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my-brothers-corrupted · 3 years

Text

Book Four - Part 9

Dapper wakes up somewhere new, feeling unwell, while Trick struggles alone in his room. Red, Blue, and Dok come home to help.

Tws for imprisonment, major illness, psychosis, sedation, and verbal and physical aggression from Anti.

Part 9 - The Locked Room

Anonymous asked: Sorry for saying you were a joke... it's just that your source material didn't really paint you in a nuanced or multidimensional way, and that's mostly what we're all basing our understanding on... You're a bit of a prick tho

Your camera comes back to life in unfamiliar hands as afternoon light spills across black hair and turns it to gold. Silver turns you gently in his palms, curious and bright-eyed, the panic of the night before gone from his face. Closer up, you can see some of the ways in which he is not Mark - a pair of small scars across his chin, a habit of picking at his lips that leaves them raw and red, a gauge in one ear.

As for your camera, the tiny symbol of an eye that usually resides in the corner, either opened or unopened, has been replaced by a small, presumptuous G.

“Hi,” says Shep, sat on his bed and looking at you. He hears footsteps down the hallway outside his room and furtively tucks you against his side, waiting for the steps to pass before he draws you out again.

“Hi,” he repeats, beginning to smile. “This is cool. I actually have a way to talk to you. Yeah, no, it’s okay. My source material is a joke, that’s why I said it even before you did. But - a prick?”

He pauses, glancing away.

“A prick,” he repeats in a mumble. “I think that’s new… I like that, let me just…”

He hops out of bed and takes a journal from one of his dressers, and then opens it up to reveal a long list of descriptors, some more inane than others, all printed in scrappy handwriting down the lines of his notebook. There are general adjectives in some places - “strong,” “bold,” “foolish,” “cute,” “conniving,” “selfish,” “clever,” “sweet” - but other places have full phrases or apparently random words - “you fucking annoyance,” “loves kids,” “buddy,” “your own kind of superhero,” “my soldier,” “a joke Mark forgot about,” “martial arts nerd,” “eats all the fucking candy in the house” - and it goes on for pages and pages.

On the first open line, he pulls out a pen and writes “a bit of a prick.”

Anonymous asked: damn, shepard. what happened to you lot?

Shep puts down his pen and turns to you, grinning. “Ah, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that. It’s been a long… eight years? And you haven’t exactly kept up to date with me. Which isn’t your fault. I guess. Not really.”

He side-eyes you, flipping his pen between his fingers.

“Anyway, this is my first year back in Dark’s houses for a while. I was living in the city for a few years after Dark kicked me out because I kept, uh. Bringing criminals back to the house for interrogations. They said I brought too much attention to us, so they had Google throw me out. Guess I deserved it… it turned out to be mostly okay. I had my own apartment for a while. My own pet rat. I was teaching martial arts and making rent. Then I kind of got into some trouble trying to be a fucking hero again… and I got lonely. Stressed all the time. Can’t keep a girlfriend. Rat died. Kind of a breaking point for me. So I came back here. Because of course I did. Because I always do. Because I don’t have any purpose without somebody else fucking giving it to me.”

He sighs bitterly, scratching at the web of cuts on his leg from Anti’s vines last night. Some of them are fairly deep, but he’s just stuck a mess of Band-Aids over the top and went to sleep with a towel beneath his legs just in case.

Anonymous asked: are you happy with this, shep? i'm trying to figure out how much we can trust you.

“You can trust me entirely, we’re just not on the same side,” answers Shep frankly, raising his eyebrows at you. “What’s not to trust? I belong to Dark. That’s true. There you go. Make of it what you will. And as for being happy, it doesn’t bother me. I’ve done much nastier things for Dark and enjoyed them much more. Parts of my life are still hard on me, but I’ve done what Dark tells me for the better part of eight years, ever since I pulled my head out of my ass and realized Mark was never going to come back and make me a real hero. So now I make my own choices. Sometimes I make ones he probably wouldn’t make for me. Sometimes I make ones almost no one else would be able to make. And that’s freedom. That adrenaline… that knowing that you are changing someone else’s life, that you matter, even in the worst fucking way possible… that’s freedom.”

Anonymous asked: are you doing ok, shep? seems like your life's been a bit of a mess.

“Yeah,” laughs Shep. “Honestly, things are fine now. I’m just never getting out of this house, you know? I don’t know. Ippy moved out two years ago. Yan’s in prison and nobody wants to bust her out after what she did. Dark has Google throw out or kill anybody who annoys them. Wil travels half the year, Eric works at the aquarium, Host’s published, even the twins have jobs, haha. And Bim…”

Silver scratches bitterly at his legs, maybe trying to draw a little blood now, bored of the scabs.

“Ran off about four months ago,” he mutters. “I miss him. Asshole. Didn’t tell me where he was going. Doesn’t answer his phone. Could have taken me with him. There was nobody quite that chaotic. I don’t know, maybe Dark just killed him to stop him from making our faces too public like he always wanted to, the little showman. But no, it’s okay. I’m like Google, you know? I’m just always going to be stuck in this fucking house. But I like it pretty well. Dark keeps me busy. And I like when the others come visit. I’m pretty much friends with everybody. Maybe I’ll get another rat soon.”

He flashes you a sudden look of alarm, his hands drawing away from his legs.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m… first time I get to talk to you in years and I don’t have anything worth saying, I just - I can tell you stories! Maybe. Uh. I’m not good at telling stories. Ask Host. I should have taken video then so I could have something to show you. You’re going to forget again and then all of this will be for nothing and no one will even see me differently. Eight years! Fuck. Do you want to go talk to somebody else? I bet you do. Well, sorry I’m not good enough for you, okay? Guess I never was. Whatever.”

He shoves the camera onto the bed, picking tersely at his mouth.

The door swings suddenly open. A figure in a long coat leans against the doorway, crossing his arms.

“I can hear you being a little bitch all the way from my room,” drawls Host.

“Oh, fuck off!”

Host laughs and leaves him again. He’s not interested in chatting.

“This story isn’t about us,” he calls back at Shep. “Don’t damage the narrative integrity with your need for their attention. Let them see their baby brother. He’s not well.”

Anonymous asked: hey, shep, don't you start saying you're not good enough for us. no matter what mark says or did to you, made you a joke or whatnot, that doesn't mean you can't become something different. and i have no doubt that one day, people will know you, and people will love you. maybe you'll have your own story. you just... can't rely on mark to write it for you. sometimes you have to do things like that for yourself. and for what it's worth, i think you're pretty cool. you're different. for example, what's up with that book you just wrote in?

Shep grins weakly, acknowledging the foolishness of his own outburst.

“I try to get rid of the thoughts of him,” he says. “You should hear Dark snarl about the stories Mark told about them… but I’m just jealous. It’s stupid. And you guys - you never - ”

He shrugs and lets out a huff, the irritation fading again. He knows it’s all useless and unfair, but it never stops eating at him. What could have been. But he tries to cheer up for you.

“These are just things I am or might be,” he says, hefting the book. “Things other people have called me. I try to figure out which ones are true. And which ones I want to be. I’m not good at that part so much, though. Sometimes I decide I want to be, like, nice, but then next thing I know I’m shouting at somebody for looking at me wrong, ha. I’m glad the others put up with me. I mean, some of them are dicks. But we kind of make a team together.”

“I’m not what I was then,” he adds after a moment. “So maybe I broke away a little. But at the same time, I’m not sure the story I’ve told is the one that I wanted. Or the one that I want.”

Anonymous asked: it's okay, shep, we don't mind hearing you talk. could we go see dapper, though? i'm a little worried about him.

Shep lets out a sigh, breathing out some of his anxiety. “Yeah. Sure. Is that actually his goddamn name? We’ve got some pretty nutty names around here, but not ‘Dapper.’ I guess it’s kind of cute.”

He gets to his feet and scoops you up, wandering down the stairs. The house is quiet but for the whirling of a fan overhead and the buzzing of a show somebody left playing on the TV. Out in the yard, you catch a glimpse of a few of them playing badminton, dropping the birdie most of the time and then racing each other to pick it up and bring it back to their side. Wilford’s booming voice drifts into the house as though from much farther away than it is. Around their feet, barking joyfully, is a dog almost as enormous as Anti’s wolf-like form, wagging its tail furiously and racing to the birdie along with its owners.

“Actually,” says Shep, pausing outside the only door with extra locks. “I’m not sure Ippy will want me inside. Let’s see if he’s in here.”

He pushes the door gently open. Edward only glances up for a second before turning back to his notes. It’s a makeshift clinic room, barely even the size of the bedrooms, and it’s cramped with a desk and a bed and some examination equipment and dressers with supplies in them. Dapper’s on the bed, tucked up tight, asleep.

“What’s that?” asks Ippy.

“Uh, a camera.”

“Is it now?” he answers dryly.

“There’s an audience or something.”

“Is there someone who can tell me what’s going on with my patient?”

“Well. I guess. I think.”

Ippy reaches out, beckoning for the camera. Shep hands it over and Ippy drops you on the bed, still scrawling in his little notebook. “I’d like medical history, please, allergies, recent injuries, notable behaviors, sleeping habits, blood type, next of kin, etc. Start talking.”

Shep chuckles at his bluntness and pulls up a chair beside him, grinning at his friend as he works.

“What are you looking at?” mutters Ippy, and he reaches out to shove playfully at Shep’s head. “Called me in on my day off for this, huh. Fuckers. You’re lucky he’s actually sick or I’d be peeved.”

Anonymous asked: you can always change. seriously, shep, it's never too late to become someone different. and i'm sorry that none of us did anything. it's difficult, when mark made so many videos and gave so many more characters attention and left others with nothing. you did not deserve that, and i'm genuinely so sorry. does mark still even make videos? we haven't heard anything about him in a long time.

“You’re talking to them about this?” asks Ippy.

Shep shrugs, settling down in his chair.

“It’s very simple, Shepherd. Mark doesn’t have much control of his power and even if he did you were still early enough that you would have been created.”

“I know, Ip.”

“Telling a story about you would only limit your freedom and subject us to more publicity, which is dangerous.”

“I know, Ippy.”

“The audience can’t do anything for us without videos and them dwelling on the thought of us does not make you any more of a - ”

“I know, Edward!” snaps Shep. “Okay?”

Ippy rolls his eyes and turns back to Dapper.

“Mark makes videos sometimes, but he focuses on bigger productions,” adds Shep with a sigh. “I think he mostly wrapped up ego stuff, but you never know with him. We don’t talk. And ever since he got that bigger deal as a real producer - ”

“Can we not talk about Mark?” asks Ippy. “I don’t like hearing about him. He’s fine, I guess, but I just prefer to live a Mark-less life at this point, thanks. A life unmarked by Mark, as it were.”

“You really are peeved today.”

“I just have boundaries, Shep, maybe you should learn some.”

Dok wakes to the buzzing of the lights in the bathroom.

He shifts uncomfortably, feeling his back protest, but the cold plastic of a hospital chair is much better than waking up in that room back in the house, aching on the unfinished floor, dreaming of spiders crawling over his skin. He shudders and sits up, pulling his - oh. This is Red’s hoodie, wrapped around him. He sighs and glances at his brother splayed over the side of Blue’s bed, dead asleep.

The bathroom is silent but for those burning lights. He waits a long time, but nothing moves.

“Blue?” he calls wearily, getting to his feet. He knocks his fist gently against the door. “Okay? Want the nurse or something?”

Blue doesn’t answer.

“Hey, Blue, no silences,” he begs with a sigh, rubbing at his head. “Too many nights finding Trick hurting himself in the bathroom. Come on.”

Blue mumbles something. Dok grimaces and pushes open the door.

He’s okay, which he’s grateful for, though he’s almost too tired to be relieved. He steps forward and takes Blue carefully by the wrists. He was just standing there staring at them. Too intently. Too blankly.

“What’s going on?” asks Dok.

Blue turns to look at him and his eyes are fogged and all but blind. Dok touches his cheek to ground him, sighing in his brother’s stead.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t have to be sorry. Tell me what’s up.”

“I don’t… know. Just… looking at myself. So weird.”

“What’s weird?”

Blue reaches out and touches his own reflection on the surface of the mirror.

“Not me,” he mumbles. “More and more often, it’s not me. Not real. It makes me feel really… I don’t… I don’t like it.”

Dok shifts on his feet and pulls his sibling’s fingers away. “That’s called dissociation,” he says. “I get it too sometimes when Anti uses me. It can’t be easy having been possessed so often lately.”

Blue shakes his head numbly, managing to fix his eyes on him for a moment. “Dissociation,” he repeats.

“Let’s ground. Tell me three things about your body.”

“What?”

“Look. In the mirror. Tell me three things about yourself. Anything. Obvious things. It’s okay.”

Blue stares into the mirror, blinking. His mouth parts. But he doesn’t say anything. After a moment, there are tears welling in his eyes.

“Blue,” breathes Dok.

“Sorry,” repeats Blue frailly, turning away from the sight of himself, covering his face with his hands. He doesn’t want to see himself. He doesn’t want Dok to look at him. He doesn’t want anyone to look at him ever again.

“What’s going on?”

“I just want Anti’s fucking head, alright?” snaps Blue. “I just want to murder him. And then I’ll feel like myself again, and I’ll get my magic back, and then my body back, and we can have a chance to be okay again. And until then I just have to deal with this. Until I rip his goddamn throat out. Like I promised him I would. When my hands are covered in his blood, then I’ll feel better.”

Dok looks at him, taken a little aback. His hands curl together nervously on his stomach. He stares down at the floor.

Blue sighs bitterly through his teeth, shaking his head. “I know you don’t like talking about blood. Sorry.”

Dok shrugs. “Is fine.”

“Dok, I just can’t take much more, you know that, I know you feel the same way… surely you get this same bloodlust, don’t you, my darling? He’s been torturing you. Don’t you want to torture him back?”

Dok’s stomach turns. He takes a step back, shaking his head.

“I would not like to ever torture anybody ever again,” he says quietly. “I have had my fair share, thank you.”

They stand side-by-side in the bathroom, frowning together, cold.

“What if it doesn’t make it better?” asks Dok.

“What?”

“What if killing Anti doesn’t make it feel better?”

“Killing Anti will solve most every problem of mine I can think of,” answers Blue soundly, straightening up.

“Oh, goodness,” grumbles Dok, rolling his eyes. “I’m not even going to start with you.”

“Better not, you sassy little monkey man.”

“Monkey man? I am monkey man? How dare you say this.”

“Yeah. You’re bananas.”

“Blue, I will end you.”

But he’s laughing now and that’s what matters. Dok snorts and rolls his eyes, trying to let himself laugh a little too. He leaves the bathroom and flops down on his chair, gazing at Blue as he limps back into his bed and sits down. They look at each other for a long moment, trying to make each other smile with their own tired grins.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” whispers Blue. “I wish I could keep all of you safe.”

“Don’t have to be sorry,” Dok says again, letting his eyes slip shut. “I know you’re trying so hard. It’s not your fault at all.”

“I’ll kill Anti for you,” Blue swears, his eyes shining through the haze that seems to lie over them most days. “Then we can be okay again.”

“And what if we can’t?” asks Dok, barely even registering the words before he feels them leave his mouth. “What if we can’t kill him, Blue? What happens then?”

Blue stares out at the smog of the sky, wishing he could see the stars.

“Then I think he’ll kill us instead,” he answers simply. “And then, either way… it’ll be over.”

Dok nods slowly, not opening his eyes. Blue reaches out. They hold each other’s hands in the low light.

Anonymous asked: Hey there Ippy, we don't know much about Jameson medically, besides that he has schizophrenia and takes the medicine Haloperidol/Haldol, and he's allergic to rowan (as though he might be a chageling?). He's not a regular human either, he's basically Jacksepticeye's version of you guys.

“Ohhh,” says Ippy, standing slightly outside his clinic, arms crossed over his chest and eyes wide. “Schizophrenia. I’m relieved, actually. Because if this was fever delirium… we would have a problem.”

Google leaps out of the room, synthetic blood dripping down his neck, and slams the door hard behind him, panting. From within the room, hissing.

“Kid’s fucking nuts,” Gigi snarls.

“Kid’s fucking delusional,” answers Ippy sharply. “And that’s not his fault. This is on you for kidnapping somebody with a psychotic disorder.”

“He would have died there anyway,” sneers Gigi, stalking past Ippy. He has a red shirt now instead of blue. “That little monster wasn’t going to get him any help for that infection. And if you don’t do something fast, he’ll die here instead. He’s exhausting himself. Sedate him again.”

“No. Too much sedating. We have to calm him down. I’ll give him his Haldol intravenously so he can’t throw it up with this fever. You just have to steal some for me.”

“I only take orders from the Darkness,” answers Google.

Ippy sighs and shakes his head, turning stonily back to the door of his clinic. “If this doesn’t change, I’m sending him back to his brothers.”

“That place has no family. And Dark will speak with him before he’s let go. You get him well enough that he can have a discussion, then he’s free to go.”

Anonymous asked: JJ, honey, are you doing alright? I know you must be absolutely terrified right now, but at the very least you're getting medical treatment and they plan to give you back to Anti after you have a discussion with the Darkness. I know it'll be absolutely terrifying, but I think it's the only way to get home. Ippy is going to give you Haldol, if you'll let him? You'll feel much clearer if you do, then maybe you can make plans on what to do next.

JJ has not struggled this much with his symptoms since he and Red were homeless in Columbia and he knows it.

But he can’t make it stop.

“Tell my big brothers to come get me if they have to kill everyone in this house to do it!” his hands scream, and that is the last coherent thought you get out of him.

He moves! He has to move. He doesn’t just pace, he darts around the room, he races. His hands strike strike strike every surface. He pauses only for a moment to be sick over the waste basket, leaving him pale and dizzy, but even then his body is consumed by wracking spasms and shakes. He spins in a circle. He can’t stop looking at the lights no matter how hard he tries. His eyes are up, up, up. Fluttering, rolled back. Watching the light. Fixed on the light. If he looks away bad things will happen. The cameras told him so. Didn’t they? Someone did and he knows it must be true. He has to look at the light or the Darkness will get him.

“I’m already here,” whispers Dark’s voice in JJ’s head. He spasms and jolts back with terror, rubbing at his arms and shaking himself like he’s trying to act out a seizure, but despite his frantic motion and his fear, his face is numbed to any emotion, blank as it was when Red would struggle to understand him in Columbia. Dapper starts to sign wildly, but the words don’t make sense together to anyone but him.

“Skin. I was in. Blood up tree branch he made me go there and I didn’t want to! Can’t Red come? Miss candy and bedsheets, where? The radio, turn down. Does my blood come up? Does my blood rise?”

Ippy peeks his head inside the room. Dapper turns and sends a lamp flying towards him, smashing it against the wall, and Ippy ducks away again. Dapper grins joylessly, with his teeth, his eyes rolled towards the lights on the ceiling. He holds up his wrists and his hands dangle as though on string. Then he crumples to the ground, dazed and panting, scratching at the fever in his face.

“Jackie,” he begs. “Chase.”

Anonymous asked: dapper, jamie, my dear. you're okay, yeah? we would tell you if we thought you were in danger. and now i'm telling you to try to be calm, okay? we'll tell you if we think you're in danger. i promise.

For just a moment, he manages to drag his flickering eyes over to you. There’s a red light on the camera. That counts, right? Does it? His hands search the floors for his bear. Trick packed his things. Didn’t he? But what if it was a trick? Isn’t that why he named him that? Also guns and grey shirts.

He rubs at his aching, pounding head, and swats at a tactile hallucination on his legs. Just a snake, though, and those you don’t have to worry about. It’s dogs and cats that will tear their teeth into you.

He registers the promise vaguely, but his paranoia is so high he could be home safe and sound and still feel that Dark was slowly killing him. He casts his eyes over your message, counting the y’s. Nine. Does that mean something? He knows it means something. The universe is trying to talk to him. God is trying to talk to him. He just needs to listen.

Anonymous asked: ippy's gonna get you your haldol, okay? he's kind. he won't hurt you. do you think you can agree to that, dap? that way, if you are in danger, it'll be clearer, and if it's a hallucination that'll be clearer too.

He would like his Haldol. He would. That’s one of the only mercies Anti usually grants him. He registers that someone is coming into the room and you said it was okay. He rocks his head back and forth, trying to think, feeling drool clinging to his lips. Where is he?

Ippy tries again. Creeping, patient, quiet.

“Are you feeling up to talking?” he asks quietly, when he manages to get into the room without being assaulted. Dapper learned from Anti and when he does not have a blade he makes use of his teeth and his mean white fingernails.

Dapper rocks his head, still trembling from the catatonia, burning with fever.

“I don’t know where to fucking start,” Ippy mumbles, kneeling down beside him. “You’re going to puke up your medication. Google might get you some of the liquid stuff, might not. Depends how generous he thinks he’s being. And what Dark tells him…”

Dapper shudders, baring his teeth.

“Please turn down the radio,” he says, clawing at his ears between signs, but it just looks like more frantic movement to Ippy. “So many people talking all at once.”

“Can I give you something for the fever?” asks Ippy, getting up to get him some water and medicine. “Yeah? Try to keep you hydrated? I need to look at your wrist.”

Dapper clutches his arm to his chest, squirming. “Anti? You’re playing games with me? Can I come out, please? Been good.”

scunneredzombie asked: Jay, they're going to give you some of your medicine. You have a really bad fever right now, it's most likely making the psychosis much much worse. We're here to help and so is Ippy. You will be okay. Breathe, Dapper, just breathe. You will get through this. Remind yourself of things you know are real, things that are unchanging and true no matter what. Cling to those for now. That's what I do during my psychotic episodes.

What’s real? What’s unchanging? What’s true?

Dapper squints his eyes up at the light on the ceiling and tries to think. His hand is still searching for his things. Ippy passes his backpack towards him and Dapper finds his bear, dragging his gaze down to it. Red and Blue and Dok got it for him for Christmas this year. He’s had it for months, even in Columbia. The fur is alpaca. It doesn’t feel quite like any other texture. Cloudy and thick at the same time. Warm. It still smells, faintly, of their home in Peru.

He tries to breathe.

“Okay, I’m going to try to give you some medicine here,” Edward warns him carefully, moving closer. “It’s good for you. Just to bring the fever down a little. I’ll look at your wrist again here in a minute.”

JJ scoots away, shaking his head, but it only makes him dizzy. A hundred voices speak to him. Edward’s is rich and deep and all too familiar. He concentrates on the faint beep of the camera, a sound he’s grown used to over months and months of what would otherwise be total loneliness.

He hopes Trick is okay at home. He’s sorry he left him alone.

Anonymous asked: yeah, you're doing well, dap. just gotta hang on a little longer, okay? and ippy will help you, dap. you don't have to trust him, but you trust us, don't you? and we trust him. it's okay, dap. you're gonna be okay.

Ippy takes his chin in his hand and angles him towards him.

Nope.

Anchors fall away and Dapper feels something inside himself snap. This has always been the rule. This has always been the rule, the rule he has learned since his creation: no one touches him but Anti and his brothers.

No one.

And the punishments he’s seen Anti inflict on those who broke that rule -

Dapper does not often wish for a voicebox that works. But right now, all he wants to do is fucking scream.

His teeth flash and bite down hard on Ippy’s hand, making Dark’s look-alike yelp in alarm. Dapper slams their heads together and grabs him by the throat, burning with fury, burning with fear, burning alive on a pyre he did not set, and then Google is there, and he has him by the hair, and he shoves a needle deep into the neck of Anti’s most savage attack dog.

Dapper quails, gripping frantically at Gigi’s hand. He chokes and looks up into deep brown eyes. There is no red glow.

He slides to the ground, asleep. Google lets him go.

“Alright?” asks Google quietly.

Ippy swears under his breath and puts his hand to his forehead, teeth marks indented in the skin. “I’m fine, goddammit.”

“Keep him asleep til he’s better,” says Gigi. “I will not tell you again.”

Edward shakes his head slowly, biting his lip, but he doesn’t protest.

Jamie sleeps. The fever is burning in his flesh.

Anonymous asked: Trick is right, Anti. You keep asking, multiple times now, "why did this all fall apart?" And the answer is because you constantly excuse your cruelty, excuse your abuse and all the pain you cause, by blaming Jack and saying you "can't control yourself". You, sir, are just as capable as anyone else in the world of controlling your temper and controlling your aggression. You need to stop making excuses. They will leave over and over and over if you do not change.

“Leave over and over,” mutters Anti under his breath, his eyes angry, aglow in the morning light through the great window in the master bedroom.

Trick is still asleep, though he shifts now, his hair mussed around his eyes. The roots have turned brown. The bright green is beginning to fade to yellow.

Anti wraps his arms around his waist, tugging him close. Trick rolls over with a yawn, trying to rise, but Anti’s grip holds him in place. Trick cracks open an eye and finds himself pressed against him.

“Anti, hey, wake up,” he mumbles, rubbing at his sleepy eyes. “Lemme go. I want a shower and some coffee.”

Anti is already awake, but Trick can’t see that, and he doesn’t move. Trick pauses. He starts trying to squirm out of Anti’s arms without moving enough to wake him if he is sleeping, but he doesn’t have much luck. Anti tightens his arms around him as he tries to escape.

“Anti?”

Anti glares out the window, ignoring his wriggling. Eventually, blinking in surprise, Trick just stays in place.

Leave over and over. Anti grips his ribs until his fingernails put cuts in Trick’s shirt. Leave. Ha. He isn’t going anywhere.

Anonymous asked: are you alright then, anti?

Anti gets out of bed after a half hour has passed. Trick is hot and uncomfortable, needing to stretch and change out of his sweaty sleeping clothes and use the bathroom. But he’s stopped struggling by the time Anti releases him.

The glitch gets to his feet and picks out an appearance for the day in the mirror, settling on the younger man he wore when Dapper was created, ruffling teal hair in the mirror. Trick sits up and gives him a smile. Anti doesn’t answer your question, but the way he looks at Trick - he focuses on the bruises someone left in his wrist as they pulled him along. Something simmers in Anti’s eyes. He turns towards the door.

“Where are you going?” asks Trick, hurrying out of bed. “Hey - Anti? Come on, have breakfast with me or something. Don’t leave me, dude.”

“I have to go get your little brother,” answers Anti. “Just stay here, Trick.”

“Anti, I - ”

He glitches away.

Trick stares at the door, mouth slightly parted.

Anonymous asked: You gonna do something that will stop Dark from kicking your ass a second time?

“Where in the narrative did Dark kick my ass?” snaps Anti, stalking into the forest. “Last I checked I was tearing them and their fucking soldiers a new one when Bubblegum McGee scoops my kiddo off the ground and disappears like the deranged little thief he is. And then all of them went sprinting for the hills. No. When I find Dark, I’m burning down everything they love and tearing apart that mangled excuse for a spine of theirs. Then we’ll see if they remember me.”

Anonymous asked: Trick? You want to talk for a bit?

“Yeah, uh, yeah,” says Trick, trying to recover quickly, nodding his head and straightening up. “Yes, please. House is super quiet without anybody else! Last time I was this alone was when Blue was in hospital and I’d come back to the house and try not to worry about everybody else too much. But I do have Noodle! He’s always got my back. I’m just going to get changed and then we’ll go make some breakfast and check on kitty cat, yeah? Doesn’t have to be a sucky day just cause things are trying to go bad. I can stay positive.”

Anonymous asked: Alright, we'll just have a bit of a "you" day. Decompress a bit. It's good to check in on yourself and have a little time off. (Give noodle some pets please!)

“Yes,” laughs Trick. He worries at his hands, yes, kneading his fingers into his palms, and you can see the edge of a breakdown somewhere in the back of his eyes, but he has survived a lot and he wants to prove to himself that he can be okay even without Dok sometimes. Maybe even to be okay when Dok isn’t, so he can look after him better. So he can look after all of them better.

Next time they’re scared enough to run away, he wants to be someone they can trust.

“Decompress - play some games, probably - chill with my cat - cook a ton - swim, maybe… yeah!” Trick pulls his shirt over his head and turns toward the door, grabbing the handle. “I’ll - ”

It’s locked.

Trick stops. Tries it again. Stares. Glances at you. Tries again.

It’s still locked.

He stands in front of the door. His hand rests on the door handle.

Outside, a mewl.

Anonymous asked: can the window open, trick?

“The… window?” he asks. “Yeah… yeah, it can. But I’m on the second story.”

He moves to the window and lets it swing open. The fresh air and the scent of the forest are refreshing, but the red brick of the patio is still several meters down.

Anonymous asked: where's noodle?

Claws pick at the carpet outside Anti’s bedroom. Trick hurries back to the door and kneels down, crouching to try and see his cat through the crack beneath it.

“Mrow,” complains Noodle loudly, scraping at the carpet with his claws out. “Meehhhh.”

“Daddy’s here, kitty cat, I’m right here.” Trick reaches for him as though he could pull him beneath the door. Noodle attacks one of his fingers, chewing on the end, but Trick doesn’t even mind. “Are you hungry? I’m sorry I didn’t let you out last night. Things were crazy, baby. But I’m coming, boyo, I’ll… I’ll, uh…”

What is he supposed to do?

Anonymous asked: do you think anti will be mad if you leave the room?

“I don’t know. It was probably an accident.”

Noodle yowls on the other side of the door. Trick stares at his kitten’s paws, his eyebrows drawn back in worry. You see him look down at his feet.

He knows it wasn’t an accident. And he wouldn’t have locked it if he was okay with Trick leaving.

Anonymous asked: Okay unless we know a for our window downstairs is unlocked, I wouldn't use the window, don't want you getting locked out of the house entirely. You think you might be able to find a key or break the lock if you need to?

“It’s… maybe I could? I don’t want to get in trouble. But there’s no keyhole on this side. I’d have to really bust the door up. And then he’d be so angry.”

Trick steps back from the door, chewing on his nails. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. “Okay. I wish he hadn’t done this, but he did. I’m safe in here. I have a bathroom with water and all the stuff I packed into a bag in case I got kidnapped is here. Dapper was keeping food in the drawers. I’m okay. But my poor cat…”

Anonymous asked: for now, at least, you can make sure noodle has food, right? is the food only in there? maybe you can grab a little something and push it under the door

“That’s a good idea. Okay, let me look.”

He goes back to the bottom drawer and pulls it open to reveal Dapper’s stash. He recoils a little, scrunching up his nose - he hadn’t realized how bad it smelled in the panic of last night, but now he notices.

“This is kind of nasty… we’ve only been here a couple weeks. Why would he keep - ugh, cheese!” Trick chucks the hot string cheese towards the trash, making a gagging motion. “He has to know this would go bad right away, right? Why even take it? Look, my cookies from last week. Hard as rocks cause he didn’t even ask me to wrap them. There’s lint on them. He just shoved them in his pockets. Fuck’s sake… oh!”

Here’s some stuff that should still be edible. Crackers still in their packs. A couple apples. Tupperware with brownies. One pack of raisins, one pack of dried cranberries. And a little pack of Dapper’s favorite - jerky. Most of it is gone, but there are a few good chunks still at the bottom.

“At least I can give him something, then,” says Trick, taking a breath.

Anonymous asked: Anti keeps his favorite trophy locked up in a case when not in use

Trick looks at you, eyes wide, and then away, trying to make himself scowl. He crouches down beside the door and pushes dried meat towards his cat. Noodle seems to accept the offering. He goes quiet and Trick hears him chewing. It’ll take him a while to get through that.

Trick sits back on his heels and stares at the door.

“Always wanted to be Anti’s favorite trophy,” he mumbles, something frightened and tired passing across his face. “Or thought I did, I guess.”

Anonymous asked: you have a choice, then, trick. do you want our help in leaving the room, to go to noodle? or will you stay here and wait for anti to come back and let you out?

Trick sighs and slumps down against the door, rubbing at his face. He stares out the window and thinks.

“You know… I think I’ll try to stay here for a while,” he says, giving you a smile that looks more like a grimace. “It’s not bad. We’ve definitely stayed in much worse places! I have lots of room and a clean bathroom and everything I need. Maybe I’ll take a bath. Yeah… it’s okay.”

He glances around the room. How long has he been in here? Two hours? Oh, twenty minutes. He bites his lip and sighs. He puts his head between his knees and rubs at the back of his neck.

“Always kind of knew it couldn’t really be fun for anybody to be locked in a room all day. But I thought maybe, with Dapper’s nerves, it was better for him just to stay up there with Anti. And when I imagined it, I guess I made everything nice. Him getting to eat his own food, sleep whenever he wants, just working on his art all the time. Doing whatever he wanted, you know? I usually imagined Anti actually… being here, though. Yeah. I guess that I thought that when he loved me, I’d be able to feel it.”

Trick pauses, looking up. Looking out at the sun.

