#my brain really did be waking up and choosing violence today | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reidyoulikeabook · 3 years

Text

Sometimes You Just Don’t Know the Answer

4 times you don’t know the answer, and the 1 time you do

This is the 2nd part to Personal Google! (You don’t have to read it to understand this, but it exists if you want to).

Ship: BAU!reader x Spencer Reid

Summary: You’d call yourself a pretty educated individual, and most people wouldn’t argue with that, given that you’re a member of the BAU at Quantico. There’s just something about your best friend Spencer Reid that gets you all tongue tied.

Warnings: Mentions of cases and case-typical violence, mentions of alcohol, Spencer and Reader being idiots again.

Word count: 3k

A/N: The feedback (in asks and the tag reblogs) for Personal Google was so lovely and encouraging and I am very grateful for it! I only made this account a few days ago and I’m already so glad I did :) I hope this is a satisfactory second part and, requests are open!

(This is the Reid I’m imagining here)

“What is up with you and Reid?” Emily’s volume is unmoderated at the best of times but right now it’s like she’s trying to alert the entirety of Virginia to your dating woes.

Dating woes might be a stretch, actually. Somehow, just her implication that something is happening between you and Spencer (even though it isn’t, unless you count two exhausted idiots falling asleep on each other and being too bashful to ever mention it again), is enough to get you feeling uncharacteristically shy.

“Nothing,” you shrug, “Well. I don’t know, honestly, nothing I guess? We haven’t spoken about that night.”

Emily’s eyes rake over you, and you can tell she’s waiting for you to continue.

“There’s nothing!” you object, “We just, it was accidental, we fell asleep because we were watching a documentary and we were tired and neither of us fell asleep on purpose.”

She laughs, dry and amused, “At this rate, you’ll be lucky to have sorted things out before you’re 50.”

You scowl, but it’s only because you know she’s right.

***

You don’t have much time to think about your situation with Spencer for a few weeks, considering the rate at which the cases come rolling in. This newest one arrives within about two days of the last one you’d just wrapped up. It’s actually kind of rude, you’ve decided, that the serial killers of America have decided to deny you two weekends in a row.

You’re briefed on the case quickly: four women have gone missing over the past 7 months from a small town in Ohio. There’s no distinct pattern that can be discerned among the victims, the oldest is 60 and white, the youngest is 23 and Asian-American. However, the first three have been found dead in the past two weeks, all within a mile of each other and all killed with the same MO: ligature strangulation.

“So we have no idea how he’s choosing them,” you say.

“No,” Hotch replies, with a sigh.

Meaning that this is probably going to take a while. Spencer senses the way you tense up a little as you absorb that fact. So he goes out of his way to sit next to you on the plane. Once the discussion about the case is done, he nudges you gently, “Did you bring a book?”

You shake your head, “I finished the one in my go-bag. Didn’t have a chance to replace it.”

“Would you like to read this with me?”

You place your hand on his wrist, gently turning it so you can see the cover, “Spencer this is written in Greek.”

“I can translate,” he says.

You move closer to him then, your head resting just against his plane seat and your chin almost jutting against his shoulder.

“Is this okay?”

He nods. The remaining 45 minutes of the flight are spent with him reading to you softly, adding in his own thoughts as he translates and sometimes going off on little tangents. By the time you land you’ve entirely forgotten about your ire with the case. You’re focused only on the characters he introduces you to, who are clearly in love even if they’re too stupid to see it, and the way his nose crinkles a little when he reaches a word with no direct English translation.

Whhat you don’t realise, is that you end up folding into him: head pressed against his chest. Somehow, neither of you notice how you naturally gravitate towards each other. Some pair of profilers.

Hotch sends you in different cars to the precinct, and you’re soon reminded of your frustration as you’re caught up in the hub-a-bub of the case. It’s not until you’re leaving the station, after a long and relatively fruitless briefing with the medical examiners and local PD, that you even have time to acknowledge Spencer properly again.

And even then, it’s only when Hotch says.

"You'll be sharing a room with Reid, alright?"

He’s only really asking as a formality. Nobody questions Hotch’s assignments for them. So why, then, do you feel yourself flush a little.

Why then, do you feel so embarassed replying, “Alright.”

***

There was nothing much to be nervous about with sharing a room, as it so happened. The past day and a half had been a whirlwind since the unsub had snatched a fifth victim. You’d been sleeping in shifts, making sure that some of you were awake at all times to keep working.

You were working on the geographical profile with Spencer, and had taken to driving around to look for landmarks at night, when there was nothing much else to do. There were maps but sometimes it helped just to get things embedded in your brain. And now, at 4am, you’re bursting into the conference room occupied by Spencer and Rossi, because you might just have got something.

"I have an idea,” you say, and before anybody can even respond you’re scribbling hurriedly on the whiteboard.

“Slow down kiddo,” Rossi laughs.

“Sorry I’m just,” you cut yourself off, slightly flustered and tapping your foot with frustration as you try to put the last pieces of it together, “Diana Matthews.”

“Yeah?” Spencer responds.

“She was the one who lived on Lakefield right?” Rossi asks.

Annoyingly, you can’t remember off rote. Spencer sees the pinch of frustration in your brow. He senses that you’re heading for the case file.

So, he answers, “Yeah 38 Lakefield Drive.”

Smiling gratefully at him, you breathe a sigh of relief, “There’s three different stores in the area for this local electronic repair company, Gladston Digital, in this area. Two of them aren’t accounted for on the maps because these are from last year, and one of the ones on Google is pinned to the wrong street, there are two Minister Avenues and one’s on the complete opposite side of town.”

Denoting the map with annotations as you go, you continue, “All of the victims had residences within a mile of one of the three stores. And we interviewed the area manager, Paul something, he manages all three stores. He came to speak to me and Hotch while we were scoping the area.”

“Inserting himself into the investigation,” Rossi notes, “Fits the profile. A stalker like that would want to remain an illusion of control.”

“I just need to get Garcia on the phone to see if it checks out.”

Spencer just watches, slightly in awe, as you make the phone call to Garcia. She manages to cross-reference bank statements and emails, showing that all five of the victims had taken something of theirs in for repair sometime in the year before their disappearance. And he feels something in his gut. Pride? Maybe. That’s certainly a part of it.

But there’s something else in there too. Your eyes meet his, with a flicker of recognition. He realises what it is then: marvel. Your brain works so fast, and that’s not novel to him, he knows you’re intelligent but there’s just something about how fast you manage to put it all together. You conjure something out of nothing, a link that he’d missed. And he’s reminded, again, that he has to try and keep up with you sometimes. He wonders if you know that.

Probably not, he thinks. You’re rambling down the phone and gesturing with your hands, in a way you may or may not have picked up from him, and all he can think is how you look so in your element. And beautiful.

He’s a little embarassed about how normal it feels for that last observation to pop into his head.

***

“To _____!” Prentiss cheers.

8pm has rolled around. Since your revelation 16 hours earlier, you managed to confirm your thinking, apprehend Paul Bader, and save the fifth victim. All in all, a pretty good days work. It’s not just down to you, but everyone’s singing your praises so loudly it’s making you a little embarassed.

Even Hotch sets a drink down in front of you, squeezing your shoulder, “Really good work today ____.”

Fair to say you’ve probably peaked there.

Spencer is sat to your left, sipping at a Mai Tai that you know is going to have him giggly in about an hours time.

“I wasn’t trying to keep you out before,” you tell him, “I was going to come and wake you up when I got back but you were in the conference room.”

He smiles, “I know. It was my shift to sleep.”

“Bet you’re paying for that now.”

“A little,” he chuckles, “It’s worth it.”

"I just didn’t want you to think I was hanging you out to dry. You know, to make myself look good,” you decide to press further: mostly just because the team has sung your praises and that kind of attention makes you shirk at the best of times. Let alone when you’re sat with the guy responsible for creating half the damn profile.

His eyebrows furrow. You worry for a minute about what he’s going to say, but then, “I would never think that about you. We’re a team.”

He squeezes your hand. Maybe that’s your favourite thing about Spencer, really. More than the fact he remembers to get your caffeine just how you like it, more than how gentle he is with just about everybody he encounters, more than his relentless enthusiasm for your questions about whatever pops into your mind. No, it’s his modesty. The way he doesn’t even think for a moment to be prideful or arrogant about his intelligence. He genuinely roots for you in every moment, you think.

“Are you okay?” he asks, “You seem a little..quiet.”

It wasn’t until he mentioned it that you realise you’d let your thoughts run away with you, “No. I’m good. Just thinking about how good of a teacher you are.”

“You think so?”

“Of course I think so. You’ve taught me. I didn’t know the first thing about geographical profiling when I got here two years ago. I could barely read a map,” you laugh, keeping your tone sincere, “You’re a really good teacher Spence. I feel like I learn so much from just being around you.”

“I often don’t give you much choice.”

You smile, “I wouldn’t want you to. Really. I’m always interested in everything you have to say. I think you know that. But I wanted to tell you anyway. So you’re sure.”

He’s incredibly grateful you get pulled into a conversation by Morgan, giving him a moment to process.

A lifetime of being insecure. Of feeling like nobody was interested in what he had to say but not being able to really control whether he said it anyway. All this time being insecure in himself, and you liked it. Complimented him on it, even. Considered him a teacher. He doesn’t think he could articulate, in any of the languages he speaks, the sense of peace that brings him.

-----

The Mai Tai’s do make him sleepy. Buzzed, but sleepy. After being bought rounds by Hotch, Morgan, and Spencer, you’re feeling exactly the same. It’s only 10:30pm by the time you decide to make your departure for the night. This is much to the chagrin of Emily, who lolls against Rossi’s side demanding that you stay.

“Some of us have been up since 4 this morning, breaking their backs to keep this country safe,” You tease, putting on a melodramatic air just for affect, “Besides, you’re going to regret this when you have to be up and back on the jet in the morning.”

“You will, especially since you still owe me that report,” Hotch teases, with a smile.

Emily rolls her eyes, “You two are no fun.”

She’s joking, goading you, but unfortunately for her you have a sleepy Spencer nuzzling against you which is a far more pressing matter to deal with.

“Come on Spence, let’s get you to bed,” You say, gently wiggling out from under him and offering him your hand.

He pouts at the momentary loss of contact. It’s subtle. You catch it though. He links his fingers through your own, holding your hand properly, and you try not to read into it too much. He’s tipsy. He’s tired.

Ignoring the deliberately obvious eyebrow-wiggling from Morgan, you make for the lift.

“You didn’t have to come to bed just for me,” Spencer says, “I feel bad for taking you away from the others. I’m not that drunk, I could get myself to bed.”

You shake your head, “I wanted to go to bed with you.”

His eyes snap to you, a grin playing on his lips.

“I mean, I wanted to go to bed. And we’re sharing a room. So I’m going to bed with you. As in we’re going to the place where bed is, together.”

He’s just enough tipsy to be confident enough to jest, “Sure.”

You roll your eyes, “You sound like Morgan.”

“What did Morgan say?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what Morgan always says whenever anybody goes off together.”

“That they’re having sex,” He giggles, tipsiness shining through again.

“Yes, Spence, that they’re having sex.”

“But we’re not.”

The elevator dings as you arrive at your floor, saving your brain from delving into the implications of what he’s just said. And whether that was a disappointed or netural tone.

He hasn’t let go of your hand. He walks to the door with you, still keeping your hand in his. It’s hard not to let yourself read into it now. How holding hands with him could be such a casual thing. Hard not to imagine walking through bookshops with him, one hand in yours and the other picking books off the shelf he thought you’d like. The domesticity of it sickens you.

Then he lets go to cross to the bed.

“Aren’t you gonna put your pyjama’s on?” You ask.

“I wasn’t gonna sleep yet,” he says, “I was gonna...”

He looks bashful, suddenly, self-consciously licking his lower lip, “I was gonna ask if maybe you wanted to watch something with me. You can pick. I always pick.”

“This an excuse to get me in bed with you again, Spence?” You tease, just past tipsy enough not to care that this is the first time you’ve even acknowledged that night.

"Yeah, the Pearl Harbour ruse doesn’t work twice,” he jokes.

You wish you could find the courage to tease him more. Unfortunately, the liquid courage seems to have run out, and the topic somehow feels too delicate to touch.. Instead, you change quickly into your pyjama’s. Together, you pick something to watch, settling down. You’re suddenly thankful for the single bed, the necessity to be cozied up against him as you watch. To feel his chest, every beat of his heart. You swear it’s beating fast. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

***

Just like last time, you wake up huddled against Spencer. Unlike last time, there’s no Emily banging the door down to drag you to the police station. No, it’s quiet.

You can’t see what time it is because there’s a Spencer between you and the clock. Your phone is in your back pocket but it’s hard to find any motivation whatsoever to move when you’re like this: face pressed into his chest, his head resting atop of yours so a single curl of his hair tickles your nose, his hand on your hip holding you against him.

His eyelashes flutter, “Are you awake?”

“Yeah. I just woke up.”

He smiles, “Me too.”

“Looks like we did it again.”

“Looks like we did,” his voice is quiet.

“Do you want me to move? If I’m...I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

His free hand comes up to your chin, tipping it so you’re looking him directly in the eyes. His pupils are dilated. In the dim light it’s hard to place the look on his face exactly. But it’s soft.

"C-Can I kiss you?” the question spills quickly from his lips, like he’s afraid he’ll change his mind if he doesn’t get it out fast, “I just. I don’t know if that’s what you want too, I’ve just really-”

"Kiss me, Spence. Please kiss me.”

The smile on his face would have made you fall in love with him, if you weren’t already. And then he kisses you. Barely. Your lips are just grazing against one anothers. You tilt yourself upwards, towards him, giving him a better angle. Then he really kisses you, capturing your lips in his. It’s sweet, it’s soft, it’s...it’s everything. It’s everything, how his hands tangle themselves tentatively in your hair, how he kisses you so deeply, drinking you in.

His hand cups your cheek, then he’s pulling back, just a tiny bit, to mumble against your lips, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

The only appropriate way you can think to verbalise your agreement, is closing the gap between your lips again. There’s an urgency to it this time. Your lips move quickly, passionately. He swipes his tongue across your lower lip and you let him in, your tongues delicately dancing together. He’s good. He’s good and you don’t even notice the morning breath or faint taste of rum, it’s just Spencer.

When you finally come apart, you’re out of breath.

“I didn’t think you’d ever do that,” you say, “I was worried I was reading this whole thing wrong.”

He frowns then, that little nose crinkle appearing again, “I thought I was too obvious.”

“So did I. Maybe it’s best if we don’t tell Hotch how bad we are at profiling each other. He might rethink his decision to take us on.”

He laughs, “Not being able to profile when somebody’s in love with you might be a cause for concern. There are several obvious phyical signs of love, including dilation of pupils when looking at the object of your affection, heart rate synchronisation.”

“How am I supposed to know if our heart rates have synchronised?”

He smiles. Pressing a finger to your lips, he dips his head in the small chasm between your two chests. In the silence, in the early morning quiet, in the absence of all distraction you can hear it. The steady thrum of your hearts, pounding away at identical paces. The sound that told you that some part of you had always known.

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

Tagslist: @takeyourleap-of-faith @sassiest-politician (let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from this list)

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #imagine spencer reid #reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #imagine criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x you #bau!reader

660 notes · View notes

ninnodesu · 3 years

Text

“More Than One Use” || Jealous Thomas

AN: I’m finally done with the pollwinning short/smutfic! It was really fun letting you guys choose my next shortfic and if you guys liked doing that, I might do it again! Please do let me know if that's something you would like, because I have a BUNCH of titles! This has NOT been beta read by any betareader! Thank you, @your-local-possum for giving me the idea/inspiration for this one! Reblogs are always appreciated!

Genre: smut, 18+, fem!reader. Warnings: Bondage, dubcon, like real dubcon, somewhat graphic depiction of violence, mentions of cannibalism, creampie, jealousy, mentions of blood, forced to watch, lowkey forced orgasm? I have no idea and a really bad joke. Please ignore the joke, I had to google bad jokes to find it. This has also NOT been beta read.

*** *** *** ***

For you, this was punishment. Punishment for forgetting who you belonged to.

For Thomas, this was proof. A way to claim you as his in front of the man who had shamelessly flirted with you and lured the kind of giggle from your throat that he knew wasn’t fake.

Thomas was going to make sure you’d never forget who you belonged to.

You sigh as you look out over the barn floor at how much you actually had to clean after today’s brawl with a new group of dinner guests. You always did prefer when Thomas made it quick. Like snapping their necks or literally anything other than shoving his entire chainsaw through a poor person’s chest. Because that always meant more cleaning to do. A groan crawled from your throat as you went off to fill the bucket of water used for scrubbing the floor. Your mind wanders back to that joke you’d heard by one of the men now waiting to be butchered.

“Turn that frown upside down, sweetheart.”, the man had said. You played along, knowing your role in the family is to lure victims in.

“Tell you what…”, you replied, throwing a glance over his shoulder when you saw a huge shadow in the living room window, making you put a hand to the stranger’s chest and push him towards the house. “If you make me laugh, I’ll invite you into my house and you’ll meet my parents.” He raised an eyebrow as it connected in his mind what you implied. “ Alright… Why are there gates around cemeteries?”, he says while barely keeping it together. “ I don’t know… Why are there gates around cemeteries?”, you reply, internally laughing at the fact that the family recently did put up a gate at the edge of the property. “ Because people are dying to get in”.

And you laughed.

It was such a stupid joke but it’d still hit you straight on your giggle nerve. Something Thomas had not appreciated. You’d ended up fighting about you laughing a joke, him thinking you would leave him for it. His jealousy had really bubbled over then. Him being convinced that you were fully ready to leave him and the family. There had been yelling, a cup was thrown close to his head by you, and doors slammed behind him. The biggest fight between you two this far in your relationship, and was about a joke.

As you expected, it took almost three full hours to finish cleaning the floors and walls of the barn clear of blood. Wiping your brow clean of sweat, you groan as you realize you’d just used the same rag you cleaned the walls with, your brow now having a clear streak of blood. Ah well…, you thought. You’re used to blood by now anyway. Suddenly, you feel a pair of big meaty hands wrap around your waist and hoist you up.

“THOMAS!”, you yelp out as he just throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Thomas! Let me go!”, you punch him hard at his back, kicking your legs wildly and doing everything in your power to get away from his grip.

One kick connected with him hard in the ribs making him groan slightly at the sudden pain.

“I’m done with you today, Hewitt! We’re done! Fuck you!”, you’re so pissed at him. Still pissed about the fact that he dared to think you were going to leave him. You’ve worked so hard these past years to help him overcome his jealousy, and then he goes and acts like this over a joke. But he doesn’t care about your words, only increasing his grip around your waist and growls at you, his own way of telling you to shut up.

The basement is cool, bordering on cold and you shiver as Thomas sets you down on the blood-drenched table. You cross your arms over your chest and glare at him as he walks over to one of the supportive beams where all the meat hooks hang. All you can do is watch him as he prepares one of the hooks, as he always does right before hanging cattle up.

Your blood runs cold and your heart rate picks up.

"T-To-...Tommy, what are you doing?", you're only met with dark blue eyes. "Honey, come on.", you laugh nervously as he stalks over to you, his eyes flicker over you for a second, but you're fast enough to catch it. Turning your head, you follow where he was looking. In one of the slightly lit corners, you saw the man who made you giggle earlier, still alive, naked, and ready to be butchered. A hook pierced between his shoulder blades, a big bucket under him to catch the blood being drained from him, blood steadily dripping from slits in his wrists. Seems Luda Mae was planning on making blood sausage later.

You turn your head back to look at your giant, who was now standing right in front of you. His hands balled into fists, shoulders heaving with every breath he takes. He’s furious, and his eyes make you cower under the shadow he casts over you. “Th-Thomas?”, you try again, desperate to know what’s going on in his mind. Your breath gets caught in your throat when he with lightning speed grabs your jaw in a firm grip before he growls at you again. Again telling you to shut up, and all you can do is swallow and do your best to nod at his command. With a heart beating like a panicked bird behind your ribs, thoughts of death start creeping in your mind. You’ve seen him angry before, of course, just not with anger directed at you. Never has he forcefully brought you down into the basement like cattle and never has he directed the preparation of meat hooks at you.

As the hand at your jaw disappears, he yanks you off the table, even if you’re standing upright he still towers over you. His shadow imposing, sending chills down your spine. All you can do is look up at him and when you do; you’re transported back to the first time you met him.

How he loomed over you, the only one in your group who didn’t shriek as he approached you even though your friend told you to run. You couldn’t. The first thing that caught you were his eyes, those blue soulful eyes that told you of hurt, of love, and betrayal. Eyes that swam with unspoken emotions, thoughts, and feelings, but also of someone strong and loyal. The only difference then compared to now being that now those eyes were shrouded in shadow, only a dark silhouette of a brute stood before you. You saw him as the cattle saw him: Like death itself.

Suddenly, big hands take hold of your wrists and a rope is twisted around them. You hiss as he pulls the rope closed in a tight knot. Your brain together with your heart starts racing a million miles an hour at what he’s planning, and for the first time in years, he’s actually scaring you. It’s when that realization hits that you start feeling tears prick at the corner of your eyes. Your gentle giant scared you. The notion that this is the day you die hits you and you scream as he hangs you up on the meathook, the sharp edge cutting open a small slit on your arm as he maneuvers to hang you by the rope tied around your wrists.

You try talking to him again when he steps back and observes you.

"Hun, p-please, it's me. I-I'm sorry!". Panic sets in as you see how the gears in his head start turning, but all he does is stand there, looking you up and down before he walks behind you. A shiver runs down your spine as you feel a warm hand slowly glide from your lower back and up around your ribs under your shirt, stopping just under one of your breasts. He tickles you slightly as he drags his thumb just under it, lazily tracing the shape of it. That’s when Thomas remembers why he had forcefully brought you down here. His hand envelops your neck and he can’t help but smirk when he hears you whimper at the contact.

Thomas actually wasn't all that furious, maybe a little annoyed, but mostly; he was jealous. And he felt an urge and a carnal instinct deep inside him to punish you and to remind you who you belonged to. Remind you that no one could ever make you feel like he could. The hand not wrapped around your throat took a firm grip on the breast he traced earlier and massaged it a way he knew would make you melt.

Sure enough, his attention to the soft flesh and his rolling of the nipple between two fingers lured a small sigh from your lungs. And when you felt his teeth suddenly graze that one spot on your neck, you moaned. He knew your body so well. You tried wiggling away from the hook, however, not wanting to do this in the basement, where the carnage took place and where people got slaughtered. But as you did, the hand around your neck got tighter.

A warning. And you relaxed. Your eyes snapped towards a groan coming from across the room. The man who had flirted with you was waking up. It seems as though Thomas also heard him because he lifted his head from the spot on your neck he'd been attacking. You took a big gulp of air when the hand around your neck vanished and sobbed quietly as the giant of a man pulled your pants down in one vicious movement.

"Tom-... please don't. Not here." Any tries to get through to him were met with a growl as he grabbed you around your waist and pulled your back against his chest. Suddenly, a burning sensation on your neck made you scream. He bit you. Hard.

His teeth came down hard enough to draw blood. It wasn't until now that you fully understood; Thomas was pissed at you. And now you got your punishment. Your punishment for laughing at that joke, for letting that stranger, that piece of meat, get close enough to you to make that joke. Sure, you’re supposed to lure people into false security, a false sense of home, and a promise of something cold to drink to get them close enough for Tommy to do his job. But apparently, this time your job had been too good.

Thomas groaned slightly as he heard you whimper as the stinging sensation of his tongue dragging over the bleeding bite marks registered in your brain. He disappeared into his head in the midst of marking you as his.

You’re mine. His inner voice growled as the grip around your waist was hard enough for his dull nails to leave marks.

And I’m going to remind you. The clinking sound of his belt made him grin at the full-body shiver running through you.

If I so have to fuck you until you can’t walk. Another long lick over your neck made you exhale a shuddering breath as his strong arm lifted one of your legs.

And until you scream my name loud enough to wake the dead.

The fingers on the hand not holding your leg up were pushed into your mouth, making you suck on them. You obeyed, swirling your tongue around them, feeling the coppery taste of blood invade your mouth making you shut your eyes, and doing your best to not gag. When he felt you’ve wet them enough, the hand disappeared downwards and you tensed as he pushed them into your cunt. Even if this was only supposed to be a punishment for you and a reminder for him, he didn’t have the heart to actually hurt you. He barely prepared you for him and a loud and raspy moan came from his throat as you screamed loud when he forcefully pushed himself into your - wet enough - cunt. It was a stretch, a stretch that you’ve felt so many times, and that you usually loved more than anything.

As he started moving, tears started streaming down your cheeks. But you weren’t fully sure if they were from pleasure, pain, or a mixture of both at this point. Thomas is never this forceful with you. Sure, he can be rough when he wants to be. But he always makes sure you’re fully prepared for him, not today. Today he seemed content in just feeling any kind of wetness actually existing.

Thomas grunts as he feels you tighten around him at the same time he, once again, bites down on your neck. And the more he thrusts and pounds into you, the more both of you feel the ever-growing wetness and arousal gather inside of you. He growls when you try to reason with him again;

"To-... Tommy… it hurts!"

When you wiggle your body against the meat hook holding you firmly in place, he moves one hand up to your jaw and makes you look at the man whimpering across the room. His own twisted arousal fully on display at the scene happening in front of him. Every thrust he made into you was hard, deep, and spoke of demands. "I- I'm sorry!", you sob. You were just crying now. You didn't care about the reason anymore. "I didn't mean it, Tommy!", his cock hit you just right and you clenched around him by reflex, causing him to groan.

You better be sorry. He told himself in his head.

Releasing your jaw and taking a firm hold of your hips. Angling you and him to help him hit your g-spot and you wailed as he started moving harder against it. The place where the rope dug into your wrists was starting to burn and you knew you’d be red and sore after this. Thomas got lost in his pleasure as he felt that familiar feeling of his climax creeping up on him. Making him forget about "punishing" you, now he needed to feel you cum around his cock, making him snake one hand to your front, quickly finding your clit.

You moaned as his fingers rubbed you in a way he knew would have you cumming in no time.

There you are. You thought as you recognized your sweet Tommy as he gave attention to the one spot that needed him the most. But what really set you off was hearing him demanding you to do one thing: "Cum.", his member ramming against your g-spot, his finger rubbing quick circles around your clit and that deep and raspy voice had you shaking. Screaming his name and thanking whatever higher power existed that the rest of the family wasn't home as you came, hard enough to see dots dance in your vision. The feeling of your cramping walls around him made Thomas’s movements stutter to a halt as he came in you, letting out a loud moan into your ear while emptying everything he had in you.

Coming down from you high, you remembered your audience.

The man straight across from the room was still looking at you both, his face red and eyes almost popping out of his skull. Glancing down his body, you saw why as his own member twitched post-climax. And over your shoulder, you felt Thomas tilting his head up, radiating both pride and anger. Pride at how he knew that skinny twig of a man would never have made you feel like he did, and anger because this… piece of meat had orgasmed because he had watched you.

You turned your head towards Tommy and tenderly kissed any part you could reach, mumbling how much you loved him and that no man could ever change your feelings for him before telling him to end the sad existence of the man bleeding out. Thomas playfully growled and nipped at your earlobe making you giggled before he with pure possession whispered;

"You're mine."

#ninno og #thomas hewitt #thomas leatherface hewitt #thomas hewitt fanfiction #tcm: the beginning #smut #pwp #n*sfw #18+#tcm #tcm fanfiction #More Than One Use #tommy is jellyyyyy #I'm finally done with it

206 notes · View notes

anyoneseenadam · 3 years

Text

The Moon Spirit - One

Dorian x reader (throne of glass) (future fenrys x reader)

Description: When you’re taught to be a queen from such a young age, nothing could go wrong. But when the king starts to fear your growing power you find yourself thrust into a world of faeries, evil magic and powerful men, learning to stand on your own can be harder than it seems.

warnings: blood, graphic descriptions of violence, objectification, gross old men, Dorian is a ball of love and niceness however, angst, fluff, possibly smut in later chapters

word count: 4.5k

a/n: ahhhhh I’m finally writing this!! This has been in my head for so long now so I’m so glad I’m finally getting it down and I’m really excited to develop it further and possibly go into some poly!dorianxfenrysxreader but that shall all be revealed soon lmao, pls comment and let me know your opinions and theories and shiz it always makes my day!!!

—————————————————————————-

“Wake up.” You felt insistent tapping on your forearm, groaning as you shook it off, turning onto your side and burrowing deeper into your soft duvet. “C’mon wake up princess,” your brain barely registered Dorian’s whining as you groaned in return, throwing and arm out behind you and batting at his firm chest.

“Go away.” You moaned as you felt a firm body land on top off yours. Dorian pressed his face in between your shoulder blades as his arms wormed their way beneath your stomach, warm fingertips massaging the skin of your belly as you cracked open an eye, albeit reluctantly.

“I have to say all those lessons in ladylike manners sure paid off.” You heard Chaol’s sarcastic voice and turned your head just enough to glare at him as well as he sat comfortably on the armchair next to your fireplace.

“I also have lots of lessons in stabbing rude boys, shall I demonstrate those,” you grumbled, flipping him off before shaking your clingy boyfriend away, sitting up in bed and glaring at both of them as they laughed at your disgruntled expression. “What do you want and why are you waking me up?”

“Well, my love,” Dorian moved behind you to gently start brushing your hair as you hummed in delight at the attention, both of you ignoring Chaol’s eye roll, “It is your birthday isn’t it?”

“So you choose to torment me?” you asked as Dorian stood again, smiling at you boyishly as he moved around your room, tidying away clothes.

“Well seventeen is a big one,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you and Chaol moved to translate as you stood and made your way to your bathroom where a bath had already been run for you, the hot water smelling of expensive soaps and salts.

“We have to make appearances today, and there’s a ball tonight.” Your shoulders slumped as you realised what your day entailed.

“Appearances?” you gave your friend a pleading look, but he just shrugged his shoulders sympathetically.

“Carriage through the city, the whole point in the public seeing you so much is to dampen any threat of revolution and they haven’t seen the two of you together recently. Your birthday is as good a time as any.” The older boy explained as your dark-haired prince moved closer to you, wrapping his arms tightly around you and kissing your head.

“I know it sucks princess, but if we make the rounds this morning, we’ll have all afternoon to ourselves before the ball.”

“I don’t like being a show pony.” You grumbled as the familiar frustration prickled behind your eyes, tears forming on what was supposed to be a happy day for you.

Chaol and Dorian averted their gazes at your words, both feeling a deep sense of guilt over something they truly couldn’t control. You had spoken of this before, only in confidence to them; Dorian the love of your life and Chaol alike a brother to you, you had told them how you felt like a toy, a shiny thing for the king to display, waved around in front of the public until you were drained, and they were putting artificial colour onto your face. You had once described it as being alike a corpse in makeup, dragged around for others entertainment as you slowly rotted and decayed until you were unrecognisable.

“I’ll be there the entire time my love, when it gets too much I’ll drag the attention away from you okay?” you nodded as he stroked your arm reassuringly.

“I love you,” you said to him as you leaned up to kiss him gently.

