#So instead of beating the horse even after it’s dead. I’m glad they’re letting him go here

[shima-draws]

How do you feel about Ash Ketchum (aka World Champion) retiring from the anime soon?

Very bittersweet :’) On one hand it’s really difficult letting go of a core piece of my childhood, on the other I think we’ve seen p much everything there is to see from Ash’s journey and it’s at a very good stopping point now, so I’m comfortable with his story ending here.

I’m actually very excited to see which direction they go in with the SV anime, and since I absolutely adore SV’s story I really hope they adapt all of that in the new season. It sucks we won’t be able to experience that with Ash but that boy’s been carrying us long enough, I think it’s time he finally gets some rest

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Just The Way You Are

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list prompt: horns and fangs

Jaskier has never understood why people call witchers monsters. It's true, they're different, but so are cats and dogs and horses and people like them just fine. Jaskier just sees Geralt as Geralt and always has. He's no different than any other person he's met - a little more coordinated and he dies a little less easy - but otherwise the same. People are so cruel and dismissive of Witchers, but Jaskier is a firm believer that they deserve nice things as much as the next person, maybe even more, and so, he decides to take it upon himself to do nice things for Geralt. Like surprise him in Kaedwen when he comes down from the keep.

Only it turns out Jaskier is the one to get a surprise. He's never understood why people call Witchers monsters. Not until now.

He spots the hooded figure passing between shops and he's sure it's Geralt, but he doesn't want to approach until he's absolutely certain. So he sneaks between the buildings, trying to get ahead of him and catch a glimpse of his face. Maybe-Geralt pauses in front of a stall and for a moment Jaskier thinks he's stopping to buy something, so he sneaks away, but when he comes around the other side of the house, he stops dead.

His breath catches and for a second, he's certain that even his heart stops beating.

The man in the market is certainly Geralt, he knows that now, but sprouting from the top of his head are two thick, curled horns. He tries to call out, but his mouth is dry and maybe it's for the best because Geralt’s expression darkens suddenly and he sniffs at the air.

For the first time, Jaskier considers that maybe Geralt meets him further south for a reason. Maybe he doesn't want Jaskier to see him like this, he obviously takes measures to ensure that he doesn't. Fuck. He's gone and fucked this up, too.

Ducking back behind the building, Jaskier holds his breath, hoping that Geralt hasn't caught his scent. He knows if he has there's nothing for it, he's caught, but maybe-

"Jaskier."

Geralt's voice is low, right on the edge of a growl, and Jaskier winces. When he looks over, the hood is back in place, but Geralt's teeth are bared and they're barely teeth at all - at least the canines - more like fangs. He swallows hard and risks a glance up at his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Geralt demands, moving at once to pin Jaskier's shoulders against the wall. Jaskier doesn't know what to say. He shifts uncomfortably, unwilling to look Geralt in the face.

It's not the first time Geralt's been upset with him, but this time Jaskier’s intentions were genuine, he just didn't think it through all the way. Or rather, he hadn't considered that after fifteen years together, there are still things Geralt keeps from him. Deflated, Jaskier wrenches out of his grasp and picks up the bag he dropped when Geralt shoved him. He's embarrassed, feels like an idiot for thinking Geralt might be happy to see him and now on top of it, he's intruded on something he was never supposed to see.

Geralt doesn't stop him from walking away and Jaskier tries not to think too much about that.

He books a room at the inn and doesn't bother to go down for dinner. He doesn't know what to do with himself, because if he can't travel with Geralt - and he certainly didn't seem like he was happy to see him - what can he do? Certainly not go back to Oxenfurt and admit to all his peers that yet again, he was a fool and thought someone cared when they didn't.

It's just that fifteen years is a long time. Nearly half his life. And for Geralt who rarely lets himself form attachments well, Jaskier had thought maybe it meant something to Geralt. It did to him.

Jaskier doesn't even bother to put his things away before flopping onto the bed and staring up at the beams. Geralt had been so angry. He had just wanted to do something nice, he should have known showing up himself would not be welcome. But maybe this is for the best, maybe everyone was right when they told him he couldn't follow Geralt around forever.

But he had wanted to. For the last fifteen years of his life, Jaskier has wanted nothing more than to have Geralt in his life, even if nothing ever comes of it. He's never been greedy, never wanted more than he thought Geralt would be willing to give. And look where it's gotten him? Geralt doesn't even trust him enough to show him what he really looks like.

Geralt lingers as Jaskier hurries off away from him, and he can hardly blame him. He wouldn't stay either if he’d found out the person he'd been travelling with was a monster. Jaskier tries to convince him he's not, but the thought has always been there, nagging at him. He just hasn't seen you, it says and Geralt knows it's true. He is a monster. Whatever happened to him during that second round of trials took away the remaining sliver of humanity. He'd tried so hard to hide it, to try and keep Jaskier for just a little longer, but Jaskier shows up here and how is he supposed to plan for that?

And what is Jaskier doing here in the first place? Geralt needs this time to himself. Needs a chance to hole up and file down the horns and the fangs, to make himself presentable. To visit the brothel before returning to the torture that is travelling with Jaskier.

Jaskier showing up here had thrown him off. He'd been overcome with shock and confusion and fear. Fear that Jaskier would see him like this and hate him. Fear that this one minor incident would ruin everything he's worked so hard for.

Fear had taken over and he had reacted... badly. It's no wonder Jaskier had left him there, no wonder he didn't want to be seen with him when the first time Jaskier sees what he really looks like, he practically attacks him. Fuck, he really is the monster everyone always says he is.

After everything Jaskier has done to try and prove to the world that Witchers have been given a bad name, that they're not mindless, emotionless killing machines, this is how he repays him. He has to fix this, if not for him then for his brothers' reputation and for Jaskier's peace of mind. The last thing he wants is for Jaskier to think he's in any danger with him. With a sigh, he pulls his pack higher on his shoulder and heads toward the inn.

He catches the scent of Jaskier's perfume as soon as he walks through the door and it tugs at something in his chest. It's bright and floral, but there's a tinge of despair, of sadness intertwined with it. It's not fear though, and while Geralt struggles to comprehend that, the innkeeper passes over a key. Geralt follows the directions to his own room, ridding himself of his pack and swords. He strips his armour, leaving him in only a thin black shirt and his trousers. Before he leaves the room, he pulls his travelling cloak back over his head and shoulders.

He finds Jaskier's room in a matter of minutes and stands outside the door. He's faced griffins and fiends and hired assassins and none have come close to the fear that surges through him now. Because if he failed there, he just died, plain and simple; a fitting end for a Witcher. If he fails now, he loses the person most important to him. He's glad Jaskier isn't the one with heightened senses, glad that he doesn't know how long Geralt stands outside the door before lifting to hand to knock.

But he does. And as soon as he does, Geralt’s chest tightens and he wants to leave. There's a shuffling from within and then the door pulls in and Jaskier is right there. It catches him off guard and before he can consider what Jaskier might be thinking, he blurts out,

"Let me explain," and then doesn't know what to say. What do you say? What are you supposed to say to a man who's known you half his life and only now learns you have horns. Geralt shifts, looking at him. Jaskier says nothing, but he moves aside, letting Geralt come into the room. The door shuts behind him and a wave of fear crashes down over him.

Jaskier looks sad, confused, hurt. He doesn't know where to start.

"I know you're mad and I understand-"

"You're the one who slammed me into a building," Jaskier chokes. The anger is there, Geralt expected it, but it's being smothered by something else, something stronger, like ivy around a sapling.

"I'm sorry," he winces. He is. He never meant to hurt Jaskier, not emotionally and certainly not physically. "I was... scared. I saw you and I didn't know what to do." His shoulders slump and he turns to look out the window, jaw clenched. "You're not supposed to see me like this."

"And why not?" Jaskier asks. The anger is toned down slightly, the other feeling still there but not so harsh. Geralt doesn't like it, doesn't like the feeling of it or the way it makes Jaskier's voice breaks and he wishes it would go away all together, but he doesn't know how to do that.

"I'm- Look at me, Jaskier. I'm a monster. I'm exactly what they say I am. A mutant, a freak." The anger scent remains, but it takes a sharp turn, twisting into something much more recognizable. Something he knows from tavern brawls and holding Jaskier back when they’re on the road when someone makes a snide comment.

"You absolutely are not. You're a liar and a terrible friend, but you're not a monster."

"What-"

"Why did you keep this from me?" Jaskier asks, that other feeling creeping up to regain dominance.

"I thought you'd-" Geralt drops his chin, staring at the floorboards between them. There's a crack down the center of one of them and he focuses on that instead of the sound of Jaskier's voice. "You were the only one who stuck around. You met me during the spring when they're shaved down and I- I was selfish."

"How?" Jaskier prompts. He sounds impatient, but excited, like he's anticipated what Geralt is going to say. But if he had, he wouldn't be happy about it.

"I didn't want you to hate me. I didn't want you to leave me. So I hid it from you. I became good at keeping them filed low during the warmer months and let them grow out during the winter. I didn't- it's why I never asked you to join me in Kaer Morhen."

Jaskier squints at him, disbelieving or confused, he's not sure, but the look is piercing and Geralt feels transparent under it, like Jaskier can tell every thought in his head. But he knows how that feels and this is not it. Jaskier is making assumptions if anything. Not that that thought is any less horrifying under the circumstances.

"So let me get this straight," Jaskier says, calmly, cooly. Too calm. "You once rescued me from the den of an incubus you thought would kill me if he tried to fuck me. Again, I might add. If you recall you walked in in the middle of it. You stopped me from leaving the bar with a vampiress one time because, and I quote, you don't need any help losing blood, and one time you intentionally gave me space to continue a quite lovely conversation with a, particularly amenable centaur. But you thought horns were a bit too much for me? Is that what I'm to understand Geralt?"

He doesn't know what to say to that. It's not just the horns, he supposes. But he doesn't need to give Jaskier another reason not to travel with him. Melitele knows there are enough of those already.

"Am I to believe that you're daft enough to believe that after fifteen years of traipsing over the continent with you, of writing you songs and cooking you supper and tending to your wounds- that horns would be the final straw? Geralt if you haven't noticed I've fucked dozens of people who are, to put it indelicately, much less human than you."

Geralt isn't sure how Jaskier's sex life is relevant, but he says nothing.

"I actually like them," Jaskier says, eyeing the hood. "Could I... look at them?"

Reluctantly, Geralt reaches up and pushes the hood back. The air feels cool on his head and he feels incredibly exposed letting Jaskier see him like this, but he shuts his eyes and ducks his head as Jaskier takes a step toward him.

"Can I touch?"

The air is punched from Geralt's lungs with that one simple question and he nods slowly, tucking his chin a little closer into his chest. Jaskier brushes his fingers along the curve of the left horn and the only way Geralt knows he's touching him is the way he hums with intrigue, similar to the way he hums at his lute when it's newly strung. He takes his time, reaching right down to the base and touching the more sensitive skin there. It doesn't hurt, but it ignites Geralt's instinct to protect himself, makes him feel like he should pull away, hide this from Jaskier again.

When Jaskier touches his head, he does. He's not sure what it is about the touch, maybe that he can fully feel it, but it snaps his restraint and he pulls back, breathless.

"Sorry," Jaskier whispers, "did it hurt?"

"No," Geralt admits, "just... unusual. No one's ever touched them before. Maybe Eskel when he helped me file them down the first few times."

"Why don't we," Jakier suggests, "come sit on the bed, take your cloak and your boots off. I'd like to get a better look at them. if that's okay?"

Geralt nods and Jaskier's hands are on him before he removes his cloak himself. He undoes the clasp with no effort, draping the cloak over his arm before directing Geralt to the bed. This is... not at all how he expected this to go down, but at least Jaskier hasn't turned him away yet. He toes off his boots and sits back on the mattress, leaning against the wall with his feet at the edge.

In a moment, Jaskier climbs up over him, making himself perfectly at home in Geralt's lap.

"There," he says proudly, "it's much easier to see like this and you won't' end up with a crick in your neck." Geralt remains silent, worried that he doesn't know the situation well enough to comment.

Jaskier's hands slip into his hair again, fingers looping around the base of both horns and he feels the faint tug and Jaskier slips up, following the curve of them with his hands.

"Do you brothers have them?" he asks. Geralt shakes his head.

"Second trials" he explains. "Lost the pigment in my hair and grew fucking horns."

"I like them."

Jaskier continues his ministrations, apparently happy to just sit and touch and nothing else. And Geralt relaxes under the touch, even if he can barely feel it. Jaskier isn't angry with him, doesn't hate him, and for now, that can be enough, But the air between them grows thick. He doesn't notice it right away, too preoccupied with Jaskier touching his horns, but the scent is what alerts him. Spicy, earthy, floral.

It's nice, he thinks absently, familiar and enticing. But he doesn't think too much about it. Not until Jaskier's little hums become softer, sweeter. The realization hits him so abruptly he nearly snaps his head back up, but he doesn't want to give Jaskier any more reason to leave him, although, maybe that's not as much of a problem as he thought.

"Are you... aroused by this?"

Jaskier huffs a little laugh, awkward, but not uncomfortable. "I just think they're sexy."

"Oh."

"Why, does it turn you on?"

"No," Geralt snorts, "I can barely feel it. If I could filing them down would be excruciating."

"Right," Jaskier realizes and Geralt can sense the thinly veiled horror in his voice."Anything else I should know about?"

Somewhat reluctantly, Geralt opens his mouth and pulls his lip back. He'd be horrified at the way Jaskier gasps if he couldn't smell the arousal wafting off of him.

"Fuck, Geralt, that's-" he reaches out, pressing the pad of his thumb to the point of Geralt's fang and smiles. It's a faint sort of thing, more amusing than outright joy, but he's fascinated and right now that's good enough.

Jaskier's finger slips along his bottom teeth, but Geralt shifts under him, dislodging him, and Jaskier's fingers brush his bottom lip before slipping forward, sliding between his lips and pressing against his tongue. Geralt's skin prickles just at the thought of it and when he looks up at Jaskier, he finds him wide-eyed and intrigued.

Their eyes meet and Jaskier holds his gaze. Then, cautiously, withdraws his fingers and runs them along the swell of Geralt's bottom lip, eyes dropping to watch the way they press against it.

"Geralt?" he whispers and Geralt realizes he's been so focused on Jaskier's fingers that he hasn't been paying attention to anything else. He's surprised to find he's got his hands settled on Jaskier's hips. His eyes flick down to his hands, then quickly back up to Jaskier's. The moment they meet again, his willpower snaps and he hauls Jaskier forward, one hand slipping to the back of his head to guide him.

The moment their lips collide, Geralt realizes this was inevitable. That one day Jaskier was bound to find out and want to know about them. His reaction though, Geralt never could have anticipated.

Geralt is... kissing him. It takes a second for his brain to catch up with what his body has already realized and he breaks the kiss with a jolt.

"You're not mad at me," he pants and Geralt just stares at him for a moment.

"No, I told you, I was afraid-"

"That I'd leave you." Jaskier finishes. Geralt nods. "I'd never leave you." He leans in again, trying for a softer, gentler kiss, but the way Geralt's hands press against him sends sparks across his skin.

Jaskier leans into it, parting his lips to deepen the kiss and Geralt's hand slips to his waist, one big, warm hand curling around his side. He pushes into the touch. It's not often he feels small or delicate with a lover, but Geralt does that for him and it's hotter than it has any right to be.

He parts his lips, deepening the kiss and Geralt moans softly against him. It's the most beautiful sound Jaskier has ever heard and he responds in kind, desperate to hear that sound again.

When they part again, Jaskier's breathing heavily and, much to his delight, so is Geralt. He leans back a little, far enough to look at Geralt's face, but not far enough to keep from touching him. He takes in the golden eyes staring back at him, the point of his teeth where Geralt's lips are parted, and the horns. Fuck, Geralt must be an idiot to think he wouldn't want him like this.

"Can I touch you- the rest of you?" he asks and Geralt grunts a yes, surging forward to hold him again.

Geralt gets both arms around him this time, lifting him off the mattress and rising to his knees. He shifts them so he's facing the head of the bed and as he settles, gently lays Jaskier back against the mattress. His head hits the pillow and Geralt settles between his thighs, slipping his hands over Jaskier's hips.

Jaskier reaches up to him, running his hands over Geralt's shoulders, down his arms. He follows the lines of his chest through his shirt, straight down to his trousers where he tugs the fabric free. His fingers slip beneath it and he sighs at the warmth of Geralt's skin on his fingertips. Geralt shudders against him and it gives Jaskier the encouragement he needs. Carefully, he curls his hands around the hem of Geralt's shirt, lifting it up and tugging it over his head.

He inhales sharply and Geralt pulls back just slightly. Jaskier is quick to explain his misunderstanding, slipping his hands around the back of Geralt's neck and sliding them down his shoulders.

"You're beautiful," he whispers.

"You've seen me naked a dozen times this week, Jaskier."

"Not like this."

And it's true. He's seen Geralt naked more times than he can count and he knows Geralt is sexy, knows the lines of his chest better than he should for never having seen them up close, but he's never seen him like this. Geralt is soft like this, so close, and Jaskier is allowed to touch him, Jaskier is allowed to look.

He brushes his fingertips over his nipples. Geralt gives a little gasp and his eyelids flutter.

"Wouldn't think it makes a difference," Geralt mumbles and Jaskier realizes he thinks he's talking about the horns.

"Oh it does, my darling, but I mean like this," he says, pulling Geralt lower over him. "Where I'm allowed to touch you."

"You're always allowed," Geralt mumbles, chin dripping to inadvertently give Jsskier a better look at his horns. He reaches out, slipping his fingers down to the point again. "I just... can't help the way I react when I'm too close to you."

"What do you mean?"

"You make me want things I shouldn't, make me think about things I can't have-"

"Bullshit. What shouldn't you have? What can't you have?"

Geralt lifts his head to look at him, meeting his eyes for a moment and then, "you," he says sadly. Jaskier doesn't give a chance to respond before Geralt continues, evidently relieved to get this off his chest. "You spread your affection so wide, in every town and village and I- it's different with me. You're soft and kind, but how could you want... you have your choice of any person on the continent, how could I-'' he cuts himself off with a sound that Jaskier would call a sob from anyone else.

"What are you saying, Geralt? You don't think I could want you? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"

Geralt just snorts at him and moves to pull away, but Jaskier rolls him onto his back and straddles his hips.

"Do you know how wonderful you are?" He pushes his hands through Geralt's chest hair, pressing his fingertips into his skin. "How could I not want you? Do you see me following anyone else around?"

"You're always with someone, always inviting someone else into your bed-"

"Because you wouldn't have me. Or, I thought-" He shifts a little, and suddenly Geralt's hands are sliding up his back, pressing him down against him.

"You thought wrong," he breathes, and then he's kissing him again, soft and slow. One hand slips up into his hair and Jaskier sighs against his lips, letting his eyes fall shut.

He slumps against Geralt's chest, pressing his hands to either side of Geralt's face and he kisses him softly. He pours all of his affection into ever, every feeling he's never been able to share with Geralt, every little thought that he's thought would be too much for him. He rocks against him, pressing their bodies together. He wants to feel Geralt, to be as close as he can for whatever time he has with him.

But then Geralt is pressing back, arching off the bed and wrapping one arm tightly around Jsskier's back until they're so close Jaskier can barely move. He nips at Geralt's lips, pushing back the words that bubble to the surface, the words he wants so desperately to say. He's been holding back for years and maybe now he's allowed? Maybe now Geralt would be amenable - her certainly seems to be so far.

And Jaskier is so caught up in the thought, in the idea of being able to tell Geralt how he feels, that he doesn't realize he's being rolled over until he's on his back and Geralt isn't touching him anymore. He rises to his knees, breaking the kiss only to mouth at Jsskier's jaw and down the side of his neck.

Geralt nips at his collarbone, runs his tongue along the ridge of it and sucks at the skin just below. There will be marks in the morning, Jaskier is sure of it, and he's already itching to look at them. But Geralt doesn't give him much of a chance to think about it before he's nuzzling at Jaskier's neck again, the tips of his fangs just barely brushing against his skin. And Jaskier shudders. The motion goes through his whole body and a soft whine escapes his lips. How the fuck Geralt ever thought seeing him like this would be a bad thing is beyond him.

"Jaskier," he whispers, "I want you. Can I?"

"Anything," Jaskier gasps, "please Geralt, anything."

Geralt hums against him and meets his eyes for just a second before lowering them again to Jaskier's chest. He presses soft kisses into the skin, slipping down to nuzzle into his chest hair and Jsskier is preoccupied with the warmth of his breath and then Geralt's fingers brush over a nipple and he cries out, arching off the bed as Geralt pinches it between his fingertips. It's still gentle, still softer than he's used to, but it's Geralt.

It's Geralt touching his chest and kissing his neck and playing with his nipples. It's Geralt kneeling over him and Geralt breathing against his skin and it's... a lot. Automatically, Jaskier reaches out to him, pulling Geralt close so he can bury his face in his neck.

Geralt works a hand between them, slipping down to fumble with the clasps on Jaskier's trousers and then he's pulling away just enough to be able to undo the clasps. Jaskier groans as his trousers are shoved away, discarded off the side of the bed, but then Geralt is fumbling with the buttons on his own and a wave of heat engulfs him.

This is really happening.

In his 33 years, Jaskier has slept with kings and queens, counts and countesses, and he's never wanted someone so badly as he wants Geralt. It makes him a little anxious and he has to swallow back his self-doubt as Geralt shifts out of his clothes and settles on his knees between Jaskier's thighs.

Without breaking the kiss, he slips his arms under Jaskier's knees, pressing them back against him until he's leaning over him again. Geralt deepens the kiss, pressing down on him and Jaskier groans despite himself. Geralt's cock brushes against his hip and he's hard. It tugs at something deep inside him and Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt's neck, fingers pushing into his hair.

He shifts against the mattress and Geralt pulls his arms back. His mouth doesn't leave Jaskier's, even as he reaches for something off the side of the bed. When he settles again, he's got a bottle in his hand and Jaskier whimpers at the thought of it.

Geralt draws away, breaking the kiss with a hum and kissing down Jaskier's chest. He doesn't hesitate to wrap his mouth around the head of his cock and then he's bobbing gently, sliding halfway down his cock and slipping back to the head. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and he focuses on the feel of him, the warmth of his mouth, the softness of his hair in his hands.

When one of Geralt's hands presses against him, he hums encouragingly but doesn't move otherwise, afraid of breaking whatever spell he's under. He doesn't want to risk ending this, doesn't want to risk almost losing Geralt again.

Geralt slips a finger into him and Jaskier reaches up, smoothing his hands up the curve of Geralt's horns. He tries to keep steady, to keep from getting too worked up, but it's hard. Because this is Geralt, this is something he's wanted for years - what if it goes badly? What if it's terrible and Geralt no longer wants him?

A second finger presses into him and Jaskier gasps, startled from his thoughts. Geralt's eyes meet his and he looks worried, questioning.

"Is this too much?" he asks, "we don't have to-"

"No. No, I want you, I want this. Please." Jaskier's fingers slip to the base of his horns, brushing almost nervously where the flesh meets horn. "I just want to be good enough for you."

"You are," Geralt says immediately, "more than enough."

Their lips met again and Geralt's fingers press in a little more firmly. Heat rolls up Jaskier's spine, but he's not aching for it, he's not desperate to come. His cock is hard against his hip, but he wants to be close to Geralt. He wants his arms around him, wants to wrap his legs around Geralt's waist and just press himself against him. He wants the press of skin on skin, unhindered by clothes or blankets of any number of things that have kept them apart in the past.

He just wants Geralt and it doesn't matter how.

When Geralt finally pushes into him, Jaskier groans at the stretch. It's good, so good, and Geralt presses down against him again. Jaskier takes the opportunity to wrap around him and they move together easily, as though they were built for each other. Geralt kisses and nips and Jaskier loves so deeply he can't cope.

He hates the tears that bead in the corners of his eyes, hates the emotion that threatens to tear him apart and he buried his head in Geralt's neck to distract himself. Before he can get his arms around him properly, Geralt pulls back. As soon as he sees his face, Geralt's features pinch together.

"Jaskier-"

"Fuck," Jaskier whines weakly, "Geralt."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Jaskier whimpers. He reaches up to Geralt, wanting to pull him close again. He doesn't want Geralt to see him, doesn't want him thinking he's too much, too emotional.

Geralt guides him back against the mattress and detangles their arms, leaning up on one elbow. Jaskier is embarrassed. He's a renowned lover, known for giving his partners the greatest pleasure and in the face of Geralt and one tiny bit of genuine affection, he breaks down.

He crosses his arms over his face but Geralt just wraps gentle fingers around his wrists and pulls them back.

"Hey," he whispers and there's worry in his voice that only makes Jaskier shudder. He chokes on a sob and turns his face, pressing his forehead against Geralrt's wrist.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, but Geralt just brushes his thumb over his forehead.

