister. So if that’s why you’re here, maybe you should leave. I thought… I thought–

“Resh, no!” She couldn’t stand the pain in his eyes. “No. That’s not–I…” Her hands clenched into fists, and she automatically looked away. Why were words so fucking hard? 

Then she realized what she’d done, and snapped her head back to him, hoping she hadn’t missed anything, but he was just staring at her. Waiting. 

She ripped up a piece of clover and started pulling the petals. “I… do feel responsible, for what happened,” she said to the plant. 

Pluck, roll the petal, drop. 

“But that’s not… why? You,”–she glanced up at him, making sure she wasn’t talking over him–“you seem t’ get me, in a way no one else has. But I’ve… already fucked it up.” The last words were nothing more than a whisper. 

Pluck, drop. Pluck, drop. The petals rained down in front of her crossed legs. 

A sharp whistle cut through the air, and she flinched violently, the sound stabbing into her ears. But it served its intended purpose, and she looked back up at Resh. 

He frowned. Are you scared of me? 

She shook her head, rubbing one of her ears where the vibration still seemed to linger, like it had left behind little prickling needles to stab into her brain. 

The sound? He cocked his head when she dropped her hand and shrugged. 

“It worked, it’s fine.” She hated high-pitched sounds, but it was a good method. 

Resh whistled again, lower this time, and she furrowed her brows. Better? 

“Y-yeah.” Carr flushed, looking away, then quickly looked back up. Gods, this was hard. She’d never realized how difficult it was to stare at someone’s face. 

Okay, good. If you need to look away, that’s fine. I’ll whistle if I want to say something. Does that work for you? 

Gods. It was that kind of thing right there that made him… Her clover ran out of petals, so she chucked the empty stem and pulled up a blade of grass to shred. Then realized she hadn’t answered. Fuck. 

“Yeah, that works.” 

When she didn’t say anything else, he huffed. 

So what is it that’s bothering you in the carriage, specifically? I’m not a mind-reader, and I only have the clues you give me to work off of. You seemed happy when I asked you to come with us, but then we hugged… and… He looked increasingly uncomfortable, tugging on his sleeves over and over. Did you feel… I know I’m… I tried to cover them all, but maybe… 

Tears pricked her eyes. Did he honestly think she gave a rat’s ass about the scars? Was he covering them for her? She scooted closer to him until their knees were almost touching and reached for his hand, which he allowed her to take with a bewildered look. 

The glove resisted when she tried to pull it off, probably stuck to his sweltering skin. So she worked it off, one finger at a time. She didn’t look up, and he didn’t whistle, but he didn’t pull away either, even though she could feel his hand trembling. 

When she was done, she brought his hand to the stream at their side, rinsing off the sweat. Then, turning his palm up, she traced the white slivers of scar tissue covering his skin. 

“What did this?” she asked softly. 

He closed his eyes, his fingers twitching under her touch. Broken glass. He must’ve sensed her confusion because he went on after a long moment. M-made me crawl over it. 

Oh gods. Her fault, her fault, her fault. 

She let him have his hand back, which he clenched into a fist, folding his arm over his stomach. “Cuz you wouldn’t tell him where I went?” Her voice quavered, a pit opening up in her gut. 

He snorted, bringing his gloved hand up to rearrange his bangs. Because I pulled away when he kept touching my face, tucking my hair in, being fucking possessive of his property. He shook his head when her face fell. It wasn’t your fault, Carr. He only asked me once where you went. He didn’t really care, though. It was just a convenient excuse to justify torturing me. 

Gods, she wanted to kill that scumsucking ratfucker. But she couldn’t, so she pulled Resh’s other hand off his face and took that glove as well. Then she pushed up his sleeve, revealing a multitude of what looked like knife slices, some straight and thin, others jagged, the scar tissue thicker. She found a small divot on his forearm where the skin had been removed, remembered how many more of those areas covered his chest, his flanks, his back. 

Breath coming short now, she reached up slowly to brush aside his bangs, giving him every opportunity to move away. But he didn’t. The brand still looked angry, irritated from the sweat beading on his forehead, perhaps. Carr let his hair fall back into place and curved her hand around his cheek, which she found wet with tears when he leaned into her touch.

“I don’t give a shit about the scars,” she said, sorrow lacing her tone. “You aren’t disgusting, and you don’t need t’ hide them. I’m not…” she paused, unable to lie to him in this moment. “I’m not… entirely… uncomfortable cuz of you. Mostly it’s not you,” she clarified. 

He pulled back at that. I won’t hurt you. 

“I know that. I just… I don’t…” She covered her face with her hands. “I-don’t-know-what-this-is-or-how-to-act.” The words came out in a barely intelligible rush. 

A whistle, long and low, had her peeling her hands away a few moments later. 

Neither do I, he said with a small smile. What is it then? 

“It’s not important,” she hedged, pulling up another clover. 

His fingers twitched where they rested on his knee, but he didn’t reach out. She looked back up. 

It’s important to me. 

Orla had said he cared about her. Shit, so had Nykim. She hadn’t really believed them. She knew people found her… difficult to deal with. That she was rough, offensive, rude. A lot of that was on purpose, to cover up the things she couldn’t control that still managed to annoy people. 

Her own mother hadn’t been able to stand her; why should some random guy she met in prison be any different? Carr jumped up, unable to sit still for another second, and paced up and down the stream, twisting her hands in front of her to keep from pulling a dagger. 