“I love you too baby, happy birthday.”

Chaol walked past as he left the room so you could clean, ruffling your hair as he passed. “Maybe next year you’ll grow,” he mocked, narrowly missing your smack as the three of you laughed.

“Clean up, we’ll be waiting when you’re ready,” Dorian pressed another kiss to your head before he was dragged out of the room, his grin easy as you waved him away.

You washed quickly without the help of the maids that usually surrounded you. You presumed that was a birthday present from Dorian as he knew how much you despised the bustling groups of women that would preen over your every feature.

You spent half the bath scrubbing off layers of dead skin and the other massaging your hair until it had no option but to shine in the morning light. Cleaning your face and dragging a razor over any visible body hair as you repeated the rules you were taught in your head.

1. Never look anything less than perfect. A queen must look put together.

2. Always stand straight.

3. Never smile with your teeth.

4. Wave to children only, adults get a polite head bow.

5. Speak once spoken too and only if given permission from the Crown prince…

The list went on for what seemed like hours and at one point you had it written down and pinned on your wall next to your mirror, reading it every day. The first four years you had spent under the king’s care were the same. Lessons followed by more lessons, restrictive diets, and waist training. They broke you down and remodelled you into the perfect queen, and throughout those lonely years you never once saw Dorian, excluding the first time you met as children.

Only when you were twelve did you see him again, and from then on you did everything together. When he sword trained you practiced ballet, when he read, you read, when he ate, you ate. You became one person, never doing something without the other, Chaol turning your duo into a trio soon after.

When you turned fourteen he kissed you. You both knew you were to be married one day, but one snowy day he had pulled you aside and kissed you quickly, face as red as the roses your mother used to grow every summer. He had asked you to be his girlfriend, speaking so quickly you barely heard him as you held in laughs at your usually so composed prince. You had nodded in response and he kissed you again, holding your hand tightly as the two of you escaped the castle for the night, determined as he was to take you on a real date.

You dried quickly when you got out the bath, rubbing your favourite lavender scented hand cream into your hands and neck. You towelled your hair off and dressed quickly, mindful of the delicate necklace that always hung around your neck, the one that secured your place in the glass castle. Even if you didn’t know why.

Your dress was dusty blue with silver stitching, the king and queen liking when you and Dorian sticked to a theme. You thumbed some silver earrings in and adorned your wrists in similar dainty, silver bracelets, finally twisting your hair into a low bun and pinning away the loose strands, applying minimal makeup.

You heard a soft knock at the door before it pushed open, a familiar mop of dark hair appearing at an odd angle from behind the door. You smiled when you saw him, unable to escape the rush of feelings that appeared whenever he walked in a room, all easy smiles and suave manner.

He sauntered over to you with a cheeky smile, his hands hiding something behind his back.

“Maybe Chaol was right about the height thing,” he commented when he reached you, your similar heights long gone as you both grew into your bodies, the days of being young and without consequences gone.

You jabbed him in the rib jokingly, “It’s my birthday and all I’ve gotten so far is abuse.”

“Let me change that then,” he pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw, and you shut your eyes, revelling in the attention from your lover. He pulled away and revealed the flat box he was holding. “I know you can’t take your necklace off, but I thought this would go nicely with it,” he opened the box in your direction, and you looked down at a beautiful gold necklace with a circular pendant showing an opalescent crescent moon with three stars on the gold plating it rested on.

“Oh Dorian,” you whispered, picking the necklace up gently to admire it.

“Of course I have a million other presents waiting for you later, I have to treat my best girl,” he scrunched his face up in the way that always reminded you that he too was just a boy, despite his lessons. You loved these gentle moments when you both let your masks drop, and instead focused on the true love you shared, a lack of care for the way it was pushed. You instead focused on the luck that had given you a man you could truly love, through all the pain and harsh words, the world had given you someone to endure its hardships with, and for that you would remain grateful.

“Put it on for me?” you smiled at him, biting your lip gently as he turned you around, clasping the necklace that sat perfectly under your crystal behind you neck, his fingers soft and gentle as they trailed down the chain and settled between your collarbones, his touch almost wary of the stone as he moved to stand in front of you.

He seemed like he was about to say something but clearly decided against it, instead reaching to tug some strands of hair down to frame your face, twirling them in his long fingers.

“We’ll be fine today, it’s only an hour or two.” He said, his voice steady and sure, his courage coursing through you as he cupped your face lightly.

“We will be. We always are.” You moved away and sat to pull on your shoes as Dorian checked his sword was hanging safely from his side still before he picked up a light shawl, slinging it around your shoulder and linking arms with you.

“The city awaits my love,”

Chaol was escorting you through the courtyard when you were surrounded by a fleet of soldiers, exchanging a worried glance with Dorian.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his arm tightening around you as he and Chaol both scanned the area.

“Yes your highness, however a rather dangerous prisoner is being taken to the king, so we are simply on high alert.” A guard you recognised said, Dorian frowned but you all continued onwards, only slowing when you passed an ever-larger group of guards. When you passed them you looked to the centre where a beautiful girl with a tear-stained face stood, being dragged along, her blonde hair matted with blood and dirt. She locked eyes with you, and you felt a pulse of power go through your body, her turquoise eyes widening for a second as time seemed to slow around you, a soft glow emitting from your neck. However before you could ponder it she was dragged away, and Dorian was asking you a question.

“Huh?” you asked quietly, mind occupied by the strange, beautiful girl.

“What do you think she did?” he asked, his grin cheeky.

“Maybe she steals princes hearts and eats them,” you joked, nudging his side even though your smile didn’t feel real, hiding your shaking hands behind the pleats of your skirt.

“Shame mine has already been stolen,” he flirted, and you laughed genuinely as he helped you into the carriage, pushing down the thoughts of the girl and the anxiety that surged through you as you prepared to plaster on a fake, placid smile.

“I haven’t eaten it yet though,” he laughed, joining you and squeezing your hand.

“Save it for dessert.”

The rest of your day passed slowly. Practiced waves and polite conversation taking up a majority of your morning as you tried to keep a pleasant facial expression when all you wanted was to curl up with your very cute boyfriend and sleep your birthday away.

You hated being put on display, the way you were shown off like a shiny toy and your hand was frequently finding Dorians, holding his tightly while you dug your nails into the palm of your other hand, the biting pain reminding you that you were in fact human.

By the end of the long, slow loop of Adarlan your shoulders were aching, and your mouth hurt from the still, soft expression you had kept it in. However you didn’t let your shoulders drop as you moved swiftly through the castle, Dorian by your side and Chaol a pace behind. Instead you only let your shoulders fall when you reached your room as you squealed, clapping your hands together and turning to Dorian with wide eyes when you saw the copious amounts of presents laid out for you.

“Dorian this is too much!” you exclaimed as you tackled him in a hug.

“Nothing is too much for you angel.” He muttered, kissing your head as you practically swooned in his arms.

“You read too much romance,” you said, ducking your head to hide your heated face.

“Plus a solid twenty percent are from me,” Chaol said, and you turned, hugging the tall man tightly too.

“Thank you!” you held your hands to your face, biting the tips of your thumbs like you used to as a child as Dorian led you to the seats where the presents were placed.

“I think this one needs to be opened first,” he said, a glint in his eyes that you couldn’t place as he passed you a large but light box. You opened the lid cautiously as Dorian exchanged excited looks with his brother. You were met by a ball of white fur, bright blue eyes blinking up at you and you gasped.

You placed a hand over your heart as you reached into the box, picking up the kitten that was roughly the size of your hand and cooing gently as you stroked it, tears filling your eyes. You looked up at Dorian and he smiled at you as you pressed the furball into your chest, nuzzling its soft head.

“I found it abandoned on a street and had to take it home,” he explained, “He doesn’t have a name yet.”

You wiped away a tear that had escaped as they laughed at your emotional state, “Amaris,” you whispered, still choked up, “My little ball of light.”

You leaned into Dorian’s arm and kissed him gently in thanks, his head coming over your shoulder as you cooed at the small kitten that was pawing at your hand like new parents.

“As sweet as this is we’re going to be here for hours if you take this long on everything,” you stuck your tongue out at Chaol, placing Amaris in your lap as you were passed more presents. You ended up opening many presents for Amaris, Dorian sheepishly explaining that he got slightly carried away, countless books, dresses, hair pins and bags filled with sweets from all over the world.

By the time you were finished you all felt slightly sick from the taffy you had shared but the aches left from your smiles were real this time. Maids came in to clear away the wrapping paper and dishes Dorian had ordered up when he realised you hadn’t had any substantial food yet that day.

“I should go, we’ve got dinner then the ball in an hour and I can hear the maids outside,” Dorian said late that afternoon, his arms tight around you as you snoozed on his chest, Chaol having left to complete his duties for the day, not having the luxury to laze around like you and Dorian, and Amaris curled on Dorian’s chest next to your head.

“Do you have too?” you whined, and Dorian laughed,

“Yes, now c’mon. Wear the gold dress tonight,” he was referring to an intricate rose pink and gold dress he had bought you, currently hanging on the screen in your room, the matching tiara in a velvet case on your vanity. You looked over to it with heart eyes, wondering how you got so lucky before you sat up and Dorian marvelled at you, eyes puffy from your nap and lips parted and pouty. He reached up and stole a kiss, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth before deepening the kiss with a hand on the back of your head. He pressed into your body, his tongue seeking out yours and you moaned softly into the kiss, his grin a promise of more to come later in the evening.

He pulled away too soon, leaving you breathless and left with a wink as you were surrounded by a sea of flustered maids, getting swept up in the lace and satin, the rush of the room silencing your mind for the time being.

You sat next to Dorian on a velvet seat, Dorian’s hand protectively resting on your knee as you spoke to the duke and duchess of some shit you didn’t care about. They were speaking about their fifth horse when you felt a sharp gaze on you and turned to see the king staring at you with his cold eyes, and for a second you felt that pulse of power again, the Duke cut off mid-sentence as the world slowed. You tore your eyes away quickly, clenching them shut as the image of the blonde girl came back into your head, Dorian gazing at you with worry as he excused the two of you.

“What happened?” he asked, leading you to dance as you forced yourself back into your practiced facial expression, the mask slipping on hiding your fear.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned into his embrace, “I need to talk to you about something that happened today,” you whispered low enough for him to hear.

“Are you okay? Did someone do something?” he asked, grip tightening slightly as he led you in a waltz.

“Not quite, I’ll tell you when we can go somewhere more private.” You peered over his shoulder and met the kings’ eyes again, watching as he spoke lowly to Chaol who turned slightly pale before bowing and making his way over to you.

“May I but in,” he asked, and Dorian nodded, still watching you cautiously as he passed you to Chaol.

“The king wishes to speak to you after the ball, he says it’s the first thing you have to do.” He told you quietly and it took all your training to mask your fear.

“Did he say why?” you asked, taking a deep breath when he shook his head. “Okay, that’s fine. Thank you for letting me know.” You finished your dance with Chaol before carrying on with Dorian, occasionally having to entertain a noble who would breathe heavily in your ear for ten minutes before Dorian found an excuse to steal you back, giggling like the teenagers you were as you did.

When the ball ended and everyone began filing out, all wishing you a happy birthday and you and Dorian a happy future you felt the ball of anxiety that had been in your stomach all night grow, consuming your entire being and swallowing you whole.

“Are you sure you’re okay going alone?” Dorian asked for the fourth time and you faked a laugh to appease his nerves.

“He probably just wants to let me know of new duties now I’m older, I’ll not be long.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“But why won’t he let me or Chaol escort you,” he looked concerned, his trust in his father depleting as he grew older.

“Probably because you’ve both been drinking,” you squeezed his hand as his shoulders slumped, “I’ll be fine.”

“Come up to my room as soon as you’re done okay?” you smiled at his concern, placing a hand over your new necklace, and walking back, away from him.

“Promise.” You blew him a kiss, “see you in a minute, I love you.”

You knew something was wrong even before you walked in the room as you watched the queen walk out, eyes red. Her breath stopped when she saw you and she looked as if she were about to come over to speak to you, but shook her head, continuing on with a tight smile.

The guards opened the doors to the large throne room, escorting you into the dark room.

The king sat alone.

The room was dark, lit only by the light of the full moon coming in from the glass walls and ceiling. He sat on his burnished throne; his crown lopsided on his head as he swirled a goblet of blood red wine.

You stepped forward, head bowed, posture never faltering as your mind travelled back to the way you had watched your grandmother stand up to him as well, only to pass away less than a month later leaving you with no real family.

“It’s a shame really,” he started, voice low and gravelly and you stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. “You were truly doing so well, and Dorian the poor boy, this will affect him greatly I presume.”

You fought the bile rising in your stomach at the implications of what he was saying, but kept your mouth shut.

“And I have been nothing but fair, giving you all you could ever dream of and keeping you on a tight leash. But I suppose teenage girls will always want to disobey.” He stood then, motioning to the guards who came and kicked you down, landing on your knees harshly with a yelp as you looked up at the approaching king with fear in your eyes.

He reached you, his hand stroking your cheek lightly before trailing down to your necklaces, gently twirling the stone between your collarbones before holding the one Dorian had gifted you tightly.

“Hmm, tacky,” was all he said before tugging harshly, ripping the necklace of you, and throwing it to the side. “I guess I’ve dragged this out enough now.”

You were shaking were you sat, tears slowly trailing down your face but still to afraid to say a word, even as a guard you didn’t recognise approached you, drawing his sword as the others held you tightly. Your eyes widened, fear seeping in as you started fighting the guards, desperately thrashing in their grips as you met the kings’ eyes.

“You can’t do this,” you begged but it was futile as he laughed in your face, “Please it will destroy Dorian, he is your son please don’t do this.”

“It builds character, a strong king needs to be broken.”

“What about the public! They will figure it out, you can’t spin this one.” You were pulling at strings, but you had to try anything you could.

“I AM KING! WHATVER I SAY GOES, WHATEVER I SAY IS THE TRUTH!” he exploded, and you started sobbing, begging for your life as the king turned away, gesturing for the guard to continue. You were shaking, pulling away from the guards as you fought against their death grip.

You watched the guard raise the sword above his head, squeezing your eyes shut as you sent a prayer to any god that was listening. As you prayed, clutching your necklace letting loose sobs and cried for Dorian you failed to notice the glow emitting from you. You heard the guard step forward to slash down and raised your hands to brace for the blow, a blow that never came.

You looked up to see the three guards that were next to you were all sliced in half, blood spilling onto the floor. You screamed pushing away, slipping on the blood as you tore away sobbing as the king turned to you, face white with fear and rage.

“GET HER!” he screamed but you had already begun running, skirts bunched in your hands, the glow around you shielding you from their arrows as you tore through the doors and into the courtyard, running as fast as your legs would allow, dropping yours arms as the full force of the moons light hit you. You saw a path you and Dorian often took to sneak out and headed for it, hiding behind the mock door that was covered in shrubbery, a hand pressed to your mouth as you muffled your sobs hearing the guards stopping nearby, speaking in hushed tones.

You felt something wet press against your leg and almost screamed, looking down to see Amaris gazing up at you with those bright, unblinking eyes. You held in your sobs, picking him up and pressing him into your chest as you quietly made your way down the path that led to the woods, walking in the moon veiled forest.

Your dress was bloody and torn, your delicate heels had snapped, and your feet were tearing from where you stepped having removed them. You ran through the woods, heading as far away as you could get, however you eventually had to slow walking and holding in your sobs as you realised what you had done.

Not only had you used magic, but you had also killed three men and left Dorian. You held Amaris tighter to your chest as he licked at you gently, your necklace still glowing even thought your entire body ached, ready for rest. But you ploughed on, coming out of the forest onto an empty dirt road.

You sat down for a second, letting Amaris down as you sobbed into your hands until you had no tears left, your entire body still shaking. But you forced yourself to stand, picking up Amaris and walking down the road, luckily finding a small farm with horses.

You quietly took a horse, placing down your tiara in its place, wishing you could apologise more but instead mounting the horse and leaving, riding into the night, tears drying on your face as you held your light close with one hand. You wished you could just wake up, wrapped in Dorians arms as he comforted you after your bad dream, but the pain in your body suggested that wasn’t going to happen.

You wanted Dorian but you needed a plan. And you needed a drink.

Chaol stood in the throne room, his hand clenched so tight his knuckles were white as he watched the king spin his story of your sudden disappearance, the sound of Dorians silent cries breaking his heart.

When they were excused he dragged Dorian to his room, where he finally broke down, falling to his knees and sobbing into his hands, muttering about how he should have protected her.

“Dorian I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but I think something bad happened to (y/n).” he said, approaching his brother cautiously as he looked at him with wide, tear filled eyes.

“What?” he asked, his voice breaking in his throat. Chaol finally unclenched his hand and passed what he had been holding to Dorian.

The gold necklace was caked with blood.

#throne of glass #tog #dorian x reader #dorian havilliard #dorian havilliard x reader

127 notes · View notes

nevermindirah · 4 years

Text

I've been drafting and redrafting this meta post for weeks now. It's about to be 5781 and my country that was founded on settler colonial genocide and slavery and a deeply flawed but fierce attachment to democracy might go full dictatorship in about 6 weeks and it's time for me to post this thing.

All our immortals are warriors, all have been traumatized by war. But only three of them died their first deaths as soldiers in imperial armies. This fandom has already produced gallons of meta on Nicky dealing with his shit, because Joe would not fuck with an unapologetic Crusader. But there's very rich stuff in Booker and Nile's experiences and the parallels and distinctions between them.

Nile was 11 when her dad was killed in action - that was 2005, meaning she and her dad both died in the same war that George W Bush started in very tenuous response to 9/11. Sure, Nile's dad could have died in either Iraq or Afghanistan, or in a training accident or in an off-the-books mission we won't know about for a hundred more years, but he died in the War on Terror all the same. I had to look it up to be sure because Obama "drew down" the Afghanistan war in his second term, but nope, we're still in this fucking thing that never should've happened in the first place. The US war in Afghanistan just turned 19 years old. A lot of real-life Americans have experiences like the Freemans, parents and children both dying in the same war we shouldn't be in.

I know a lot of people like Nile who join the US military not just because it's the only realistic way for them to pay for college or afford decent healthcare, but also because they have a family history of military service that's a genuine source of pride. Military service has been a way for Americans of color to be accepted by white Americans as "true Americans" - from today's Dreamers who Obama promised would earn protection from deportation by enlisting, to Filipino veterans of WW2 earning US citizenship that Congress then denied them for several decades, to slaves "earning" their freedom through service in the Union Army and in the Continental Army before it. As if freedom is a thing one should have to earn. Lots of Black Americans have the last name Freeman for lots of different escaping-slavery reasons, but it's possible that this specific reason is how Nile got her last name.

Dying in a war you know your country chose to instigate unnecessarily and that maybe you believe it shouldn't be waging is a very particular kind of trauma. It is a much deeper trauma when your military service, and your father's, and maybe generations of your ancestors', is a source of pride and access to resources for you but your sacrifice is nearly meaningless to the white supremacist system that deploys you. That kind of cognitive dissonance encourages a person to ignore their own feelings just so they can function. How do you wake up in the morning, how do you risk your life every day, how do you *kill other people* in a war that shouldn't be happening and that you shouldn't have to serve in just so that your country sees you as human?

We see Nile do her best to be a kind and well-mannered invader. Depending on your experience with US imperialism, Nile giving candy to kids and reminding her squad to be respectful is either heartwarming or very disturbing propaganda. We also see Nile clutching her cross necklace and praying. From the second Christianity arrived on this land it's been a tool of white supremacist assimilation and control, but like military service, it's a fucked-up but genuine source of pride and access to resources for many Americans whose pre-Columbian ancestors were not Christian, and it's a powerful source of comfort and resilience. This Jew who's had a lot of Spanish Inquisition nightmares would like to say for the record that it's not Jesus's fault that his big name fans are such shitty people.

Nile is a good person trying to do her best in a fucked-up world. "Her best" just radically changed. Her access to information on just how fucked up the world is has also just radically changed, because everything's so fucked up a person needs a lot of time to learn about it all and not only does she have centuries but she won't have to spend that time worrying about rent and healthcare and taxes, and because she now has Joe and Nicky and Andy's stories, and because she now has Copley's inside scoop on just what the fuck the CIA has been up to. Like, I want a fic where Copley tells Nile what was really behind the brass's decisions that led to her experiences on the ground in Afghanistan, that led to her father's death, but also I Do Not Want That.

Nile was 19 when Alicia Garza posted on Facebook that Black Lives Matter. She grew up in Chicago well before white people on Twitter were saying maybe police violence against Black people is a problem. She knows this is a deeply fucked up country, and she put on her Marine uniform and deployed with her team of mostly fellow women of color, and maybe she and Dizzy and Jay marched in the streets between deployments, maybe they texted each other when a white manarchist at a protest sneered at one of them for being a Marine. Nile's been busy surviving, and she knows some shit and she's seen some shit but she hasn't had much time to think about what it all means. Now she's got time. And Joe, Nicky, and Andy are willing to listen. (Is Copley willing to listen? I could see that going either way.)

Booker might also be willing to listen. The brilliant idea of cleaning up the rat Frenchman so that Nile can have millennia of emotional support and orgasms sent me down a Wikipedia rabbit hole, and holy shit do Booker and Nile have a lot of shared life experience as pawns of imperial wars. Obviously Booker is white and a man and that makes a very big difference. (Though G-d help me, Booker could be Jewish and France was knocking its Jews around like ping-pong balls in the 18th-19th centuries. Jewish Booker wouldn't make him any less white but it does add a shit ton of depth of common experience: military service as a way for your country to see you as a full member of society who matters, because who you are means that's not guaranteed.)

Booker was hanged for desertion from the army Napoleon sent to invade Russia as part of his quest to control all of Europe. We learn in the comics / this YouTube video that Booker was on his way to prison for forgery when he was offered military service instead of jail time. While we don't know how he felt about the choice beyond that he did choose soldier over inmate, it's unlikely he thought invading Russia was a great idea, given he tried to desert because Napoleon like a true imperialist dumbass didn't plan for how he was going to feed his army or keep them from freezing to death in fucking Russian winter.

I find it very interesting that the French Empire was at its largest right before invading Russia and fell apart completely within a few years. My country has been falling the fuck apart for a while now - see aforementioned War on Terror, growing extremes of economic stratification in the richest country in the world, abject refusal to meaningfully deal with climate change that US-based corporations hold the lion's share of blame for - but between Trump's abject refusal to meaningfully deal with the coronavirus and strong likelihood that he'll refuse to leave office even if a certain pathetic moderate I will hold my nose and vote for does manage to earn a majority of votes, ~y~i~k~e~s.

Our only immortals who have never known a world before modernity and nationalism happen to have been born of wars that were the beginning of the end for the imperialist democracies that raised them, and I think in the centuries to come that's going to give them some very interesting shit to talk about.

Nile's a Young Millennial, a digital native born in the United States after the collapse of the USSR left her country as the world's only superpower. She's used to a pace of technological change that human brains are not evolved to handle.

Napoleon trying to make all of Europe into the French Empire was a leading cause of the growth of European nationalism and the establishment of liberal democracies both in Europe and in many places that Europeans had colonized. Booker's first war produced the only geopolitical world order Nile has ever known and I just have so many feelings ok. Nile the art history nerd is probably not aware of this, and why would she be? This humble meta author is, like Nile, a product of US public schools, and all they taught me about world history was Ancient Greece/Rome/Egypt/Mesopotamia and then World War 2. Being raised in The World's Only Superpower is WEIRD.

Nile the Young Millennial is used to the devastating volume of bad news the internet makes possible. But she has absolutely no concept of a world where the United States of America is not The World's Only Superpower. In order to get up in the morning and put on her gear and point guns at civilians in Afghanistan, she can only let herself think so much about whether that American exceptionalism thing is a good idea.

She's about to spend many, many years where the only people who she can truly trust are people who are older than not only her country but the IDEA of countries.

She's got time, and she's got a lot of new information at her disposal. But there comes a point where my obsession with her friendship and eventual very hot sex life with Booker just isn't about sex at all. Nile needs someone to talk to about the United States who Gets It. Booker the rat Frenchman coerced into Napoleon's army, and Copley the Black dual citizen of the US and UK who's retired from a CIA career that he half understands as deeply problematic but half still believes in hence his mind-bogglingly stupid partnership with Merrick, are the only people on the planet Nile can talk to honestly about, and really be understood in, all the thoughts and feelings and fears and hopes of her experience as a US Marine.

And one more thing before I go get ready for Rosh Hashanah: Orientalism was a defining element of the Crusades and that legacy is painfully clear in current US-led Western military activity in Afghanistan, Syria, Israel/Palestine, you name it. Turns out memoirs by French veterans of the Napoleonic Wars are full of Orientalist language about Russia as well. I am maybe/definitely writing a fic where Booker spends his exile reading critical race theory and decolonial feminism and trauma studies monographs because he can't be honest with a therapist but maybe he can heal this way and become the team therapist his own damn self. I just really need him to read Edward Said and Gloria Anzaldúa and then go down on Nile, ok?

#nile freeman #tog meta #book of nile #sebastien le livre #the old guard #mine #us imperialism #european imperialism #jewish things #antiblackness #police violence #orientalism

589 notes · View notes

geniusgub · 3 years

Text

north//chapter twenty

genre: fluff, angst

warnings: mentions of canonical violence and deaths, lmk if I missed anything

word count: 4k

summary: Spencer is getting reacquainted with life outside of prison, and he gets a not-so-great phone call.

pairing: season twelve spencer reid x oc

please remember to comment, like, and reblog!!

AMELIA

Spencer and I managed to sleep through the entire day and the majority of the night. After all, the previous day was probably one of the most eventful of my entire life and it left me absolutely exhausted. I can't quite speak for Spencer because I'm sure he's had much longer days than yesterday, especially when he has been away for cases, but it was still stressful and way too long for both of us.

I wake up before Spencer as the sun starts to rise the next day, the sunlight pouring in through the opened window on the other side of the room. Before I even consider getting out of bed or looking at my phone, I look to my side to check on Spencer. He's sleeping soundly, his cheek pressed against his pillow and his hand on my side of the bed, no longer wrapped around mine. He looks absolutely angelic at this moment, his mouth hanging open and his body completely relaxed.

I promised Spencer that I'd be here for him and that I wouldn't leave the bed without him. I've never broken a promise to him before and I don't plan on starting now. So, moving as little as possible so I don't disturb him, I sit up against the headboard, reaching into my bedside table for my journal. I pop open the top and start furiously scribbling down everything I can remember from the last two or so days and how I feel about it, how excited I am to have Spencer home again, and how terrified I am to have Spencer home again.

I barely even notice it when Spencer starts squirming beside me, and my attention is only taken away from my journal when his hand grabs onto my thigh. I smile down at his suddenly tiny figure, finding that he's already looking up at me with a tired gaze.

"Good morning, love," I chirp, tossing my journal onto the floor and sinking back under the duvet in an attempt to absorb some of his radiating body heat. Since he already touched me and he's seemingly feeling okay in the morning sun, I let my hand stray and trail through his flat curls. "Did you sleep well? You didn't wake me up."

Spencer sucks his lips between his teeth, shrugging softly. "I woke up a few times. I just--" he wiggles his hips as he tries to come up with an excuse, "I didn't need to wake you up. I didn't need to bother you. Having you here was enough."

I bring my hand to the back of Spencer's neck, huffing with some slight annoyance, "You're not a bother. You never have and you never will be," Spencer just shrugs dismissively in response, and reaches his hands up to rub his eyes. Spencer has never been good at these kinds of conversations and I imagine he's far too tired to entertain a lecture about how important he is. So I make a mental note to bring this topic back up as I sit up and stretch. "Alright, well, do you want some breakfast? I can make us something to eat."

"Yeah, sure," he nods, ducking away from my grasp and quickly sliding out of bed, putting on a pair of shoes I hadn't realized he set up on his side of the bed.

I reach for a pair of sweatpants but when I look up to find Spencer frozen in his spot, staring at the bed, I drop the pants and sit up on my knees. The sheets are rustled and the duvet is in a heap under me, and he's very fixated on this. His arms are glued to his side but his fingers are twitching like he's dying to use them.

"Spence? Everything okay?" I ask gently, and like the other instances where he gets lost in a daydream, he doesn't react to me. "Spencer?" I call again in hopes of getting some sort of response. But his fingers just twitch and he takes a long, frustrated breath. "Talk to me," I don't know if pressing the issue will help, but if I don't at least try to get him to talk, then I'll never figure out what his issue is. "I just wanna help you, but I can't do that if you don't talk to me."

Spencer quickly covers his face with his hands, his breathing becoming labored and heavy, chest heaving. "The bed. It's the bed. It's-- I need-- it's the bed."

It looks like a bed to me. It's a messy bed, sure, but it's just a bed to me. I pause for a second to try to get my brain to match Spencer's. I try to see what he is seeing, but all I see is a bed that we just used for its intended purpose. It just needs to be made, that's all. I can't see into Spencer's brain so I have to resort to asking. "What about the bed?"

"I--" he drops his hands, balling them up into fists again, "The bed is supposed to be made. I need to make the bed. It needs to be made or else they're gonna come and I'll get in trouble. It-- the-- the bed needs to be made."

Oh, this poor baby. My heart aches for him. Not all of him made it out of that prison cell. Part of him is still there. He's not here with me. He didn't really come home.

"Spencer, you're not gonna get in trouble here. It's just me. It's just Lia," My voice shakes as I try to speak, my hands pressed to my cheeks to continuously wipe the tears that start to fall. "I'm never gonna yell at you or hurt you or get mad because you didn't make your bed. Dove, you can make the bed if you want to, but you don't have to. It's okay. I'm not gonna be mad. You won't get in trouble. It's just me."

Spencer stares at me, his eyes wide and his lips parted. His hands aren't twitching anymore but they're still reaching towards the bed. He doesn't say anything, he just stares at me in bewilderment.

I compose myself with a deep breath, wiping my cheeks quickly and climbing off the bed. "Dove, make the bed, please. I want you to do anything that makes you feel better. But if you choose not to, I'm not gonna be mad," I step towards Spencer, holding my hands out in front of me and not expecting him to grab them. "I'm gonna go downstairs and I'm gonna start cooking, and you come down when you're ready, okay?"

I give Spencer one more attempt at a convincing smile before turning and going downstairs. My first stop is to the living room, and I pop the record into the player that Spencer had put on yesterday. If it did something to comfort him yesterday, hopefully it will do the same today. I grab both of our phones and start cooking breakfast.

I mix batter for waffles in a bowl as I check my notifications, sifting through a whole load of texts. My groupchat with my friends has a couple hundred texts, starting off with lots of questions and concerns about Spencer from yesterday, asking if he's okay, if he's home, wondering how happy we are. I have other texts from Wendy and Mike, asking the same types of questions that my friends did. I send some quick responses to all of them and let them know that we're home, we slept for a very long time, and that I'll contact them later with more updates.

Spencer's quiet footsteps approach and I turn to face him, breathing a sigh of relief when I find he's not so worked up anymore. "I hope waffles are okay."