"For what?"

"I'm... " he doesn't know what to say. A mess? too much? not good enough for you? "okay."

"Jask, you're crying. Is it me?"

"No," he blurts, "no, Geralt, I-" a gentle thumb presses beneath his eye, wiping a tear away and that only makes it worse. "I love you," he whispers, so quiet he's sure no one will hear it. But Geralt, aside from his horns and his fangs, has sensitive hearing.

"And that's... bad." He says. It's not a question.

"No. No, but I- I fucked up. I almost lost you-"

"Jaskier," Geralt says softly, "you didn't. I was afraid you'd hate me like this, that you'd see me as the monster everyone else does. I was angry because I thought I was going to lose you."

"I know I'm a lot to put up with-"

"You're not."

Jaskier huffs a wet laugh. "I talk too much and I get in trouble you have to get me out of and I'm too slow and too annoying and too-" Geralt quiets him with a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.

"Once," he says, "at a tavern in Posada, I would have believed those things. I don't anymore." He brushes his fingers down Jaskier's side, settling his palm against his hip. "If I really thought you were too much, I wouldn't be here now." He dips down, kissing him on the mouth again.

Jaskier can't help but sink into it and when Geralt shifts back on top of him, Jaskier winds around his neck again. Geralt breaks the kiss, kissing Jaskier's jaw and down his neck.

"We can stop if you want?"

"No," Jaskier mumbles.

"What do you need?"

"Just... you."

"Yeah," Geralt breathes, "yeah, okay."

He shifts his hips, resuming his slow but steady rhythm and Jaskier clings to him. He can't believe he came so close to losing Geralt tonight, to losing him and losing this forever. A swell of emotion threatens to rise up again and overwhelm him, but he kisses Geralt, holds him tight and focuses on the weight of his body against his own.

His fingers trail absently around the base of a horn, bumping over the uneven skin there. The horns themselves are smoother than expected, probably because they're so fresh, but he likes the sensation of them under his fingers and Geralt seems pleased about it.

Sparks skitter across Jaskier's skin as Geralt's pace quickens and he gaps against his mouth as Geralt rocks into his prostate. Even when Geralt's lips aren't on him, they hover above his skin, hot breath creating goosebumps in its wake. And when he kisses him, it seems a tremor audit through Jaskier's body, making his heart beat quicker and his toes curl in the sheets. He's never felt this way with anyone, never found himself chasing closeness before an orgasm, but he likes it.

He likes the sleekness of Geralt's horn under his palm, the tickle of his hair as it brushes his bare skin, the tackiness is dying away on Geralt's skin. All of it. He draws him close again, just as Geralt's hips give a little snap and it knocks the breath out of him.

"Can I touch you?" Geralt asks and Jaskier knows he won't last long with Geralt's hand on him, but for once that doesn't seem important.

"Please," he whispers and Geralt's palm slips up the underside of his cock, making him shudder.

"Good?" he asks and Jaskier just nods, a small sound escaping his lips as he rocks his hips into the touch.

Geralt's fingers wrap around him and it's like a wave of heat washing over him. Jaskier's entire body burns for him, arches off the bed to get closer to him. Geralt takes him apart so easily and it's only a matter of minutes before he's gasping for it, groaning his need into Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt rocks into him, stroking him in time with his thrusts and when he kisses him again, Jaskier shatters. He groans against Geralt's lips, rocking back onto him as he spills between them. His thighs shake and his arms feel like noodles around Geralt's neck, but he holds him closer anyway.

He's still breathless when Geralt's hips snap forward again and Jaskier can tell he's close in the way he shudders as he rocks into him. He tangles his fingers in Geralt's hair, kisses him hard. He wants this to be good, wants Geralt to know that he's safe here, he can be happy here.

When Geralt comes, it's with a quiet moan against Jaskier's chest and he stays there for a moment, breathing against his skin. When he pulls away, he wraps his arms around Jaskier's shoulder, pulling him onto his side so they're still facing each other. Neither speaks and Geralt kisses him again, slow and gentle. His hand comes up to cup the back of his head, and Jaskier hums softly against his lips.

They part again on a shaky breath and Jaskier bumps his forehead against Geralt's. He doesn't want to ask him to stay, he's still too afraid to hear him say no. But he doesn't want Geralt to go. It's already hard enough losing him over the winter, he can't bear the thought of being parted any longer than that. He shuts his eyes and presses close, pacified by the way Geralt's arm tightens around him.

"Next winter," Geralt mumbles, abrupt, "come with me. There's nothing left for me to hide and I... miss you over the winter. I worry about you." Jaskier's heart soars, despite his best efforts to keep his emotions restrained.

"You'd want me there?" he asks, "with your brothers?"

"Yeah. And they've been bugging me about it since I first mentioned you."

"You talk about me?" Jaskier asks, pulling back to look at him. Geralt tips his head up, golden eyes shining even in the dim light.

"Of course. You're-" he pauses as though unsure of what exactly Jaskier is. "I love you, too," he whispers at last, eyes lowered.

It feels like a dream, like any moment Jaskier will wake up and be back hiding behind that building or worse - alone in his room. But when he kisses him, Geralt is warm and solid against him and Jaskier buries himself in that warmth.

He will never, could never, understand how anyone can see this man as a monster.

[micahscowgirl]

Bite Me ~ Chapter 6

Micah Bell x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (finally), cussing, biting kink (w/blood)

Word Count: 2550

Wow. This just happened.

Chapter 6

“What’s taking you so damn long?” 

“Quit yappin’,” you sternly bite back at Micah through the curtain. “I’m not even done trying everything on”

Micah has brought you to the tailor shop in Valentine to pick out some new clothes. You have a small pile of garments sitting on the bench and floor next to you. You wouldn’t admit to Micah, but you have already tried everything on, but are debating between a few options. 

After trying on a very different combinations of tops and pants, you finally settled on a grey, long-sleeved button up, a leather jacket, and black riding pants. You pull the curtain back and do a quick little model for Micah, fully aware of the flattering fit of the pants. 

“So, what do you think?”

“My, my,” He starts, “who’re you trying to impress, doll?” 

You shoot him a quick glance before returning to collect the clothes you didn’t want. “A lady’s got to make herself presentable, don’t you agree?”

When you turn your head towards him again, you notice him biting his bottom lip while admiring you. His hat was tilted in front of his eyes, so he didn’t realize you caught him. The sight gave you butterflies and you felt yourself throb slightly. You quickly push any thoughts that might have been making their way into your head away.

“So, uh, what do you normally do whenever the camp moves without you?” you try to make conversation.

“Well, it’s definitely not as simple as asking around. Hey Mister!” He begins to mock towards an imaginary man. “Can I bother you with a question? You see, I’ve lost my crew, most of whom have a huge criminal bounty, you wouldn’t happen to know where they headed off to, do ya now?”

This puts a grin on your face, “Well, well, Mister Bell, I never would’ve pegged you for the comedic type.”

He smiles, “Well, doll, I don’t show that side to many people.” When he makes eye contact with you, he turns away and clears his throat, “Ahem, anyway we should, uh, probably be off now.”

He pays the shopkeeper for your clothes, and walks out of the shop, leaving you to finish folding the clothes. You know you should be upset, but you’re not. You can’t help but feel sorry for him. 

I wonder why he conceals himself so much. And what makes me different from everyone else?

~~~~~~

Micah had tracked the wagon trail tp the train tracks before turning towards town that morning, so that’s where you returned to. It was a silent ride, so all you had were your thoughts. No matter how many times you tried not to, you couldn’t stop thinking of the way he looked at you in the shop. What was he thinking about? Was he simply admiring you? Or was he imagining all the things he would do to you, given the chance? 

“You ain’t falling asleep back there, are you?” He startles you out of your thoughts. Without realizing it, you had slowly started to lean onto his back, like you had slept the night before.

“Oh, uh, sorry. I was just, uh, lost in thought.” you stutter, trying to not make anything obvious.

“Oh? What were you thinking about, doll?”

Oh my God, does he know? He couldn’t know, right? Or--

“Micah? Is that you?” someone calls from up ahead. 

“Yeah, me and Y/N.”

Bill steps from behind a tree, “Camp’s right up ahead.” he says to Micah. As y’all pass him, he nods to you. “Glad you made it back safe.” After some distance is made, Micah scoffs.

“Figures.” He says.

“What?”

“They’re only glad you made it back.”

Without knowing what to say, the trot towards the camp is a silent one.

Once you arrive at camp, you begin to notice the same reaction from everyone.

“Y/N, you made it!” Arthur walks up to the horse. Micah hops off, and knowing you’re still sore from the night before turns to help you, but not before Arthur beats him to it. “Dutch was so worried about you after he sent you off to Strawberry.” You accept his help and Micah turns and walks away stubbornly off into the trees.

“I ran into some trouble up that way, thankfully Micah was there to save me,” you say, giving him the credit. Even so, it was brushed away.

“Let’s get you something to eat.” Mary-Beth chimes in, taking you by the arm and pulling you away. “Charles and Hosea said they’d hitch your tent if you made it back today.” You turn your head and get one more glimpse of Micah before he is erased by the trees. I wouldn’t be back if it wasn’t for him.

~~~~~~

The afternoon is full of celebration led by Dutch. You can’t help but feel that this is his way of hiding that he did choose to move without waiting for you or sending anyone to find you. If it wasn’t for Micah, you’d be dead or even worse. “You’re going to be my little whore.” The voice of the O'Driscol echoes in your head. 

Even though your sitting in front of a warm fire and everyone is singing and laughing, you can’t help but feel cold and sad. Micah hasn’t come back since he walked off earlier. He’s the one who saved your life and no one batted an eye for it. 

When no one is paying attention, you stand and sneak your way to behind the tents. You make your way over to the horses and Baylock is still there. For the first time all night, you felt a small smile sneak it’s way onto your face. Micah must still be here somewhere.

“Y/N,” you jump and turn to see Arthur walking towards you. “What are you doing over here? You missing all the fun!” Arthur isn’t a heavy drinker, but you can tell he’s a little more than tipsy. 

“I just needed a moment from the crowd.” You say, trying to hint at him to leave. With no prevail, you continue. “I was just going to take a small walk by myself.”

“Well, I can keep you comp’ny!” he slurs. 

Dammit, Arthur.

You have an idea. “You know, Arthur, I think Mary-Beth has quite the thing for you.” He looks intrigued. “And, coming from a women’s perspective, a nice cool night like this is quite the romantic setting. I think you could make a pretty good move tonight.” You wink. 

“You really think so?” he ponders the idea. “If you think I have a chance, maybe I’ll go for it!”

You gentle grab his arm and turn him to face the camp. “Go get’em, cowboy.” 