“That’s always the thing with me, though,” he says. “Even when I know for a fact people love me - it doesn’t always feel that way. And I thought - well, Anti, he just… with his power, it’s like he can make me feel that way. Or maybe it’s just him. But those days when I would just spend all my time praying to impress him… and then he would brush his hand across my hair or smile at me… it would be my favorite part of the week. Like I finally got it all right. Like I’m finally worthwhile.”

He puts his head down again, looking at the carpet, his fringe falling into his eyes. It occurs to him that he doesn’t really like bright green. Or dying yellow.

“I love him,” he says, a little hollowly. “But I think maybe Dok was always right. Nobody else can magically fix me. I need to stop expecting Anti to put everything right in my head. That’s not fair to either of us. I should have been happier just being with Dok. Cause Anti gave me these bursts of joy, yeah, and he’s trying to be better to me these days - but Dok has been the earth beneath my feet for months now.”

He stares at the food in the drawer, rotting. He tugs uselessly on the door handle. He stares around the silent, empty room, and the silence stares back, and says nothing.

“I shouldn’t have been jealous of my little brother,” says Trick, heart sinking. “I should have been making sure he had ground to stand on too.”

Anonymous asked: yeah, i get that, trick. and i think anti does love you, as much as he can love someone anyway. although, trick, you don't have to answer this now, and if you don't want to talk about this right now i'll stop, but trick? if given a choice between dok and anti, who would you choose?

“Oh, hey,” protests Trick, a little weakly. “That’s family both, we don’t talk like that. Hey, it’s okay to love people in different ways, and I know you don’t like Anti. But the truth is that just because I’m closer to Dok, I would never ‘choose him’ over any of the others. We all gotta just love each other in the way we need. I want to do what’s best for all of them. If… if Dok and Red and Blue need some space from Anti, well… maybe they should have some. But even if I lived with some of them instead of the others, it’s not because I’m trying to pick someone as my favorite. We just all need different things at different times. Whoever needs me most is who I ‘choose.’ Whoever I can help. And I hope it’s always… all of them, you know? When you’re a family, helping one person is good for everyone.”

Anonymous asked: It's easy to fall into a "grass is greener" mentality but abuse is abuse no matter if you're crouched by a window with a gun, locked away in an attic, or running through the streets with stolen drugs. I don't blame you for wanting a higher standing with Anti but he's not going to give you what you want, to no failing of your own.

“Ha! Okay, fair… maybe being in the basement and being in the attic both kind of suck. But I’ve always had Dok. Having someone there with you is what makes it not sucky. Look, this house is fucking awesome! But there’s no one here with me right now. And that does kind of suck, even worse than when Dok and I were sleeping in the same pile of cheap blankets beside a window in a broken down cabin during a Norwegian fall. We had a good time in Norway, didn’t we? Before everything went wrong? Do you remember… we got fish in a restaurant in town, ha… and I got my crinkle paper…”

Trick pulls it out of the pocket of his basketball shorts and presses his fingers to the crinkly baby paper, familiar and fond. He smiles while his eyes grieve.

Anonymous asked: Those sound like fair conclusions, Trick. It sounds like you've been thinking a lot about yourself and how you've interacted with your family in the past. That's really good; well done. For what it's worth, I am really sorry you got left here alone. You don't deserve that. Are you sure you don't want help leaving, or looking for something else to do?

“Aww, you guys are like my therapists now,” laughs Trick, genuinely pleased. “That’s sweet, thanks. No, um… I’ll stay here a while, I guess. Think Dap would mind me looking through his sketchbooks? Maybe I’ll draw a little myself. Or… write, maybe. Yeah. Maybe I’ll write a little.”

Anonymous asked: trick, that's admirable. and i do mean that. you have a lot of loyalty. but trick, it's not just that they need some space from anti. anti has hurt them, time and time again. family doesn't hurt each other like that, trick. anti has gone too far, many, many times.

“I am loyal,” he agrees quickly, because that’s something he’s always known and one of the few things he’s almost always liked about himself. “Yes. Mh.”

He pulls his eyes away from the rest of the message uncertainly, fiddling with his hands as he sits down on Anti’s bed and pulls Dapper’s latest sketchbook off the bedside drawer. He’s grinning for a minute. They’re mostly pictures of animals. Some people scattered in there - dancers and babies and old people in love. Dapper’s good and he’s gotten even better since the last time Trick checked in on his art, which was… how long ago?

But there are other things in the pages too.

Faces that almost hurt from how familiar and yet unrecognizable they are. Images Trick recognizes from Dapper’s hallucinations, painful and threatening. One baby that is not like the rest in a way Trick can’t express. And… himself?

Himself burning?

Trick takes a moment to realize what this is. The night he got the burn that now laces from his palm to the back of his hand. He hadn’t realized Dapper remembered, or was even there, watching, as it happened.

In the image, a dark figure shoves him towards the fire. His shirt sleeve is already ablaze, his hand consumed, and yet - despite the fire, despite the pain, his eyes are like those of a monk in Mass, wide, adoring, tear-filled - and those eyes are fixed on the creature pulling him into the flame.

Trick shoves the sketchbook away from him, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” he croaks, turning his face away from you. “Later. Okay? Later, I promise, just… not right now.”

It is the second time he has pushed your concerns aside in as many nights. There are messages waiting for him that he’s avoiding. But he still isn’t ready to hear it.

Anonymous asked: okay. that's okay, trick. do you wanna talk about something else, then? i can tell you a funny thing one of my birds did, if you'd like.

“Ha. Birds, wow, that’s awesome. Yeah, sure! Tell me.”

Anonymous asked: alright! so, my sister has an obvious favorite, and the bird knows it, and likes to hang out on people's shoulders and stuff. and today, she flew up onto my arm, and then stared at me face very curiously, and so i started talking to her, and she immediately tried to eat my teeth. very smart bird, who apparently does not quite get what is or is not food. she's very funny.

Trick snorts and covers his mouth with his hand. “Oh, no! I do not like the sensation I am imagining. A beak picking at my teeth, haha. Geez. Sounds like a funny bird. Noodle likes to try to eat toes when we move at night.”

Anonymous asked: oh, yeah, my friend's cats are kinda like that too. for a while, when they were kittens, we had to be careful because they would try to attack our feet. is noodle chaotic like that?

“Half the time he is nuts-o crazy boy, and then half the time he pretends he’s a perfect angel and he just wants all of Daddy’s attention and all of Uncle’s attention and everybody’s attention one hundred percent of the time. And he looks up at you and cries until you scratch him.”

Anonymous asked: oooo, do you write, trick?

“Well, I thought since I’m sure jabbering your guys’ ears off, I could write some shit down. Dok had me do that for a while once. It was right after… well, there’s blurry spots in my memory. It was right after I started being his twin. I was pretty low. I was, um. Self-harming a lot. Losing a lot of my memories. So he recommended I write stuff down. Whatever I was feeling. And he said even he wouldn’t read it, he promised. We were in this kind of warehouse place at the time, and there was nowhere to sleep. Not a lot of privacy except my pieces of paper. They’re gone now. But I think they kept me focused on something, at the time.”

He holds Dapper’s pencil in his hand, taking a loose sheet of paper. But his eyes get fixed on the stretched out sketchbook on the floor once again. He looks away from the image of himself with a grimace.

That night - that look on his face - that wasn’t what he remembers. Not exactly.

Want to know a secret? he writes.

He has scrawling, beautiful, messy handwriting.

I was pissed at you that night. You left me and Dok to freeze. I don’t even think I started that fire because I was trying to keep Dok warm.

He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut. Bites on his lip. Puts his pencil back down.

I wanted to make you angry. I wanted there to be a confrontation. I was angry at you. But I didn’t know how to tell you because you didn’t care about me back then and that was what burned, more than this goddamn scar on my hand. I wanted to hurt you for hurting me. But all you did was hurt me worse. You act like you want things to be good between us now but we’ve never even talked about

He stops and sighs and scowls before crumpling the paper up, scratching at his scalp.

“Forget it,” he mumbles. “Not that. Just…”

Noodle mewls at the door, beginning to get bored with his jerky. Trick smiles softly and chuckles, turning away.

When you were a kitten your body was like a slinky and I could feel every one of your bones. Hot little spine rubbing against my wide palms. Big fuzzy leaf ears. When you were a kitten you made a weight beneath my throat and when I breathed I would feel the tiny thump of your heart. You are the memory of someone I lost.

And Trick is stopped again, closing his eyes again, turning away again.

“Maybe I’ll just go get a hot bath. Relax a while. I’m okay. Poor kitty cat. Don’t be lonely, okay, baby boy? I’ll be back in a while.”

Anonymous asked: Keep your head high and your standards higher, Trick.

“My standards for this rich guy’s bath are high as fuck right now,” he says, slinging a towel over his shoulder. “Motherfucker got bath bombs and everything. This better be some Spirited Away experience or I’m out. Minus the evil lady, though. Just the big steamy bath and the nostalgia, please. Hey, keep an eye on my kitty for me, yeah? You’re still in the cameras all over the house? I’ll be out in a little while. Maybe a long while. Thanks, guys. Uh. For real.”

Anonymous asked: I'm sure noodle is going to be okay, Trick. If you're worried about him just stay near the door and he should be fine óvò You might want to try to slip him something to eat tho, I have no idea when was the last time anyone could've fed that kitty

Trick slips him one more piece of jerky and lets him chew on his finger for a moment before he slips into the bathroom. Noodle has his snack happily outside the door, and then, deprived of Trick’s presence, he goes exploring.

Trick has made toys for him out of anything he could find. He plays with string and a ball that makes a jangling sound. He zips around the house for a while. He searches for Trick and Dok, or anybody to give him some attention.

Usually they’re down in the basement. Usually they all stay down in the basement, Noodle himself shut in most of the day to avoid Anti, though he’s perfectly content to stay down there with everything he needs. But today, he gets to explore. The door was opened while Dark’s soldiers searched the house and he’s free to roam. It’s a little exciting.

He’s okay. For now, he’s okay. Trick has fed him and there’s a little water still in his bowl by the door. He’s okay.

But Trick was too hot in his bed for a reason. And he’s right - the windows do open.

Noodle gets tired of the basement. Noodle gets tired of his toys. Noodle wants to see Trick and the others.

He explores. The fresh breeze and the smell of the trees - the movement of the grass and the warmth of the sun - the song of the birds, the scurrying of mice, the cool water of the pool - they call to him.

He has not been outside since he was too small for anything but milk. Not until today.

He slips out through the window of Red and Blue’s room, and he explores.

Anonymous asked: hey, shep? dapper's brother has a golden cat, who we just saw leave, but he's away from the cameras at the moment so we can't tell him about it yet. could you and the others keep an eye out for the cat? his name is noodle, although i don't know if he knows it or not.

Shep hears the beeping in his pocket and pulls the camera out immediately.

“Shep! Come on, throw it in!”

“Just a second!”

His eyes scan your message and brighten, a hint of gold from the sun lighting up the brown curve of his irises. He feigns disinterest for a moment, pausing to kick a soccer ball back towards someone on the lawn. You can hear a dog barking and voices chatting. The sun is overhead. It’s a beautiful day.

“Would that make you happy?” asks Shep. “If I found the cat for you?”

He looks up at the forest.

Outside of the sunlight, Darkness reigns in more ways than one. The trees are thick and tall and heavy, shrouding the earth in a loving chill. Animals scamper across the dirt and lean plants curl up from the ground and latch onto the broad backs of trees, clinging to damp red wood. And for miles - for miles - it stretches on before him.

“Okay, then,” he says. “I will.”

Anonymous asked: it would help. thank you, shep. anti doesn't like animals, so i wouldn't recommend bringing the cat back to the house they're in, but you can bring it here and we'll tell the brother about it.

“I’ll start looking right now,” he says. “It’s a big forest. But I can do it.”

Anonymous asked: sleeby jj...Soff sleeby bean.. get well soon

His eyes slide open to your familiar light.

He stares at you for a second, his eyes heavy with shadowed circles.

Then he registers the message and manages to roll his eyes for the first time in days, huffing out a bit of a sigh.

“Not a bean.”

It’s only as he signs it that he realizes he’s no longer restrained.

He sits up slowly, pressing his palm to his forehead and grimacing. He doesn’t feel well at all. His stomach swims with nausea and he can feel his blood chugging sluggishly through his veins. But it’s better than the last few days.

He glances around the room, blinking slowly. He’s alone and there’s light streaming in through the barred window.

Alright. He’s had his nap. Time to start trying to escape.

Anonymous asked: Jj, think about this first. Anti is already coming for you, and if you try to escape you'll be in miles and miles of unknown forest, with no haldol, no medication for your fever, and no way to be sure you can get home. At least maybe wait until you've gotten over the infection and until you can steal some haldol to have with you? Just trying to analyze the situation fully before action is taken.

“I am not going to sit quietly while the monster who has haunted my nightmares - well, one of them - keeps me prisoner. I only do that for Anti. Come on, don’t be boring! Help me get out, yeah?”

He struggles to his feet, but as soon as he’s found a moment of balance he loses it again, tumbling into the wall and holding himself there on shaking arms and legs. He swallows thickly and turns towards the windows, yanking on the bars with his good hand. The other one is swaddled so thickly in bandages he can barely feel it, but at least his fingers stick out to let him speak most words.

That being said, he has about four good yanks on those bars before his head is swimming. He slumps against the wall, clinging to the metal. His whole body aches.

“Maybe you have a point,” he admits sullenly, rubbing at his face.

Anonymous asked: Haha, sorry Jay, not trying to be boring! I just want to make sure you've got a second voice to help think clearly. Look around you maybe? See any spare haldol or fever medication you can swipe and save up for when you do the grand escape?

“Thank you,” says JJ, grinning slowly, though nothing quite makes it to his eyes. “Okay, let me look. I think I must have something in me now because my psychosis is a lot less intense right now.”

He glances around the room. He isn’t hallucinating and his thinking is much clearer, but his expressions are still dulled, his face is twitching, and he isn’t sure what’s true and what’s not. He needs rest and a lot less stress.

He checks the drawers, but everything’s locked up.

nikkilbook asked: JJ, remind me again why Dark frightens you so much? I’m sorry, but I can’t remember clearly. He doesn’t remember any of you either. He showed up that first time because he didn’t know why Anti was trespassing in his territory.

Dapper looks over at you.

He turns away for a second, chewing on his nail. Shrugs. Sits down on the bed.

“Not a fun time,” he signs eventually.

scunneredzombie asked: Rest up, if you can, JJ! I'm almost completely certain you'll be safe here. Darkness won't hurt you because they want you healthy enough to talk to them. You need rest and to let your haldol take effect.

“Dark can do a lot worse things than hurting anybody,” he answers. “It’s the talking to them that’s more likely to fuck me up than anything. And I never want to see them again. Tell them to leave me alone! Where’s my big brothers? Are they coming to get me yet?”

Anonymous asked: How are you feeling, JJ? Still burning up?

“I actually feel quite cold.” He hugs his arms around his sunken chest, staring around the room. His lips are chapped to blood and his face is the color of bleach. He doesn’t look well.

“This is miserable,” he admits, his signs soft. “I remember when I was created I always had energy and felt strong and healthy most of the time, even when I got hurt. I bounced back. The last few months, I’m just… every day I’m sicker. My bones break and I catch every cold and infection. Keep have psychotic episodes. Don’t sleep well.”

He realizes he’s just complaining and makes himself stop, digging his nails into his palms. Won’t help anything. He needs to get out.

He creeps to the door and takes the handle in his hand.

“Going somewhere?”

He turns, spitting, back to his bed, the hair on the back of his neck standing up like an angry cat’s as he snatches a pen off the nearest counter for self-defense.

Wilford nods patiently, following his movements as he swings his legs on the side of the little clinic bed. “Very good, very good.”

“You stay away from me.”

“Oh, my dear, forgive me, I don’t understand a word of that. Shall I get you paper?”

Dapper steps away from him, watching him with glittering eyes. After a moment, he nods.

Wilford pulls a pad of paper out from behind his back as though it had been there all along and sets it on the bed beside himself, smiling.

“What are you so frightened of, young man? Come on, then, calm down.”

Anonymous asked: Are you wearing your dress-shoes? The heel might be good for smashing the locks off the drawers! Though you'd have to be uh... as quiet as smashing can be haha.

JJ looks down at his bare feet. He scowls. Just like the day he was created.

But Wilford has boots on. “Give me those,” he demands.

Wilford doesn’t speak sign language, but he gets the gesture. “Sure,” he says, tugging a boot off and tossing it to him.

Dapper slams a desk drawer handle remorselessly. A loud clang signals the death of the handle as it flies to the ground. Dapper yanks the drawer open.

“Ippy says you’re all sorts of unhealthy,” says Wilford cheerfully, still kicking his legs, halfway bootless now. “Do you feel better today? He said you have so little Vitamin D he could probably break your bones with a pillowcase. You need some sun, dear boy!”

Dapper searches through the drawer, but there’s nothing but cotton swabs, gloves, tongue depressors and everything boring. He raises the boot and smashes another dresser handle, a little breathless.

scunneredzombie asked: Anti is trying to find you right now, I'm pretty sure. I understand not wanting to see them, they're frankly a terrifying jedi-powers 3D glasses fender-bender in you all's life. You'll be home soon, JJ. But you need rest right now, you could end up hurting yourself if you're in a bad mindset or not with the proper medication. I know being careful is no fun, but right now it seems like the best option. I know this sounds fucked, but trust Anti to find you. Like he'd give you up that easily, ha,,

“You don’t want to see Dark?” asks Wilford, finally sounding genuinely wounded. “Oh…”

“You stop,” signs JJ fiercely, whirling on him. “You’re lucky you’re out of your mind or I’d call you a creep for staying around that horrible - that horrible - thing. Whatever. Leave me alone. You’re a killer just like them.”

“I think your camera’s right. You ought to sit. You don’t look very well.”

Dapper glares, panting a little. He glances around the room again, a sense of despair shuddering its way over him. Always locked in his room. Always locked in his room. Always locked in his room. He grips at his hair, breathing through his teeth.

“Hey,” says Wilford. “It’s okay. Can you hear me at all? Do I need to be writing things down too? My handwriting is very good. Would you like some water?”

He clears his dry throat, his eyes flickering over to Wilford. Actually, he would. He’s parched.

Wilford nods and gets up. He disappears for a second and returns with a glass of water. JJ takes it from him with shaking hands, sinking down onto the bed.

Anonymous asked: Hey Wilford, you're not... planning on hurting JJ, are you? You don't seems like you have any intention of it but knowing you we can never be too wary >_>

“Excuse me!” Wilford waggles his finger indignantly, making a noise like pshaw! again and again. “I have never hurt a living soul in my life. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’m a pacifist, actually. Excepting that door-to-door salesman who would NOT stop coming by…”

Dapper hisses out a breath, pressing at his forehead, feeling faint again. He scoops up Wilford’s pad of paper and sets Ippy’s pen to it. “You really have no idea what’s going on, do you?” he scrawls out in a bitter, looping cursive.

“Do you?” spits back Wilford just as quick, a little fire flashing through his eyes.

Dapper sinks in on himself, exhaling. “No,” he writes. “Not ever.”

Wilford eases again, grinning his nonchalant, slightly dazed grin.

“Why’d you come in here?” writes Dapper.

“To see you,” answers Wilford eagerly, clapping his hands together. “Finally, a new ego with a real aesthetic!”

“I’m not a new ego, Wil. Look, I don’t look like you.”

“No, you’re not like me - well, like him,” insists Wilford, undaunted. “You’re one of the boys that runs around with him sometimes. He can create things too, that’s alright. You can still stay here.”

Dapper softens a little, quirking his eyebrows. “You’ve met Jack?”

“Seen him! They made a lot of videos together for a while, do you remember? Every day!”

JJ laughs, shaking his head. “You’re thinking of Ethan.”

“No, who? Noooo. The brown-haired one. Loud? Bouncy?”

“They’re both - ” JJ cuts himself off, laughing into his hands. “Never mind.”

“I don’t have my glasses on.”

“Apparently.”

Anonymous asked: Hey JJ, did you and Wil knew each other before the whole timeline mess?

“No, not really,” JJ signs to you gently. “I’ve never really had anyone outside of Anti.”

“Are you mute?” asks Wilford politely. “What’s wrong with your voice?”

“I’ve never been able to talk,” he writes out. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t be able to stay for long.”

“Oh,” says Wilford, face falling. “Oh, I thought that was why you came.”

“You took me from my house. Do you remember?”

“No… you’re thinking of one of the others, I think?”

Dapper lets out a sigh and smiles. “Never mind. Just - ”

It’s then that Edward enters the room.

Dapper stiffens, rubbing his shoulders and staring down at the floor. Ippy looks relieved, stepping carefully into the room, as though approaching an animal caught in a fence.

“Hi,” he breathes. “Feeling any better?”

JJ looks away, uncomfortable.

Anonymous asked: Hey Dap? I just wanted to let you know that it's ok to be experiencing symptoms right now. You're under so, so much stress, your body must be having hell and two pence. It's ok if you feel apathy, have a hard time with facial expression, hallucinating. You will be okay. You will get out soon, and you will have time to de-stress, you will see your brothers again soon. Know even through the fear, everything will be okay. You were made for happy endings.

“Do you have symptoms like these often?” asks Ippy.

Dapper plays with the edge of his paper, unsmiling.

“Your, uh… friends? Said you had a psychotic disorder. When was the last time you saw a clinician about that? Seems like you’ve been on Haldol a pretty long time.”

Dapper draws circles on his pad, not looking up.

Ippy sits down in one of those backless chairs that doctors roll around their offices in. “Are you aware that you have a Vitamin D deficiency? Serious enough to be impacting your bone strength?”

Dapper glances at Wilford but doesn’t answer.

“Broken rib… infected wrist… some pretty serious scarring…”

Dapper leans down to write something. Ippy waits patiently. Dapper turns the paper around and he’s written “stop talking to me” across the whole page. Ippy rolls his chair away and lets out a grumble beneath his breath, getting up to -

“Hey! Who broke my drawers!”

Wilford and JJ exchange glances.

“Probably the dog,” answers Wilford wisely, and it almost, almost makes JJ smile.

It’s okay. He’s okay. It’s okay for him to be psychotic. He’s just got to get through it, like he always does. It’s okay to struggle.

Anonymous asked: Hey now! Let the doctor take care of you, bud. You deserve some proper medical attention, you deserve some healing after everything you've been through.

“That’s not my doctor,” signs JJ bitterly, glaring Ippy down as best he can, though he mostly ends up looking like he’s squinting. “Give me back to my brother.”

“Five questions,” asks Ippy. “Yeah? Then I’ll give you some space.”

“One question.” He holds up a finger.

Ippy holds up three.

Dapper turns his head away. Tries to glare again. Nods. Fine.

“When was the last time you saw a psychiatrist?”

He’s never seen a psychiatrist. That’s why they mostly just call it a psychotic disorder. Schneep says it’s probably schizophrenia, but he’s a surgeon. Until Anti stole Dok, he would just tell Dapper that Jack fucked his head up as bad as his voice.

“I don’t have a psychiatrist,” says Dapper. “The Haldol is fine. It manages most everything.”

“Most of the positive symptoms, I bet,” says Ippy. “And even if antipsychotics are helpful, they still need to be adjusted sometimes, and you should probably be seeing a therapist for behavioral therapy.”

“What’s positive about psychosis?” asks Wilford. “Is that like the fun kind of psychosis? A little LSD, anybody?”

“Wilford,” sighs Ippy. “Positive means something added. So things like hallucinations, delusions, hyperactivity, disordered thinking - those are positive symptoms. Most antipsychotics work best for those. But there are negative symptoms too - depressed mood. Flattened expressions. Lack of enjoyment or pleasure. Feelings of hopelessness.”

Dapper stares at the floor. After a moment, he writes “question two” pointedly.

“Why do you look like Mark’s friend?”

“It’s exactly what you think it is. Don’t waste either of our time.”

“Dark says Jack doesn’t have videos with you or any of the others.”

“Is that a question?”

“No, grumbles Ippy, rubbing at his forehead. “Forget it. Who gave you all your scars?”

Dapper’s eyes flicker. He glances away. “Self-harm,” he writes.

“Liar,” answers Ippy evenly. “They go all the way to your back.”

Dapper hisses, tucking his pad up against his chest for a second. He lets out a breath of air, shaking his head.

Anonymous asked: His ribs are broken because his "big brother" nearly beat him to death then left him sitting in filth for hours until he passed out. He's deficient in vitamin D because he spends his entire life locked inside one room and that same brother almost never lets him out. He's scarred from year of torture and abuse. Let's just say he doesn't have the easiest home life.

Ippy sits back, setting his clipboard aside.

Dapper closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to think. He doesn’t feel well.

“Please just leave me alone,” he writes. “There. You got your answer. My brother did all of it. Go away.”

Ippy gets up. He takes Dapper’s bear off the bedside table and hands it carefully over to him. Dapper swallows and accepts it, pulling the familiar warmth and texture and smell to his chest. It’s grounding.

“Want to come sit in the sun for a while?” asks Ippy.

Dapper looks up at him, eyes wide. Ippy waits.

Dapper sighs and shakes his head, curling up against the wall. Even if he wanted to accept anybody’s niceness right now, he’s too tired.

“Okay,” says Ippy. “You don’t have to. But you should know - now that you’re awake and talking - ”

“No,” Dapper is already writing, the pen shaking in his grip.

“They just want to talk. That’s all. They won’t - ”

“Tell Dark to stay away from me,” writes Dapper frantically, tears budding in his eyes. He underlines it. Again and again.

Tell

Dark

Stay

Away

Ippy gets to his feet wearily. He unlocks one of his drawers and sets a Haldol and a Vitamin D tablet out on the dresser beside Dapper.

“Get a little sleep,” he says. “You’ll feel better.”

“I want Dok,” writes Dapper. “Please.”

Ippy is already shutting the door behind him.

nikkilbook asked: Edward, do you have any contacts in the city that work with homeless shelters or other kinds of emergency housing? I think that’s where three of his brothers are.

Edward’s eyebrows raise. “Oh? Sure, there’s some shelters. I usually refer them to LAAG. Sets you up in a hotel for a month or two if you’re out of somewhere to stay. Mostly for moms with kids, though. There’s some men’s and women’s shelters in town. Lot of homeless people out here, unfortunately. Hey, Gigi.”

“What?”

“What’s the closest homeless shelter?”

“Are they finally kicking you out of that pigsty you call an apartment? The closest homeless shelter is Missionaries of Charity Relief Services, 23.6 miles away. There is an adjoining soup kitchen.”

“There you go.”

nikkilbook asked: Could you send someone (non/less threatening, if possible?) to ask after them, see if they’d be willing to come and help you with JJ? Though one of them, Marvin, is hurt really bad as well because of some messed up dark magic crap that Anti thought was a good idea. Schneep, the doctor that JJ keeps referring to, is doing his best, but he’s technically a surgeon with holes in his memory.

“Excuse me,” Google cuts you both off, stepping forward. “You have to run decisions like that past Dark.”

“Then ask Dark,” answers Ippy mildly. “I’m sure they’d love to worm their way into somebody else’s heart. They wanted that other kid that was there, right? Bet they’d be happy with you if you brought the other three back to them.”

“You think you’re very clever.”

“But I got you thinking about it, didn’t I?”

Google glares at him.

Then his composure breaks, just the smallest bit, and you see a smile on the edges of his mouth. Ippy laughs and trails past him towards the kitchen. “Come on, you goddamn sycophant. It’s curry night. You can help me make it.”

“I’m not your maid,” says Gigi stubbornly.

But he follows right after him into the kitchen.

Anonymous asked: Does seeing outsiders reaction help you realize it JJ? How horrible Anti really is to you? You're dying, Dapper. You might be dead if you hadn't gotten medical treatment. You have all the scars because of his actions. All of your pain was caused by him. You have a psychotic disorder and he's never /once/ taken you to a psychiatrist. If he was your brother, if he loved you beyond being his pet, he would have at least taken you to therapy. Can you see the damage he's done, Dap?

“Save the realization tactics for my brothers, my friend,” JJ signs quietly. “I’ve always known exactly what Anti is. I used to stay because I was scared of what he’d do to me if I tried to get away. Now I just know there’s no escaping. Not for me.”

And that is when the light from the sun flickers and dies.

Dapper closes his eyes. He knows. Right away, without pausing.

“Dark,” you see his mouth move.

“Feeling… hopeless?” asks a voice that echoes. “I can help with that.”

“No,” says Dapper. “No, you can’t.”

And he gets to his shaking feet.

Anonymous asked: They made a deal JJ. This is the last time. If you don't allow yourself to escape, allow yourself freedom and family, true family, love... Then I fear you'll be stuck with him forever. Let yourself escape. Let Jameson Jackson live. Let your soul breathe again.

JJ holds the camera close to his chest, sinking down beside his bed as his legs give out on him. It makes Dark tower over him. He closes his eyes.

Family, true family - what he wouldn’t give for them to be here right now. And it’s odd to him because most often, when he wishes for family, he wishes Anti were here to protect him.

Today, he doesn’t wish for Anti at all. Even if Anti would protect him from Dark, it doesn’t matter. He wants… fuck, he just wants Red and Blue and Dok and even Trick, because every one of them, he has begun to realize, would take care of him if they ever had the chance to. Blue would be shouting at Dark to back off, Red would already be on the attack, Dok would be making him feel better, and Trick, he thinks, would just be wrapped around him, holding him, just like he did when Gigi and Shep came to take him away.

Maybe he wasn’t stuck up in the attic or in the backroom or in Anti’s bed because everyone else hated him or didn’t want him around. Maybe it was always just Anti’s barriers.

“How interesting the pair of you are,” Dark says, looking down at JJ with your viewpoint in his hands. “To know him intimately… to speak with him. Even when I talk to you, it’s always me on the one side of the camera, and you never able to answer… Mark sees to that. How interesting, though, to be the ones to tell him he’s loved.”

Dapper takes the writing pad in his trembling hands. “What do you want?” he writes.

Dark leans down, too close to him. “I told you. Let’s talk. I want to know everything about that monster you live with - and just how I can get rid of him.”

Dapper creeps along the wall away from Dark, shaking his head minutely. He and Anti have their struggles, but he doesn’t sell his brother out, and especially not to Dark.

“Come on, little one. What are you so scared of? My soldiers have all seen the markings all up and down you. Wouldn’t you rather let me extract a little vengeance for you?”

“Not little,” writes Dapper. “What do you want with Anti? Why kill him?”

Dark cocks their head coolly, eyes flashing red and blue.

“If you don’t remember him, there’s no reason to be angry.”

Dark doesn’t answer. Dark never answers if they don’t have to. They don’t give up information, period.

“I hope you know I hate your guts,” says JJ.

And then Dark’s hand is on his throat.

JJ wheezes in alarm, grabbing Dark’s arm as the room seems to flood with a darkness so thick it seems to shove at his bones like a fist or a car collision. He kicks his legs desperately and, for a moment, manages a shrill whistle of alarm - and then Dark makes him still.

The calm is like an infusion of something, settling into his lungs and chest and softening his violent terror into a whimpering fear. Dark drags him back to his bed and throws him onto the mattress. And Dapper, shaking and petrified with a weepy, muted alarm, curls his body into a roly-poly and hugs his bear to his chest, staring up at Dark with huge, watering eyes, because the times when he acts childish and too cute to hurt have never been anything more than a fear response.

“There you go,” says Dark, sitting down in the chair beside the bed and leaning back, their eyes closing for a moment from the strain it puts on their spine. Anti’s attack has left them physically shaken and weak, the pain haunting them through waking and dreams. For that, they will have revenge - and for the way that the thought of Anti has haunted them for more than a week now. “Be good now and tell me how you know me.”

“My brother brought me to you some years back to reset me even better than he can alone,” writes Dapper shakily. “He manipulates thoughts and he can possess people. You manipulate souls and emotions. I woke up a different person. Since then I feel like I have a different personality every day. You and Anti took who I was from me.”

Dark shakes their head faintly, squinting for a moment. They glance at Dapper, at his eyes, at his chest. They don’t say anything.

“Please don’t hurt me anymore,” writes Dapper.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” says Dark gently, and they try to make it feel, in Dapper’s heart, that this is true, but all he does is close his eyes and hide.

Anonymous asked: hey, jamie, dapper, my dear. i know you've been hurt by dark before, and i'm not saying you have to forgive them, or trust them, or anything. but can you try to trust us, when we tell you that you are safe? i wouldn't say that lightly, dap. but right now, you are safe. deep breaths. we're here to help you.

“There, that’s right,” agrees Dark quietly. “Don’t be scared.”

Dapper shudders under another wave of their power. Affection and faith well up in his chest, and this feeling, at least, has an anchor of truth in his head, a foundation it can stand on. Yes, he remembers the days when you have kept him company, the days when you have warned him of danger or convinced Anti to leave him alone. He remembers Trick and Dok taking him for fish and chips, presents you picked out for him, and the beeping of the camera on so many of the nights in the past seven months where he would have been completely alone without you.