Once I've closed the waffle maker and let it start cooking, I glance over my shoulder to ee what Spencer is doing. He's sitting gingerly at the island, placing his elbows on the granite and eyes darting around the room. Honestly, I don't even know why he sat there. He absolutely hated sitting there and eating yesterday, and it made him have some sort of flashback. Maybe it's because he started off the morning with the prison-bed situation, and now the natural order of events in the day is to be transported right to prison-breakfast.

"Hey, bub, you don't have to sit at the table," I say casually, trying not to bring too much attention to it. "You didn't like that yesterday. But you seemed better when we sat on the floor so we can do that again, or we can go on the couch or the balcony." I don't even have time to see his reaction before the waffle maker beeps, and I have to whip around to pull the waffle out.

I can hear Spencer shuffling behind me, and then I feel his shoulder brushing against my leg as he slides down to the floor beside me. I put the waffle onto the plate and hand it down to him, then open the drawer above his head to grab a fork.

"Thank you," Spencer mumbles, catching my free hand in his and pressing his lips to the back of my hand. It's clearly a thank you for more than just handing him a fork, or making him breakfast, or sleeping with him, or showering with him, or anything of that. It's a thank you for being so patient with him, but I couldn't fathom not being there for him in the way he needs. I want to tell him that he doesn't need to thank me, but in his mind, it is something he needs to do, so I decide to let it happen for a while before I start to refuse his thanks.

The next week functions almost identical to this. Spencer is quiet, keeping to himself and eating his meals on the floor and making the bed perfectly in the morning, cleaning the bedroom floor every night, wearing a tee shirt to bed. I get just a few glimpses of the man he was, but not many.

Emily had called later that day to let Spencer know that the entire BAU was placed on a mandatory six week leave, but also that he had to be evaluated for reinstatement. A whole slew of people have to review Spencer's actions, have to interview him, have to test him to see if he's fit to return to work, and he didn't take this news well. He didn't talk to me for a hours and just curled up on the floor of the bedroom, staring out the window with the drawn-back curtains. I tried, for so long, to get him to talk to me, but he didn't budge and he didn't even look at me. So I just grabbed whatever book was inside his go-bag from the last case he went on and sat beside him, reading aloud in an attempt to bring him back down to earth. And when he did, he went off to shower and then straight to bed.

Spencer's work is his life and there's few things he loves more than his work. I know that he would be lost without the BAU and that he would have absolutely no clue what to do with his life if he couldn't keep working there. So hearing that there's a chance that he may not be reinstated to the BAU is absolutely crushing.

On the other end of the spectrum, the prospect of Spencer not being reinstated isn't all bad to me. In his line of work, there are always going to be enemies. There's always going to be another Cat and another Lindsay. He's always going to have guns pointed at him and bombs blowing up beside him and people wanting to kill him. If he's not reinstated, I get to have him home every morning and night and I won't stare at the wall at lunch with Jenna, wondering if Spencer has just been shot or if he has a knife to his neck. I know that he would absolutely hate not being reinstated, but it would save me so much heartache.

That's an incredibly selfish thought, I know. I'm happy and willing to strip Spencer of one of the things that makes him happiest in his life just so I can sleep at night. But all I've wanted from the moment I met him is for him to be safe and to be happy and if he's not chasing serial killers, I know that he will at least be safe. Happy? I can't help but imagine he wouldn't be.

After a tense week at home, I convince Spencer to let me take him back to his apartment. He insists that he doesn't want for stay there and would rather stay with me, even though I said I would stay at his apartment with him, but I'm happy to let him keep with me. I just want him to be happy.

So I drove him over to his apartment, picked up most of his clothes and whatever else he was needing, and he rounds up an entire duffle bag full of books that I'm sure he would read in just one day. But we collect whatever he could possibly need and shove it in my car, then go straight back to my apartment. I'm starting to get a little stir crazy, being trapped in my apartment, but Spencer doesn't want to go out anywhere yet and the last thing on my mind is forcing him into things he's uncomfortable with.

"So what do you wanna do today?" I unzip the bag full of books and start making a few small piles against the wall, glancing over my shoulder at Spencer. He shrugs gently, too distracted with picking a record to properly respond to my question. Sighing, I return my attention to the books.

The record turns on and this time, I recognize it to be a record full of Christmas music. We've been listening to nothing but Taylor Swift, Frank Sinatra, and Christmas music this past week, and while that's my favorite music and I have no problem with it, it's odd. Spencer never really listened to that music, whether we were together or not. He always managed to convince me to put on some cello concerto that wound up being fifteen minutes long. I thought he would rather listen to that and not Christmas music when it's almost the summer, but I haven't questioned this yet.

"Could we," Spencer starts speaking after a moment, tearing my attention from the books, "maybe watch a movie?"

It's the first time he's suggested anything like that. Honestly, it's one of the first times he's suggested that we do anything. He's just been staying quiet and following me around like a puppy dog, watching me attempt to draw in a sketchbook or watching me cook or watching me do the laundry. He's stuck to my side, even if he hasn't been touching me much. So now that he's suggesting that we do something, I'm not about to pass up this development.

"Yeah, of course. You can choose whatever you want. I'll be over there when I'm done," Spencer nods and turns his back to me, and I pick up my pace in emptying the books from the duffle bag. I don't want to lose this momentum of him, maybe, feeling just a little bit better.

Once I've stacked all the books, I fold up the duffle bag nicely and put it in a place where it won't bother Spencer, and then head into the living room. He's sitting on the couch with a DVD case in his lap, and he holds it out to me when I approach. Always a technophobe, he never goes near the DVD player and lets me do it.

"Polar Express?" I raise my eyebrows, but that's as far as my questioning goes. I pop the DVD out of the case and put it into the player, then grab the remote and press play.

I settle onto the couch with my favorite plaid blanket, draping it over my lap. As the movie starts and the title screen shows, I feel cold. I'm completely covered and under my trusty blanket, but I'm cold. Absolutely freezing. I pull the blanket tighter around me and when my temperature doesn't shift, I quickly realize where the cold is coming from.

Spencer and I are a very physical couple. Despite his aversion to touch, he never seemed to have the problem when it came to me. Especially when we watched movies, we were always touching. Legs, hands, shoulders and heads, laps and heads. There was always a connection, but now there's none. I'm left on my own couch cushion, not sharing Spencer's cushion and continuously pushing closer and closer until we're squished together. A shiver runs down my spine.

We watch the movie in silence for a little while, all the way up until the three main characters are singing a song at the back of the train. And while they're singing, I feel Spencer reaching over, grabbing the edge of the blanket, tugging it closer to him. "You can come closer," he tells me, looking up at me through his lashes, fingers grasping the fuzz of the blanket.

Happy to comply with this request, I scoot closer to him until our legs are touching. I think that's enough for now, but then Spencer slings his arm over my legs and tugs me closer until my knees collapse over his legs and I'm laying my head on his chest. It's a position that I'm so familiar with and I've been dying to be in, but he hasn't been up for lately. My body warms up. The shivers stop.

I completely melt into his embrace, pressing my ear against his chest to listen for the steady beat of his heart as I wrap my arm around his stomach. I let my eyelids flutter closed and relax into him. The movie isn't important anymore, at least not to me.

///

SPENCER

///

Today is a good day, one of the first I've actually had since being home since my prison release. I thought that actually leaving Amelia's apartment would make me nervous, but returning home wasn't as horrible as it seemed like it would be. For once, I'm feeling pretty good. I'm even feeling well enough to watch a movie and cuddle with Amelia on the couch, just like we used to do. She still can't creep up behind me or touch me without showing me her hands first and I still can't eat at a table, but it's an improvement. Albeit a tiny one, but it's there nonetheless.

By the time the movie is coming to an end, Amelia has slid down to rest her head on my lap, her curls sprawled out and her hands pulled up to her chin. She looks ridiculously adorable like this, and even though it's a sight that I've seen many times and I've committed to memory, I wish I could sit and stare at her forever.

But that plan is foiled when my phone starts buzzing on the coffee table. My first instinct is to look down to check that Amelia is still sleeping, and all she does is scrunch up her nose a bit before relaxing. Adorable.

I grab a pillow from beside me and slide it under her head when I slip out from under her. Thankfully, she doesn't notice and she doesn't wake up. Pleased with this, I grab my phone and rush onto the balcony. I don't have time to check who it is before I answer. "Reid."

"Hey, Reid," Rossi's voice comes through the phone. "How's it going?"

"It's-" I ponder my answer for a moment, double-checking that the door is closed as I sink into one of Amelia's adirondack chairs, "um, it's a good day today."

"Good, I'm glad. And I'm glad you've got Amelia to look after you. You've got a good one there. She really cares about you," Rossi says, and his words prompt me to turn and peer into the window at her sleeping form, curled up on the couch and holding the blanket to her chest. "Where-- uh-- where is she right now?"

"She's sleeping right now. I'm on the balcony," Honestly, this is already some of the most talking I've done in the last week and I'm exhausted. I'd rather be talking to Amelia, but Rossi called me for a reason, plus I know that Amelia needs to get some sleep. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah. I'm afraid I may need to bring your day down a bit," Rossi sighs, and my heart drops down to my feet. "I feel horrible calling you now, after everything you went through and while the BAU is on leave, but you need to know the situation."

I furrow my eyebrows, balling my free hand into a fist, digging my nails into my palm to give the pain somewhere to go. "What situation?"

"Damian Kelsey's signature popped up on two bodies in LA."

I didn't think that I would have to face a day where Damian Kelsey's signature reappears. I admit that I have stayed late at work many times just to look at Damian's case file and rememorize the details and try to predict what his next murder would have been all while ignoring the chilling family photos that contain my girlfriend as a horribly abused child.

And this is the worst possible time for this to happen. I can barely go a day without flashing back to prison or almost yelling at my amazing and patient girlfriend. How can I possibly tack on dealing with her serial killer father's signature resurfacing, all while trying to keep it a secret from her? It's nearly impossible. I thought that I could just take these stupid six weeks off to spend time with Amelia and try to rest comfortably, but I guess that's not possible.

"I'm heading to LA as we speak. I'm getting on a plane right now. And while we both know what his signature coming up again could mean, the good thing is that these are male victims and they're not surrogates for Amelia. I know that's what you're worried about. The other good thing is that this is across the country and obviously nowhere near Virginia. So--"

"Spencer?" Amelia's sweet voice comes from the balcony doors, the blanket disregarded on the couch and her hair messy on the top of her head.

"Gotta go," I mumble, hanging up my phone and tossing it aside, not even waiting to say goodbye to my coworker.

Amelia steps onto the balcony, her bare feet silent as she approaches me slowly, rubbing her eyes like a small child. "Everything okay?"

I reach my hands out for her and she smiles, placing her hands in mine and slowly sinking onto my lap, resting her head on my chest, similar to the position we had been in before. Amelia runs a hand over my chest and it takes everything in me not to let out a sound akin to a cat purring.

I just hold her tightly in my arms, probably the tightest I have since I saw her for the first time in the parking lot of my correctional facility. Rossi swears that Damian Kelsey won't come after Amelia but I just hold her tighter, as if that will protect her from the horrors of the world. I have a lot of holding to make up for from when I was gone, and I suppose that time starts now.

TAGLIST

@babybloodstonebones @bxnnywriting @blameitonthenight21 @feralreid @anepiphany @reidscardigan @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @4x24 @whollytaciturn @thegingerfairchild @yasminwashere @shrimpyblog @anamelessfacelessnerd @wonderlandhatter @whxt-to-write @just-call-me-non @imagining-in-the-margins @boldlyvoid @homoose @gubler-me-up @thundergunexpresss @eideticmemory @andiebeaword

9 notes · View notes

zmayadw · 3 years

Text

I totaly neglected my story posting :/ Shame on me!

So, here is next part, if anyone is still interested in reading :P

Have a nice evening! :)

Oh, and i guess i should mention, a slight warning - there is a little violence in this part, nothing serious, but still :P

CALL OF THE RAVEN

PART 20

Next morning it was actualy me that awoke first, Jake sleeping soundly. I snuck out fo the bed, tip toeing to the bathroom. I got dressed making as little noise as i could not to wake him. He could use some rest, finaly. I took the car keys sneaking out of the room. This time i will surprise him with coffee and breakfast. Driving to town, i tought of last night, smile coming to my face. Things wer going well, considering all. I parked the car, going for the coffe shop. I bough coffee and some croissants, and as i left the shop someone yelled my name. I turned and smiled „Hello, Phil.“ „Hey there gorgeous, you up early today.“ He said grining. It was early, just pass 7. I found it strange myself when i woke up, considering we came back at the motel late, and, well, all that followed after we did. I was sure i would sleep till late again. I smiled „Well, you know what they say about the early bird.“ „Indeed.“ He smiled back. „Well, good I ran into you, i need to talk to you anyway.“ „Oh, you do?“ i asked curiously. „But that can wait till later.“ He said, glancing at the coffees and croissants i was holding. „Dont want for loverboy to be waiting on you.“ I smiled akwardly. „Anyway, come to the Aurora later if you can, and i'll tell you all about it.“ „Alright, i will.“ I said. Phil chimed cheerfuly „Excellent! See you later then, gorgeous.“ I had no idea what Phil might need of me, but i was curious. Ugh, i groaned inside, Jake wont be too happy when i tell him about this. Hopefully, he figured out by now he has nothing to worry about considering Phil. All tho, i doubted the two of them will ever get allong well. Ah well, you cant have everything.

I parked back at the motel, taking the stuff out of the car and heading for the room. The moment i stepped inside, Jake was all over me. „What the hell, Maya!“ he almost yelled at me. „Well, good morning to you, too.“ I said, looking at him questioningly lovering the things i bought at the desk. „What wer you thinking?“ he asked me. „Uhm, well , coffee and breakfast mostly, but i somehow doubt that is the answer you want.“ „You are right about that.“ He said, frustration rising in his voice. „Was it so hard for you to take your phone with you?“ I winced at it a bit „Considering what almost happened last time i had my phone with me while driving, i would go with yes.“ He sighed „I get that, Maya, but what if something happend to you, how would i be able to find you?“ Crap, he had a point. „I'm sorry, Jake.“ I said. „I didnt think about that, dont be ma...“ I stopped abruptly. „Wait, wait,wait, what did you just say right now?“ „What?“ he asked. „You said 'find' “ I could literally hear the 'tick tick' of wheels in my brain as it hit me. „What did you do with my phone?!“ i asked. He was silent, and i knew i was right. „You are tracking my phone, arent you!?“ i said, squinting my eyes at him. „Fine! Yes, I am tracking your phone!“ he said, throwing his arms up with frustration. „You could have told me!“ He sighed desperatly „I know, but i didnt want to get you bothered with it. You had enough on your mind already.“ „Jake“ i said going to him, putting my hands arround his neck. „You need to tell me stuff like that. Im not mad you did it, its kinda cute.“ I smiled, making him smile back at me. „But“ i started serious „From now on, no more secrets. I want you to promise me you will tell me everything.“ „Alright, i promise.“ „Good.“ I said, giving him a kiss. „Now, can we eat, im actually pretty hungry.“ i chimed cheerfuly. He chuckled at me, taking the bag with croissants. He took one out, turning to me with a raised eyebrow „I can see that. There's this suspiciously looking croissant here thats missing a part.“ „Oops“ i said, taking it from his hand, grinning „Couldn't resist.“

I basicly devoured three croissants, sitting on the bed with my laptop. Jake was behind his laptop at the desk doing 'his stuff'. I took a sip of my coffe „I ran into Phil when in town, by the way.“ He straightend in the chair, turning to me „Oh, yeah?“ „Yes. He wants me to come to Aurora later, he said he wants to talk to me.“ „About what?“ he asked. „Thats what i will find out when i see him.“ „So, you decided already you will go.“ He said, squirming in his chair. „Ofcourse i will go, why wouldnt I?“ i asked. Jake was even more squirmy now, i chuckled inside. „I dont know.“ He siad. I grined „Are you getting jelous again?“ „No, i'm not!“ he replied, quickly turning back to his laptop. „Oh, you soooo are!“ i said laughing. I so liked teasing him. „Shut up.“ He said, throwing the empty croissant bag rolled in a ball at me. „Heeey, its not nice throwing stuff at others, mister.“ I said teasingly. „Stop distracting me then.“ „Fine, fine, be all serious.“ He looked sideways at me, and i stuck my toung to him. „You're impossible.“ He said. „I tought i was amazing.“ He chuckled „I might have gotten ahead of me with saying that.“ „Oy!“ i protested, throwing a pillow at him. He turned to me and crossed his arms at his chest „Mhm, its not fun, beaing teased at, right?“ He grinned. I squinted my eyes at him „Touché.“ He turned back to his laptop. „Ok, joking aside, you are welcome to come with me to Aurora later, if that would make you feel better.“ I told him. He turned back to me „You know what? I just might do that.“ I was surprised. I didnt mind him coming along, just didnt expect him to actualy say yes. „Alright then, its settled.“ Oh boy, this will be fun.

We parked at Aurora, and leaivng the car Jake said to me „I'll join you shortly, there's something i want to do.“ „Umm, alright.“ I said „Can i ask what it is?“ He just grined „You'll see later.“ He sat back in the car and drove off. I was left confused walking towards Aurora. Phil was sitting at the booth when i entered, turning towards me at the sound of doors opening. He smiled at me with his usual grin „Hello, gorgeous.“ „Hey Phil.“ I smiled back, joining him. There was a bunch of papers in front of him. „Hope i didnt catch you at a bad time.“ I asked, him smiling at me „Dont worry, gorgeous, i could use a break anyway, i cant add one plus one anymore staring at all this numbers.“ He got up, ushering me to sit „Want something to drink?“ he asked, adding with a wink „I have a fresh pot of coffee waiting.“ I grinned „You know me so well.“ „Hey, i'm just glad i'm not the only coffee addict around here.“ he said with a grin before leaving. His phone rang as he left, so it took him a while before he came back. „Sorry, gorgeous, business call.“ He said, putting a coffee cup infront of me and sitting down. He leaned in the booth „I was sure that 'loverboy' would come with you.“ „Huh, well you wer right, he will join us soon.“ He laughed „Does he feel that much threatened by me?“ I looked at him, groaning desperatly „Phil..“ „Dont worry, gorgeous, i'll behave.“ He grinned. „As much as possible.“ He added winking at me. „Oh, im sure you will.“ I said, shaking my head at him. I took a sip of coffee „So, what was it that you wanted to talk to me?“ „Ahh, straight to business, right?“ he said to me. „Well, i am curious about it, so, come on, out with it.“ I grinned at him. „Alright, alright“ he said. „I have a business proposition for you.“ „You do?“ i looked surprised at him. „Indeed.“ „Alright, and what is it about?“ i asked. „Well, you do draw and designe, right?“ he asked, and i nodded. „I would like you to do a new design for t-shirts and some other stuff for Aurora.“ I was surprised by it. „You do?“ „Ofcourse.“ He said. „Why look so surprised by it, gorgeous?“ he asked with a smile. „Umm, well, dont get me wrong, I am flattered by it, but i'm sure there is someone better then me for it.“ Phil shook his head at me „Let me tell you something, gorgeous.“ He started, looking serious at me. „When it comes to work, i dont choose lightly.“ I still wasnt convinced. „And, besides, you can thank the 'all mighty internet' here.“ He said grining at me. „ You think i didnt chek up your skills before offering this to you?“ He wasnt wrong, i was good at what i did. „Alright“ i started „I appreciate it, really, but i have to decline.“ Phil looked dissapointed „Why? And dont give me some crap answer, Maya.“ „Well, honestly, i cant accept because i couldnt charge you for it.“ „And why not? Because we're friends?“ he said, and i nodded. „Its business, gorgeous, of course it comes with payement.“ „True, but i just wouldnt feel right doing it, Phil.“ I said desperatly. I added after a moment of silence „I could do it as a favore, tho, that would sound better to me.“ Phil looked at me serious for a moment, before his eyes sparkled and he grinned „Alright, how about this: you do it anyway, but instead of me paying you, i make you a special deal.“ I raised my eyebrow at him „And what special deal that might be?“ He laughed „ Dont worry, gorgeous, its nothing dirty, as you might think.“ He winked, smiling devilishly. I rolled my eyes at him „I havent tought of something like that.“ I said sarcasticly, but it actually did cross my mind. „ Ofcourse you didnt.“ Phil said, rising his eyebrow. „Well, what that special 'deal' is then?“ i asked. He grinned „ You get to drink for free here from now on.“ I laughed „You really will try anything to get me to accept it, arent you?“ „Hey, its a good deal, gorgeous. You have no clue how manny people would gladly take that kind of the offer.“ He said to me winking. „Allright, Phil“ i said after a momet „You convinced me, I'll do it.“ „Excellent!“ he chimed cheerfully, rubbing his hands together. He got up „I

think we need to seal this with a drink!“ I laughed „Ofcourse you do.“ The door of the Aurora opened then, and we both turned to see Jake walking in. He came to the booth, not taking his eyes from Phil, and Phil doing exactly the same. „Perfect timing, loverboy.“ Phil said „We wer just about to celebrat.“ He winked at me, leaving the booth. Jake looked at me, and i saw annoyance in him from Phils behaviour. He growled sitting next to me „Do i still have to behave arround Phil? I havent punched anyone in a long time, but i'm sure i still remember how to do it.“ I shook my head at him „Yes, you still have to behave.“ I grined leaning for a kiss „And, if you ever want to see me naked again, no punching, either!“ He raised his eyebrow at me after we kissed „You are taking away all the fun from me.“

Phil came back settling three glasses and a bottle of whiskey at the table. „So, did she tell you the good news already?“ he asked Jake, filling the glasses up. „No, she didnt.“ Jake replied, turning to me now. I sighed „Phil offered me a job.“ „Did he, now.“ Jake said, turning to look back at Phil. „Ofcourse i did.“ He said and grinned. „Our girl here is quite talented at her work.“ He handed us the glasses, taking his and rising it towards me. „Here's to you, gorgeous.“ I glanced at Jake, him being suprisingly calm to Phils words. He took a sip from his glass, settling it down. Me? I finished mine in one gulp. This calmness of his got me worried. „Whoa, easy there gorgeous.“ Phil said to me chuckling. „Could you stop calling her that?“ Jake said to Phil, his eyes darkening. Phil leaned back in the booth „What? Gorgeous?“ he said, giving Jake a grin „But she is, so why not say it.“ „Oh, for the love of it.“ I said, taking the bottle and filling my glass again. They both continued staring at eachother, completly ignoring me. „Phil“ Jake started, sounding calm but his voice so sinister „I promised Maya i'll behave, and i really dont want to break that promise.“ „Oh, relax loverboy, i'm just messing with you.“ Phil told him back, grining. „But let me just say this to you“ he started, taking the bottle to refill all the glasses, looking smug at Jake. „I know your type, I've seen it manny times before. Eventualy, you will mess up with her. And when you do, i will be right here waiting.“ And that was it - Jakes fist flew to Phils face, sending him sprawling on the floor from the booth. I basicly jumped over the table, glasses spilling all over and on me, making myself stand in front of Jake, as he shot up from his seat to go for Phil again. „Stop it!“ i shouted at him, but he looked so furios at Phil. His eyes wer so dark, and he was breathing so fast. I wasnt sure he even aknowledged I was standing in front of him. He wanted to push through me for Phil, i had to use all my strenght to try and push him back . I never saw him like this before, it got me frighten. „Please, Jake!“ I yelled once more pleadingly. He looked at me. The shock that was shown on my face made him tense, his eyes opening wide. „Shit!“ he said, turning from me, and storming towards the doors. I just stood there, taking a deep breath to calm myself as Jake left Aurora. I turned to Phil „What the fuck, Phil! You just had to do it?“ i yelled at him furiously. Phil just grined at me „Sorry gorgeous, i was just being honest, as always.“ „You just wanted to provoke him!“ „Look, Maya“ Phil started, getting up from the floor. „I meant what i said. He will mess things up eventualy, i can bet you. He will end up hurting you.“ „No, he wont!“ i continued yelling at him „You know nothing about him! And if you hoped provoking him will make me care less for him, you wer wrong!“ I took a few more deep breaths calming myself down once more. „And 'friends' dont wish for other friends to end up miserable.“ I said my voice taking on a sad notch. Phil winced at my words. „Thanks, Phil, thanks a lot.“ I said, turning away from him heading for the doors.

Stepping outside i wanted to scream in frustration. Like i didnt have enough happening in my life already. Jake was nervously pacing back and forth next to the car, stopping as he saw me. He walked towards me. „I'm sorry, i'm so, so sorry!“ he said to me. „I shouldnt have let him provoke me.“ He started pacing nervously again in fron of me. „Jake, it's fine.“ I said, but he didnt hear me. „He's just so annoying, i just couldnt control myself anymore!“ „Jake, it's alright.“ I tried again, but he just continued. „And talking to you like that? He has no right! Who does he think he is?“ „Jake!“ i yelled at him, making him stop and look at me. „It's fine.“ I said again, finaly having his attention. „It is?“ he asked, looking surprised. „Yes. He did kinda deserve it.“ I told him. „I tought you would be furious.“ he said to me, still surprised. „Oh, i am.“ I started „I'm not a fan of this things happeneing, just to make it clear to you. And to be honest, i should have forseen something like this happening, i shouldnt have let you come with me, so im furios at myself, too“ i said. My face got all serious then „You got me worried there for a moment.“ He looked at me, worry creeping to his face. „You didnt get scared of me, Maya..did you?“ he asked, his voice insecure a bit. „No, Jake, i didnt.“ I said „But i was scared I wont be able to stop you.“ He took a deep breath. „Maya, because of you, is why i stopped.“ I smiled at him, embracing him in a hug, leaning my head on his chest „I told you i will be your 'helping hand'.„ „Yes, you did.“ He smiled. „And I am sorry I did this.“ „Dont worry about it.“ I said, looking back at him, grinning „ I would have punched him myself if he continued like that, either way.“ Jake laughed at it „I can totally picture you do it.“ „I know, right!?“ i exclimed cheerfully, and he leaned to me for a kiss. As the kiss ended i asked „Can we go now, please, i just want to leave here.“ He smiled at me, hugging me with one hand, and we started walking back to the car. „You and me, both.“ Jake unlocked the car, and i went to the other side to get in. I opened the doors, and tensed. I sat in, turning to Jake, fear creeping at me. „Jake, are you going somewhere?“ He turned to me, confused „What are you talking about?“ I glanced at the back seat, a black traveling bag there. He chuckled at me „Relax, Maya, its just some clean clothes i took.“ .“ I sighed relieved, for a moment there i thought the worst. He looked at me raising his eyebrow „I am mostly with you at the motel, and i doubt any of your shirts would fit me.“ „Oh i dont know, i think that pink lace tank top of mine would fit you perfectly.“ I said teasingly. He laughed, shaking his head at me „Pink is definitely NOT my color.“

#duskwood #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood jake #duskwood mc #duskwood phil #duskwood aurora

28 notes · View notes

sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

Come On Over Baby

Summary: continuation to "Keep Bugging Me". Dosan gets a new apartment and everyone has mixed reactions.

Author's note: I have so many ideas about this fake world I created and I'm just going to live here for a while 🤷🏽‍♀️ I want these things to happen but the show just keeps waking up and choosing violence when they could choose hugs and kisses, it's a damn shame. Anyway if you wanna live in ignorance with me here you gooooooo. 💞💃🏾 Am I back to naming my stories after cheesy songs? Hmmm nobody can prove it *Hums Christina Aguilera*

It's not a easy decision, no chance at that when his mother stares at him like he admitted to killing puppies but he knows that he needs his own place. His phone calls with Dalmi are getting progressively more heated with them not able to get a moment alone since the event that must not be named.

The first time she asks him what he's wearing he looks down at his cable knit sweater and tells hers, "It's one hundred percent cotton. My mom bought it for me last week. It's very warm." Her silence and subsequent laughter makes him feel as if he's missed something important despite answering her question. With a giggle she replied, "You are really sweet Dosan. You're too good for this world." And he blushes immensely feeling hot under the collar at her excessive praise.

The next time, she simply sends him a message that causes his brain to go offline.

I miss your taste.

There's no way to misconstrue that statement and his brain supplies vivid images of what they did in this very room.

Gasping.

Slurping.

Moist.

He hurries to lock his door before letting his hands stray, her wet mouth filling his thoughts. Embarrassment isn't enough to deter him and her messages following make it clear she knows exactly the affect her seemingly innocuous message yielded.

So he starts looking for an apartment with Dalmi's help, she will be over a lot and it only makes sense that she should have some input. Her smile is honey sweet when he asks for her help, grinning at him with glee as she sips her iced Americano.

"I would love to help Dosan-ah."

The ordeal takes longer than expected but within weeks he finds a place, a mere twenty minute drive from his parents house and thirty minutes from Dalmi. They share identical sunny smiles as he signs the lease and buys their his new apartment. He has to repeatedly remind himself that he can afford this place regardless of the exorbitant amount of zero's. He's come a long way indeed.

Telling his parents about his move is uncomfortable to put it lightly, his mom is nonchalant and sulking in equal terms. Wailing that her only son is abandoning her for a pretty young thing, he's just thankful that Dalmi isn't around to hear her new nickname. His father on the other hand is over the moon, slapping him on the back and shouting about the strong will of Nam men. He fears he'll suffer from chronic back pain as a result of the thunderous pounds.

"Don't skip meals. Call if you need anything. You're always welcome to come back. " His mom promises, reaching out to smack his father as breezes by boasting on the phone that he has a free room in the house now and promises that they can use it for gatherings.

"Yes, yes! Bring the soju we should have a drink!"

But when it's time to bring all his belongings to the moving van, manned by Chul-san and Yong-san both parents are eying him with wet eyes from the doorway. He tries to keep his tears at bay but they all end up weeping in front of the gate, Chul-san screaming "They grow up too quickly!" Patting his mother compassionately on the back. He tries the same with his father but the dead glare stops him in his spot.

After a long day unpacking boxes, mostly his computer and tech supplies he collapses on the floor exhausted. With a dopey grin Chul-san is the first to leave, after Saha sends him a message complaining that she's bored and if he wants to hang him he better be there in ten minutes. Chul-san smiles like she sent him a love letter, he shakes his head but he's done trying to understand their relationship.

He waves goodbye to his friend, thanking him for his help and with then it's just him and Yong-san, who immediately starts to interrogate him about Dalmi and their relationship.

"How are things going?" Yong-san asks laying on the wooden floor with him as they both stare out the giant windows, the sunset is a majestic spill of colors.

His lips slide into an instantaneous grin, "I'm happy. Happier than I was in San Francisco."

Yong-san doesn't reply but he reaches across to squeeze his hand and wrap an arm around his shoulder.

They sit like that for a quiet moment.

Until his phone disrupts the gentle silence, the woman in question appearing on his phone. After a nod from his friend he answers the call.

"Hello?"

"Dosan-ah! Did you finish moving? I'm sorry I couldn't help you. Are you hungry? I can bring you food." Dalmi's voice is music to his ears, the rumbling of her engine vibrating in his ears.

He answers honestly, "Yes we finished, Chul-san and Yong-san helped me. It's okay I know you had to work today. I am a little hungry, fried chicken?" He knows now that he doesn't need to pretend to want fancy food, they both love fried chicken and its delicious simplicity.