You sigh as he makes his way back to the camp, now to find Micah.

~~~~~~

You had made your way into the trees. Thankfully, the moon was bright tonight and you could see under the shade of the trees. Finding him shouldn’t be a problem. Your confidence grew thin the longer you looked, though. You were about to give up when you saw a small wisp of smoke glow from behind a tree. The pine needles beneath your feet made it hard for him to hear you, so you speak softly as to not startle him.

“Micah, is that you?” 

“Yeah, it’s me.”

You approach the tree he is leaning on and turn to face him. He is sitting on the ground and his head is tilted so you can’t see his eyes. You want nothing more than to see them and get lost in their deep blue color.

“What’re you doing way out here?” You know the answer, but you needed something to say.

“Same thing I always do, sweetheart. Avoiding those who despise me, which unfortunately seems to be everyone at the moment.”

After a small pause, you say, “I don’t despise you.”

He takes a long draw from his cigarette before he looks up. “And why is that? What do you see in me? ‘Cause there ain’t nothing here worth giving two shits about.”

You can’t think of anything to say that won’t set him off. You can tell he’s right on the edge of snapping.

He sighs, “That’s what I thought, there ain’t--” He stops when he sees you walking towards him.

You move so your standing over him, one foot on either side of his legs. He flicks away his cigarette and slowly runs his hands softly up your legs. Once he reached your thighs, you lower yourself to straddle him. Your heart is pounding, but you don’t want to let him see how nervous you really are. 

One of his hands stops on your hip, while the other one continues. He runs his fingers up your arm, following them with his eyes. They brush over your shoulder, onto your neck, and down your jaw. He finally makes eye-contact with you making you shiver. 

“Now what do you think you’re up to, doll.” 

You don’t respond with words. Instead, you place your hands on his chest, grab the fabric of his shirt, and lean in to kiss him. You pull away, stopping only a few inches back, just so you can look into his eyes. 

He moves one hand around your waist and the other gets lost in your hair as he pulls you in to a much deeper kiss. As his tongue enters you mouth, you begin to feel yourself throb. You’ve been hoping for this for so long and it’s finally happening. Your heart beats faster as you begin to grind against him slowly but rough.

He pulls himself away from the kiss. “Are you sure you want this? With me?”

You reach down to start undoing the buttons on your shirt. “I want this. I want you, Micah.”

You pull off your shirt and your battered undershirt, revealing your breasts. He glances at you approval before he grabs them. He leans back in to kiss you. As he moves his hands to hold your waist again, he grazes your nipple, causing you to moan into the kiss. That must’ve been what did it for him because he grabs tightly onto your hips. 

“If you want me, your gonna need to loose these,” He runs his fingers down your pants. Before you can respond, his thumb has reached down the the seam right in-between your legs. You didn’t realize how wet you had became until he started to apply pressure. You let out a small moan again. You were so sensitive from anticipation for the moment, you could hardly stand it.

He begins to rub more as he leans in to start sucking on your neck. It’s becoming too much for you; you want him so bad. You reach down, moving your hand past his to grab onto his bulge through his pants. When you do this, he bites down onto the spot he had just made on your neck, causing you to whimper. All at once, he removes his mouth from your neck and his hand from your pants. You let out a sigh, missing the sensation. 

He starts to undo his belt. Taking that as a sign, you stand to remove your pants and panties. Wasting no time, you straddle him again. 

“This is your last chance, doll, you sure you want this. I can’t promise I’ll be gentle.”

“Yes, Micah, please. I’ve been wanting this for so long.”

He smiles as he moves his hand back down, starting to run small circles or your clit. “Trust me, princess, I’ve been wanting this too.”

You lean in to kiss him again, trying to silence your moans. He slowly begins to move two fingers to enter you. You can’t hold back the whimpers escaping your throat; you crave him so much.

He continues to rub your clit with his thumb as the two fingers curl inside of you.

“P-please, Micah, I can’t take it. I want you.”

As much as he was trying to hold back as long as he could, your begs pushed him over once again. He reaches into his pants and pulls out his dick. 

“Look at me,” He says. You do as you’re told. You bite your lip as he rubs his member over your clit and entrance, wetting himself with your slick. All at once, he shoves himself into you, causing you to let out a loud moan. He reaches up and covers your mouth.

“Shhh. You don’t want the whole camp coming over here and interrupting us, do you, doll?” He hisses. You shake your head, his hand holding back muffled whimpers as you get use to his size. Once you’re quiet, he moves his hand away. “Good girl.” 

He grabs onto your hips tightly, his thumbs digging into them hard. He lifts you and slams you back onto him. Another moan tries to escape you. “I’m not going to continue until I know you can be quiet, babe.” he teases. You pout your lips at him. He smiles and tilts his head, exposing his neck from underneath his hair. You look at his neck then back at him. He grins.

“Bite me.” he says in a deep tone that you can feel in your chest, causing you to shiver and tighten on his cock that’s deep inside you. “Well?” he smirks.

You put your arms on his shoulders and place your lips on his neck. You can’t imagine actually biting him, that would hurt too much, right?

He starts to slowly lift you and thrust into you. You wants to moan so badly, but you know he’ll only stop again. You keep your lips shut tightly, keeping them pressed up against him.

He begins to thrust harder, grinding your clit against him every time. It’s too much and you open your mouth to moan, but instead bite down onto his neck. You hear him snarl and feel a growl in his throat. He speeds up, lifting you high enough each time to take in his whole shaft. He pounds into you, you feel your clit start to throb more and more and your insides tighten. 

You start to taste the metallic flavor of blood right as you tip over the edge. You can’t help it, you pull away from him to arch your back and ride through your climax. The feeling keeps getting better and better. You sense he’s lifting you lower as his arms grow tired. You begin to lift yourself, riding him until he’s finished. You feel his cock grow stiffer and begin to throb as he’s about to come.

He reaches up and grabs your hair, pulling you forward into a sloppy kiss. He reaches down and grabs your hips a final time to slam into you as hard as he can. He let’s out a deep moan through gritted teeth and he finishes, filling you up. This causes you to let out one final moan before you fall onto his chest.

“God-dammit, Y/N.” He pushes you up so he can look at you. “What the hell got into you?” 

You smile, too exhausted for words. You lean forward and lick the small drops of blood from his neck.

“You wouldn’t happen to have enough space in that tent of yours for one more, would you?” he says. He leans forward to leave a small trail of kisses up your neck and across you jaw.

“Hmm, I think I can make some room.”

[ffangirlingsince2001]

Silence

theichabbieclub asked:

Geralt x Reader. Reader is hyper and talkative. One day Geralt has a bad day and takes it out on reader. He tells them that he wish they would be silent. They listen to him and stop talking n become shy. They don't say when they're hurt (emotional/physical). Reader ends up having a major anxiety attack. Geralt feels really guity. He tries to calm them down. They end up passing out in his arms. Their pulse is fast and their skin is clammy. He makes sure they don't fall and puts them to bed. Thx❤️

A/N Thank you for this request it was fun to write, though if I got anything medically wrong please let me know

Geralt x Reader

Warnings: violence, language, self-hatred, panic attack, angst

“Geralt look, wildflowers,” you gasped leaping off your horse and running towards the field. You couldn’t believe it was finally spring, after months of cold rides and attempting to pull your cloak around you a little tighter. The day had gotten off to a rough start, you and Geralt had been thrown out of your inn after someone reported feeling uncomfortable with a Witcher hanging around. Geralt had been a silent rage all morning, but you were just glad the world was warming up.

While you picked flowers, you missed the dark look and thinly veiled curses he was sending your way. You wrapped daisies around your wrists and wove lavender in your braids, reveling in the sun painting freckles on your skin once more. You flopped back, arms spread out wide and considered flattening angels in the grass but settled for sighing with delight. You would have laid there forever had Geralt not been waiting for you.

“Isn’t it gorgeous,” you sighed. “I mean springtime, and flowers, and sunshine. I was so sick of the cold but now I could just stay outside forever. I mean do we really need an inn, who cares what they think, right? I mean I don’t even like inns that much, I think we should stay out more often. Don’t you? Oh god, speaking of that-,”

“Do you ever shut up Y/N?” Geralt snarled. You closed your mouth slowly and stared at him. He had already turned away, Roach kicking up dust as he went. You could feel tears welling up in your eyes and the flowers you had picked wilting against your skin. Slowly you dropped them to the dirt rode and climbed onto your horse, sniffing softly.

The road was quiet after that, though there was so much you wanted to talk about. It had been years since anyone had asked you that question, you thought he didn’t mind. You knew he was quiet, but did he really hate it? A tear slipped from your eye when the prospect crossed your mind. He hated you. How long? How long had he wanted to get rid of you? How long had you annoyed him? You’d been hunting together for five years? How much of that had been thinly veiled attempts to get rid of you?

The thought of leaving crossed your mind, but you couldn’t bare it. You knew he hated you now, but you didn’t hate him, far from it. You had been dreaming about him for half of those years, dreaming of him staring at you fondly and kissing you softly. You couldn’t leave, no matter how much he wanted you gone. So, change was in order. Silent change.

You could do it, you could do anything if it made him happy.

So, you did.

Geralt didn’t notice at first. He knew he had hurt your feelings but you were never one to stay quiet for long, it’s why he kept you around. He loved the way your eyes widened at the sight of anything that you thought was remotely pretty, from wildflowers to the way ale glittered beneath rays of sun. And the way you described it so he couldn’t help but love it too. Yet, he had told you to shut up when you were doing just that, and now he couldn’t get you to talk.

“Did you notice the… pastries?” he attempted awkwardly, and you glanced at him over your roll before taking a silent bite. “They smelled good.” You hummed nonchalantly, cursing yourself as you did so. He was trying to cover up his dislike by mocking you, not exactly the most subtle way to tell you to go away, but you understood.

“I’m going to bed,” you declared as you stood, leaving a large portion of your dinner behind. You didn’t turn to witness the frown that had etched itself across his face, worried you would find a silent chant of victory instead.

The stairs were a heavy climb, his hatred weighing on your shoulders. Tears were harder to keep in these days, so as you wiped the heavy stream of saltwater you didn’t notice the three men who had gathered outside your door.

“You’re his whore, right?” one of them called, pulling your attention to the knives sheathed in their belt and the stench of liquor that hung in the air. You shook your head, trying to push past them but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you away from the safety of your room. “You travel with him, what else are you good for?” You silently shrugged and reached for your blade, panic bubbling inside of you when you realized you had left it at the table. A solid fist connected with your side and you gasped in pain. It didn’t take long before you were on the ground, hands over your face as you struggled to avoid their drunken kicks. Your body ached and you longed to call out, but fear kept you silent. He would think you were weak, and then he was sure to leave you behind. A Witcher had no use for a weak, annoying girl. So, you endured their abuse until they got bored and wandered away. You could only thank the gods that they had not chosen to take other liberties. Whispering “whore” was different than treating you like one, although you weren’t entirely sure you didn’t deserve it.

Your muscles screamed as you dragged yourself to your room and fumbled with the doorknob before falling in. You considered staying there to bleed out, or at least pass out from exhaustion, but Geralt didn’t deserve to have to clean up your mess.

You made it to the bathroom and surveyed the damage. Not too much to your face which was good, but your stomach was a different story. At least on rib had suffered breakage and the normally pale skin was black and blue. One had taken a knife to your thigh, it was lucky they had only gotten one good hit in before the leader had chastised him. It was nothing a few stitches couldn’t solve, and the rest could be hidden by clothing. All except the busted lip you were currently trying to make up a story for, maybe falling into the bedpost? The real trick would be moving without a limp, but you could manage, you had managed a lot worse.

By the time the stitches were sewn, and you had wiped off the blood, covering everything else with a long sleeve you reserved for winter, the sun had long since set. Geralt was laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. When you stepped out he glanced at you, and then he was out of the bed storming towards you. You backed away terrified. Had you missed something? Did the men brag to the bar about the little girl they had taught a lesson? But instead of yelling his hands caught your face and examined your lip with a rough thumb.

“What happened?”

“I tripped,” you muttered.

“Fuck you did.”

“Would you just trust me?” you snapped, ducking beneath his arm and climbing into bed, waiting with bated breath to see if he noticed the slight stiffness to your walk. He hadn’t, and only stared at you, confusion written all over his face.

It was hard to fall asleep that night your whole body was throbbing and the soft snores that you normally fell asleep to never came. You could feel his golden eyes trained on your, waiting for you to admit you weren’t sleeping and tell him what was going on.

“Y/N,” he whispered but you didn’t move. You couldn’t let him know you were weak, and anyway once you started you wouldn’t be able to stop. The weeks of silence would finally boil over and he’d be annoyed all over again. It was best to just remain silent.

And that’s how it went, a sleepless night for the both of you, and by god were you exhausted. Between the mental beating of staying silent and the physical one that had happened the night previous it was a wonder you were able to eat your breakfast and climb onto your horse. He had offered you stay the dead and relax, but that wasn’t him. You knew he was just doing it for you, and so you insisted that you didn’t have time for such frivolities. His worry was engulfing now, wrapping around you, thick and suffocating.

He was going to find out, he probably already had.

Oh god he knew.

That’s why he suggested staying in town. You would take a nap and then he would slip out, abandoning you in this little town.

You had failed.

You hadn’t done anything but make it worse.

“Y/N,” he shouted, interrupting your thoughts and suddenly you couldn’t breathe. Your breaths were short and quick as you gasped for air, clawing at your chest and then you were tumbling off your horse. “What’s wrong? Y/N what’s happening?”

He was pleading now, but you couldn’t bare to tell him, though you weren’t even sure you could. Your hands were trembling as you scrambled away from a very worried Geralt. In your fall you had snapped your stitches and blood was coating the leg of your pants, and his hand was pressing against the wound.

A shrill sound echoed in your ears and struggled to block it out with shaking hands, but it was all in your head. It kept getting louder and you felt tighter, like your lungs were expanding, threatening to break your ribcage if you didn’t exhale, but you couldn’t. You no longer knew how.

Someone was holding you, they were whispering into your ear but you could only feel their breath. You hadn’t realized you were moving until the smell of lavender and daises clogged your senses.

“Take a deep breath.” It was an order but you had no idea how you could hear it, they were miles away, yet you thought you could feel their arms wrapped around you. You did your best to listen, the inhale the wildflowers that had caused this whole mess, but it caught in your throat. “Breathe in and out. C’mon Y/N like this.” They were holding your shaking hands to their chest and you could feel the deep rise and fall of their chest, like waves enveloping the beach and then surging away. “There you go, nice and easy,” they coaxed and you nodded. Your face was wet with tears, but so was theirs. “Look, there’s some lavender, you were right it’s gorgeous, but you’ve got to open your eyes to see it. There you go,” he was whispering now, but everything was going fuzzy again. Golden eyes and purple flowers were the last thing you saw before the blood loss pulled you to sleep.

When you woke again you were in the same bed you had pretended to sleep in the night before. Geralt’s head was laying on the thick comforter, the snores you had so desperately craved filling your senses. You tried to sit up but your head spun and you crashed back down to the pillow.

“Y/N,” he whispered and you glanced him, mouth opening to thank him, to apologize, to say anything after the weeks you had spent silent, but his hatred forced them closed again. “No, don’t do that. Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered and he grabbed your hand tightly pulling it against his lips.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I shouldn’t have told you to shut up, I never want you to shut up again.” He had tears in your eyes that you didn’t hesitate to wipe away.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Fuck, yes it is. You should never feel like that. God, someone beat you up and you didn’t feel like you could tell me about it. That’s worse, everything is worse when you’re not there smiling and telling me how wonderful it is. You have to promise you won’t ever listen to me again, I might die.” You smiled and pulled him in for a hug.

“I promise,” you whispered, finally letting the tears that you had been holding in fall. With tender fingers he wiped them away and you giggled softly. You pulled him into bed with you and as you fell back asleep you decided this was a silence you could get used to.

[pjoseries]

“i bear it so they won’t have to” + curse of achilles percy

oh this one’s a doozy, thank u emma 😋

(TLO AU)

════════════════���═

Percy doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it—the bloodlust. It starts out as a whisper, a simple low hum drifting across the nape of his neck. It crawls in his ear and settles inside his brain and every time he uncaps Riptide, a single persistent thought crosses his mind: Show no mercy.

And he doesn’t. Not when a hoard of monsters comes barrelling through their ranks. Not when he sees the other campers on their feet, but flagging, exhaustion bogging them down as monster after monster charges at them. Percy holds his own on the front lines, raising his voice to be heard, “Fall back!”

He repeats it again for good measure and the piercing, confused stares from them quickly fade as he gains the attention of every monster in his vicinity. A grin slides across his face and he gives Riptide a twirl. 

“How many of you do I have to kill before you get with the program,” Percy taunts. He lets one of them come close enough to sink their claws into his skin, but it just slides right off, ripping through his shirt instead. 

The monster gapes for a moment and attempts to slice through him again, but Percy just tsks and tilts his head. “Nice try, but no dice, man.”

He impales the monster in a quick movement, leaving him in a shower of dust. He grimaces and looks at the others. They march towards him, but Percy doesn’t even think. He blocks and jabs and slices his way through the dust and the dirt and he feels nothing. The curse really works. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes to slay the last monster. He just knows that at the end, he’s drenched in monster dust and sweat. Percy finally rolls his shoulders, taking in the damage. The borders are safe for now. He spots a few campers a ways away limping and handing each other ambrosia. Footsteps come towards him and he whirls and points Riptide at empty air. 

It takes him a moment, but even that’s too long, before he lowers his sword. It’s Annabeth, of course. He furrows his brows. He knows it’s her. She wipes the sweat off her forehead and tucks her cap into her back pocket. 

“Percy, what was that?” she asks, gray eyes glinting in the afternoon light. 

“I, uh,” he says, pocketing Riptide back into his jeans. “I’ll tell you later. We have to check on—”

Annabeth stomps towards him and grips his arm. Logically, he knows how tight of a grip it is, but it’s weird that it doesn’t even sting. “Did you… gods, you didn’t. That trip with Nico… Percy, that is stupidly dangerous.”

She knows. Of course, she figures it out. Percy’s just a fool for thinking he could have broken the news to her later. 

“I did what I had to do.” Percy grits his teeth and steps back.  

She tugs him closer. “You could’ve died.” 

Percy makes the mistake of looking into her eyes again, shiny with unshed tears and he falters. He can’t stand to see her cry. He musters up a wry smile and shrugs. “I’m here, though.”

He tells her nothing of what he saw as he made his way out of the River Styx, doesn’t say a single word about how the first time he ever felt like he would drown that her voice was the only thing he grabbed onto. All he does is loosen her grip with his free hand and gives it a small squeeze. 

“I’ll tell you more about it later, okay?” Her hand is warm and callused from training and it takes him a few seconds to remember he has something to say. “We need to go to the Big House.”

Annabeth just nods and he lingers for a moment before he lets go. As they make their way to Chiron, their hands brush and all thoughts of the fight vanish from his mind. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

It’s on the bridge when he gets an inkling that something is wrong, not with the curse or with the battle itself, but him. It’s similar to the last fight, Percy yelling at the Apollo campers to retreat, but the last of the monsters are dead. All that remain is Kronos himself and his demigod army. 

He slows himself down, aiming to knock them off their skeletal horses and send them running, not maim. Their swords bounce off his skin harmlessly and Percy vaguely notes that he’s ruining his already low supply of shirts. 

The voice is louder now, but still the same. Persistent as a tic: Show no mercy. 

Shut up, he wants to bite back, but he already looks insane just charging through a swarm of demigods and coming out completely unscathed. They make their way almost to the middle of the bridge when Percy freezes, like a lightning bolt just jolts through his body. Then: Annabeth screams. 

“Annabeth!” he yells and turns. A guy stands over her, his knife bloodied and dripping. Percy sees red and the voice persists louder again and he’s almost tempted to take its advice if it isn’t for Annabeth’s weak gasps. 

Percy would’ve died, if not for Annabeth and Annabeth’s dying because of him. Because he’s too damn focused on that stupid voice in his head that makes him want to tear the bridge apart and everyone in it. She doesn’t even know that’s his weak spot. 

He locks eyes with the demigod—Ethan, his mind supplies—and stalks towards him. In a beat, Percy slams his sword hilt into his face and feels a bitter sense of satisfaction as he grunts out in pain and moves away. A couple of other demigods try to come closer, but he swings Riptide as a warning. 

“Get back!” he growls. “No one touches her.”

Kronos merely hums. “Interesting.”

Percy just scowls and steps closer to Annabeth. Suddenly Achilles words come back to him: The heel is only my physical weakness, demigod. He was dumb enough to ignore Achilles’ warnings and now his weakness is staring him right in the face, her face turning ashy as her breaths weakening. Annabeth. His tie to the mortal world. He should’ve known. Maybe somewhere in the back of his mind, he always knew, but the war took precedence. Now look where it got him. 

She’s dying and he’s surrounded by enemies. 

“Bravely fought, Perseus Jackson,” Kronos says. “But it’s time to surrender, or she’ll die.”

Annabeth sits up and groans. “Don’t.”

Percy clenches his jaw and bites back the panic at the sight. Her shirt is soaked in blood and he has to get her to a healer. His mind swirls for an escape route and, in a second, he yells out, “Blackjack!”

The pegasus swoops and carries her out and away from any immediate danger. Percy’s glad he knows what to do because he doesn’t have any time to explain. Luke—Kronos’ face twists. 

Percy meets the scythe with Riptide. 

Then their battle begins. And for once, Percy lets the voice in his mind take over. 

Show no mercy.

Percy smiles. He won’t. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

The voice stays with him, long after the war ends. Despite how many hours he’s clocking in that affects his sleeping schedule, or the lack of one, he notices that he’s itching for a fight. 

It makes no sense. He wants to rest, but the voice tells him he has the curse for a reason. What use is he to his friends, to his family if he lets them go off on dangerous quests to get injured or worse? A couple of extra more hours of sleep is a petty consequence when it means saving everyone the trouble of getting hurt. 

So despite Annabeth’s warnings, he volunteers to guard the fleece, or to head training, or to do any of the more dangerous missions. There’s an undisputed agreement amongst the campers that they’ll let Percy do whatever he wants which is kind of weird but it works in his favor, so he’ll take it. Well, unless their names are Annabeth and Grover, that is.

But after this one quest—if he can even call it that, maybe just a favor for his father—Percy lands back on the shore, sitting with his knees tucked to his chest. His hands tremble as they flex over his own legs. The water rushes to his ankles, an attempt to calm him down but he just flinches. It just makes things worse. 

Percy’s no better than the monsters he fights. 

He wonders if monsters never exploded into dust, if they bleed like he does. He wonders how much blood he’s spilled, how much it stains his hands, his heart, his soul.

“Percy?” Annabeth says quietly. She pads over to him, settling down right next to him. The water drenches her shoes, but she just places a warm hand on his. “Percy, hey. Are you… okay?”

Her tone is awkward, but there’s an earnestness to it that makes him soften slightly. So he lifts his shoulder in response and stares out into the water. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Percy clears his throat. “Do what?”

“Go on all these quests. Try to save everyone. The war’s over, Percy. You can just enjoy camp like everyone else, too. You don’t have to do everything. You’re not Atlas.”

“Annabeth, this curse… I have a responsibility. Why let everyone else get hurt if I can do it? They’re just kids.” Percy unfolds his legs and lets Annabeth’s weight ground him. It’s like the voice gets muffled when she’s near. “And besides, I bear it so they won’t have to.”

Annabeth’s fingers find his cheek and he crumbles under her touch. He turns and Annabeth has this expression on her face that he can’t parse out. He closes his eyes and lets her smooth out the wrinkle between his brows, lets her trace a swooping pattern on his cheek. “You’re sixteen, Percy, not sixty-five. You have to let yourself take a break, Percy. The others need to know how to survive out there without you. You’re not always gonna be there to protect them. You’re gonna run yourself to the ground and I’d like to see my boyfriend awake once in a while.”

“Guess my eyes have to be open for that.” Percy smiles into her fingertips and blinks exaggeratedly at her. She giggles and it sends warmth all the way down to his belly. She stands up and brushes off the sand from pants before she holds out her hand. 

Golden light shines behind her, circling her like a halo. He’s suddenly reminded of his dip in the Styx, the way dream-Annabeth held in her laughter as she grabbed his hand and pulled him up. Real-Annabeth wiggles her fingers and he lets her haul him up. 

“Promise you’ll take it easy?” she asks. 

And his answer is an easy one. He kisses the side of her head. “Promise.”

Then they walk back to camp, their hands swinging between them. 

[thorniest-rose]

reddie halloween prompt #4 candy

It all happens in the small pocket of time between advanced math and the dirge of gym. Jimmy’s dragging his heels, hanging back in the bathrooms on the second floor, trying to delay the inevitable jeers of all the boys in his class. As they mock him for his weak knees and his protruding ribs, pinging their towels at him and asking him how small his dick is, if it’s even big enough to get hard.

But Jimmy knows it’s coming. After years of falling victim for his chronic acne, and his high-pitched voice, for sometimes just existing, he’s come to expect it.

What he doesn’t expect is to be cornered by Richie Tozier, the weird loudmouth with the dark eyes and the wide grin, who laughed like a jackal at his own vulgar jokes and could outsmart all of their teachers without trying.

Jimmy hadn’t spoken to Richie in more than two years, had done nothing to warrant the boy’s wrath. So he doesn’t know why he’s here now, wedged back against the window as Richie grins down at him. The wacky kid with buck teeth and bottle glasses who had somehow transformed into this tall, moody, striking teen with the cheekbones that could cut glass. Who all the girls secretly looked at as he walked down the hallway.

He asks, “W-what do you want, Richie?”

Richie grins at him like they’re friends. “I just thought we could catch up, Jimmy. I’ve seen you hanging out with your new girlfriend.”

Jimmy swallows hard. Was that what this was about?

“Oh yeah…”