He sucks in a deep breath, closing his eyes.

“If I met you and your brother,” says Dark. “Why don’t I remember?”

“You are a creature manipulated by the stories your creator tells,” writes Dapper slowly.

“Mark did this?”

“No. Another storyteller. My creator gave me his power of manipulating stories. Last year I changed things without meaning to. There are inconsistencies now - people who remember things that never happened in this timeline, and people who have forgotten things that happened to them in another life. And then there are things like you, somewhere in the middle - torn between memory and loss.”

Dark’s eyes narrow, smoke curling off their shoulders.

“I know you don’t remember Anti,” writes Dapper. “But at the same time, you do.”

“Enough,” says Dark. “Quiet. Let me think.”

Deep black eyes pierce into JJ like a scalpel. He stares up at the light, trying to breathe.

“The truth is you know nothing of what’s happening around you,” Dark murmurs.“You’re delusional and ill. You remember things that haven’t happened because you have a disorder.”

“No,” signs JJ, shaking his head. “No.”

He does have delusions sometimes, very intense ones. But he won’t let Dark tell him that he doesn’t know his own power - the piece of himself that Jack gave him.

“Look at you.” Dark shakes their head, eyes glittering, and smoke curls around them like creeping cats wandering through the air. “The moment you’re away from him, you crash, is that it?”

Dapper closes his eyes, turned up to the lights.

Dark hums and gets to their feet, drawing out wine and glasses as though from the shadows themselves. They pour two cups of rich, black wine and press a cool cup into his hands. Dapper’s fingers wrap around the glass slowly, his eyes blank.

“Why did you become psychotic the moment you were away from him?”

His gaze flickers up to Dark’s. He doesn’t answer.

“Of course,” mutters Dark, backing away and sitting down in their chair. “You live with a mind manipulator. I bet he makes the voices quiet, doesn’t he?”

Dapper’s mouth parts, a gleam of something hard appearing for moment in his eyes before shifting away again, leaving him tired and only vaguely annoyed.

“Admit it,” says Dark. “You rely on him. Don’t you? You wouldn’t last on your own, not without him. The medication manages some of it and he manages the rest. When he’s away, you can barely survive. You need him – desperately.”

You can hear Dapper breathing now. His eyes are fixed on the light above. He holds his wine too tightly in his fingers.

“And he tells you so,” adds Dark slowly, staring at Dapper’s face. They tilt back their wine and they drink. “Doesn’t he? Constantly, I would guess. You and him both know that you need him – and he loves it.”

Dapper doesn’t have anything to say to them. He wants to be far away. He hates them.

“It must be difficult to be both – ”

“Don’t even fucking start with me, jackass, as if you know anything about what it’s like to be mute and psychotic and abused by the person I love most in the world, as if you’re not the one who fucking triggered my schizophrenia, as if you know anything about my life or what I’ve done to – ”

“Calm down,” says Dark gently, and Dapper feels a rush of unnatural calm flood over him. For a second of raw terror, he is completely aware that he’s being forced to feel something he doesn’t really feel, and then, the next moment, he is slumped back in his chair, letting out a low sigh of relief.

“I can’t understand sign language, so you’ll have to write for me,” says Dark. “We can have a calm conversation if you stay level-headed instead of getting so out of control. I’ll forgive you because of your fever.”

Dapper reaches dazedly for the writing pad, trying to keep his thoughts straight. This is happening again. He’s losing himself again.

“You talk about my brother controlling me and then shove your way into my chest yourself,” he manages, his handwriting scrawling and small. “Just tell me what you want from me or let me go home.”

Dark drinks from their glass again, never breaking eye contact.“What do you think I want?”

“I think,” Dapper scrawls. “That you don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on.”

It is Dark’s turn for their eyes to gain a hardness. Something glitters in black irises.

“And you hate that, don’t you, Darkness? More than anything. More than anything.”

Dark does not answer.

“You want to know how to kill Anti because you remember him,” writes Dapper. “The fragments of the memory of him haunts you because you hate not knowing and you hate being confused, and the thought that I somehow changed your story is second in bitterness only to the knowledge that Mark has already told it for you. Of course you don’t want to admit you don’t remember. It means someone else changed you without your permission. Your greatest fear.”

“Watch your words,” warns Dark.

“Anti hated you at first. We would agree that you were a creep, a control freak, an asshole. But you were insistent. How pretty he was, you would say, and how you had finally found someone who matched you in ferocity. After a while, it started to flatter him. He decided he was some sort of exception to you. You would be terrible to everyone else but good to him. He loved that. The thought of being special to someone. His abandonment issues made him look past everything horrible about you.”

“You’re making this up.”

“You taught him to dance,” writes Dapper, his words coming faster and faster beneath his scrawling hands. “Do you remember? Your hands on his waist as he finally trusted you enough to put his head on your shoulder. You would bring him flowers, roses he pretended he didn’t want and then put in a vase by his bed, purring to me about how wrapped around his finger you were. You would go hunting together and let him have the kill because you loved to see him lose his mind with the power and the fun of it all. His sadism was wild any time he was with you. He would come home and hurt me on accident - mostly - because he was so violent and worked up he couldn’t control his energy and his excitement. Do you remember?”

Dark’s eyes are raised to JJ’s now, staring at him, their mouth faintly parted.

“Have you been dreaming, Dark?” asks Dapper. “Killing him won’t make it stop. Speak with him. I don’t think the two of you know what love is, but you loved the time you spent together.”

“You’re sentimental as well as delusional,” answers Dark, tilting back their wine.

“I would listen to me if I were you,” writes Dapper. “Because at this point, Dark, there are outcomes - you cool his fury, or he will kill you.”

Red and blue in Dark’s eyes. Bone through their rotting fingers.

“My brother has taken on power he should never have stolen,” says Dapper. “You can’t beat him with Blue’s power combined with his own. Calm Anti down, Dark - or he will burn down everything you love.”

Dark blinks, revealing, if only for a moment, an unsettled look on their face.

Outside the window, the others are laughing and talking. Dark catches a glance of Wilford’s bubblegum hair and the movement of the enormous dog you spotted earlier. Host’s voice murmurs down to them through the ceiling and someone is cooking in the kitchen, making the house fragrant with garlic and spices.

“Please leave me alone now,” says Dapper.

“One last thing. Is it true that you can time travel?”

“Yes,” Dapper answers. “I know you can feel the power in my chest.”

“I could take it,” says Dark. “If I wanted to. Your power is a part of your soul and that, my darling, is my specialty.”

Dapper flips a page on his pad and writes across the full page:

“It would burn you alive.”

A flicker of a small on Dark’s coy mouth.

“Yes,” they say. “I suppose it would. I’m not as stupid as your brother.”

“Whatever you say,” writes Dapper dryly.

Dark gets to their feet, draining the last of their wine.

“Can I go?” writes Dapper desperately.

“Hm? Oh, no. We’re not finished, doll. Hey.”

Dark reaches out to cluck his chin, but Dapper jerks back, terrified. Dark laughs and takes their hand back, leaving Dapper with a sudden and painfully intense feeling of exhaustion. He crumples against the bed, his eyes flickering shut.

“Get some sleep,” murmurs Dark, turning their back and beginning to disappear back into the shadows. “Hostages are no good to me dead.”

Dapper fades into darkness.

Blue wakes up to a hand on his shoulder. “Mh? What is it?”

He hears his twin chuckle softly above him. “You make cat noises when you’re waking up.”

“Mmmhhhh,” protests Blue sleepily, cuddling down deeper into his blankets.

“You can go back to sleep,” Red whispers. “I just wanted you to know I’m heading back to the house for a couple days. Stay here with Dok and I’ll - ”

Blue is awake. He almost flinches out of the sheets, sitting up fast and grabbing Red’s sleeve. “Wait, no. I’m coming with.”

“No, Blue, you need to stay here and rest.”

“I’m feeling much better,” replies Blue, his tone brooking no argument. “And I am NOT going to be miles and miles away while you go back to an Anti who’s no doubt furious. I need to see the others too. I have to make sure they’re okay. That’s my job.”

“I’m coming too,” answers a quiet voice from the doorway - Dok slipping into the room with three cups of hospital coffee.

“Guys, no,” protests Red. “Please. I’d rather you be here. Dok, Anti threatened to kill you.”

Dok shrugs, placing coffee down on the bedside table. He plucks at his necklaces. “We might need these,” he says, picking at each raven talisman in turn. “And I… I need to see Trick.”

“We’re both going, Red,” Blue insists, touching his arm and squeezing reassuringly. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’re here.”

Red smiles weakly at the both of them. “Just… promise me you won’t try anything stupid, okay?”

“Promise,” says Blue.

“I never do,” answers Dok dryly.

The twins laugh quietly at his answer. It does not, however, hide the fear that trembles in Dok’s fingertips and rattles the insides of his chest.

He can do this. He can. He has to.

immabethehero asked: Good luck dudes!

“Thanks,” says Ro, looking up at the house. “Yeah, thanks, we appreciate it.”

Blue and Dok are behind him. He can hear them whispering to each other, but he doesn’t want to interfere. Blue is wrapped around Dok like a vice, rubbing his back as he tries to reassure him, and Dok clings to his necklaces and his sibling and hides.

“Is, um.” Ro stares at the windows and door. “Is Anti really angry? Is he in there right now? I don’t really know what to expect…”

Anonymous asked: uh, trick? i believe noodle has decided to go exploring. outside. i'm going to tell the others, so they can look for noodle too, but i thought you should know.

“Noodle?”

You find Trick kneeling by the door, scratching at the carpet and trying to catch his cat’s attention. Yesterday, he waited patiently for Noodle to come back. Today, four days after Dapper was taken, Trick has only seen Noodle twice, and the light in his eyes has become desperate and frantic.

“Baby!” he hollers, sticking the last piece of jerky under the door. “Come here, sweetie! Daddy’s upstairs. Where are you? No, no, no, he can’t have gone outside. Noodle, come here! He’s never been outside in his life. He’s always been with me. Noodle!”

He wipes at hot tears on his face, back shaking from how long he’s been crouched there. Anti has let him out of the room a couple times, but he’s been with him the whole time, so all he’s done is make himself dinner a couple times or watch a movie with Anti.

He wants things to go back to normal.

“Noodle! Please come here! You’re scaring me!”

Anonymous asked: Dok, what if you feigned that you were "taking off" your necklaces, but quickly clasped the animal one around Anti, then got him weak as you could and used the light? Or perhaps told him the only way to stop their power was for him to wear them, then put the animal one around his neck? Do you think a plan like that would work?

“Yeah, if I can manage that I would like to do this,” says Dok frailly, gripping Blue’s hand so hard it’s beginning to bruise. “Might not be able to trick him, but could maybe act fast and hurt him.”

“Remind me what all of these do,” murmurs Blue, touching his brother’s collarbone.

“This one is light, this one is transformation, and this one keeps Anti out of my head,” Dok whispers. “They said I should give the light one to a warrior.”

Blue glances at Red, pacing his way towards the house. He wants to be the first one inside, to bear the brunt of Anti’s fury. Blue pulls Dok after him, trying to think.

Anonymous asked: Trick has been alone for such a long time, and Anti has been locking him all alone in one room most of the days, he really needs you Dok, needs you to help him fight. As for Anti, he's been in and out of the place, we're not sure what he's doing.

“Anti locked Trick in his room?” asks Red.

“Let’s go,” says Dok, pulling away from Blue and hurrying towards the house.

“Dok! You don’t know if Anti’s in there!”

“He’s already seen us on the cameras from this close,” answers Dok, yanking open the door to the house and moving inside. “If he wants to come after us, he will. There’s nothing we can do about that. Right now, I just want to see Trick. Where is he?”

He runs down into the basement where they’ve been staying, but Trick isn’t there - and neither is Noodle. Dok returns to the ground floor, where Blue and Red are looking through their own room. Blue shuts the window that’s been open for days, making the room hot and airy.

“Where’s kitty?” asks Blue.

“I’m sure he’s just with Trick,” answers Dok. “Right?”

Anonymous asked: Trick is locked up in Anti's bedroom, and Noodle is missing, he escaped outside. Trick's been alone with no one but Anti for this whole time.

Blue and Red exchange wide-eyed looks, Red already pacing towards the door to look around for the cat. Dok races upstairs, feeling more awake than he has in weeks.

“Trick!” he knocks rapidly on the door and shuffling sounds greet him from the other side.

“Anti?”

“Trick, it’s me,” Dok calls.

“Dok!”

The way he calls his name is almost a sob. Dok scrambles with the lock on the door, turning the stiff lock to the right. Trick shoves the door open and meets his eyes.

“Are you okay?” croaks Dok.

“Fine,” whispers Trick, though his hair is limp and dry and his eyes hollowed out. “Are you?”

“Yes. I’m okay. Listen, Trick, I just - ”

Trick crashes into him and hugs him to his chest. They fall back against the wall, pinned together, skulls pressed together and arms wrapped around each other’s ribs.

“You don’t have to explain,” says Trick. “I should have protected you better, so you didn’t have to run away. I’ll be better for you, Dok. I’ll take better care of you.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I should have been someone you could trust.”

“Trick…”

They wrap tighter around each other, rocking each other’s bodies against the wall, safe in each other’s grips.

Anonymous asked: He's here.

Blue is hugging Trick and Dok to himself, babbling at them about how he loves them, about how he missed him, about how happy he is to see him. Trick is relieved to feel less alone for the first time in days. He tells Blue he looks better and that he loves him too.

It’s Red who sees Anti.

He’s leaning against the banister at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at him with cold blue eyes.

Red swallows. Anti doesn’t say anything.

He signs “come here.”

And then he walks away.

Red feels a shudder down his whole body. He glances back at his brothers, celebrating the mini-reunion together, talking about everything that’s happened.

He doesn’t see Dapper. Anti must have him with him.

Red needs to see him.

He swallows once again, clearing his throat this time. He won’t be afraid. He can’t let himself get lost in Anti’s lies again. He sees what he is more clearly than he has in years and now - now he has to protect his brothers from the monsters in the middle of them.

He moves down the stairs after Anti.

Anonymous asked: Uh guys, look out, the big-bad wolf is here

“Big bad wolf…”

Anti turns back to Ro for a moment in the middle of the hall, his eyes burning red.

“That’s me, then, right, Jackie?”

Ro’s blood seems to frost over in his veins. He stops short in the hallway, mouth parted.

Anti narrows his eyes and turns away, leading Ro further down the hall. Red can barely bring himself to follow, but his nerves are tempered by his confusion.

Anti has never called him Jackie before.

“Where’s Dap?” he asks quietly, stepping after Anti.

Anti doesn’t answer. He steps into the office room where you once found Dapper drinking and waits.

Red steps in after him, chewing on his lip.

Anti closes the door behind him and sits down at the desk, propping his feet on the table. He glares at Ro, flipping a knife in his hands.

“You got a deathwish or something,” says Anti.

“No,” Ro manages. “No.”

“Tell me why you went,” Anti snaps.

“You were threatening Dok. Blue was sick. I got scared.”

Anti stares at him, eyes burning with flame.

Anonymous asked: Anti Blue was dying and you were threatening Dok. Don't punish Red for being their protector, that's literally what you make him be. Thanks to his action, neither of them are dead. You have him to thank for the time away you got to think about your temper.

Anti takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second. “Was that all it was?”

“Yes,” says Ro quietly. “I just didn’t want them to get hurt. Anti, you can’t threaten to murder Dok and expect me to - ”

“I can do what I want,” snaps Anti. “What’s your name?”

“What?”

“What’s your fucking name?”

Ro licks his mouth anxiously, glancing around for a second. He wishes Blue were here.

“It’s Red, Anti.”

Anti sighs, shaking his head at him. His posture relaxes slightly, letting his head thump back against the office chair.

Anonymous asked: Dapper isn't with him because Dark's soldiers stole him away. It seems like Anti can't find him.

“What?” asks Ro, incredulous. “Wait, you mean you actually let that monster get their hands on him?”

“You weren’t here!” shouts Anti, glitching to his feet and making Red stumble back. “You were the one I chose to protect them, Red, but you ran away without him or Trick like they meant nothing to you!”

“I thought you would keep them safe!” cries Red.

“I would have been able to if you had been here and I had known about Dark!” Anti snarls back, slamming his hand into the office table, a slight tremor in his palms. “But you and them both turned your backs on me! I can’t trust anyone but myself!”

“You were going to hurt Dok!”

Anti’s palm connects with Red’s face, sending him staggering back. He feels blood rush to the handprint on his cheek and he grips at his face weakly, looking up at Anti with watery eyes.

“You would have been useless if you were here anyway,” growls Anti. “You’re terrified of Dark. Fucking coward boy. And to think, Jack called you a hero.”

Hurt and fury light up in Ro’s chest. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut, straightening his back again and clutching his hands into fists.

“I found Dark today,” says Anti coldly, turning away. “We can get Dapper back. If you help me, maybe I won’t fucking slaughter you for running away like the little bitch you are.”

“I’m not a little bitch,” says Red. “You… you’ve never liked me.”

“Correct,” answers Anti.

Anonymous asked: Jackie's throwing caution to the wind, you're willing to throw everyone's lives to the wind. Even moreso now that this is the last run-through, right?

“If you turn on me like that again,” says Anti. “I’ll kill you like I promised you I would.”

“You expect my loyalty,” says Ro. “But you don’t even like me. You threaten us and hurt us. How do you expect me to stay?”

“You’ll stay because if you don’t I’ll end all five of you,” snarls Anti, Jack’s teeth in his mouth giving way to those of a dog. “What, you think you did a good job, running away from me? Think you saved them from anything? I know you were staying in Ashley Valley Hospital Room 412.”

Ro’s blood is cold.

“I know the fake names you used, I know the food pantry where Dok was getting you food everyday, I know what Blue’s doctors said, I know, I know, I know. You can’t get away from me, Red. You never will. All the more because you’re a spineless, needy moron who can’t think of anything but a man who doesn’t love him anymore and whatever bullshit your mind fixates on on any given day. You’re broken, Red. Same way Jack made Chase and JJ broken. Even when you were Jackie, you were still pathetic.”

“Wonder why Marvin and I were able to beat you to hell, then,” says Ro.

It’s a mistake as soon as he’s said it. It’s a mistake. It was a bad choice. He shouldn’t have said it.

But he doesn’t regret it.

Anti takes a step back towards him, his eyes narrowed like a cat’s.

Jackie takes a step towards him too, fists clenched.

“When I said that you made me forget important things in the past,” he says. “I meant that you made me forget people I loved and the places I come from. But there are other things you made me forget too, Anti. You’re not as untouchable as you’ve always told me you were. And you know what else?”

Anti’s eyes are pupil-less, iris-less, white.

“I think you’re still afraid of me,” he says. “I think that every time you flinch back from a bird at the window, you are flinching away from the memory of just how bad I hurt you the first time you stole my baby brother.”

Anonymous asked: Stand strong, Jackieboy man. You've got a war to fight.

Stand strong. He straightens his back. The others need him.

“Come on, then,” he snaps, taking another step forward. Anti takes a step back. “I can see it in you. That you want to hurt me. It’s a look I’ve gotten used to. That you want to see me begging so you feel less scared.”

“You shut your mouth, Jackie,” says Anti.

“No,” spits Ro, clenching his fists. “No, I won’t. I’m tired of you silencing me. I’m not stupid and I’m not a coward.”

Anti strikes him, harder than the first time. Red backs off, grabbing his face with a gasp. Tears water in his eyes. He straightens up again, seething.

“You’re the fucking coward, Anti,” he croaks out, something snapping in his chest. His little brother really has always hated him, no matter how hard he tried to love him. “I won’t let you tell me differently anymore.”

Anonymous asked: Hey younger brothers, you miiight want to go to the office with Red and Anti, something tells me it's about to go downhill from here, and you'd be stronger together, protecting each other.

Blue blinks and looks around, realizing only now that his twin is gone.

“Oh, shit,” he breathes.

He turns and races down the stairs, tearing towards the office.

Anonymous asked: You are not pathetic, Jackie. You are a hero, through-and-through. You've spent your every waking moment protecting them from abuse in any way you were able. "Broken" is just Anti being an ableist, abusive asshat. You are stronger than him. You always have been, no matter what he tries to convince you of. Break free of him, Jackieboy Man.

“Yeah, you know what, they’re right,” Jackie continues, lifting his chin up and glaring at Anti as bruises form on his face. “You know what I think, Anti? I think you’re so desperate to believe that our creator - that Jack - ”

“Don’t say that name!” screams Anti, slapping him again.

Red laughs. “I think you’re so desperate to believe that Jack was in the wrong that you tell yourself he did something wrong to us just because of things like me being autistic. And that’s pretty fucked up, Anti. There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with Dap and Trick. Honestly? I think Jack was probably an okay guy, and you’re the one who’s always been the villain.”

“Stop it!” screams Anti, driving his fist into Red’s chest. Red steps back, but doesn’t falter. “Stop it, stop it!”

“You like to act like you’re in control and you can’t even control your temper and your fucking daddy issues!”

“Red!” shouts Anti, his eyes flashing. “Stop it! You’re just like Jack, you’re just like Dark, everybody turns on me eventually! You were always just Jack’s little soldier, his failsafe! You think I made you a guard dog? Jack used you for years to get what he wanted.”

“Jack was trying to protect us from you!”

“You don’t even remember!” Anti grabs Red by the throat and slams him into the wall, crashing his head into wood. “Who have you been talking to? You - ”

“Hey, stop, stop!” cries Blue, appearing to grab Anti’s hands, trying to tear him off his twin. Anti kicks his cane away from him and sends him crashing to the ground.

“I ought to put both of you right back in the hospital!”

“Anti, don’t hurt him!” shrieks Blue. “Dapper’s not here! You can’t fix this if it all goes wrong!”

Anti’s grip tightens for a moment on Red’s throat. Ro chokes, gripping at his fingers.

Anti drops him to the ground.

“You’re right,” he spits, turning to grab Blue by the hair, dragging him back up to a sitting position. “So I’ll deal with you two once I have my boy back.”

#chapter four

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kittensartswriting · 4 years

Text

Historical Ancient Norse Clothing vs. Pop Culture

I have a bone to pick with movie and TV costuming of vikings. It seems like pop culture has it own surprisingly consistent (but very wrong) idea of history. As someone who is really into historical clothing and also into Ancient Norse, it brings me physical agony. I’m going to explain with examples. I’ll use three recent shows, Vikings, Norsemen and Last Kingdom. Now keep in mind that I have only watched bit of Norsemen and I actually really liked it, so this has nothing to do with the overall quality of the shows, only the costuming. I picked these shows because they all seem to present themselves very “realistic”, which is why I leave movies like How To Train Your Dragon be, because clearly they are not attempting realism or historical accuracy.

Also, I’m not a historian, and even if I were, there is no way to know what people at that time were actually wearing. There is archaeological evidence and a little historical evidence too, but for some things even historians just have to give their best guess. I’ve done casual and no way academic research for my own projects. If you want to read more yourself, my best resource is Viking Answer Lady. The articles go very into detail and have a lot of historical and archaeological sources.

Okay let’s go. This is going to be long.

Gripe One: “We want to make our show seem gritty and realistic, so clearly we should make our vikings dirty and wear only back and muted colors so they look edgy”

Yes, those pesky vikings, who had bad personal hygiene, wore ripped clothing and hated colors with passion. They were, after all, Menly Men (in 21th century standards). Okay, jokes aside, maybe from my sarcastic tone you can tell that indeed Norse people had very high standards for personal hygiene. According to contemporary records, they washed their faces every morning and bathed regularly in their warmed bath houses. Every man and woman had a comb with them all the time and men also combed their beards and mustaches. Sewing was also a standard skill (especially for women but probably also for men) and people generally in most periods and places before industrialization, including Ancient Scandinavia, were very skilled at it. The wool they used was very high quality and tightly woven into sleek fabric. They also used linen and if they were rich they might have worn silk.

The picture is from The Last Kingdom. The person in the middle is a son of an earl (a local chieftain, so pretty important nobility). Nobles could afford high quality wool, dyes, embroidery and good armor (not yet, but we’ll talk about it soon), and of course nobility wore those things to distinguish themselves from other classes. Norse people wore actually quite a lot of colors, and very bright colors too, especially the richer ones. Probably only slaves didn’t have their fabrics dyed.

And another note about Norse people’s concept of masculinity. Their concept of manly man for example was a very talkative, social and funny guy, who was a good leader, laughed easily and had many friends, brooding dudes were not the ideal. Being fashionable and presentable was also very important for men. They trimmed their beards and mustaches to be neat. Some carvings have men with very dapper mustaches and goatees. Noble men had long hair. Though they would braid them somehow for battle.

The other two shows have same problems. This is from The Vikings and the guy in the middle is a son of a king* and he wears literal rags.

*Apparently Ragnar in the show is farmer rather than royal lineage like in sagas, but farmers dressed well too, though not as well as kings.

More dirty clothes without colors in Norsemen.

Gripe Two: Okay let’s talk about armor

Armor is certainly not only problem in historical shows about vikings, but in most historical shows and movies, period. Let’s start with what people really wore into battle back then. It would of course depend on their wealth and social standing so let’s start with the absolute minimum.

First they wore underclothing, usually linen tunics. Over that wool tunics. Linen is very easy to wash so it gathers all the sweat and the wool is preserved in better condition. Over that they would wear padded armor. It was armor made from cloth and padded thick with usually horse hair. It was actually very good armor and shielded well from cuts, though not so well from stabs.

Helmet and a hood under it was a must. Battle without helmet would have been a death sentence and helmet without hood did very little to actually shield head. The hood would also shield neck which was just as important. Also leather gloves. It would be hard to hold your weapon and defend yourself, if you’d get hit on fingers.

This would have probably been a basic armor for a peasant. Warrior class and nobility would have better armor though. Padded armor was used combined with other armor. Plate armor was not really a thing back then, but chain mail was probably the most used one. It was expensive to make so peasants couldn’t afford it, but it great against stabs and slashes, and on top of that was flexible and didn’t restrict movement. You couldn’t use it without enough padding under, just try to think about the iron rings sinking into your flesh... A chain mail hood also might have been used over the softer hood.

Other options for chain mail were lamellar, an armor stitched from small plates of metal, and leather armor. Lamellar gave great protection, but since it was a bit restrictive, it was probably only used as breast plate, so if a warrior was rich enough to get that, they would also get a chain mail under it. Leather armor was not very good alone, but combined with other types of armor it gave some extra protection. A really thick leather with fur (for example reindeer fur) would have been used like padded armor. Leather was probably made in the form of a tunic. Basically it would been only used alone if it was really thick or had fur too. Lastly they would have used a cloak or a coat depending on weather.

Now, after seeing the couple of shots from the shows, you may start to see a problem.

I tend to forgive movies and shows the lack of helmets, since it makes it harder to know who is who and what is happening in a battle scene, which after all, is much more important for a story than historical accuracy. However, they have literally no excuse for the lady warrior to have ONLY a leather top (????) on. Norsemen is comedy, rather than historical drama, but the aesthetic is realistic, so I’m not going to let them of the hook. (And may I point out the dude behind the lady warrior? Is... is that supposed to be a chain mail? I’m confused.)

My dude, your hands will get chopped off... Please don’t wear a leather top or a t-shirt into a battle. Unarmored arms would really get lost. If you got a deep cut into your arm in that period, you had a really high change of loosing that arm.

This is from Vikings and I wanted to include it as a slightly positive example. He is wearing leather armor (which looks weird but let’s ignore that) over chain mail, so it’s actually very good protection!

Gripe Three: Women’s clothing is all over the place

I have yet to see a remotely accurate Ancient Norse women’ clothing on screen.

Most of these from Norsemen look like 12th or 13th century dresses, the way how they are very fitting on hands and upper body. Most bizarre is the girl on gray clothing on the background. What is it? Why it looks like weirdly ripped and like it’s sewn by someone who’s never before touched a needle?

Then Vikings. Let’s ignore the guy in the picture (he is a king but wears no colors and some weird looking leather armor, moving on). Both of these ladies are queens and they should have bright colors (also hair up, only unmarried young women and children wore hair down). The lady on the right has a little better outfit. The cloak looks actually really good, though not sure about the texture. The dress however is pretty bad. The lady on the left is just wrong. The neckline would have never been this low. Why is it brown? And what is that belt thing? Norse people used a lot of layers, and it was also kind of a status symbol to have a lot of layers of bright clothes. Let’s hope she has a very well hidden under-layer for her hygiene. And lastly the jewelry looks more from 16th century or something for both of them. Viking ladies used a lot of jewelry, and queens would have had very showy jewelry. Let’s look at a lot more historically accurate clothing.

This would have been something a noble lady could wear. They wore of course under-layer, then a dress long tunic over that, over that, a usually slightly shorter dress with shoulder straps and then a narrow apron which was attached into the shoulder straps with showy fasteners and between them was usually hanging some jewelry. The outfit might have had a long twined belt around the whole thing too. And as in the picture, a lot of embroidery for the rich people.

I know they think edgy black clothing is inherently cooler, but...

Really I think the accurate clothing is really cool and badass. Like let me show you some pictures of reenactors to prove it.

Bonus Non-Gripe

Also lastly I just want to say, this outfit from Vikings slaps. It’s gorgeous, it makes little sense, but I love it. Let’s pretend he has padded armor under the tunic, okay.

#history #historical clothing #costume history #viking #armor #viking armor #historical accuracy #historical fiction #costuming #tv costuming #historical drama #ancient norse #ancient norse clothing

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darlingpetao3 · 4 years

Text

Seducing the Gem (Nash Wells x Reader, Chapter 6/9)

Rating: M (Smut in Chapter 6 only)

Summary: When a mysterious package shows up at your front door, you (a famous Romance novelist) are hurtled from your virtually uneventful life and into one of danger and adventure. In a quest to save your captured friend Caitlin from impending harm, you run into a suave adventurer named Nash who helps you along the way. Or is the charming Nash simply after something in your possession…?

Tag List: @tardis-23 @thecaptainsgingersnap @the-marvelatic @itsprongs

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

A/N: This is the smut chapter, y’all!

The wedding ceremony was gorgeous. You and Nash sat with John and Mary on the bride’s side of the aisle. And of course, the bride and groom looked so beautiful and in love that it all just made your heart swell.

During the ceremony, you thought that maybe Nash would make fun of you and your enthusiastic reactions to the event, but he said and did nothing whatsoever. He just sat there, next to you, looking dapper in that suit, and even looked like he was enjoying the change of pace.

There was a moment while everyone sat and waited for the bride to arrive to walk down the aisle when you caught Nash looking at you.

“What?” you had asked him. He shook his head.

“Nothing.”

So you let it go.

But now, as you sit with him at an extra table brought in for you both (as the last minute, but very welcome guests), he’s staring at you again while you eat some of the snacks at the reception.

“Okay,” you say, “this is the second time you won’t stop watching me. What gives?”

Nash adjusts in his chair. “I think your writing’s hot.” he confesses.

“Oh, come on.”

“I mean it!” he insists. “I read a bit from Mary’s copy while you were getting ready today. You’re very talented. Your boyfriend should be proud of you.”

Yeah, okay, you see what he not so subtly tried to sneak into that compliment.

“I don’t believe you actually read it,” you tell him, “and don’t think I don’t know what you just did there.”

“You got me,” Nash laughs, holding his hands up in a surrender gesture and throws in a wink. “But you don’t think I’d be into what you write? That’s a little judgemental, don’t you agree?”

“Okay fine, I believe you, Nash Wells. Your girlfriend is lucky to have such a well-rounded man.”

Nash grins, knowing exactly what you just did there. He makes direct eye contact with you, shaking his head slowly, deliberately, and raises playful brows. That alone gives you your answer to that.

“How do you come up with stuff like that?” he leans forward, voice notably softer.

“I don’t know… I guess it just comes to me. It’s like I’m living in another world.”

“Well, I’m glad you don’t, or I would never have met you.” You’re somewhat glad you weren’t hooked up to a heart monitor because it undoubtedly would have shown a momentary flatline, only to kickstart again. You give a little awkward laugh in response.

“I got you something,” Nash adds, pulling something out of the inner pocket of his jacket. In his hand, he reveals a beautiful yet simple star necklace. He must have gone back to the little market area while you were preparing for today. You hadn’t realized you’d taken so long.

“Nash, it’s beautiful. I love it. Can I…?”

“Here, let me.”

He moves around the table as you stand. You sweep your hair away and over your shoulder so that Nash can put the necklace on you easily. You look down, touching and playing with the little silver star that cools your skin.

You can’t stop smiling for some reason.

And when you turn around to face Nash again, it looks like neither can he.

The soft instrumental sounds of a song begins to play, but you hardly register it because the sound of your heartbeat in your ears seems to drown out the music.

“Let’s dance,” Nash suggests suddenly. Panic in the visible form of a hot flush runs down your body.