She groaned knowingly, "I had a feeling you'd want chicken on a day like this. I already got some from that place you like. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

He smiles, nuzzling into Yong-san's shoulder contently before answering, "Okay. I'll see you soon."

He begins to lower the phone but then her voice rings out stopping him "Dosan-ah one more thing!" He immediately brings the phone back to his face humming to show his presence.

"I miss you. I love you."

His heart flutters never tiring of hearing those three words. If he could bottle it up and listen to it daily he would. He's addicted to her love.

"You too. I love you too."

Then they finally hang up cheesy smile etched in his handsome face.

"Wow. I see it now. You really are cockroaches in love. Gross but captivating." Yong-san teases pushing Dosan's head off his shoulder as he gathers his things. He temporarily feels a tinge of guilt, Yong-san is the only one in the group who doesn't have someone. He doesn't want his friend to feel like the fifth wheel.

His thoughts must play on his face because Yong-san mushes his face before sticking out his tongue, "Don't look at me like that. I'm fine we can't all be gross and in loveeee. I'll be stuffing my face with premium beef instead."

They both chuckle as he walks his friend it the door, saying their goodbyes with a quick embrace.

His nerves overtake him when he's alone. He checks his phone but there is nothing there to keep his attention so he starts at the spot where you would have a TV, then he realizes he has nothing here. What will he do with Dalmi? He contemplates texting her to let her know she should probably just go home. In the end his desire to see his girlfriend overwhelms his selflessness. They can be bored together.

Minutes pass and he buzzes her in, body twitching now from her nearing proximity. When she knocks at the door he all but races to answer the door, unshamed.

"Hi."

"Hey."

They stare at each other starry eyed before he moves out of the way and lets her in. Placing a pair of pink house slippers at her feet, at her curious look he explains with a shy shrug, "I bought them for you."

She smiles widely, thrusting the fried chicken at his broad chest.

"I come bearing gifts too."

The enticing aroma of the fried delicacy fills his senses and he takes the proffered bag, thankful that she thought to bring plastic plates and little plastic cups.

"I don't have anything to drink." He apologizes holding up the cups.

Pulling a bottle out of nowhere she then offers him a bottle of wine, deep red with a golden label. He is no connoisseur but it looks expensive.

"You didn't need to bring me wine."

She shrugs, "I wanted to. You're pretty cute when you're drunk."

He reddens remember that embarrassing night so many years ago, his first time sleeping at her house.

"Maybe we shouldn't drink that much."

She laughs loudly at his warning, pulling a bottle opener from her purse. He absently wonders what else is in there.

She pours the liquid into the plastic cups, handing it to him first and instinctively he leans in to smell the beverage. His nose dangerously close to the liquid before he realizes what he's doing and he hurriedly pulls away.

"Ummm... I-"

"Is that what you're supposed to do?" She asks before leaning in and sniffing her own wine loudly and without any grace. If he wasn't already in love, he would be falling right now.

They both sniff their wine gracelessly and munch on the crispy sweet meat, the dissonance of the meal doing nothing to stop their consumption.

Dalmi hums sweetly as she sits on the floor looking gorgeous with chicken grease on her lips.

"What?" She questions, licking her fingers clean.

He feels his throat tightening. Parched.

He looks at the ground, avoiding her eye as he downs his wine.

"Nothing. Just thinking. How was your day?"

And he listens as Dalmi tells him all about her long day complaining about her sister and how demanding she is, Dosan pointedly does not mention the fact that she's smiling or the fact that all of Injae's "annoying" habits sound like things that Dalmi herself does all the time. It didn't take him long to realize just how similar the sisters are but god forbid anyone mention that.

He smiles when she starts playing with her hair, thankful to be the one she shares her days with.

When he stands up to collect their garbage, walking into the spacious kitchen. She suddenly stops speaking droning off at the end of an incomplete sentence.

"Dalmi-ah?"

After throwing the garbage in the bin he washes his hands and wonders back over to his silent girlfriend, who is glaring at...the ground?

He calls her name again recapturing her attention.

Peering down he notices that she's staring at his phone. Which has a message notification.

Twisting his lips in thought he crouched down again rejoining Dalmi on the smooth glossy floor.

"I didn't mean to look. It was just right there." She's bites out taking a big gulp from her cup.

He has no idea what could possibly have her so worked up and he picks up his phone to see the answer.

I miss you stranger. Call me soon.

He gasps as soon as he sees those words on the screen: Han Ji Yoon.

He knew it wasn't mature but he'd never actually cut things off with her, he'd just slowly stopped calling her and answering her messages. Some might of considered it ghosting but he called it awkwardly disappearing, he'd never broken up with someone before so he just didn't know how. So he'd hoped she would get tired of him and stop trying to see him, it had been working until this message.

"Dalmi-ah I can explain."

He expects more of a fight but she looks at him, waiting. Expectant and glowering. Fire in her eyes.

"Okay. Go ahead."

He blinks at her stare and gulps when she scoots closer to him, invading his personal space. Not knowing how her proximity renders him useless at the best of times.

So he stutters out how he was too pathetic to tell the girl the truth and instead he'd ignored her and thought she got the memo.

Dalmi doesn't say anything at first and when she finally speaks her words make no sense and he wonders if he's drunker than he thought.

"Does she follow you on social media?"

He nods yes and before he knows what exactly is happening Dalmi is dragging him by his arm to the window and mashing their faces together to take a selfie on his phone.

"Stop looking nervous. Look natural. Smile. Dosan-ah."

She snaps away until she's satisfied and he watches in amazement as she posts the picture to his story with the caption, "New apartment with my love." She puts a little red heart and then decides against it.

"There you go. Now everyone will know that you're taken."

His chest is brimming with emotions and he finds his hands curled around her little chin, she leans into his touch easily swaying as if hypnotized.

"You're jealous."

Her lips pull into a sneer but something in his eyes kills her denial, her face breaking as she wraps her thin arms around his waist.

"Don't look so proud. I have people texting me too you know?"

And immediately he squints at her words, staring hard at the indent of her phone in her pocket as if to read said messages.

"Let's post that picture on your social media too." He demands feeling the fiery blaze of jealous lick at his heart.

Her eyes widen before she erupts into laughter, dragging him the rest of the distance between them pressing her joy into his mouth.

He sinks his fingers into her thick hair, swallowing the rest of her laughter allowing Dalmi to back her into the cool glass of the window. All his shyness melts away as he kisses her, emboldened by her moans and buckling of her knees. He catches her before she can fall, hoisting her up his long torso until he feels her legs latch around his waist. They kiss until his lips are sore, his tongue deep in her mouth as she nibbles at his mouth. The flavor of chicken and wine explode on his tongue as he licks deeper, intoxicated on Dalmi and her addicting lips.

She teases the rim of his ears, breaking their kiss with a wet smack as they gaze into each other's eyes.

She looks as dazed as he feels. Eyes blown wide as she pants in his arms, almost boneless in his hold as she lets him take the full weight of her body. he barely notices, he has carried her too many times to count. It has become something of a habit. He’ll never recover from the spark in her eyes everything he lifts her, the faint blush on her cheeks. One of the only times that he can make her shy.

"Dosan-ah."

He hums fighting to pay attention with Dalmi looking so breathtaking in his arms stroking his hot ears.

"We need to get you a bed. Very soon hmmm?"

This time he knows exactly what she means and he groans hiding in her shoulder as she rubs his head.

Bed. Yes. Getting that immediately. Maybe stores are open. He should go get it.

Right now.

#start up #startup #tvn start up #Nam do san #seo dalmi #sharing with the 3 dodal fans #we are an endangered species #fluffy fluff #But I had some much smut in my head #but life is about balance #I love writing his parents #they are the MVPs

60 notes · View notes

shutterbug2012 · 3 years

Note

Euro Report!!! It's actually going to be pretty mild this time...

so France 🇫🇷 was eliminated 😞Mr. Jean Oxfordshire is probably very sad and in a lot of pain (the emotion, not the food haha). I hope he got emotional support and lots of cuddle from Louis, even tho we know he probably was being a brat because England is still in the game. I wonder if Mr. O is now supporting England (oh, the things we do for love!) or another team? Germany perhaps? Then the competition is not over!

Talking about England, I was expecting to wake up today to tweets and/or a jersey IG pic from Louis but alas 😕😕😕😕

At least England's twitter is still heavy on the double entendre....some of their recent tweets: "Matchdays don’t get much bigger" 🍆 and my favourite: "Edging closer to matchday" 💦. 😏(at this point they do it on purpose, right? right? 👀)

Daddy Gareth (🥵) is quoted saying "Relish the opportunity" and for some reasons that makes me think of Louis' Fish Fingers Butty Sandwich... this man is occupying WAY too much space in my brain help. (BTW I hate to admit it but I've been thinking that if England wins against GER (they won't tho), I might take for England for the rest of the cup????? England winning would make L so happy and that's all we want so... yeah i truly need help 😔)

I feel like this report is boring and not my best work, thus I leave you on this hot TikTok of Footie!Louis... thinking about him in shorts, running around...it's gotta be horny louies hours somewhere!!!

ps: also please enjoy this...interesting...picture of Manuel Neuer 🇩🇪*sigh* why is football so homoerotic 😌

everyday clem wakes up and chooses violence in my askbox 🥰💖 good morning bestie <3

i saw that France got eliminated omg (watched the repeat telecast a while ago) it was such a thrilling match?? poor Mbappe tho he did his best and i feel bad that it might be weighing on him that he's responsible for them not qualifying 😐 also poor Mr Jean 🥺 i hope he's coping well and using those trademark soft Louis snuggles as much as he needs <3 and who knows? maybe he's team England now 😏 i sure hope Louis tweets today to maintain the consistency!!

England's twitter sounds like a mess JDKSHFFGJLS and your interpretations 😭 i'll admit it really does seem on purpose skdjfhslf

my guess is Gareth would agree with Louis' strategy of confidence and momentum, don't you think 🤠 "relish the opportunity", lads, it's the "most important thing" for today's match (on a sidenote whenever i read help my brain starts playing help.mp3 so there's that) (also i hope that Eng wins today, maybe it'll summon him online?) and thank you for the tiktok and the picture of Neuer lmao <33 i've been replaying the reel for a while now maybe he has a hold on me too 💆🏻‍♀️ who would've known 💆🏻‍♀️

#clem's mission reports my beloved <3 #mail #berlinini #i hope sanju and miss icarus see the tiktok too jksjfhfgsk #im hyped for the match!! lets gooooo!!!#thank u for ur service clem <3

8 notes · View notes

lov3nerdstuff · 4 years

Text

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 5.3}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.8k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

Robin woke up to her alarm the next morning, bright and early as usual. Or so she thought, at least, until she saw the brightly grinning faces of her two roommates right above her. With a groan, she closed her eyes for another second.

"What time is it?" She managed to mumble into her pillow, and finally blinked up at the two girls who had now taken residence on the far end of her bed.

"Six thirty." Cas replied happily, and Robin groaned again.

"You've officially stolen half an hour of my sleep." She sighed as she turned onto her back and then sat up with a very much tired face and an even more tired mind. "Half an hour might not sound like a lot to you, but it is when one's up with Snape all night." The two girls merely giggled at Robin's admittedly thoughtless statement, and thus made her groan again as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "You know perfectly well what I mean! Working until god knows when is bloody exhausting…"

When her mind finally was somewhere near awake and her eyes also able to actually see beyond a blurry sheen, she noticed that both girls were still sitting at the end of her bed with grinning faces. "What's even going on that you actually dare to wake me up?"

Both girls exchanged a mysterious look, then Jorien placed a small, neatly wrapped present in Robin's lap. "Happy birthday!!!" Cas said at the same time and both girls started grinning again like they had won the lottery.

For a moment, Robin felt shocked, then confused, and finally very much overwhelmed. "It's… it's the twentieth already?"

"Obviously." Jorien shrugged with a smile, and Robin was determined that the girl had picked up that habit from her and not from Snape. It might still originate from him, but she took too much pride in being a role model to blame it all on him.

"Wow…" Robin finally breathed with a smile, looking first at the present, then at the two girls. "Thank you, both of you. It's been quite a while since anyone has congratulated me on my birthday."

"What?!" Cas replied immediately, with a deep frown on her face. "You mean besides your family and friends, right?"

"No, I mean in general." Robin shrugged, but her smile stayed. This was actually making her happier than she had expected, and there was nothing that could take that from her now. "My parents don't celebrate birthdays, and I don't have any other family or friends who would have thought of it."

"That's cruel of them." Jorien said quietly and her smile turned into a smaller, sadder one. "I'm very sorry that they don't appreciate you like we do. Because we really do. Appreciate you, I mean. As a roommate, and a tutor and a friend."

"Yeah, I absolutely agree!" Cas added with an almost exasperated face. "Does that mean you also didn't get any presents in the last years?!"

Jorien rolled her eyes at her friend and shoved her to the side, which made Robin chuckle. They were so different in the way they were similar and yet they were best friends. It was truly admirable.

"No, I haven't gotten a present in a while." Robin admitted, and immediately had to think of the piece of the book page Snape had given to her a few Christmases ago. It hadn't really been a present, but she still carried it in her locket and treated it as such. She wouldn't tell her roommates that though. "But I'm very excited to see what you have gotten me. May I open it, or do you want me to wait?"

"Open it up already! I wanna see if you like it." Cas grinned immediately and both girls watched attentively as Robin untied the green bow and unwrapped the paper to reveal a small box. Gosh, she hadn't unwrapped a present in ages… the excitement of it was actually quite delightful.

"You've gotten me a box?" Robin teased them with a feigned frown, and both girls rolled their eyes as they laughed nonetheless. With an equally excited smile, Robin opened the lid and her gaze fell onto a seemingly tangled pile of different materials. Upon a closer inspection, she discovered that it actually was three bracelets which she picked up out of the box one by one. The first was made of dark green and black fabric, like a friendship bracelet, but with a more intricate pattern.

"I made it myself. We thought that black and green are the house colors, but you also wear them a lot, so… you must like them too." Cas grinned happily a second later, giving an explanation for the piece.

"It's perfect. Thank you." Robin replied and tied it around her wrist with a smile.

The second bracelet she went to inspect was made out of black string as well, but it wasn't knotted and instead held together tiny, round shells in a row.

"I… made that one." Jorien said once Robin went to put it on as well. "The shells come from the black lake. They're the smallest ones Professor Sprout could think of that I could gather without going for a dive."

"That's amazing, I cannot believe you guys went through so much effort just for me." Robin smiled at both of them in as much gratitude as she could consciously come up with, but she also still felt quite overwhelmed. If it wasn't for her wish to let the girls know just how thankful she felt for their present, she probably just would've shut off her outside display of emotions entirely to focus on the joy on the inside. It was an odd situation to be given a present like that after all, especially one that actually had thought in it.

"You haven't looked at the third one yet!" Cas smirked mischievously, and that sufficed to make Robin smile in all honesty despite the overflow of emotions already running through her brain.

The third bracelet in the box wasn't self-made like the other two, but consisted of a rather sturdy chain with something that upon first sight looked like a metal coin in the middle. Yet, once Robin took the piece of jewelry out of the box, she realized that it wasn't actually a coin, but an ornamented emblem. The very same one as on her locket, and obviously just as ancient. Robin's lips parted as she stared at the delicate piece of jewelry in her hand, then at the two girls on her bed.

"Where did you find this? How?" She asked in surprise, and a hint of wonder. "I mean… I didn't even know you knew of my locket."

"What locket?" Cas asked in mild confusion that immediately got Robin to frown as well. Jorien however shoved Cas in the side once more and gave her a pointed glare.

"This locket." Robin pulled her necklace over her Queen t-shirt, and both girls leaned forward to take a look at it. "You didn't even know I had this?"

"Uh…" Cas gave Jorien an insecure look, who rolled her eyes in return but mentioned for her friend to just go ahead already, which the blond girl did in an instant. "No, we uh… we actually didn't know that you had a locket with the same emblem."

"Either this is the biggest coincidence in the history of coincidences then, or you're not telling me everything." Robin gave them a pointed look, but it was accompanied by a smile. They hadn't done anything wrong after all, but she knew that they weren't telling her the whole story. And Robin was desperately curious.

"You see, this-..." Cas started, but she didn't get far at all.

"We're not supposed to tell her!" Jorien sighed even though she seemed rather unhappy about it herself.

"It's her birthday, I don't care that we're not supposed to tell her!" Cas complained and rolled her eyes at her friend. "With whom does your loyalty lie?!"

"With Robin, obviously!" Jorien frowned in return, and sighed. "Alright… do tell her then."

"I am listening." Robin replied in amusement, and went to clasp the third bracelet around her wrist as well. She had never been one to wear a lot of jewelry, but she had the feeling that she would keep wearing these three pieces just like she had done with the locket. They all were meaningful, even if she still had to unveil the meaning of this last band.

"As I was saying, this third bracelet just… appeared one day. I mean, Jorien found it on her bed a few weeks ago, wrapped in a piece of parchment with a note on it." Cas shrugged. "We have no idea who it's from; we've been trying to guess for weeks now, but with no result. It must've been one of the Slytherins though, if they got in here."

"That's interesting indeed… What made you decide to give it to me instead of keeping it for yourself?" Robin inquired and placed the now empty box and the wrapping paper on her nightstand to cross her legs under the covers like the two others did on top.

"The note was very precise about it being for you and for nobody else." Jorien replied with an equally clueless look. "It actually was what made us aware of when your birthday is in the first place."

"Ah, I was wondering how you knew that it was today anyway. I can't remember telling you about it." Robin smiled. "Do you still have the note? Maybe I can shed some light on your mystery."

Cas jumped off the bed immediately, even before Jorien could, and dug through the drawer of the nightstand next to the only empty bed. It had turned into somewhat of a common ground, but more so for the two younger girls than for Robin. She was quite content with the space she had to herself. Half a minute later, Cas returned and dropped down on the bed again, causing the mattress to bounce up and down while she handed Robin the note.

"Well, let's see…" She mused, and unfolded the paper with a very prominent idea about its origin in mind already that she only hoped to confirm now. And she could, without any doubt, as her eyes scanned the uncharacteristically neat but still very much familiar scrawled handwriting. Her lips curled into the widest smile as she read.

Robin's birthday is on the 20th of October. Make sure that she feels cared for on this day, you certainly will agree with me that she deserves that much at the very least. Ensure that she receives the object accompanying this note, it is meant for her alone. Please do not tell her about my involvement, it isn't of importance.

That was all it said. Robin looked up from the note towards her roommates, who were now looking both hopeful and a little nervous. Her smile dimmed down at their mixed expressions. "Why are you two looking so worried?"

"I don't want you to feel less appreciated just because someone else told us they care for you too and want you to have a nice day." Jorien shrugged, and Cas nodded. "We didn't give you a present because we felt like we had to, but because we honestly do care for you a lot! You know that, right?"

"Of course I know!" Robin smiled at them encouragingly, and hopefully somewhat reassuringly too. "And I'm very grateful for the gesture, VERY happy about your amazing present and I do feel very much cared for. This already is the best birthday ever, thanks to my three favorite people."

"Even though our presents can't keep up with the fancy one?" Cas asked with a doubtful frown, and Robin wanted to sigh at their worry. If only they could understand how much she appreciated them indeed, not for their presents but for their effort.

"They all hold a different meaning to me, but I adore all three of them just the same." She replied truthfully. "You know I never lie, so you might as well believe me."

"True…" Cas' frown turned into a small smile. "And after all, they actually look pretty great together!"

Robin looked at her newly decorated wrist and smiled as she traced each of her three gifts with her fingers. "I have to agree, they do fit together rather lovely."

"I'm really glad you think so, Jorien was being very annoying about it all fitting together." Cas teased, and earned herself another shove from her friend and a chuckle from Robin.

"So, do you have any idea who the note and the bracelet might be from?" Jorien asked while Cas still tried to shove her back, but seeing as she failed to do so she also chose to listen instead.

"I believe I know who they are from indeed." The wide smile returned to Robin's face, and the flutter to her heart.

"And?!" Both girls asked at once, while their curiosity was tangible in the entire room.

"It's from my best friend." Robin's smile turned into a sheepish grin, which she directed down at her hands in her lap though. Saying this felt both very much right and yet wrong at the same time. He was her best friend, undeniably and undoubtedly, but also the person she had been crushing on for well over a year now. If crushing even was still the appropriate term for it. And to him, she was neither of that. Which was absolutely fine, really, she wasn't complaining, not even to herself. It just made her feel a little bit weird to consider someone her best friend who maybe, if she was lucky, barely even considered her bearable in return at all. Not nearly weird enough to let it tone down her smile however.

"And… your best friend couldn't just give you a birthday present in person?" Cas inquired in her usual doubtful tone, giving Robin a questioning look along with it.

"Not this one, no." Robin chuckled. "His present isn't that bracelet, that's another issue entirely. It's getting you two idiots to make my birthday the happiest in years."

"Hey!" Cas protested with a laugh. "We're not idiots!"

"To him, pretty much everyone is an idiot." Robin shrugged with a smirk. "Even me."

"Sounds like he would get along really well with Professor Snape."

Robin couldn't help laughing at that. "Actually, I believe they don't like each other all that much." That was only true, really. The many faces of that man didn't always go hand in hand with each other, and Robin had seen them in conflict often enough. Over time it had gotten significantly less frequent however, especially around her, and especially when they were alone.

"Well, let's do what your friend wants us to do then!" Jorien declared, and finally shoved Cas off the bed entirely, with a smirk on her face. "Let's make your birthday the happiest in years."

… … …

Instead of going to the great hall for breakfast as always, Jorien and Cas led Robin to the kitchens with those same mischievous smiles that made Robin shake her head but follow them anyway. As it seemed, Robin enjoyed an impeccable reputation among the house elves ever since she had given Buttercup the Twirl and the 'order' to share it with her fellows, and thus the kitchen staff had been more than happy to comply to the two young girls' request to make Robin a special breakfast for the occasion. She ate by herself though, as Cas and Jorien wanted her to enjoy her alone time before the school day and retreated to the great hall themselves, leaving Robin sitting at a small table in the kitchens. In all honesty, Robin dearly appreciated eating without a couple hundred people in a noisy hall for once, and made sure the girls knew that she was very thankful for the lovely morning before she was left alone at last.

The day of classes went by like any other from that point on: her housemates as well as most of her classmates ignored her, the professors on the other hand were as usual very nice (with the exception of Professor Morgan, who had been trying to find reasons to mock or scold Robin throughout the entire last year already and obviously continued to do so this term as well) and Robin hurried even more to finish all homework and assignments before the evening. She wanted to focus on getting the Plangentine tonight, hopefully while Snape was still doing his paperwork, so that they could maybe get started on the potion tonight already instead of tomorrow. It really was a happy birthday she was having, and from time to time throughout the day she peered down at the three bracelets around her wrist and smiled to herself with a soaring heart and the knowledge that at least three people in this world cared about her. In some way or the other. That was the best present she had ever received, immaterial and invaluable.

The next surprise of the day came shortly before dinner. It was still a little while until the meal would actually be served, but Robin had arrived early to do some homework beforehand, and thus she found herself sitting at the very end of the Slytherin table when she heard a not so quiet 'psst' from the head table, followed by Hagrid waving her over once she looked up.

With a half smile and a frown, Robin left her things at her own table and walked up to the head table rather awkwardly. A few professors were there already, others still absent, but it made Robin feel a little weird to walk up front like this, even if Hagrid wasn't a professor, technically. Quickly, Robin moved around to the side of the table where he was sitting, so that at least she didn't have to stand in between the head table and the students' tables in the open space but rather between the teachers' chairs and the large window.

"Ey! 'appy birthday to ya, Robin!" Hagrid cheered once she stood in front of him, and Robin let out a quiet laugh in return as he wrapped her into a bear hug. Hugs were a rare thing, and she appreciated them whenever she could.

"Thank you, that's very kind of you." She replied with a happy smile and just a subtle heat creeping up her neck once she was released from his grasp. She could only guess how he had come to know about her birthday…

"Couldn't very well forget me best helper I ever had, eh?" He grinned, and pulled a large black feather out of the depths of his heavy coat. "Got somethin' for ya… Isn't the prettiest thing, a feather of a hippogriff, but the most ridiculous prices on the black market these things have! Must be good for somethin' then, I guess… You will know what to do with it, with all ya book smarts."

Robin carefully took the large feather out of his equally large hand, and brushed over the delicate object with gentle fingers in a moment of awe. "Wow, this is absolutely amazing. Thank you! These are hard to come by, because almost no hippogriff wants to part from them willingly and they only lose them very rarely… But they have a very wide range of uses indeed! It's a very valuable gift, are you certain you want me to have it?"

"Aye! Got me an entire box of these, hardly ever had much use for them though… Don't tell anyone I said that, will ya?" He gave Robin one of those funny regretful expressions, and she had to chuckle at the sight.

"I won't tell anyone about your stash, I promise." She replied with a wide smile, and held the feather to her chest in a protective gesture. It would soon join her other precious items inside her locket.

"Ah, Miss Mitchell!" Now it was Professor Sprout's voice that made Robin turn around, just as the herbology professor came walking over to take the seat next to the gamekeeper. "Happy birthday, I hope you had a pleasant day, dear."

"Thank you, professor. I had a lovely day, actually." Robin replied with a smile, and moved out of the way so the woman could take her seat. Honestly, who else knew that it was her birthday?! Throughout the day, neither Flitwick nor Trelawney nor Morgan had known, or simply not cared, and the students obviously shared either of those sentiments as well. Maybe she should just ask them? Would it be rude? But then again… both persons in front of her already knew that she was direct sometimes.

"If I may ask, how come you two are even aware that it's my birthday?" She asked curiously, keeping her tone polite and respectful though.

Hagrid nodded his head towards the herbology professor with a smile directed at Robin, and she understood where his information had come from. That still left her wondering how Professor Sprout had learned of it though.

"I believe Professor Dumbledore himself mentioned it to me this morning." The woman shrugged with a smile, and then frowned at Robin. "Usually I notice things like this when students talk about it in class… However I believe I wasn't aware of your birthday before today."

"My birthday wasn't an actual event until today." Robin shrugged as well, and realized that her statement probably didn't make all too much sense to them without context, but she also didn't feel like providing any. "Anyway, I'm very happy that you two thought of me. It really means a lot. But perhaps I better get back to my table, I wouldn't want to bother you. And dinner should start any moment now."

With another few polite words, Robin said goodbye to Sprout and Hagrid, wishing them a nice evening, and then made her way back towards her own place. Just as she rounded the side of the head table however, the small side door flew open and Robin almost ran into the headmaster himself.

"Oh, my apologies, sir!" She brought out immediately, the surprise making her voice a bit more shallow than normal. "I… should've looked where I'm going."

"All is well, Miss Mitchell." He smiled that small, kind smile again and Robin couldn't help wondering if it was honest or not. If it was a facade, it was a brilliant one. "I see you received a new feather for your birthday, yes?"

Oh bloody hell, he knew too?! Right. Sprout had said he'd told her in the first place. "Yes, Hagrid was very gracious and gifted me the feather of a hippogriff. It's not a feather for writing, but… you probably knew that already. Sorry."

"If you allow me the question, what do you plan to do with it? I'm curious."

"I will store it where I keep all things of value to me, until the time comes when I need it. Hidden away in a locket." She replied honestly, and wondered where this was going. It didn't sound like mere curiosity to her.

"A feather in a locket?" The old man raised his eyebrows at Robin in genuine interest, which made her wonder even more what the actual intention behind his questioning was.

Unlike the last time she had meant to show someone the piece of jewelry, which she still had a very vivid memory of, she actually unclasped the necklace first and then held it out to the professor in front of her. "It's charmed. There's a lot of space in there, and it's the safest place I know."

Dumbledore took the piece of jewelry out of her hand, but his gaze also flickered to the bracelets on her wrist for a broken second before returning to the locket. After a moment of carefully studying the object, he returned it to Robin with a smile. "A beautiful piece. But you see, I wasn't quite frank with you in my questions' intention."

"I realized." She replied rather flatly before she could stop herself, but also refused to apologise.

"Did you? I should have known." His smile changed into a slightly more honest one. "I see you also possess the bracelet to match."

"It was gifted to me today, but I've had the locket for far longer."

"Ever since… Professor Snape came to me with the request to remove the bracelet from the room of hidden things, I have been wondering why he had an interest in taking it. I assume he knew you possessed the matching piece, then?"

"I wear it every day, it's no secret, really." Robin shrugged, and tried to push the images of Snape and herself in the close proximity of him inspecting the emblem on her locket back in the room of hidden things out of her mind. "May I ask, why did he come to you before removing something from the room though?"

"The objects in the room of hidden things are, ultimately, school property. As such, it is for the headmaster to decide whether they may change hands if their provenance can no longer be ascertained."

"Interesting." Robin mused and frowned to herself for a moment. "So you cannot determine who the owner of the bracelet is?"

"I could not, which is why I left it to Severus. And seeing as he gave it to you, that would make you the rightful owner now." Dumbledore smiled again so very mildly, but his eyes were almost uncomfortably probing. He obviously didn't understand.

"You might be interested to know that… Professor Snape didn't actually give it to me as a gift, but rather ensured that I received it without being aware of his involvement." Robin stated then, in an attempt to make this entire thing sound more appropriate than it probably looked. She didn't want Snape to get into trouble… especially not for something that nobody but them could possibly understand correctly. "Most likely seems that he was merely trying to assist my roommates in finding a present for me, seeing as they couldn't acquire one elsewhere." That would have been a straight out lie, had it been phrased any differently. But it really did seem most likely, even if Robin knew that it wasn't the truth.

"I must admit I was under the impression that Severus had given it to you as a gift indeed." Dumbledore mused as he frowned to himself, and Robin felt the heat rising to her face at his disappointed tone. In the end, Snape had given it to her as a gift, even if indirectly… even if he didn't want her to know, and even if she didn't want anyone else to know in return.

Before Robin could give a reply she was yet to think of anyway, the door behind Dumbledore was opened once again, and the very man in question almost ran into the headmaster's back. With an irritated scowl, Snape moved around them though, and his frown only deepened when he saw Robin as well.

"Ah, Severus, just in time for dinner!" Dumbledore smiled at him like he had smiled at Robin moments before, and every trace of his previous frown or surprise was gone for good. His facades really were impeccable. "I was just wishing Miss Mitchell the happiest of birthdays, actually. You are aware that it's her birthday today, aren't you, Severus?"

"Yes." Snape replied tersely, and Robin couldn't help wondering why Dumbledore was messing with him like this now. Were these two something like friends? Or did he have another motive? Oh well… who could fathom what the headmaster was up to at any point anyway?

"I, uh… I better sit back down for dinner now." Robin stated a little awkwardly, clasping the locket in one hand and the feather in the other. "If you would excuse me, headmaster…" She gave a courteous little nod to Dumbledore, then turned to Snape with an attempt at a half smile. "I'll see you after dinner?"

"Obviously."