“Oh yeah,” Richie mocks. “What, you think no one had noticed? That one of the hottest girls at school is suddenly hanging off your dick and no one would say anything?”

Jimmy shrugs, but his mouth has gone bone dry. He’d been dating Cindy for the last three weeks and it had sent ripples through school. Everyone was shocked. That someone as beautiful and popular as Cindy would even talk to a guy like Jimmy, let alone fall head over heels for him. At lunchtime she now ditched all her friends to sit in a corner of the cafeteria with him, and after school walked home with his hand in hers. At the weekend, they got ice cream and walked to the lake and sat in his backyard, and the entire time she looked at him with her big blue eyes, and told him she never wanted anything else. 

“It’s just curious, that’s all,” Richie continues, eyes glinting. “Pretty sure she hated your fucking guts a few months ago.”

“Things change, Richie.”

“Is that right,“ he replies, his dark eyebrows raised mockingly.

And Jimmy’s had enough. He gets enough shit from jock assholes as it is, without a weird fucking kid like Richie joining in.

“Richie, I really have to get to class. Gym is starting and if I’m late-”

Richie pushes him back against the wall with one hand to his chest. The skin on the back of his hand is mottled, scarred, and Jimmy’s chest tightens. The skin looks like it was run over with a sheet of barbed wire. 

“Hold your horses,” Richie says, “we haven’t finished catching up yet.”

Jimmy blurts, “Are you… are you jealous or something?”

“Nice try, dipshit, but no, I’m not jealous that you’re with a blonde airhead like Cindy. I need to know how you did it.”

Jimmy feels the bottom drop out of his stomach.

“What?”

“Come on,” Richie says, his mouth unfurling into a slow, smoky grin, “don’t wuss out on me now.”

“Cindy has feelings for me.”

Richie barks and rolls his eyes. "Unless you’re seriously packing down there, I doubt that.”

“I mean it, we have a real connection.”

The good humour drops from Richie’s face.

“Bullshit,” he hisses, making Jimmy flinch. “I know you did something. No way would she even fucking look at a little creep like you if you hadn’t done something to her. So you’re either paying her, but I know your parents are piss poor so it’s not that. Maybe you’re blackmailing her, but you’re too pussy for that too. So it has to be something else.”

“What do you mean?” Jimmy splutters, feeling like he’s going to wet himself. 

He’d heard things about Richie over the last few years. That he got his scars from some unknown childhood trauma, that he’d been kidnapped and tortured by a crazy man. Jimmy didn’t know how true any of that was, but he couldn’t deny the mad glint in Richie’s eyes. That his smiles were always slightly too manic to be good-natured. That when he laughed it sent chills through him. 

“Are you going to beat me up? Tell Cindy? Try to reverse the spell?”

He regrets it the second it’s out his mouth, but Richie’s eyes shine, like he’d guessed the twist in a movie before everyone else. 

“I knew it,” he says.

Panic grips Jimmy; it catapults him halfway across the bathroom, but Richie is too fast for him. Before he can make it to the door, he feels a hand on his backpack and a second later he’s being thrown back towards the sinks. He crashes back, stumbling, and almost falls to the floor. And Richie just stares at him, a dead heat lighting up his eyes. One brown and one blue. 

“Please, let me go, Richie,” Jimmy says, half crumpled against the sinks. He cringes at the whimpering note in his voice, how close he sounds to begging.

“I don’t think so.”

“Why? Are you going to blackmail me?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“What do you want? I don’t have anything to give you. I don’t have money.”

Richie’s lips draw back in a snarl. “Are you really that fucking stupid? I’m here because I want you to do it for me too.”

Jimmy blinks at him. He didn’t think Richie would have any problems with girls. Not with the way they had started to look at him.

His mind flicks through the girls in their year, tries to settle on anyone Richie might like. But he’d never seen Richie pay attention to any girls he knew. Come to think of it, he didn’t think Richie ever had a girlfriend.

“You do…? On who?”

Richie doesn’t hesitate as he says, “Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Jimmy feels his mouth drop open. He says, “You’re… you’re a fag?”

Richie’s face goes dark, and Jimmy’s vision blacks out as Richie’s fist smashes into the side of his mouth. He staggers back, his head cracking against the wall, and distantly he hears himself cry out as a searing bolt of pain shoots through his skull.

When he comes to, his vision blotting hazily at the corners, Richie’s wiping his bloody knuckles against his jeans. 

“Maybe we should try that again,” he says, tone mild, like he hadn’t just punched Jimmy in the face. “But if you say that fucking word one more time, I’ll push you out the window.”

Jimmy’s eyes prickle hot as the blood drips down his mouth. He thinks he might cry.

Richie notices and he sneers at him. “God, you’re such a fucking pussy. I could do a lot worse than that, you know.”

“I don’t know if I can do the spell again.”

And he didn’t. Jimmy had found the spell in an old tome he’d found in a dark basement bookstore two towns over. A place he heard whispers about. He hadn’t even thought the spell would work. But it had. He’d walked out of his house the next morning and Cindy had been on his doorstep, so happy and eager to see him Jimmy initially thought it had been a joke. But it hadn’t. She was besotted.

Richie looks unamused as he pulls an old lighter out of his pocket. 

“You better remember,” he says, as he flicks it on, the orange flame making Jimmy jump. “Or I’ll have to help you jog your memory.”

“I… I guess I could try,” he mumbles as he watches the flame burn in Richie’s hand.

Richie shakes his head. “You’ll need to do better than that.” He flicks the lighter off and on again. “Have you been burned before? I read once that being set on fire is the most excruciating pain you can ever feel. I wonder if Cindy will still feel the same about you if she can’t recognise you. Spell or no spell.”

Desperation claws at Jimmy’s throat and he quickly blurts, “Okay, I’ll do it, I will.”

Richie flicks the lighter off. “Good,” he says. 

And a part of Jimmy, though surprised, gets it, because Eddie was beautiful. Over the last year he’d blossomed from a sick little boy into something slender and sweet, with long tanned legs and the thickest lashes Jimmy had ever seen. There was a rumour going around school that Eddie was prettier than most girls, and that they all hated him for it. Not that he seemed to notice. He went to his classes and ran with the track team, and was always quiet and serene, apart from the times he saw Richie. When his expression went icy and his tone turned brittle.

Jimmy still can’t help but ask, “Why him?”

"Because he’s everything,” Richie replies. 

Jimmy doesn’t know what to say to that, so instead he says, “I’ll need something of his. For the spell to bind to him.”

“No problem.”

Richie takes a small locket of dark hair out of his pocket. Jimmy stares at it. He doesn’t want to know how Richie got it. How he already had it on him. 

“There are risks, I need you to know that,” he says as Richie hands it to him. 

Richie just stares at him, looking bored. “I don’t really care.”

“But it might not work. Or it could go wrong. Sometimes these spells… sometimes they don’t turn out the way we expect them to.”

And Jimmy was telling the truth. He’d heard some terrible things. Sometimes the spell didn’t take, and sometimes it took too well, driving the enchanted lover to the edges of hysteria, so obsessed with the object of their affections that they couldn’t eat or sleep. That they couldn’t function without being with the person who had cast the spell.

“Just do whatever it takes,” Richie says, his brown eye so dark it looked almost black. “I want him to be crazy for me. So crazy that he needs me, all the time. I don’t want him to think of anything else but me. Got it?”

“Got it,” Jimmy says quietly. And for some reason he feels ashamed. 

He jumps again when he feels Richie clap his hand down on his shoulder.

“There we go, that wasn’t so hard was it? You have a week. Or I’ll tell everyone what you’ve done. And your cute new girlfriend won’t be able to stand the sight of you.” He grins at Jimmy. "Sound good?”

“Yeah,“ Jimmy says, head nodding stupidly even as his stomach churns. “Sounds good.”

“Cool, I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

On his way out, Richie gestures to Jimmy’s nose. “You might want to clean that up by the way. Get a cotton bud up there.”

In the silence following Richie’s departure, Jimmy stares at himself in the mirror and doesn’t recognise the pale, pleading face staring back at him. He thinks he might be sick, but instead he mops up the blood oozing from his nose and goes to gym.

A week later, he hides around a corner as he watches Richie hand Eddie the candy: a little bag of pink love hearts knotted at the top with a ribbon. Inside, one of the love hearts is special. Nestled inside the sugar is a drop of lamb’s blood, crushed belladonna, and the membrane of a baby bird. The potion Jimmy had made and injected into the candy the night before, the potion that would turn Eddie’s blood molten for Richie.

Eddie asks, "Why, Richie?" 

"Can’t I treat you, baby?” Richie replies.

“Don’t call me that please.”

Eddie looks at the candy dubiously at first, but eventually he can’t resist, and he takes it from Richie with a mumbled thanks.

Jimmy has a thought of ducking round the corner and running down the hall, slapping the candy from Eddie’s hands just in time, of saving him. But he doesn’t. Because he’s a coward. So he hangs back and watches instead. Watches as Eddie takes the special love heart, the one that’s pinker and plumper than the rest, and pops it into his mouth. 

The change is instantaneous. Eddie’s body goes suddenly taut, as if his limbs are being pulled together by a string, and his eyes go bright and glossy as he stares up at Richie. The frown between his eyes melts away, and in its place his expression softens, his mouth pink and lax as he mouths Richie’s name. 

Jimmy feels like he’s going to throw up. He spins around and starts walking away just as he hears Eddie say, “Richie,” like he’s seeing the other boy for the first time. Like Richie is a bright, burning sphere of sunshine in an endless night. He walks down the hallway and all the way home. Tosses and turns all night with half-snatched dreams.

And the next day, when he comes across the two boys making out in the woods, Eddie’s mouth so wet and red as Richie bites at it, his hands grabbing as Eddie through his jeans while the smaller boy gasps, Jimmy doesn’t do anything. And when Richie’s eyes meet his over Eddie’s head, swimming with mirth, and something like greed, Jimmy stumbles and runs. He runs and runs, and not once does he ever think to look back.

[morgan-macguire]

Outlaws For Life

Arthur Morgan x reader (rdr1)

Summary: After Johns family is taken, he comes to you and Arthur.

Warnings: rdr1 spoilers, rdr2 spoilers too tbh

A/n: I finished rdr1 for the first time in years a while ago and wanted to write this. In this fic, Arthur did not die on the mountain. Also!! it’s gender neutral :) Arthur and reader have kids but I didn’t say how they got them so that part is up to u lol :)

idk if anyone still reads for red dead, but I’m still writing (very slowly)!

masterlist

not my gif

Thick grey clouds blanketed the normally blue sky. A cold breeze swept through the land, much unlike the usual pleasant breeze that you’d grown so accustomed to. Rain was heading your way for sure, Arthur and the boys were taking advantage of the weather as much as possible. They’d invited you to come along on their fishing trip, but you declined. As much as you loved spending time with them, you didn’t want to get caught out in the rain.

So instead, you stayed home and looked after the house. Arthur assured you they wouldn’t be out too late, they’d be back by supper time. He offered to cook upon his return, but you beat him to it. A hearty venison stew, including some fresh vegetables from the garden, was already cooking on the stove before they got home.

You had just finished setting the table when you heard three heavy taps on the front door. It was unlike Arthur to knock before entering his own home, so you peered through the kitchen window to find out who was paying you a visit before heading over to the door.

“John Marston!” You gasped, stepping through the doorway to engulf him in a hug, “It’s been too long.”

John let out a small chuckle, “That it has, y/n.”

“Please, come in. Supper is just about finished,” you opened the door fully after letting him go, not bothering to wait for his reply. “Arthur should be back with the boys soon.”

John mumbled out a thank you, following you into the kitchen. He took a deep breath, inhaling the delicious smell of the stew pot. Abigail was, without a doubt, a terrible cook. The last time he smelled something so good, he nearly brought his family to live with you.

“Where are Abigail and Jack?” You questioned, setting an extra seat at the table for him and returning to the pot on the stove.

“That’s why I’m here, actually.” It didn’t take much for you to pick up on the frustration that laced his raspy voice. You ceased your movements, setting the silverware aside and taking a seat with your old friend.

“What’s wrong, John?”

Whatever he had come to tell you, it was hurting him something fierce. You could see it in his eyes. They drifted from yours as his shoulders tensed in visible irritation. Your hands moved to rest on his, hoping to provide some comfort. As he gathered the words in his mind, you couldn’t help but wonder if they had left him again. Sure, John wasn’t always the best father or husband, but he always tried his best. After all these years and after what happened with their daughter, surely they wouldn’t leave. It was silly of you to even think that.

“The government took them. They tracked me down, and want me to go after the rest of the gang. They took my family.”

“Oh my lord. John, I-“ You waited a moment to process what you had just heard. With a hand raised to cover your mouth in shock, you were speechless. After all these years, the government was still after the Van Der Linde Gang, or what was left of it. Before you could gather your words, the front door swung open. You heard Arthur’s spurs clink through the threshold, followed by two less than graceful sets of footsteps thundering in after. 

Arthur‘s gentle voice laughed at something that was said prior to entering the house. You heard him gather the fishing poles and tell the boys to check on you while he put the gear away. It didn’t take long for the boys to stumble into the kitchen, faces lighting up at the sight of their Uncle sitting across from you.

“Uncle John!” Thomas and George both raced to your friend, nearly knocking him off his chair in the process, “We saw your horse out front!” Thomas noted.

“You two are gettin’ big.” John smiled, patting both of your sons. He stood up to greet Arthur when he stepped into the kitchen, slightly damp from the rain.

“The golden boy!” The two men embraced, both glad to see the other. You sent the boys away to wash up as you removed the stew pot from the stove.

“Let’s eat. We have to talk. Away from the boys.” You sent Arthur a pointed glance, silently letting him know that it was important, before looking back to John for his input.

“Of course.” John nodded.

When the boys returned, the four of you sat around the table to eat. The dinner conversation was pleasant, and consisted mostly of your boys telling John stories of their recent adventures with their father. Of course, they fabricated many of the details, but John pretended to believe everything. The cheerful mood turned sour, however, when Arthur inquired about John’s family.

“What are Abigail and Jack up to?” Arthur asked, casually taking a bite of his stew.

John instantly frowned, glancing to you before looking back at his brother. The table grew silent quickly, and both young boys looked to you.

“George, Thomas, why don’t you finish your supper in the family room, like you’re always asking to do?”

“I thought you didn’t want us to eat in there?” Thomas popped an eyebrow up at you.

“We can make an exception tonight. Now go ahead, before I change my mind.” You ruffled George’s hair as the two of them relocated to the other room without a second thought.

Arthur eyed you and John carefully. He could sense that whatever John had come to say wasn’t anything pleasant, so he patiently waited to be informed. When the boys were completely out of earshot, John began to explain his predicament.

“Agent Ross tracked me down. Him and all of his government boys took Abigail and Jack. They’re holding them somewhere, won’t say where. They say I’ve gotta go after Bill, Javier, and Dutch to get ‘em back.” 

Arthur was silent. He sat in shock, eyebrows creasing in the middle as he thought over the situation.

“I hate to ask, you know I do, but I need help.”

“It’s been a long time, John.”

“I know, brother. We all got out of that life years ago, I thought it was done.”

“We’ll never be done, John. The life we lived, it don’t let you out.” Arthur sighed. His shoulders sank and he glanced towards the family room before looking to you with sorrow in his eyes.

John sank in his seat.

“We’ll do what we can to help you, John. We’ll get Abigail and Jack back.” You said what Arthur was thinking, doing your best to reassure John.

“Thank you,” he nodded, “I know Javier is somewhere in Mexico. Bill is hiding in Fort Mercer behind his own gang, I figured that much out when he shot me-“

“You were shot?!” You gasped.

“It ain’t the first time.” John pointed out halfheartedly.

John went on to explain his peculiar circumstances. He’d been rescued by a rancher woman, Bonnie McFarlane, of the McFarlane ranch out in New Austin. She had him fixed up at the doctor and let him work off the bill. He was planning to go after the rest of your former family alone, but he needed to tell you and Arthur first. It didn’t feel right leaving the two of you in the dark, especially with how things ended with the Van Der Linde gang.

“We won’t let you do this alone, John.”

John shook his head, denying Arthur. 

“Arthur, I can’t ask you to come with me. I was trying to avoid you being involved in this as much as possible. I just need information-“

“You’re not asking.” Arthur cut John off, “You’re my brother. I ain’t gonna let you do this on your own. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

You agreed with Arthur as a nervous pit settled in your stomach. The two of you had a family. You knew Arthur would drop everything to make sure his family was safe, he’d do the same for John’s. You also knew he would be going with John alone. He’d beg you to stay home, safe, with the boys. After everything that had happened all those years ago in the gang, he swore to himself that he’d never let you or your family fall into harms way again. He intended to keep that promise, no matter the cost.

Arthur, sensing your anxiety, placed his hand over yours under the table, trying to comfort you. He was likely thinking the same thing.

“No.” John managed to mutter out through the turmoil in his chest. Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, staring at Mr. Marston with a look of bewilderment.

“I have to do this alone,” John began, “You can’t come.” He watched Arthur carefully as he finished his statement. Arthur couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

“You’ll be killed, John. How do you know they’ll just hand Abigail and Jack over once this is done, huh?”

“Goddammit, Arthur!“ John raised his voice, “You’ve got a family here. This isn’t exactly the easiest job we’ve been on. They was once our family.”

“They stopped being family long ago, John. They made that call.” Arthur’s voice had shifted to a low growl as he recalled everything.

“I know, Arthur. That’s why I need to go alone. You got out for good, they all think you’re buried somewhere in the Grizzlies. You have to keep it like that, for your family’s sake.”

“And what about your family, John? What if you get shot again, and there’s no one to save you? You know that the two of us could get this done far quicker and easier than you on your own. They won’t even know I was there.”

“I don’t need saving! I need you to stay dead.” John nearly shouted, startling you. As much as you understood John’s point, you knew there was no changing Arthur’s mind. The two of them were a powerful duo, even though neither of them were in their prime age anymore. Two was safer than one. The Marstons were family, and family takes care of each other. 

“Please, take this outside.” You interrupted the conversation with a heavy heart, not wanting the boys to hear them argue. Arthur almost started yelling back at John, but he stopped himself after hearing your voice. He took a frustrated breath, giving your hand one last squeeze before releasing it and standing up. John followed him out the front door without a word.

As soon as the door shut, you heard the two of them start arguing. Their voices were muffled due to the rain having picked up, but you had a pretty good idea about what they were saying. The porch shielded them from the water, but didn’t drown their voices out completely.

You dropped your head in your hands, trying to tune their voices out. A pit of anxiety formed inside you, eating away at your stomach. You just sat there, for who knows how long, thinking about how long Arthur would be away. Fort Mercer was far enough, they’d have to go to Tall Trees and Mexico. 

After a short while, the argument outside grew quiet and John and Arthur entered the house. They returned to their seats without a word to each other. All it took was one look from Arthur for you to know what the decision was. John could barely look at you, he felt so bad. 

You reached out to embrace your friend, not knowing what to say in the moment, and three of you went on to finish your meals. The conversation was awkward at first, but as time went on it strayed further from the inevitable and grew more lively. You told small anecdotes about your time at the Morgan ranch and John told stories about Beecher’s Hope. It had been months since the last visit from the Marstons. For now, you were just making up for the lost time. 

Before you knew it, the sun had set and the stars shone bright behind the thick rain clouds. Your chat with John and Arthur stole the evening, and it was nearly time for the boys to hit the sack before you realized. You had only been made aware of how much time had actually passed when Thomas and George came stumbling in. Always full of energy, they bounced around the kitchen and dragged Arthur away for a short while. 

“Would you stay the night, John? It’s late and the rain doesn’t look like it’s going to let up soon.” 

“I’d appreciate that, thank you.” John offered a sad smile, helping you clear the table. Your heart ached for your old friend. John was truly in an unfair situation, and you could see the physical toll it was taking on him. He had worked hard day and night to create a better life for his family. He fought for years for them. It was supposed to be over. He was supposed to be living out his golden years just like you and Arthur, away from the government and the problems they created as a happy family. The only difference was that unlike John, the government believed Arthur was a dead man. He died on top of that mountain all those years ago. 

“John.” you pulled yourself from you thoughts, gently grabbing his shoulder. When he turned to face you, you continued, “You’ve been dealt an awful hand, and I’m sorry for it. Arthur and I have your back. You’ll be back with Abigail and Jack in no time.”

“I really can’t thank you enough. You’ve both been too kind to me.”

“Nonsense, John,” you smiled, “We’re family, and family takes care of each other.”

—

After putting the boys to bed and getting John settled in his room for the night, you and Arthur couldn’t wait to get to sleep. The two of you had changed into your night clothes quickly, eagerly crawling under the covers together. Arthur wrapped an arm around your waist, drawing you in close to him. Reaching for his hand, you intertwined your fingers with his and pressed a gentle kiss on his knuckles. What a day it had been.

“What are we gonna do?” You asked, rubbing your thumb against the back of his palm.

Arthur exhaled into your neck, shaking his head. “We can’t let him do this alone.”

“I know, Arthur.” That much you were sure about. Everything else was up in the air. The two of you sat quietly for a while, silently thinking about what the near future had in store for your family.

[my-brothers-corrupted]

Chapter Four - Part 5

Anti is angry Dapper won't come back to his room and warns of consequences. Red decides to get Dapper's medicine back on his own terms, with a little help from his brothers.

Tws for medication refusal, manipulation, slapping, choking, and abuse between brothers.

Part 5 - Haloperidol

Trick watches at the window, so Anti is silent when he comes downstairs.

He watches his boy. Trick’s head stays turned towards the window. One hand on his gun. One hand on Dok’s shoulder as his twin sleeps. Anti’s good guard dog. Always watching.

The others are asleep in the bed, Dapper pressed between the twins, warm with their arms wrapped around him. He is supposed to be sleeping. That’s why Trick is watching, after all - so Dapper can rest, and trust somebody else to guard for Dark for him.

But he isn’t asleep. Anti knows. Anti can tell.

He is a form without outline, his eye glowing red, a hateful and angry form that sends shuddering across the whole of Dapper’s chest. His silver eyes slide open, his mouth pressed tightly shut. He stares up at Anti. Anti stares back. Blue murmurs in his sleep and presses his chest against Dapper’s side, sighing.

Dapper doesn’t let go of him.

“Tomorrow,” signs Anti, silent, silent, even his usual buzzing gone dead. “You will come upstairs.”

“I won’t,” signs Dapper.

“Your medicine is upstairs. You’ll come get it.”

Something cold wraps itself around Dapper’s chest. His Haldol. He has to have it. He has to.

“If I don’t?” he dares to sign.

“You wanted free choice,” answer Anti’s bitter hands. “Choose.”

He glitches away like a TV flickering off. Trick shifts in place and turns his head, glancing around at his siblings. He sees nothing wrong. Dapper shakes against Blue’s body. Dok nightmares of blood and spiders. Red murmurs Max’s name in his sleep.

In Trick’s eyes, all is well.

Anonymous asked: Anti? Genuine question; why do you want him with you? Why not let him be down here with the others?

Anti slams his hands down on the bedside table, staring out the great window of the master bedroom, his eyes dark, alone.

“He,” he begins, and then stops again, shaking his head.

“He belongs to me,” he says finally. Bitterly, he turns his face away. “You think I’m not aware that this is following apart around me? There have to be consequences when he disobeys me. He belongs to me. He should be up here. I - I want him up here! I don’t like sleeping without him! I don’t like that I could wake up and something could go badly and Dapper wouldn’t be here to - to - to undo it! To protect…”

His voice glitches. He touches his face and turns away, growling.

Anonymous asked: You're Anti, for fuck's sake. Aren't you always going on about how powerful you are? What do you think is gonna happen?

“Things have happened before,” he snarls, biting at his teeth like a horse with a bit. “Things I won’t let happen again. If he had been closer to me the night they came to steal him back from me, a lot would be different.”

He grits his hands together, shaking his head. “Jackie and Marvin gave me this fucking fear,” he says, stepping back from the window as a bird descends onto the sill, regarding him with cold black eyes. “It’s never gone away since, no matter how much control I seem to get. It’s never enough. I always need more. Now I’m losing what I had. I have to have it back. And I want him asleep beside me. I need him asleep beside me.”

Anonymous asked: Ah, I see. You got spooked by Jackie and Marvin, and now you need to keep Jameson under your thumb at all times in case something happens again. Well done, Anti, truly impressive. Can you not let them stay together? It's not like any of them can hurt you, and from what you've said about Dark I doubt they would either.

“You all know they’re taking steps away from me. That’s why you want this. I won’t pretend it’s not a big deal. It is a big deal. He’s always slept with me, since he was days old. Anyway, I gave him his choice. He can have his medicine or he can stay with his siblings.”

He snags a laptop from the bed and tears a page from one of Dapper’s sketchbooks in half, scrawling over a drawing of a mouse in a trap.

Red - for you. I’ve reset you since the last time you helped me hack a server to pieces, but you’ll recognize the programming quick enough. Keep an eye out for foreign viruses and set up a firewall. Gigi will try to get into the camera system. The code for you to access it is 3110.

He leaves the computer and the note at the bottom of the stairs. With every step he seems to pace, his eyes sliding, flickering from screen to screen, watching what belongs to him.

Anonymous asked: That's hardly a fucking choice, is it, Anti? Have you even considered not forcing them? This drives them away faster, and after all this time I don't see why you haven't just done the calculations yet and realized that if you're kind to them, they'll want to fight against you much less than how you're handling it now.

Anti snarls with frustration, tugging at his hair. “That’s so stupid, fuck! That doesn’t keep people around! Doesn’t matter what you try to be! Not for me, anyway. I tried to be fucking kind to Dapper when he was first mine! He was all I wanted! He was all I’d wanted for a long time! But no matter what I did - ah!”

Anti screams and slams his foot into the bedside drawer, kicking straight through the wood like it’s cardboard.

“He still wanted to fucking leave! He still - ”

Anti lurches forward. He closes his eyes, looking suddenly pale and in pain, doubling over himself. He heaves once but doesn’t get sick.

“Need Blue back too,” he mumbles, nauseated. “Magic’s kicking up in me again. Still worth it, before you criticize me for that too. Still worth having him under my heel. Knowing he’ll never burn me down to ash and essence ever again.”

He shakes his head out, trying to regain his calm.

“Doesn’t matter what I’ve tried,” he growls, turning his head away. “I was made to be a monster and I’ve never been able to make anyone want to stay without tying them down. It doesn’t fucking bother me. Having control through blood is better anyway, so much better anyway, and I love when they cower and simper for my attention. Like Trick, haha. Even Dok used to whine for my attention like that. The rush of it! There’s nothing like that. I’ll break him down to wanting me like that again. I am still wild powerful. Wild powerful. And when Dark helps me make them stay, everything will be fine again.”