“Oh no, I’m not a dancer,” you explain.

“Well come on, I’ll teach you.”

“You dance?”

“I do a whole lot more than just dance.” Nash sends yet another wink your way. “Now, come on, Princess!”

The dashing man leads you out onto the dancefloor with the rest of the wedding guests. Evening has fallen, which gives off a beautiful purplish-blue light along with the yellow glow of the lantern decorations. His hand is on your waist, while yours rests on his shoulder. You’ve written a few dance scenes in your career as a writer, so why aren’t you able to apply what you’ve written into real life? It’s awkward at first, but his quiet encouragements makes it all the more natural and fun. At one point, Nash even does a little solo dance, leaving you laughing at the sight.

Perhaps it’s the music. Maybe it’s the adrenaline of the dance. Or maybe it’s Nash himself, but you feel loosened up. Your hips find it easier to sway, and you let your hands move in the air as you dance. Nash finds the perfect moments during your dances to spin and twirl you, rendering you happily dizzy. After he spins you back towards him, he dips you, and you feel suspended in time, with him gazing down at you from above.

Nash brings you upright again, hand pressed against your back, and draws you in close. Your hands wrap around his neck, and your faces are dangerously close. His lips part, and you watch as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Your heart races - more so than when those men with guns were after you. This feels so much more intense.

You glance up to meet his eyes, then back down to his mouth. Leaning in ever so slowly to close the gap between you both, Nash’s lips welcome yours with a soft but wanting reception. Needless to say, you’ve both remained in one spot on the dancefloor while the other guests dance and carry on around you.

Truthfully, it feels like there’s no one else around.

The kiss is initially one of innocence, of exploration of each other. But it only takes mere seconds for the kiss to take a turn for the passionate. Much more needy from both parties.

You pull away from Nash, and you can tell that he’s confused for a second, but when you take his hand and lead him back towards John and Mary’s home, you’re certain he clues in. At the rate this wedding is progressing, no one in the village will be heading home for a very, very long time.

You’ll have the place all to yourselves.

The pair of you stumble around once you make it back inside the house. It’s almost dark, but you both somehow make it into your spare room. The click of the door when it closes makes everything hanging in the air seem so much more real.

You step up onto your toes to continue this fantastic kiss-fest, all the while letting your hands begin to undo his suit jacket and peel it down his arms.

For once in your life, you aren’t taking notes on this situation - what it’s like to undress Nash, what it’s like for him to agonizingly slowly pull the straps of your dress down your skin. Though once you’re finally baring all to him, you are hyper-aware of your body and that this man - practically a stranger - is seeing all of you right now.

He must notice you start to feel insecure, but he tips your chin up so that you can see him when he has this to say.

“Stop, you know you’re beautiful.”

In one exhale, you let your insecurities out and inhale the confidence given by his words. Nash leans down to kiss you again, and you continue to lower yourself onto the bed. It’s like he’s breathing life - adventure, comfort, intimacy, everything you write about but never experience - into you with each kiss. It’s unstoppable, but oh so very welcome.

You settle up by the pillows, and Nash moves to hover over top of you. He looks at you with such seriousness, but with the hint of a smile. One hand cups your face while the other runs up your leg, helping it to bend and hold against his naked side.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks you, possibly waiting for any sign for you to end this.

You nod. “Just kiss me, Nash.”

“Yes, Princess.”

He does as he’s told, meeting your lips again while giving into the lust in the atmosphere by rutting down against you. You whine into his mouth and arch your back, letting your chest press to his. His excitement grows stiffer and you want nothing more than him in this moment.

When Nash starts to play between your legs with two fingers, you let out a moan. You feel like you’re running a mile a minute, the exhilaration of this man touching you is unreal. Don’t ever stop, you think, but keep it to yourself. With his now excessively slick fingers, Nash pushes them deeper inside you, letting his thumb play with your clit. You writhe under him and let your head fall back harder into the pillow.

“You like that?” he asks in a sexy, low tone by your ear. You make a high pitched sound in response, but that doesn’t satisfy him. “Use your words, Princess. I know you know how to use them.” His mouth attacks your neck. It’s funny because when you write, the words are right there, ready for you to use, but right now, it’s nearly impossible to speak when Nash is fuelling you with fire.

He swirls his thumb around your clit again and again to see what you would eventually say. “Yes, yes, I like that, please keep doing what you’re doing.”

Nash hums in laughter in the crook of your neck, grazing his other hand up to cup your breast. Oh God, and when he adds a third finger inside you, you make a noise verging on animalistic. The sound brings Nash to snap his head to look upon you.

Use your words.

“I need more.”

“As you wish.” This suave adventurer takes hold of himself in his hand and first slicks up his length between your legs. Each stroke across your centre drives you even wilder, making you feel like you want to scream with impatience.

“Fuck, Nash, please,” you beg.

“Hold on, baby,” he says, and you take his words literally - throwing your arms around him.

At long last, he presses slowly inside, and you gasp at the sensation of him stretching you, accommodating the sheer size of him. The both of you give pleasurable moans at the feeling - him so big, you so tight. It takes forever for Nash to start to move again, but with a gentle roll of his hips, it sends him slowly deeper inside. You bite your lip and let out a shaky breath.

“How do you feel?” he checks. The lust and bliss in his voice are palpable. “Do you want me to-?”

“You can go faster.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod quickly and prepare yourself. Nash doesn’t hesitate at your word, and grunts a bit when your body squeezes around him with each progressively faster thrust. You move along with him, meeting each movement as you chase this feeling with him. You’re on this ride together. You have been from the start.

And now his thumb is back at work again between you. The pads of your fingers dig into his muscular back muscles. It’s like every ounce of the sexual tension since meeting and leading up until this moment has broken through the dam. It’s when your body starts to constrict around him and his stuttered thrusts that you feel your swiftly approaching climax.

“Don’tstopdon’tstop,” you cry repeatedly, unable to see straight.

“Fuck, (Y/N), I’m-”

Your mouth widens into an ‘O’ as you lift off the bed and cry out more affirmations. Nash’s head tips back, and in much the same fashion, opening his perfect pink mouth wide. His eyes shut, and if it’s anything like your experience, he sees the fireworks behind them, too.

In the aftermath of it all, you feel warm and jelly-like, tired and worn, but entirely satisfied by what just happened. Nash pulls out, only to lie down on top of you, surely not his whole weight. Nonetheless, you relish the weight of his body on top of yours. It feels delicious. Your arms wrap around each other. You never want to let go.

In the moments afterwards - after catching your breaths, after returning to Earth - Nash moves a strand of your hair out of the way from your face.

“When I finally have the means to cross dimensions, other earths, I’ll take you with me,” he vows, and you can feel the rumble of his voice inside you. “Just the two of us.”

Then a thought decides to break every fantasy you were having.

“Why haven’t you taken the GPS away from me?” you ask.

Nash just looks at you. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve seen you playing with it. In the van and on the journey,” you tell him. “I know it’s messed with your gauntlet’s tracking, and if you just took it, you’d find what you were looking for.”

His thumb strokes your cheek once, then twice.

“I have found what I’m looking for…”

“Careful Nash,” you warn, “you’re starting to sound like a romance writer.”

He watches you, and with every part of you, you couldn't tell whether he was playing you.

“I thought about what you said before,” you say, “about having more to bargain with for Caitlin? I think we should go for it.”

“You do?” Nash pulls back to see your face better. “Because seriously, you could walk into Kinshasa with the treasure effectively holding all the cards-”

“-I know. But Nash, if we have to give it up to save Caitlin…”

“I know. We let them have it. It’s the only way to save your friend.”

“Okay.”

His lips meet yours again to seal the deal, and you feel yourself quickly slipping away into what you believe to be one of life’s most dangerous emotions. One on which you base your entire writing career. Soon enough, with each kiss, the question of whether to actually trust Nash Wells vanishes from your mind and is replaced with how many more of them you need.

#reader insert #harrison wells x reader #harrison wells imagine #harrison wells fanfiction #nash wells x reader #nash wells imagine #harrison nash wells x reader #the flash imagine #the flash fanfiction

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c-atm · 4 years

Text

The experiments of Connie Maheswaran and Little Homeworld R&D: A fighting flirty Series.

From small projects to large experimentation from the practical to the fanatical From the social to the technological From the local to inter-dimensional

Little Homeworld R&D is always trying to better Era 3 through experimentation...and have a hell of a time doing it.

AN: The FF-verse grows with a new story depicting the work and times of Little Homeworld R&D. Expect humor, magi-science, FF-LORE, some romance (Not all connverse), action, and appearances from your favorite characters, OC's and maybe some special guest every once in a while..

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First Case: Steven Universe and his shape-shifting pt1

"Knock Knock."

Connie turned her head to the pleasant surprise of Steven walking into her R&D Lab, something that doesn't happen everyday. "Well, this is unexpected. What do I owe the pleasure, Mister?" She smirked, leaning back in her chair as she looked at him observe the cave-turned-lab with its cool metal and crystal and stone walls adorned with hard-light tubes.

The vat at the northern end of the giant room, filled with a liquid that held a multicolored liquid. On the opposite end was a circular display case exuding a white light straight up, within it were multiple crystal like spheres of blue and white hovering in place; the assault spheres and Cospheres. At the western end stood what looked like a hard-light workstation complete with telescope, tools both Earth and Homeworld origin made, various types of creation, modification or destructive purposes. On the table stood a group of black spiked like crystals upon with one of the five supercomputers plugged into them via hard-light wiring; The tether crystals. Tools used for Inter-dimensional (inter-realm, if you prefer) travel. This combined with a warp pad brought Dapper and Witchy to their realm sometime ago. No doubt a list of realm locations was being coded into them.

He looked across from there to Connie. Her hair in two twin-tailed braids, goggles around her neck. dressed in an ankle length dark blue lab coat, a blue thigh length denim jumper dress over a green t-shirt and black mid thigh tights, a pair of forest green wool knee high socks and some brown boots.

To her left is a giant console with holographic screens. Displaying and compiling all kinds of data and results from another experiment.

Behind that there's a giant window overlooking a giant cavern with coolant pipes and multiple artificial waterfalls falling into a deep lake filled with liquid form of manufactured R&D repairing gel the same gel used to repair gem structures like warp pads and such infused with diamond essence.

"This place is kind of romantic in a way."

"It has its charm. machinery and tech withstanding..Kind of cold at times too."

He took a look at her, licking his lips. "Not cold enough, It seems."

"Uh-huh. If you came here just to visually strip me, you could have waited to after work."

He chuckled at the researcher with smug lips and mischievous eyes.

"I have a theory that I wish to test, and I was hoping you could help me?" He sat down in the empty leather office chair beside her, turning to face her.

Connie arched an eyebrow. "A theory to test?"

"Yes, mam"

She crossed her legs and gave him a half grin. "Curious, you never came up with an experiment before." She folded her hands over her knees. "What are we testing?

"My shape-shift ability. We're going to see how fantastic I can take it and how well I can control it." He scratched his cheek " As well as something else, but that something that will resolve itself. "

Connie looked over at her home-mate( something she still bounces over) and nodded. "Sure, I can go for some fun experimentation. So..." She typed on the console bringing up a holographic spreadsheet, "What are we changing?"

"Something small." He stuck out and pointed at his tongue.

"Obliviously, we have two different views on the term 'small'. "She teased as she logged it in, before turning to Steven. "Ok so..we need an action to work as control...Something to test against. Any-"

Her words were lost to Steven as his mouth over took hers and his tongue played with her own. There was a millisecond of surprise before she returned it , pulling him close as she fought him affection to affection, tongue to tongue. They broke off, giving each other a few popping kisses and tender nips.

"So...We have our control." Connie said breathless, cheeks aglow and an unbreakable, lip biting grin on her face.

"We do." He smirked, licking his lips.

"Now, we just need to run some test." She sat on his lap facing him, with one hand on his nape and the other on the console." What attributes are you changing?" she gazed at him with excitement in her eyes.

"Well" He rested his palms right upon her belt-line." Shape, length, texture , temperature and flavor."

Connie who was typing this down froze at the last one, looking at her man, with an arched eyebrow "Flavor?"

"My experiment, my choice."

"Can you even give your tongue *flavor*? How would that even work?"

"That's what we gonna find out.'' Steven offered before nipping at her neck, getting a purr from the researcher. " Now Flavor."

"Fine, adding flavor." She sighed, basking in his oral assault on her neck."If you let me..." She breathed out feeling him go up behind her ear.

"In a few." He growled in her ear before, continuing his affectionate attack.

"You're the boss." She leaned into him. Her hands and fingers, finding his nape and scalp, pulling him closer, allowing him to have his way.

A few moments of pleasure wouldn't hurt anyway.

#fighting flirty #heartberry #mister #scifi humor #workplacehijinks #little homeworld #research and development #psudeoscience #magiscience #steven universe fanfiction #connverse #connverse arc #humor and fluff #researcher connie #fanfiction #steven univere #dsduke #black fanfiction writers

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jxdedfeelings · 4 years

Note

"Have you seen what the mind is capable of with just a little push?" With whoever you want -River

“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” Polished shoes cross the corridor, pick up in pace whilst the other male pitter-patters beside him. Fingers move fluidly, forming silent words. Appreciative as always, Henrik picks up on it and nods. “It’s been a while since your last check-up.” The one topped with a bowler hat looks at him curiously. He supposes he hadn’t really thought about it. His health was in perfect condition, right? No ailments had come his way, nor did his strength dwindle. He hadn’t experienced a cold for as long as he could remember.

Henrik seems to catch on as they enter the allocated room; door decored with his studious accomplishments. He guides his patient to the seats beside his desk, waits until Jameson’s seated comfortably before he moves to his own station. A fiddle with the mouse has his screen beaming to life and with some browsing and clicks, he pulls up the file ‘Jameson Jackson’. Henrik murmurs under his breath as he scans the past results, conditions, skims over the historical record. He grows silent for a second and Jameson twiddles with his thumbs.

“There’s no rush, my friend. You are the last patient. It is just you and I now, no one to interfere.” He shoots a rare but reassuring smile. Jameson nods and readjusts to the scene, composes with his own small smile. Henrik takes it as a sign to get back to the examination, and so he scrolls for a short time. A few crosses later and he’s pushing back from his desk, letting the roll of the wheels echo out before he extends a hand to retrieve the box of gloves at his left. If Henrik had a mantle, it would be for hygiene.

With them now on, he wriggles his digits, stretches out the material. Having the stethoscope still around the column of his neck, the doctor faces back to the one waiting. He gestures for Jameson to move to the bed in the corner and follows suit as the dapper rises. Jameson knows what to do, he’s done this charade before. He recalls the time Chase had stolen Henrik’s medical equipment, attempted poorly to use it and concluded Jameson had no heartbeat. An angry doctor and a smack to the back of his head followed. Jameson had never laughed so hard.

The metal presses to his chest. Henrik’s not saying a word and the male can’t read the expression on his face, can’t gather if he’s satisfied that Jameson had already sucked in before he’d requested him to do so. It’s placed on his back then, staying for the same interval as the front. “Lift your shirt please.” Fingers curl up the fabric. He’s thankful that his outfit is loose enough to scrunch up. Perhaps the doctor is too.

Jameson watches with wide blues as Henrik brings the instrument back around his neck. “All in order. Good, good.” He nods with his words as if to reaffirm his thoughts. Jameson’s relieved, though he’s unsure why he was nervous at all. He’d known he was in tip-top condition. He dismisses it and waits for the next procedure.

The popsicle he expects, but Henrik’s instead ruffling through the drawers, collecting a device he’s never seen before. He’s a tad nervous now, but it has been a while, maybe this is an update to the equipment?

The German bustles as he brings out a few items, lays them on a tray and wheels it over. “Lie down please.” Jameson’s arching a brow now. Since when had he needed to…? Henrik’s cutting off his train of thought with another smile. “Ah, this is a new addition to the usual exam. Nothing to fret over. Now please, lie down for me, hm?” A hesitant nod and a lowering of his body has Jameson prepared to Henrik’s liking, evident by the hum of approval.

There’s a rip of material being unbuckled and pulled through the loop that the male notices. Henrik’s calm, loosening the restraints. “A precaution, nothing to be worried about. Trust me. The new procedure has had various responses from patients. It’s extreme but we mustn’t risk it, yes?” Jameson delays his reaction, but then he’s nodding slowly. “I was against it too, dear friend.” He’s guiding a hand to the binds, strapping it in then repeating his steps on the other. “It will only take a few minutes, I promise.” There’s another flashed smile. Like clockwork, Jameson’s wearing one too.

A flick of his lab coat has Henrik turning. Hands rove over his selection and as instructed, he plucks the item. Another is fetched in his hand and he locks eyes with his patient. “I need you to open your eyes.” Widened ceruleans respond and Henrik leans down, revealing one of the collected implements to assist his procedure. Jameson irks as the speculum is fitted. Henrik doesn’t utter a word as he fiddles with it, ensures it’s secure and snug. It’s then that his other tool is unveiled and fear courses through the other’s veins.

A rattle at the restraints is the only noise that’s made when Henrik begins. Horror is spread across Jameson’s face. A look that screams agony. The ice pick is only just drilling through the socket when he decides to show up. Hands caress the lab coat, trails up his arm and rests at his shoulder. With his other darting pupil, the dapper spies the grin. Spies who it belongs to.

“H̷av͢e̕ ̕y̛o҉u̕ ͟śe̵en w̕hat͞ the m͜in̶d͡ ̢is̨ capa͠ble o̸f ͜with͡ ͞j̸ust a ͢li̕ttl̨e p͜ush?̀”

Aside from the hit of the pick, another noise shatters the room. It sounds more like distortion than a voice.

“I di̛dn̨’t ̷a͝pp̛r̨e͟ciate ̷tha͠t̕ li͟tt̕l̶e ͘s҉tưnt̵ ͟of ̨y̷o̷urs̡ ba͜c̕k t̶h̕ere̕.”

Jameson’s too fixed on crying bloody murder to reply. Henrik hammers. Splits the first layer. Bang.

“So͡,̧ Ì'̀ve̴ ̢had̛ Henrìk͢ ͟h͢e̢r͡e, ǫur ̡v̕er̢y g̡ene̸rous docto͢r̸,͠ ͠t̷a̶ke c͟ar͘e o̡f͝ yo͞u̧ f̕or ̨me̴.”

Hands brushed down his arms again, feather-light in his touch as he practically phases through the doctor at work.

“I͜t̵'s̸ a͜máz̀ìn͜g҉ w͠h͏a͠t a͏ l͠i̕ttl̛ȩ ́twe͏akįn̨g̢ ͟ca̴n do̕.”

A giggle reverberates, grates against his ears. He can feel the metal drive into him and as expected his hands are trembling, disjointed with each knock that Henrik gifts the pick. Gifts Jameson with an induced seizure.

“Díd̨n͝'t҉ thin̢k ́I̷'͢d͡ c͜atch on̸to͜ ̨t͝haţ ̕s͢m͘al͟l͟ c̀ŕy̢ ̡f̨o͜r he͜l͏p,͠ ̡did̀ ̴yo͡u?”

He’s going limp as Henrik now twists the device, moves it around and explores other regions of the brain.

“Le҉t͢'s͜ ̷ma͠ķe sur҉e th͡at̕ never̛ h̨a͟p͡pe͘ńs̴ a͜gain.”

He’s drilling it deeper and deeper, leaving Jameson with a plastered expression and dry tears. Unresponsive now, Anti smiles and leads the doctor’s hand away. Yanks the instrument out harshly. discards it to the tray, slick with fluids. He’s free to relish in the sight that is the dapper twitching. It brings a joyful glint to the glitch’s eyes.

A glance to the side has another smirk riding across. There’s the culprit. With a flick, it ticks away at its slow beat. Mechanical. Repetitive.

Henrik’s already undoing the straps around Jameson’s wrists that glare at them, bitten red. Anti clasps his hands then returns to the pair. He marvels at his handiwork, admires his choice of punishment.

He lifts the mute’s arm, shakes it from side to side with pure mockery and giggles as he releases it, witnesses it flopping back. That’s one issue taken care of. Although he’s out now, Jameson will wake eventually and a lobotomy won’t be fatal. No, no. He has plans for this specific puppet.

Jameson always did like listening to the clock. A ticking metronome should do the trick.

After all, it had worked on Henrik.

Tag List: @antis-gauge, @coffee-bean-boi, @miishae, @n-anon, @10th-no-name-person, @pumpkin-demon, @egopocalypse, @immabethehero, @mmmirkabat

#jacksepticeye #jse #antisepticeye #schneeplestein #jameson jackson #my writing #tw: gore #oh man i was gonna prioritise hypnosis but i got an idea #oops #Anonymous

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strawberrycarnivals · 5 years

Text

Drinking with the Devil

Fem Reader x Shigaraki

**Content Warning: Definitely on some spontaneous kinky shit. Sexually charged at times, but not straight smut. Cursing. Drinking. Yandere type behavior. If I need to add anything let me know.**

Giran lead you down a grimy alleyway to the side door of a bar. You trailed behind, confused. He said you would be perfect here. I mean, physically, he knew you stuck out. You were beautiful. Why would such a beautiful girl stoop to a life of crime? Well.. to destroy the Symbol of Peace. That's why. And for money, of course. Just like him.

"Giran..? A bar? You know I'm not looking for customer service jobs." You wanted something more.. destructive.

"No, sweetheart. Not just a bar. I want you to meet someone. Get to talkin, get some ideas flowing, ya know. I think you two are on the same page. Trust me." He smirked, flashing his signature tooth gap. He was SO getting a hefty paycheck for this.

Giran held the door open to the dimly lit building and ushered you inside. Your eyes swept the room and you noticed an icy blue-haired man hunched over on a barstool reading a newspaper. The bartender was a misty black mass in a dapper looking suit. He was making a drink.. for himself? He downed the crown royal in a millisecond and went to scrubbing down bartops. "Hello, F/N L/N." The cloud man greeted you. "Giran has told me so much about you. Your quirk could come in handy for our plans."

You made your way to the bar and sat down. The blue-haired man flinched. You ignored him. "Plans? I'd love to hear about them."

"Ah, yes. I would explain but I think it's better that Tomura Shigaraki tells this to you instead." He gestured to the pouting man that you made flinch. "This is his leadership, not mine. Giran.. let's leave these two for the moment and talk business."

An uncomfortable silence fell upon you and this Tomura guy. "Soooo... you got a jukebox in here or something? ... Aww, boo. I really wish your bartender didn't leave. I really wanted some wine." You squinted at the alcohol labels and the man banged a fist down, clearly irritated. "KUROGIRI!"

The black mist formed behind the bar immediately. Out of thin air. You jumped. "Yes, Shigaraki?"

The man glared at you. "A glass of wine for the lady. Red." How did he know you liked red wine??? "And you know my usual."

"Right away, sir." Kurogiri poured your glass and then made a glass of whiskey, neat.

"Okay. Now leave." The mist was gone in a flash. Shigaraki squinted at you. You downed your glass, no hesitation. This was weird and you were starting to need some liquid courage. "Now, now. Don't get sloppy. I have questions for you." A small portal opened next to your empty glass and you instantly had another full one. Wow. This was some grade A service. "Why are you here? Is it for your own pleasure or do you have a personal vendetta against the world? Do you want to see the destruction of society as you know it?"

Your eyes sparked and you smiled warmly. Now we were talking. You got up from your stool and sat to the one closest to his. He quickly turned away from you and you swear you saw a glimpse of a furious blush. He shot back his whiskey and his refill appeared. He reached into his hoodie pocket and put a ..... severed hand onto his face. You tilted your head to the side, needing to know the story behind it. "Life is a depressing repetition. I'm tired of living in poverty. I'm sick of watching rich heroes live their best lives while average people like me struggle and fight to stay alive.. the bourgeoisie.. must die." You downed your second glass. A third appeared.

His head snapped back towards you, a look of awe in the one crimson eye that you could see. "Hey.. Why are you wearing that? Is that a human hand? You know.. you don't have to cover your face. I think.." the alcohol was kicking in and you couldn't stop yourself from spilling the truth. "You're kinda hot." He looked away once more, his glass crumbling in his hand, liquid spilling onto the counter. Was that disintegration? That was the quirk of a dangerously powerful man. Now it was your turn to blush. Wine glass number three..

Did a girl just call him hot?? And not just a girl, a drop dead gorgeous one at that?? This wasn't real life. You were messing with him. His heart pounded and he scowled, throwing back a -new- second glass of whiskey. "Shut up. Don't mess with me. I'll kill you." He refused to meet eye contact.

"Noo, don't kill me.." you scooted your stool closer. "I think you're really really cute. I don't wanna die. I wanna see your face." You pulled off the hand and cradled it. It wasn't falling apart and it didn't smell funny. It was so well-preserved. You wondered whose it was. You carefully set it down and caressed his face.

He froze. No one had ever dared touch Father. Should he kill you?? No.. no... he couldn't do that. You just called him cute. That was the second compliment in the span of 5 minutes. He couldn't kill off the only girl who had shown him interest. He was sure he was as red as a beet as this point. He couldn't meet your gaze, he was an absolute hormonal mess. Little did he know the whiskey was about to encourage him to make a move... kinda..

"Tomura? Can I call you that? Listen.. I may not be the greatest threat to society alone, but maybe together we could cause some real damage." You looked down at the newspaper he had laid out. All Might was plastered all over the front page. You pointed at it. "Ugh. You know what? I hate him the most, Tomura. He's hero scum. The worst of them all.. I want to kill him."

He lunged out of his seat, pinky up, and he grabbed you by the hair. Pulling you to him, seething, his eyes finally met yours. "Who sent you? Your words.. they're everything I have said. T-there's no way a beautiful girl like you would want me.. I-I mean- to kill All Might." His grip tightened. You smiled as you felt a warmth shoot up your thighs. You secretly liked having your hair pulled. You moaned shamefully and his eyes widened. You slapped your hands to your mouth.

He blushed furiously "You're mocking me!"

"No I'm not! I.. uh.. that's kind of my kink." You tipsily admitted. He stared back, as if his mind was going in 60 different directions. "Oh."

His hand moved down to your neck with the same pinky out fashion and his fist wrapped around it tightly. It was your turn to be a mess. A pleasured filled squeak escaped from you. He started laughing, his tense body now easing up. He liked how helpless you felt in his hand. One wrong move and.. hahaha! It was an absolute rush. "Now... Should I keep doing this or should I bring you to the brink of death?" He teased, smiling like an absolute madman.

"How about you choke me with both hands until I die, Shigaraki-senpai?" You blinked innocently. His pupils dilated. This was it. This is what love is. He loved you. You were his now. He wrapped both hands around your throat and his eye twitched. He cackled and he felt something flutter in his cold heart. He was in ecstacy. He loved you and he loved hurting you. You were beautiful and you hated All Might and you wanted him to hurt you! What else could he want? Well, he wanted a lot more.

He dropped his hands to his side. He was in serious concentration mode. He pushed into your frame and backed you into the nearby wall. He loomed over you and you felt really small. You wondered if he was going to hurt you again and if so how. "Hold still," he said roughly. You got kind of nervous. After all, you just met this guy. You saw his quirk. You could be ash in seconds. Any girl with common sense would run. But... You liked the thrill. You were starting to like this violent mystery boy.

He gently brushed a lock of hair behind your ear, and tilted your head up. He shyly bent down and placed a scratchy kiss on your forehead, then your lips. That was so.. sweet. His lips were chapped and scarred. It didn't matter to you one bit, but before it could go any further, he pulled away. It was as if he was trying not to startle you. He seemed slightly insecure. You pulled his sleeve and made him bring his face back down level with yours. You wanted to make it apparent that you liked the way he was. Wrapping your arms around his neck you brought him into a deep kiss. You slipped your tongue in his mouth and he hungrily and desperately accepted it. He needed your love and affection. All of it. All of you, all the time.

Just then a tall man with burnt and stitched skin entered the room. He spit out the water he was drinking and dropped the bottle. You both stopped and looked towards the commotion, kind of embarrassed. "You know.. it's none of my business but kidnapping girls and forcing them to kiss you is kind of low. Even for you. Blink twice if you need help, babe."

"No, Dabi. You idiot. This is my girlfriend." He pet your head. "Why don't you fuck off somewhere, you zombie. We're busy. Call her babe again and I'll kill you."

Both your and Dabi's mouths fell open simultaneously. "Girlfriend?!" You both sputtered. At that exact moment Kurogiri and Giran walked in. Giran's eyes flashed with dollar signs. He knew he hit the jackpot this time. Kurogiri's non-existent eyebrow arched in question but truth be told he didn't even want to know what kind of girl would see Tomura Shigaraki as boyfriend material. As long as he was happy and getting the job done that's all that mattered.

A small blonde girl ran into the room. "I came as fast as I could!" She was breathing heavily, dying for someone to spill some tea. "Tomura-kun has a girlfriend?? No fair, no fair! I want a girlfriend! She ran to you, grabbing your hand in hers and beamed, jumping up and down, "We're going to be best friends. Forever. And I might stab you a little. But it's because I love you I promise!"

"Everyone get the FUCK out!" The room dispersed quietly, obeying their leader. He scratched his neck. It seemed to be an anxiety thing. Poor baby. You could help him with that. Since you're apparently his girlfriend now you wanted to help him in any way you could. You wanted to take over the world with him. It sounded romantic.

"Do.. you like video games, Y/N?" You giggled, amused at such an innocent question. "Eh?? Are you making fun of me?" He growled.

"No, silly. I love video games. I have an xbox. But I get the vibe that you're a playstation nerd, huh?" He grinned competitively.

"I have ALL the systems and three computers. Come and fight me, brat." He took your hand carefully and lead you out the bar and into his room.

Drinking would occasionally put you into some strange situations but you never expected it would bring you to dating the devil himself. You felt blessed. You would be the queen of hell.

***

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki fanfic #dumpster fire #bnha imagine #yandere shigaraki

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stereksecretsanta · 4 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @Do-what-the-knight-tells-you!

Note: Title comes from Broken by Lovelytheband

Warnings: Character death (none of the heroes)

Tags: mail order bride Derek, Sheriff Stiles, dead Stilinski parents, dead Papa Hale, dead Hale cousins, werewolves are known, Peter is Peter, Mentioned Argents

Read on AO3

*****

I Could Be Lonely With You (maybe that makes me a fool)

Someone was playing piano. Badly.

Stiles sighed, buttoning his shirt. He’d have to talk to Erica about the people she let in her establishment. Too many drunkards thought they were Philharmonic-worthy and then someone else would yell at them, and then there would be a brawl, and as Sheriff of this stinking town, Stiles would have to break it up.

Great. Just what he wanted on a Thursday morning.

Well. No sense putting it off. The longer he took to get his butt downstairs, the more guns would be drawn by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs.

He grabbed his hat and gun on his way out, making sure they were both firmly in place and that his silver star was highly visible.

Perfect timing, he thought as he reached the base of the sweeping staircase that Erica claimed was the envy of the other three saloons in Beacon Territory but was probably only average, and he heard violence erupt.

“What’s going on?” he demanded as he stepped into the fray. Already, there were two men at each other’s throats, guns poking into the opposite’s belly like poorly shaped dicks. The rest of the saloon was waiting for something, hands hovering over their holsters. Stiles pushed the men apart.

“I said,” he drawled, hooking a thumb in his belt, “what’s going on?”

“He was banging a racket out,” complained one of the men. Stiles recognized him as the never-up-to-any-good nephew of the preacher, sent out West to get an education in manners by the preacher’s sister, Jackson Whittemore. The other man, Stiles didn’t recognize with his brown hair and bright blue eyes. He also had a down-right dirty smirk aimed at the preacher’s nephew.

“And you thought that was good enough reason to stick your piece in his gut?” Stiles asked.

Shamefaced, Jackson shook his head. “It’s just, it’s so early. Ain’t he got sense enough not to play that bullshit?”

“Sonny, you wouldn’t know music if it came up to you and kissed you,” the stranger said in a smooth, smarmy voice. Stiles pegged him as a dude, a city slicker come out West for the adventure and danger touted as the general fair of the western side of the country. Well, if trouble was what he wanted to stir, Trouble was where he’d go.

Stiles shoved a hand into Jackson’s chest to stop him from following the stranger’s words with his fists or worse, his gun. Erica had just had the floorboards cleaned from the last incident and Stiles had no desire to have another murder in his town.

“Listen here, partner,” Stiles emphasized his drawl, “we don’t take kindly to folks just waltzing in here like they own the town and damaging our eardrums in that manner.”

“Oh, don’t I own this town?” The stranger grinned. Stiles did not like the look of that smile, no sir. “Pray tell, Sheriff,” the stranger said like an insult, “who does own this fine town?”

“Well, I reckon that would be the Hale family,” Stiles said. “The largest railroading family this side of Colorado.”

“The Hales, right,” the stranger said. “Well, you’re in luck, Sheriff.” He stepped back from them and bowed with a little flourish. “Peter Hale at your service.”