Without spending another second in this awkward situation, Robin skipped down the few steps in front of the head table and sat back down where her things had been pushed together by some other students who had taken their places by now. Geez, that had been surprisingly uncomfortable; Snape wasn't an issue she wanted to discuss with anyone at all, and especially not with Professor Dumbledore. Even if he had reacted surprisingly bemused by the entire ordeal. Robin shook her head to herself as she put the feather into the locket at last, then tied it back around her neck just as dinner was served.

______________________________

Tags:

@ayamenimthiriel @chibi-lioness @t-sunnyside @alex4555 @purpledragonturtles

General Tags:

@its-remy-not-ratatouille @wegingerangelica @dreary-skies-stuff @wiczer @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @theweirdlunatic @caretheunicorn @kthemarsian @lady-of-lies @strawberrysandcream @noplacelikehome77 @theoneanna @mishaandthebrits @i-am-a-mes @nonsensicalobsessions @exygon @hiddles-lobotomy @rjohnson1280 @annwhojumps @spookycatqueen @salempoe @headoverhiddleston @fanfiction-and-stress @createdfromblue @halszka-potter @thecreatiivecorner @themusingsofmany @kinghiddlestonanddixon @scorpionchild81 @crystal-28 @adefectivedetective @lokis-girl-in-mischief @booklover2929 @iamverity @lovesmesomehiddles @akk4rin @whitewolfandthefox @stuckupstucky @kassablanca13 @delightfulheartdream

64 notes · View notes

my-brothers-corrupted · 3 years

Text

Book Four - Part 8

Red's made the decision to sneak away and take Dok and Blue to the closest hospital, but Dapper and Trick are too closely-watched to come with, and end up facing new dangers back at home.

Tws for illness, hospitalization, mild gore (infected wound), kidnapping, violence, and aggressive reaction to being triggered.

Part 8 - The Invasion

bupine asked: you're going to the hospital? without you know who's knowledge? is that... safe?

“Nope,” says Red.

He scoops Blue into his arms. His twin barely stirs.

“Come on, Dok-Dok, stop staring and get moving.”

“Trick…”

“Isn’t coming with us. You know that. Go.”

Dok gets shakily to his feet and moves towards the stairs, scooping a camera to his chest for comfort and glancing back at Red. But Dok is trained to obey Red even in the old days - and now, it’s like some new surety has come over his oldest brother.

“Red, are you… are you sure, are you…?”

“Go, Dok. Quickly now.”

nikkilbook asked: Oh, good man, Jackie.

“Watch for me. He’s distracted by Dapper for now, but if he notices he’ll come get us.”

bupine asked: who are you taking, then?

This, at least, makes Red hesitate, sending a flash of pain through his face. He turns away from you and begins moving up the stairs.

“Just these three. This isn’t about escape, right now, not yet. But I think Dok and Blue could die if I don’t get them out of here. Today. If we have to come back, then we have to come back, but I can’t just stay here and wait for the morning that Blue doesn’t wake up.”

Red is nervous. You can see it in the thrumming of his heart, fierce enough to make the inside of his palm pulse in time. He rocks endlessly.

bupine asked: won't he kill you for this, red? is there anything we can do to help?

“I thought he might, maybe, but… I don’t know, he’s my…”

Red grits his teeth. He has to stop thinking of Anti as family as if that means anything. Anti was the one who told him it doesn’t - now it’s time for Jackie to start believing him.

“Would it be better to wait? Did he say he’d kill Dok soon? I don’t want to leave the others behind if you think they’re in trouble too. I don’t know. I’m just scared. Seems I always am. Maybe I just feel like I need to act on it.”

bupine asked: trick was given two days to take the necklaces off dok, red. otherwise anti will kill dok. he threatened your little brother. we saw the whole thing. dok's in a lot of danger.

Ro closes his eyes. He wants to be angry like when he squeezed Jack, but the anger’s gone to sleep, and now he’s just afraid - and determined, too.

“Okay,” he mumbles. “Thank you for telling me. I - let’s go before I change my mind. If we get caught, I hope it’s me he comes after instead of them.”

“And the monster in the woods?” whispers Blue.

Red blinks, smiling down at him. “I didn’t realize you were awake.”

“I’m dizzy even when I’m lying down…”

Red clutches him to his chest. “Don’t worry about the monster. I’ll… I’ll handle it. Okay? Just rest.”

After all, Red was there when Anti made the game. And the monster, he knows, only needs one of them.

bupine asked: red. what are you going to do?

“Well, let’s see whether or not they catch us first, and then we’ll worry about that. What, you think I know what I’m going to do? You think I got a brain somewhere in this skull? Please.”

He grins, but only for a moment.

“Come on, let’s go.”

nikkilbook asked: We’ll be your eyes and your audience, I promise you that.

“Some things don’t change,” answers Ro, checking that a camera is clipped to his sweatshirt. “Nothing much is steady in my life, but some things don’t change.”

He moves up the stairs like Blue’s weight doesn’t mean anything to him. He’ll be exhausted soon enough, but he won’t put him down.

“Hey,” comes a nervous little voice. “Is he doing better? You want enchiladas, Hoodie? Where’d Dok go?”

Red is paralyzed at the top of the stairs. Trick steps closer, checking over Blue, trying to keep his smile up, though Red can see that his little brother is just as close to breaking from the stress as he is.

“Uh,” says Red.

He is not a good liar.

bupine asked: i don't know if it's a good idea to give yourself up to dark, red. especially not if they'll give you back to anti after. it could be even worse if they won't. you can't really be ready to sacrifice yourself with those risks?

“I guess… better the devil you know,” admits Red reluctantly, glancing at the stairs.

“What?” asks Trick.

“Oh. Nothing. Um.”

“Trick,” says a small voice.

Trick turns to his twin. Dok stands behind him, his hands held in front of him, his eyes wide.

“Hey! You snapped out of it a little! There’s my guy.”

Trick wraps his brother in a hug, pressing their heads fondly together. “Wanna come get some dinner?”

“Can you go dish me some up?” asks Dok frailly. “And I’ll… I’ll be right there.”

“Okay.” Trick kisses his hair. “Sure thing. I’ll get you some more coffee too and we can just hang out all night.”

Dok touches his cheek as he pulls away. Ro recognizes the look in his eyes - like Dapper when he needs something. Puppy dog.

“Thanks for looking after me.”

“I always will,” swears Trick, turning back to smile at him as he goes. “You know I got your back. No matter what.”

He returns to the kitchen. Red looks at Dok.

Dok stares at the floor.

bupine asked: dok, are you alright?

“Let’s go if we’re going,” mutters Dok, stalking towards the front door.

Anonymous asked: Red, what's your plan, if you don't mind saying? What's happening next?

“Don’t know. Let’s get out to the main road and flag down a car. Somebody has to take us if they see how ill Blue is - or I’ll fuck them up if they try to hurt us and carry him as far as I need to. I’ve killed men for less. We’ll go quiet through the forest if we can. I know the path since we drove in here. That blue and red thing doesn’t have cameras like Anti does, so I don’t know how it would see us unless it got lucky. We’ll hide at the hospital until Anti comes to get us or we can come back to look after the others. Dap and Trick will be okay for a few days… I hope. I don’t think Anti will hurt them soon. But Blue needs a hospital. They will be able to do something to help, right, Dok?”

“Sh, keep your voice down,” pleads Dok, scared of being found by both Anti and Trick. “Yes, I hope. At least they might tell us what’s going on. I worry that Blue’s body and Anti’s body are both having the same problem - while Anti’s causes him strange symptoms and the blood he coughs up, I think it’s because, metaphysically, he’s housing a magic that isn’t his. Blue’s reacting in a human way - his body is used to having the magic present. Now that it isn’t, it’s causing him problems. Like his cells don’t know if this is him or not.”

Red shifts on his feet. “You make it sound like cancer or something.”

“More like an autoimmune disease, theoretically. Let’s just get him to a hospital.”

Anonymous asked: We'll watch over Dap and Trick, yeah. Are you gonna go now?

There’s a slight click as a door opens upstairs. All three of them go dead still, eyes wide.

Pause.

“Yeah, we’re going now,” says Red, and he yanks open the door, and he’s gone.

Anonymous asked: dok, you okay?

“No,” says Dok.

He follows after his brothers. That torn white coat swishes behind him.

“But we’re working on it. I’m not standing still today.”

Anonymous asked: blue, how are you doing? are you present right now?

“I’m feeling much better than earlier. Still super dizzy. But Red doesn’t have to carry me.”

“Tell that to Red,” Red answers shortly, not letting him go. They sneak along the path down the road, the trees whispering on wind and flickering with dappled evening light.

Anonymous asked: red, you alright? and do you know how much farther it is?

“Oh, it is a ways,” says Red, drawing the word out. “A waysssss. Couple miles.”

“Ugh,” grumbles Dok, trailing after him. Red turns to smirk at him. Dok is in a t-shirt with holes and somebody’s football shorts. His shoes are old sneakers, worn down thin enough that the rocks and sticks cut at his feet.

“You’ve had worse, Deutsch.”

“You know that thing is going to catch us, right, Red?”

Red doesn’t answer. Dok shoves his hands in his pockets, kicking anxiously at stones. “At least the cameras said they have doctor.”

Anonymous asked: Well. Guess we're in a game of Truth or Dare now.

“A game of Truth or Dare?”

A low voice slides over the image of Red, Blue, and Dok making their way down the path.

“I’d love to play. I love games. And you and I - aren’t we always playing games? With mirrors, with smoke?”

“With bodies, with hearts?” offers Dark’s echo, a soft hiss behind their words. Their viscous colors drip down your screen and saturate the image in blue and red.

“Look,” they muse. “They stepped outside of the monster’s protection. Easy to get into cameras then, isn’t it, Gigi?”

The gleam of square glasses and a flash of bright blue.

“Seems a little trio of your pets have slipped away… leaving another two behind. How… enticing.”

“How delicious.”

“I gave you a chance to send one of them out to me. You didn’t listen. It’s just how you work, I suppose. You never listen to me until it’s too late, do you? But never mind… I’ll give you one more chance. Out of respect for the games we play over and over and over again…”

Dark appears on your screen, in a wash of black and white. Long black hair curls like ribbon down their spine. Their white and beautiful face is rotting.

“When we act tonight, where will we go, old friend? I’ll let you choose. Either way, I act… I am not standing still. Decide.”

Dark should attack the house and try to take Dapper or Trick.

Oct. 15 2020

9 notes

Dark should take the forest path and try to take Dok, Blue, or Red.

Oct. 15 2020

5 notes

nikkilbook asked: Have you ever actually said what it is you’re planning on doing with them if you take them? Because after Poker Night, I’m not inclined to plau games I don’t understand.

“The illusion of choice is the only thing that keeps you playing,” answers Dark in a sneer that shows a flash of white bone. “And even if we were playing a game you did understand… well, old friend. You were never very good at bluffing.”

Anonymous asked: Well if your mind is made up, I guess circumstances are the best they can be for something my like this. Good luck, keep your eyes open. And if you come across Dark again, I think your best chance might be Dok and whatever "immunity" (for lack of a better word) he has that prevented him from being manipulated. Stick together please!

“We are together, aren’t we, bud?” Ro turns back to look at his little brother.

“Hey,” says Dok. “What’s that you were calling me earlier?”

Ro blinks and flushes ruddy. “Oh. Schneep?”

“Schneep,” repeats Dok.

They trail down the forest path together. Butterflies and the cool of the creek. Dok plays with the ravens on his breast - his immunity from Dark’s manipulation.

“Yes,” he says. “We’re together. I’m with you.”

Anonymous asked: Dok, Ro, if Dark comes for you, do you think you could make some kind of deal with them to get Anti's blood to possibly give Blue his magic back like it said in that book? Just a thought.

Dok looks up, blinking.

“Mmh. Maybe? Do they love Anti? Are they mean? What do I have that they would want? It has to be enough for them to kill Anti. Or that’s what it sounded like in the story about the girl and the samurai.”

Red glances back at his brother, frowning. “Dark can’t kill Anti,” he says.

“Oh?”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

Ro purses his mouth. “Just trust me. I been talking to some people.”

Dok does trust him. Soon they will reach the road. Last chance to turn back.

Henrik is asleep on his shoulder.

Or Schneep. Schneep. He repeats the name in his head. Uses it as anchor to something he doesn’t remember. Anything to hold him down in the middle of this chaos.

He supposes it’s quiet enough in here for Schneep to sleep, so that’s something, but the buzzing of the lights is killing him, and all he can think about - all he can think about - is his twin alone as they take blood tests and ask him question after question about his symptoms and shove him into machines for tests. He can see his fragile little body now. A long sigh escapes him. He tries to sit still so Schneep can rest.

The radio is playing above him. At least that can help distract him, maybe, a little. He thinks this is Ariana Grande. He can’t tell. It’s one of those stations that just plays anything anyone has ever liked.

“Mh, mh, nein,” croaks Schneep, tugging at his sleeve in his sleep. “Mhhhh, hurts.”

Ro tries to ignore the glances from the old woman sitting four chairs away, biting down on his lip. Anything to distract him. Anything to distract him. Lately all his thoughts are miserable and upsetting, and he misses Max and the feeling of safety. He just wants them all to be okay.

The radio switches songs. Ro runs his hands over the soft belly of his sweatshirt. His blue sweatshirt. Max bought it for him. He loves this sweatshirt. Max should be here. He would be holding his hand right now and calling him Jackie. And Blue would be okay, and everything would be -

“Are you okay?” mumbles Schneep, rubbing at his eyes. Ro realizes his leg is bouncing so hard it shakes his whole body.

“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” says Schneep. “I’m just glad to wake up away from that house. Where Anti can’t kill me in my sleep.”

Ro looks over at him as Kelly Clarkson plays on the radio. His little brother’s body is stiff beneath his arm.

“Do you need to see a doctor too, Dok? Are you hurting?”

“I was going to ask you that. Anti beat you last night.”

“One bad cut is all. You’ve always taken care of my cuts. I’m okay.”

“Tough,” says Henrik softly, closing his eyes again.

Ro grins at him. “If I’m tough, you’re unbreakable. I don’t think I’m ready to know what Anti’s been doing to you in that room, Dok. I’m sorry I didn’t - ”

“Don’t,” Schneep interrupts him quietly. “Don’t… don’t apologize. We have to stop feeling like anything he does to us is under our control. We just have to keep trying to get away.”

It’s hard for Ro to concentrate on what he’s saying when the radio host is reading out local birthdays at the exact same time, but he tries.

“Tell you what,” says Henrik. “Why don’t you get your laptop out? You can code a little, right? Don’t need internet for that, so Anti can’t see, I think. You can just get lost in it like you do.”

“Too lost in it,” chuckles Ro. “It’ll be all I can think about. I love programming. But I need to be here for Blue if he needs - ”

The song on the radio changes.

Ro feels every muscle in his body go tight.

He feels his blood stiffen and his heart scream. He feels his fingernails dig into his palms. He feels his pulse pounding in his throat so hard it’s choking him.

“Red?” says Dok, touching his shoulder. “Hoodie?”

And then Red hears himself screaming.

“Turn this song off! Turn this song off! Turn this fucking song off! Stop it stop it stop it! Leave us alone leave us alone! Turn this fucking song off!”

The old woman gives a cry as he tears a chair across the room and screams aloud, stalking towards the receptionist, who grabs, wide-eyed, at the telephone next to her hand. “Red, Red!” cries Dok. “Stop it!”

“Stop stop stop!” screeches Ro, grabbing the edge of the desk. “Don’t play that! Don’t sing that! You can’t wear my brother’s body like that! You can’t hurt my little brothers! I don’t want to hurt him, I don’t want to go, I don’t want to be good, don’t play that song, turn it off turn it off turn it off!”

The receptionist manages to slam the right button on her computer at last and the loudspeakers go silent.

Red is holding a broken pen in his hand, the red ink leaking into his palms. He stands shuddering, staring straight ahead, tasting vomit in the back of his throat.

“Red, Red,” calls Dok, and it’s his little brother who’s shaking now, Dok’s whole chest trembling and heaving with the fear that when Red lashes out, he will lash out at him, just like he used to when he still let Anti direct his violence and his breakdowns. But he doesn’t want to be scared of him anymore. Ro knows because he feels Dok’s hand land on his shoulder and begin dragging him towards the door.

Red sobs with terror and confusion. He doesn’t know how that one song can inspire a reaction like that in him. It isn’t like his meltdowns. He knows the difference. There was no sensation build-up, no gradual overwhelming or sudden influx of stimuli. There was just a song change, and the song made him afraid.

“What’s wrong with me?” he screams, as Dok yanks him out towards the backalley of the hospital before security can come and start asking questions. “Why do I always feel like this? Why can’t I stop having nightmares? I’m scared of everything now. This isn’t who I am. This isn’t Jackie. Jackie wasn’t scared of anything. Everybody says he was a hero. I can’t be that person anymore. Just a coward.”

He sinks onto his knees, rocking himself like he always rocks himself to go to sleep, gripping uselessly at the knee of Dok’s pants. Dok sinks onto the ground beside him. Ro can feel him trembling.

Neither of them have any answers anymore.

In his head, Ro can still hear Anti singing that song in the stolen car on a road in Peru, laughing in Blue’s body while the rest of them broke into pieces around him.

“Take me home, country roads, to the place I belong! West Virginia, mountain mama! Hahaha, can you believe they’re playing this?”

He cries into his right hand and strikes cold concrete with the left, leaving red ink stains across the earth. He hurt Dapper that day. He abandoned Blue. He was torn away from his family while the jungle burned around him.

And he still wanted to go back to Anti.

“We have to go,” he sobs. “We have to go. Why have I defended him for so long? When did we let this become normal? When did I let him make me that cruel and that obedient? I was like a kicked dog for him. I hit the rest of you for him. How did I ever justify any of this?”

He hears Dok panting besides him. He doesn’t know if he’s crying or just scared. He’s sorry for lashing out. He’s so sick of being someone who causes them pain.

“Fuck, I love you,” he cries, digging his fingers into the filthy concrete, feeling the dirt build beneath the white crescents of his nails. “He threatened to kill you. He stole Blue’s magic. He beat Dapper til he passed out yesterday. I have to make this stop.”

“Oh, please,” begs Dok. “Yes. Red, protect me.”

Ro looks up at the sound of his voice breaking and sees Dok staring back at him, his eyes hot with tears and his face contorted. Dok lunges forward to press himself against his chest, shaking there between his arms.

For weeks now, it’s just been him and Blue, and he’s had to be the strong one. Anti’s hatred has come down on his head in steel and blood, and he has taken it, because the others needed him to and Dapper asked him not to stop fighting. He has taken it because he saw the fear in his eyes and knew that he was the one who had to do something about it, and Blue has been too ill to help him.

“I need you,” whispers Henrik. “Ro, I need you. Don’t make me fight on my own any longer. Protect me. Protect me.”

And this - this. Those words? That plea?

Ro can say what he wants about Jackie being dead, but I tell you now, reader -

Jackie breathes at the sound of those words.

Jackie breathes.

“Okay,” he whispers back. “Okay. I promise.”

“You promise, you promise, you promise,” chants Henrik, trembling against his ribs. “Don’t let him change your mind again like he always does. Don’t let him make you forgive him. Never again. Never, never, never.”

“Never,” repeats Jackie. “Never. Okay. When we go home… when we go back to that house to get the others and go, no more forgiving.”

“No more forgiving,” prays Henrik. “No more. Protect me.”

The air outside the hospital is warm and clear. The alley opens towards the light of the city around them. Wind stirs his hair, and yes, yes, yes - Jackie breathes.

“Don’t cry,” says Anti.

Trick stands shaking in the doorway of the house, clinging to the gun in his hand.

“Anti,” he chokes. “He was here one moment, and then he was just - they all were, they just - ”

“You didn’t see Dark?”

“No, not for a second. I don’t know how they got in the house.”

Anti stares out at the forest. His eyes are black to take in the dying light.

“Something’s wrong,” you hear him mumble.

“What, yeah, that my siblings just disappeared?” sobs Trick, sinking down on the porch, tears welling in his eyes at the thought of Dok taken away from him again, again, again.

“Not like Dark to take anything quietly,” Anti whispers to himself, stepping farther away from the home. “They would have made an entrance. They would have mocked me. That was always half the fun - the show we put on for each other. They would have thrown it in my face that they stole one of mine. And Red’s firewall is still standing - so how did Gigi shut down my cameras?”

The crickets in the forest are all that answers him. He steps back, uneasy.

“Don’t cry,” he repeats. “Dark wouldn’t hurt something that belongs to me.”

“Anti, can’t you go make them give them back?”

“Just calm down while I try to figure this out,” mutters Anti, pulling him back into the house. “Go hide upstairs with your brother.”

Trick shudders out a sigh, casting his eyes towards the forest one more time, like Dok will come racing back to him. Anti pushes his spine gently and he heads up the stairs, shaky and frightened.

“Where’d you go?” whispers Anti towards the forest, a hand faltering to rest over his heart. “Don’t do this to me again.”

When they’re here, when they’re close, or at least when he knows that they’re close - that’s when he knows nothing will hurt him.

He thought that Dark knew that too.

“Something’s not right,” he repeats to himself, backing into his house, and his pitch eyes flicker up to you.

“Keep watch,” he spits. “Since you let them slip away earlier. Something is wrong.”

Anonymous asked: trick, we're going to do our best to take care of you and your brothers, okay? we'll do our best to keep you all as safe as possible.

He glances over before racing to the big window upstairs and staring out at the woods. He bites his lip and turns back to you, shrugging, but he’s trying to keep it together and he’s scared that if he opens his mouth he’ll cry. He hates being a crybaby, but it seems like the longer his life goes on the more things upset him. Lately, he can’t even remember why half the time.

But at least you’ve got his back.

He flops down on the bed with a sigh and only then notices that the lump in the bed is actually his little brother tucked in on himself and covered entirely in blankets. This, at least, startles Trick out of his fear for a second. He plucks the covers away from Dapper’s face and grins quietly at him, but Dapper doesn’t respond even when the blankets come away.

“Hey,” whispers Trick, shaking his shoulder. “Hey, maybe you could go back and stop Dark from getting them?”

Dapper’s fingers rise to pluck at Trick’s hand for a second, but he doesn’t open his eyes, his face scrunching up as though in pain.

“Dapper?”

“Leave me alone,” signs his little brother, torn between irritation and exhaustion. “Lemme sleep, C.”

He burrows down deeper into his blankets. His eyes are shadowed in purple, his cheek stained in brown and yellow bruises.

“Hey, hold on, Dap, you don’t look so - whoa.”

“Lemme alone.”

“Dapper, you’re burning up.”

Anonymous asked: You really think we'd tell you anything is something happened? Sure, we'll keep watch on the last two you have but certainly not because you asked for it. Trick probably need someone to tell him it'll be okay... and I doubt you'd be of any help for him.

“Please,” growls Anti, eyes narrowing like a cat’s. “Jack made him a sycophant even worse than the rest because he needed someone to be his little substitute. His tortured protagonist. I can make him think anything I want to. I could light him on fire and tell him it was all going to be alright, and you know what? He would let himself fucking burn.”

Anonymous asked: hey, dap, jamie, you doing alright? you okay? we're worried about you.

“I just want to go to bed,” he says, and now his hands are whining, slow, languidly exhausted signs falling off his fingers. “Bed, bed, bed.”

“I need to check your fever.”

“No, no, no.”

“Look, I get you’re tired, but - ”

“I’m not tired, I’m just - just - just let me sleep! I’m sick of being awake and my side is killing me…”

Trick sits on the bed beside him and pulls his shirt up, finding his ribs colored a stunning variety of watercolor hues and deep black. “Shit, man. How’d this happen?”

“You don’t even remember what I say the day after,” complains Dapper, eyes flickering. Trick touches his face again and feels sweat at his hairline. “Your brain is all scattered and he washes away anything that hurts. You’re not my C.”

Trick rolls his eyes. Dok was always better at understanding him when he was in one of his weird moods. “It’s Trick, Dap. I’ll get you some water and a cold washcloth. You’ll be okay.”

He gets up and then flinches and pauses at the window.

“Thought I saw something moving,” he mumbles. “Hey, what’s the gameplan if someone does try to get in the house? Red’s… not here like he usually is.”

Bad things happen when Red is gone, that’s what Trick has discovered. Even before Blue was apart of their family, he remembers that Red was gone the day Dok got shot and the day that Dapper snapped.

Anti protects them when the chips are down, tearing their enemies apart with dog’s teeth and knife in hand, but Red is their family’s security. Trick’s fingers play with his handgun as he gets a cup of water for his little brother.

Anonymous asked: You're not helping your situation at all by bragging about how deep you've burrowed yourself in Trick's head. Why don't you go search for Dark instead? Maybe they'll be of actual help, or perhaps you'll end up bloodied and beaten in the forest

“Both options are far more fun than talking to the lot of you,” snips Anti, deciding to be petty tonight. “But I don’t want to give them an opportunity to send their little soldiers into the house. I guess I can transport back pretty fast as soon as I see something on the cameras, though…”

He tilts his head back and forth, thinking, and moves back into the lawn, looking out at the forest.

“Really, I hope they haven’t just scooped them up and run. I was really hoping Dark would make me stop feeling so - hmph.”

He seems to remember that he’s irritated with you and cuts himself off, flipping his knife as he steps towards the forest.

“Hey! That was lame if you just grabbed them, Pangur Dubh, I hope you know. No panache at all, you ancient bastard.”

Anonymous asked: Uhh, Trick, how confident are you in your ability to keep dapper safe? I feel like there's some high possibility something will happen tonight

Trick sits against the head of the bed, Dapper resting beside his thigh, a washcloth draped over his forehead and eyes. He clutches his gun on the other side of his hip, his free hand resting on his brother’s head, his clear blue eyes fixed on the doorway.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles. “But if anyone tries to come through that door who shouldn’t…”

He fingers the safety, letting out a slow breath through his teeth.

“They already took the others,” he whispers. “We can’t let them get us too. I hope they’re all okay. Blue’s not well and - ”

Was that creaking on the floor downstairs? His fingers tighten against Dapper’s hair, his heart picking up in his chest.

“Scared?” asks Dapper distantly, but for once Trick interprets the motion of his hands as earnest rather than teasing.

“No, bud, no, it’s okay.”

“Take you somewhere nice,” signs Dapper, pushing his washcloth aside to look up at him.

“Your eyes are all glazed. How are you feeling?”

“Take you back somewhere nice…”

“What?”

“To a time when you were happy?”

“Don’t talk about time travel right now, dude. Look how sick you are. How’d you get a fever? You never leave the house.”

“My stitches are hot…”

Trick frowns, reaching for his wrist, last bandaged two days ago, but Dapper pulls it away to grab at his clock.

“Take you somewhere nice,” he repeats dreamily.

“Dapper, you don’t have to - Dap!”

There’s a flash of silver in his little brother’s eyes.

“Hey, don’t try anything right now, you - Dapper? Hey!”

Instead of time traveling, Trick sees Dapper’s face contort with pain and confusion a second time, and for a second not only are his eyes silver, but his hair is a vivid teal and his clothes change. Trick yelps in alarm - but a second later Dapper is back to how he was, only with fresh distress in his eyes.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” chants Trick, touching his shoulder. “Don’t try anything again, Carver, dammit. You scared me.”

“Can’t… can’t think straight…”

“Well, that’s why you can’t time skip or anything like that. Lie still, okay? Just lie still and we’ll be okay. Shit.”

Red and Blue gone. No Dok to watch his back. Dapper out of commission. Another long, calming breath fills his lungs, but his fingers tremble.

Anonymous asked: Trick, don't tell me you've already forgotten what Anti did to them... Dapper is bruised and beaten because of Anti. Because he was angry and violent and he wanted to hurt them. No other reason. Don't let him play with your head like he always brags about doing.

“Oh,” says Trick, stopping short. “Oh, yeah. He did go off, didn’t he? Can’t believe Dapper would crack a rib just from getting tossed around. I need to talk to Dok about that. Not normal.”

“You do think for yourself a little bit still,” signs Dapper wearily, though he looks pleased.

scunneredzombie asked: Anti left Dapper sitting in a filthy bathtub an entire night with open wounds. It's entirely possible he has a blood infection, Trick. That would explain his fever and the wound being “hot”

“Fuck, haven’t you been cleaning it?”

“I don’t know… chained up. Dok cleans me up when I’m hurt.”

“Fuck, fuck. Dapper, don’t you have, like, teeth marks in your wrist?”

Trick pulls Dapper’s wrist out of its bandaging. Dark’s bites ooze something sticky, the stitches torn into bits of thread. The heat of the wound is matched a moment later by a stinging, putrid smell.

Dapper fades dizzily against his pillows, panting a little.

Trick curses to himself yet again, pushing at his hair. “I’ll get antiseptic and floss.”

“Don’t! I don’t want you to go. I don’t want Dark to come take me away.”

“Anti said Dark can’t come into the house.”

“Dark has soldiers. Don’t go. There’s - ”

A noise on the stairs cuts them both off. That, Trick knows immediately, was no creaking of the house.

Downstairs, a hand wraps around one of the cameras and raises you up - and then crushes the camera in one motion, leaving one of your viewpoints black.

“If I can’t hack it,” comes a cool voice. “I’ll just deal with it the old-fashioned way.”

Dark’s soldiers are here.

And in the forest, in the trees -

“Good evening, little monster.”

“Dark,” whispers Anti, and a white smile cuts across his face. “Hi.”

Anonymous asked: Hey, Trick, we're here, okay? I know we've had our differences, but we don't want any of you hurt. We can keep an eye out from the cams. We've got your back.

Trick gets Dapper up first.

Slinging his little brother’s arm over his shoulder, he pulls him from the bed despite Dapper’s tongue clicking in miserable protest and leads him over to the walk-in closet, pulling open the door and setting him down in the corner, piling clothes up around him. Dapper looks up at him with exhausted, fevering eyes, rubbing at a reddened nose.

“Stay quiet,” whispers Trick. “I’ll guard.”

Dapper reaches for him, but Trick just presses a camera into his hands.

“It’s going to be okay. They said they’ll watch out for us. They’re watching the cameras. Nothing will sneak up on us. Just stay quiet.”

Dapper takes the camera. Trick closes the door behind him and creeps to the door of the room, standing against the wall, hidden from view, Dok’s handgun clutched between his fingers.

Anonymous asked: trick, dap, stay together, okay? we're gonna try to protect you, but i don't know how successful we'll be. try to stay calm though, okay? and hold on to each other if anything happens, it'll be grounding.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” laughs Trick in a frantic, whispered giggle. “I didn’t see you say to stay with him. But I’ll stay up here in this room. Not going anywhere.”

He lets out a low breath, closing his eyes for a second.

“Not letting anything happen to him.”

It’s an odd situation for Trick. It’s rare for him to be made the protector. He supposes he’s always been Dapper’s older brother, but it’s never really felt that way - or, at least, not for a long time.

“But I am,” he mumbles. “I am his big brother.”

He steadies himself beside the doorway.

Anonymous asked: dark? what are you doing?

Red eye, blue eye.

Their gaze flickers over to you.

“Don’t look at them,” laughs Anti. “Look at me.”

Anti moves in front of the camera view from the back of the house, and even from several feet away, you can see the way he bounces on his heels, hear the deep purr beneath his voice, feel the heat of his excitement.