Anonymous asked: You're the one making it into a fight. The harder you push them, the more they'll push back. Give them some time together and they'll be glad for it, Anti. I honestly do not know why you think pushing them until they break will work again. Maybe when you could do it one on one, but now? They'll give you hell for it if you try with any one of them. Give them a bit of kindness instead and they'll be grateful, more complacent.

“I’m waiting for Dark’s help,” says Anti quietly. “But Dapper should be up here. That’s that. I won’t budge on it. He’s mine. He’s the only thing Jack ever meant to make that was mine.”

Anonymous asked: And how exactly will Dark help? Last I heard, they can't go in the fucking house.

“Some of you just aren’t listening,” answers Anti, irritated. “Leave me alone. I already told you and Dark that if they fail to take one of my puppets from me before the week is out, they owe me a favor. We’re just playing games. You all act like Dark’s an enemy. I thought you would like to see them!”

He seems to calm a little, turning back to the window as he sits down on the side of his bed, staring out. The darkness is a blanket over the forest, deep and warm and familiar.

“I’m glad to see them,” he murmurs. “We’re playing games again. They always played the best games. And then, at the end of them… mh.”

Something in his eyes softens like butter.

He seems to realize it a moment later, because he turns away.

“Leave me be,” he says. A flicker of his hand and the lights turn off. “I let them be for the night. Let me be.”

Anonymous asked: One last question; will they be harmed, if Dark takes them?

“What’s Dark going to do? They’ve done as I asked since we started to know each other better. They understand I keep puppets. They wouldn’t hurt them beyond repair. All Dark does is… twist things a little.”

Anti smiles. Cold and bitter in the darkness.

“Manipulation isn’t just a talent with them. It’s a magic. And when Dark is done with them, well - they’ll all know there’s much worse things to fear than me.”

It would make a dramatic end to the night if he could just ignore you and fall asleep. But despite his words, despite his determination, despite his anger, Anti is still alone.

You can see him lying awake in bed for long hours, staring at the wall and digging his fingers into the empty space on the mattress beside him.

bupine asked: what exactly is dark to you, anti? if i'm allowed to ask that?

Anti watches the sun come up and the shadows go. He scowls at the message, going slightly pink.

“Dark’s not anything to me. I just want their help with this, that’s all. Dark’s not anything to me. Most of the time.”

He plays with Dapper’s medicine bottle, rolling it between his hands.

“They were such a fucking joke at first. Fucking hated them. Sick creep growling at me all low. But they had a fascination with me, and I was… alone. So we started fighting. And then I kept coming back to fight with them again and again. Then we weren’t fighting. Just playing. We could beat each other down to essence and still be playing. I trusted them to tear me apart and leave me bleeding. There was something good about it. And then, sometimes, they would touch their hand to my body as they passed me. Touch their hand to my skin. Not afraid of my body.”

A glitch shivers through him. He puts his chin down on his knees.

“I like power,” he says. “I don’t like humans. I like things that can match me. I’m attracted to things that can match me… and things that are desperate to have me, cause otherwise, what’s the fun? So I’m not often attracted to anyone. But they… proved themselves.”

He shivers again, a smile curling on his mouth, though it lacks its usual smugness. He opens up his hand to let the light dance through it, setting Dapper’s Haldol back in the drawer.

“I like Dark. Dark thinks I’m fascinating. They always want me and I - I like that. Every year or so, I make time for them, and they purr and gloat over me. I let them think they own me for a couple days. It’s fun. They’re beautiful. Sometimes, they make me feel good. And less alone. We fight and snap at each other for fun. That’s all.”

He turns and shoots you a glare. “So don’t call them my lover, you little sixteenth-century dweebs. I rarely even call them a friend. Besides, Dark was important to me because they - they don’t live alone. And they don’t feel anything but hatred for their creator. And I think I wanted something more like what they had. Have. It looked so much easier. Though I am definitely not jealous of that stupid backstory. That’s one thing I don’t mind being neglected on. I’ll stick with just having popped into existence, thanks very much.”

He sighs, tucking his chin into his hand. Then he catches himself, scowling, shaking his head.

“You don’t need to know, though. You’re not Dap. I just don’t have anyone to talk to. Go away. Dark’s not anything to me.”

aether-mae asked: Have you met any of Darks masters other creations? You said he wasn’t alone, does he control those creations or live peacefully with them?

“Yeah, I’ve met a bunch of them, but most of them are mostly human, so I’m not really interested. Especially since Mark creates jokes just for his own entertainment. Jack’s power would run out of control because he would fixate too hard on one of us for months on end and create without control over the final product - Mark’s is out of control because he gets a thought into his head and five minutes later, boom, new baby.

“Dark controls them, but the others think they live peacefully. As if Dark couldn’t make them do anything they wanted them to do, ha.”

He works rapidly on his computer, his shoulders pulled tensely towards his body and his mouth smiling tightly. “Bet they try something today,” he growls, grinning and stressed at the same time. “Them or my Carver getting into trouble. Trying to take what’s not theirs. I wish he’d just come get his fucking medicine. Stubborn little brat. He gets that from me, goddamn.”

.

“He’s decided he’ll go without it,” says Henrik, pale in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest. “His medicine.”

“He’s determined this time,” mumbles Red, plucking at the keys of his computer. “Let me know when Anti gets pissed enough to come drag him upstairs and I’ll see what I can do.”

Henrik steps forward and shuts the laptop on Red’s legs, forcing him to look up at him, surprised.

“Red,” he implores, eyebrows creasing with worry. “He needs his medicine. Just because he’s not being tortured directly doesn’t mean this isn’t going to hurt him, badly. You want to see him psychotic again?”

“What do you want me to do?” protests Red.

“I don’t know! Something!”

Henrik paces around the door. Red shakes his head, trying to think. “Maybe I can convince Anti. Is that even worth trying?”

“I don’t know. This is just… this is all bad, Red. I’ve never seen him act like this. Have you?”

Red sighs. “Anti’s losing patience, Dok. He’s only going to get angrier. And his anger is the same as his violence. We just need to try and keep our heads down and ride this out.”

“No,” answers Dok firmly. “No. Not anymore. We have to do something.”

Red sighs again, even deeper, glancing out at the window. He can’t go to the store or the hospital while the monster’s in the woods.

“Going to go take Blue swimming,” mumbles Dok, his eyes shadowed and angry. “Just… I’ll think. Please, Red. You promised me back in Peru you’d always help me make sure he has his medicine. It’s torture for him without it. You know that.”

Anonymous asked: red, this is a genuine question, what do you think will happen if you go along with what anti says?

Red bites at his nails, thinking, his eyes flickering across the floor.

“My job has always been to minimize the damage,” he says quietly. “But even when I haven’t been able to do that, the worst things I’ve ever seen Anti do are steal Blue’s magic, chain Dok up by the throat, separate twins from each other, sometimes cut or beat us up. But I don’t remember before Norway.”

He steps out into the hall, looking around. He can hear Trick’s side of what must be a conversation with Dapper in the kitchen and Dok trying to get Blue out of bed - without much success. The thought makes his stomach twist.

“I’m scared to see Dapper psychotic again,” he says. “The last time he was…”

Red closes his eyes, putting a hand on his heart, as if that can keep it quiet against the memory of his little brother hanging off over the side of that cliff. He���s been having nightmares. He’s been having nightmares most all the time. He’s tired and he misses Max.

“Well, you were there,” he sighs. “And now I’m starting to get really scared for Blue. I’m scared that if I go along with Anti, even if I do everything I can to minimize… I might still… I might still…”

He steps towards the bedroom. Blue is barely even responding to Dok’s attempts to wake him. He lies stiff in his bed, pale and worn, hugging a pillow to his chest. Dok shakes him gently. Blue does not move.

“I might still lose a sibling. And I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

He turns around again. You see his eyes, dark and alight at the same time.

“If I asked you to,” he says. “Do you think you could find a way to cause a distraction?”

Anonymous asked: maybe. a distraction for what? who would we be distracting? we'd have to know before agreeing.

“Who would you be distracting? Who do you think? I’m on camera here, I need you to make a couple assumptions. Actually… now that I think about it…”

Red wanders back to the living room, flipping the laptop Anti gave him open again. He rereads Anti’s note.

Gigi will try to get into the camera system. The code for you to access it is 3110.

Camera system, huh? Red glances up at you, eyes wary. A few minutes of typing later, he looks up again.

“Tell me if this does anything,” he mumbles, hitting enter.

Half your screens black out. Upstairs, Anti sits up, blinking.

“Red!” he shouts. “What the fuck are you doing!”

“Sorry!” calls back Red quickly. “Just trying to figure this out!”

Anonymous asked: half the screen went black. i doubt that's what you were trying to have happen?

You hear Red’s fingers clacking against the keyboard. Your screens blink back to life. There’s almost fifty of them across the whole of the house - enough that, to see all of them, you have to take the time to flick between different parts of the house.

“Turn the cameras off? Me? Becoming invisible in my own home? Of course that wasn’t what I was trying to have happen… why would I?”

He grins nervously at you, his eyes scanning for cameras.

nikkilbook asked: You beautiful clever boy

Red blinks in surprise, straightening up a little. After a moment, he blushes and shrugs, a smile blooming across crimson cheeks. “Aw, no, ha, no. Thank you, uh. Ha.”

Anonymous asked: now it's back. what are you gonna do next?

“I don’t know,” sighs Red. “Maybe this is dumb. Just causing more trouble.”

“Red!” calls Dok from the other room.

“What, my man?”

“Can you come help me with Blue? He threw up.”

Red gets onto his feet, hurrying towards his twin.

Can’t lose him. Can’t lose him. Can’t lose any of them.

No matter what it takes.

pine-storm-season asked: Blue, you okay?

“I do not feel good at all,” complains Blue thickly, draped half over the bed, held up by Dok’s hands. “I do not… ‘m going to throw up again.”

He lurches forward and is sick, relieved when Red appears and pushes a piece of tupperware beneath his chin, helping Dok hold him. Neither of them react to the vomit, and he’s grateful. This is so fucking humiliating already. Tears drip down his face as he vomits and coughs, hugging his churning, aching stomach.

“It’s okay, Zul, it’s okay,” whispers Red, brushing at his hair and his back. Dok monitors his heartrate carefully, his fingers warm against Blue’s neck. “It’s not your fault, buddy, it’s okay. Here I am.”

“I feel bad all the time,” cries Blue, rocking over the bed. “Why is it getting worse? Why won’t it stop?”

“I think he should see a working doctor,” whispers Dok. “He’s right, he’s getting worse.”

“You know we can’t do that,” Red whispers back, holding Blue’s sweaty head against his chest. “It’s okay, Blue, it’s alright.”

pine-storm-season asked: Has it been getting worse for a while, Blue?

“I was better for a while,” he moans. “But then he started wearing me every night and I - I think I’m losing my mind, I…”

He’s not getting sick anymore, but he’s only crying harder, breaking down despite himself. Everything stinks of sick. He’s disgusting and ugly and weak and useless. He hides against Red’s stomach and cries, listening to his brothers’ reassurances and promises to get him all cleaned up. He can feel Red’s fear and frustration in his own chest and he grips weakly at his twin’s hand, sorry for causing him so much grief.

nikkilbook asked: Okay, this might be an absolutely rubbish idea that could backfire in over a thousand ways, but... I think I might know where you could find a doctor off the grid who has access to everything he’d need.

“I have an off-the-grid doctor with everything we need,” grumbles Red.

“Red.” Dok rolls his eyes. “I’m a heart specialist with next to no resources. I want to take him to a hospital.”

“Man, I love you, but that’s a joke. Trick told me you once got shot and Anti didn’t take you to a hospital.”

Dok flushes, touching the scar in his stomach. “I was fine,” he answers crabbily. “Trick kept me alive. And we knew what the problem was and how to fix it. It wasn’t some weird progressive magic shit I have no idea how to handle.”

“Loving the optimism,” croaks Blue, wiping his mouth on a tissue.

“Red, what if he gets worse?” hisses Dok, trying to lower his voice. “What if his heart gives out or he stops breathing right or he really does start to lose his mind, what then?”

The fear in Red’s eyes is enough to make Dok almost regret saying it. Worse, his older brother has no answer. Red just shakes his head and strokes Blue’s short hair, staring down at him.

“Won’t let that happen,” he mumbles after a long moment.

“There’s nothing we can do to stop it if we’re just complacent,” answers Dok weakly, falling back. “Red, we can’t survive like this. We’re helpless.”

Helpless. Helpless. Red hatesthat. He clings to Blue’s fingers, shaking his head. He’ll find something to do. He’s not helpless. He’ll prove it.

Anonymous asked: Red I have an idea. You're going to hate it, and I don't know if it's a stupid or wrong thing to do, and it may just be trading one demons word for another... but it may get Anti out of the house long enough for someone to run upstairs for the medication.

Red looks up, reading the message carefully.

“I’ll go get stuff to clean this up,” he tells his siblings, stepping out of the room.

“I’m listening,” he tells you. “I was also thinking… well.”

He steps out of the house for a moment and pretends to take in the sights of the forest. Admittedly, it’s beautiful out here - the trees are tall and green and swaying and he can see a shining river cutting through the earth not far away, just past their property and winding deep into the woods. But there’s something else he’s showing you, too - the stones of the outside of the house, the rain gutter, and the great window of the master bedroom, above him.

But not too far above him.

He slips discreetly back into the house. You can hear Dapper whistling in the kitchen, trying to keep his spirits up as he helps Trick make muffins.

pine-storm-season asked: We'll see what we can do, okay, Blue? We'll do our best to make stuff better for you. You're gonna be okay, even though I know it really sucks right now.

“Thanks,” he tells you thickly, blowing his nose and accepting a glass of water from Dok. “Sorry I’m so lame lately.”

“We will look after you,” Dok insists. “We’ll do what it takes, okay?”

Blue looks up at his little brother gratefully, touching Dok’s beard. “My poor tired brother. Probably hurting just as much as I am, aren’t you, darling?”

“Only for moments at a time,” answers Dok, shaking his head. “I don’t spend every hour ill like you do.”

“Either way,” says Blue. “We gotta have each other’s backs.”

“And I do,” says Dok. “I have your back. I love you, Blue.”

“I love you too, Deutsch. It’s not your fault you can’t help right now.”

Dok looks away guiltily, shaking his head.

nikkilbook asked: If you decide to go for it, wait for this Gigi person to try and access the cameras. When they do, ask if you can talk to Dr. Edward Iplier.

“Hold on, hold on,” protests Red. “That’s a step past sneaking around the house. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we got a couple trust issues in this family. Far as I’m concerned, Gigi’s with Dark, and they’re not on our side. I gotta be cautious. I’m trying to get my siblings out of the frying pan without stepping right into the fire.”

Anonymous asked: Okay, I'll rip off the band-aid: run off into the woods with your laptop and screw with the cameras as much as possible before shutting them all off. That should send anti off to find you so he doesn't lose his bet. If you can, double back to the window, or have one of the others get the meds if you don't make it back. I know dark is a huge huge risk, but we're running out of options and time. Remember that this is entirely your choice though, Red.

Red’s eyes widen in alarm. He steps back from the door, staring.

“Just… run into the woods. Where that thing is.”

Their rotting face and cold smile. The great pillar of darkness like a plague sent by angels. The fear they made him feel.

He can’t do that. He can’t. Can he?

“R… right now I just… just need to get Dapper his medicine,” he says, backing away from the door once again. Red has no desire to encounter Dark ever again. His desire to keep his brothers away from Dark is still stronger than his desire to keep them away from Anti.

Anonymous asked: Jackie we don’t know how much longer you can play this safe, Marvin’s on borrowed time right now- anything is better than nothing. But ultimately it’s your decision and whatever you think is best we’ll help you as much as we can.

“I’ll think about it, I’ll think about it,” mumbles Red, picking at his lip. “I, uh. Did set up a pretty fucking clever security system this morning, if I do say so myself. Anti has his own security and then I add a more human flair to it… keep ‘em guessing. But I could maybe shut that down if I needed to. Er - sorry. Let’s not talk about this on camera. Just… if you could distract… a certain someone. The others would help you, I bet. I don’t know. I need to get…”

He glances up at the big master bedroom window again before he moves off to get the cleaning supplies he promised Blue.

Anonymous asked: you don't have to do it, red. and you definitely don't have to do it now. we'll see how stuff goes, okay? it makes sense to not run the risk of coming face to face with them again. i agree, they're kinda terrifying.

“It’s not… a bad idea. It would distract Anti. I won’t forget.”

nikkilbook asked: I honestly don’t know who the fire is in this scenario, bud. I’ve seen a thousand different versions of Dark, and I don’t know which one this is. I know Dap’s scared of him, but I don’t know anything beyond that. I do feel confident saying, though, that there are good people who live under Dark’s protection. A little wacky at times, but good.

“Yeah,” sighs Red. “Well… my family’s a little wacky too. A little fucked up sometimes. But still good.”

Anonymous asked: Yeah but stepping into that fire might make a lot of noise that could help you get them away from Big Brother, alright? I’m not entirely aware how the relations are between those on the other side of the camera but this might be your only chance at getting your voice heard. You might even be able to reach Jack.

“J - he doesn’t even remember who we are,” says Red. “I don’t know if he would help us if we could contact him. Dapper says they were friends. But Anti? Well, he’s told me some pretty messed up stories. And he has good points. Why do we deal with so much shit if someone created us? If he was nice, he would have been nicer to us. Anti says the scar in Chase’s head is from the first day of his life. That’s messed up. But we probably shouldn’t get into it now. We seriously need to shut up. Gah, I’m such a blabbermouth. I know I’m on camera and I still go off. Geez. Let me help get Blue cleaned up and then… if you can help me get where we need to go… yeah.”

He passes Dapper and Trick, smiling at the sight of them arguing over how long the muffins should be in the oven for. Everyone’s okay, for now. But in a couple days?

He really will be helpless. The thought makes his stomach burn.

Anonymous asked: Hey Trick, where's Noodle right now out of curiosity?

“Aw, he stays in the pool room most of the time, I got a little sandbox and everything set up for him. Don’t want him running upstairs while I’m not looking. I’ve seen Anti kick stray cats. He gets scared.”

Trick goes to the door that leads downstairs, where you have a single camera with a view on the pool table and a little TV set up with a couch. Noodle is asleep on the cushions. Trick imitates a meow and his cat perks up instantly, trotting to the stairs to mewl back at him. Noodle runs up to him and Trick pulls him into his arms, hugging his kitten tight and burying his face in his fur as Noodle purrs.

pine-storm-season asked: Yeah, you're both doing really well right now. It's a fucked-up situation, and it sucks, but I think you both are handling it really well. Hopefully stuff gets better very soon.

“Yeah, we’re doing our best, aren’t we?” murmurs Red as he comes back into the room, spreading some of Noodle’s litter on the throw up to dry it out so he can clean it up later. He strips the sheets off the bed and gives Blue a washcloth to clean his face and nose.

“Why don’t I move you to the couch so you can lie down somewhere without a mess instead of just hanging out on the mattress?”

“No, please,” begs Blue, snuggled against his pillow again. “I can’t get up, Red. I’m so tired. Just let me sleep here.”

Red sighs and pushes at his twin’s hair. “Okay, buddy. I’ll crack a window. It’s going to be okay.”

Anonymous asked: Do you think using Blue as a distraction would be enough to get Anti out of his room? I think he might expect you to be by his side though, Red, so maybe Dapper or Trick could climb up?

“Use Blue? Hm. I’d have to tell him what’s going on and see if he’s okay with it, but I could. I think he’d do whatever Dapper needs. What would he do to distract him?”

bupine asked: red, do you think if we bothered anti with the information we know about his past, that could work as a distraction? i want your permission before we do so, because it could backfire and have disastrous consequences. but it also could work to make him yell at us while you did something, i'm not sure. what do you think?

“Yes, that would be okay, as long as you can get him out of his room,” says Red. “I don’t care if he gets mad - he will be mad, really mad, when he finds the you-know-what missing. I’ll tell him I took it then, so he doesn’t punish Dapper.”

Anonymous asked: I think Blue being in the state that he is, just being this sick and getting worse should at least be enough to get Anti's attention. I don't think anti will agree to taking him to a hospital per se, but if he comes down long enough to at least entertain the argument from you and Dok it may be enough time to send trick or dap upstairs and back. And hell, at least putting the idea that blue is immensely I'll in his head has to be good for something, right?

“Yeah, maybe I should go ask him to look Blue over, ask if we can go to the hospital,” murmurs Red, chewing on the nail of his thumb. “Okay… okay.”

He steps cautiously towards the stairs and climbs up one at a time on quiet feet, neglecting his usual enthusiastic stomping around the house. He pauses at the top of the stairs, peering into Anti’s room. His brother is on the couch playing with his laptops, wearing a green-haired form in a band t-shirt.

bupine asked: hey there, anti. how are you? still sick from all the magic stealing?

“Shut up,” growls Anti, who has, in fact, been almost as sick as Blue this morning. He needs a body of his own and never gets one. He kicks his blankets off of himself irritably, shifting into a sulking dog on the bed as he watches old videos of Dapper.

“Hey, Anti,” comes a soft voice.

Anti looks up, irritated to be disturbed by anyone other than his little brother.

“I want to take Blue to the hospital,” says Red, trying to stand his ground sturdily. “Dok says he’s not doing well.”

The dog rolls its eyes, shaking its head. “Don’t be stupid, Red.”

“He’s really looking bad, Anti,” says Ro, squirming in place. “I’m scared.”

“Oh, you’re scared? Stupid fucking…” Anti gets up, turning back into a human and slamming his laptop shut, pacing out to stand at the banister above the stairs, glaring.

Anonymous asked: anti, blue really is getting worse. if it's not possible to take him to a hospital, could you at least see if there's another way to get him medicine or something that he would need? he's really not okay.

“Well, what does Dok say?”

“I don’t know, he’s downstairs with him!”

Anti rolls his eyes hard and grabs Red by the shirt, dragging him downstairs. Anti appears in the doorway of the bedroom and Dok jolts away from Blue, the hair on his arms standing up. He wraps his arms around his belly and backs away for a moment, only to come hurrying back to stand in front of Blue, trembling.

“What’s going on?” asks Trick, passing by with a soda in hand.

“Go get Blue some Sprite for his nausea,” says Anti, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s just got a bad stomach.”

“Sprite won’t help,” spits Dok - or tries to spit, his voice coming out frail.

“Shut the fuck up, Dok. No, actually, tell me what the hell’s got you little idiots so concerned.”

Red backs carefully away, heading towards his laptop and flipping it open in the living room.

pine-storm-season asked: Dok, could you say what's going wrong with Blue? And if you have ideas how to fix it, could you say those too?

“This weakness and constant sickness is absolutely relentless on him. He can’t take all this - ”

“It’s like a chronic illness, Dok. I’m not saying it’s fun, but he has to learn to handle it.”

“If it’s a chronic illness, there’s no reason he should be suffering through it without a proper examination and medicine, and the fact that it’s chronic does not mean it couldn’t be… couldn’t be… deadly.”

Blue shivers on the bed. He just wants to hide from all this. He doesn’t want Anti to touch him. He wraps his blankets over his head and tries to go back to sleep.

“You don’t even know what’s wrong, do you?” sneers Anti, taking a step towards Dok. “Some doctor.”

“I read books while I was with the magicians - ”

“Oh, come on!”

“He won’t get better, Anti! He won’t! He needs help. He struggles in the world. You’re the one who did this to him. He needs his lungs and his digestion and his heart all looked at, I’m scared what might happen!”

“You’re always scared.”

Anonymous asked: (remember, red; when you look for what you need, do you need what holds it? or just the thing itself? if you can leave its container where it is, someone else might see it and assume all is well)

“We’ll have to look at it when we get up there. I think it’s one of those clear bottles, the orange ones.”

He messes with the keyboard and for a second, your screens go black again. He’s turned off three of them - the two in the master bedroom and the one that watches the back side of the house.

“Hold on, I might be able to…”

Your vision returns across the screens, but the three he turned off now have a small symbol in the corner - an eye with a slash through it.

“You should be able to see it,” he mumbles. “But I don’t think he will. Maybe.”

He’s never had time to test it. He does know that if Anti notices the screens are off, he’ll be able to turn them back on immediately, no matter if he has his laptops with him or not. Red can spend time in the camera system, but Anti lives there.

“I’ll hurry,” he whispers, and races out the back door, flipping up his blue hood over his eyes. The river in the woods whispers at him and you see a flash of movement in the trees.

Anonymous asked: Anti if something goes wrong medically due to a chronic condition, I highly doubt Dap will be able to go back far enough to prevent it from being deadly if that's what it ends up becoming. Ignoring symptoms won't improve them.

This makes Anti pause, shuffling on his feet. He’s not used to their injuries being something Dapper can’t fix. Hell, Dapper tells him he’s killed them before just for the hell of it, and he believes it of himself. It makes him laugh.

But permanently losing one of them… well, he wouldn’t want it to happen accidentally. He steps over to the bed, smirking as Dok cowers away from him like an under-sized dog, though he refuses to step away from Blue’s body. Anti sits down on the side of the bed and draws the covers back. Blue doesn’t bother to open his eyes. Anti rakes fingers through his hair, gripping his chin and turning his head back and forth.

“Feel his heart,” mutters Dok.

Anti pushes at Blue’s throat and finds his pulse, weak and erratic. He frowns.

“He was fine in Singapore,” he says. “Just a little weak.”

“He is getting worse,” growls Dok.

“He shouldn’t be,” answers Anti, raising an eyebrow. “Sure you’re not mercy-killing him or something, Dok?”

“Don’t even joke,” hisses his older brother.

“No, I wouldn’t put it past you,” sneers Anti. “Little sadist. You know, they say most serial killers are medical staff.”

Trick comes back with Blue’s Sprite and Anti turns his head to him, cutting himself off before saying anything else.

Anonymous asked: Anti, possessing Blue only helps you feel better because it's his magic you stole. If he dies, sure, you can possess anyone else, but you won't have Blue! The magic's just gonna get worse and worse! Even for purely selfish reasons, you need to invest in Blue's continued survival, and that means q more holistic medical approach than Dok can provide.

“Well, look, as I’ve told you, I don’t have any way to give the magic back, so don’t stop harping on me about that again,” says Anti. “I, uh - I don’t regret it, but I will admit it was poorly-researched.”

“Ohhh,” says Dok, in a tone like he’s about to say more, but Anti shoots him a look and he falls silent, glaring at the floor.

“But here’s what you’re all forgetting - if this is because of the magic withdrawal, there’s nothing a doctor can do.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” protests Dok. “You said he improved at the hospital in Singapore! If nothing else they could give us more time to figure out how to fix this. And why discard it when we haven’t even tried?”

Anti turns away, thinking.

On the other side of the house, Red leaps up and positions himself between the gutter and the stone of the house. He finds his foothold, adjusts his grip, and begins to climb up towards the master bedroom, his feet finding places in crevices and cracks when they have to, moving like he’s climbing mountains.

pine-storm-season asked: He's scared for a reason, Anti. There's a not-that-low chance that it could kill Blue, he's just getting worse. Anti, he needs help or he might die. and even if you in particular don't care that much about it, the others do. a lot. Blue needs help and you're in charge of getting him some.