Eloquently, Stiles said, “Fuck.”

“Peter!” someone else yelled. All eyes snapped onto the staircase where a young man, a stranger like Peter Hale, stood. He was glowering at Hale, nostrils flared, eyes looking distinctly blue.

“Oh no,” Stiles said, drawing his weapon. He pointed it at Hale’s chest. “We do not have any supernaturals in this town.”

“Why not, Sheriff?” Hale rolled his head, cracking his neck pointedly before opening his mouth to reveal a set of canines the likes of which Stiles hadn’t seen in years. He shot Hale.

“What, no wolfsbane?” the stranger from the stairs asked, rather blandly considering his friend had just been shot.

Hale writhed a bit on the ground before standing up. Immediately, every gun in the place was trained on him. It was credit to their curiosity that they all held their fire.

“Really?” Hale dusted off his shirt and plucked at the material where it was sticky with his blood. “Come on. I liked this shirt.”

“You have others. Go back to the room.”

“You’re not allowed to boss me around,” Hale complained.

“According to Mom’s orders?” the other man said. “Yes, I am.”

When Hale didn’t move, he pointed up the stairs. “Go. Go!”

As soon as Hale disappeared up the stairs, the stranger stepped forward, hand extended. “Derek Hale, son of Talia Hale.”

“And werewolf,” Stiles said, not shaking the proffered hand.

“And werewolf,” Derek repeated. “Look, my mom thinks that there’s been a lot of trouble this way.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “We have a whole town called Trouble. It’s about forty or fifty miles south of here.”

“Yeah. My sisters were sent there. That’s where the prison is, right?”

“Yep.” Stiles studied D. Hale, taking in his well-kept clothes, the silver chain attached to a pocket watch, chain threaded through the second button-hole from the bottom of his vest. Very dapper. Definitely better looking than his smarmy relative.

Stiles tamped down hard on that train of thought. He did not need to have a fascination with what amounted to the enemy. The Hales owned all the land right now and they had built the railroads which in turn had created the towns.

Derek and Peter out here along with Derek’s sisters could only mean one thing: the Hales felt like their control was slipping.

“You do know why we’re here, don’t you?” Derek smiled, amused about something. Supernaturals, man. Stiles had successfully kept them out of the town after he’d routed a wendigo nest about five years ago. All Stiles knew about werewolves was they had difference colored eyes. They had their human ones, yes, but they also had their true eyes. And Derek’s were blue.

Stiles had seen werewolves with yellow and red eyes. He’d never seen blue though.

“What does it mean that your eyes are blue?”

“It’s a distinct trait of Hale werewolves,” Derek explained. “All of us have blue eyes except my mom who has the red of alpha. It just means that we can transform into full wolves if we choose to.”

“Oh.” Stiles thought back to a black wolf he’d seen circling the town about a month ago. He had stationed patrols and set non-killing traps. The wolf had stopped coming around a few days after that. “Was that you?”

“Me?” Derek asked, but he refused to make eye contact, which made Stiles certain it was.

“You were a wolf here. You scoped out this town. Why?”

“My mother wanted us to see what each town was like without alerting the residents to our presence. I mean, you met my uncle. He wasn’t playing that piano long before someone wanted to kill him. He kind of has that effect on a lot of people. You shot him,” he reminded Stiles.

“Yeah.” Stiles touched his gun. “Regrettably.”

“About the wolfsbane or about shooting him?”

“Both? Yeah. Let’s go with both. Anyway. Why were you sent to observe us?”

“There’s a rival werewolf pack in the area. There’s going to be a challenge for the territory, and we don’t want the people living here to be caught in the middle if it turns into a battle.”

“How,” Stiles raked his eyes up and down Derek’s form again, making it apparent that he was finding him lacking in some indefinable way, “noble. And what’s to stop that other pack from attacking us?”

Surprisingly, Derek went red. “Um,” he coughed. “We, well, as werewolves who can fully shift, we, um, we don’t need outhouses. So, what my sisters, my uncle, and I have been doing is marking our territory.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “You’ve been pissing all over my town?” He raised one eyebrow.

“Not all over it.” Derek’s face turned even redder. “Just around it.”

“Does it make a difference?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I would get you being insulted if I had actually peed on your bed or something. Instead, I peed about a mile from town. Now the other pack knows that this town is protected by a Hale.”

“Great,” Stiles muttered. Louder, he said, “So, you’re here. What do you need from me? As you can see, I’m the sheriff of this town.”

“Well, my mother wanted me to meet with you to see if you’d had any incidents lately.”

“And the purpose of bringing your uncle with you?”

Derek shrugged. “While werewolves are difficult to kill, it is not impossible. Therefore, we usually travel in pairs of two or more if we have to travel at all.”

“So, now that you’ve met with me, what else do you need?”

“Well…” Derek scratched at the back of his head. “Actually, it would be nice to show the other pack that we have the support of the humans in this area.”

“Well, unless your uncle happens to be in charge of human-werewolf relations.”

Derek laughed. “Yeah. He wasn’t my first choice either. My mom was busy though, so she sent Peter with me.”

“Shame. You could have almost convinced us non-supernaturals to join you.” Stiles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I need coffee. It’s too early for this shit.”

He stalked away from Derek, leaving him standing in the middle of the saloon

~ * ~

Two mugs of Erica’s finest swill later and Stiles felt more like himself. He found the Hales sitting on the balcony of their room. Derek was winding his watch while Peter stretched out, a hat pulled over his face. Neither of them reacted to Stiles shoving the window up enough for him to crawl clumsily through. Werewolves must be as flexible as cats to fit through such small entrances. Stiles made a note to himself to never leave his window open, lest he wake up to Peter Hale standing over him.

Less concerning would be waking up to Derek, despite the fact that he’d pissed all over Stiles’ goddamn town.

“Ah, what’s that?” Peter asked from beneath his hat. He sniffed loudly. “Oh, that’s right. A conquest for your bed, dear nephew.”

Derek turned red faster than Stiles could draw his foot back and slam it into Peter’s knee.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you using that?” he intoned as he ground his heel into the busted tendons, smirking at the howl Peter let out.

Derek laughed. “How’d you do that?” he asked when Stiles finally let Peter drag his wounded body and pride into the room.

“A little bit of aconite oil and a sturdy heel.” Stiles sat down in Peter’s spot. “So, about this meeting with the other pack, I’m in. As long as you leave the rest of my town out of it. I swore an oath to protect this town and I mean it.”

“I appreciate your dedication,” Derek told him. “It’s an admirable trait.”

“For what? A sheriff?” Stiles shook his head. “No, that’s just part of the job. I mean, who can you trust if you can’t trust the people hired to protect you?”

Derek eyed him oddly. “I’ve know quite a few corrupt lawmen. My mother has disposed of most of them.”

“And she can’t do the same to a pack of werewolves?”

“Not when they have the support of the largest hunting family in the whole country behind them.”

“Oh, shit, the Argents?” Stiles knew of them: they were the largest suppliers of firepower to any militia group that had enough gold—except for werewolves. They had a strict policy of shooting werewolves first and then interrogating them while they lay dying from the poisoned bullets. “They’ve aligned with a werewolf pack? I thought they never did that?”

Derek’s face shuttered, obviously trying to hide something. “Apparently,” he said bitterly, “they will if it means eradicating my family. They already attacked us earlier. My father was killed.”

“So why’d you pick Beacon Hills out of all the townships in Beacon Territory to represent the human side of the Hales?”

Derek sighed, patting at his vest until he found what he was looking for. Which was apparently a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it carefully, and Stiles felt his heart skip a beat when he realized what it probably was.

“Where did you get that?” he demanded.

Derek shrugged. “My older sister passed it on. She thought you might—”

“It wasn’t me,” Stiles said. “I mean, my friend, Erica Reyes—she owns this saloon—she was the one who wrote that. I wasn’t looking for anyone.”

“Oh,” Derek said, refolding the paper with the same care. Stiles sighed, not in relief, but from the way Derek slumped, he must have thought so.

“That’s not how I meant it,” he tried to explain. “Erica. She. Well, she thought I was lonely, just because I’m nearly 29 and haven’t been married yet. So, she drafted an advert and sent it back east. ‘Handsome sheriff seeking love.’ I hoped no one would respond, not because I’m not ready to find someone to settle down with, but because I thought the choice had been taken from me.”

“Have you had anyone respond?”

“If they have, Erica has kept them away from me. We have a few new faces every now and again, but most folks just pass through, heading for the gold mines along the rivers.”

“And what if I’m here as a prospective love for you?”

“No offense, but I find that hard to believe. You don’t know me at all. And all I know about you is that you’re a werewolf who can apparently turn into a full wolf and likes to piss around his territory.”

“Well, I do know that you enjoy your job as sheriff, and even though your job brings you into violence, you don’t like to resort to it yourself. Although, you did kind of like shooting my uncle.”

Stiles shrugged. “He’s an asshole.”

“Yes, he is. Anyway. I know you care about this town. But, I also know that you are lonely. I can smell it on you. And if your nose was a good as mine, you’d smell it on me too.”

“So, what, you want us to be lonely together?”

Derek gently knocked his shoulder against Stiles’. “I just want to know you better.” Quieter, eyes downcast to his lap where his hands were twisted together, Derek mumbled, “I liked how your advert made you sound.”

“Can I read it?” Stiles asked. “I never saw what Erica sent out because she only told me long after the fact.”

Derek obligingly dug out the paper and passed it over. Stiles unfolded it, using the same careful movement as Derek earlier. He was greeted with a detailed likeness of himself. Erica must have had her husband draw it. Boyd was a secret artist with a few high profile sales on the east coast.

Beneath that was an almost poetic description of Stiles, and to her credit, Erica had described him perfectly, using words like “stubborn” and “bullheadedness” and also “sweet” “charming when I’m not talking your ear off.” Apparently, he could cook “decent enough not to kill my guest” and he was “shy when it came to the bedroom.”

“Goddamn it, Erica, just because I was the only man who never bowed to your feminine wiles, doesn’t make me ‘shy in the bedroom.’”

Derek coughed suddenly, and Stiles turned to him. “Well,” Derek finally said when he had his breathing under control, “that makes one of us.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Derek’s face was so red that Stiles knew if he touched him, he’d feel the heat burning through his skin. “I’m not,” here he coughed again, looking pained, “I haven’t. I mean, I’m not.”

Stiles put his hand on Derek’s, curling his fingers loosely enough that Derek could pull back if he wanted to. “It’s okay,” he said, and meant it. He knew what Derek was trying to say, and he didn’t care. “I wouldn’t just want you because of that,” he promised.

“Is this sap-fest over yet?” Peter called from inside the room. “We need to get to our meeting with Deucalion and his usurping hunters before they make a move we can’t stop.”

“One more thing,” Stiles called back. Before he could rethink it, he lunged forward and smashed his and Derek’s mouths together.

There was teeth and blood, and Derek’s nose got in the way of Stiles’ eye. It was altogether uncomfortable and a little bit the best thing Stiles had ever done. When he pulled back, Derek’s eyes fluttered open, his pupils expanded, irises iridescent with greens, blues, and browns that held Stiles’ attention.

“Let’s go, boys.” Peter broke the moment by grabbing Derek by the back of his neck and dragging him into the room. “We’ll meet you out front in five minutes.” And then the Hales were gone.

Stiles took a moment to compose himself, and wipe away the blood from his split lip, before he hauled himself back through the window and headed to his room.

~ * ~

Derek was holding the reins to a painted horse while Peter was already in the saddle of a mustang. Somehow, Stiles hadn’t expected Derek’s reserved or practical taste in horses. He would have expected a Hale to have expensive tastes. Peter was very much living up to that assumption, prancing about on his fancy horse.

“Should I get my horse?” Stiles asked, looking between the Hales. Derek had opted to don the brimmed hat from earlier while Peter was bareheaded.

Sunburn was not friendly, but if werewolves really did heal fast, as Peter had from the gunshot, and the destruction of his knee, then he’d be fine and Stiles refused to waste any more of his time on him.

“No need,” Boyd said, leading Stiles’ horse Roscoe from the barn. “I took the liberty of getting him ready.”

Roscoe whinnied, bumping his head into Stiles’ shoulder. Well, at least one of them was looking forward to the ride to Trouble.

“Thank you, Boyd.” Stiles swung himself up onto the American Saddlebred’s back. Roscoe had been a gift from Stiles’ mother, his parents in turn being a gift from her father, and Stiles took care of the horse though his mother was long gone.

Derek clicked his tongue and his horse moved up next to Stiles and Roscoe. “I know we said that we needed to show that we have the support of the humans in this area, but you don’t have to come if you think there will be too much danger.”

“I’m already here,” Stiles said. “You can’t get rid of me that easy. Besides, when was the last time you went to Trouble? Do you even know the way?”

“I do,” Derek confirmed. “But, it has been a while.” He smiled shyly at Stiles. “It sure would be nice to have a guide, Sheriff.”

“How charming,” Peter remarked, tone flat and bland but his eyes sparkled with mischief. “My nephew, the mail-order bride and his groom, the Sheriff of a dusty, backwater town. I’ll be certain to update your mother of the goings on, Derek. I’m sure she’ll be happy that her son is finally ready to marry.”

“Just because Derek doesn’t roll over for you doesn’t mean you can threaten him. Did you forget that you’re still in my town, backwater and all? I’ll shoot you again.”

Derek made a show of inhaling deeply. “And he’s got the wolfsbane bullets this time.”

Peter kept his mouth shut the rest of the ride that day.

~ * ~

They stopped to make camp when they were still about twenty miles from Trouble.

Derek set about gathering dry kindling and sticks while Peter laid out his bedroll and thumped down onto it, relaxing while Stiles took the horses down to a nearby creek for a drink.

When he returned, Derek had a fire going, a small pot suspended over it.

“Sorry, I only brought beans,” he apologized when he realized that Stiles was watching him. “Usually, when we travel, we just catch game and make do.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to rustle up a rabbit or two,” Stiles said. He cut a quick glance to where Peter was watching them. “Or someone else could pull his weight around here,” he said loudly in his direction. Peter raised a hand, a single finger lifted.

“Yeah, Peter’s never been very good at showing his prowess around humans. He prefers to lull them into a false sense of security and then spring out as a werewolf.”

“Bad news for your uncle then,” Stiles said. “I already know he’s a werewolf and I’m not impressed. Go hunt for us, Peter.”

Surprisingly, Peter stood up. “You’re just trying to get me out of camp so you can practice kissing my nephew,” he accused, but it sounded good-natured. Stiles shrugged, not denying it. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” Peter told Derek and then strode off into the gathering dusk.

“Did you really want to kiss me again?” Derek asked, not looking up from his beans. In answer, Stiles leaned against him, resting his head on his shoulder while he stared into the fire.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “On one hand, I’d love to. But on the other, I think it’d be better to wait until after the meeting with the usurping werewolves. I really just want to get to know you better. I don’t even know how old you are or what your favorite food is.”

“I’ll be thirty come winter and I really like blackberries off the bush.”

“What a coincidence, I love blackberry pie.” Stiles smiled. “Do you just have the two sisters?”

Derek nodded sharply. “I had cousins though. They were killed by hunters years ago. The Argents have been spreading the rumor that blue eyes on a werewolf means that they’ve killed someone.”

“You said it was because you can change into a full wolf.” Stiles stepped back so that Derek could turn to face him. “How do the Argents not know that?”

“It’s not something we go around telling people. Or at least, we didn’t used to. Now we do it to keep other humans from trying to kill us because they think we’re a danger to them.”

“You’re not though, are you?” Stiles didn’t wait for Derek’s answer before he leaned in to slot their mouths together.

It went much better this time with no blood or poked eyes.

Derek kissed like he was unsteady on his feet, like Stiles had knocked him a good one. Honestly, Stiles felt the same way.

They moved away from the fire and to the bedrolls that hadn’t been unrolled and dropped onto them, still locked at the mouth.

Derek patted at Stiles’ back, a small whimper breaking free when Stiles pulled back to gasp a breath in.

“Well, you certainly got far.” Peter interrupted them by dropping a couple of rabbits on them. Stiles and Derek pulled apart, and Derek shot his uncle a hate-filled look before taking the rabbits to the fire and skinning them quickly using his claws. He stuck them on a spit made out of a whittled piece of firewood and began cooking them.

“Why’d you stop?” Peter grinned at Stiles. “It wasn’t on my behalf, was it?” He headed off to the creek to wash his hands.

“I’m sorry for my uncle. He likes to be unnecessary.”

“Hey, I can put up with him,” Stiles said. “It’s you I’m trying to kiss, not him.”

To prove his point, he kissed Derek again. Just a quick peck on the lips. After all, Derek was busy right now and did not need the distraction.

Instead, Stiles unrolled his and Derek’s bedrolls and checked on the horses.

Then, he settled onto the ground and watched as the rabbits sizzled and popped as Derek turned them.

~ * ~

The rest of the twenty miles passed easily, and when they arrived in Trouble, identical to Beacon Hills aside from the giant prison built sometime in the past five years with timbers brought down from Oregon.

In front of the gate, the warden stood, thumbs hooked in his vest pockets.

The Hales and Stiles dismounted. The warden nodded at them.

“Sheriff Stilinski, how nice to see you.” He spit a wad of juice from the corner of his mouth. Stiles bit back his grimace at the display. It wasn’t his place to tell the warden that it was disgusting and shameful to do that in proper company.

“Warden Enos, it looks like you were expecting me.”

“Indeed I was.” Enos spit again. “Thanks to these lovely ladies.” He jerked his thumb out of his pocket to jab it in the direction of where two women, both dark haired like Derek, were being led by another man Stiles did not recognize. From the way Derek and Peter both bristled, he would guess this was the challenging alpha.

The taller of the two women was dressed in an outfit similar to Derek’s, with a dark vest over a white shirt and a wide-brimmed hat. The shorter had chaps over her pants and a brown vest and no hat. The strange alpha was dressed in a three piece suit, and as dapper as Derek looked in his vest, he had nothing on this newcomer. Well, he may have been well-dressed, but Stiles wasn’t falling for it.

“Derek,” the taller woman called, “he’s part of Deucalion’s pack.”

Enos’ eyes turned red and he swiped his claws at Derek. Peter retaliated quickly, shoving Enos back.

“Now, now, boys, let’s not be hasty.” Deucalion pointed a gun at the women. The taller woman snapped her head side to side, teeth bared, eyes red.

Next to her, the shorter woman’s eyes were blue, like Derek’s.

“Now, there’s no reason to resort to violence,” Stiles said. He kept his gun pointed at Deucalion. “What’s this I hear about you trying to take Hale land?”

“I’m only trying to get back what is mine.”

“And how is this land yours?”

“Not the land,” Deucalion said. “Not even the gold or the railroad on top of it. I want the people.”

“And how are the people yours?”

Deucalion smiled, cold, emotionless. “Can you not feel the way your body is mine? The way your blood sings to be turned into your true potential?”

“If you mean let myself be turned by you, then no. I don’t want anything to do with that. In fact, if you’re going to be biting people without their consent, then I’m going to have to put you down like the rabid dog you are pretending to be.”

“Try me.” Deucalion rolled his shoulders and then leapt at Stiles, moving faster than Stiles could keep his weapon trained on him.

He was going to die, Stiles was certain. He shut his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to watch his flesh be torn asunder.

The pain never came, and Stiles opened his eyes to see Derek standing between him and Deucalion.

Derek gurgled, choking on something, but he stood firm. Deucalion wasn’t coming through him.

“What’s this?” Deucalion asked, voice sinisterly low. Something squelched and Derek whimpered. “Fallen in love with a human?” Deucalion tsked. “Now that’s just not proper.”

“And who are you to decide what’s proper or not?” Peter asked. “Remove your filthy hand from my nephew’s chest.”

“Wait, what?” Stiles peeked around Derek. Deucalion’s hand was deep in Derek’s chest. As Stiles watched, he twisted it, and Derek made that gurgling noise again. He was going to kill him. Stiles put his gun against Deucalion’s head and pulled the trigger.

Derek screamed as his chest tore open when Deucalion’s hand pulled free.

Peter helped Stiles hold Derek up. Together, they got him to the saloon. The two women, Derek’s sisters, easily dispatched Enos and brought up the rear.

Inside was chaos. A tall blond was dispensing drinks by chucking full bottles at people.

“The tyrants are dead,” he chanted, juggling glasses and rags with ease. “Thank fuck for the strangers and the sheriff.” He slid a full glass of beer to Stiles. “What can I do for our saviors?”

“You can start by fetching the doctor of this town,” Stiles ordered. He knocked the beer off the bar so that he and Peter could lay Derek there.

“Deaton!” The bartender yelled. A short man in a bowler hat and vest combo stepped up to the bar. “Help the sheriff.”

“Certainly.” Deaton thumped a bag down on to the bar next to Derek’s head. He pulled out a stethoscope, listening to Derek’s heart. “He’s strong enough that all he needs is some time to heal.”

“I could have told you that,” Peter snapped. “What I want you to tell me is if Deucalion left anything in him. He was killed with a wolfsbane bullet. Could residue have gotten inside my nephew?”

Deaton shook his head. “The shot was instantaneous, correct? Head or heart?” Stiles nodded. “Then he should be fine. If he doesn’t start healing properly inside of half an hour, we’ll try the ashes method. For now, what he needs is rest. Isaac, are the rooms upstairs decent?”

The blond shrugs. “Decent enough,” he replied, tossing a key at Deaton. “Tell him thanks when he’s conscious.”

“Will do. Thanks, Isaac.”

The taller sister shouldered Peter aside and scooped up Derek. “Lead the way, Doc.” She and Deaton disappeared up the sweeping staircase, an exact replica of the staircase in Erica’s saloon.

“I’d better stay down here and make sure the rest of Deucalion’s pack doesn’t ambush us.”

Peter and the shorter sister exchanged glances. “We’d better stay down here then,” Peter said. “We can hear anyone coming, and we can fight them off.”

“Besides,” the sister added, “you’ve already proven you can take care of Derek.”

“What do you mean? He got hurt because of me.”

“Derek will, misguided though it might be at times, defend anyone and everyone. He didn’t get hurt because of you; he got hurt because he stepped into the path of an alpha werewolf intent on killing a human.”

“And you trust me to stop whatever threat makes it past you too?”

“Absolutely,” the sister said. “I’m Cora Hale.” She stuck her hand out. Stiles shook it heartily.

“Sheriff Stilinski—Stiles.”

“Well, Stiles,” Cora said, “take good care of my brother. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Stiles tipped his hat to her and headed up the stairs.

He hoped it didn’t come to that—to have to meet her again as they crossed the river into the afterlife. If a fight did break out, Stiles did not want to have to kill someone else. Deucalion was going to kill Derek, so that was kill or be killed. Stiles could get behind that kind of sanctioned murder.

Less so if he was shooting someone in cold blood.

“Hey,” the other sister said when Stiles entered the room, the door having been left open for him. “So, Derek’s already starting to heal.” Deaton nodded his agreement. “You take the first watch.”

“That’s all well and good,” Stiles said, his hat in hand, “but do you really trust someone Derek just met to watch over him?”

“You just shot an alpha werewolf in the face because he was killing my brother. Of course I’m going to trust you. I’m Laura, by the way.”

Stiles shook her hand. “Stiles Stilinski.”

“Stiles,” Laura said, a mischievous smile cracking her face. “Nice to meet you. Take care of my brother.”

“I will.”

“Good. See you in about two hours. Don’t do anything Peter wouldn’t do.”

“What does your annoying uncle have to do with anything?”

“Well, let’s just say that if you like my brother and you were Peter, the fact that he’s unconscious wouldn’t be a deterrent.”

Stiles looked to the bed where Derek lying still, eyes closed, chest rising and falling with a slow, steady beat. Then he looked back to Laura. “Something is very wrong with your uncle,” he told her.

“Don’t I know it,” she laughed. “Anyway. I’m going to get some grub. Deucalion, before his timely passing, wasn’t a great host. I haven’t had anything more substantial than a mouse in two days.”

“That I believe.”

As soon as Laura left, Stiles settled in at the desk.

“If my services aren’t needed anymore, I’d like to settle my tab.” Deaton hefted his bag, sticking a bowler hat on his bald head.

Stiles dismissed him with a nod. And then he just sat in Derek’s room, trying not to feel like he was doing something wrong when he watched him sleep.

As soon as Laura came to relieve him, he jammed his hat back on his head, headed downstairs, and saddled up.

“I’m going back to Beacon Hills,” he said to Cora when she stopped him. “My town needs me. If it gets out that I helped bring down Deucalion, either my town will be overrun with wannabe alpha werewolves or people seeking revenge or people who’ll want me to solve their werewolf problems.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Cora promised. “My mom won’t let it. Deucalion was an outlier, bolstered by the Argents and their firepower.”

“As long as the Argents exists, then there will be no peace. I can’t stay here any longer. What if my town is under attack right now?”

“It’s not,” Cora said, “but if it makes you feel better, we’ll send Derek there once he’s healed.”

“Sure. You do that.”

Stiles clicked his tongue and Roscoe started walking.

The idea of Derek in his town was…not as displeasing as Stiles might have expected. As long as Peter wasn’t part of the deal. The poor town wouldn’t be able to withstand his personality, much less his piano playing.

Derek on the other hand…

Derek could spend every minute annoying Stiles and he wouldn’t feel the need to shoot him like he had Peter.

Oh god, he was in love, wasn’t he?

Roscoe didn’t answer aside from a whinny. Stiles agreed and upped their pace. They had a long journey ahead of them.

~ * ~

It wasn’t surprising to find Beacon Hills still standing, but Stiles wished that his town could have missed him just a little more since he’d been gone for about half a week.

After putting Roscoe up in his stall, brushing, and feeding him, he walked into the saloon and was greeted by Boyd tossing Jackson out on his ear.

“And stay out,” the gentle giant said, dusting off his hands, standing there unconcernedly while Jackson picked himself up and dusted off before limping off to crawl back into his uncle’s guest room. “Welcome back, Sheriff.”

“Boyd.” Stiles nodded at him. “Wanna explain what’s going on?”

“Jackson was caught cheating at cards. Again,” Boyd said. “Erica told him he was on his last leg and that she wouldn’t protect him anymore.”

“About damn time,” Stiles muttered. “Got any grub left?”

“For you,” Erica called from behind the bar, “always. Just let me get my fine dishes out.”

“Nah, the bar is good enough,” Stiles joked back. “Thanks,” he said genuinely when Erica set a plate of warmed beans and eggs in front of him.

“So, tell me, Sheriff,” Erica pretended to wipe the bar clean, “what was it like traveling with the Hales?”

“It was great aside from the fact that I haven’t been riding enough so I’m saddle-sore. Also, I think I met my husband thanks to you.”

“Your husband?” Erica repeated. “Because of me? How?”

“Do you remember that advert you took out about, what, six months ago?”

“Vaguely.” Erica blushed. “I try not to think about it, honestly.”

“Well, thank you. Apparently, the Hales saw it and now I’m going to marry—”

“Not Peter Hale,” Erica gasped. “Please not that asshole.”

Stiles smiled. “No, not Peter. Derek.”

“Oh thank god.” Erica sagged, looking relieved. Then she perked up again. “Am I invited to the wedding?”

“Of course,” Stiles said. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

“Because I put out that advert without your approval. I know you were mad at me.”

“You’re one of my best friends,” Stiles told her, “and more than that, you’re my family. You and Boyd. You’re both invited to the wedding. Whenever it is.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” Boyd intoned. “Does Derek know you’re getting married?”

“Possibly.” Stiles scratched at his chin. He’d have to shave tomorrow if he wanted to remain presentable. “I mean, I would guess so. His sister seemed to think that Derek and I were compatible.”

“Well, if you are, good for you,” Erica said. “And if you aren’t, please don’t kill me when you remember the advert.”

Stiles laughed, handing her back the empty plate. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. Now, I’m sorry, but I’m absolutely tuckered. I’m going to grab some sleep. Wake me up if anything happens, or Jackson tries to get back inside.”

Erica and Boyd mock-saluted him and he dragged his tired body up the stairs and to his room.

He didn’t remember toeing off his boots and face planting onto his bed. He also didn’t remember if he dreamed.

~ * ~

Stiles woke up when his window creaked open. He was aware in an instant, pointing his gun at the startled face of Derek Hale.

“Goddamn it, Hale, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? I still have the wolfsbane bullets loaded.”

“Oh.” Derek slunk into the room, standing with his hands behind his back. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to see you again.”

He shuffled closer to the bed as if he was afraid that Stiles still had the gun trained on him. He didn’t. Had dropped it when he realized it was Derek who was sneaking into his room.

And then, quicker than Stiles could see, Derek dropped something on the bed and was out the window. By the time Stiles was up and following him, he was already gone.

Shaking his head, Stiles returned to the bed, sitting down and making sure his gun wasn’t cocked. Then he noticed what Derek had all but thrown at him.

It was a package wrapped in thick cloth, cut from Derek’s vest, and tied with a piece of twine. When he undid the string and opened it, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a locket and a shiny rock that reminded Stiles of Derek’s eyes, aventurine and beautiful. Underneath it all was a note written in surprisingly spindly and frankly cute handwriting.

Stiles unfolded it, reading it quickly.

It was a proposal. From Derek.

Stiles looked up to the window. Still empty.

He turned the paper over and grabbed a pencil from the desk. He wrote a single word and then folded the note back into the cloth minus the other items. Then he tied it tightly and threw it out the window. It landed in the dusty street. Derek was still nowhere to be seen.

Stiles sighed and hauled himself back inside. Before he’d even sat down again, he heard a soft voice ask, “Do you really mean it?”

Stiles looked up to see Derek standing just inside the window, the cloth shredded, the note clutched in one hand.

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “I mean it.” He looped the locket around his neck, and Derek, smiling broadly, closed the clasp for him.

“Thank you,” he said, “for saving me, and for saying yes.”

“Yes, well, thank you for asking.”

This time, when they kissed, there was no Peter to interrupt them, and Stiles quite enjoyed exchanging spit with Derek, because, werewolf or not, almost thirty years old come winter, that boy looked debauched by a thorough kiss.

He knew he’d enjoy being married to Derek. Every minute of it. And when Derek sighed as Stiles pulled back to look at him again, he knew Derek would enjoy it too.

Stiles sent a mental thank you to Erica for her hand in bringing them together.

She deserved it.

And Derek deserved another kiss. Eagerly, Stiles dove in.

~ The End ~

#Do-what-the-knight-tells-you #stereksanta19 #*fic19 #*gifts19

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sm-entertain-me · 5 years

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Hit the Lotto (M)

Contains: Kim Jongin x (f) reader, adult language, smut, sexual themes, teasing, public fingering, exhibitionism, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie.

Synopsis: As a celebration of getting the promotion at work, you and your coworkers decide to hit up the hottest casino in town, EXO Planet. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get lucky.

Author's Note: Inspiration comes from the Lotto MV, and I might make this into a series featuring every member depending on how well received this is.

“I’d like to make a toast,” Your best friend/coworker Laura said loud enough to be heard over the chimes and whistles of all of the slot machines being played in the background, everyone around the table raising their glasses of respective alcohol to the sky. A light hue of red fell on your cheeks as all of the people at the table looked at you, knowing who the toast would be about. Once Laura was satisfied with the amount of attention she managed to grab from the crowd, she held her glass up in the air to continue her toast, “To the best damn accountant our firm has ever seen, to the person who kicks ass and takes numbers down like a champ. You deserved it, babe. To Y/N!” “To Y/N!” Everyone chorused, smiling brightly at you as they watched you lift your glass in recognition before you slammed your shot of vodka back.

When the formalities were done with, everyone was free to explore the casino as they wished since the firm decided to gift everyone with $100 to spend and hopefully land a jackpot or two. Being as though you were the guest of honor tonight, your firm forked out an extra $100 for you to either pocket or bet on miscellaneous games that were being played around the casino. Although you really weren’t much of a gambler, how could you say no to $200 being thrown at you in hopes of you either breaking even or even doubling the amount in your hand? But you didn’t want to waste it all on the slot machines like everyone else in your firm was doing, you wanted to delve into the gambling experience with a classic game of luck and strategy: Craps.

As you made your way over to the Craps table that seemed to have the most life, drink hanging loosely in your hand, you noticed a particularly well dressed man sitting at the head of the table with women on either side of his arm. He had beautifully tanned skin with a mop of dark black hair that seemed like it was styled hours ago only to be ruined by him constantly raking his fingers through it, biceps bulging out as he sat with his arm bent on the table. The man looked like someone of importance by the way he drew the attention of nearly everyone in the casino and how the table worker seemed to fear him if his game didn’t go the way he wanted. Normally a man of this kind of debonair would frighten you, but with the alcohol running through your veins, he seemed that much more enticing.