What was she doing? So what if he had been kind to her? So what if she had missed him so badly while he was living in the palace that she’d stalked the grounds just to catch a glimpse of him through a window when he crossed the halls? This was insanity; he’d grow tired of dealing with her, same as everyone else ever had and–

Resh appeared out of nowhere, right in front of her, and she gasped, skidding to a halt before she ran bodily into him. He caught her hands before she could go for her blades. Her gaze snapped back up. 

Please don’t stab me. 

She gave a shaky laugh. 

You’re freaking out. Why? Because I said you’re important? His thumb ran over her knuckles, but he withdrew his hands when her gaze flicked down. Sorry. 

“Yeah,” she said, rubbing her hand. It was an automatic reaction, one designed to rid herself of the feeling of another person’s hands on her. Her touch replaced theirs–but she found it wasn’t really necessary, not with him. In fact, she almost regretted doing it, and that scared her. She didn’t want to think about him being important, or her being important…

“I–don’t wanna talk about it.” The look she shot him was part threat, part plea. 

Okay. 

Really? She tilted her head, even as the sharp curl of anxiety began to subside. 

Resh tucked a wayward strand of hair behind his ear, then tugged on his scarf. 

Fucking scarf. Carr stepped into his space, knocked his hand away, and began loosening the knot. “I feel trapped. In the carriage.” 

The scarf’s smooth fabric caught on her calluses as she pulled it free and stepped back, not missing how Resh’s hand immediately went to his throat. The small white dots the thorns had left behind weren’t even visible from a distance, just as she’d suspected; she’d only seen them while she’d been up close. 

“I know it’s dumb, and there’s nothin can be done. Now, doesn’t that feel better?” Carr surveyed him. Yeah, some of the scars on his arms stood out. But it wasn’t so bad he shouldn’t feel able to roll up his sleeves. The ones on his hands and throat weren’t really visible unless you were close to him. 

Resh waved to catch her attention. Can you ride? 

She shook her head. 

You could sit up front with the driver, when being inside is too much. 

Fuck no. She grimaced and shook her head again. 

His brow furrowed, and she sighed. 

“It’s okay, Resh. I just–that’s why, is all.” 

We can take breaks. The schedule isn’t so full that we can’t stop and take a walk every few hours. I don’t have anywhere to be. I literally have no idea where I’m going, I’m just… going, until we’re far enough away. Until we find someplace that feels right. 

That… that would help so much. The second worse part of the carriage was the enforced idleness. Being able to stretch her legs every so often… Carr stared. “You would do that?” 

Of course. So… you don’t want to leave? 

Blinking back tears, she shook her head. “No, I don’t.” 

He heaved his own sigh. I’m glad. Don’t shut me out again. Please? If you don’t want to talk about something, that’s fine, but I can’t–I can’t talk. I have no way to communicate with you if you won’t even look at me.        

Her throat had closed up, so she nodded. 

Okay. Let’s wash the blood off your hands before we go back. And perhaps you can tell me why it’s there to begin with, and why we had to leave that town in such a hurry.

Oh shit.

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#hidden depths #whump #whump writing #original writing #original characters #fantasy whump #angst #warnings above the cut

[lesbienyu]

also, while I'm talking about addiction, I feel like a lot of non-alcoholics, including other addicts, do not understand the difficulties of coming off booze at home.

when I came off heroin, it fucking sucked. I basically lived in a wooden chair for days because if I got too comfortable I'd shit myself. I hallucinated, puked, sweat, and ached nonstop. It took a while to get over, but I did, and I didn't need to see a doctor to do it.

With alcohol, however, you can die if you get to the point of having Delirium Tremens (DTs, if you're hip to friends of Bill). It is hard to tell if you will have DTs- there isn't really a formula, and past experiences mean nothing. I got DTs days after quitting after drinking six to ten beers a day for months. I got DTs after months of being sober then going on a two week extreme bender. If you have chronic alcoholism, it can be unpredictable. Normal alcohol withdrawals suck, it's like an extended hangover, sort of, but worse, but DTs have you seizing and hallucinating and it's no fun. You should not detox from serious drinking problems without medical guidance.

However, having serious alcoholism to the point of DTs often comes with difficulty in being able to hit detox. There's often avoidance - my uncle refused care for years because he was afraid to know the damage he'd done, or to be judged, or to worry our family. He is 60 and rejecting a liver transplant with a few months to live now.

For me, recently, it has been lacking insurance, and being unable to afford to miss work. And I am a semi-functional/arguably functional alcoholic- I have a full-time job, volunteer, just finished a book, and I still can't coordinate treatment due to cost. My addiction is p gnarly, but people who cannot work or care for themselves or function while in active addiction are dealing with worse barriers to treatment and being viewed a lot less respectfully than me and just all around being treated like shit on a shoe, when, imo, what I have to deal with to even begin to coordinate care is inhumane, I really cannot speak to their struggles.

And I'm not saying alcoholism is worse, but I do feel like it's treated like "diet drug addiction," like it can't be as bad as heroin or coke. it isn't for some, but it is worse for others. and I feel like the idea that "alcohol isn't a real drug" is really scary, because it's one of few whose withdrawals can kill you, and do so with little warning after a certain point in addiction. this isn't even going into alcohol-related injuries (shout out to the drunk guy who fell on me and gave me a TBI, and for all the bruises I gave myself while drunk), but like, idk, I feel like no one ever wants to talk about the dangers of alcohol, and, if they do, they're called a narc when it's a really serious topic. There's way more barriers for coming off alcohol than people expect- not necessarily more than other drugs, just that people underestimate the risks and the various roadblocks

#alcoholism #active addiction #addiction