Anti sits for a moment, looking at Blue, petting his hair.

“He is so ugly these days, isn’t he?” he murmurs, tilting his head at him. “I tore that dignified pretty boy with all that lovely hair down to scraps and pieces.”

Blue does not move. You’re not sure if he’s awake or not. Dok glances over at Trick, who’s busying himself with adjusting the blinds to let Blue sleep. His brother sees him looking and smiles at him.

“But he is still… hmm.” Anti draws his hand away from Blue’s hair, looking down at him.

Here is someone who has destroyed and hurt him in the past. Seeing him brought low, seeing him cower at his feet, killing Marvin - that was one of the greatest satisfaction’s of Anti’s life. And he’s enjoyed torturing him since. But he belongs to him and he isn’t allowed to slip away or escape, not even by dying. He’s a piece of the puzzle.

“Well, we’re stuck in the forest for a while yet, though I’m sure I could sneak one of you past Dark if I really had to,” says Anti, checking a watch that he makes appear on his wrist. “Four more days of the game, or until he catches one of you. I don’t much mind either way.”

“Anti, please - ”

“He can hold on four more days,” growls Anti, warning Dok into silence. “Don’t fuss so much. He’s just tired. Let him rest. And then - oh, yes, perfect! Ippy can look at him. He’s as nuts as you are, my darling, but at least he has a real clinic set-up, last I checked. He can get a real check-up then.”

Dok opens his mouth to protest, uncertain, but four days is a better promise than nothing.

Upstairs, Red opens the window to the master bedroom and slips inside the room, searching for Dapper’s Haldol.

“Where is it, where is it…”

pine-storm-season asked: So four days or less, and then Blue gets help? Now, I apologize if I'm mistaken, but I don't exactly trust you to keep to that, Anti.

“I don’t exactly give a fuck about any of your opinions,” answers Anti cheerfully.

“Anti,” laughs Trick, appearing behind him and draping himself over his shoulders. “Be nice to the cameras.”

“You two really are twins.” Anti leans back to kiss his cheek, pulling his head close to his own. “What are you up to? Huh?”

“Haha, just cooking most of the time. And playing pool.”

“Mh, yeah. You like playing around, huh? My Trickshot.”

Trickshot laughs as he’s pampered, pressed close to Anti’s body.

pine-storm-season asked: Trick, do you want Anti to stay here a bit? He's usually upstairs, isn't he?

“Hey, yeah, come shoot pool with me!”

“I’m not going to shoot fucking pool, haha. I don’t play pool, Trick.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, that’s dumb.”

“Are you embarrassed you can’t play?”

Anti turns around and flips him over his side, laying him out on the ground. Trick shrieks and then bites down on his lip, laughing.

“We’re going to wake Blue up!”

“Get your ass out of here,” scolds Anti, getting up and pulling Trick after him, shoving him towards the door.

“You are always upstairs, though, you never hang out with me.”

“You can come upstairs,” says Anti fondly. “I’ll let you play games on the computer or something.”

“Okay!”

Anonymous asked: Cam you at least look into stealing some medical equipment or Something in the meantime, Anti? Thank you giving the chance for an actual checkup in four days, because I think that'll help a lot, but is there nothing you can do before then? Like, even a heart monitor so it's easier to keep track of how Blue's doing, or an oxygen machine, or any of the setup he might get in a hospital? I don't know if you have to stay here to try to keep Dark from winning the game or something

“I’ve been through the shit in the medicine cabinet,” says Anti, turning to look back at Dok. “I’ll unlock for you as long as you don’t get into the fucking sleeping pills like you used to. There’s at least some basic stuff in there for the nausea and headaches, and I think a blood sugar kit and that sort of thing.”

“Okay,” says Dok quietly.

“He’ll be fine, Dok.”

Dok looks up. For a second, it almost sounded like Anti was trying to comfort him.

Anonymous asked: agsjdjdksf trick you're a delight. do you just play pool by yourself? i thought it was usually a multiplayer game. ill be honest i love the idea of seeing anti with a pool cue tryna put some balls into holes. seems a very analog form of entertainment for him hahaha

“Haha, you should play with me, you would like it!”

“No.”

“I’ve been playing with Dap and sometimes Red and Dok. Not going to lie, Dap’s pretty good - but there’s a reason they call me Trickshot, baby.” He winks at you and then laughs.

bupine asked: why are you watching old videos of dapper, anti? don't you have more important things to be doing, like making sure your brothers don't die? like blue, the one you hurt? he's really fucking sick, anti. he's going to die if you don't do anything.

Anti turns on you, his face dark. “None of your business,” he spits, pulling Trick closer to him. “Nosy little bastards. I wouldn’t have a camera in my room if Dap didn’t stay in there, I’ll have you know. Need to start turning the damn things off. Prying eyes.”

Upstairs, Red pauses, looking at the images on Anti’s screen. There’s a young man in a black and white suit pressed against the back of what might be a big dog kennel, trying to keep away from the fingers that are petting at him. He has teal hair and blood on his fingers. Red’s heart aches for a second. His baby brother. It’s like he’s never had a day of relief in his life.

Anonymous asked: Dok, I know we're probably not gonna do much better than 4 days and he just called you a serial killer but Red needs a little time, can you do something to keep Anti down a few moments longer? For dap and Reds sake?

Dok blinks, alarmed. “What’s…?”

He peers out the hallway after his brothers, worried now. Blue mumbles something as Dok gets up and moves after them, trying to think, and almost immediately bumps into Dap.

“Dok? What’s wrong? Look worried.”

“It’s - I don’t know, the cameras said to distract him or something? I don’t know if something’s going on.”

“Oh. Distract Anti? Easy.”

Dapper pulls a knife out of his pocket and slams Dok into the wall with a bang, pressing the blade to his throat. Dok yells in alarm, terrified, and Anti and Trick turn around on the stairs.

“Dapper!” screams Trick, gripping at his chest.

“Carver, stop,” snarls Anti, stalking towards him.

“It’s not Dok! It’s not Dok! It’s not Dok!” screams Dapper’s free hand, his eyes gone wild, and Dok bites down on his lip to hold back an incredulous laugh.

Anonymous asked: Red, we're doing our best to start. If it's not upstairs, it may be on Anti's person in which case we may need a whole new plan but look a little longer, okay? Whether or not we get to the bottom of this, it's not for nothing.

Red scurries around the room, tearing open drawers and searching through the bedsheets, but he doesn’t see it for long minutes. He checks the bathroom - “whew, flower smell! a lot of flower smell!” - and then returns to the main room, leaning down to search beneath the -

“Yes!” he cheers, snagging the pill bottle from under the bed.

pine-storm-season asked: Red, be quick. I think Anti's coming back now. Only take a bit and put it back, too.

“Thank you, a-thank you very much,” says Red in a slightly Irish Elvis impression, quickly pouring some of the pills into his hand, enough to last Dap the week. It doesn’t leave much in the bottom of the bottle, unfortunately, but it’s the best he can do right now. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

He shoves the medicine into his pocket and leaps out the window, beginning to slide down the side of the house.

Anonymous asked: Dok: What do you have? Dap: A KNIFE! Anti: NO!

“Oh, VERY FUNNY,” shouts Anti, putting his hands on his little brother’s shoulders and yanking him away from Dok.

“It is a little funny actually,” says Trick weakly.

“Trick!”

“Sorry.”

Anonymous asked: whoa, dap, hey, it's okay!! it's alright. i know stuff's scary right now but it's okay. you don't have to hurt anyone, right? you're not in danger right now

“What’s wrong with you?” snaps Anti, striking the knife out of Dapper’s hands and pushing his wriggling brother into the wall. “Hey, you cut that out! Stop it, now! I know you’re not having an episode yet! You’ve been off your meds for about twenty minutes!”

“Medication can only do so much,” pants Dok, relieved to see Trick hurrying to his side. His twin wraps him into a tight hug and they stand side-by-side, holding onto each other. “He sometimes has symptoms even when he’s medicated. Especially if he’s been under duress.”

“This is why you should be upstairs with me,” hisses Anti. “You’re out of control.”

“It’s Dark, it’s Dark, making themselves look like my brother!” screams Dapper. “Dark, they’re in my house!”

“Dapper, stop!”

Right behind them, Red drops to the pavement of the patio and slides quickly into the door, pushing his hood off again and trying to stop panting.

Anonymous asked: Uhh Dok you know more about Dap's psychosis and delusions than we do but would it help if you just kinda,,, left the room for a second? So Dap can calm down and not think Dark's in the house? Maybe you can go find Red, last we saw he was having kind of a rough time in the other room, he was worried about Blue. And then when you come back maybe Dap'll have an easier time, especially if Red's with you and trusting you?

“I’m not leaving him alone with Anti if I don’t have to,” says Dok.

“Hey,” says Trick quietly.

“No, don’t try to talk me out of - ”

“Dok, I’ll stay here with him. Go check on Red, okay?”

With Anti there, Dok can’t explain to his twin that Dapper’s pretending. And with the way Trick’s been, Dok can’t explain to him that even if he’s here, Anti could hurt Dapper. He doesn’t think Trick would even recognize that if it happened. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know who Trick is these days.

“Hey,” says Trick, and his voice is the same as when he found the dark bruises on Dok’s wrist. “Hey, trust me.”

Dok is trying. Dok is trying.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay.”

He lets go of Trick and slinks away, finding Red in the living room. The two of them stay close at hand, listening for trouble, Red’s hand resting gratefully between Dok’s shoulder blades.

Dapper takes Dok leaving the room as his cue to draw the performance to a close. He lets his breathing slow and the snarl fade from his teeth, though his body still shakes and his eyes stare dead ahead, angry and cold.

“You’re losing it,” growls Anti. “Get a hold on yourself. This is pathetic.”

“You’re the one who brought me back to that monster,” snarls Dapper. “And you were the one who made them scare me so badly I had the first psychotic episode of my life. Dark was the stress that broke my diathesis and you brought me back to them like it means nothing to you. You brought me back to them when I might not be schizophrenic if I never met them. You - ”

Anti slaps Dapper so hard his head crashes against the wall of the house. Trick screams in alarm, rushing forward without even knowing what to do, putting a hand on both Dapper and Anti.

Dapper lets out a dry croak, tears welling in his eyes. All his training, imprinted into him from years of conditioning, seems to rush back to him in an instant. He cowers against the wall, shaking for real now, tears running down his face.

“You’re a fucking brat,” hisses Anti.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” cries Dapper.

“Anti!” shrieks Trick. “Stop it, leave him alone!”

pine-storm-season asked: Anti, he can't control it. Leave him be, okay? He's trying. He's just human.

Anti can feel Trick’s heart pounding in the space where his hand lies on his arm, holding him back from Dapper.

“Whatever,” spits Anti, stepping back. “Whatever.”

Dapper hides his face. Trick pants, staring at Anti, his free hand moving to linger over his heart, the fingers curling uncertainly.

Anti moves back towards the stairs, scowling. His palm stings from slapping Dapper. In the hallway, he sees Red staring back at him. His oldest’s eyes are cold and glittering. Anti bites his teeth, growling.

“Whatever,” he repeats in a mumble, turning away.

bupine asked: anti, this isn't dapper's fault. he's scared and seeing things, ok? he's not in his right mind and if what he just said is true, which i obviously believe it is, you did bring him back to the most triggering person you possibly could have brought him to. can you blame him? it would be like if you were brought back to your old master, put at his mercy. wouldn't that be scary, anti? can you understand now why dapper is afraid?

Anti pads up the stairs, gripping the banister. As soon as he’s on the second floor, he hears Red and Dok and Dap and Trick all rushing towards each other and murmuring together. Holding each other’s hands and kneeling down to be close.

“Jack was the one who made him schizophrenic,” says Anti. “Jack was. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t Dark’s fault. I love… I love… it wasn’t our fault. It was Jack. It was Jack!”

He strikes his door as he passes it and angry cherry blossom branches snarl across the wood, tearing holes in the door that guards his room.

He sinks down beside his bed, pulling a computer onto his lap. He fast-forwards through the video without having to touch it, his eyes flickering as it settles on a few days forward. Dapper, five days old, crawls carefully out of the little cage and takes an orange slice from Anti’s hand. Anti touches his hair. Dapper smiles nervously and puts the orange in his mouth.

Anti slumps down against the bed, holding his head in his hands.

“It’s Jack’s fault,” he mumbles.

Anonymous asked: (hey red, don't forget to undo what you did in the first place that made this whole thing feasible)

“Right, right, thank you.”

Red races to his computer, letting Dok and Trick look after Dapper, and quickly turns all the screens back on. The crossed-out eye disappears. Anti can see everything again.

And then Red disappears too, slinking away, out of the view of the cameras, and when he comes back, he has only one pill in his hand, and the rest are gone somewhere you cannot see.

Anonymous asked: Hey, Dap, Anti's gone now. He went back upstairs. Take as much time as you need because that was scary and awful as fuck, but he's away for a bit. He's not going to hit you again. It's okay.

“He always gets his hands on me again.” Dapper wraps his arms around himself and rocks against the wall, crying hard, though he can barely even tell why. His pain tolerance is high and the slap didn’t hurt, but it scared him. “He always hits me again.”

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Dok is whispering, prodding gently at his face. “This will bruise, but that’s all, that’s all.”

Trick stands numbly besides them, his hand resting on Dapper’s shoulder. He doesn’t feel very well.

bupine asked: this isn't all jack's fault, anti. you and all of us know that. you are aware that jack could have actually loved you, right? just because you were a mistake as a creation doesn't mean you weren't wanted. i believe you're just scared to admit that all of this could have been prevented. that you could have been happy.

“Don’t!” screams Anti. “Say that to me! No, no! No, that’s not true!”

It’s like a storm’s been unleashed across his computers, and for once, Blue’s power does not rise in him at all. Just his own. Just Anti. Every screen is flickering and glitching and every one of the computers in his room shows a different image - Jack laughing at the fake blood on his neck, Jack hugging a younger man with the same soft, downy brown hair as he has to his chest, Jack in a cat mask, Jack and Chase.

The truth is that, because of what Dapper did, many of the images no longer exist and never did in this timeline, but Anti doesn’t know that. He is digital in his nature, down to his core, and his memories transfer into images whether they exist on the internet or not. Maybe that’s why, after a moment, every smiling image seems to turn cold and angry, every version of Jack’s mouth turns down, every glimpse of his blue eyes glares.

“He was a coward! He didn’t want me! He threw me away!”

Anti throws his laptop across the room, shattering it in half, and he tears at his hair, screaming. The antlers are growing out of his skull again, breaking through the bone, and he howls as he tries to snap them off, though today he seems unable to manage it. His eyes are black and blood pours from his throat so fast you hear him begin to hyperventilate, his whole neck splitting open. His head might fall right off his shoulders.

“He made them all just to hurt me, just to protect himself! When he was all I knew! When he was everything I had! Traitor, traitor! He sent them after me and then he watched! He watched as they beat me into essence! He watched and I was screaming for him!”

The lights in the house burst and across your cameras you hear everyone but Blue gasp in surprise as the power goes out. Anti himself yelps, jolting against the bed, and goes quiet as a faint plume of smoke drifts from one of his laptops, curling towards the window.

Anti sits at the foot of his bed, holding himself, staring dead ahead.

“He didn’t… do anything,” he says after a long moment. “Just… just held Dapper. Cause I guess… he was someone worth saving, but not me.”

Anti picks at his lip, his eyes fixed on the wall.

A pause, and then the bitterness comes back to him, like it always does.

“Well, he’s mine now,” he whispers, turning away from you, his eyes dark. “He’s mine now and Jack will never get him back again. He’s mine.”

He tries to sound intimidating, but he is a twenty-three year old with barely any beard and short brown hair, his eyes huge on a pale face, his accent embarrassed and uncertain, alone in a cabin in the woods.

Anonymous asked: Dap, are you calming down? You're okay, buddy.

“Here, come on, we’ll go hide,” whispers Red, returning to his brothers. “Let’s go downstairs with the cat and we’ll hide out, okay? We’ll be real quiet while brother is mad, it’s okay. Dok, take them downstairs, yeah?”

“Yes,” agrees Dok anxiously, shaking from the power outage, pulling his little brothers to their feet. “Yes, come on.”

Neither Dapper nor Trick protests, looking numb and shell-shocked. Red lets them go, glancing around the house. He doesn’t know how long they might have to hide for. If Anti finds out about what he did, things will only get worse. He grabs his laptop and some nuts and bread and fruit and sets them on the stairs that lead to the basement before going back for the most important cargo of all - Blue.

“Here, buddy, I got you,” he murmurs, scooping Blue, blankets and all, into his arms. His twin does not stir. Red quiets the fear in himself and carries Blue gently downstairs, where a small guest bedroom will hold him instead.

“Are we okay?” he murmurs, coming back to his younger brothers, huddled together on the couch in front of the TV.

Dok nods uncertainly, gripping the both of them. Red kneels in front of Dapper and presents him with the pill. “Ta-da!” he says gently, patting his knee.

Dapper lights up immediately, the anxiety washing off him. He clicks his tongue joyfully and throws himself at Red, wrapping a hug around him and making Red laugh, holding his back in return.

“I got you, little man,” he says, patting his ribs. “I always got you.”

Dapper puts the pill in his mouth and swallows, feeling better already. “That was worth it if it gets me my medicine.”

But Trick, on the other side of the couch, doesn’t seem to agree. He’s sitting still and stiff, crying quietly, hugging Noodle to his face.

tristarlolly asked: I can't help but be reminded of the first ask I ever sent through the cameras, Anti. I complemented you on your "dollhouse" and asked about Jack because I knew you were the only one who could answer anything about him. You told me you were happy with what you have and you didn't need him. I don't think that was true then, and I don't think it's true now. You don't know what happiness is and your pursuit of it has only led you in violent circles.

“Oh, fuck,” says Anti, very tired. “I hate circles.”

Anonymous asked: Hey. Anti. Don't get me wrong, I don't particularly care about how distressed you are, but you need to calm down. It's scaring the others, and sometimes I really fucking pity you, so here; Anti, you've won, you've gotten your revenge. You're in control, and you know this, yeah? Calm down.

“They should be scared. I want to go beat the shit out of that little brat. But it’s never fun anymore. I don’t know when it stopped being fun. Even with Dok, it barely makes me laugh now. Why make me like this and then not even make it fun anymore? I hate him… I hate everything. I want… I… I want Dark. I want Dark to tell me I’m perfect.”

He gets to his feet, almost staggering. “Maybe they’re in the forest. Yeah, I - I’m in control. And you’re… you’re wrong, it is enough. It is enough. I don’t need Jack. I don’t want him. As soon as I’m in control again, it will be enough. I’ll be happy. Fuck, the fact that some of you have been here since the beginning… fuck.”

Anonymous asked: Trick?... How you holding up? If you want to talk, we're here. Your brothers are here. If you need a little time that's fine too.

“I’m having a panic attack,” cries Trick, grasping for Dok. “I’m having a panic attack.”

Dok gets up and surrounds his brother in an instant, alarmed. Trick hasn’t had a panic attack in weeks.

“I’m here. I’m right here, okay?”

“Does he need - is he - ?”

“Just give us some space, alright?”

“Okay, right.” Red backs off, retreating to Blue’s little bedroom, though he listens carefully by the door. Dapper sits uncertainly on the other side of the couch, touching Trick’s wrist.

Anonymous asked: Anti.... if strangers from the internet can't validate your actions and you feel like you can't do the same either.... By all means, feel free to look elsewhere, rinse and repeat, as you've always done, but self-reflection and change aren't outside the realm of possibilities for you to be happy.

Anti just shakes his head, his mouth parted slightly like he can’t find the right words, pacing out towards the woods. These are things he is sometimes - sometimes - aware of. But the fact that he could change is always, always over-shadowed by his fear: that Dapper would leave if he didn’t force him to stay. That all of them would leave if he didn’t force them to stay. That they would go back to Jack and he would be alone for the rest of his life, knowing that they’re happy and he never will be. Besides, there were times when living like this did make them happy, and he never did grasp the idea that cruelty is a fleeting satisfaction. He keeps trying to pursue it and it never sticks around, but he won’t change. He won’t let himself see that. He’s afraid.

“I won’t,” he says.

You hear it as he moves away from the house.

“I won’t. I won’t.”

He slips into a dog’s form and pads away, the grass soft beneath his paws.

He promised Red, didn’t he? This is the last time we try this. And if it doesn’t work… then there’s nothing left for him to stick around for.

And he won’t let the others go running back to Jack, either.

“I won’t.”

bupine asked: anti, i am truly so fucking sorry for what happened to you. that you felt so unloved you'd do all of this. and i so wish there was a way you could have seen how he would have cared for you if you'd given him the opportunity. i wish it wasn't too late for that. because jack didn't hate any of his creations, anti. you just didn't let him love you.

For a moment, it makes him pause.

At the edge of the woods, the body of the huge black dog, tall and proud and beautiful, beautiful, because not everything about Anti is bad. Not everything about anyone is bad, and you are right. About most everything. You are right.

That dog stands at the edge of the woods.

The shadows are cool and deep and dangerous, but he always seems to burn in the sun anyway.

He slips away, and is gone from your view.

Anonymous asked: trick, you okay, buddy? it's gonna be okay, love, just breathe. you have your brothers with you, everyone's okay.

“I can’t think!” Trick cries, gripping at his head. “I can’t - I - there’s walls inside my skull, Deutsch, help me!”

“Hey, you’re alright, you’re alright.” Dok holds his shoulders, shooting a worried look at Dapper, but his little brother has gone quiet and distant, touching the stinging handprint on his cheek and staring right ahead, his posture small.

“No, I’m not alright, everything’s wrong!” screams Trick. “This isn’t right, I can’t think, I can’t see?”

“You can’t see?”

“I think I’m possessed, I’m possessed!”

Dok takes his head in his hands and forces his gaze up, examining Trick’s eyes, but there’s no sign of Anti or anything else. “Trick, I think you just got a shock. My brother, it’s alright now. Everyone’s here and no one’s hurt.”

“No, no, no, that’s not true, that’s lies, that’s lies in between my skull, I think I’m possessed!”

“Just let it out, alright, and then we’ll work on calming down, calming down…”

And Dok is there, as he always is - no, that isn’t right, because wasn’t he gone away from him for a time? But where? And how long? It seems like those days passed in strange blips of time, his memory of it coming and going, his recollection blinking in and out, Blue asking him what’s wrong with him again and again while his brain skips over the thought of his twin and his heart keeps hurting. He digs his nails into his cheeks, weeping; he can feel the imprint of Anti’s hand against his face as he goes crashing to the floor, Blue standing over him and shouting for Anti to leave them alone, and none of it is true, and none of it is right, but all of it is true, and all of it is against the rules.

“No, no!” he hears himself shrieking over the sound of soothing voices. “No, I don’t know, I don’t remember, what’s wrong with me?”

“Trick,” someone begs, and it isn’t even his name. He doesn’t even remember his name. He doesn’t even remember his babies. Soft skin and bumpy infant heads, huge dark eyes and a slobbering mouth using his finger as a pacifier. Cigarette smoke and acrylic nails. The thud of Dapper’s head against the wall.

And it’s gone again.

“Why can’t I think?”

“Trick, you have to stop shouting!”

“My darling, what’s wrong? I’m here, it’s alright.”

“Ohhh, please make him stop, I can’t stand anymore screaming today.”

“Red, go upstairs if you’re over-stimulated, everything’s okay. Trick, we’re okay, we’re just taking a break, we’re okay…”

“In my skull…”

“Trick.”

Firm hands dig into his muscles and push and knead and comfort. Ah, this he remembers. Dok’s hands on him on nights when he’d been sitting so stiff for so long. So desperate to please Anti. Plastered to the window with the great sniper in his hands, watching, watching while Dok massaged at his aching muscles and tried to keep him company, to keep him comfortable. To stay with him. I’m with you.

“Trick. Chase.”

“H… Dok. I can’t…”

“Just be alright. We’re just alright. It’s okay. Here’s your cat. Calm down.”

“He’s not even my real baby.”

Noodle mewls.

Red paces upstairs, rubbing at his face. He needs a break. Trick’s been freaking out for almost two hours.

Anonymous asked: your brothers are here, trick, they'll keep you safe, they'll help you. you're gonna be okay. i know, it's terrifying and confusing and hard. but your brothers are right here, henrik is right here, you're going to be okay. breathe in, and breathe out, buddy. it's gonna be okay, i promise.

“It’s not alright,” cries Trick, gripping at his brother’s shoulders. “It’s… it’s not…”

“I know,” says Henrik quietly. “I know. It will be.”

“He slapped him… he slapped me…”

“He’s not kind.”

“No, no, that’s not right either, it’s not right. I must have - I must have made him do it, I - ”

“No, Trick,” croaks Henrik, curled around him. “Don’t go away again. You don’t have to start thinking like that again. Please?”

“Maybe if Dapper would just fucking behave - ”

“Trick!”

“He tried to hurt you!”

“No, that’s not what happened! Stop it!”

“There h-has to be a reason! There has to be! I have to make this make sense! Dok, I can’t breathe!”

Dapper stares up at them both from beside the couch. Blue is up on his feet between the four of them. He reaches down to touch Dapper’s head.

Anonymous asked: anti made that decision on his own, trick. it's no one else's fault that he did that. the reason is that he wanted to. it's not your fault, bud. it's no one's fault but anti's.

“Well, then it’s like he says, like he was made like that. His creator made him like that. He has a bad temper and he can’t control it. That’s all that’s all that’s all that’s all. He’ll be nice again tomorrow, I know. I know I know I know.”

Trick isn’t aware that he’s babbling or that his siblings have gone quiet around him. Dok is wide-eyed and silent. He never knows what to do anymore. He can never fix anybody who needs him.

“You’re all such fucking brats,” snarls Trick suddenly, and his voice sounds so much like Anti’s for a moment that Dok can’t help the wave of revulsion that shudders its way up his body. Blue must notice. He tugs Dok away from Trick. Dok wishes he weren’t grateful.

“Asshole, acting like you’re here to comfort us,” growls Trick, eyes squeezed shut, hands digging into Noodle’s fur. His cat mewls in discomfort, squirming on his lap, but Trick doesn’t let go. Noodle is his and he’ll stay where he wants him. “You think I forgot, Blue, when you mashed that pole into my skull just so you could watch Anti fucking burn without me? Fucking traitor. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“Trick,” Dok begins, but Blue just shakes his head, gripping his shoulders.

“No point trying to reason with him while he’s like this,” he says. “Trust me, we tried in Singapore, the cameras and I. They’re not even his own thoughts.”

“I want my baby,” cries Trick, his voice shattering into a wave of stammering, his heart pounding hard in my chest. “I’m trying to be good, I am! Will he give me my baby back then?”

“Let’s just give him a little time,” murmurs Blue, but Dok doesn’t move, staring at his brother.

He’d rather Trick were as sick as Blue. He’d rather Trick were locked upstairs on his own. He’d rather Trick was with that monster in the woods. Anything but watching him turn into someone else. Anything but this. He touches his necklaces. For the day he’s ready to kill Anti. Anything but this.

Anonymous asked: hey, trick, buddy. it's going to be okay. i don't think he wants to do that now, no matter how much you do what he wants you to, trick. but you're going to be okay, love. can you tell us what's wrong? you're a little all over the place at the moment, so i don't know what would help you best.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” cries Trick. “There’s something in my head and nothing makes sense.”

“Dissociating?” asks Dok gently, creeping forward again to try and touch him. Blue frowns, but he knows better than to get between twins. He glances down at Dapper and tuts at the sight of the handmark on his face, reaching down to touch his beard fondly.