It took you a hot minute, but you finally mustered up enough liquid courage to walk up to a spot at his table, sliding in whenever he sent one of his females to fetch him a drink. The minute you showed up next to him, his eyes were on your body, examining how your gown accentuated your curves perfectly and gave your ass the most flattering bend. “Staring will get you in trouble,” You murmured into your glass as you reached over and placed a ten dollar poker chip on snake eyes, feeling a little bit risky for playing on a roll that was so specific. You heard the man next to you chuckle as he turned completely around to face you, his eyes wandering from your jawline, down to your slender neck, and then back up to meet your gaze, “What if I’m looking for trouble?” A smirk fell on your face as you took the dice from the table worker, looking over at the man before you rolled blindly, neglecting to answer his question at the moment for you feared it might get you in some trouble with the dapper man.

As time went on and the alcohol flooded your veins, you found yourself becoming more and more susceptible to the man’s advances. His name is Jongin and he has the ability to make your walls clench around nothing just by the way he speaks to you. And he can tell by the way his hand is resting on your ass as you bend forward to collect your earnings, readying yourself to leave. That is, before he stops you. “Oh baby, leaving so soon? I was just getting started with you,” Jongin teased as his hot breath fanned your neck, watching the way your skin formed goosebumps almost immediately. Again, the alcohol found a way to fuel your words as you cocked your head to the side at him, an daring smile on your lips, “And tell me, Jongin. What were you planning to do if I stayed?” Jongin replicated your smirk as he stepped closer to you, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear while his hand slid up your inner thigh, daring to slide inward to your yearning pussy, “Maybe you’ll just have to find out for yourself.”

Jongin kept his hand on the inside of your thigh, his eyes remaining on your face as he watched your eyes widen from the new warmth that rested just below your clothed pussy. Pressing your lips tightly together, you gave him a subtle nod as you turned back to the Craps table to place yet another bet to see just what Jongin was capable of doing with his fingers. He let out a comfortable sigh as he too turned towards the Craps table, his face never wavering as his fingers slid past the flimsy material of your panties and pressed firmly against your dripping hole, smirking to himself when he realized how much of your arousal had coated his finger. The adrenaline of having Jongin finger you in front of all of these people had you even more willing to take him, another gush of your arousal spilling onto his fingers as Jongin massaged the tender skin of your folds.

“Your turn to roll miss,” The table worker said as he eyed you questioningly but looked away the minute Jongin glared up at him, silently ordering him to mind his own business or there would be hell to pay. You shifted uncomfortably at your end of the table as you leaned forward for the dice, inadvertently granting Jongin more room to slide up into you. You had to choke back a moan when you felt Jongin’s ringed finger slide into your pussy, feeling the coolness of his band pressing against your screaming clit as Jongin simply hummed, his free hand playing with the massive amount of chips in his hand as he decided where to place his bet. A small whimper could be heard by those closest to you as Jongin rubbed his thumb over your clit, your hands reaching out and gripping the edge of the table to brace yourself properly as Jongin stretched your pussy open with three fingers. He was on a mission to have you cumming all over his fingers in front of all these strangers.

Luckily all of the table attendees were too busy focusing on how the dice rolled down the table to notice how flushed your cheeks were, how white your knuckles were by gripping tightly on your edge of the table, and the fact that you were struggling more and more to keep your whines down as Jongin flicked your clit mercilessly. You felt the pressure inside of your walls subside a little as Jongin leaned forward to whisper in your ear, stilling the movements of his fingers slightly, “Are you going to cum for me princess? In front of all of these people?” At this point, you were no longer able to form sentences as you simply nodded, watching the smirk on Jongin’s face grow deeper as he leaned back, gripping your hip with his free hand and having you take the entire length of his fingers. The constant curling of his fingers mixed with the cold band still pressed to your clit and the unforgiving flicks to your engorged clit had you clamping down around Jongin’s slender fingers, bringing to your edge much faster than you anticipated.

Jongin knew you were cumming as he leaned forward to catch your mouth on his neck, your teeth sinking down into the slender column of his neck as you whined pathetically against his skin. The harder you bit on his skin to muffle your cries, the harder it was for Jongin to contain his groans from such a pleasurable feeling of your teeth on his neck. “Jongin,” You whispered breathlessly into his neck, your eyes hooded from pure bliss. He chuckled at how out of breath you were as he let you relax and slowly pulled his fingers out of your soaked pussy, but not before he grabbed your panties and ordered you to slip out of them as quickly as possible, creating a diversion for you. Jongin acted like he dropped his chip on the ground and employed you to help him, only to have you bend down underneath the table and slip your panties off to give them to Jongin as he requested. Just as you thought Jongin was done with you, he simply pulled you back up to a standing position and held you close to him, shooting you a hungry look before he spoke, “Get your things and come upstairs. Don’t keep me waiting for long.”

Within minutes, you fond yourself cashing in on your earnings and rushing to the elevators to reach the resort part of the casino, looking diligently at the small piece of paper that lay in between your fingers. It was Jongin’s room number, the numbers written down smoothly and confidently like he knew you were going to show up no matter what. And he wasn’t wrong, he literally had you in his hands. You were a mess at his touch, and that was only his fingers, you couldn’t wait to see how much of a mess you would be whenever his dick would be throbbing inside of you.

When the elevator arrived at your designated floor, your legs acted on their own accord and moved quickly to the hotel room that was on the piece of paper, stopping right before a lavish suite that had a convenient “Do not Disturb” placard in cursive writing. You smirked to yourself as you knocked on the door, met with the sound of footsteps hurrying to your location. Your hands smoothed over the soft material of the dress you were wearing, only taking your hands off when the door swung open to reveal a shirtless Jongin with his signature smirk. “I’m so glad you made it. Come in,” Jongin cooed as he opened the door for you, you not wanting to keep him waiting for very much longer, especially since you were running out of time to run your tongue all over his abs.

“Fuck,” You cursed as you sat on Jongin’s lap, allowing his teeth to sink into the skin of your neck while your fingers tugged at the soft tresses of his hair. You could feel his plump lips form a smile as he pressed them tightly to your neck, dragging his tongue along the slender column to feel you shiver in his grasp. As he worked on your neck, your hands slid down the expanse of his abs and rested on his pants, tugging playfully at the belt. Jongin pulled away from your neck and looked into your eyes with a hardened gaze, wiggling his eyebrows as he looked down at his hardened length that was trapped in his trousers instead of deep inside of your pussy, “Take them off so I can fuck you like you deserve to be.” You physically shuddered at the depth of his voice as you ripped his belt off and dove into his crotch area, pulling his cock out of his boxers and staring down at it with a dry throat. He was huge.

Jongin continued to get you all worked up to get you as wet as possible before he lifted you up and slid you down on his fully erect member, both of you groaning out at the sensation as his head fell backwards against the headboard. “So tight,” Jonging muttered as he looked up to the ceiling, closing his eyes momentarily to feel all of the ridges of your tightening walls encasing his cock. You licked your lips at his compliments as you straddled him, letting your walls get accustomed to his larger than average length. Jongin’s hands gripped the flesh of your ass as he pulled your hips to grind down on him, moving you the way he liked until you decided to take over to blow his fucking mind.

The pace you set on Jongin was nothing short of animalistic as you ground your hips along his pelvis, your pussy sucking in his cock to the deepest he could go as your hands rested on his taut chest, nails raking against his pristine skin as he moaned out from the pain. Jongin’s eyes were hooded as he looked up at you, admiring the sexy look of concentration on your face as you sped up on his length, angling yourself so that his cock would brush against your clit and drove you crazy. Whenever you wanted to rest, Jongin would gladly dig his fingers into your hips and pump into you from below, forcing your eyes to widen and your mouth to drop open as you looked directly at him with blown wide pupils.

“What is it baby?” Jongin questioned with a smirk from the look of pure ecstasy on your face. “So... fucking good... Fuck Jongin!” You cried out as Jongin had taken one of his hands and pushed his finger onto your clit, edging you to take over fucking him into oblivion while he flicked your clit at a brutal pace, desperate to get you to cum before he did. The harder he pushed on your clit, the harder you rolled your hips on Jongin’s cock, forcing your ass down completely on his pelvis to take all of his length inside of your pulsating walls. “Oh god, baby you’re doing so great. K-Keep going,” Jongin stammered as his lip nested between his porcelain white teeth, his fingernails digging deeply into your hip to create little crescents to remind you of this night. The combination of you slamming down on his cock mixed with his pumping into you from below and the proper stimulation of your clit was dangerous.

“Ohhh fuck! Fuck yes, Jongin! I-I’m cu-,” You cried out as your hips jolted quickly around his waist, walls clenching around Jongin’s cock as you arched your back to the ceiling. Jongin’s eyebrows screwed tightly together as the feeling of your walls encasing his already throbbing cock threw him over his edge, his cum painting your walls white as he released. Your name was constantly on his lips as his head fell backwards against the headboard, slumping against the cold wood as you fell forward onto his chest, completely fucked out. Jongin breathed hard into your ear, holding you close to him as he began to drift to sleep without so much as another word to you. But you can’t blame him, you were already at the point of welcoming sleep with open arms.

When morning came to steal you back from the best sleep you had ever had in your life, you were met with an empty bed and no sign of Jongin anywhere to be found. A small frown appeared on your face as you stretched into the covers, sighing at the fact that you were just another quick fuck. However, as you leaned over to the side of the bed to get your phone and start the process of leaving, you saw a tiny slip of paper lying next to your phone and a business card with Jongin’s name on it, the emblem belonging to the EXO Planet Resort and Casinos emblazoned just below his name. “Good morning princess, I hope you slept well. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see you wake up but just know that I’ll be thinking of you and hope you’ll accept my offer of seeing you again. Oh, and congrats on the promotion, we’ll have to celebrate soon. XO, Jongin,”

#Kai #Kai smut #Kai fanfiction #Kim Jongin #Kim Jongin smut #Kim Jongin fanfiction #EXO #EXO smut #EXO fanfiction #SM #Kpop #Kpop smut #Kpop fanfiction #Fanfiction #Smut #EXO Kai #EXO Jongin #EXOL

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yasbxxgie · 4 years

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youtube

Reggae Britannia (BBC Four, 2/11/11)

385 Willesden High Road is tucked away behind a row of dilapidated 19th century houses, its entrance obscured by high locked gates and a walled yard. But 385 is a treasure trove of reggae history. It's called Theorem, Music Village, and it's where we're recording several artist interviews for Reggae Britannia. As we arrive, there's a band in the studio rehearsing a romantic Lovers Rock number, there's a man up a rickety ladder painting the walls and another mopping up from an all night dance in the 'functions room' with its damp lino and garish red felt walls. T-Jae, the tall soft-spoken proprietor of what was once called BBMC (the Brent Black Music Cooperative) helps us with our camera gear. He's got coffee brewing in the kitchen beside an open can of condensed milk. Before T-Jae's time this was a leisure centre filled with rattle of pinball machines and the click of snooker balls - now replaced by the drum 'n bass of reggae rhythms leaking from the studio.

We're here to interview Dave Barker, one half of the Dave and Ansell Collins vocal duo who set the teenage mods alight, back in 1971, performing a novelty number called 'Double Barrel'. Dave's a quietly spoken man with a hint of a stammer. He tells us how, when he first came to this country (and he stayed here ever after) he peered out through the window of his BOAC plane as it banked over the smoking chimneys of the snow-covered houses below and wondered 'how come they have so many bakeries in England?' On the drive from the airport he was shocked at seeing white men digging the road and taking out garbage: 'Wow man, that was strange, you didn't see those things in Jamaica'. Nor dogs wearing winter vests, nor steak and kidney pies, nor that little sparrow he spied pecking the top off a milk bottle. He can't help himself: Dave sings a refrain from Matt Munro's 'Born Free' and segues into 'Summer Holiday'.

Dave arrived in the U.K exactly ten years before Theorem opened its doors to top British and Jamaican reggae artists passing through. Today, there's the legendary Max Romeo sitting on bench in the winter sunshine, his grey locks neatly tucked into a woolly beret. In 1969, Max brought his wicked song 'Wet Dream' to Britain and its risqué lyrics - which got it banned in clubs and on the BBC - made it an anthem for skinheads in dance halls all across Britain. He sings a few lines, diffidently explaining how it caused an 'upstir' among the rebellious youth of the time. He's a little ashamed of it now because, by the mid 70s, Max had embraced the wisdom of Rastafari. That was when he wrote and recorded some of reggae's most powerful and memorable music in the Black Ark studio of Lee Scratch Perry: 'War In A Babylon' and 'Chase The Devil'. When those songs arrived here, first as pre-releases and then remixed by Island Records, they inspired our fledgling roots reggae bands and then the punks and then Bob Marley too. Max intones a few lines from 'Chase The Devil', an ironic, cautionary tale that has been covered or sampled by dozens of musicians - including Jay-Z in 'The Black Album' - and was featured in the video-game Grand Theft Auto.

'I'm gonna put on an iron shirt and chase Satan out of earth' he sings. 'I'm gonna send him to outer space to find another race'. Max explains: 'The devil is the negative within the psyche. Chasing the devil means chasing the negative out of your mind.' There are people wandering in and out while he speaks; musicians carrying drums and guitars into this studio that's cold as a morgue, or dropping off an amp or a heavyweight speaker, or they've come to pay their respects to the master, with a hug or a high-five.

T-Jae comes sauntering by with a piece of carpet under his arm to help our sound recordist dampen the 'live' acoustic of the room (yes, we still have a sound recordist on our crew) and he tells me that among the band members in the studio today is none other than Bigga Morrison. Bigga's not a front man like Max, but a keyboard virtuoso and music director of renown. Reggae royalty. The band take a another break for a smoke in the yard and Bigga, immaculate in pin-striped suit and brogues, describes growing up in this country as a second generation West Indian: 'My parents had experienced troubles and threats on the streets, back in the '50s, with the Teddy Boys and such, but they wouldn't discuss those things because they wanted to keep you free from the pressures. But as we grew up, we took our message and our fight onto the streets with the roots and culture music we played in bands like Steel Pulse and Aswad.'

Later during the interview, I asked Bigga to show us how the British reggae producers, back in the early 1970s, added violins to the Jamaican imports to make them sound 'more classical'. Unfortunately, he's lost his glasses and so can't read the score. Tee Jay's on hand to send for a replacement pair. Bigga fills in time by playing us a delightful new track by his band the Skatronics, but when the glasses arrive, they're all wrong for Bigga. He wears them anyway, and peers astigmatically at the music for 'Young Gifted And Black' which is layered in symphonic-style strings. Bigga (educated at Trinity College of Music) explains how Jamaican reggae gradually transformed into a British musical experience, first through the dub sounds and conscious lyrics of hardworking roots groups like Aswad and then by the bands that went platinum: the 2 Tone crowd, UB40 and The Police. Bigga's being called back to rehearsals now, so we break for a late lunch. It's a choice of The New Golden Duck Chinese Take Away or the Caribbean place half a mile up the road. We do the walk and settle for salt fish and akee. Or rather, the others do. I choose the goat curry on plantains and soon regret it.

Back in Theorem, Bigga's at the keyboards and a couple of pretty female vocalists are delivering more saccharine Lovers Rock. And that's where we see Big Youth, in among them, gyrating his hips to the pounding bass and chugging upbeat of the guitar. He's chaperoned by a petite Italian lady from an artists' agency called Roots Rockers. She's Trish, and she's exhausted because they've only just returned from a nightmare flight from Spain. Trish is a miracle of calm and efficiency in the maelstrom of the struggling reggae business and it's clear all the artists adore her. Trish has offered us the opportunity to interview Big Youth, the toaster who excited British reggae fans with his revolutionary, rasta-inspired lyrics in the mid '70s. He's on top form today, his wiry body twisting and swaying in the interview chair as he sings lines from 'Hit The Road Jack', telling me how the great Ray Charles called him up one Christmas-time to admit that Big Youth's version was just 'the best'. 'Big Youth stole the scene,' he concludes. Modesty isn't one of Big Youth's virtues. But I can vouch for his status, and integrity. I first met him inside Randy's Record shop in Kingston Jamaica back in '77. He was checking out the sales of his album - visiting these record stores was about the only way an artist could tell how many were selling. He was as big a name as Marley at the time, and revered both on the island and over here. We met again - by chance - in Lagos, Nigeria, when he was on the run from some unscrupulous promoter. He's older and greyer now, but with no loss of energy, showmanship or sharp humour. And the red, gold and green implants in his front teeth are still there.

The filming days at Theorem haven't only been productive for our ninety minute programme, they've also been enormous fun. Maybe it's the familiarity and affection the artists have for this building, or maybe it's what they call 'the spirits' of the house: a combination of all those sounds and experiences imbedded in the cracking plaster walls, the creaky floorboards which once the feet of hallowed artists trod, or the reverberating bass you can hear down Theorem's honeycomb of corridors.

We'll be back here later in the week to interview the fiery, bubbly Lovers Rock singer Sylvia Tella, from Manchester; and Tippa Irie who came to fame DJing for the Saxon sound system, and maybe Dennis Bovell, the multi-talented producer/song writer and bass player, who did so much to anglicise reggae music in this country. Oh, and Trish says Dennis Alcapone's coming by, the dapper, bowler-hatted vocalist who brought a whole new style of toasting to these shores with songs like 'Guns Don't Argue': 'Don't call me Scarface, my name is Capone, C-A-P-O-N-E!'

For him, we'll haul our equipment boxes down the dark corridors of Theorem (we never could find the light switches, thriftily hidden away in recesses above door frames). Because we'll place him in a room, behind the studio, which is every reggae fan's dream, an Aladdin's cave of antique tape machines and mixers, and an expansive crimson casting couch. The wood-trim Rainderk desk dates from the early '70s when Reggae first exploded onto our pop charts with songs like 'Young Gifted And Black', bringing an upbeat musical thrill not just to those of Caribbean origin and the packs of skinheads who followed them around the country, but to the whole nation. This mixing desk was donated by Pete Townshend of The Who. It has made history since, recording reggae artists like The Wailers, Gregory Isaacs, Aswad, Janet Kay, Maxi Priest ... and so many more.

The traffic's slow on Willesden High Road as we leave the studios and T- Jae waves us into the evening gridlock and shuts the gates. Back-in-the-day, Theorem would be filling up with dreadlocked musicians and their natty entourage, ready for another all night session. Sometimes it still does, but with the proliferation of cheap home studios and a music industry in crisis, it's a whole lot quieter now. No sessions tonight. Just the rattling pipes, the whispering corridors, the vacant studio and the ghosts of British reggae history.

#2011 #reggae britannia #bbc four #bbc #bbc news #reggae #roots reggae #video #youtube #black music #music #west indians #caribbean #black british #documentary #documentaries

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is-i-halloween-yet · 5 years

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Breathtaking Kiss With Jameson Jackson

Breathtaking Kiss - It’s the kiss that you can’t do anything for a few seconds after, you keep your eyes closed with mouth agape of you try to let your mind process what happened.

Warning: This is sign language, this is reader thoughts, swearing, pitiful pining

(AN: I love him. Please don’t let him be evil! Enjoy me test of this cutie boy!)

You had like Jameson for a long time in a pitiful crush. It was pining at its worst, you being utterly stuck in the friendzone as he was oblivious, taking you learning several forms of sign language in order to communicate and teach him different languages. You were just... drawn to him. Perhaps it was his old fashioned nature being unlike anything you had ever experiences, but you really liked and could not place your finger on why.

All you knew was he was driving you mad. All these “dates” to dinner and the theater and yet he was still oblivious.

Even his brothers knew and teased you about it constantly.

Part of you wondered if it was the time difference was the barrier between your feelings however the other part, the more toxic part thought that perhaps it something that instead had to do with you. Maybe he was feigning his oblivious nature in hopes to spare your feelings. Perhaps he had zero interest and was rather disgusted by you.

None-the-less, you had a plan, and it had to do with the letter you had left in your bag as you headed over to the Septic Household to spend the night, another thing you have done several other times before though this time you had planned to finally confess your feelings to him, as the two of you would be alone.

The night so far had consisted of you helping him film his latest video for Jack, then the two of you making dinner together, and now you were watching a movie together, too close to each other for comfort and it was filling doubt in your head, making you exhausted.

I planned everything out, just leave him the letter on your way home and that should explain everything, but should I really leave it? The mere thought brought good and bad thoughts to surface but it also made your eyes begin to close the more you thought and doubted yourself. I’ve spent so long putting this plan together and constructing others. I deserve a few minutes of shut eye.

Then as you closed your eyes you felt yourself leaning against his shoulder before sleep engulfed you.

You weren’t sure what woke you up. Perhaps it was the climax in the loud movie or maybe even the missing shoulder but all that you knew was that you were alone.

And your bag was gone.

Shit fuck shit. What if one of the boys came home and stole it? Or...worse.

You stood weakly, yawning and stretching then quickly stood up, examining the kitchen and living room shaking before running down the hall.

“JJ?” You yelled, “JJ where are you?”

After what was at least five minutes but felt like five hours and at last you had finally found him. Sitting crisscross on his bed, your note in his palm.

Shit, you thought to yourself as you collapsed on your knees the sound startling him enough to drop the note, his eyes finding your tearful and shaking form and he moved to you, just as unsure and shaky. Still, he signed, “Hush... Hush...” He forced a smile, kneeling besides you and hugging you for a moment, only to pull away and find no change in your gaping form. “Y/N it’s okay! Really it is! I.. Just.. I don't...”

But you cut him off with a tearful chuckle as you attempted to sign back at him, a small defeated whine when you came to realize your hands were far too shaky and he grabbed them squeezing them tight, but only for a moment as you let go, weakly standing up and holding up your hands in attempts of defeat, “It’s okay. JJ it's okay. Really.. Like you said. I just need to-”

But he stood too, grabbing your wrist in order to stop you, going to let you go when something told him to grab both of your hands again, bringing your hands to his lips and kissing both before dropping one and using his free hand to cup your cheek, forcing your gaze on his eyes and lips. He chuckled a bit, rubbing your cheek tenderly while squeezing your hand. Now as he had your attention, he opened his mouth, clearly hesitating until you nodded at him, and he mouthed the words, “I feel the same.” Before placing your forehead on top of yours gently, your lips unexpectedly touching his nose causing him to stop nuzzling you, but not budge.

Perhaps it was just in the relief that he accepted your note and acknowledged his own feelings, perhaps in the moment you just felt to need to feel his lips on your but you didn’t want to rush the dapper boy.

“May... Ma I-”

But you were cut off by a gentle, unsure pair of lips on yours, asking for your consent, which you happily gave, in order to proceed and quicken the motions. It was short, much shorter than you would have liked but you were still petrified, your eyes sealed closed as you felt his warm hands wiping away tears you did not know were there and he too kissing your nose, causing you both to chuckle but not move as each others breath fanned over’s lips.

“Is it to soon to say I think I might be in love with you?” You whispered, opening your eyes the same time as his.

Jameson smiled brightly, repeating the peck on your nose again then dropping you, sighing happily as he signed back a, “No, because I love you too doll. Have for a while.” Before picking you up gently so the two of you could get some sort of rest.

#jameson Jackson #jameson Jackson imagine #jameson Jackson imagines #jameson Jackson x reader #jacksepticeye community #jacksepticegos #septic egos #jacksepticeye

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my-brothers-corrupted · 4 years

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My Brothers, Corrupted

Chapter Three : Section Nine : The Separated Twins

Chapter One l Chapter Two l Chapter Three

Trigger warnings for physical and emotional abuse, hallucinations, and panic attacks.

On one side of the world, Henrik is exploring what it would mean to be free of Anti – what it would be to fight. On the other, Trick does something harmless that ends with him being punished and then even deeper under Anti’s hypnosis.

The Separated Twins

Anonymous asked: I believe in you. I believe in all of you that you can help Trick see that Anti isn't good for any of you and that he should not settle for the constant abuse he suffers under him just for the occasional glimpses of affection and attention. Please Blue... You and the others have to show him, show Trick that love shouldn't be painful. It should be warm, healing, and brings you up rather than down. -🦀

“Yeah,” murmurs Blue. “Yeah, I’d like for him to know that.”

He’s lying in his and Trick’s room, picking dully at Trick’s Switch, Noodle cautiously set at the end of the mattress beside him. He looks a little better than when you last saw him a couple days ago, but he’s still so worn. At least he’s wrapped up in Trick’s warm nest and wearing comfy old clothes.

“He deserves better,” he says. “I don’t know how to show him. But I’ll love him as hard as I can, damn sure… all of them. I miss the others.”

Anonymous asked: Hey Anti, maybe if you would treat your brothers like actual brothers and go to them for comfort instead of to beat them, maybe you wouldn't be such a miserable piece of shit. Ever think of that? Mindboggling, I know.

Anti breathes out a long sigh through his nose.

He’s moving around his room, his form shifting slower than you’ve ever seen it shift before, gradually making himself look more like Red. Flowers flicker and then die around his feet. He stretches and the flame of a candle breathes hotly towards the ceiling before settling down again. His body flickers moment to moment. His room is cleaner than it was before, much of the blood stained disappeared or hidden in the brown of the carpet, but printed pictures are beginning to take up the space on his wall.

“You’re all cliches of each other,” he says finally, voice thin and irritated. His eyes, when he turns to you, are vivid blue beneath glasses that look like Dok’s. “Nothing you have said has ever convinced me, spectators. Try to be a little more entertaining. I could turn you off again at any time.”

aether-mae asked: Hey Jackie, now that you’ve got max with you to help you out, I was wondering if u were still thinking of heading back to Peru to find Doc?

Ro and JJ are still with Max two days later.

Ro is wearing his new blue hoodie. He is clean. His cheeks have more color and there’s even a bit of sun in his face. He smells like honeydew soap because he’s been having a hot shower every day. He’s shaved.

He’s cut his hair too. Just a little. There’s no more dye in his hair. It’s his hair. He cut it. Well, with Dapper’s help. And some enthusiastic compliments from Max to boost his confidence.

He looks good.

Max is on the bed with Dapper, a stack of playing cards on the sheets between them.

“Okay, then I - do I need the joker? Mate, have mercy on me, you’re signing too fast. Hey! I’m a perfectly capable learner, I’ll have you know. Fine then, wait til I kick your ass at this. Oh, what, does that mean I lost? Shit. You rigged this. Next round I got you.”

Ro laughs and comes to sit beside them. Max pauses for a moment to grin at him before going back to his card game.

“Hey,” says Red after a little while.

“Yeah?”

“I checked with Dapper last night,” says Ro. “I was wondering if your offer to take us back to Dok in Peru still stands.”

Max looks up at Ro, smiling. Dapper gives him a fair chance and then steals all his cards.

“Wh - JJ!”

“Careful, he’s merciless.”

“No joke. Deal me another round. Really, though, Ro? You’d let me drive you? We can get another hotel tonight and be there in a couple days. I’d about die to see Henrik again.”

Red nods, smiling back at him. “Yeah, I mean it. We want our Dok back. Need to see my little brother. We might not have the others right now, but we’ll figure it out once we’ve got… Henrik.”

“Jackie,” says Max, clapping his hands together. “This is the best news. I’d love to. Can’t wait to see you fidget like a maniac through hours of car time.”

“Oh, fuck, don’t remind me.”

“Hahaha. Okay, yeah! Let’s head out tomorrow first thing, then! We’ll get a rental car if we can find one or start on the bus. Have to get you lots of snacks and entertainment, I know. There was this one time you and I were on a trip and by the end of it you were just about upside down in your seat. We were visiting Ireland so you could show me some of your home…”

Max and Dapper play cards. Max talks, loud and earnest and comforting. A friend. A friend who isn’t his family, a friend who wasn’t ordered to look after him by Anti. Just somebody who likes Jackie for Jackie.

Jackie sits on the bed and listens to Max talk for hours. Tomorrow, they’ll head back towards Lima.

Anonymous asked: Hey Anti what's those pictures in your room?

Anti pauses, his eyes narrowing, but he doesn’t bother to move you from position, letting you get a look at the pictures. They’re of his brothers. No, wait - just Doktor and Red and Dapper.

There’s one where Dapper has Red over his shoulder, leading him up towards the house in Peru, where Doktor is waiting to look after him. There’s one of Doktor and Dapper asleep side by side on their mattress. There’s one of Dapper staring out a window in Norway towards the glowing lights in the sky, one of Red hiking proudly up the mountain, one of Doktor staring placidly up at Anti, slicked entirely in blood and still holding a scalpel. All of them take place from the eye of a camera. Dok petting Noodle, Trick’s shoes just visible in the corner of the shot. Dapper looking sweet in his blankets and over-sized hoodie, hugging his bear to his chest. Red like a statue in motion, wielding his fighting staff, younger than you’ve seen him since Dapper sent him to the past. Rows and rows of pictures of them.

Anti shifts unhappily around his room, his body changing slightly, slightly. His hair curls up and tinges teal at the fringe, and he runs his fingers through his own hair like he’s petting himself.

Anonymous asked: How did you get all those pictures? Do you like take snapshots with your mind or something? Or did you have an actual camera?

“What’s the difference?” he grumbles. “I’m basically a walking hard drive. With a taste for blood. And, uh. I don’t know. Sentience. Hair. A couple too many teeth. I can go back and watch anything my cameras have recorded whenever I want. Printing them out is just moving data.”

He throws a knife at the wall, burying it just above one of Dapper’s teddies on a dresser.

spicydanhowell asked: seems like you really miss them, hm anti?

“Well, they’re mine, and I’m fucking pissed they’re gone, yeah!” He buries another knife on the teddy’s outline. “The only thing I know is that they’re fucking alive and probably not in jail. But I’ll have them back soon. And anyway, it doesn’t matter. Trick’s such a little sycophant he almost makes up for the others being gone. He’ll be home soon and then I can have some goddamn rest. This is some bullshit. Tell God I want a fucking refund.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Wow, Anti. You actually miss your pets? Or do you really consider them your brothers?

“Family is a construct,” growls Anti, picking up the bear in his hands. “Dapper is a warm body. Doktor is an immune system. Red is a guard dog.”

He sighs and throws it aside.

“Fucked up, though. Used to hate how loud Red would be through the walls. Now I kind of want to hear him. What a little brat. Can’t believe he was separated from me. Bulletproof vest. Locked door. Guard dog. Safety.”

Anti puts his hands in his red hair.

Anonymous asked: Where's trick? Is he alright?

“Trick went to get some dinner and some books at the library,” Blue answers you, smiling faintly. “He really likes being allowed have some freedom. Just a bus ride and a couple errands, but he gets all proud, like he’s my breadwinner, taking care of me, haha. I love him. He’s mostly alright, but, uh. I have been noticing him acting strange.”

Blue draws his eyes away from the cartoon animal game he’s playing on Trick’s switch for a moment. “Something wrong in his head, I… I don’t know. He reacts strangely when I ask about Dok. I’m scared. I think it’s a trauma thing. He seems so spacey all the time. But he’s happy, I think? For the most part? Every now and then I wake up to him crying next to me, clutching at me, but who can blame him for that? I think I’d be more scared if he wasn’t upset that Dok was gone at all, which is… how he acts during the day. But yeah, I think he’s as okay as I could expect him to be, mostly. He plays this little thing constantly.”

Blue shakes the Switch at you for a second and the screen blacks out. Blue jolts, lifting his fingers away to see if he accidentally hit the power button.

“That’s not yours to play with,” comes a cool voice from his doorway.

Blue jumps and drops the Switch, letting out a hissing sigh through his teeth, annoyed and afraid, as he can’t help but be every time he’s in Anti’s presence these days. Every time he hears him, sees him, smells his oil smell or feels his electric sting, he is back on a Norweigan beach he barely remembers, back on the Rio Puturnayo, back in a hospital room, huddled on the floor as the blows rain down.

“Fuck off, Anti,” he spits.

Anti’s mouth curls with a snarl at him. “Poor little kitten,” he coos. “Poor stupid boy.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” says Blue.

“Or maybe I just don’t care,” answers Anti, slinking back into the living room, his eyes still on Blue as they both wait for Trick to get home.

bupine asked: why no pictures of trick or blue, anti? are you missing your boys? also, you seem to be having trouble keeping a stable form. any idea why that is?

“I have Trick and Blue,” grumbles Anti, throwing a hand up. “Don’t need to see them. Know where they are. Know that they’re safe. And I’m not - shut up!”

He glares down at his own body, flickering and flashing.

“I always glitch, that’s - I have a brand, goddammit! It’s this flesh that’s fucking horrible, I - motherfuck.”

He hisses and buries his claws in his own right arm, watching blood well up against the flesh for a second. Then the arm flickers back into incorporeality and the blood trickles onto the floor. He growls, yanking on his hair for a second, trying to keep calm.

“So infuriating,” he snarls. “I’m more powerful than I’ve ever been, but my own body rebels. Stupid fuck. Symbolic, probably, don’t you think? Even my own flesh knows I didn’t grow it myself.”