“And what would I be looking at then?” asks Dark coolly, broad shoulders shifting as they move slightly forward.

“Guess,” says Anti.

“You smell like a human,” answers Dark.

“You cut me deep, Dubh.”

And Anti rushes forward like a wave on a river, and stands so close to Dark he can feel their breath on his beard - trimmed, now, neater than he usually has it. His hair falls into his eyes, making them look dark and beautiful, fiercely blue no matter how Dark’s shadows encompass him, his skin pale and unblemished. He looks at Dark’s mouth and he smiles, fangs growing from his mouth. Blood trickling from his throat.

Dark stares down at him, unflinching, face blank.

“You know what I am,” says Anti, glancing up into their eyes. “Tell me how you did it, then, Dark.”

“Who told you to call me that?”

“What?” Anti laughs, reaching out to touch Dark’s cheek. “Do you prefer ‘baby?’ Sugar? How’d you snatch up all three of the others without me even noticing?”

Dark looks down at him through black eyelashes, tugging once on their cuffs.

“It was easy,” they offer after a moment.

“Show-off,” teases Anti.

Anonymous asked: For lord's sake Trick... It wasn't "from getting tossed around". Anti kicked and beat him until he was just one giant bruise then left him sitting there with crushed, cracked ribs for an entire night, left him to get infected and even more hurt. You... aren't the man you used to be. You aren't the Trick who cared about his family more than anything. You just think whatever Anti tells you to now.

Trick’s face contorts, biting down on his mouth. “Well, what do you know about it?” he spits breathlessly, turning away. “What do you know about ‘the man I used to be,’ and the things he had to become to survive?”

nikkilbook asked: Heeeey Google, how’s it going. Quick point of order, just out of curiosity, what exactly is your objective here?

“Oh, they know it’s you,” pipes up a mocking, cheerful voice. “That’s cute.”

A low growl sounds from a dark shape moving through the living room, though their footsteps are soundless and measured.

“His primary objective - ”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Is to answer questions. Hey, Gigi, what’s a baby hedgehog called?”

A long silence.

Then, begrudgingly:

“A porcupette.”

“His second objective is to destroy humanity, as I understand it.”

“You included.”

“And his third objective - ”

“Is to prevent discord in the household.”

“Meaning that when Dark tells him to do something…”

Google turns to you.

Brown eyes flash red.

He picks up a plate from the dinner table and hurls it into the camera, shattering a mounted view in the corner. Shards of gleaming white porcelain rain down on raven black hair. He does not pause.

“… he does it.”

Google moves towards the stairs.

“But hey, don’t stress,” his companion tells you, drawing a white hood away from thick black hair drawn back in a ponytail. He flexes his broad hands and you make out the gleam of silver knuckles. “He’s not the one you should worry about.”

nikkilbook asked: And which one are you, friend? I’m flipping through my Rolodex of Markifaces, and if you’re who I think you are, shouldn’t you be gone? Two years gone, to be specific?

“Oh, shit!” he laughs. “Hey, we don’t talk about them! They never existed! That was their dying wish. Shhh. Nah, Annus is gone. Too bad, too.”

Anonymous asked: Silver shepherd????

Brown eyes turn to you, a fond smile on his dark mouth.

“Just call me Shep,” he says. “Good to know anybody still remembers.”

Anonymous asked: Aren’t you suppose to be a super hero? You know... a GOOD guy?

“I’m not supposed to be anything,” he replies, and the smile on his mouth is dark and bitter now, a cold shine in his deep eyes. “Except a fucking joke, maybe.”

Anonymous asked: What are you doing here, Shep? Aren't you supposed to be a hero or something? Or well... a joke of one at least

“Yeah,” he says, showing his teeth. “Real funny, aren’t I?”

A faint laugh falters out of him. His eyes glitter. He both hates and craves you.

“Now shut up. I got work to do. Dark asked for something, so I’ll get it. They can have whatever they want from me. They’re the only reason we all got any home at all. And if we sometimes slick our floors in blood and bury corpses in the woods, well - at least I’m telling my own story these days.”

Anonymous asked: Trick, be safe, you should probably hide with Dap. Dark's soldiers are in the house, they're also destroying the cameras.

“I… no, I won’t. I think if they find me, maybe they’ll think I’m the only one home. Or, um. I mean, I’ll stop them! They won’t take either of us. No, I’m going to guard him, I’m sorry…”

For months, it has been the purpose of his life: to wait at the door with a gun in his hand. He will not be moved.

Anonymous asked: Trick, Dok being tortured every night, Blue dying because Anti stole his magic, and Dapper and Rojo have been hurt horribly. Anti caused all of this. Anti caused this pain, all this suffering, everything you've had to survive, everything that warped and broke you. It was him. And now, even now when half of them are dying, you let him use you to play out fantasies of being in control of Jack. He brags about doing anything he wants to you. Make it stop. You're the only one who can.

He doesn’t remember who Jack is, but the thought of being used to fuel Anti’s fantasies about him gives him the creeps enough that you see him shudder, disturbed. He shakes his head like he can shake the truth off. “Just let me focus, dammit.”

Anonymous asked: the cairn that had to be built because of anti, trickshot. without him, there would have been no need for one. he did this to you. wiped your family from your mind. i'm... so sorry he took so much from you.

“Don’t say that,” spits Trick, a real vitriol consuming his features. “Don��t you dare - Anti has never - Anti doesn’t even know that I have those dreams, about having kids in my arms, Anti doesn’t have anything to do with them, they’re the one part of my life that doesn’t have anything to do with him, don’t - don’t even start that, no.”

Anonymous asked: anti's known you all your life, trick. he's the reason your brothers are hurting. it's legitimately all been him. there was a time when you were all happy and no one was dying or miserable or possessed or being tortured or hurt or panything, you were just brothers who were happy and loved each other. anti took your family. took your memories. manipulated and hurt you all. you're the last one of the brothers to see what he's done to you.

“Stop, stop,” begs Trick, putting his hands over his ears, that gun too close to his head. “That’s not true. You’re just liars! You’ve never liked him! You don’t understand… he’s the one who makes things stop hurting…”

Anonymous asked: Don't you remember in Singapore? Anti slapped you, screamed at Blue that he was happy he killed your partner, and you were "lucky he doesn't kill children" and bragged about them being so deep in hiding that you would never see them again. Anti did this. Anti took them from you.

Trick heaves with a dry sob, shaking his head. “No, no, that was a nightmare. It didn’t really happen.”

His cry draws Dapper’s attention and you see the closet door slip open, blue eyes peering out at him.

“G-go back in there,” gasps Trick. “I’m fine.”

Dapper steps over to him, a blanket around his shoulders, and slides down the wall to sit beside him, putting one hand over his gun and holding it gently against the floor.

Anonymous asked: I'll resign, you need to focus for now. But remember my words Trickshot, Chase. You are being used. He brags about you being malleable, and calls you just his pet. Remember my words, Anti does not love you.Your brothers, Dok, Ro, Blue, Dap. They are what matters. Your true family loves you for who you are, for the real you, the real person Anti has buried deep in there. Anti only loves you because you look like the creator he misses.

“They have more messages for you,” says Dapper.

“Later, okay?” gasps Trick, pulling at his hair, trying to steady himself. “Later, I… later. He loves… he… just let me concentrate.”

Dapper doesn’t say anything more, blinking slowly. He slumps wearily down against the wall. “Okay, Trick. Hey…”

“What?”

“Well, whatever you decide about Anti, the rest of us are pretty damn fond of you.”

Trick gives an exasperated little wheeze of a laugh and touches Dapper’s cheek for a second. “Okay. Thanks. Just rest, little man, you’re starting to go grey.”

Anonymous asked: hey, trick? you have a really strong android and a red-level superhero coming up the stairs. the android, uh, will probably be angry and not very sympathetic? you might be able to reason with the superhero if you find a connection to him. if you have to fight, go for the android first, if you're gonna be diplomatic, focus on the hero. don't give either of them any information, okay?

He covers his mouth with his free hand and tries to steady his gun, but his hands are still shaking, his eyes wet with tears.

“Where?” he signs weakly, trying to peek out towards the stairwell without being seen. Dapper is lying back against the wall, eyes closed.

Anonymous asked: Trick, there's someone in the house. Stay with Dapper, the two of you are stronger together, okay? Don't let them separate you.

There’s someone in the house. There’s someone in the house.

Trick tries to breathe, his free hand resting on Dapper’s shoulder. Don’t let them separate you. His brother is unmoving beneath his palm.

A creak of the floorboards at the bottom of the stairs. Trick aims in the darkness, breathing through his teeth.

Google’s eyes heat the air with a glow of red, just for a moment. Trick can’t see his body at all, just that faint red light, and then it’s gone. His hairs stand up on his arms. There really is someone there. Right there, on the stairs. Silent, silent, but they’re there. Why don’t they breathe? Why don’t they make noise? Are they closer now or farther away? He wants to take a shot, but he wants to stay hidden too.

“Where is Anti?” he chokes.

Anonymous asked: Anti is outside dealing with Dark. Do you want us to try to get him to come back?

“I don’t know what’s going on,” whispers Trick, shadowed as the sun goes down, his eyes wide and his pupils swallowing his irises up. “I don’t know why he thinks this is a game or why he thinks that thing will help us somehow. I’m scared. It’s not a game. I want this to stop.”

And you see, in the darkness of the coming night, another shadow come to stand behind him.

And that shadow rears back -

And slurps very loudly on his martini.

Trick screams aloud. A second later, a gunshot rings out.

“How now!” Wilford protests, staggering back. Blood runs hot and dark from his stomach and Trick screams again. “That, young man, was VERY RUDE. This is my favorite shirt.”

“Anti!” screams Trick.

“Goddammit, Wil,” spits Shep. “What’s the point of sneaking around?”

“Oh, because you were being so quiet, trying to get the camera’s attention. Harumph.”

“Get away from us!” Trick shrieks, writhing. “Dapper, go.”

Dapper curls in on himself, shaking. He isn’t well enough to fight and his head is too fuzzy to be aware of anything but someone who looks like Dark and his brother crying out in fear.

nikkilbook asked: Anti’s busy flirting with Dark in the woods.

“Trick wants me.” Anti turns his attention back to the house, blinking. Dark grabs his wrist and draws him back to their chest.

“I thought you wanted me to look at you,” says Dark.

“Now you’re just playing,” says Anti, pleased. “I know your little boyfriend’s in the house.”

“Well, do you want to go stop him or do you want to talk to me, little monster? I already have three of your other boys.”

“Tell me how you did that! Red would have kicked just about anybody’s ass if they tried to come after him. Who took him? Wil?”

“You’re missing what’s obvious,” answers Dark, tilting their head at him. Anti purrs, eyes flashing as they meet the deep onyx of his gaze. “You should know why they’re not at home right now. I saw. These forests belong to me. But you weren’t watching.”

“You think you’re smarter than me, but you’re soft and you always have been,” grins Anti. “That’s why I’m the one who would have won if we ever got to finish that fight.”

Dark’s eyes flicker. They draw slightly back from Anti, looking at his face.

“What should I call you?” asks Dark.

It’s Anti’s turn to blink, but he recovers himself a second later and laughs, putting a hand on Dark’s shoulder. “You are playing. Good. You can call me a lot of things. I like little monster. When I was just an idea, my creator called me his monster. But I don’t belong to him anymore.”

He runs his hand down Dark’s arm, tilting his head coyly. There is a faint frown on Dark’s mouth.

nikkilbook asked: Shep, what are Dark’s orders? Why do you want the boys?

“Got him, Wil?”

“There’s two here. Hello! How are you today!”

“Get your fucking hands off me!”

“That’s not very nice,” grumbles Wil.

“Dark only needs one, they said.” Silver paces towards the room, grabbing the gun out of Trick’s hand and tossing it aside as Google stands over Dapper, who won’t even look up at him. “And I don’t care why they want him. I think they’re teaching a lesson to someone who tried to challenge them or something. But Dark’s fascinated with anything that’s even close to being a spirit like them, so I’m not surprised they’re interested in whatever the hell is going on here.”

“You and your creepy shadow monster can go eat dirt!”

Wilford is beginning to look truly affronted, his eyebrows shot up comically high. “What a squirmy, angry little squirrel of a man,” he mumbles.

Dapper lashes out without looking and manages to kick Google in the leg. Google doesn’t move. “Which one should we take?”

“We could just take both. Look, they’re little companions,” offers Wilford.

“I don’t care,” says Shep.

“This one is sick,” says Google. “I can feel its raised temperature from here.”

“Well spotted, Gigi. Then take the healthy one.” Wilford lifts Trick up by his shirt.

“Or we take the sick one so Ippy can see him and get him some medicine. His wrist is fucked up and he’s slathered in bruises,” says Shep.

“But the healthy one will be easier for Dark to talk with.”

“Let’s just take both,” says Google.

“That seems cruel.”

“What, we’re just going to lock them up for a while. Who cares? They’re just humans.”

“I’m getting a little bored of this conversation, gentleman,” rumbles Wilford.

“And that, with you, is a dangerous thing,” sighs Shep.

Anonymous asked: Anti... you know there's something off with Dark, right? You can't be that oblivious, without it being on purpose

“Well,” says Anti, with a laugh that comes off as just a little nervous. “We always mess around and stuff. This wouldn’t be the first time they’ve tried to lead me on.”

He shoves playfully at Dark’s shoulder, but Dark doesn’t reciprocate, just looks at him. Anti laughs again, a confused edge to it.

“You’re joking, of course. You know who I am.”

Dark stares evenly across at him, their eyes slightly narrowed. “Of course,” they say finally.

“Yeah,” says Anti, and there’s a real affection in the way his fingers rise to rest against Dark’s cheek. “Hey, uh. I missed you, Pangur Dubh.”

Dark’s expression breaks with shock. Anti draws his fingers away, startled.

“Dark?” he asks.

“What did you just call me?” hisses Dark, grabbing Anti’s wrists. He tries to back away, confused, but Dark just follows after him. “How did you know that name?”

“I - I called you that from the first time we started getting along,” gasps Anti, eyes wide. “Hey, that’s not funny. That’s… that name is just for you.”

But Dark just looks at him, shaking their head now, eyes astonished and wary. “You really are a powerful little mind manipulator,” they growl. “To be looking into things I only hear in dreams.”

“Not funny,” snaps Anti, more aggressive now. “That’s stupid, Dark, cut it the fuck out. You’re being an ass. Get off.”

Dark lets go of his wrists, backing away.

Anonymous asked: Cruel to them or cruel to Anti?

“I do not know who Anti is,” announces Wilford proudly.

“They mean the monster,” says Google. “And listen, this one’s howling for his master to save him.”

Wilford drops Trick and Google takes him by the hair, looking at his face. Trick tries to reach up and get his wrist in a hold, but Google’s hands are immovable no matter how much he tries to twist or scratch, all of Red’s and Anti’s fighting tips failing him against something that feels no pain. “We should take this one so its brain can have a break. The other one will just sleep through the next few days, I expect. Human sicknesses are annoying.”

nikkilbook asked: Hey there, Wilfstache. Welcome to the party. I asked Google this question, but he’s busy being a grumpus. Mind telling me what Dark asked y’all to do tonight? Bonus points for telling me “why.”

“Dark doesn’t have to explain themselves,” guffaws Wilford, turning his attention to Dapper now that Google’s taken an interest in Trick. “Well, hello there, sir, and how are you on this fine evening? That is quite a mess you’ve made of your arm. I ought to have the doctor cut it off. Or do it myself!”

“You leave him alone,” cries Trick. Dapper manages to get to his feet and tries to slip past Wilford to get to his knife, but the intruder hooks powerful arms around his waist and holds him carefully in place.

“Now, now, my dear, we’re not here to hurt you. Anyway, you were asking why. Dark said that they found a monster in the woods and the monster says it owns a time traveler and will lend him to them if we play a little capture the flag with real people. And look!”

He heaves Dapper off the ground by the waist, forcing him to grab at Wilford’s shoulders for balance, trembling against his chest.

“I got the flag!”

Anonymous asked: Oh, great! The reality bender joined the party! Fun times. Hey Wilfy. Trick, may I advise either a tactical retreat or a more diplomatic approach than gun-shooty, seeing as you are both outnumbered and outmatched? Dark's keeping Anti distracted a little longer DESPITE OUR BEST EFFORTS, THE DUMB GLITCH.

Diplomatic approach? “You don’t have to do this,” pants Trick, trying to get a word in edgewise. “Please, just leave us alone. We’re not here to hurt anyone. Anti likes Dark. He’s not trying to actually cause problems. They’re just playing.”

Google stops, glancing over at Trick. “Dark knows that thing? Wil, is that true?”

“Don’t expect Wilford to know anything,” mutters Shep.

“I’m not sure,” says Wil. “They speak about him oddly.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. Saying they find him interesting, that they haven’t seen anything quite like him, that he looks like Mark’s little European friend. Things like that.”

“That’s who you look like,” gasps Shep. “Holy cow, little Jacksepticeye impersonators. Wow, that’s nuts. He doesn’t do his hair like this anymore, though, that’s why I didn’t notice.”

Google cocks his head at the others. “You’re both slow, even for humans. Their faces are all but identical. These creations are to Jack the same way we are to Mark.”

Shep’s eyebrows raise. He and Wil exchange glances.

“Who’s Mark?” asks Wil.

“Please just leave us alone,” says Trick. “We’re not trying to cause any harm. We’ve had a rough year, okay?”

Anonymous asked: Shepherd, please, sorry, I know you feel like you have to do whatever Dark says right now - please be decent as you can in how you're going about this? You can offer some good here. What does Dark have planned for the one you abduct? Is he going to hurt them? The sick one, Dapper, has a traumatic history with Dark, but it's cruel to leave one of them alone with the spirit Dark came to confront, Anti. Can you do anything? Can you talk to them? Please?

Shep lets out a long sigh, rolling his eyes deeply. The others wait for him to speak.

“Pack a bag,” he says. “Quick. You got two minutes.”

“No, no,” croaks Trick. “Please leave us with our brother.”

“Your brother appears to be a literal demon, for what it’s worth, but anyway I have orders. I’m taking one of you. Either pick or both of you start packing.”

Dapper is back on the floor, shuddering without responding to anything around him. He can’t leave him. He needs to get him his things first. Trick glances between him and Shep and then gets to his feet, hurrying to the closet to get a backpack for Dapper and start shoving his things in - his bear, some clothes, his knife - “No, not that, dumb-ass,” scowls Shep - okay, fine, but his Haldol, the antiseptic and stitches from earlier, his toothbrush, his drawing pad, some snacks he finds in a drawer stuffed full of food in the corner of the room, a stash he didn’t know Dapper kept. Some of it has rotted instead of being eaten, but he gets crackers and bananas and fills the bag.

Gigi laughs softly. Shep shoots him a glare, crossing his arms over his chest.

Anonymous asked: Didn't we warn you? Dapper told you that the timeline you knew doesn't exist anymore but you just brushed it off as meaningless ramblings of a man confused about his reality. Everything that you did was for nothing and now you're met face to face with one of the consequences of it

“That’s not true,” breathes Anti, staring at Dark, eyes wide. “This is crazy. We know each other. You’re messing with me. Don’t be an ass, Dark. It’s me.”

“Little monster,” says Dark, voice wavering a little.

“Pangur Dubh?” replies Anti. “Why are you doing this to me? We’ve been apart for months. I thought we were just playing. Where are my boys? Are they okay? Stop acting weird. Hey, look at me. Come on. Give me a kiss, you know me. I missed you. This is weird.”

Anonymous asked: Anti, Dark isn't playing. Do you remember what Dapper told you? It wasn't a delusion. When he snapped, he broke the timeline. None of them remember you. Jack doesn't, Dark doesn't, none of Mark's character remember you. This is more dangerous than I think you comprehend.

“Come on, don’t make me laugh!” barks out Anti. “Jack doesn’t? Now you’re talking crazy. Dark, stop being a - ”

Dark grabs him.

Gone is the image of a suave being in a dark suit. Dark towers over Anti, powerful and glaring, matching Anti’s fangs with their own. They shove Anti up against the nearest redwood and slam his wrists to the side, gripping him tight enough that red crescent moons appear in Anti’s arms.

Anti stares up at him, panting. His eyes move from confusion to distress to anger and back again.

And then the darkness is so thick you cannot see him.

“Tell me,” says a deep voice, rich as bitter chocolate and echoing across the trees. “What your name is?”

Anti feels fear fill him up.

“Fucker! Stop doing that!” he screeches, writhing. “You swore to me you’d never use your power on me! I don’t touch your head and you don’t touch my soul!”

“You already are in my head!” shouts Dark. “I can’t stop dreaming about you! Who are you, tell me! How did you know you would find me here? How did you know my name?”

“You don’t get to grab me without my permission - ”

“You think you can come into my forest and issue challenges - ”

“Do you know who I am or not?” shouts Anti.

The darkness lowers again, leaving them in cold twilight blue.

Dark stares at Anti. At his eyes. At his mouth. Their lips are twisted with disgust and desperation.

“Pangur Dubh,” says Anti, one more time. “My… my… Dark…”

Dark vanishes.

Anonymous asked: leave dapper be, please. he's the hurt one. leave him here.

“Do you want him to come or do you want him to stay?” asks Shep, gesturing at Dapper.

Trick crouches over his brother, taking his pulse. Dok taught him what to look for. He’s been his twin’s nurse for as long as he can remember.

And he knows Dapper could use help.

The question is whether Anti or these strangers will be better able to give it to him.

Anti loves him. Anti loves them both. Especially Dapper. Doesn’t he?

Anonymous asked: trick, love. he's been manipulating you all. it genuinely has been him. i'm sorry, trick. but we wouldn't tell you if it's not true.

“Fuck,” whispers Trick, with feeling. “I… I want to stay with him. Even if that means you take us both.”

“Fine,” says Shep. “Get on your feet. Let’s go.”

Anonymous asked: We're trying to bring Anti back, trick, we're working on it. All three of these people are dangerous but you and dapper can get out of this safely, I promise. Stay close to dapper, learn what you can, be ready to run when the opportunity rises. Okay?

He clutches Dapper against his chest as they move down the stairs.

“Ready to run, ready to run, ready to run,” he chants under his breath. “Okay, okay, okay.”

He doesn’t like how dark the house is now, how quiet. His siblings should be here. Anti should be here. He doesn’t want to go away. They finally found a place where they have warm beds and plenty of food and everything they need.

And yet the house feels empty and unprotective. He grips Dapper tighter, feeling his dangerous heat warm him.

Anonymous asked: Dark, I know you must be very confused. Anti has a time traveler, and he accidentally broke this timeline a bit. As far as Anti remembers, you're his lover, a very good old friend. He is used to playing games with you and being admired by you. He didn't know the timeline was broken. He was just playing games.

The message plays out to the quiet forest around him.

Anti is sitting where Dark dropped him, eyes wide, staring ahead.

A slight shake in his fingers.

As far as Anti remembers. His lover. Being admired by you. He didn’t know.

He didn’t know.

“This is still just a trick,” croaks Anti. “They are playing games with me. Dark knows me. Jack… Jack knows…”

But you see, in the lines of his face, something you have rarely seen there before: abject humiliation.

And a growing fear.

And then, yes, there - his anger, like the teeth of a tiger.

His anger.

Anonymous asked: Hey, Red, Blue, Dok, I don't know exactly when this'll get to you because the cameras are being slightly wonky, but don't come back to the house please, okay? To the best of my knowledge, your brothers are okay, but it'll be easier for us to coordinate everything if we don't have to worry about you three at the moment.

They’re distracted. The camera is sitting in the bag by the bed. Above you, you can hear Blue talking to someone about low-income housing and men’s shelters. It will be some time before they get any messages.

Anonymous asked: hey trick, love, just breathe. we'll tell you if we notice dark approaching, okay? we'll help you the best we can.

“They’re not approaching,” says Wilford cheerfully, running down the stairs as Trick’s eyes begin to get desperate, flashing over to you for help. “They’re here. Hey there, little ghost.”

True to their word and their nature, Dark has not entered the house without permission. They stand on the porch, head tilted, waiting for his soldiers to come out to them.

“Hi,” they answer quietly. Wilford grabs their hand and pulls them towards the forest, chattering about getting pizza when they get home.

“Hold on. Have you got them?”

“Yes, Darkness,” answers Gigi, his harsh tone disappearing. “Of course. Whatever you need.”

Shep rolls his eyes behind him, marching Trick forward.

“Which one’s the traveler?” asks Wil.

“This one,” says Dark. “I can tell.”

Dapper stops short before he reaches the doorway, chewing on his nails and squeezing his eyes shut. He curls in on himself like he’s going to throw up and turns away, refusing to go any farther. Trick wraps himself around his little brother and stares out at the figure of the Darkness.

Dark looks at Trick.

They tilt their head.

A moment later their form changes, going small and effeminate, long, straight black hair falling around their shoulders, red acrylic nails clicking on the ends of their fingers. “Come here, then,” they say in a clear, high-pitched voice, and Trick feels a wash of emotions swallow him whole - bizarre fondness, warmth, relief, calm. He relaxes, blinking. Shep gives him a small push and he straightens up and moves towards Dark, a little confused.

“No, no, no,” Dapper signs, his fear fighting with Dark’s power rising up in him. “No, no, no, no, Tricky, no. Afraid, afraid, afraid. Get Anti, now, now, now.”

“It’s okay,” says Trick, not sure why he says it. Logically, he knows he should be scared, should be panicked, should be nervous, at least, but it feels true. It isn’t like how Anti does things. That should scare him, but he feels pretty good. “Hey, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

Anonymous asked: Oh thank fuck, thank you Shepherd, you're our hero. Trick, you're doing great, okay? Good deescalation and good handling of a terrifying situation. You're doing your family proud. You're gonna be fine. We're keeping an eye on Anti and the rest of the family.

“Mmh,” hums Trick, holding a camcorder in his hands. “Okay, thank you. Yeah, I did good. We’re okay.”

Dapper leans over and pukes.

“I don’t feel good,” he admits, slumping against Trick’s chest.

Dark turns to Google. “Okay, Gigi, call Ippy and tell him to come back from the city and stay for the weekend. I want him here.”

“Yes, Dark.”

Anonymous asked: ANTI, Trick and Dap are being freaked out by Wilford, Google, and Silver Shepherd in your house, just in case you'd like to maybe Do Something About That

Anti stalks across the yard, his shadow cutting across the trees.

“Forget me,” he whispers, fire crackling in his hands. “Forget? Forget me? And take my boys from me? My pets?”

Why don’t they remember?

The pain of it nearly crushes him and he staggers, feeling his form shift and mutate with his discomfort distracting him. He’s so powerful these days, so consumed with fire and psionics, with glitching and flowers. But without Marvin’s body, his own form barely contains it. Blood seeps out of his mouth and his throat.

He didn’t mind that he and Dark only ever saw each other a couple times a year. That was how he liked it. He didn’t mind when they were away, or not much. But in the back of his head, even when he was bitter and angry, he felt that there was someone in the world who would be happy to see him if he ever wanted to not be alone.

For Dark to act this way - it can’t be true. They must just be mad at him. That seems to sting even worse. He doesn’t know why they decided they don’t like him all of a sudden, but he wants them to stop and go back to how things were. This isn’t right. How could they treat him like this? His hands burn, Marvin’s flames biting at his glitching fingers.

He wants Dapper and Trick. He wants them now. He wants to go to bed and feel them close to him and know that they know him. That they know him and they’re here, and they’re not going anywhere. They’re not. They’re not. They’re his.

nikkilbook asked: If you’re going to take one, take both. Please don’t leave one of them behind. This is a bad place.

“Come on, then, quickly now,” says Dark, turning away. “Wilford, if you would?”

Wilford turns back towards Dapper and Trick. “Who wants to go first?”

“Wait… this… this is a bad idea,” says Trick, his emotions confusing him. “I don’t want to go with you.”

Anonymous asked: Taking both might be good, the sick one, Dapper, has a blood infection, he really needs a doctor. Trick could be useful to do the talking. Please be gentle with them, if they get hurt I don't think Anti will be very happy about that, boys.

“Oh, gentle,” nods Wilford. “Okay, yes, you got it. I’m very good at being gentle.”

Shep shakes his head at you.

“Come on, then! It’ll be nice, I promise.”

He reaches for Trick.

Google’s hand snaps out and grabs his wrist.

“Excuse me,” pouts Wilford. “You stop that, you hunk of metal.”

Google’s face smiles. His eyes glow red.

“Here’s another idea,” suggests Anti from within the body of the android, baring his teeth and stalking forward, pushing Trick and Dapper behind him. “You get the fuck away from what’s mine before I start causing you pain that you will remember, you deranged bastard.”

Dark stares at Anti. For a moment, you think that what you are seeing in their eyes is a begrudging satisfaction.

“Well, then,” says Dark. “What was that you were saying about winning in a fight?”

Anonymous asked: Hey Trick and Dap? If these two start throwing hands it could get very nasty very fast, and anyone in the immediate vicinity is almost undoubtedly going to get caught in the cross fire, so please try and get a safe distance away as soon as possible?

Trick grabs Dapper and scrambles away from Anti and the others, but the sight of his handgun a few feet away stops him. He begins inching towards it, panting as quietly as he can. Wilford glances over at him and Trick’s stomach churns. What good will guns even do?

“Gigi has other bodies,” says Dark calmly, tilting their head at Shep. “Wreck him.”

They let courage fill Shep’s chest up like magma. You see the light in his black eyes go wild and reckless. Anti laughs once.

Wilford pulls out his gun. Shep pounces.

Anonymous asked: hey. dap. go with trick, okay? i promise we'll take care of you the best we can. go with trick. we'll watch over you.

“Faint,” warns Dapper dazedly, clinging to his brother.

“I got you, I got you,” whispers Trick doggedly, squeezing his hands as he creeps closer to his gun. “We’re sticking together, I’m here.”

Shep’s silver knuckles crash into Google’s face, battering the alloy of his cheek. Anti cackles, a bizarre sound from Google’s normally deep, stern voice, and grabs Shep’s wrist in an iron embrace, driving his knee up into his stomach and folding Dark’s soldier in half. Shep howls and Wilford glances between everyone, a little lost as to what’s going on.

“Wil,” calls Dark, even as their body vanishes back into shadow. “Don’t let Shep die.”

“Shep, Shep,” mumbles Wil, trying to place him, his gun traveling uncertainly between Shep, Google, and the brothers in the grass. “Oh, dear.”

Smoke consumes Shep and Anti as Dark descends on them, his power tearing at Anti’s chest. The monster screams in panic as fear clogs his chest, but Anti has known fear before, and he won’t let it stop him now. He throws himself forward and wraps an arm around Shep’s head, threatening to snap his neck in half, trembling hard enough that he might do it on accident. Dark’s power retreats, their body appearing again close to Anti and grabbing him by Google’s dark hair.

“Stop!” shrieks Trick, grabbing his handgun. “Let him go!”

Anonymous asked: hey, anti. anti, please let silver shepherd go. too the best of my knowledge, the others will come back, and they'll come back probably even more obedient since you're something they know, and dark isn't. can you at least not kill silver shepherd, please?

“What, you want your little weapon back?” snarls Anti, turning to Dark with Shep pressed against his body, the little joke pressed against his chest.