“No, no, I - well, maybe, maybe dissociating, maybe, maybe, cause nothing is right, nothing’s right, I’m f-freaking out, Dok, I’m freaking out. I just want… I just want… I don’t know, I don’t know what I want.”

He presses himself against the side of the couch, groaning and clutching at his cat.

“You want brownies?” offers Dok weakly.

Trick lets out a bewildered, frantic laugh, sharp enough to make Dok jump. “I… maybe brownies?”

“Bet Red would get you one of the ones you made from upstairs,” says Dok. “We just need to ground ourselves, yes? Something to touch and something to see and taste and hear and smell. I’m here, Trick. I’m here.”

cest-mellow asked: will antis magic wear off on him? what’s gonna happen to him?

“There are two problems,” mumbles Blue. “One - Anti still has access to him. Even if Trick is getting free of him moment to moment, nothing can wear off while Anti keeps getting his hands on him again and again. And two - this isn’t just magic, a spell that will fade given time. Anti is actively getting inside his head and changing the way he thinks. Something has to happen to snap Trick out of it, and then he needs space from Anti to stayed snapped out of it. But I… I don’t know.”

“It’s a good thing he’s having a breakdown,” cries Dok, desperate for good news. “Right? It means he’s fighting!”

“Anti’s power combined with the need to please him that Trick has always had - Dok, I don’t know how he’s supposed to get free on his own.”

“Well, I’m here,” vows Dok, turning his attention back to his twin. “Here I am to help, my brother.”

“You know, Anti’s right about you,” snaps Trick. “You need other people to be in pain around you or you can’t even feel good about yourself.”

Dok’s face falls.

Anonymous asked: are you having trouble remembering, bud? is that the problem?

“It’s like… I can’t think straight… like I’ll have a thought and then it’s right, but then a second later it’s wrong, and then it’s right, and then - and no, I c-can’t remember, but I keep getting these flashes, and I can’t hold on to them, and I’m just…”

He buries his face in the couch, shaking his head. “My depression has never felt like this before, my panic attacks have never felt like this before - am I psychotic, Dok? Does schizophrenia run in families?”

“It’s not that, I promise.”

Anonymous asked: try not to figure out if the memories are right or wrong, okay, trick? just try to see what they are, if you can, and don't try to figure out whether the memories are right or not. and if you can't hold onto a memory, let it go, okay? it'll come back. trust dok, okay? i think he knows which memories are right. i promise he just wants to help you.

“You’ll remember for me, won’t you?” he babbles, and you aren’t sure if he’s talking to you or Dok. “He has big big eyes and he’s perfect and warm. And I was braiding hair, I can braid hair, her dark hair. And I was in Singapore and Blue hit me. But Anti hit me too, haha. And I forgot, the next morning, and he kissed the side of my face. And there are fires and knives and girls with dark eyes.”

“Breathe,” Dok reminds him. “Breathe. You know how to get through a panic attack.”

“I can feel you touching me, like you always do when I’m s-scared, and I can hear the air conditioning, and I can smell your coat with green apple detergent, green apple detergent because we finally have a l-l-laundry room. I can feel you touching me like you always do when I’m scared.”

“That’s better,” says Dok. “That’s good.”

Blue hears the door to the backyard swing shut above him. He blinks, looking up to the ceiling.

Anonymous asked: Can someone Please take Nooddle away from Trick, before even his own cat starts to be afraid of him?

“They’re right, Trick, please,” says Blue calmly, reaching forward. “Please give me the cat, alright?”

“He’s my cat!” shrieks Trick. Noodle chirps as he tugs at his fur, barely even aware of the way his kitten is squirming beneath him. “He’s my cat, he’s mine, he’s supposed to be with me - ”

“He doesn’t want to be held!” Dapper signs suddenly, springing off the floor, and he reaches forward and snags Noodle from Trick’s lap before his brother can even make a leap for him. Dapper darts away towards the guest bedroom, Noodle pressed into his shoulder. Trick screams after them, striking the side of the couch with his hand, but he’s too shaken to get up and go after them, and he doesn’t want Dok to be apart from him.

immabethehero asked: Trick be nice! Dok wants to help you! Even if you don’t agree, that doesn’t mean you should be rude!

“Oh, the cameras always know what’s right, don’t they?” snarls Trick, sitting up again, another violent mood-swing back into anger. “You sit a million miles away and you all tell us what to do. Like you know anything about what we’ve been through. Like you know anything about my family! You’ve never liked Anti, I know, I’m not stupid, even if everybody thinks I am. I notice things. I know you were with Dok with the magicians and you told him to stay. I know you say all sorts of things to get him wrapped around your fingers. I know he wouldn’t get in trouble if he would just take these fucking things off!”

Trick wraps his hand around Dok’s throat, necklaces and all, yanking him forward. Blue yells and steps forward, grabbing his hands, but Trick is stronger than he is. His blue eyes bore into his twin’s. Dok stares back at him, eyes wide, choking for air, but his hand only rests on Trick’s, waiting, patient, here. Here I am. Here I am. It’s okay.

Trick blinks. His anger falters away. He lets go of Dok’s throat, shocked.

“Oh, no, Henrik,” he whispers, voice broken. “I didn’t mean…”

Anonymous asked: don't do that, okay, trick? dok's just trying to help. you're doing great otherwise, bud. breathe in, and breathe out, okay? i know, this must be really hard right now. but you're going to be okay. try to stay calm, bud. you're going to be okay.

Trick is just shaking his head. Blue is still standing above him, touching his hands, and Trick reaches for his big brother for a minute, a faint whimper on his mouth, and Blue doesn’t even know how to respond.

“I’m going to take a break,” says Dok, quiet and hoarse.

“Dok,” says Trick.

He means to tell him “I’m sorry,” but his stammer is so bad he can’t get the words out.

Dok gets up. Straightens out his coat. Pads up the stairs. Disappears.

Trick’s hand rests over his heart.

Anonymous asked: I don't mean this to sound mean but I really feel like someone else other than blue should be with trick rn. If he swings back into anger I don't know if blue will be alright to deal with this alone ":(

Blue stares down at Trick. He knows what you’re saying is true. But Dapper’s in the other room if he needs him, you’ll call for help if something happens, and, moreover - Trick looks like he’s broken clean in half.

“You know what,” says Blue.

You have not heard bitterness on his tongue for anyone but Anti in a long time. Trick looks up at him, stunned to hear vitriol in the voice of the sibling who’s meant to be his caretaker. The siblings who’s never called him anything but “my darling,” “my heart,” “my brother.”

“I think he’s done,” says Blue darkly.

Trick turns his face away from him.

Anonymous asked: Blue please don't leave him alone. Don't leave him with only anti to turn to for answers

Blue rocks on his heels, seething through his teeth, trying to find the right course of action.

He wants to leave Trick alone. He’s mad. He knows it’s Anti’s fault, too, but he can’t take that. Trick can’t start doing this. Blue won’t accept it. Won’t pretend nothing just happened. He can’t. He wants to cry. To scream? To hit something? He wants to go back to bed. He wants to leave Trick alone and he hopes that his little brother feels bad. Venomously, he hopes that his little brother feels bad.

But he doesn’t leave him alone.

Blue sits down on the other side of the couch, his hand in his palm, a sigh falling out of his mouth. He’d never forgive himself if Trick hurt himself or scampered back off to Anti.

“Just breathe, Trick,” he says, exhausted. “Can you tell Red it’s quiet again now? Maybe he’s ready to come back downstairs and then I can go off and calm down for a minute.”

Anonymous asked: On one hand, I understand that the bitterness and isolation is justified. But also, guys... if you all leave trick alone how do you expect him to not keep going back to Anti? If you're not careful this is probably going to fuel more ways for him to slither even deeper into his head

“We do what we can,” says Blue. “We’re all doing what we can. I’m ill and I’m angry and I’m still here, aren’t I? We do what we can and if it isn’t enough, we don’t take blame for that. We just don’t. Trick’s actions and decisions are nobody’s fault… well, a little Anti’s, in this unique case, but still. Dok doesn’t have to stay with him after he hurt him. Hell, if he wanted to go and not forgive Trick at all… well, he’d be allowed to do that, and what Trick does afterwards would not be his fault. Dok has to take care of himself too. I think Dok will forgive him, but both of my brothers are hurting right now, both of them are vulnerable - all of us are vulnerable - and we’re all just doing what we can. And if that’s not enough… well.”

He turns his head bitterly away. “It never is, is it?”

pine-storm-season asked: Red, it's quiet now, could you come sit with Trick?

“Hm?” says Red.

From the camera in the backyard you can see him.

Gone very stiff.

Standing on the porch.

Eyes wide.

“Can I… oh, yeah, just, uh… a second, one second…”

He’s staring out the window, towards the forest. Dok pads into the living room and blinks to see him standing there.

“Uh, Red?”

“Hm?”

“What are you looking at?”

Red doesn’t answer.

Dok steps up behind him, letting the backdoor swing open and then closed again, adjusting his glasses and squinting.

“Is there someone in the woods?”

“You see him too?” breathes Red, his cheeks rising with a passionate blush, his eyes shining.

Dok takes another step forward. The pool laps quietly between them.

“Is that… that man you were with? In the marketplace?”

Red is aglow. Red is holding his own heart. Red takes a step forward.

“He found me again,” he says, his voice trembling, but not with despair. “He found me again. I could… Anti is away, we could just… he forgave me. He came back.”

Dok tilts his head, confused, but it looks to be true - there, hiding a little behind the trees, eyes wide and earnest, smiling at Red -

Max.

Jackie takes off at a run down the porch steps.

Anonymous asked: Oh god, this probably isn't Max...

“Shit,” hisses Dok, with one glance at you. “Shit!”

Red isn’t even listening to you, leaping down and racing across the grass. Dok snarls like a wild thing and leaps after him, desperation making his blood pump, reaching out to grab Red, only a few feet past the pool, the trees closer than he’s ever seen them. “Red!” he screams. “It’s not Max!”

“I know him now!” cries Red. “I forgot him once. I won’t do it again.”

“He’s a trick, Red! Don’t you think it’s a little too good to be true that the one person you’ve been longing for for weeks is just suddenly here in the middle of nowhere, grinning at you from our enemy’s hiding place?”

“He was too good to be true!” cries Red, struggling against Dok’s grip. “Dok, please, I’m begging you! He feels real, Dok. My heart!”

It stings at Dok, but he doesn’t let go.

pine-storm-season asked: Red. It's not Max. That's Dark. You remember Dark, right? How would Max get through these woods? He couldn't, Red. That's Dark. Red, come back to the house now.

“They’re right.” Dok grips at his arm, yanking him back towards the house, drawing a low cry out of his brother. “It’s Dark.”

“Dark made me afraid!” Red protests. “Just being near to them, it was like my heart was shaking.”

“Red, that’s what they’re doing now too. Don’t you get that? They manipulate emotions. That’s why you were so scared of them, and that’s why you’re convinced it’s Max now. Red. Red. They’re making you feel that way. It’s not real.”

The energy drains out of Jackie in a moment. He stares at Dok, mouth trembling. “I just… I just…”

“I know, my brother,” says Dok.

Anonymous asked: On another hand... If that is Max you need to shout to him to get out of here, I definitely don't think he's safe in these woods.

“Max, go!” cries Red, something in his chest snapping open and oozing out hurt. “A chuisle mo croi! Before he hurts you!”

He wants him to go. He wants him to turn around and go, and prove that it is him, it’s Max, he’s going and he’ll come back!

But the little figure of Max in the forest does not turn away from him. Red shakes his head, turning to stare at Dok, begging him to make things different. Dok just shakes his head at him, eyes apologizing.

Anonymous asked: red, tell max to come into the house for a minute. okay? harmless request, buddy. just have him come into the house for a few seconds.

“Yes, tell him to come over here,” says Dok, holding Red tight.

“He wouldn’t want Anti to know he was here…”

Dok covers the camera with his hand, blocking your view. “Tell him to come over now,” he suggests.

Red is silent for a long moment. There’s a shift of light as Dok’s body relaxes, letting go of Red’s arm.

He could call out for the fake Max to come over here, but he already knows the truth. Dok moves his hand away. Red is still staring out at the woods, eyes wide.

“Hey,” laughs Max’s clear rich voice, accent and all. “Hey, come over here. I miss you. Hey, come here.”

“My little brother was right about you!” Red reaches down to snag a rock and chucks it towards the woods. “You’re a creep!”

“Well, that’s not very nice,” says Max, laughing too long and too deep. “That’s not very nice, really. Don’t you think it would be fun? Wouldn’t you like to? I think you’d like to.”

“I think you’d love to,” repeats an echo of his voice, and then it wells up in Red so powerfully that it makes him double over, falling to his knees in the grass - affection, warmth, joy, love! Max, his Max!

“Leave him alone!” cries Dok, stepping in front of his brother. “Stop it!”

“What’s this?” purrs Max’s voice, growing deeper and deeper, the accent smoothing out, Americanizing. “What’s this? He doesn’t want to play? Why don’t you feel it, little doctor? Is that what you are? A doctor in his tattered coat? Maybe you’d rather sulk a little.”

Red’s joy turns to grief. He gasps against a wave of sorrow, deeper than oceans, about to tear him open. Dok grabs at him, alarmed, but he doesn’t feel the despair.

“Or anger?”

Red hollers, tearing out handfuls of grass with his hands, shaking his head, gritting his teeth so hard he might break them. Dok pants, nervous in the face of his fury, but he doesn’t move.

“No, how strange,” says Dark, tilting his head back, the daylight around them turning darker and darker. “How strange, that he doesn’t seem to want to share anything at all. What’s protecting you, little doctor?”

“Leave us alone,” snaps Dok. “We’re going back to our house.”

“Are you?” asks Dark.

“Are you?” laughs their echo.

Anonymous asked: blue, it's okay to be angry, and it's okay for dok to need space to calm down, but i think you need to be gentler with trick right now. you said it yourself that he's not fully in control of himself, and can't you see that he's sorry? i know you're tired of this, but he's terrified, and he needs some kindness. he deserves to be forgiven because it's not his fault that he's doing or saying hurtful things right now. he's sick, and anti did this to him.

“Come on!” protests Blue. “I am sitting here with him. What else do you want me to do, dude? Cuddle up with him and tell him it’s okay that he just assaulted the person who loves him most in the world? Tell him lies about how this is all going to be okay? I don’t have any comfort to give right now! I have limits. Aren’t I allowed have limits? Or am I supposed to be their caretaker to the point that I have to crucify myself on their altars even when they’re not in danger? Am I supposed to forgive him before he’s even taken a moment to look at what he did and stop it from happening again? Do I have to pretend it didn’t happen? I’m - I’m mad!

“Maybe you’re right, but I have to feel how I feel about this and Trick’s surviving for now. Can you give me ten minutes at least to be mad before you expect to come in here and kiss it better? I’ll comfort him when my head is clear and I don’t feel like my body is trying to destroy itself, alright? Please… I’m angry. I don’t have any hope to give him right now… I could use some comforting too, you know… but then again that’s all I need lately.”

He buries his face in his hands. “I wish I could make just one of them happy.”

Anonymous asked: Dapper, Dark is outside trying to get Red and Dok to go to him. He's disguised, and screwing with Red's emotions on a bad way. Do you know anything that might help them?

Dapper sits upright so fast that Noodle flies off his lap. The kitten, disgruntled by his long day, mewls as he lands on his feet and licks Dapper’s ankle in protest.

“Outside? With Red and Dok?”

Leaping out of bed, Dapper charges up the stairs without pausing to explain a word to Blue and Trick. He swipes his golden Christmas knife off the ground where Anti slapped it from his hand and races towards the doorway.

“Anti!” cry his hands, slashing across his throat. “Anti, come home now! I need you.”

bupine asked: dark? may we speak to you? we want to know how much you remember of anti. he told us much about you, much of his memories, but we'd like to hear what your side of it is. if that's alright by you.

“If it’s answers you want, I can provide. Just tell these little humans to come closer,” Dark entices, sliding forward, shape-shifting slowly as they go. They are masculine, feminine, feline, shadowed, shifting, but always terrifyingly beautiful, with eyes like dead stars. “I’ll talk to you, little doctor. Come on, don’t be so scared. You don’t look very well, you know. Has someone been hurting you? Skinny thing, pale thing, bruised beneath its shirt. I have food and medicine and shelter. Would you like to have a drink with me? Rich red wine til you’re drunk on it. I’ll give you whatever you need and make you stop wanting for anything at all.”

“You stay away from me!” shouts Dok, dragging Red back towards the house. “We don’t want anything to do with you here!”

“What’s around your throat, little creature? I’d like to see it up close.”

Anonymous asked: red, love, trust dok, go with dok, okay? dok is safe, let's keep you safe too, red. go with dok back into the house and you'll be safer.

“Red, come on,” begs Dok.

His brother is clutching his head, shaking, silent, curled taut against the ground.

“I know it’s a lot, I just need you to stay with me a moment longer! We have to get back to the house!”

“I think we’re close enough to the house,” manages Red in a whisper. “If they were going to attack us…”

“They would have done it by now,” finishes Dok, a little relieved. “Wouldn’t they have?”

Dark lunges forward in a cloud of shadow. Dok yelps as darkness blacks out your camera entirely. Dapper is whistling frantically from the porch.

Anonymous asked: Red and Dok, get in the house, now!

Dok staggers back in the direction he thinks the house is, dragging Red completely, who can’t do much else but holler and shake his head a little too hard to be safe. He slams into someone’s chest and recoils, but hands are already grabbing him and pulling him back. Terror burns across his chest until his fingers are pressed to - hair? Oh! Dapper’s mustache.

“Dapper,” he croaks, gripping his shirt.

“We have to get out of here!” answers a clear British voice. “It’s this way.”

“Oh, nice try, idiot,” snarls Dok, driving his elbow into Dark’s ribs. The fake Dapper falls back, snarling, and transforms. Red shrieks in alarm as gold panther’s eyes burn into them from the shadows - and then Dark is tearing forward, and the teeth of the panther latch into Red’s hoodie and yank.

“Red!” screams Dok in a blackness so deep he can do nothing but stumble forward as he feels his oldest brother tugged away from him. Red screams so hard his throat stings, completely paralyzed by everything happening all at once.

A body slams into both Dark and Red. For a moment, Dapper’s golden knife glints in the light of his own silver irises.

“Get the hell away from my brother!”

Dark lunges at Dapper and bites.

pine-storm-season asked: I know, Blue. I'm sorry. You're trying your hardest, and thank you for that. And it's okay to get fed up with them, and to need a break. You're human. No one should expect you to care for them every minute of every day. This sucks, I know. You're doing incredibly well in an awful situation, but you shouldn't have to be doing this at all. It'll get better, Blue, I promise. I know that's hard to hold on to, and I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you. But it won't be this bad forever.

“No, you don’t have to…” He lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to coddle me or anything like that, I’m just being a fucking mess as per usual. Oh. I mean… thank you, though. Thank you, really, I…”

He runs his hands through his short hair, his fingers loving at the places it’s begun to grow out again. He has an intense desire, almost suddenly, almost painfully, for his old hair back. But… then again, he can’t remember what that was like. He woke up one day in a bathtub, his hair dyed blue, Anti’s fingers against his scalp. There were strangers downstairs and a twin at his side and he was told to look after them. That’s all there ever was. The truth is, he remembers less than anyone of the person he used to be before this all started. He has no glimpses of past lovers, no connections to old friends still searching for him, no random memories to which he can travel for a few minutes of peace, and what time has he had to remember and explore the person he was and will be without Anti hanging over his throat? He’s their caretaker. That’s all.

“And not even a good one,” he mutters, letting his white hair go. “Not even a good one.”

A sharp scream makes him jolt up straight. For a second, there is a flash in his eyes like he might know magic once more - but it’s just the vitriol that lights up in him when he hears his twin cry out.

“Red!”

Anonymous asked: Blue there's something of a ruckus going on out back. With the emotional and physical state you and Trick are in, I don't know the best way to help out or if it's worth putting you two at risk as well. We don't really have a guage on the situation. I thought dap might explain but he just took off

“Fuck! I love that little shit, but he’s gotten way too used to having to clean up everybody’s messes all on his own. Trick, wait!”

Trick is on his feet, staggering towards the stairs. Blue grabs his arm, pulling him to his chest. “You need to sit down!”

“If that thing takes him away I’ll never get a chance to make this right!”

“We’ll go, but carefully!”

“No, I’ll go. You can barely get up the stairs on your own. Stay here, Blue!”

“Hey!”

Trick yanks away from his siblings and races up the stairs, panting and pale, leaving Blue limping after him.

“Where’s my fucking cane?” he hisses, staring in despair at the mountain of the stairs. “You gotta be joking.”

pine-storm-season asked: Trick, Trick, do you have your gun? Your brothers are in danger outside

Trick does have his gun. He always knows where it is. Always, always. Dok’s silver handgun fits venomously against his palm. He pushes outside - nothing but darkness.

The world has gone cold and silent. He stands in the doorway, pupils blown by the shadow, heart thumping in his chest. You can see his back illuminated. His front disappears into darkness.

He can’t see a goddamn thing.

Until Anti’s fire goes up in a blaze of white light, and a huge black dog races towards the jungle cat dragging a struggling figure back towards the trees, a howl of joy and adrenaline and anger all at once tearing from its fiery throat.

bupine asked: dark, you you earlier that we should bring the boys to you. how can we trust you when you're hurting them? i believe there's no way you can be worse than anti, although maybe i shouldn't speak too soon, but you need to stop this, please. don't hurt them.

“Don’t tell them anything!” Dapper says - or you think so. It is difficult to tell with half his arm mangled in the mouth of the panther. “They’re always learning and they’ll use it against every - ”

He cuts himself off as the teeth dig deeper into his wrist, tearing sinew. He throws his head back, eyes rolling from the pain, but not for a second does he stop struggling.

And then Anti is there.

“I’ll show you worse,” laughs his voice from every side, the dog crashing into Dark and biting its yellowed teeth. “You clever old gobshite, going for my strongest. I’ll tear your pretty white throat open for that, hahaha. Come on, get a better form out and let’s fight like the mangled excuses for living beings that we are.”

Anti shifts back into Jack’s form, his eyes blazing with color, his throat sopping blood, a huge white smile on his fanged teeth. From the porch, the bang of a gun, and Dark’s shadowed form falls back, dissipating into a heavy, buzzing smoke.

“Dance with me!” shrieks Anti, and he leaps forward, burning with fire and thorn. Whether or not Dark remembers, here is one truth - Anti has learned new tricks since last he saw them.

bupine asked: dapper, get back. are you alright? stay away from dark, get with your brothers to safety. let anti handle it.

“Dap!” Dok wraps his arms around him. Dapper gives a heaving gulp of air in lieu of a scream, struggling. It isn’t Dok’s job to save him. It’s Dapper’s to save them. He can reverse this if he just - if he just -

The pain stabs through him, disorienting any plans for time travel. Dok pulls him back towards the house as Trick grabs at Red, both of them moving towards the porch and hunkering down together, holding each other.

“I don’t want Anti to die,” confesses Dapper. “Especially not to leave us with the Darkness!”

“Stop trying to use your wrist!” cries Dok. “I need to clean this up! Anyway, it looks like he’s burning them down to ash.”

“He’s going to set the forest on fire,” fears Trick.

“They’re learning things about us! If they had really wanted to take one of us, they could have, I’m sure of it! They wouldn’t have come alone - they’re hiding their allies while they learn about all of us!”

“Stop goddamn signing, Dapper, I’m not joking! You’re losing blood! Can we just get inside the house?”

pine-storm-season asked: He's not going to die here, Dapper. Dark won't kill him.

“I don’t trust Dark with anything, anything, anything - ”

Dok pins his arm down against the kitchen table, trying to see the wound through the rapid blood flow. Trick sets an unresponsive Red down on the couch, pulling his brother’s hood up over his eyes before turning back to Dok.

Dok looks at him, putting all else aside for the moment. “I need - ”

“To stem the bloodflow before you can stitch it. I’ll get you a towel and try to find something for the pain.”

Outside, the foliage thickens as plants burst up from the ground, trapping a shadowy figure beneath bluebell and redwood, though it won’t last long.

pine-storm-season asked: Anti's said that Dark won't kill him. They know each other. He's not going to die here and leave you to them, okay? It's okay. You're in the house, you're safe.

“Safe from Dark,” moans Dapper, squirming. “But he has pets of his own.”

“I’ve got you. Just try to stay calm,” says Dok. “I’ll sedate you if I have to, wild man, don’t doubt me.”

“I don’t like them.”

“Dapper, we are all so, so aware of that fact. Acutely aware. Now hush. Doesn’t this hurt?”

It does. But it’s just pain, and Dapper’s had worse. He looks around at the others, checking their bodies for wounds even as his head swims.

bupine asked: dapper, you should all get inside. anti will be fine - he's survived everything up til now, and unfortunately, i doubt this old acquaintance of his will be the one to kill him. i'll be greatly surprised if so. but you guys need to be safe, because while anti can fight him, you can't. get dapper fixed up, doc, can you? everyone else, stay inside and wait for anti to come back.

Dok slams the door shut behind them and locks it - for all your reassurances, he can’t help but wish Dark would just kill Anti, or maybe that they’d both kill each other, like digging your teeth deep into something poisonous. But Dapper seems a little convinced, his eyes roaming the messages, and he goes stiff against the kitchen table, his eyes sliding shut as Dok takes a towel from Trick and applies agonizing pressure to his wrist.

“He can’t lose his hand,” says Trick quietly. “He kind of needs that.”

“You think I am not aware of this? Get me water.”

They always tell patients it’s to make sure they stay hydrated, but it’s mostly psychological - this will help! You’re doing something to stay alive! Good work! Focus on that! Trick knows the drill.

pine-storm-season asked: Everyone's safe for the moment, right? All five of you in the house?

Blue slams open the door to the basement, panting hard, and shoots a glare around at his brothers, though the venom dies in his eyes within seconds and his worry makes him gentle again. He swoops forward on shaking legs to kneel at his twin’s side, staring up at Red’s scrunched-up face.

“Did he scare you again, love?”

Red doesn’t answer, gripping his hood over his eyes. Blue gets up to dim the lights and find blankets.

“We’re okay, we’re okay,” he chants in a loving rhythm. “Here we are, we’re alright. Fuck’s sake.”

He looks out the window, but either the fight has gone quiet or Dark and Anti are too deep in the woods for him to see anything. The birds have begun chirping again, unsure as they peep back out into the open.

bupine asked: trick, are you ok? talk to us if you need to, i understand this is a lot to handle.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he says quickly.

He is good in a crisis, truly. It’s part of the reason he and Dok have always gotten along - trauma and all.

“Just need to help Dap and Red and make sure Anti gets back okay. And he will. That thing doesn’t stand a chance against him. I’ve seen Anti wipe out police squads and gangs in one night. Especially when he’s protecting us.”

For a second, his hand swipes past Dok’s stomach, meeting that familiar old bullet wound in his belly. It’s almost subconscious. Like Dok’s skin is his own. Trick pauses for a moment, staring at the bruises in his brother’s neck. Bruises. He gripped him hard enough to leave bruises. And Dok was just quiet with him. Dok let him grab him.

“Just need to help Dap and Red and make sure Anti gets back okay, yeah,” mumbles Trick, bringing water to Dapper’s mouth. “Here I am, little man. Take a drink. You’ll feel better.”

pine-storm-season asked: Red, you okay? Okay-ish, anyway?

Red is well past the point of answering, stiff and silent on the couch, hiding from everything. Blue does not try to touch him. Red does not hum or rock or fidget. He just wants the buzzing in his head to stop. It’s so much at once that it’s painful. Nobody should be able to feel as much as intensely as he just did. He wants to be under his bed and alone and in the dark - but not dark too deep. Not dark too deep.

“I think he’ll just need a couple minutes,” says Blue. “He usually steadies out pretty fast unless he’s hurt or sick or something. He’ll just be a little brain-dead. I mean – just tired, mentally, you know?”