He barks out an odd laugh, shape-shifting again, that subtle, slow, constant switch. Just reassuring himself, with every moment that passes, that he can still do it. That he can still become data, immerse himself in code, travel by electricity. It’s just getting harder, that’s all.

And he is powerful. This, at least, is true. The windows of the house are blooming with flowers. The candles were Trick’s idea. Dozens of them lined around the house, constantly burning. A chance for his power to express itself instead of devouring him.

Anonymous asked: How are you feeling, Blue? It’s good to see you again!

“Thank you,” says Blue, cooling a little as Anti walks away, pulling you back to him and flopping back on the bed. “I’m feeling, well. I’ve kind of gone stagnant? Like the last couple days, I feel okay, but I’ve stopped… getting better, sort of. Just tired and kind of achey and, well, frail. Having bad headaches too, and I still, uh.”

He touches his foggy eyes.

“Tried glasses,” he says quietly. “Big thick prescription glasses. Trick called me Monty Mole for two hours without fail. But they don’t cut through much of anything. The world is a permanent blur, ha… but you know what! Otherwise, I’m okay. Just been resting. This asshole hasn’t bothered me too much.”

He lets his hand flail towards Anti irritably.

“Oh, and guess what?”

He smiles winningly at you and then -

He pushes himself to his feet without help! All the way from sitting on the mattress on the floor to standing upright.

“Tada! Thank you, thank you, that’s right, I’m Blue the Magnificent, I’ll be here all week! Oh - shit!”

He crashes back towards the wall, laughing a little from the surprise and the slight embarrassment, though he still looks pleased with himself. He snatches up a cane that’s leaning on a windowsill and steadies himself on it, smiling at you.

“Tada,” he repeats warmly, standing upright.

“Meow,” cheers Noodle.

“Thank you, my dear.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Is Noodle keeping you good company, Blue?

“Well,” sighs Blue. “The truth is I’m not really fond of cats.”

He stares down at Noodle and Noodle stares back at him.

“But after a bit of that hospital breakdown you saw, I know that Anti made me stop being fond of cats,” he adds softly. “And… killed mine.”

Noodle mewls softly, stepping forward to weave between his legs.

“So I’m trying to get used to him again!” says Blue, trying to find his cheerful voice. “Because I did like cats, I did! I don’t know what else he changed about my mind when he first took it over, but I want it back. And Anti can try to destroy me but I will keep fighting against it, even if only in these little ways.”

He summons his determination and leans down. Noodle bursts into throaty purring as Blue’s soft fingers scratch across his skull and golden kitten ears.

Anonymous asked: Hey any progress is good progress babey!! You’re doing so well! Very proud, so yes, cheers all around for Blue the Magnificent!

“I know, haha, thank you, yeah! I’m excited, I am! Like, it’s such a small step, but it’s a step, you know? It’s nice being able to get to the bathroom on my own and stuff like that. Honestly, when you’re really sick, it’s the small things that can be really demoralizing. Not that there was anything to be ashamed of! But it… felt like there was. Especially with how helpless I know I am in front of him.”

He glances over at Anti sitting in the den and he straightens his back fiercely, standing on that cane. He did good. He has to keep believing in himself. He’s making progress and Anti can’t stop him fighting.

Anonymous asked: HmmMMMM Anti it looks like your emotions are bleeding though a little bit....y’know cuz red is- yeah anyways, where did Chaser go?

“Great, great,” snaps Anti. “Yeah, I get it, betrayal of the flesh, blah blah. You know what, I already look fucking indistinguishable to the person I hate most in the world, so maybe destiny could just call that fucking good, but no, let’s add on to the discomfort of looking in a mirror.”

He kicks the stairs in the den space just for the hell of it. Stupid tangible feet.

“Not even my face,” he whispers, low and bitter. “He lives in the curves of me, in the cut of my jaw, in the way my eyes move. No matter how much I try to shape-shift. I wake up every morning looking just like him - but not like him - all over again. Bullshit. Made me a copycat and a fake at the same time. Bullshit.”

He heaves out a sigh, his black eyes stormy.

Laughter from the street interrupts his mood and he sits up a little, his face calming. He can hear Trick. Good, Anti’s sick of feeling alone. He gets up and looks through the window above the kitchen sink.

Trick must still be coming down the pavement because he can hear him talking and laughing, but he can’t see him. Who the hell is he talking to? Himself? Did his little mind finally snap? Is Anti going to have to burrow into his fleshy little head yet again?

“I’m telling you, I do like them!” he hears Trick laughing. “I do, I’m not lying, haha! It’s just I think the satay noodles are my favorite. But all the shit you guys cook is amazing, seriously. Yeah, I - no, I don’t think I have! Oh! Maybe I can try it tomorrow. Will you be there again?”

Anti stands back on his heels, frowning. His form flickers darkly.

Anonymous asked: We’re really proud of you, Blue. Really. You’ve been so strong though all of this. I’d be squishing you in a big hug rn if I could! Keep doing what you’re doing, be independent and don’t let no bitch tell you what you can’t and can do! You’ve got this :)

“Don’t let no bitch - haha, okay, thank you.” Blue laughs and sits down on the sill of his window, letting his head rest against the glass. “Hey, tell Trick to hurry up with dinner. That’ll be the real celebration. I love the hawker food he keeps bringing me. Glad I can eat for real, even if this is a little annoying.”

He takes the nasal cannula out of his nose in preparation for dinner. He’s getting better at breathing without it, even planning to try to sleep through a night without it soon. His lungs are recovering from the smoke and the burning. He breathes in deeply against the cool glass, his eyes noticing something out near the front of the house he’s never seen before, a colorful mess of cloth. Someone must have left it behind on the rusted old pole of metal that used to hold a hummingbird feeder or something. Weird.

Anonymous asked: Hey, trick! Whatcha up to?

Anti steps slightly back from the kitchen window and let his mind flood into the camera Trick carries with him.

Clothes shuffle and move around the screen. If you had to guess you would say Trick’s probably shoved the little camera in his hoodie pocket. From that one circle of light in the side of the pocket, you can see white hands with long red nails, and you can hear her tittering laugh over the sound of Trick’s almost breathless, enthusiastic talking.

“Dude, no! I’m telling you, these are for my nerd brother.”

“You’re sure? You’re sure? You’re not a secret professor of poetry, Connor?”

“Fucking look at me, do I look like a professor of anything?”

“Uh… skate-boarding?”

“Skate - ” He cuts himself off with a laugh and they both dissolve into giggles. Her hand brushes over his as they both gesticulate.

“Maybe weed?”

“I could be a professor of that, okay, you’re right. How about Minecraft?”

“Yeah, professor of Minecraft, I can see it. Kittens?”

“Now you’re just flattering me. I do love my kitten. Converse?”

“Noodle-eating?”

“Super Smash Bros.”

“America.”

“Just the whole of - hahaha!”

And they’re laughing together, there on the pavement just out of Anti’s sight as the sun glows red and pink over them. They’re laughing together and holding poetry books they picked out together at the library and take-out boxes full of hawker stand noodles and you know it’s Xin Yi, you know it is, and when there’s a soft silence and you can hear the both of them pause and look and breathe - well, then you know that he’s leaned in to press his chapped and loving mouth to her soft cheek, and that’s she smiling, and so is he.

Anti steps back again from the window.

He can hear the blood pumping loud, loud, loud through his head.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Trick! Trick! Be careful!

Trick’s still got his camera turned off.

The message goes to Blue.

You see his eyes flicker and his pupils shrink. His hands grip down tight around you.

“What?” he stammers. “What did Trick do?”

He’s on his shaky, shaky feet before you can answer. Staggering out into the den, using his cane, his oxygen strapped to his back. Trick. He has to protect Trick. That is all that matters.

“Trick?” he calls. “Amata?”

But there’s just Anti in the kitchen.

Still as can be.

The floorboards beneath his feet have burned down to the earth below.

Smoldering still.

Anonymous asked: Wait Anti don't punish Trick please! You know that he'd never leave you or doubt you or anything like that. For god's sake, he attached the collar that's traumatized him so much for you and never left your side these past days and helped you ground yourself and did those little things like the candles around the house for you. He's utterly loyal to you and he's undeniably yours, please Anti. Don't punish him for this.

“You can’t hurt him,” says Blue, over the soft hiss of the floorboards burning.

Anti doesn’t move.

“He loves you,” says Blue, louder. “Maybe more than anyone ever has. He’d do anything to make you happy. It’s horrible, but it’s true. He loves you or he thinks he does. Deeply, deeply. You can’t hurt him. They’re right. He’s done everything for you. He’d give you anything. Utterly loyal, undeniably yours. Maybe the last one of us who is. You can’t punish him for this. Just tell him no and he won’t - whatever he did, he’ll stop.”

Trick is coming up towards the door.

Anti stares at him, his eyes flickering. Black, brown, red, green, blue, white.

“Anti,” says Blue.

He is begging.

“Anti.”

spicydanhowell asked: you fucking did this though. in another world, if you were kind to them, they could have been a happy little brainwashed following for you. but you're not even kind enough to be a good tyrant... that's interesting.... you Drove them Away. they don't love you anymore. none of them

Anti can hear the words pounding through his own head.

You drove them away.

They don’t love you anymore.

None of them.

Anti has hurt, and hurt, and hurt, and hurt them.

He knows that.

But he always thought he would be enough to make it not matter.

He always thought he would be enough if he just tried.

Dapper is gone. Red’s not there to make him feel safe. Dok’s not there to help him if he’s hurt. Blue doesn’t want him. And all Anti has had for almost two weeks now is Trick.

Warm, loving Trick. The collar wrapped around his throat. His fierce blue eyes.

Anti thought he had been good to him. Kind to him. Warm to him.

And he still isn’t… he still can’t be… Trick still wants…

“Hey, Blue?” he says.

“What?”

“Why am I not angry?”

“You - are you not?”

He is paralyzed. Impaled. Petrified like a fossil.

“My chest hurts,” he says, and he leans over the silver sink of the unused home and vomits blood like a mortal.

Anonymous asked: You know he'd burn down the world for you if you asked him, would stay by your side even if you're burning in hell or lashing out at him. As Blue said, just order him or tell him that he can't do this ever again and he'll do it within a heartbeat. Please, Anti...

“Awww,” says Blue, and you can hear the cold sneer of his mouth even before you can see it. He moves on his shuddering legs to stand behind Anti, close enough that he can feel the burn of his own magic dammed up too powerfully in Anti’s chest. “Poor thing. Is my stolen magic making the little demon sick? Are you such a little virgin you get jealous of a single kiss on her cheek? What exactly are you compensating for that you can’t bear to see your fucking brother find a cute girl to hold hands with? Does that sting, Anti? Does it burn? Imagine if someone told you to hold that much power in for weeks… and weeks… and weeks… and then, after you lost control after all that obedience, they possessed you, cut you open, stole your soul, and blamed you for it. Would that hurt, do you think, little demon? Does it burn, Anti, does my magic burn?”

Anti turns like a snake striking to spit blood into Blue’s face, grabbing him by the throat and sending him crashing to the ground.

“Trick is the only one left who loves you,” cries Blue even as he scrambles away, his blue eyes flashing, his chest heaving for air. “Trick is probably the only person in the world who cares about you at all, and you’re going to hurt him because he blushed over a girl who showed him kindness? No wonder you’re so fucking miserable, you snake-faced son of a bitch. You need control so badly that you can’t even consider that we could ever love anyone other than you. How do you bear the twin system, anyway?”

“I’m the one who makes you love your twins,” hisses Anti, blood sliding out of his mouth. “You and Red could barely stand to look at each other before I wiped your minds clean.”

A burst of pain slams against Blue’s chest. “That’s not true!”

“Trust me, darling, it is, you can ask them. Red was baring his teeth at you, didn’t trust you, didn’t want you there. Then I swept it all away and told him to love you and he woke up not even knowing why he felt so fond of you. That’s what your whole relationship is based on. Just like your dislike of cats, Blue. I choose everything about who you are and you don’t even realize it.”

“Shut up!” screams Blue. “You’re a liar!”

“You’ll never be free of me. None of you will. This - this is the last straw, this and your traitorous brothers hiding away in South America. I won’t take any more of this. I will destroy this girl. Not just her but the warmth of her, the meaning of her, the need for her. Trick won’t even want anyone but me and the people I choose for him when this is over.”

“Guys?” squeaks a terrified voice at the door. “Wh - wh - what’s - ? Anti? Blue? Are you hurting each other?”

“Your fucking brother is losing his mind,” chokes Anti, turning to vomit over the sink again, fire licking across his teeth. “Shouting at me while I’m ill.”

“Don’t listen to him, Trick, he wants to hurt you for kissing that girl!”

Trick stares between the two of them, utterly flummoxed. Anti sets his gaze on him and a sudden terror rushes into his bones.

“A - Anti? Big brother?”

spicydanhowell asked: trick... sir... anti's gonna be mad at you for this???

“But - but - no,” stammers Trick, holding out his hands, confused, bewildered, terrified. “Anti, I… you’ve been so nice to me. You wouldn’t hurt me just for - she’s so nice, Anti, why can’t I - ?”

Anti’s hand draws back to strike him and Trick cowers and the blow -

The blow -

“Trick,” hisses Anti. Chokes Anti. Stammers Anti. “What - why would you - I don’t understand?”

“Anti,” says Trick, and then he starts laughing.

Anti stares at him, eyes huge. He looks down at Blue and Blue stares back at him, shaking his head.

“Anti!” Trick repeats, and grabs his shoulders. “Man, come on, what the hell!”

“Don’t laugh at me, you little brat!”

But he is, he’s laughing, and smiling at Anti, and holding his shoulders, and hugging him. “You’re so - oh, fuck’s sake, Anti. Are you jealous I kissed a girl?”

“No!”

“If you need help with girls, I could - ”

“I don’t care about girls, Trick!”

“Oh, well then maybe Blue or Red would be more help in that department, but - ”

“I’m angry at you!”

“But you wouldn’t hurt me,” says Trick softly, still smiling. “You would never hurt me.”

Blue stares up at Trick.

And he can see - oh, fuck, he can see the glaze of the hypnotism over his eyes. He can see the influence.

Trick can’t even comprehend it right now, that Anti would hurt him. Trick probably didn’t think twice about bringing Xin Yi back here.

Because Anti is his family and Anti loves him and Anti wouldn’t hurt him over a kiss on the cheek.

Right?

“Trick,” he hears himself whisper. “My little brother.”

How many times has Anti wormed inside his head today alone? How many of his thoughts are turned back towards him? How much of Trick is even still in there?

“You… didn’t even think about it, did you?” says Anti, very quiet. “How I would react to this.”

“No, I did! I want to tell you all about her, she’s so cool! Anti, she’s super cute, did you see her? And hey, I think they might have a brother, I could - ”

“Stop,” says Anti. “Stop. Let me breathe for a second.”

Trick stops immediately and fetches a towel from the bathroom, returning moments later to start wiping the blood gently from his mouth. “Poor thing,” he mumbles, touching Anti’s face without fear. “I’m sorry if I upset you, Anti. But you shouldn’t feel threatened. That’s kind of dumb, man.”

“I’m going to kill you,” growls Anti.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Trick, smiling at him.

And that’s it. It’s done. You see the moment Anti regains control.

The confusion is gone. The snake is back.

“Oh, Trick,” he soothes, reaching out to cup his face in return, and Blue gasps and hides his face as Anti’s eyes turn black and drowning. “You don’t understand, do you, little brother?”

Trick’s eyes unfocus like a blind man’s. He hums distantly, the towel pausing on Anti’s cheek.

aether-mae asked: Trick, it’s not safe to have friends outside of your family at the moment, as much as I hate to say. Anti will definitely hurt her to keep you all to himself.

“You’re going to hurt me?” asks Trick distantly, swaying slightly on his feet.

“I thought about it,” answers Anti, smiling sweetly at him, carding his hands through his hair. “It would have been so easy. Maybe I still will. Shove you in the shed and beat you til you’re sobbing for me to kill you.”

Trick’s eyes flicker, but his mouth is still smiling.

“It’s not your fault, really,” says Anti, brushing his fingers through his soft locks. “You have abandonment issues, don’t you?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You just want everybody to love you, poor thing.”

“I do,” confesses Trick, his face faltering with grief. “I do.”

“Course you fell for a sweet girl. Blue’s been useless to you. Dok’s gone. You must have been confused. But, see, you don’t know what I know, Trick.”

“What, Anti?”

Anti puts his head down on his shoulder, staring up at him, his mouth close to his ear.

“I’ve seen girls break your heart, Trick.”

“Break my heart?”

Anti runs his fingers over the scar in Trick’s head.

“She made you do this… you don’t remember. I made you stop thinking about her. I set you free from her.”

“You… you weren’t being possessive. You were trying to protect me?”

“That’s right, little brother. Besides, what do you need her for? Your family is right here, Trick. You don’t want to give our cover away, do you? They’d send you off to jail… take all your brothers away from you… take me away from you. You don’t want that, do you?”

Trick shakes his head swiftly, making himself dizzy. He clutches on to Anti for support, eyes drifting back towards his skull.

“Stop it!” screams Blue, no longer able to stand it. “Leave him alone! You’re ripping him apart every day! He doesn’t like having you in his head?”

“You want me to bind you up in your own vines and beat you til you cry again?” snaps Anti, turning to level a violent glare at him. Blue is paralyzed beneath the gaze.

Anonymous asked: We've seen old magical books, Anti. Blue's magic is going to kill you. It's adjusting your form to fit its true host and it'll keep doing it until it wastes you away or gets rid of your old incorporeality. You've made quite the big mess for yourself, haven't you? And still all you can do is boil in rage and self-righteous anger. Your rage controls you, you've never been the one in control here. That'll never change, Antisepticeye.

Anti seethes with fury, turning his venom gaze onto you, clutching Trick tighter, tighter, tighter to his chest.

“You don’t want to see that girl ever again,” hisses Anti. “Unless it’s when the two of us go to slaughter her for ever laying a hand on what belongs to me.”

“What belongs to you,” repeats Trick distantly, hiding his face against his neck and humming a song to himself.

“You didn’t like being with her. The sight of her makes your heart race. You’ll feel ill if you see her again. You’ll want to hide and come back to me. You’re terrified she’ll hurt you like the first girl did. You don’t want that. You don’t want to be with anyone anymore. Just stay here with your family, with your brothers, where it’s safe. Where no one can hurt your heart. You won’t go. You won’t want anyone other than me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“In fact,” Anti adds in a snarl, turning back to you, and this, you can hear, is your punishment. “If you ever start to think that anyone is more important to you than me, I’ll take the memory of them from you forever.”

The slightest trepidation interrupts Trick’s daze. You see the flicker of his eyes.

“H… Henrik?” he whispers.

Anti’s possessive grip on him tightens, tightens, tightens.

“Yes,” he whispers. “If you ever break the rules like this again, I will make you forget even Henrik.”

Trick seems to wilt against him, panting softly.

“I have the power. You would forget everything about him. And he would still remember you, but you would only see a stranger. Wouldn’t that be just horrible?”

He nods against Anti’s shoulder.

“Anti, I - I’m sorry. I’m sorry, forgive me.”

“Don’t worry, Trick,” Anti whispers, gripping his hair. “I will help you make this right.”

Blue stares up at him from the floor, tears in his eyes. Anti smiles viciously back. His teeth are still red.

Yes. He is in control. No one else. And maybe it feels like the others abandoned him, betrayed him, turned against him, found someone new. But no - no. Soon, soon as Blue can travel, they will go back to Peru.

And then Anti will take his family back again.

No one else will get in the way.

No one else ever could in the past. Kamenye. Brody-Chen. Deshmuhk. Sforza. Every casual hook-up Marvin was sleeping with, every idiot friend or loyal coworker. They don’t even matter now. They’re dead, or gone, or scattered like cowards in hiding across the earth.

Anti looks up Xin Yi’s last name.

Koh. Pretty.

Koh won’t matter either.

“We will make this right,” he repeats.

And he does not notice the fabric fluttering on the hummingbird feeder in his front yard.

A warning sign.

There are consequences to the blood that Anti has shed across the earth.

There are survivors.

Anonymous asked: Tell me you didn't touch Chase's family, Anti. His kids??

Anti smiles down at Trick’s dazed face.

Then he slaps him so hard Trick goes crashing to the earth, a handprint red against his skin, and Blue lets out a scream on his brother’s behalf, crawling forward to snatch him away from Anti.

“Stupid fucker,” growls Anti.

“You’re disgusting!” screams Blue, hiding Trick against his chest. “Hurting other people just so you can feel like you’re in control! It’s pathetic!”

“I am in control!” Anti screams back, jerking forward fast enough to make Blue cry out in fear, grabbing his broken nose. Anti laughs hard, throwing his head back. “I’m the pathetic one? Every one else is like a squirming rat to me! Chase’s fucking kids. You should be grateful I don’t kill children. But it doesn’t matter. Either way, it doesn’t matter. He’ll never, ever see them again. Even if he could get free of me, those little brats are so deep in hiding even Red couldn’t hunt them down.”

“He has children?” cries Blue. “You took him from his family? Trick has children?”

“He belongs to me!” screams Anti. “He was always owed to me! The children were more of an accident than I was, and that’s a fucking miracle. Now get in your room before I decide I want to see you eating through a tube for the second time this month!”

Blue grabs Trick and scrambles back towards their room, his brother barely able to cooperate.

“Fucking girl, touching what’s mine!” he hears Anti scream, his body spasming apart into a myriad of violent colors, blood weeping down his chin again, meeting the open wound in his throat. Roots tear at his feet and the candles in the room burn like fire spirits performing a ritual to a war god. “Thieves, everyone, everyone! I hate outsiders, I hate intruders, I hate them! This is our story! The six of us and him! Anyone else is a distraction, an outlier, a mistake. Anyone else who tries to intervene can die like the worms they are.”

Blue drags Trick into his room and collapses, slamming the door shut behind them.

Anonymous asked: Literally- Bitch- Anon said "you let your rage control you" and you /immediately/ let your rage control you. Jesus christ your lack of self awareness is downright hilarious at this point Anti.

Your screen-four camera goes flying across the room the moment the message reaches Anti and crashes into Blue and Trick’s door, shattering your view into static. Blue lets out a little yelp, backing away from the door.

A drawn-out yowl like a tiny tornado siren from behind the mattress indicates Noodle’s terror.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” calls Blue to the cat, panting, pulling Trick into his lap and touching his reddened face. “Oh, Trick, Trick… my love, my amata, my brother… are you alright, my heart, are you okay? Your kitten wants you, yeah? Should I get him for you?”

Trick’s eyes are screwed shut.

He is crying in silence.

“My love,” repeats Blue in a whisper, pressing their foreheads together and gathering him into his arms. “My love. Here I am. Here I am. No one will hurt you now.”

Anonymous asked: It's literally in your own best interest to give Blue's magic back, Anti. It will kill you if you don't. YOU JUST VOMITED UP BLOOD. well, it IS your choice to keep it or not, but you won't have anyone to blame but yourself if it does something irreparable to you.

You can see him from the cameras in the corner of every room.

Panting over the sink.

Face white. Image moving.

“I’m powerful,” he whispers. “I’m more powerful than I’ve ever been. Every day, my control is stronger. At the end of every day, I’m so ill I think I will die, and I bleed and shake and grow ill like men do, b-but… but the rest of the day… my strength, my strength!”

He crumples slightly over the sink, his arms trembling.

“If I could just find a way to be both tangible and incorporeal… there must be a way… there must be a way to fix this yet. And even if I wanted to, even if I wanted to…”

He stands for a long, long time shivering over the sink.

In fact, most of you will have turned your attention away by the time he speaks again.

And even if you have not, he still speaks so quietly as to barely touch the ear - a whisper to make the kitchen a confessional - a secret -

“I don’t,” his bloodied tongue confesses. “Know how.”

Anonymous asked: Stand strong Blue. Defend your baby brother. Even if he does hurt you, at least that'll prick a hole in Trick's current false reality and bring him back to earth a bit.

“Right,” whispers Blue, curled low around Trick’s body. “Yes, I have to look after him. Yes, no matter what. Trick… amata. Fuck, I used to know your name… but it doesn’t matter, I love you.”

He cards his thumb across Trick’s cheeks, brushing tears away. “It’s okay, mo deartháir. Just hold onto me. Oh… well, let me get my oxygen.”

He grabs at his chest for a second, struggling softly, trying to pull in air. Eventually he manages to pull himself across the room and put his cannula back in his nose, taking a deep breath in.

“Blue,” cries Trick softly, clutching at his shirt.

“Trick,” answers Blue, wrapping back around him. “Trick, Trick. Sh, darling, okay. Here, look, your little paper, do you want it?”

He presses the blue crinkle paper into his brother’s palm and Trick wraps his fingers around it, hiding in Blue’s stomach.

“And your cat? Come here, kitty kitty, yes, there’s a good sweet boy.”

He scoops Noodle up and places him on Trick’s chest. He’s a sweet, intelligent cat, and immediately he is banging his little head up against Trick’s chin, mewling for attention. Trick palm closes around his growing golden body. Soft as duck down.

“What happened?” sobs Trick. “I was - I was happy and then so scared and I can’t remember why… Blue, someone’s going to hurt me, don’t let them hurt me! Blue, Blue!”

“No one’s going to hurt you,” swears Blue, pulling him close. They’re warm as space heaters against each other, curled up on the floor together. “It was - Trick, it was Anti, but I won’t let him - ”

“Oh, no,” breathes Trick, looking immediately dazed again, his eyes drooping. “He protects me, he loves me, he would never…”

Distantly, he touches his stinging cheek. Blue pulls the fingers away and leans down to kiss the mark, stroking his fingers through Trick’s hair as he cries soft against his chest.

“I was so happy,” says Trick. “Where did it go? What happened? I can’t remember… I must have really fucked up, Blue, I’m such a screw-up, I ruin everything…”

“I’m so sorry, amata,” whispers Blue. “Oh, no, Trick, not for a moment. You didn’t do anything wrong at all. You didn’t do a single thing wrong. You didn’t know Xin Yi would be in danger here. You didn’t mean to make Anti angry. You didn’t do anything. You’re so sweet to me, and to him too, even though he doesn’t deserve it.”

“Who’s Xin Yi?”

Blue winces, putting his forehead down against Trick’s. “I… I…”

“Is - Blue, is Anti going to make me h-hurt someone?”

“I - I don’t know, Trick. Not if I can help it. We won’t let it happen, okay? We won’t let it happen.”

“Please hold me…”

“Here I am.”

“Blue,” whispers Trick. “I love you more than air. But I want Dok so, so much. Why isn’t he here? Why won’t he come back to me? Doesn’t he want me anymore?”

“He’s just lost, Trick,” Blue answers. “He still loves you so much. Won’t it be nice to see him again after so long?”

“I’ll hug him,” says Trick simply, his breathing beginning to calm a little. “I’ll be able to sleep again, when Dok is… when Dok is…”

His gaze drifts. He’s only allowed to think about Dok for so long. His brain no longer holds on the thought of him for more than a minute, and so, several times a day he feels a great pang of grief, and then a numb confusion as it disappears again.

“Just let me hold on to you,” says Blue. “I got you.”

“You got me,” answers Trick, smiling weakly up at him. “You’re really good to me, Blue. Love you so much.”

“I love you, Trick.”

“Ekk,” says Noodle, licking Trick’s chin. Trick hugs him close and listens to his roar of a purr.

Blue finds Dok’s shirt amid Trick’s nest. He drapes it over them both. Faintly, Trick registers the smell of him. Blue’s fingers soothe his pain and his fear away, moving through his hair and across his back. Blue is holding him. Blue loves him. No matter what. Right now, it’s all that matters.

Anonymous asked: Trick please... You don't have to change yourself or act like someone you're not for the sake of making everyone happy. They love you for you. They love Trick and not... Whoever. Just... Blue please tell him? It would mean a lot more if it came from you. -🦀

Blue softens, staring at you for a second.

Fuck, but he’s glad to have someone on his side.

“You guys and Mr. Noodle here,” he murmurs, curling low over his brother, hugging him close.

“Hey,” he whispers. “I love you just the way you are.”

Trick stares up at him, his eyes wet and his mouth smiling sorrowfully.

“Blue,” he whispers, like a single-syllable song.

“Don’t want you to think you have to change for him,” chokes Blue, kissing his cheek again.

“Who’s him?”

He can’t bear to fight with him about Anti right now. Blue puts his face down against Trick’s shoulder.

It’s Trick’s turn to run his fingers across Blue’s scalp, soothing him even as he continues to cry. Their arms wrap around each other’s shoulders and ribs like a weary twilight Pieta. Blue gives his brother time. He needs it too. A half hour, an hour. Rocking him in his arms and listening to him snuffle and cry and try to figure out what happened, his confused mind making a mess of it and leaving him exhausted in Blue’s arms. Still, he has enough presence of mind to find the most important thing to say, when finally Blue feels his heart slow against his fingertips.

“I love you too,” swears Trick. “Just the way you are.”

“Anti made me the way I am,” says Blue. “And it’s not enough to protect you.”

“It’s always enough,” Trick says, with a reverence like a prayer. “Don’t you know you make me want to love myself?”

Warm hands and bodies pressed close together. The purring of a cat and the brotherhood shared in twin eyes.

Blue knocks their foreheads softly together.

“You and me?” he whispers, settling down against their nest.

“Yes,” says Trick. “No matter what happens. I have you, Blue.”

“Amata,” says Blue, trying to make up for the times Anti has said it with his lying mouth, trying to make up for all the times Anti corrupted this one truth that still remains. “Amata. Amata. Beloved. I love you.”

The sun has come down blue as the felt between the night sky and warm on their shoulders. Trick, Blue realizes, has fallen asleep in his arms.

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

Anonymous asked: Hey Henrik, you should ask the magicians for some candles that you can light on the shabbats! I think finally being allowed/able to practice your culture will really help you on your journey to healing. Remember dayenu, remember the blessings and songs. You're free, dok, you can have more than just Hanukkah now.

You find Henrik sitting in that dusty library basement, surrounded by the tall shelves of the books, flipping wearily through the pages of some stiff yellow tome. He’s surrounded by books, but, for once, all on his own. He no longer feels the need to be lead around or escorted. He knows he’s not a prisoner and, what’s more, he goes where he pleases.

“Ah,” he says, pushing his glasses up on his nose and giving you a small smile. “Well… that’s very nice. And I’d like to do some of that, maybe. I remember my songs and blessings even when I’m with Anti, but I don’t always use them anyhow.”

He sighs and fiddles with the pages of the book. “It is just not that easy as jumping back into it, yeah? Like… fuck, I don’t know. Anti’s not the only thing that’s been stopping me from my practices, I guess. My relationship with my faith is… well, it’s a lot of strings to untangle. I’d like to go back to having a real community, but even if I didn’t feel like I was going back to Anti soon, I’m still not sure I feel like I… I belong, you know, I’m just…”

He trails off, pulling his book closer and shaking his head.

There’s movement on the other side of the library and he blinks, looking around, but he settles back down to his reading.

“Trying to find more info on what Anti is,” he says, changing the subject. “But no real luck. I don’t think he’s anything anyone has ever seen before.”

cest-mellow asked: hey henrik, i’m glad they took you here. it’s very pretty. but, listen, there is a way you can potentially help blue and stop anti. this is gonna sound scary, but emmanuela wants to take a little look inside your head, just to see what antis done, nothing more. she’s very warm, she doesn’t want to cause you or your brothers any sort of harm. she really will help you, and blue, and red and dapper and trick, if you trust her with this. she won’t use any of this against you, it’s only to help.

“Oh, scheisse,” groans Henrik, putting a nail between his teeth. “JP mentioned something like that at dinner. I - oh, get this! They made me eat fucking lamb’s intestines and wouldn’t tell me what it was until I was done, haha. I wanted to be pissed but, okay, listen, lamb’s intestines? Kind of good. I ate… a lot of it, haha.”

He’s a healthier person than when he came here almost two weeks ago, his face flushed with health. He’s been exercising again - turns out he’s something of a runner, which is not something he would have guessed about himself - and he eats three meals a day, every day, and sleeps in every morning.

“Wait until I get them back with something really German, then we’ll see who’s laughing. Oh my gosh, I can still feel how chewy it was! And the kids are so funny, because they will just gobble it down, they just - ”

He pauses and clears his throat. “Sorry, we were talking about Emmanuela. Yes. Um.”

He lets out a deep breath, fidgeting with his book. “I think I trust her. I know the others do and that’s about enough for me. But someone in my head is - that sounds scary, I - I don’t know. I’ve been disillusioned about so many things for so long and I’m still waking up to them. I’m scared she’ll find that there are important things I believe in that are lies too. That maybe everything is a lie. She’ll find something like Trick doesn’t love me without Anti there or Dapper is as bad as Anti or Anti is really… is really…”

He shakes his head slowly, staring down at his books.