“He means nothing to me,” answers Dark.

“Apparently nobody does,” spits back Anti. “For that, I’m going to make you the one who suffers.”

He drops Shep and lunges at Dark, grabbing them before they can disappear and driving his fist into their stomach. Dark lets out a cry of real pain as weak, cracked bone shatters. Spine breaks through skin and cloth and sticks out of their back. It’s Wilford’s turn to scream in alarm. He buries a bullet in Google’s stomach and Anti hollers, oil dripping down his belly. He leaves Google’s body and transports behind Wilford, shoving a knife into his back. Wilford scowls and turns to him irritably, cocking his gun a second time, but Anti is already gone.

“G - Gigi?” stammers Shep, backing away from the body of his companion, sparking as it collapses onto the ground.

“They’ll kill everyone to hurt each other,” signs Dapper, grabbing Trick’s shirt. “It’s just chess to them, Trick. Make them stop. I… I don’t feel good.”

His face turns grey so fast Trick actually flinches in surprise. Dapper has to be sick once more, throwing up into the grass. Trick grabs his head and feels the moment where his brother loses consciousness there in the front of the house, bile dripping from his mouth.

“Stop, please,” chokes Trick. “This is terrible, s-stop!”

He gets to his feet, clutching his gun.

“Don’t worry, pet,” snarls Anti, stalking around Dark, his nails growing out like knives. “It’s just fun and games, isn’t that fucking right, Dark?”

“Just tell me your goddamn name!” shouts Dark. “Why are you haunting me?”

Anonymous asked: trick, dark manipulates emotions. keep yourself and dapper away from them, okay?

“You want to see me manipulate?” hisses Dark.

Anger fills Trick up. Terror fills Trick up. His hands tremble on the gun, but he feels himself point it in a gut reaction - directly at Anti.

“Trick,” snaps Anti. “You belong to me. You know what you need to do. Shoot them.”

Shoot them. Shoot them. You know what you need to do. Anti’s words seem to come from within his own head and he staggers, nearly falling onto his side in shock as his body goes to war with itself. His head and his heart shout commands at him, making him feel dizzy and afraid.

And in the middle of all of it, there is one feeling or thought or understanding that he recognizes completely as his own:

I really am just a puppet, aren’t I?

Anonymous asked: his name is anti, dark. antisepticeye. he's a little in love with you, or a version of you that he once knew, but you don't remember him and he's furious.

Redwood saplings as thick as a man’s arm burst from the ground and wrap around Dark, Wilford, and Shep. Wilford vanishes and reappears beside Trick, making him jump, as Shep trips onto the ground and begins tearing at the branches on his legs without much luck. Dark feels bones shattering and twisting all across their body. They pant as the branches eat them up, reaching for their throat, and struggle to transport away.

“I’m more powerful than last we met, Darkness,” bites Anti, stalking forward with blue fire in his eyes. “I think I could kill you, do you know that? I think I could do it.”

“Anti,” Dark mumbles, squeezing their eyes shut. “Why… no. This isn’t right. That isn’t even yours. That isn’t the way your soul looks.”

Anti stops. “What?”

“That magic… that isn’t even yours. You don’t look the way the monster in my dreams does.”

Anti’s mouth parts in alarm, his stolen magic dying down again, leaving him cold and beautiful as he was when he was still trying to impress Dark, his skin white and his eyes glowing.

“What?”

“Anti,” repeats Dark under their breath, not sure what it means, not sure what or who or why they remember. “Anti.”

The vines on their neck have loosened. They transport back into the darkness, disappearing into shadow.

Anonymous asked: his name is anti. in another timeline, the one they're originally from, you two knew each other, and i'm pretty sure he loved you, as much as it's possible for him to love anyone. in that timeline, you were his old friend. i'm sorry that you don't know what's happening, dark, and i'm sure this must be confusing. also, only one other person has remembered them, someone who cared about them a lot, so that you're remembering anti's name for you means something, even if it's just a dream.

“You’re just fucking with me,” pants Anti. “And I hate it. You’re being such an ass, Dark, you - this is so fucking mean, cut it out.”

“You’re just some parasite,” spits Dark’s voice from the shadows. “You’re just - you’re the one who started all this. You should have just stayed away.”

“Guess that’s true,” Anti snarls back, shaking his head like he can get the thoughts out of it that are hurting him. “Come back here and let’s fight like proper monsters. You can’t treat me like this. I know you remember me. You can’t have forgotten.”

“Shep, get back to the house,” orders Dark.

“This is nuts,” pants Shep, even as he begins to back away.

Trick, freed of their influence, comes to stand beside Anti, his gun pointed at the shadows where Dark is hiding. He feels Anti’s hand wrap around his free wrist to steady him and immediately feels safer. They’re here. Together. They’ll face this thing together.

Wilford looks around.

Why are they here, again? Were they fetching someone? He watches Shep turn and race away into the woods. Looks like a tactical retreat. And his blackbird, well - his blackbird can hold their own, no doubt about that. Perhaps he’ll watch as they terrorize their enemies. It’s one of his favorite pastimes, after all!

There’s a faint wheeze beside him. He looks over and sees a small figure curled into the grass, clutching at their stomach, their arm bloodied and their face terribly pale.

“Oh, no, my darling,” he says to no one in particular. “Oh, dear, you don’t look well at all. If you’d like, I can take you to the doctor?”

Anonymous asked: trick, my dear. go with dark. trust me, trust us, when i say that it will be better to have dark take you and dapper than to stay here with anti. dapper's hurt, yeah? and he's scared. they have a doctor, and you can go with them to protect dapper. he can't protect himself at the moment.

“Traitorous little eyes,” Anti snarls, whirling on you. “No one is taking him - no! Wil, wait!”

As he turns to look at you, there is Wilford, transported behind him and picking Dapper up in his arms, blinking in surprise at Anti, who wraps an arm around Trick’s waist and stares at Wilford in alarm, his arm stretched out.

“Wait, no, not him,” pants Anti. “No, no. Wil, it’s me. Okay? Hey, you won, okay, Dark? You got Red and Blue and Dok. So you won. No need to take him too. We were just playing. Leave my boy with me. I didn’t know you were going to react that way. It was just a game. He’s not a part of it, not now. Leave Dapper with me. You already got the others.”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” snaps Dark. “I didn’t ‘get the others.’ They ran away from you, little monster.”

Anti turns back to his old enemy, his old friend, his mouth slightly parted. He feels Trick tense against his chest.

“That’s not true,” croaks Trick. “My brother wouldn’t have run away. Especially not… without me.”

“The cameras saw them too,” shrugs Dark, stepping out of the darkness. “Guess you don’t have as tight of a hold on your pets as you think you do.”

Anti can feel himself beginning to shake.

“Little traitors,” he spits, his eyes flickering between you and Dark and the forest path the others ran down some hours ago. “Little… all of you, disloyal, hateful little things… I’ll make you regret this, I’ll make you all… traitors, you…”

His arm is too tight around Trick’s waist. His fingers are biting into his stomach. Trick just clings to him in return, barely able to process it.

Did Dok really just… go?

Did Dok ask him to go get him dinner just to turn him away and leave without him?

And his big brothers, who were supposed to protect him - did they really leave him like this?

“Wil, go,” says Dark.

“No!” cries Anti.

But Wil is already gone, and with him, Dapper.

Anti turns to Dark, fire in his fingers and a scream on his throat -

Dark is gone too.

Anonymous asked: they didn't want to leave you, trick. but they knew you would never leave anti and blue is about to fucking die. they needed to get him away.

“Anti?” whispers Trick.

Anti stares at the ground. His hands are clutched into loose fists at his side. He looks like Dapper. He doesn’t move.

Trick puts a hand on his shoulder. The crickets are singing. The first stars are in the sky.

“Are you… are you going to go after him?”

Anti nods. But he doesn’t move.

“Anti,” Trick repeats.

When he still doesn’t answer, Trick closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He wraps an arm around his brother’s shoulder and leads him back into the house.

The high ceiling stares down at them, quieter than ever. The house seems to loom, dark and abandoned. Trick and Anti sit down on the stairs.

Trick pulls a camera into his lap and sighs, burying his face in his hands.

That’s… that’s fair, he supposes. Blue was really sick. And Anti threatened to kill Dok. And he himself, well… he was going to get those necklaces off his twin. He was. Even though he knew that wasn’t what Dok wanted. So he supposes… he betrayed him first.

So it’s… it’s fair. Yeah. It’s fair. Maybe if he had been a better twin, Dok would have stuck around. But he couldn’t even keep him safe.

So he went. Okay. That’s fair.

Tears drip down Trick’s cheeks.

He wasn’t trying to pick sides, he just… he just wants… he just wants…

Anti’s hand rests on his thigh. They sit together.

Anonymous asked: trick, they did not abandon you. they were escaping anti, but they didn't abandon you, okay? they would never do that. i promise. they love you too much to ever abandon you.

“Are they… are they coming back?” asks Trick in a whisper.

Anonymous asked: Trick they didn't just leave, they plan to come back to save you, to get you safe. Red saved Blue and Dok, he saved Dok from being killed by Anti, and he took them all to a hospital. Rojo did what he was supposed to, what he always does, and protected your brothers when they were in danger. They'll come back to you.

Trick looks up at you at last, a little reassured. They’ll come back for him. They just needed to go to the hospital. And… he knows he wasn’t trustworthy enough to go along. He knows that. They did what they had to. Probably Red was bossing Dok around as usual anyway, ha. Probably Dok wanted to stay with him. But he couldn’t keep him safe and they both know that.

But they’ll be back. Or… those three will, at least.

“What will happen to Dapper?” asks Trick. “Is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know,” admits Anti. “I don’t - I don’t know who Dark is right now. And I don’t know who’s in that house. I haven’t kept up with Mark cause he’s an idiot. But he creates recklessly and sometimes those creations - well, Dark usually kills off the ones they don’t like, so I don’t know… was he sick?”

“Yeah, I don’t think he was feeling well.”

“Dark might get in his heart,” mutters Anti. “They manipulate power and emotions. I’m afraid of what they might do if he coaxes all that power out of him. My little brother.”

And Trick -

Well. He isn’t sure. But he thinks maybe Anti is crying too.

His brother’s head rests on his shoulder. They sit together. Trick takes his hand.

“They didn’t even look at me like they knew me,” whispers Anti. “I was a ghost to them.”

Anonymous asked: anti, i hate to say this, but i am sorry. i can see you really do love them, and it must hurt for them to seemingly hate you now.

“Oh, you fuck off, that’s disgusting,” spits Anti. “Love them, please, as if. Fuck them. I don’t love them and I never did. Tricked you, huh? As if, no way. No, it - it’s manipulation. That was it. I wanted their help, sure. And they’re pretty hot. But that’s it. I never cared about them. Or anyone, for that matter.”

It actually makes Trick smile a little. He snorts and shakes his head. He wants to tell him he’s full of it.

But he looks up and Anti’s face is shaking with anger and stress, his fists clenched together. Trick squeezes his palms, his heart sinking for him.

“You really liked them, huh?”

“This is stupid,” snarls Anti. “I fucking hate this plot point. And I’m going to make them pay!”

“I don’t know if that’s - ”

Anti smashes his hand into the wall, shattering plaster. Trick sinks down against him, biting his lip.

“Taking Dap from me,” hisses Anti, his eyes beginning to go wild again. “Pretending like they don’t even know me. They’re the one who always used to come on to me! Now they act like this? I’ll kill them! Fuck them!”

Trick squirms as Anti’s body becomes hot to the touch, but he won’t let go of his brother’s hand. Anti crumples against him, trembling.

Anonymous asked: Well Anti, now you know how your brothers feel. Now you know how it feels to love someone who can't love you back :)

“Please,” snaps Anti. “They’re the one who’s always been desperate to have me. If they want to act like a bitch, that’s their fucking problem. And I’m powerful, now… more than a match for them. They’ll regret this, I fucking swear it. I’m sure they already do. Didn’t know what they were tangling with. I was already a match for them before I had Marvin’s power. I’ll tear down everything they do love and they can watch it all burn.”

“Anti,” protests Trick weakly. “Just… let’s just breathe.”

Anonymous asked: yeahhh, that's bullshit. you're in love with them and you're too scared to admit it, but that's a conversation for another day. the question now is; what are you going to do?

Anti gets to his feet, his teeth gritted in his mouth, tearing at his hair. “You’re all fucking dense if you think I care about them!”

“Anti,” says Trick. “We have to focus on Dapper.”

Anti stalks around the room for long minutes, muttering to himself, glitching into different appearances, snarling.

“You have to calm down,” whispers Trick.

“I can’t!” screams Anti. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t! I’ve never been able to and it’s his fault because he didn’t make me that way! I can’t calm down!”

“That’s not true!” cries Trick. “I don’t believe that for a second! You can’t keep telling yourself that you’re not capable of goddamn controlling yourself, Anti, it’s why our family keeps falling apart over and over again!”

Anti stops short, turning to stare at him, mouth open.

“Anti,” pleads Trick. “I’ve seen you calm down before. Come here. Just hold onto me and we’ll take deep breaths.”

Anonymous asked: Breathe Anti. Just breathe for a bit, ignore the fire and the rush in your brain. Just sit with Trick for a bit. You always get control eventually, right? So surely things will go back to normal soon. Like you said, they're no match for you, right?

“It hurts,” spits Anti, pulling on his hair. “It - it’s like it burns me.”

Trick gets to his feet, grabbing onto Anti’s shoulder.

“Look, man,” he says. “I feel it too. But right now, just… come sit with me.”

“Turn cameras off,” orders Anti irritably, hiding his face in his hands.

Trick chuckles weakly and sets you down a few feet away, out of view, though in truth there are enough mounted cameras around the house that you can still see them, little figures at the bottom of that grand staircase in the darkness.

Anonymous asked: anti, i will tell you this. jack and dark no longer remember you. the timelines were switched up, and they don't know you exist anymore. dark doesn't hate you. they just don't know you. and that's why jack hasn't come for the boys as well. none of them know you anymore.

And Dark - Dark is one thing.

But Jack?

No, no. Anti can’t even begin to think about that right now. Later, maybe. But right now -

Jack, Jack.

He’s only shaking harder. His whole body burns like there’s energy beneath it he can’t get out. He trembles. He pants. Bites down hard on his lip and feels his spine curl with the pain of it. He wants to cut his throat open again and make it count this time.

“Anti,” pleads Trick, very small. “Anti, I…”

Anti shoves himself into his shoulder and grips onto him. Tight, tight. Anti grips on to the one person he has left, and shudders his way through his panic in Trick’s steady arms.

“I lied,” whispers Anti, so soft you know you aren’t meant to hear it.

“About what, Anti?”

“There are people I care about,” Anti answers, curling his fingers through the hair on the back of Trick’s hair. “There are.”

They are cast in blue by the early night.

Anonymous asked: i don't know, but i think they will. i think they'll come back for you. but trick? when they get here, i think you're gonna have to choose between them and anti. i'm sorry, but i don't see it going any other way.

Trick stares at his brother, his arms wrapped around him.

The light of the moon looks down on him through the skylight.

He doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t know who he is anymore. He doesn’t know where this is going or what happens next.

He doesn’t know who he would choose if he had to.

Anonymous asked: i think anti's trying to tell you he loves you, trick.

He thinks you might be right.

He doesn’t know a lot of things right now, it’s true. But there are some things he does know.

He knows that Red and Anti made a deal for their family back in Peru. Made a decision for their family: This is the last time we play this game.

The decision he makes - the decisions all of them make - will be final. The choices they make will be final.

“I love you too, Anti,” he says, glancing up at the faraway glow of the moon, and his brother cards his fingers through his hair and holds him.

Miles away, his twin sits at the window in a hospital room and stares out at the same moon, chewing on his nails and thinking about him.

#chapter four

4 notes · View notes

hearthandhomemagick · 3 years

Text

Cottage Witch Journal Entry

I have a longing for Tennessee.

I have a pure, unadulterated and wild attraction to the Tennessee Mountains. This is a dream I’ve had, and a yearning I’ve felt, for years. A need to be hidden deep in the mountains in a tiny cottage/cabin of sorts. I’m sure this is an affinity very popular in mainstream culture today, and all I can think of when I hear people say they want a cottage or cabin in the mountains is, “How the Hell does everyone expect to FIT on these mountains?!” But, this is my Shadow Self, the over realistic and overthinking side of myself. And I easily get discouraged from my own wants thinking of others wants.

This is a side of me to notice in myself. I need to be able to move past thoughts of, “If everyone wants it, I’ll never have it.” and move forward with thoughts of, “This is something I want for myself, and I deserve to work hard for it.” And that’s a goal I have with myself.

You see, this post isn’t just about my want to be in Tennessee in the woods, it’s much deeper than that I feel. It’s about improvement and wanting to grow.

I bring up Tennessee because that is not a goal I can easily obtain within a couple of weeks or even a month. But, it is something I want to build up to obtaining. Something I want to do right so that everything is exactly as it needs to be. And I can’t fully accomplish this until I accomplish other goals that take precedent first. For Example, my physical health.

As a witch, I truly believe in loving every part of yourself, the good and the bad. The exciting and the terrifying. The understood and the neglected. Part of this acceptance process is learning what is and is not acceptable for my body. Now, I have struggled with my weight and how I see myself since I was a child. I remember a little boy seeing my tummy in a bathing suit in 1st grade and him telling me I was fat and that his dad said fat girls were ugly. Comments like this, stares and whispers were constant when in regards to my weight. It felt like an overwhelming amount of attention was directed at the way I looked, even if no one was looking at me I felt as though everyone was thinking about it. Over the years, this mental state took a tole on a lot more than I expected, even affecting me today with my Significant Other. The consistent attention to my own weight pulled me into depression, our of depression, into anxiety and out of anxiety. What I mean is I had an up and down relationship with my tummy.

I felt abandoned most days. I would get this idea that I was too much and not enough all at once. A gentle and cooing tone from my toxic thoughts led to a lot of issues and concerns for me and my health. Some days, I would read something that made me feel as though I was a Queen. A bad bitch lurking in this cruel world and taking it by the throat to stare it in the eyes and say, “I love my body fat.”

The sad part is your heart, mind and body know when you are lying to it. I didn’t love my body. Not in those confident moments and not in those depressed moments. I was locked away in a cage in my mind that gave me two illusions to choose from, while hiding my third option under the rug. I neglected my feelings because I didn’t want to experience them. I neglected my health because I didn’t want to deal with it. And I neglected my body because I hated it.

Reality here is that this is the only fucking body I have. Do you understand that? Let me repeat this so maybe you can understand how harsh of a reality this was to me.

I am on this Earth for goodness knows how long. 50 years, 20 years, 72 days. I don’t know, and no one does. I was literally forced into owning this body, whether I like it or not, it is mine. I can move houses, I can get a new car, I can get a new job. I cannot get a new body.

I heard this in High School and started what I called my weight loss journey. I lost maybe 20 pounds while attending a workout-boot camp of sorts and trying to maintain a healthy diet. That sentence resonated so much with me that I repeated it every day to myself. My motivation was on point. Then, I stopped going. There are multiple reasons why I stopped, but none of them are rightful excuses.

I just stopped.

Now, during those days I had lost weight, I was starting to gain confidence in myself and was attempting to genuinely look out for my health. I had more energy and felt amazing! But like I said, I had stopped for terrible reasons.

Fast-forward to college and you will find a very anxiety filled, sleep deprived and mentally exhausted Carly. Some nights I wouldn’t sleep but for 4-5 hours. Other nights I didn’t sleep at all. I believe my stay up streak was 3, going on 4 nights. All due to homework. My coping technique has always been eating food, too. So when you have a sleep deprived student settled next to a 24/7 pizza joint with half baked cookies, you gain 30-40 pounds.

At 245 Pounds, I was at my heaviest. This weight gain came on as my roommates were saying I was fat, stupid and were making me question myself frequently. Self hate festers among others who don’t value your worth, remember that. So, through those years of college I weighed an uncomfortable amount of weight that made my body start shutting down physically.

Mental Health had a lot to do with my physical health, here as well. When I was in a really bad place, I would stop moving completely and just sit still. If I had a terrible feeling, I’d cook something to make myself feel better or would just grab a processed, quick snack. It was a pattern of mine. I’d get just enough motivation to do one or two things, and then I’d stop all together and feel as though that was enough for a few weeks.

Eventually, when I was done with college, I started back on that rollercoaster of healthy and unhealthy. I’d lose 5 pounds, then gain 7 pounds right back. I started detail critiquing myself and stressing myself out. My weight never could get under control, and I couldn’t break the 200 mark to save my life. I would see pictures and videos of myself and feel as though I had eaten an entire buffet. Not too long after getting with my S/O and starting my job as a Sexual Violence Outreach Advocate, I got sick.

It started as a birthday dinner at a Korean Barbecue in 2019. I was with my two best friends at the time and having a blast. We all ate the same food, but when I woke up the following morning I was throwing up everything in my tummy.

The throwing up went on for 4 days before I was taken to the hospital, only for them to release me saying it was virus. My personal doctor couldn’t figure out what was wrong and it eventually became an everyday thing. I would wake up between 3-6 in the morning, go to the bathroom and be sick for hours before pulling myself together to make it to work.

Weeks turned into months, and months turned into a year.

I lost 50 pounds from this thing that no doctor could seem to figure out. I got x-rays and everything, but nothing and no one could tell me exactly what was going on with me. I couldn’t eat anything friend, only raw fruits and veggies, or broth. I only drank water and ginger based drinks, and could not for the life of me stop what was going on with my body. Many doctors tried to pass it as a virus, stomach ulcers, GURD, or even Heart Burn (?). None of them were right.

After a long time, my mom finally confessed that every woman in our family has Endometriosis. If you don’t know what this is, it is the build up of scar tissue on the outside of your uterus. This leads to nausea, ovarian cysts (which they found on me in x-rays) and sub or infertility. No doctor can diagnose it, either, unless you have a surgery to see if there is scarring. So for many, suffering on your own is easier than seeing a doctor.

I discussed this with my doctor, and it was as if a light flashed in her brain. This is a disease she cannot say I have, but can say it sounds very much like that. It is hereditary and once you have it, you have it for good.

After this information entered my line of though, I decided the stress from my job was too much for too little pay, and chose to leave. Leading up to my leaving the job, I was sick almost every second of every day. The moment I left, I felt better.

I still feel pain in my ovary area, but because I don’t have the money to see a doctor, and can control my pains with eating habits and physical influence, I choose to work through it alone.

I said ALL THAT BACKGROUND BULLSHIT JUST TO SAY THIS!!!!!

This is the part that marks my new journey. It is the Journey to Strength and Well Being. The Journey to Feeling Good. The Journey the Choosing my happiness over anything else. And the Journey to choosing the health of my body over my insecurities.

I wrote this because a couple of days ago I had a very graphic and vivid dream about my boyfriend falling in love with the woman I wanted to be. In other words, I seen him with a woman who literally presented all of my insecurities to me. Small, lithe and dainty, gentle and calming, and everything I wasn’t. She was beautiful. And he seen this, and did things for her that he never did for me. I woke up almost in tears, because my emotions were raw, but I had no idea that my insecurities were still very deeply rooted.

I pondered over the last few days of this dream. What it could mean, what I should do, how I should feel and I have finally come to a conclusion.

This dream is a depiction of my fears. My brain was saying, “You need to address this shit right now.” and did it in the most face slap kind of way I could think.

I still, even after learning to love myself genuinely, have image issues that need to be nurtured and tended to before I can move forward in my life.

So, I’m making 1-3 goals every month that are attainable and reachable. This will be a brick road to my obtaining that cottage/cabin in the Tennessee Mountains.

This months Goals start today!

GOAL 1 - Learn to do a split, find a healthy yoga sequence, be able to do 15 pushups, & 30 Squats by the end of December.

GOAL 2 - Make a conscious effort to what you eat/making a new dish once a week to try.

GOAL 3 - Save $100.

This is a process, and I am only human. I don’t want to fall back into the habits of toxic mentality. I don’t want to neglect myself or how I feel and I don’t want to lose myself in to the world in the process of searching for freedom from myself.

I expect myself to exude self control, self love, and empowerment. I expect to expect better from and for myself, and I expect to accomplish my goals.

I manifest it here, I can do a split. I have a healthy maintainable yoga sequence that I have committed to growing expanding and changing. I can do 15 push ups and 30 squats. I have 100 dollars saved up already and make concious decisions that better my health rather than hurt it. This is part of my lifstyle now!

And it is for the better!

Thank you to anyone who read this through. These entries are more for my benefit and thought process, but appreciate anyone who recognizes it or even relates and wants to talk about it. It’s personal to me and means a lot. I intend on being on here more often to update my challenges and express how I use my witchcraft in the process of this Journey.

I love you all! Stay safe, warm and full to the brim! Later Witches! xx

#yule #witch #witchcraft #thinspo #healthy #yoga #workout #food #meal #habit #mentalhealth #comfort #hygge #cute #fun #craft #magic #magick #happy #storyline #witchjournal #journal #writing #creative

12 notes · View notes

trillian-anders · 4 years

Text

chambers - iv

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence, angst, slow burn

word count: 4230

Description: Post-Endgame. Steve Rogers has passed away from old age. The one remarkable thing is that no one knew his heart would be in the condition it was. He was able to save one more life. After receiving his heart, strange things start happening. Including something that would change your life forever. (Very loosely based on the Netflix series of the same name.)

This wasn’t the first time you’ve seen him. Sitting there in the dark. A watchman. He’s gone from a ghost to a solid figure, sitting by your bed in the dark. Hair blond, face without wrinkles, bent over. Elbows resting on knees, hands clasped. Staring. It was unnerving. Usually it was just flashes, you’d look in the mirror and he’d be standing there instead of you, or he’d be standing around in the corner of your eye. But this was new. He was just sitting there, staring at you. Thinking.

Judging?

Not speaking.

You had to be going crazy. This seemed insane. This was something outside the realm of living through his memories and feeling the roller coaster of emotions you were becoming accustomed to. Your legs didn’t hurt too badly anymore, they were still a little stiff, but they didn’t hurt anymore. You swung them over the side of the bed, coming to face him. Were you hallucinating? You both held eye contact for a minute.

“Steve?” Your raspy voice asked. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards and then he was gone. Next blink, just gone. You sighed heavily, hanging your head, “FRIDAY, open the blinds please?” The mechanical blinds rose, revealing a muted blue sky, the sun just breaking over the horizon. Your toes touched the ground, feeling the heated floors as you stood to stretch your arms above your head, feeling your body crack and groan.

You lifted your phone from the nightstand, checking the time. It was still early, but most of the agents would have already been starting their morning drills, including Bucky and Sam. Wanda should be waking up soon then if she wasn’t already awake.

You made your way to your ensuite, brushing your teeth, and staring at your face in the mirror. The serum must be doing something to you because the dark circles under your eyes were gone and your skin looked perfectly dewey. The whites of your eyes were whiter and when you looked back down at your recently bruised and broken legs you couldn’t even tell anything had been wrong with them in the first place. But that could also be due to the cradle.

The bed suddenly felt way too soft, you’d noticed. You’d never thought about it before. Your bed at home was cheap, the mattress springy and almost uncomfortable, but it was close to what Steve used to sleep on while in the military. What he slept on during missions. The beds on the quinjet. You might try sleeping on the floor tonight.

You changed your clothes, today you’d be getting into the MRI, testing to see how your brain reacts to certain stimuli, seeing what happens to your brain when a memory comes on. So far there are no real negative consequences physically to the seizures you have when a memory comes on, but that doesn’t mean that one day something bad won’t happen. This is just to make sure.

Now that your legs were healed you were itching to run again, and you figured if you paid attention to pace, maybe it’ll be okay. A pair of stretchy yoga pants and large grey Avenger’s issued sweatshirt later you were stepping outside into the crisp morning air. Sam and Bucky stretching off to the right. “Hey kid, how’s it going?” Sam asked, smiling.

You cautiously walked over to join them, returning his smile, “Better, for sure.” You smiled at Bucky, he gave a forced one in return. He was trying. “A little stiff, but I’m itching to run again so…” Sam pursed his lips,

“If you’re gonna run you’ve gotta take it easy, you can keep pace with me,” He jerked a thumb over at Bucky, “This fool runs at top speed so just make sure you don’t try to keep up with him.” That’s right. Bucky had some sort of super serum too. Not the same as Steve’s but Hydra’s own cocktail. The three of you took off, Sam jogging at a leisurely pace, easing you into it. You kept a steady pace next to him, watching the brown haired super-soldier’s pace slowly pick up before he was lapping the two of you, easily.

“They’re giving me an MRI today,” You told Sam when he asked, “Hopefully the seizures are still not doing anything to my brain….”

“I’m sure Bruce will be able to find some way to keep the seizures from happening at all,” Sam said. You stopped running back where you started, not even close to breaking a sweat, but your nerves soothed for the moment, Sam slowing down to a stop a few feet away.

“Can I ask you something?” You placed your hands on your hips, breathing regulating.

“Anything kid.” Sam walked closer to you, both of your eyes shifting over to watch Bucky on the other side of the track, looming closer.

“I know you still go to the VA every week,” You said, “And I get it’s weird and like… I’ve never technically been to…” You couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve never technically been to war, but…”

“What exactly is going on with these memories?” He asked you. You’d explained it to them very vaguely before, but Bucky and Sam didn’t really know the depth of it. Not at all.

You felt tears prickle in the corners of your eyes, hands coming up to rub them away, “It’s like I lived two lives, Sam.” You sighed heavily, “I’ve never technically been to war, but I can still smell…” You rolled your eyes up to the sky, trying hard not to cry. How did Steve not cry all the fucking time?

“Hey,” He said softly, walking closer to you, placing his hands on your shoulders. “I get it.” He soothed, “Well… I don’t get the whole ‘two lives’ thing, but the PTSD I get. If you want to come next time…” His voice trailed off as Bucky came to a stop next to the two of you, “You’re more than welcome to join us.” You turned your body away from Bucky, wiping the tears out of your eyes.

“Join us where?” Bucky asked, stopping to take a long pull from his water bottle. You looked at Sam hesitantly and he nodded, turning back towards Bucky.

“We’ll talk about it later.” He explained, “What time do you have to meet Bruce Y/N?” You checked your phone,

“Soon, I should probably eat and shower.” You smiled at the both of them, “I’ll see you guys soon yeah?” Bucky nodded tersely. He was going to be helping during the MRI even though you knew he really didn’t want to.

“If you need anything...” Sam didn’t finish the sentence but it went unsaid. If you need anything, I’m here for you. I’ll be here for you like I was here for Steve. But maybe that was being too hopeful.

Bucky watched you go in curiosity. “What was that about?” He asked Sam, taking another drink.

“She’s struggling man.” Bucky scoffed,

“That’s obvious.” Sam glared at him.

“I think this whole memory thing goes deeper than just her remembering things Steve has done.” He explained, “She asked me to go to the VA.” Bucky was taken aback at that.

“She’s not military.” It was a simple explanation. “She can’t go.”

“Bucky,” Sam sighed, “She’s struggling with this and if she has Steve’s memories, those memories include war. A war she didn’t choose to fight, missions she didn’t choose to go on. She’s scared and uncomfortable with what she’s seeing I’m sure.” Bucky wrestled with this for a moment, he knew Sam was right, but honestly the VA was something he cherished wholeheartedly. It was something he had with Sam outside of the missions and training. Something real. Something normal. And he didn’t know if he was comfortable with her interloping on that.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Wanda asked you over a bowl of cereal. You smiled at your friend, reaching in the fridge for the milk to make your own bowl of cereal.

“A lot better, honestly.” You explained, “Had a nice jog with Sam this morning, my legs feel great.”

“Are you ready for today?” She was scrolling through her phone, looking at dessert recipes.

“Maybe?” You sighed, spooning some cereal into your mouth. “I don’t know. I usually have at least one memory a day, but I’m afraid of having a bad one.” Wanda looked up at you from her phone,

“Do you have bad memories often?” She asked.

“It depends.” You stared down at the cheerios. “Depends on what triggers it.”

An hour later you were in scrubs, your hair tied up, laying on the table and ready to go into the machine. You tried not to think about how loud and claustrophobic it all was going to be as Bruce prepped you.

“You’ll see a series of images first,” He explains, “After that we will begin with Bucky talking to you, just very candidly about a couple of good memories he has of Steve.” He probably hates you for this. It was hard to swallow that thought. You could see Wanda, Sam, and Bucky standing on the other side of the glass, chatting idly as Bruce was securing some sort of cage around your head to keep you from moving. “If it gets to be too much and you need to take a break just let us know and I’ll pull you out okay?” He was reassuring and you could almost feel comfortable if your heart wasn’t beating out of your chest.

The bed slowly entered the machine and there was a pause as it clicked to life around you, loudly. Was it the machine or your heart beating that loud?

“Are you okay?” Bruce asked, his voice coming out of the speaker.

“Yeah I’m fine.” You took a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth, closing your eyes for a minute.

“Okay so we are going to start with the first picture.” And up it went. Coney Island. The Cyclone at Coney Island.

“I’m not doing it!” You exclaimed. “You can go alone!” You were a teenager now, Bucky was a teenager now. Bright blue eyes, wide smile, a pimple on the right side of his chin, but otherwise unblemished. Happy.

“C’mon pal,” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, “You owe me one anyway.” You felt yourself scoff, turning towards him.

“You just spent 30 minutes trying to win a stuffed bear for Dot,” You laughed, “If anything, you owe me.” This was one of the first double dates of many you and Bucky had gone on. Both of you fifteen years old, saved allowances in your pockets, Bucky got two girls Dot and Moira to come out to Coney Island with you. You’d been riding rides and eating hot dogs all day. Bucky just spent your last three dollars winning Dot a bear, Moira ignored you the whole day, and you were feeling kinda low. The last thing you wanted to do was ride the Cyclone.

“C’mon, we have one ticket each left, let’s ride it and then we can figure out a way home.” It was hard to say no to Bucky, especially when he was looking at you like that. You rolled your eyes,

“Fine.” A large grin stretching out on his face, hands clapping together, “Alright, let’s go!” His large hand wrapped around yours pulling you into the queue. A quick trip on the Cyclone found your head in the trash can beside it, small body heaving, the hot dog and cotton candy coming up just as easily as it had gone down. What a waste.

You came back to consciousness dry heaving, body tilted to the side as Wanda rubbed your back. “Are you gonna throw up?” She asked, Sam was holding a bucket under your head.

“What was it?” Bruce asked. Bucky stood off to the side, unsure what to do. You took a sip from the water bottle Sam offered you, catching your breath.

“Threw up after riding the cyclone,” You explained, eyes flickering over to Bucky, then back to Bruce. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” Bruce said, typing something into the computer. “Are you okay to go again?”

“You’re not gonna give her a break?” Bucky asked, turning toward the Hulk. Bruce looked from Bucky and back to you. Sam left the trash can on the floor by your head, just in case, but still stood nearby with your water bottle.

“Do you need a break Y/N?” Wanda helped you roll back onto the table as you caught your breath. Your throat hurt and you still felt the lingering nausea,

“No, I’m okay.” You said, “We can continue.”

The next picture didn’t do anything. It was your own apartment. The one you hadn’t been to all week. The third picture was a drawing you knew Steve had done, a memory of sitting in a cafe, the taste of coffee on your tongue, but no seizure.

The fourth picture sent you reeling, breath coming out in heavy pants as the machine closed around you,

“Bucky!” You screamed, arm reaching out to him, watching him hang from the side of the train. The fucking train. How do you get him out of this? How can you save him this time? You couldn’t reach any farther without falling out yourself, his hand not coming close to yours, not close enough. Fuck.

His watery blue eyes met yours and your heart stopped in your chest, his arm swinging up for one last attempt to grab yours that’s when the bar he was holding onto broke. That’s when it always broke, that’s when you lost him every time. “Bucky!” You screamed again as you watched him fall from sight, the train still rushing onto its destination.

“Get me out!” You yelled. The machine was quickly turned off, you were wrestling with the cage around your face, breaking it accidentally, tossing it to the side. Tears blurred your vision as you sat on the edge of the bed.

“Y/N calm down!” Wanda’s hands gripped your upper arms, stalling you from moving. You choked on your tears, sinking your head down onto her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around you. You felt so embarrassed, face hot with it, but you couldn’t stop crying. You knew it was ridiculous. He was standing right there. He’s not actually dead. But in that moment Steve didn’t know that. In that moment he just lost the one person who had been by his side through everything and you lost him too.

“Alright kid, it’s okay.” Sam’s voice was calm, his hand rubbing your back as you tried to control your breathing, your eyes peeking over Wanda’s shoulder to steal a glance at Bucky. He’s right there. He’s alive. He’s safe. He wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at the floor, fists clenched. And you watched him leave the room.

“What happened?” Bruce asked.

“Give her a minute man.” Sam said, your tears were drying up but your heart still felt empty. You wanted Bucky, but it wasn’t an option.

“He fell from the train.” You explained softly, voice thick and watery. “I can never save him.” It didn’t need to be explained who ‘he’ was. They all knew and in that moment what you had been going through was shared with the group. Wanda gripped you a little tighter,

“Let’s finish for the day,” She told Bruce, “We can pick back up tomorrow or something.” Bruce nodded, shutting the machine off.

“Anyone up for Chinese?”

Bucky didn’t expect that viceral of a reaction. The dry heaving after experiencing a memory of riding the Cyclone, one that he remembered well. Standing by Steve as he upchucked into the trash can, his vomit was tinted pink from cotton candy. Her experiencing him falling from the bridge. The screaming that started before she was even fully out. A blood curdling scream of his name, loud and clear over the microphone that was wired into the machine. Fuck.

He bruised his knuckles because he didn't wrap them before going in on the punching bag. Something had to break the tension he was feeling in his shoulders. His left one was aching with a phantom pain that almost never went away. The ache of a limb lost. The memories of being half conscious as they dragged his body from the ravine. Where they cut the rest of his arm off in order to attach the metal one to his shoulder. He shudders with the thought.

Sam was good at distractions. It was a talent, truly. Multiple Chinese takeout containers were littered across the coffee table, reruns of Masterchef playing across the screen as you, Sam, Wanda, Bruce, and later on Bucky, eat in almost silence.

Bucky was freshly showered, taking a seat next to the recliner that he had placed you in the day before, the one you were currently sitting in, before making himself a plate and sitting back to watch Gordon Ramsay expertly debone a fish.

“Could you debone a fish Buck?” Sam asked, this is what he’s good at. Bucky scoffed, slurping up his lo mien.

“Of course I can, what kind of question is that?” Sam smirked, looking over at you and then back to Bucky.

“Yeah, but not as good as Ramsay, look at the dude.” He gestured towards the man laying out the portioned filets and perfectly removed bones. Bucky rolled his eyes, having shoveled the first half of his plate into his mouth so fast you hadn’t even seen him eat.

“I can debone a fish twice as fast.” Sam scoffed. He was challenging him.

“There’s a salmon in the fridge with your name on it buddy.” Bucky glared at him, you all knew what Sam was doing, but none of you were fighting it.

“Start timing me.” The plates were abandoned and the group of you circled around the kitchen counter, Wanda holding her phone up to record, Sam using the stopwatch on his phone to time him. The whole fish laying out on the butchers block in front of him, knives at the ready. It was possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

Bucky was a good cook. A decent cook you should say. Steve, when he was a kid and they were living in that shitty apartment in Brooklyn, Bucky would make stews out of almost nothing. A trick he had learned from his Ma. That you remembered from one time you were making a stew and freezing out portions to be more cost effective. You remembered the smell of their kitchen, Bucky with an apron tied around his waist, still in his grey jumpsuit from the canary. Youthful and sweet. His short hair curled on his forehead from the steam coming from the pot.

He deboned the fish and portioned it out in less than a minute. The food scale in the kitchen weighed each portion as an even 3.8 oz.

“Well I guess we are having that for dinner tomorrow night.” Sam joked. He elbowed his friend grinning, Bucky looked so proud of himself. He should be. It was an interesting party trick. His dexterity with knives were not just for disarming people, but it could be used for something more wholesome.

The rest of dinner was eaten in a content silence, Sam booing when the one person he liked on the show accidentally burned their fish and was eliminated.

You liked this. It was better than going to work and coming home to an empty house. Eating dinner alone and laying in bed scrolling through your phone until you fell asleep. Today was tiring though and you couldn’t wait to go to bed as you helped everyone clean up the mess. There were no leftovers thanks to Bruce who you were sure could put any restaurant out of business just from the sheer volume he could eat now, so it was mainly packing up containers and tossing them. Washing plates.

“So why don’t we take a break from the prodding and you come to the VA tomorrow?” Sam asked, handing you a plate to place in the dishwasher. Your eyes flickered over to Bucky who was wrapping up the trash to throw down the chute. You know he can hear you, but he’s not making any motion to let you know.

“If that’s alright?” You ask, watching Bucky’s retreating back.

“Hey,” Sam brings your attention back to him, “You know how hard this is for him, but it’s hard for you too. You can’t just sacrifice your feelings for someone else. He’ll be okay.” You wanted to believe him. You really did, but everything in your body is telling you Bucky wasn’t okay. It was hard.

“I’ll think about it,” You sighed, turning to close to dishwasher, “I’ll see you in the morning?” Sam smiled, hugging you softly.

“Sleep well kid,” Wanda had already retired to her room and Bruce to his, which left you crossing an empty common room back to your own bedroom.

Bucky was leaning against your door, the dim light from your room illuminating him. You were hesitant to move any closer. He looked at you silently for a moment, gesturing into the room, “Can we talk?” Your heart skipped a beat,

“Yeah,” You said, “Of course.”

You’ve been in this room a couple days now, the neutral tones making it look more like a hotel room than a person’s actual bedroom but you weren’t sure how long you’d be staying so personal effects weren’t really a high priority. You had a couple pictures of family, but most surfaces stayed barren. A well worn college sweatshirt was tossed on your bed, but Bucky surely noticed that the room didn’t look typically lived in.

He sat himself in the chair that Wanda had previously used beside your bed. The one Steve was sitting in this morning. You almost stopped him from sitting there, as though you were waiting for Steve to come take a spot there to watch the conversation that was about to happen. You were unsure whether or not you should close the door, but seeing as you were the only person residing in this hallway you decided to leave it open.

You sat on the bed across from him, waiting for him to speak. The two of you awkwardly sat in silence for a minute, Bucky’s mouth opening and closing a few times before he began,

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick to you,” He started.

“I understand, it’s okay.” You shifted nervously in your seat. His eyes met yours,

“It’s not okay, you didn’t deserve it.” He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth nervously, “All of this is out of your control and instead of trying to help you, I’ve been keeping my distance and I’ve been relatively cold.”

“You made me breakfast yesterday and helped me use the bathroom.” You offered. His lips turned into a terse smile,

“That doesn’t exactly make me a good person, doll.” Doll. Term of endearment or habit? He sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes, “Today… in the MRI machine…” Your throat almost felt as though it was closing up, the air thick in the room. It was hard to breathe. “You feel everything he felt?” He asks.

“I’ve told you that before I…” You trailed off, picking at a stray string on the pillowcase.

“You said you could feel the same emotions he felt, but not like…” The scream was echoing in his head, the bloodcurdling scream, “It’s intense?” His chapped bottom lip bled with how hard he bit it.

“It’s like…” You stood from the bed, creating some distance because he was all of a sudden too close. “It’s like losing you for real.” You explained. His head snapped up to look at you and you felt his eyes boring into your back. “Steve’s emotions and memories… everything he’s ever felt.” You started, “It’s like I know all of you already and none of you know me. I feel…” Your face flushed with embarrassment, growing hot under the pressure.

“Like I’m your best friend?” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, turning back to him. His expression unclear to you.

“LIke you’re my best friend,” You felt tears well up in your eyes. You were so sick of fucking crying. “And you want nothing to do with me.” Coming out as a whisper. Bucky sat back in the chair, studying you for a minute.

“This is hard,” His eyes rolled up to the ceiling, “So fucking hard.”

“I know,” You cried, wiping at your eyes quickly trying to stop the tears, “I know.” He stood from his chair and slowly made his way over to you, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you tightly to his chest. Fuck if this isn’t what you so desperately needed, your arms wrapping around him just as tightly.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered into your hair, “I’m really going to try, I promise.” Your hands were clenched tightly in his t shirt, tears dampening the chest.

“I don’t know what to do.” You admitted, muffled against him.

“Come to the VA tomorrow,” He offered, “We can start there.”

We can start there.

TAGLIST // @bookish-shristi @nutellakirb @witch-of-letters @torntaltos @emotionallysalty @gemgemswift @albinotigerpython

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #Steve Rogers #sam wilson #wanda maximoff #bruce banner #avengers #captain america #the winter solider

369 notes · View notes

golchaworld · 4 years

Text

Panacea | L.BG (Part 1)

➳ pairing: lee byunggon x fem!reader, ft. cix ensemble

➳ genre: organized crime!au, action, occasional fluff

➳ word count: ~3.3k

➳ warnings: cursing, mild violence, mentions of non-descriptive gore, mentions of sex, glorification of crime

➳ summary: Three years ago, they were sitting in the back of their chemistry class, passing notes and giggling. Now they’re fighting to take down the biggest crime lord in Seoul — their own. Who would have thought knowledge about hydrochloric acid would become so useful?

A/N: I got this idea on a whim a couple of weeks ago. I did a lot of research about CIX’s individual personalities to make this story as true to their characters as possible. I hope you guys enjoy. As always, feel free to reblog or reply with feedback, and my asks are always open.

Part Two

panacea (noun): a solution or remedy for all difficulties

The elevator lets out a soft chime before its doors open. As the man walks further into the office, his shoes click against the sturdy marble. His entrance is announced before he opens the door, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The receptionist quirks his head up, smiling widely once he lays eyes on the man. Not quite the reaction he would expect. The man doesn’t let his surprise show, just choosing to approach the receptionist with an expression set in stone.

“Welcome to Adonis, Inc.,” the receptionist greets. His name tag reads ‘Yoon Hyunsuk’ which is quite the fitting name for the boy behind the desk. His smile never once falters. “How can I assist you today?”

“I’m here for a meeting with Mr. Kim.”

Hyunsuk nods, instantly turning to his computer. “Perfect! May I have your name, please?”

“Ahn Taebin.”

“Okay, Mr. Ahn. I have you down right here. I’ll have someone right out who will take you to Mr. Kim.”

The receptionist finishes his sentence with a smile that has a shiver run up the man’s spine. Does this kid ever stop smiling? Apparently not, seeing as he picks up the phone, muttering a few words into the receiver while he still beams. When another man approaches the reception desk, this time from inside the office, Hyunsuk is still smiling.

“Mr. Ahn, this is Lee Byunggon. He will take you to see Mr. Kim, alright? Feel free to let him know if you need anything.”

The other man, Byunggon, sends Mr. Ahn a curt nod, which serves as both a greeting and a motion to follow him.

The two pass through the seemingly normal office. Cubicles are arranged in neat rows, yet only a few are inhabited by people. Mr. Ahn chuckles under his breath. He knows how hard it is to gain employees in a business like this.

The few employees that are at their desks seem to be hard at work. A few pore over files while others type aggressively. The whole office has the same aura. The perfection is a facade; there’s underlying aggression here. The neatness has a messy side. Mr. Ahn just doesn’t know what it is yet.

Eventually Byunggon stops in front of a grandiose wooden door. The words ‘Kim Jaeyong’ are engraved in a fancy gold font, perfectly matching the warm oak door. From the front, there are no windows, indicating that no one can see in or out. Mr. Ahn wonders if he should take that as a threat.

After three knocks that resonate throughout the office, the door is opened to reveal a blank face. Mr. Ahn has heard that Kim Jaeyong never makes the mistake of showing emotion.

Mr. Ahn is greeted with a short bow, which he returns before Kim Jaeyong motions for him to enter his personal office. Mr. Ahn complies, missing the way Byunggon smiles as the door closes behind the two. Byunggon’s not upset about being left out of the meeting, knowing he’ll bear witness to the best part later.

. . .

Mr. Ahn wakes up with a splitting headache. A bright light is shining in his face, making him flinch away. It’s then that he realizes he can’t move. Mr. Ahn looks down to where his arms are pinned to his sides, held down by a thick rope that has his entire body bound to the chair he sits in. He tries to let out a yell, a scream for help, something, but any sound he makes is muffled by the thick cotton that has been stuffed in his mouth.

“Look, guys. The asshole is awake.”

Mr. Ahn instantly searches the room, looking for the source of the words. It’s difficult, but eventually he makes out six figures standing behind the light that shines intensely in his face. He can’t make out specific faces due to the light, but a familiar smile glows even in the darkness of the surrounding room. The receptionist.

Hyunsuk chuckles darkly, clapping a hand on the shoulder of the boy next to him. “I think you’re going to have fun with this one, Jinyoung.”

The boy next to Hyunsuk, Jinyoung, Mr. Ahn supposes, smiles in his own twisted way. He drags his eyes up and down Mr. Ahn’s figure, eyes lit with a certain sadistic hunger that has Mr. Ahn’s stomach recoiling.

“Too bad I’m not going to get to the best part of it all, seeing as this asshole is going to tell us everything we need to know. Right, asshole?”

Mr. Ahn does his best to shake his head no, squirming within his confines. All six figures break out into laughter, even the ones he can’t see.

The boy that approaches him first has a soft smile, one that looks too sweet to participate in something like this. Mr. Ahn knows it’s all a facade. One look at the boy’s muscular arms lets Mr. Ahn know that he’s the real brawn of this group. Mr. Ahn feels bile rise in his throat.

The boy with the sweet smile just reaches forward, removing the fabric from Mr. Ahn’s mouth. He squats in front of his bound prisoner, cocking his head to the side cutely.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” Mr. Ahn spits out.

Sweet smile boy chuckles. “We are simple people, Ahn Taebin. So let’s start this simply. Where’s our shipment?”

Mr. Ahn racks his brain for information, but he turns up empty handed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Another boy steps out from the shadows, a tablet in hand. With a quick press of a button, staticky audio streams from the device. The boy is stoic, factual, and looks all too much like Kim Jaeyong. He must be a relative. But Mr. Ahn’s train of thought is interrupted when he hears his own voice flutter out of the tablet.

“I don’t give a fuck. I’ll be damned if I deliver Adonis all of that phencyclidine. We could be profiting off that shit. What good is angel dust if we’re not the ones selling it?”

Mr. Ahn wants to vomit. Where the hell did they get that recording?

Sweet smiling boy chuckles again as his other friend returns back to the shadows. “How about I ask you one more time, Ahn Taebin. Where. The fuck. Is our shipment?”

“I don’t fucking know.” Mr. Ahn delivers a sweet smile of his own. He’ll be damned if he lets some kids in on the inner workings of his shipments, even if they already know that they’re hidden.

“You see, I find that pretty hard to believe. When I asked Miyeon, she seemed to think that you knew exactly where our shipment was.”

If Mr. Ahn thought he was going to vomit before, he definitely is now. He spent his entire life trying to keep Miyeon away from this lifestyle, and yet here she is, still wrapped up in Adonis’ tendrils.

“What did you do to my daughter, you son of a bitch?! If you hurt her, I swear my entire gang will have your head.”

At this, the room erupts in sadistic laughter once again. Mr. Ahn hates how much they’re enjoying this.

Sweet smile boy places a patronizing hand on Mr. Ahn’s knee, eyes filling with mirth. “Don’t worry, Ahn Taebin. I didn’t hurt your precious Miyeon. But her pussy might be sore for a few days.”

Mr. Ahn uses all of his strength to fight against his restraints, attempting to lunge towards the boy squatting in front of him. His efforts are futile, though, leaving him to yell frustratedly.

“You twisted fucks,” he bites out.

Sweet smiling boy just stands, retreating into the darkness as another boy takes his place. Mr. Ahn recognizes this as the one from earlier, the one with the sadistic eyes. He holds a pair of pliers in his left hand, in his right, a bone saw. Mr. Ahn gulps.

“Mr. Ahn,” the boy begins. “I think you’ve brought me to my favorite part. So this is your last chance before we really get started. Tell us where our shipment is, and you just might leave with all 10 fingers and 10 toes.”

The light in Mr. Ahn’s face has begun to make him sweat. Despite his discomfort, Mr. Ahn stays strong.

“Go to hell.”

The corner of the boy’s mouth quirks up. “If you say so.”

. . .

“Cheers!”

You clink your glass against the five in front of you before knocking back the shot. The soju burns your throat as it slides down, warming your core to the highest degree. In all honesty, you preferred wine, but Seunghun always insisted on hard liquor after a long week.

You watch as the boys’ faces contort in various ways as they each take the shot. Hyunsuk’s nose scrunches cutely, reminding you much of a baby bunny. Yonghee’s face is twisted into a tight grimace. Jinyoung is the only one who’s stoic, face not budging even as the alcohol travels down his throat. Oh Jinyoung, always the show off.

The plush carpet that you sit on tickles your thighs, reminding you to be mindful of the way your skirt shifts. You remember just how frustrated you were that you had gotten blood on your only comfortable clothes, and thus had to wear this stuffy office getup for the remainder of the day.

“Honestly,” Hyunsuk begins. “I still don’t know how Seunghun managed to fuck every single one of these guys’ daughters. Like every single time!”

Seunghun smirks, leaning back to rest against the couch. “It’s easy when you look like me, kid.”

The group instantly erupts in fake gags and booing. As much as you all praise Seunghun for the inside work he does, it doesn’t mean you enjoy the cockiness. Seunghun’s beauty has definitely gone to his head since he started this work, inflating his ego maximally.

“Shut up,” Jinyoung retorts. “You’re not even the hottest. That’s obviously me!”

Byunggon snorts before knocking back another shot. “You’re both so full of shit.”

You watch as the boys devolve into an argument of who’s most handsome. The only one who is quiet is Yonghee, who just watches the interaction with amusement painted on his face. You wonder if he knows that he could easily win the competition for most attractive.

Yonghee, despite being the handsome guy he is, has always been extremely humble. Part of it stems from being the crime boss’ computer nerd son; he never feels like he’s good enough.

When you meet his eyes from across the small coffee table, you shoot him a small smile. He returns it cutely, making a scene of rolling his eyes at your shared friend group’s banter. Honestly, this is nothing out of the ordinary.

“Y/N,” Hyunsuk calls your attention. “Help us out here. Who do you think is the best looking?”

Jinyoung groans, throwing his head back exaggeratedly. “That’s not fair. She’s just going to choose Byunggon!”

The heat that rises to your cheeks is imminent. Even if Jinyoung is right, that doesn’t mean he has to actually say it.

You’ve always found Byunggon attractive, even when you were younger. His strong jaw and rounded cheeks provide the perfect balance between cute and manly. Paired with his wide shoulders, deep voice, and dimples to die for, it’s obvious that Byunggon is the epitome of perfection.

And just maybe you’re a little in love with him.

What’s worse is that it’s not a secret. Everyone in the office seems to notice. Even Kim Jaeyong himself once made a joke about when you two would finally make it official. And maybe it’s a good thing that everyone knows. Well, everyone except Byunggon himself.

“She is not going to choose me!” Byunggon ducks his head to hide his blush. “You’re her favorite, Hyunsuk. She’s definitely going to choose you.”

Seunghun cocks an eyebrow, looking at you expectantly. “Well…?”

There’s only one way to diffuse the tension, this you’re sure of. You slowly scan over each of the five boys, pretending to think objectively. Eventually your gaze lands on an empty bottle of soju on the middle of the coffee table.

“I think it’s Yonghee.” You shrug.

The room is silent for a second, all five boys seemingly pondering the answer that you gave. Yonghee’s cheeks bloom a brilliant pink, spurred on further by the amount of alcohol in his system.

Seunghun just nods, taking another shot of soju. “You’re kind of right. Yonghee has always been the pretty one.”

The mentioned boy’s cheeks flush an even deeper pink, if possible. “That’s not true,” he mutters.

“It kind of is,” Hyunsuk chimes. “You always get random numbers from girls, even when we go to like the grocery store.”

“Like I said,” you cock an eyebrow teasingly. “No one can compare to the Kim Yonghee.”

By now, Yonghee is shaking his head, making every attempt to calm his pink cheeks. Jinyoung must find it endearing, because he reaches over and pinches the flesh, letting out small coos.

“Okay, but like, Y/N,” Hyunsuk starts again. “Who is second place?”

Although you can tell this is going to be a long night, you wouldn’t have it any other way. When you do the work that the six of you guys do, decompressing on a Friday night is much needed.

It started within the first month of you all working under Adonis, high school besties turned organized crime dream team. When Jinyoung disassembled his first human body, he called for a meeting on a random Friday for emotional support. It’s been a tradition ever since.

By now, it’s gotten a lot easier, the torture and murder. Well, it’s as easy as torture and murder can get. Those of you with the stronger stomachs do the more physical work, and those who are more squeamish work behind the scenes.

Seunghun and Jinyoung work hand in hand when it comes to torturing information out of the prey. Seunghun’s specialty is psychological torture, getting close to the prey’s loved ones and using it against them in moments of weakness. Jinyoung, on the other hand, works purely physically. You’ve seen him break bones like glow sticks without batting an eye.

You prefer the physical work once the prey is actually dead. That means most of the time you’re on body disposal. As a chemistry whiz in high school, you’ve known how to completely dissolve a body in hydrochloric acid since you were 15. If only you knew how much it would come in handy in the future.

Before all of the torture begins, though, someone has to lure the prey into the trap. That’s where Byunggon and Hyunsuk come in. They work as yin and yang, playing good cop and bad cop to both intimidate and provide a sense of security to the prey. Once the prey trusts a little too much, and is a little too comfortable with Hyunsuk’s smile, Byunggon swoops in, letting the chloroform do the work.

The only one who works completely behind the scenes is Yonghee. Sweet, innocent Yonghee pales at the sight of blood, but beams in front of a computer screen. More often than not, he keeps Adonis, Inc. running. He legitimizes all of the documents, wipes the security cameras, and leads any wandering eyes through a confusing hole of technological bullshit.

It’s the least he could do as the heir to the Kim throne.

. . .

Two hours later, the six of you are each in various states of drunkenness, strewn about Seunghun and Byunggon’s shared apartment floor. Their apartment was where you all had always decided to throw your end of week celebrations, but something about tonight has the place looking a little messier than usual.

Maybe it’s the fact that Jinyoung spilled soju on the carpet, twice. Or the fact that Hyunsuk has finished his third bag of chips, and hasn’t picked up any of the wrappers. Even Byunggon has crumbs on the side of his face.

But the messiness seems to match the aura of the night, fueling everyone’s mood. Seunghun keeps looking around anxiously, as if there’s something that’s threatening to burst out from inside him. You hope it’s not vomit.

“Guys, are we really going to do this for the rest of our lives?” The boy questions with a drunken lilt to his words, making them slur together. “Are we going to be cutting up bodies at 50? 60?”

Yonghee snorts. “Some of us don’t have a choice.” Even though he’s tipsy, you can still detect the grief in his voice.

“None of us have a choice,” Jinyoung reminds. “This isn’t a life we can just quit. We knew that before we even started.”

Seunghun’s signature pout takes hold on his face, making him look like a kicked puppy. You always wonder how Seunghun, someone who looks as sweet as he does, can live a life like this. What kind of internal darkness is housed under that mask of sincerity?

“I know, but being around the boss is so draining. He can be so fucking demeaning!” Seunghun’s eyes are red and glossy from the alcohol. “Spending so much time with him drives me crazy.”

You nod understandingly. Being around Kim Jaeyong is nothing short of a nightmare. He’s entitled, cocky, and all too harsh, even when dealing with those who have his back. Even the way he treats his own son is appalling, but you guess that’s the consequence of having so much power.

Kim Jaeyong can end lives with a snap of his fingers, and everyone around him knows that. So no one steps forward, no one takes a stand against him, and no one ever dares to cross him, leaving his power unchecked and absolute.

Seunghun continues, fueled by anger and hard liquor. “It gets so hard to have to deal with his sadistic mind all of the time. One time he said that he likes killing people because it makes him feel like a god. He told me that’s why the business is called Adonis. Who the fuck likes killing people?”

Yonghee doesn’t look up from his lap, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make any move to defend his father. He knows he can’t. His father’s actions have been heinous long before Yonghee was born, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“I hate that he thinks of himself as a god. I hate that he thinks he’s so untouchable. Why can’t he show us a little respect? We do so fucking much for him.” Jinyoung’s voice is laced with venom.

“Imagine how I feel,” you say bitterly. “Getting catcalled all day at work isn’t exactly a dream job.”

The dichotomy of working in crime and working for a friend’s dad is a weird one. On the one hand, you expect the lewd, inappropriate manners in which business is conducted. On the other hand, you still have your expectations of being treated like a friend, like family, even. But Kim Jaeyong treats you like a piece of meat.

“Still?” Seunghun throws his hands up frustratedly. “I told him to stop that shit ages ago. I can’t believe he’s still harassing you.”

Hyunsuk rolls his eyes, crumbs staining the left corner of his mouth. “Well it’s not like there’s anything we could do about it. He’s never listened to us. Plus, the man’s not dying anytime soon, so it’s not like we’re changing leadership.”

There’s silence for a moment, weaving in between the bodies in the room in a swirling haze. The glow from Seunghun’s overhead lamp is reflected in Jinyoung’s eyes. Sinister. That’s what his gaze is.

“What if we could?” The boy asks. “What if we could change leadership?”

Byunggon groans in annoyance. “What are you on about now? Hyunsuk just said it, we’re not changing leadership anytime soon.”

“Yeah, but what if we could,” Jinyoung stands up, swaying slightly from the alcohol. “What if we could change Adonis’ leadership?”

Seunghun’s brows furrow, and he shares a confused look with Hyunsuk. “How would we do that?”

Jinyoung lets out a short chuckle. A smirk has taken a hold on his lips, turning them upwards slightly.

“We can take Kim Jaeyong down...all by ourselves.”

[Part Two]

#cix imagines #cix #complete in x #lee byounggon #lee byounggon imagines #escritos #panacea

25 notes · View notes