“Is really and truly irredeemable. I don’t know that I could bear it…”

There’s movement again, closer to him. He blinks, looking up, shrinking in on himself a little. The lights flicker off on one half of the library and he jolts, staring around him, shadowed half in darkness. Footsteps and he shivers.

“Hermann?” he calls. “Nina?”

No answer from the darkness.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Henrik, maybe you should be on your guard. Where did all the others go?

“I don’t know, just hanging around,” he says, getting to his feet. “I - I’m just being paranoid. Nobody can reach me here. Nothing’s going to hurt me.”

It’s become something of a mantra for him. He whispers it to himself after nightmares and triggers, hiding away on his own, holding his own arms around his shoulders.

“Maybe I’ll go. It’s getting late anyway. I’m just being paranoid. Nobody can reach me here. Nothing’s going to hurt me.”

“Funny,” answers a voice, and Henrik shudders, backing against the shelves, his breath picking up in his chest.

This voice has the thickest Spanish accent yet, almost too heavy for Henrik to understand. The shaking of the voice - the croaking, rasping, cold hiss of the trembling voice - does not make it any easier.

“Funny,” repeats the Old Man, somewhere close by. Somewhere between the shelves of the placid, dusted old library, half-dark. “Funny, funny. A joke, almost. My son, you know, he think the same thing before your brother kill him.”

A snake longer than Henrik’s entire body comes dripping down the bookshelf in front of him, golden eyes fixed directly on him.

hurricael asked: Hey magicians, do you know if someone giving back magic has ever been recorded? And if so, how? Like, magic that was taken and then given back to that person ((I'm a little timeline-muddled so if this doesn't fit here feel free to ignore it))

“Have you been looking for answers?” asks the Old Man, and Henrik whirls as his voice seems to move, almost like Anti’s does, and Henrik feels his heart constrict. “Have you been looking for salvación for your killer family? For all the different kind of murderer you love? For the one who kill Jose, and the one who kill Christofer when he go to help you, and the one who tortures Genesis?”

Fuck. Henrik closes his eyes tight against the memories. No! He won’t be intimidated by this man. He won’t be cowed. He’s Henrik, Dok, their brother.

“You don’t understand!” he cries. “You don’t understand anything about us.”

“Everybody like to say it’s complicated when bad things happen,” answers the Old Man. “You are here, you talk about religion down here? Talk about going back to being a good Jew? It’s complicated. Nobody understand. You tell yourself. But sometimes? You were just wrong. You were just evil. And not everybody deserves salvación.”

“No,” croaks Henrik. “You can’t just - ”

“If you had wanted answers,” says the Old Man. “I am the one who know every book in this library. Here’s your answer: no, your thieving, blood-thirsty brother can’t give the magic back, or at least that is not in any of the books, in any of the history. Same way your black and white brother can’t undo the scars on Genesis, and your red brother can’t bring my child back from the dead.”

Henrik leaps the snake and races back towards the stairs. His hands are growing wet with - oh, oh, what is this? When did he begin to bleed?

“Hey!” he screams, tumbling against a bookshelf. “What are you doing? Please stop! I’m sorry about your child but I didn’t - ah!”

Blood is running down his cheeks. Down his chest. Down his arms. He screams as cuts appear, painless but weeping, across his skin. Thick, heavy scars in some places, neat little patterns in others. The same scars Anti and Dapper gave Genesis. Henrik can feel the star shape on his cheek. Chain burns redden on his shaking wrists.

“The longer you stay here,” hisses the Old Man. “The more tired I am of excuses for everything your family is done to mine. You are not worth defending if monster comes back. You were not worth Jose and Christofer. You should not be here.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: GENESIS! ANYONE! HENRIK IS IN DANGER!

Genesis gets the notification on her phone, turning you on to let you see her splayed out on her bed, eating crackers.

“What?” she says through a half-full mouth, and then the message kind of registers, and she’s scrambling to her feet, spilling crumbs everywhere. “What? Where is he? Anti can’t have gotten in here. Emmanuela!”

She races out of her room, tearing open the door to Henrik’s room, but he isn’t inside.

Anonymous asked: Genesis, the Old Man is attacking henrik, isn’t there any way for you guys to stop him??

“Motherfucker!” shouts Genesis, even louder than she called for Emmanuela, tearing down towards the stairs. “He would not! He did not! Emmanuela will eviscerate him!”

“Genesis? What’s going on?” calls one of the three children, poking their heads out of the dining room.

“Go get everyone for me, now! It’s an emergency. The Old Man’s lost it. I shouldn’t have left the medico alone!”

She’s charging down the stairs already. “Henrik!” she shouts. “It’s okay, I’m coming! It’s not real, medico!”

Henrik can’t hear her. He’s curled up in a ball, clutching at his head, your camera abandoned beside him.

“Do you remember me?” asks a voice you haven’t heard in weeks, and the heavy boots of the enormous magician who had tried to carry Trick back to the car to be with Henrik appear in your vision. Christofer leans down over Henrik and blood comes pulsing from his throat, a great dog’s-teeth wound tearing his neck into bloody shreds. “Do you remember I tried to help you?”

“Stop!” he screams. “Please, no!”

There’s another body behind him a moment later. You’ve never seen this magician before, but you know who he is. He holds the great black book that Anti stole and used to take Marvin’s magic. Red killed him.

“Is it easy?” says Jose. “To pretend all the people you hurt are just side characters, nameless, forgotten the moment you put a blade in them? How many people have you killed, medico? How many of their names do you remember now? All of them had people who loved them.”

“I never wanted to!” screams Henrik.

“But that isn’t quite true now, is it?” sneers Jose’s image, and Henrik can hear himself laughing wildly, crazed, can hear the horrible squealch of his scalpel impaling a body again and again, cackling and babbling in German, and Anti cooing in his ear:

“There’s my good Doktor. There’s my little torturer. Now, at last you can admit it - you never became a doctor to heal anybody. You always wanted to feel what it would be like to kill someone and hold their heart in your hands.”

Henrik sobs and wraps his arms around himself. “Trick!” he screams. “Trick, please!”

Anonymous asked: It’s an old man, talking about how red killed his child. They’re in the library and he’s freaking Henrik out!

Genesis bounds down the stairs and finds Henrik shaking at the bottom, curled into a ball, holding his head and babbling.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. I wasn’t happy. I didn’t mean to. Let me go back to Trick. I did what you asked. Let me go back to Trick. I’ll be good. I’ll be good. I’ll be good!”

She falls to her knees beside him and cups his face in her hands, shushing him lowly, looking over him for injuries, but, while Henrik’s camera shows you rivulets of blood and bodies standing over him and the great long body of a constrictor snake creeping along the floor towards him, there is nothing in Genesis’s phone camera except Henrik himself, whole and unharmed, rocking on the floor.

“I’ll make him stop, I’ll make him stop, it’s just an illusion,” she reassures him, leaping back to her feet. “Viejo, paras! I’ll go get him, medico, stay here!”

Almost as soon as she’s rushing down the library shelves to find the Old Man, Hermann is crashing down the stairs to fall at Henrik’s side, taking his hands in his own, his eyes looking wildly around.

Anonymous asked: There's a reason we've done away with 'an-eye-for-an-eye' punishments. It's not as simple as your family hurt mine so I get to hurt yours back. We judge based on individual actions and we learn and grow and forgive if we choose to. I get that you're mourning your family's losses, but hurting Henrik won't take away your hurt. You're just putting more hurt into the world.

“They’re right, so cut it the fuck out!” screams Genesis, rounding the corner of the bookshelves, and there, at last, you see the Old Man.

His dry mouth is twisted into a terrible snarl.

The wrinkles around his eyes are soaked in tears.

He cries in silence, glaring at nothing, his eyes glowing faintly gold from the magic he’s using on Henrik.

“Viejo,” calls Genesis, her eyes softening, though her mouth is still taut with anger for her friend. “Stop. Stop. Jose wouldn’t have wanted this.”

“It does not matter,” he mumbles in Spanish, tears splashing onto the floor. “He is not here and never will be again.”

Anonymous asked: Question old man: who the hell are you HELPING by doing this? You passed-on family is gone, and the ones who are still here are trying to help this guy sure himself out and stop a demon so he can't hurt anyone else. You're directly impeding progress on that front. You're certainly not helping yourself by debasing any trust your living family has in you.

“You can kick me out after this if you please,” he tells Genesis, slumping back in his chair, his hand limp on the table before him. “It doesn’t matter now.”

She comes to stand beside him, her eyes flickering. After a moment, she puts her hand down on his shoulder.

He reaches up and traces the scars that Anti left her, his eyes clouded with both age and misery.

“Stop,” she says. “Please, I’m asking you. Jose was not the only one who loves you. I’m ashamed of you now. Stop, for my sake. For Jose’s memory.”

He scoffs and shakes his head, but at her request, the glow in his eyes fades away.

Henrik chokes and slackens across the floor as the hallucinations fade away, still shuddering. Hermann is murmuring reassurances to him, trying to get him back to his feet. It’s best to get him out of the library before anything else happens.

Genesis and the Old Man are still together in the darkness. He stares down at the wood of the table and closes his weeping eyes.

bupine asked: old man, these men have been through so much pain. i understand you have too. but wishing more pain on them does nothing. it doesn't help you feel better, i'm sure, and it won't reverse any scars or bring any person back from the dead. i am so sorry about your son. anti has done a lot of terrible things, and his brothers have too, as a result. but they're hypnotized, they have no choice. save your rage for someone who truly deserves it.

“The medico is a good man,” whispers Genesis, leaning down to touch his hand. “You would know that if you had given him a chance.”

The Old Man shakes his head slowly, slowly.

“I mean it. He’s like me, viejo. He’s like Jose was too. How many of us have come here because people hurt us and set us down paths we never meant to go down? This is supposed to be a place to have some peace. To find yourself. Why would you do that to him? He was hypnotized. He was lost.”

The Old Man just shakes his head. Eyes still closed. “No. Hypnosis only goes so far. Maybe the demon killed Christofer. But Jose was killed by one of the servants. And he should have fought. He should have fought it. I don’t care how hard it would have been. He gave himself up to the demon and Jose died for it. If that red man ever comes near this place, I’ll show him what it feels like to watch the people you love most die around you. I’ll shatter his mind til he’s in pieces and you can call it an act of mercy, then, because the demon won’t use his hands for murder after that.”

“Stop,” snarls Genesis, shaking her head. “You stop. Don’t you dare threaten any one of them. I’m ashamed of you. I’m ashamed.”

Anonymous asked: Why did you do that? Did you hope to gain something from torturing him?

“He plans to go back to the monster,” says the Old Man. “He still loves his brothers. Maybe he should have a chance to see them for what they really are. Maybe he should see himself for what he really is. Not one monster. Six.”

Genesis draws away from him, mouth pursed. She doesn’t know what to do. She’ll leave it to Emmanuela to decide what to do with him. Her hand falls away from his shoulder.

Anonymous asked: Sir, I’m sorry that you lost your child and I can’t begin to understand how that might feel, but taking it out on Henrik will not bring him back. Henrik was brainwashed and manipulated to do what he was told by the demon he was with, and he didn’t even kill him. Your child’s blood is on the demon’s hands, not his.

Genesis draws away from him. Doesn’t have the energy or time to comfort him while Henrik’s in pain and it’s his fault. She moves back towards the stairs, leaving the Old Man behind in the darkness.

“Wasn’t the demon’s hands either,” you hear the Old Man whisper, quiet as Genesis moves away from him. “I was the one who sent him to fetch the book. My son…”

If you were seated back at the table with him for a moment, you might have seen one more illusion, one more of his magic tricks - a young man sitting there beside him, healthy and strong and beautiful, smiling at him and reaching out to hold his hand. But no matter how long the image sits so lovingly beside him, the warmth of his fingers and the touch of his skin would never come down on their father’s palm again.

Anonymous asked: You underestimate the demon’s power. They did fight, and they’re still fighting, every single minute of every single day. Some days are harder than others, scarier than other, and sometimes they have to do things that aren’t too pretty to survive. They have known nothing else but survival and their abuser. I respect the place that your opinion comes from, but it is also one of misguided anger and it is beyond wrong to trigger a victim because you are hurt. It is not your place to pass judgement.

“Come on,” murmurs Genesis, carrying you up the stairs. “Let’s not waste any more time with him. If he doesn’t see that now, words won’t make him see it. He’s in a great deal of pain. Fuck, I knew he had objected to letting the medico wander free, but I never thought…”

She shakes her head, hustling up the stairs, where she finds a panicked JP waiting for the elevator.

“Genesis! What’s going on?”

“Old Man gave Henrik Nightmares. Maybe you shouldn’t bother him right now, JP.”

“He did not.”

“He did. Come on, I can hear him crying out. I need to check he’s okay.”

JP grabs his wheels and hurries after her.

“Where’s Nina?”

“Lying down. Baby’s really hurting her.”

“Damn baby,” mumbles Genesis, and despite the situation JP snorts out a laugh, running his hands through his hair. “Hermann? Where are you?”

“We’re in Emmanuela’s office,” Hermann calls back.

Henrik grabbed you at some point and you’re clutched tight in his shaking hands, listening to him wheezing and choking out terrified German. Hermann is kneeling close beside him and Emmanuela is sitting on his left, her eyes faintly gold, trying to pull him out of the last of the illusions.

“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to! Red didn’t mean to, he didn’t want to hurt them, he didn’t want to hurt us, he just - he- I didn’t!”

“Hey, you’re safe,” Hermann whispers, squeezing his hands. “You’re safe, you’re safe.”

“I want Trick! Trick! Please, where is he?”

“I don’t know, amigo, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

spicydanhowell asked: if you wanna comfort henrik, try rubbing his back or his head. his twin used to do that a lot

“Can I touch you?” asks Hermann.

Henrik is already gripping at his hands, disoriented and lost and afraid. “Trick?” he sobs.

“It’s Hermann, medico. It’s okay.”

“I want my brother,” he chokes. “I want - I want Anti.”

There’s a slight shift in all the magicians around him, glances exchanged and mouths twisted. Emmanuela gets to her feet and begins ushering people out of the room. “Give him some space.” The children race off, followed by a more reluctant JP and Genesis. Emmanuela sits down at her desk to give him room, and Hermann shifts closer to Henrik. He reaches up to touch the back of his head and, when Henrik only falters into it, he strokes gently at his hair, still clutching his free hand.

“I’m sorry he did that to you,” says Hermann. “I meant to protect you. I’m sorry.”

“No, he was right,” sobs Henrik, clutching at his face. “I’m a murderer and a sadist, I always have been, I love the sight of blood, just a freak… my brothers have all killed people, except maybe Blue, and we do it all just because Anti tells us to, and do you know what the worst part is?”

“Medico, Henrik, sh, sh…”

“I still love him,” cries Henrik, feeling something snapping inside his chest. “I still love him! He is my brother! I know he is a monster and I still want him! The Old Man was right. I’m just a monster too, wanting to be with him, wanting to be his.”

He crumples across Hermann’s shoulders, tumbling against his chest, and Hermann just reaches out to hold him, stroking slowly at his hair.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Hen.... it's okay. Yes you might have done wrong in the past, but that does NOT make you a monster. You will wee Trick soon, okay?

“I need to go back to him,” Henrik is sobbing, gripping at Hermann’s shoulders. “No, I mean it! I’ve been thinking it this whole time, I - I can’t - I’m not ready to leave Anti, or at least not leave Trick and my brothers with him.”

“Medico,” says Emmanuela.

“No, I mean it,” he repeats. “I meant to tell you - you, mostly - ” He casts you a red-eyed glance, hiccuping. “I plan to go back to Anti. I do. I’m not - I’d like to stay. I would. But I can’t leave Trick and Blue behind, or the others. I have to be there to look after them. That’s my job. I’m planning to go back to Anti. I am. You shouldn’t try to stop me.”

Emmanuela sits back in her chair, sighing. Hermann gives her a desperate glance, but she’s turned away from him.

“You can’t do that,” whispers Hermann, gripping Henrik’s head tighter. “You have to stay safe.”

“I know there’s nothing selfish about staying away from someone who’s treated you poorly. But I still… I still need to be with Anti. I feel his presence clawing at me. He’s so deep inside my head. And what’s more, I want to be with him. I can’t just give up on him, or on the others. They must be suffering so much. I have to look after Blue and protect Trick as he comes down from what Anti’s putting him through. Besides, I’ll only bring Anti here if I continue to hide. It was never feasible, me staying here. I need to go back to Anti. I want to go back to Anti. I want to go back to Trick.”

“This is horrible,” says Hermann, shaking his head. “No.”

“He’ll make his own choice,” says Emmanuela softly.

It would not be the first time she’s let people go, no matter how unwise it seemed.

“He’s an adult and a free man. He’ll make his own choice. But first he must let me make sure he sees as clearly as he can.”

She turns and levels her gaze at Henrik. He swallows shakily and stares back.

Anonymous asked: Henrik, no, it's okay. You're okay. He had such a powerful hold, it's completely understandable to still be affected by it. He changed you, and you're doing a wonderful job recovering. And remember, Henrik, he messed with your head, and if the core that's you got shaken up by it, that's okay, he meant it to do that. You're okay, buddy.

“How much of who I am is him messing with my head?” whispers Henrik, burying his face in his hands. “How much of who I am is really me and how much is him? How much of him is really a monster and how much was real in the times when he made me think he loved me? How much of any of us is real? Are we just puppets? Was the person I was anything like this at all?”

Hermann looks helplessly over at Emmanuela, who, at this point, is mostly looking sad for him. Henrik hides from her pity and pretends the warmth against him is Trick’s.

“Can I see?” she asks.

“Inside my head?”

“Yes.”

“Could you if I said no?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t.”

Henrik stares down at the floor, exhausted, his heart still pounding so hard it hurts. He chokes on a sob and tears come drizzling down his face. What a mess he is. What a mess he’s always been, long as he can remember.

“Can you help me get my memories back?” he asks in a croak.

“Maybe,” she says. “It depends on the way the monster took them.”

He looks up at her, startled.

“What, really?”

“No clue til I try.”

Hermann is rubbing soothingly at his knee. Henrik glances over at him, meeting the calm trust in his eyes. Henrik looks up at you, nervous.

“Okay,” he says softly, clutching you to his chest. “But if you try anything, they’ll tell me!”

Emmanuela chuckles, soft and low.

Hermann leaves them alone in the room. Henrik feels awkward staring up at her, and a little afraid.

“What is this going to answer for me?” he asks in a croak.

“Well,” says Emmanuela. “How much of his control was ever voluntary for you. How he got in your head, which might, in turn let us know how to get him out. How real some of the things you’ve believed are. What happened to your memories - locked away in your brain or just destroyed.”

Henrik laughs and tugs on his hair, shaking his head slowly. “Well, fuck,” he says. “That might be too many answers.”

“Just take it easy,” she says. “Close your eyes.”

“I feel very stupid,” he admits.

She laughs without mocking him. He closes his eyes.

Here are some things that are true.

Henrik von Schneeplestein did not for a moment choose Anti. He did not agree. He was not convinced. Even more so than Blue, he was shoved down this rabbit hole; he was broken in half and then rebuilt. The remnant of that time makes old scars tingle along his body, burns and cuts and bones ever-so-slightly out of place. Anti told him he didn’t know how he got them. Probably from the old master, he said. Probably from that old and painful life. Briefly, Henrik feels the ghost of a memory, staring across at Trick before he was Trick, the two of them whispering encouragement as the days went by, until at last Henrik shattered, and Trick fell down with him.

Here are some things that are true.

Anti falsified all of it in the beginning. The feeling of fondness towards him. The feeling of safety. The lie of the danger outside. There was no one coming for them, except old friends who missed them, or at least what few of their old friends who remained alive. Henrik had people he loved and he forgot them. Henrik loved Jameson and Jackie and Marvin and he forgot that too. Things changed as time went on. Dok loved Anti. Dok loves Anti.

Anti has, at moments - at small, fleeting moments, loved him too. Earnestly and truly. There is a bullet scar in Dok’s side that will never go away, but the only reason he survived it at all was because of the great black dog that guarded him from their enemies. The great black dog that took bullet after bullet for him, and saw a dozen possible futures at Dapper’s hands, and chose the one where Doktor did not die. There were moments where he would look over at him and think, at least, ‘he is something worth loving.’

Selfish love, sometimes, but at moments, present.

For the most part, however, Anti has not loved him, not slightly, not well, not enough, and that was a choice he made. Killing Henrik was an act of revenge, and from there, Dok has been tortured again and again by the hatred of the monster he came to call his brother, and it isn’t fair, and it wasn’t loving, and the brotherhood between them is, if real, a terrible, terrible curse to him, and he doesn’t deserve it.

Here are some things that are true.

Anti is jealous and Henrik’s memories are gone, permanently. Not locked away. Not hidden. Destroyed. Powerful magic. Powerful theft. Henrik will never remember that old life. Only glimpses of it, ghosts of it. Emmanuela searches and Henrik sees distant things - a house in the middle of the forest. The disappearance of a little brother. The flight from home. His brothers around him. Chase. But these are empty gaps where memories once were, not things recalled.

Here is one thing that is true.

“He’s entangled himself completely in your family,” says Emmanuela. “In your mind.”

Dok loves Anti. Henrik loves Anti. He does, he does. Despite everything. Despite the false foundation.

“He made it seem real,” she says. “Because the family between the rest of you was real. As time went on, you lost the ability to distinguish between the intruder and the reality. And he just became another brother. Flawed, maybe, but so were all of you. A bad temper, you said. You couldn’t see that he wasn’t real. Because if he wasn’t, than what does that make the rest of it? False as well? You knew it like this: ‘I love Trick and Trick loves me, truly and fully. Anti gave Trick to me. Anti must love us too, truly and fully, or wouldn’t that mean Trick didn’t love me too?’“

Henrik tries to breathe, burying his face in his hands. He did not feel her in his head, but he felt the remnants of so many things he’s forgotten or tried to forget. Grief and anger and hurt and pain and happy things, too, but less of them, not as many as there should have been.

“He is a talented manipulator,” she says. “More powerful and skilled than anyone I’ve ever come into contact with. I don’t know - Henrik, I’m sorry - I don’t know how you’ll convince yourself fully that he really is as bad as all that. No matter what I show you, no matter how much time you have, he will still be buried in there by virtue of his power. This web - I don’t know how to break it. You love your brothers and your brothers love you. Anti is caught up in the middle of that, hiding in the subconscious, unable to be ratted out without ratting the real love out too. It’s not fair. I’m sorry.”

“Maybe you’re just wrong about him,” Henrik sobs. “You have to be, if he seems so real!”

“Henrik… this is what I mean. No matter how much you cling to him, you know, logically, what’s real. You saw him hurt your magician that night. He could have killed him. You’ve seen him lock your little brother away in his room for months on end. You’ve seen him twist the others into things they never wanted to be. You’ve been hurt by him yourself, medico. You know. You know.”

“But I still love him,” says Henrik.

“Yes,” says Emmanuela, very soft. “That’s a normal part of abuse, but… I don’t think that this will go away normally.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” says Henrik.

He tries to breathe. He’s got this. He’s fine. He’s a motherfucking certified genius, he can figure this shit out.

“Here are my options,” he says. “One - I run away and I stay gone and not only does Anti hunt me for the rest of my life, but I’ll always feel attached to him as long as I’m attached to the others, who, as far as I will know, will continue to be tortured by Anti.”

Emmanuela just watches him. She will let him make his own choices.

“Or, two - I find a way to disentangle Anti from my family. Not just my image of my family, but the whole of my family. Realizing, logically, that he is a horrible son of a bitch has so far proved useless. I still know that I love the others, and they love Anti, or at least some of them do, and as long as that’s true, he’ll always be buried in there somewhere. I can’t escape him alone. None of us can. So to get away from him, I’d have to - ”

He stops short, staring at the wall.

Looking up at last.

“We’re… all going to have to turn on him together,” he says. “Aren’t we?”

Emmanuela looks at him. She has endless eyes. Her dark hair gleams.

“Yes,” she says. “I think so.”

He sits back on his chair. Staring at that wall. Stained glass windows at the side of it. Letting in the light, but letting it in blood red.

“Impossible,” he says. “Impossible.”

“No,” she says, reaching out to touch his hand. “It isn’t. It’s just a fight, Henrik. And you’re going to have to fight it. With them. Not alone anymore. With your brothers. Stop watching each other get hurt and stand together. Find your family again. The real one. You don’t have to surrender.”

Blood red streaks across him. Light and color and the blank face of the wall. The closed door waiting to be opened.

“I need to see Anti again,” he says, very soft.

“To fight?” she asks. “Or to give up?”

He doesn’t answer.

She leans back in her desk, her eyes faintly gold.

“I’ll make preparations for if you choose to leave,” she says. “I’ll give you weapons. Protection. Anything I can. It’s your choice, Henrik.”

He walks back to his room alone, and sits on the bed, and stares at the wall.

Here is a truth, a great truth, greater than anything else that he knows, great enough, he thinks, perhaps, to fight for:

He wants to be free, and bring his family with him.

But it will not be easy.

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

aether-mae asked: Hen, when Anti comes, I want you to keep this time in mind. Keep in mind how you are safe and happy with the magicians, and remind yourself you are bringing this contentment to trick. Bring trick away from Anti so he can enjoy this with you.

You can find him in the sunlight.

They’re playing a partnered card game that involves slapping your hand down on the cards faster than everyone else, coming up with secret signals to communicate, and a lot of wild giggling, especially from JP and Nina, losing it on his right side. He’s sitting down against the wall with one arm around her shoulders and one arm around her rounded belly and their black hair is glowing in the light. Henrik tugs you closer to him at the beeping, but he’s distracted by the chattering of Genesis and Hermann and Basilio, who is eagerly perched in Henrik’s lap, trying to slap the cards every single time a new one falls.

“You have to wait for a sandwich of cards,” laughs Henrik, dragging his little hand back again. “Like, maybe an eight and then something else and then another eight. A sandwich.”

“Que?”

“You have to - haha, you’ll learn, you’ll figure it out.”

Basilio slaps the cards again and Henrik breaks down into laughter.

Loud laughter. Loud, deep from the bottom of his chest. His head falls back and his eyes squint up and his shoulders shake with it.

And he catches your message out of the corner of his eye, and pauses to read it, and fuck, fuck.

He has to fight, doesn’t he?

He has to fight for Trick to have this.

If he’s going back -

The sun is golden on him. His skin fits him right. There is a child laughing on his lap and friends around him.

If he’s going back, he’s going back to fight.

He has to bring this joy back to his brothers.

He strokes Basilio’s dark hair and -

“Sandwich!”

- slaps the cards.

“Henrik,” groans a chorus of accented voices at him as he collects the cards he’s won, and he’s laughing again, and he’s warm, and Hermann’s hand comes down on his own just for a moment as if to say, ‘yes, brother, here we are.’

Anonymous asked: I don't think you need to figure out exactly who you were under his control, because I think the lines were blurred enough that we might never quite know. People do things they wouldn't usually to survive, and to protect themselves, and I do not think you can be faulted for things he made you do. And as you begin to come back, we can begin to figure out who you are now.

They devolve into sitting around and kicking a football around eventually, Henrik sitting on the sidelines and drinking beer with JP as Genesis and Hermann play monkey in the middle with Basilio.

“It’s kind of frightening,” he tells you, though he says it calmly. “Knowing that I have to find myself again. Knowing that I will never be that same person I was. But I think I want it. I think that’s something I want to stand up for. For my chance to be Henrik, and not just here, sheltered away from him. For my chance to be Henrik again in all things.”

“That’s the good part about it,” says Nina, turning to smile at him. “You go through so much you don’t know how to get back that person that you used to be, but then… then you get to choose the person you become. And that person becomes someone who is a survivor despite everything. A fighter despite everything. You choose strength and it shapes you.”

She smiles softly at the brick beneath her feet, turning her head to gaze at her husband, stroking her hand along her belly.

“Every day,” she says, touching Henrik’s shoulder. “We’re choosing. It’s okay to make new choices. Okay to be a different person. Every day a new person. I think that’s what’s really beautiful about being a person at all.”

aether-mae asked: Henrik! My lovely fellow. Red and Dap are on their way to you, without Anti and with no intention to return to Anti (as of yet). Is there any way you know of that could bring you to them faster or would you like to wait for them?

“What’s this? Red?”

“Hermann!”

Emmanuela’s coming up the stairs, beckoning for him. He hurries over to her and they exchange a few soft words. She presses something into his hands and leaves again.

Hermann stares down at it for a second. Holds it in his hands.

“Henrik,” he calls, trying to steady his voice, turning back towards him with a smile, holding a phone. “It’s for you.”

“It’s what?” Henrik gets onto his feet. Hermann just holds the phone out to him.

Henrik puts it to his ear.

Soft breathing, shy and nervous. Soft mumbling in the background. Soft shuffling and a deep breath.

“Dok?”

Henrik’s heart is a bird uncaged.

“Red! Oh, oh, I - I - is it you, is it? Bruder, is est du? How, how, Red, Red, I - ”

Red is stammering and babbling and stumbling just as much as he is on the other end of the line, his voice hoarse and shaking.

“We used the cameras, Max sent his phone number to them - I didn’t think it would work, thought it was a trick, fuck, Dok, is it you?”

“It’s me, it’s me! Red! I didn’t know if you were alright, I didn’t know if you were in prison… tell me something only you would know!”

“I - I, um. For Christmas this year, Trick got you coffee.”

Henrik bursts into laughter without knowing why, gripping his hair. “Red, Red!”

“Dap’s here too - he says your favorite book is the Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder and he loves you and he says you better believe it’s him, he loves you, he loves you - ”

“Oh, my little brother, is he well? Put him on the phone, I need to - no, wait - ”

It’s Red’s turn to laugh, and then they’re just having a breakdown together two countries away, listening to each other’s voices, chattering everything that comes to mind, and Henrik can hear Dapper clicking and striking his hands together at Red’s side.

“Dok, we want to come get you.”

“You want to come get me?”

“Yes. Yeah. We’ve got a car. We’re headed your way. Dok, I have to see you again. I can’t take all of us being separated anymore. I don’t know how we would have survived without the help we found.”

“Well, that I understand,” chokes out Henrik, gripping that phone like it’s keeping his head above water. “Red, yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” he says. “Yes. Come get me. I need to see you. My brothers. I love you.”

He didn’t mean to make Red’s voice shake even harder. He thinks he hears tears in his eyes. His strong older brother crying just for him.

“Where can I find you, Deutsch?”

“The market,” Henrik answers immediately. “Where we bought coffee and polar bear shirts and dog tags and rings. Red. Bruder, hermano, my friend. Come get me.”

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

Anonymous asked: Hold on just a while longer Blue- No, not blue, Marvin. Hold on just a little while longer. The missing brothers are free. I don't think anything anti does could convince them to come back to him at this point. Anti has enemies that will take him down in this weak state. Almost there you strong, wonderful magician. Protect Chase, protect yourself, I can't make promises but I feel the end to your pain is on the horizon. Do not go gentle. Rage against the dying of the light.

Do not go gentle. Rage against the dying of the light.

He sleeps every night now with his arms wrapped tight around Trickshot. They tangle up in blankets and brothers’ shirts and the tube for his oxygen.

The end of your pain is on the horizon.

He curls his body around Trick’s. As if he can protect him. At the least, he has to try. His fingers stroke the hair at the nape of his neck. Trick squirms closer to him in his sleep, mumbling and throwing his arms around him, entangling their legs. Noodle readjusts to sit nearly on his face.

They would not begrudge you the quick look in on them as they slept. You are, after all, a beacon of safety - for Trick, a sign that Anti watches over him; for Blue, a steady ally against everything that hurts him. A friend.

It is late, though. How long will you watch him? How many of you are looking on? Everything is still. Have you often peered at the silence of them? At the little moments, where nothing exists but the hand of their brother clasped in their own? Loyal watcher. You see things they do not always see. It is late, though. Will you go to sleep? Who taught you to watch so vigilantly? You remember the things the rest of the world has forgotten - glitches and Silent Nights and white string and comas. You remember things that never happened, because Jameson undid them.

The watchful few. The handful of you. It is late, though. Will you sleep?

Movement in their window.

A shadow, at first. Pausing. Casting a low shade of darkness over what little light comes in through their window.

The shadow shifts.

Closer.

And then there is a silhouette in their window. The silhouette of a person.

They do not know you’re there. They do not know you see.

They come close to the window. Cast that black and impenetrable shadow down over Trick and Blue, asleep on their mattress. The perfect outline of a person looking down at them. For a moment, they only stare down at them. Unmoving. Cold.

They move away again. You think they wear a cape. No. You think they have the wings of a bird. In the moonlight, a flicker of gold.

Trick and Blue sleep. Tangled up in blankets and brothers’ shirts and the tube for his oxygen.

Loyal watcher. It is late, though.

How long will you watch?

How long will the shadow?

End Section Nine of Chapter Three: The Separated Twins

#chapter three #writers of jack

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