Red reaches out without opening his eyes to put his hand on Blue’s shoulder. Blue lets him massage at the fabric of his shirt in silence, unmoving beneath his brother’s palm.

Anonymous asked: Dok, what I'm about to say doesn't excuse Trick from what he did to you, this isn't meant to be eye-for-an-eye bullshit or an apology on his behalf (only he can give you that) but you know you've done the same to him months and months ago, because whoever you were seeing wasn't your brother in your eyes. You two have changed drastically but have always stuck by each other and communicated to resolve things. Maybe words aren't as helpful as they once were, but silence and violence won't help

“Okay, you know what, what the hell?” Dok bursts out, turning away from Dapper’s bloodied arm for a second to stare at you in bewilderment. “Silence and violence? I have not for a single second been violent with him today. I walked away from a brother who had just physically attacked me so that I could calm the fuck down and not start sobbing all over him, and you think I did something wrong? Should I have stayed there and kissed it all better? What the fuck?”

“Dok, you have to concentrate,” Trick pants, wiping blood from Dapper’s wrist. “Please?”

“I have attacked him before and I’ve attacked myself too,” cries Dok. “You’re the only one here who’s still holding old grudges, camera. Trick and I moved past that. And goddamn, I’ll move past this too, but I did what was best for all of us by not yelling at him or excusing his behavior or telling him it’s okay, because it isn’t okay! It isn’t okay! None of this is okay, it’s not - ”

“Dok!” cries Blue.

“Can I have five goddamn minutes to step away from him after he fucking throttled me for not being obedient to Anti before you expect me to be telling him he’s perfect? Fuck! I don’t care if he’s changed. He made a goddamn choice and I’m allowed to believe that was wrong! He fucking hurt me! Just like Anti does, just like we’ve always comforted each other through! I used to believe Trick was the only thing in the world that would never mean to hurt me. That’s so fucking unfair to act like I’m the one in the wrong here!”

Trick gives a dry sob, bent over Dapper’s arm, but he doesn’t protest. He doesn’t want you to defend him either. He shouldn’t have done what he did and it’s alright for Doktor to step away from him when he’s being violent with him. Dok responded as appropriately as he could have - and they were genuinely only separate for about ten minutes before Dark attacked, so he doesn’t really know what you mean.

Anonymous asked: Dok I sincerely didn't mean that as an accusation. You aren't wrong for feeling your feelings. All I meant is you guys should talk things out but I'm timing my words poorly and not giving you guys time to process since so much has been happening. My mind is on worst-case-scenario mode and I'm sorry if I'm trying to solve things before I even know what the damage is. I'm sorry for over-stepping

“Some of you are young,” says Dok, his voice shaking. “I don’t want you to think that someone hurting you isn’t a big deal. In most circumstances… I wouldn’t tell you to let that person back into your life. And it’s never your responsibility to make sure other people are making up with each other - I don’t want you to carry the burden of other people’s relationships. Be careful with what you tell people to do just because you want things to go back to normal. Normal isn’t always healthy.”

“I’m worried shit is torn in here, Dok,” says Trick lowly, trying to be careful with Dapper’s arm even as he pushes at the wound. “That was like a whole big cat in his arm.”

“On the contrary, I would expect wounds from a big cat to be far worse,” answers Dok tersely, re-focusing. “Wild it may sound, but Dark was gentle with him.”

Anonymous asked: Whether Dark was being gentle or not, you can fix Dapper up, right? Or does he need to be added to the waiting list for the hospital in four days?

Dok laughs weakly. “Waiting list for the hospital… ah. No, no, it’s alright, I believe. I may not be able to do much, but I can still stitch, disinfect, and bandage as well as any real doctor.”

Trick looks up, blinking. “You are a real doctor.”

Dok is bent low over Dapper’s arm, holding it carefully in place.

“We’ll just have to keep it very clean,” he says after a moment.

pine-storm-season asked: Trick, is everything going okay? Dok knows what he's doing, I'm sure, but is Dapper okay?

“How are you holding up, buddy?” asks Trick, gripping Dapper’s shoulder. He can see the adrenaline fading off his little brother, his eyes getting glassy. Blood soaks into Trick’s socks.

Dapper holds onto his sleeve, blinking slowly.

“Dok, let’s lie him down.”

“On the carpet, then.”

They take him carefully towards Blue and Red. Dapper doesn’t protest when they put him down on the ground, his eyes rolling dazedly back.

“It’s quite a lot of blood.”

“He’ll be alright.”

Trick squeezes Dapper’s good hand. “Just hang in there, tough guy. You can sleep if you need to, it’s okay. Dok’s got you.”

bupine asked: anti, you ok out there?

“They’ll send PEOPLE to the house next, you mark my fucking WORDS.”

Everyone jolts - exception Dapper - as Anti glitches back into the house shouting as loud as he can. And as loud as he can is pretty damn loud.

“What are you going on about?” snaps Dok, hovering over Dapper’s body as Anti leaps through the kitchen towards them, his whole body shivering with computer-error colors.

“Dark!” he yells, clapping his hands together, his hair shifting rapidly between different shades of green and brown. “That was just the pre-game show! Aren’t they clever? Aren’t they FIERCE?”

Blue rolls his eyes, standing up to cover Red’s ears with his hands.

“They’ll send people here?” asks Trick. “I thought you said they wouldn’t come near the house, Anti.”

“No, they won’t, but they have soldiers of their own, and now they have an idea of what’s going on in this house, because SOMEONE had to go looking for his little boyfriend, didn’t he?”

Blue hugs Red to his chest, scared Anti will come over and punish him for it.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” babbles Anti, bouncing on his feet and whirling around, flipping his knife in his hand. “Had to happen, had to happen. If it wasn’t Red, it would have been one of the rest of you.”

“Anti, you’re bleeding,” says Trick.

“What’s blood to me?” hollers Anti, throwing his knife straight up, where it impales in the ceiling and stays. He laughs, rocking back on his heels. “What’s blood at all? Nothing ever kills me, nothing ever makes me die. All part of the game, my darling, and finally there’s someone worth playing with. Ah! I’m not watching the cameras! Be quiet and don’t go in the forest again, you little morons, unless you want to get stolen away, away, away!”

He vanishes in a flash of blinding color, glitching back to his room.

Dok, Trick, Red, and Blue look around at each other, eyes wide.

Anonymous asked: Wait, Anti, do you know if people they send will be able to come into the house? I want to know how alert they need to be to stay safe.

“Why not?” asks Anti. “Only spirits and humans like Jameson are bound by spirit rules. Though, I must tell you, it is never clever to enter a place where a spirit lives without permission. You ever seen that movie Spirited Away? Shit is fucked, man. But anyway, I’m not quite a spirit, am I? Not quite anything. Thank you, creator, for having absolutely no clear ideas in mind when you created me. Now I’m bound to so little, so little. Species have rules they have to follow - fairies fear iron, changelings choke on rowan, spirits respect each other’s spaces, magicians grow weary, demons run from priests, tricksters fool themselves, gods are forgotten, mortal things age and choke and rot away. Me, I’m a glitch in the system. The N/A, does not apply, none of the above option. Fuck you, Jack.”

Glitches buzz down his body. He shifts between Jack’s form and Trick’s, surrounded by a circle of laptops.

“Now lemme alone! I got work to do.”

Anonymous asked: Blue, everything has been so one-thing-after-the-other these days and you've been so sick through it all... I feel like we haven't been able to talk with you in a while. And don't you dare brush yourself of as not as important as the others because I want you to know that despite everything going on, you still are.

“Oh,” says Blue, smiling weakly at you as he sits back down beside Red on the couch. “That’s nice, thanks. It’s not your fault I’ve been tired so much.”

“Speaking of which,” says Trick, looking up at his sibling as Blue leans against Red, the two of them resting together.

“Yeah, it might just be nap time,” sighs Dok, swiping away the last of the blood from Dapper’s arm.

“Is he alright?” asks Blue.

“I think he’ll be fine. Just got to change his bandages a couple times a day and make sure the wound stays clean. He’s always been a fast healer.”

.

They go quiet after that. Red and Dapper sleep. Trick goes back to the kitchen and cooks - again. The fridge is full of tupperware. The counters are lined with bread and desserts. He still feels scared that they’ll be hungry again soon.

It’s quiet.

No, wait -

How good are your ears?

Turn up the volume. Listen close. On the other side of Dapper’s bed, where Dok is sitting, turned away from you, watching over his patients.

“Guess our first plan isn’t going to work,” whispers Blue.

“None of this is working,” whispers back Dok. “We just need to run, Blue.”

“How can we run from a thing like him?” Exhaustion in his voice. An ache in his voice. “He’ll always find us again.

“Well, how the hell do we killa thing like that?”

No answer from Blue. No answer from anyone.

“Get some rest, Blue. I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

“Me too,” answers Blue quietly. “Me too, Dok. But it’s nobody’s fault. We’ll get through this.”

“Will we?”

No answer. No answer.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow. You need a rest too.”

“Alright. Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

On the bed, Dapper is not entirely unconscious.

.

There’s a knock on the door of the bedroom in the basement.

Dok looks up, letting Noodle slip off his lap to go greet the newcomer. “Yeah?” he calls.

Trick opens the door, an uncertain smile on his face. His cat yowls and winds around his legs, licking at his calf and purring like a little motorboat.

“Oh. Hi,” says Dok.

“Hi,” answers Trick. His eyes are slightly red. He steps into the room with a plate full of food. “I, um. I made bratwurst.”

Dok blinks. “Bratwurst?”

“Yeah. And brought you… a beer? And some chocolate cake with strawberry. Which was as close as I could get to, um. Black Forest Gateau.”

A lingering anxiety can’t stop the slow smile that builds across Dok’s face. “Cause I’m German?” he teases.

“Cause you’re German,” Trick teases back quietly, looking down at the floor. “But you don’t have to - ”

“I do,” says Dok, already anticipating what he’ll say. “I’d like to.”

“Do you want me to leave it here or can I eat with you?”

“You can eat with me, my brother.”

Trick sits down on the bed beside him and hands him a fork, setting the beer down on the table. Noodle leaps up behind them both and begins shoving his head into both of their backs, pawing for a bit of bratwurst.

“Should we talk about what happened?” whispers Trick.

“I don’t know,” whispers back Dok. “It wasn’t real, was it?”

Trick bows his head over the bratwurst and cake like it’s a funeral reception meal, picking at his sausage.

Anonymous asked: Apologies, Dok, but do you mind explaining what you mean by that? I don't understand.

“Mmh.” Dok rubs at his face. Maybe he should let the cameras turn away for a few, but ever since Norway he’s felt nervous without you nearby, like something will happen and he won’t find out in time to help. “It just doesn’t feel like it could have really happened. It was too - it was too horrible to have really happened.”

“Es tut mir leid, Deutsch, I’m sorry.”

Trick means it. Dok seems to melt, resting his head against his brother’s shoulder, letting the two of them sit quiet for a moment, close. Noodle seems pleased, sitting between their thighs and purring, the only noise in the quiet.

“Don’t do that to me again, Trick,” pleads Dok. “You are killing me.”

Trick hides against his hair, hugging him to his shoulder.

Anonymous asked: Do you both want a distraction, maybe? We could probably think of something to talk to you about.

Trick and Dok grin, their heads press close together. Sharing a plate and a cat, their bodies side-by-side, they do look like twins. If Dok didn’t have glasses and Trick didn’t have that lawn on his head, you might not be able to tell them apart - though I expect there are intimacies of the both of them you have come to recognize. Burn scars on the back of a pale hand. An uprightness to Dok’s spine. Ice or skylines in respective blue eyes.

“Sure, distract us,” chuckles Dok, putting a piece of cake in his mouth, and it’s rich and soft and sweet.

Anonymous asked: Hmmm... I could tell you a funny thing one of my chickens did when she was a baby? We had a little cardboard tunnel for her and the other chickens, and she was walking along the top of it very elegantly, and she stretched out a wing, and she turned to look at some parsley we had hung nearby, and she kept walking... and then she walked right off the edge of the tunnel like a goddamn cartoon character. (She was completely fine though, just very indignant that she'd fallen.)

“Hahaha. Chickens are dumb, is funny.”

“That sounds like Mr. Pot Noodle,” says Trick, kissing his cat’s head once, twice. “But when he falls off things he just cries like a baby for Papa to come scoop him up, don’t you? Don’t you, baby?”

Dok rolls his eyes at his brother’s coddling, amused.

“Trick!” echoes a voice through the floorboards. “Trickshot?”

Dok’s growing relief vanishes instantly. He shrinks against the headboard of the bed, eyes wide, and even Trick looks worried, setting Noodle down.

“Anti, I’m down here,” he calls back evenly. “I’m okay, what’s wrong?”

Footsteps thump down the stairs. Dok shakes his head rapidly, reaching out to grab Trick’s fingers.

“What’s wrong?”

Dok just shakes his head, mouth gone thin and pale, eyes closed.

Anonymous asked: Anti, is it Dapper? That's the only reason I can think of for you needing Dok.

“I said Trickshot! Pay attention, damn!”

Anti pushes open the door to the guest room. His form, for once, is mostly stable, an older version of his creator with his hair tied back and glasses on.

“Fine, you’re forgiven. What, can a creature not want to see his little brother? Trick, come on, let’s go watch that movie like we were talking about. I mentioned Spirited Away and now I wanna see that big black monster go apeshit and eat a bunch of frogs.”

Trick laughs nervously, glancing back at Dok, who stares up at Anti with wide eyes.

“What?” Anti mocks him, smiling wide. “You wanna come upstairs too, Arzt? You wanna go to your room and hang out with me?”

Dok shakes his head quickly, hugging Noodle against his chest.

Anonymous asked: Dok, you okay, bud? Do you want to go be with Red and Blue, if Trick goes with Anti to watch that?

“Don’t go,” croaks Dok. “Come on, stay with me.”

Doesn’t Trick know he feels farther away from him everyday?

“Dok, I - we’re just going to watch a movie, man. I… I just - we’re just going to watch a movie.”

Doesn’t Dok know he doesn’t have a choice?

Dok lets go of his fingers and turns away. Trick turns back to Anti, who smiles sweetly and takes him by the hand, jumping back as Noodle darts forward to try and follow Trick. Dok sees Trick looking back at him for a moment more before Anti slams the door on Noodle and takes his brother away.

Dok stares down at his sausage and cake. He isn’t all that hungry anymore.

Anonymous asked: I think Trick will come back when they've finished the movie, okay? Do you want to go be with Red and Blue, or stay here and talk to us, or just be alone for a bit?

Dok sighs and picks up his plate, wandering upstairs. Red and Blue, at least, are having some fun time together, playing Mario Kart on the couch and laughing their asses off.

He finds his littlest brother in the bedroom that’s meant to be Red and Trick’s, still napping. Gently, Dok sets his plate down and wakes Dapper.

“Need to clean up your bandages,” he murmurs. “Fresher we keep them, the better.”

Dapper smiles wearily up at him and lets him work.

“How’s the pain?”

“Not as bad as yours, I’ll warrant,” he answers.

“How dramatic you are,” chuckles Dok, brushing a curl of brown hair from his eyes, but Dapper doesn’t smile.

“This is what he does,” he signs slowly, his fingers and hand and wrist all aching.

“What is? Who?”

“Anti. He shows you a false version of himself, first - someone loving and affectionate, if complicated and bad tempered. And you can fall for him. You can love him, really. And then, once you’re in deep already, he starts to show you the awful parts of himself. Slow. One at a time. He normalizes everything, bit by bit. Uses hypnosis when he has to. But more than anything else, it’s just that love of him. Every day you convince yourself, more and more strongly - ‘he’s not really as bad as he acts sometimes. Just a bad temper. Remember how kind he was to me the other day?’ And you get sucked down deeper and deeper. Until you can let him use your hands to murder innocent people, and it won’t even make you hate him.”

Dok can’t meet his eyes. Can barely watch his hands. Slow tears drip down his face.

He thinks maybe Dapper is crying too. He isn’t sure he’s ever seen Dapper cry.

“Is that what happened to you?” asks Dok.

“It’s happening to Trick.”

“I know that,” he whispers. “So tell me how you escaped it.”

“Oh, love,” says Dapper, with a tenderness like a hearth in winter. “Oh, love. I am still stuck, most of the time. But I am trying to hope again. And that, I suppose, is where freedom begins.”

Dok wraps his injured wrist in clean, white bandages, soft linen surrounding the torn arm of his youngest brother. He wants to cry. He wants to surrender.

But he won’t.

He can’t do everything he wants to right now. Can’t save everyone. Can’t heal everyone. Can’t take everyone to safety and show them how much he loves them and how little they need someone like Anti.

But he can wrap Jameson’s wrist up, so he does.

In the clean bandages, his hope, for the moment, sustains itself.

Anonymous asked: Yeah. This is probably one of the hardest things that you all will have to do, getting free of him. But it'll happen, yeah? I believe in you guys. You're doing incredibly well handling all this, and I believe in you.

“Sausage?” asks Dapper.

A smile twitches on Dok’s mouth. “Yeah. Help me eat it?”

He hands Dapper Trick’s fork and his little brother digs in earnestly, splitting the pair of bratwursts with Dok. There are more in the kitchen if Trick comes back, so Dok doesn’t count it as a betrayal. Besides, nobody loves meat better than Dap. He feels he’s owed it after the day he’s had.

In reparation for yelling at Dapper the other day for getting drunk, Dok gets him a beer and they drink together on the bed, tired and worn, but holding together. Dok eats the last of the chocolate cake on his own, focusing on the warmth of the cat on his lap and the close-by younger brother.

“But you don’t know how to get free?” asks Dapper, returning without preamble to the previous conversation.

Dok blinks, looking up at him.

“You want to kill him?”

“Fuck,” hisses Dok, pushing you slightly away. “Dap, be careful, okay? I - I just want to get away from him. And stay away from him forever. And I think maybe the only way to do that is… is… yeah. Yeah.”

The clock on the wall ticks. JJ stares at him, his deep blue eyes rimmed in long, black eyelashes.

“If you did know how to kill him,” he signs slowly. “You would.”

Dok doesn’t know how to answer. He sticks the last bite of cake in his mouth.

“But you don’t know how. You don’t know how.”

“You were listening earlier,” Dok accuses. “When Blue and I were talking.”

Dapper barely seems to register the words.

“You don’t know,” he taps distantly, eyes faraway as he thinks. “You don’t know how.”

“Do you?”

Dapper shakes his head. “No… no.”

Dok deflates again, turning his head away. “Then there’s no point in talking about it, my friend. Let’s not give the master a reason to hit us again tonight.”

Dapper watches him take the plate to the kitchen, leaving him alone in the room. He stares at the floor, lost in thought.

No, he doesn’t know how. He’s seen his brother survive most everything - fire, bullets, knives, being turned into an animal, prolonged starvation, self-harm, electricity, iron and running water, magicians, Jackie and Marvin. No. He doesn’t know.

Could he find out?

“Can I sleep in here with you tonight?” asks a small voice at his door.

Dok has come back. Trick has not. Dapper’s heart hurts with pity for him.

“Yes, of course.”

Dok crawls into bed beside him. Their bodies lock together. Dok sleeps.

Dapper thinks long and hard, but eventually the warm purring of a kitten and the nearness of a safe brother’s body lulls him into deep and unanswering sleep.

[cassandra-tangled]

Cassandra Appreciation Week Day 5: Happiness

Hey guys! Here’s my one-shot for Cassandra Appreciation Week day 5: happiness. So, I took a little bit of a liberty with this one, it’s a bit experimental and in first person. I’m honestly not too sure how I feel about it, but it was fun to play around with! Also, it does loosely connect to my one-shot for day 1 (here on AO3). Anyway, I hope y’all enjoy! Here’s the AO3 link 

The word count is 2,475

And a brief summary is: Cassandra makes good use of the journal that Rapunzel gave her as a birthday gift. 

The only thing of any concern is some light cursing. Enjoy!

Dear Diary, 

Dear Journal,

Wow. This is really not my speed. 

So, a journal. I don’t really know what to write, I’m not a...journal-ly person. Raps is, sure, but not me. This stupid, leather-bound book was a birthday gift from her, though, so I want to make sure I use it.

Not that Raps would ever snoop into my private life (at least not intrusively enough to read this) but if she did, I hope that last part wouldn’t hurt her feelings. I love the gift, really. It’s only stupid because it’s frusturating me that I don’t know what to write.

I guess I can start with where I got this journal. Like I said, it was a birthday gift from Raps. My birthday was a little under a week ago, now. I didn’t even know it was my birthday, but I turned twenty-eight. I feel old. Raps threw me a dinner. There was good food, cake, and alcohol. I fucking hate parties, but I love my friends, and it was only the five of us. Raps and Eugene got me this book, and a quill, and a knife, and some clothes and other fun things. It was really sweet of them, honestly. They didn’t need to get me anything, I wouldn’t have known the difference. Varian got me a bag of rocks, basically. Wait, that made me sound ungrateful. They’re beautiful rocks, and it was a cute gift. Or are they stones? Or gems?? Or crystals?? Fuck, I’m not a rock expert. But whatever they are, they’re pretty, and he found them all around the kingdom. It’ll be like having Corona with me when I leave again. Oh, and Lance got me a bag of Monty’s candy. Score.

So, I don’t really know what to use this for. I guess if I go back on the road I can...write or doodle in here like Raps did when we were younger. I mean, I’ll probably write, if anything. She’s all about doodles. I wonder how many notebooks she’s filled up by now.

When I asked her what she thought I should do with the journal yesterday, she told me to write about the things that make me happy. That’s a good place to start, I suppose. I’m not her, though. She could probably write a novel and a half on what makes her happy--but not me. Most things make me angry, and I could probably write a novel on that. Screaming children make me angry, although they’re cute when they’re quiet. Parties and social interaction make me angry. People who pronounce ‘vase’ as ‘vayhse’ make me angry (it’s ‘vahz’). Being awake makes me angry. Being asleep makes me angry. Freeloaders and thieves make me angry--reformed ones are okay, though. Most people make me angry. Especially Fitzherbert. Don’t get me wrong, I love him...sometimes. 

But I’m supposed to be talking about things that make me happy. Honestly, I’m hard pressed to think of many, but I can think of some.

My weapons make me happy. I could stare at them for hours, in all honesty--I have so many (thanks Dad), and they’re all beautiful. I love polishing them, and admiring them, and of course...using them. Not in a creepy killer way or anything. Dueling is just really, really fun, and let me just say--I’ve made good use of my Fitzherbert sparring dummy since coming home.

My favorite weapon is my halberd. I keep it well cared for, sharp, polished, and shiny. It was the first weapon Dad gave me, for my eighth birthday. At that point, it towered over me, but not anymore--I’ve had it twenty years now, and it’s rather proportionate. I mean, it’s taller than me because it’s supposed to be, but seriously...watching eight year old me trudge around with it was probably a sight to see. Anyway, he chose it as my first weapon because it’s the weapon of choice for Corona’s guard. I was eight when he started really training me with them. Before, I’d sat on the sidelines and watched, but by eight, I was a full-fledged trainee. People thought he was crazy for raising his daughter to be a guard from such a young age, but I’m glad for it. I wouldn’t be able to protect myself otherwise.

I love all my weapons, though. I couldn’t take my halberd with me on the road, so I took two of my daggers and my favorite sword instead. Oh, how I wanted to take my mace, but it was too heavy to justify. My favorite dagger, I’ve had since I was sixteen. I had a few before it, but my favorite one is absolutely beautiful. It’s probably the most valuable thing that I own. It was a gift, too, a blade carved of steel and the handle of beautiful gold. It’s badass--the handle is carved into this weird...I don’t know, dragon? Lizard? Sea serpent? Whatever it is, it looks cool, and my name is engraved on the blade. The sheath is encrusted with small gems. It’s not from my dad, but from an ‘anonymous castle staff’ or something who leaves me gifts every year. I don’t know why they bother or how they afford it, but I love it. It’s not the most practical, because of the handle, it’s more ornamental. I don’t usually use it in sparring or fights. I didn’t bring it on the road with me, as much as it pained me to leave it home, because of its obvious, glaring value. So, it was nice to see it again when I got back here.

Hmm...I’ve been talking about my weapons for a while. What else makes me happy?

Books. I love books. I grew up with them as, well, my best friends. I was privileged enough to be educated, and educated well. I was reading fluently by the time I was six or seven, and when I wasn’t training, working or otherwise helping my father, you could be sure to find my nose buried in a book. One of the biggest perks of growing up in a castle is the library. I mean, usually, servants can read the book if they please and are able, but aren’t allowed to take the books out with them, or anything like that. I guess Queen Arianna likes me, because I was allowed. My father said it was a special privilege, since I was a learning child, and she valued the concept of book-smart young girls. Anyway, since I started working, I don’t use the library as much anymore--not because I dislike reading nowadays, but because I buy my own books. 

Funny story, here. Growing up, I read a lot of fantasy books, about...you know, damsels in distress and princesses who were saved by handsome knights in shining armor. I used to think that maybe, just maybe, if I trained hard enough, I could be the one to bring the lost princess home, and maybe even…

Well, a rogue thief beat me to it. And it wasn’t even on purpose.

Anyway, back to happy--animals make me happy, too. It doesn’t matter what kind, although I am sort of biased towards a certain owl and two particular horses. I don’t know what it is about animals, but despite the fact that they don’t speak our language, they’re a lot more capable of love and empathy than most humans are. There are a lot of great Coronan horses, but two are particularly dear to me. I remember when Max and Fidella were born, actually. They’re pretty close in age, though I think Max is a tad older--he was born when I was fourteen, and she when I was fifteen. Max was fathered by my father’s previous horse, and by the time he was weaned from his mother, it was clear he’d be taking his father’s place as the Captain’s horse. Fidella was actually born to my childhood favorite horse. I learned to ride on her mother, so it seems only appropriate to me that she became the one to accompany me on my journey. Her mother was a beautiful mare named Eliza. Eliza was quite similar to Fidella in color and stature--she certainly takes after her mother, not her father. Eliza was my first equine love, if you will. For a kid without any friends, a faithful horse can fill the gap. We had a lot of fun together, but she got sick and died a year or two after birthing Fidella. It broke me, honestly. Horses can live to thirty years, and she was only twelve at the time of her death. 

Right, happy. Oh people, I guess. I mean, as I said before, a lot of people piss me off, but some of them are more than okay. Dad is pretty great, and it’s been nice to be back and see him again. I didn’t appreciate him as much as I should have in my childhood--but then, isn’t that the way it goes? Raps is amazing too, and so is the rest of the gang. I don’t know where I’d be today if it weren’t for their fighting so hard to save me and, honestly, I don’t want to imagine. I’d probably be dead. Despite my...occasional bitterness, especially before, I’ve had some of my best times by their side. Actually, I’ve had nearly all of my best times by their side. Before Rapunzel came back and, well, pretty much forced me to be her friend, I had no one. I’m glad she did. If it weren’t for her, I probably would have died without letting anyone in, without having a single friend outside my father, Owl, my weapons and my books. But Rapunzel is…Rapunzel is impossible to resist. I learned eventually that there was no use in even trying to resist her--and she ended up being the best thing that had ever happened to me. She’s the first person I let in, the reason that I know what it means to be a friend (and how to become one), and the sole reason my friendship extended to Eugene, Lance, and Varian.

I mean...I had some dark times. Some really, really dark times. Happiness was the furthest thing from my mind. Instead, I was enraged, jealous, bitter, cold, and most of all, I was hurting. At that point, if you’d asked me, Rapunzel was the worst thing that had happened to me, even though deep down inside I loved her and cared for her more than I ever would have admitted at that point. I did some bad things, some horrible things. In my greed, in my...selfishness and lust for power, I committed some fucking heinous crimes. I hurt all of the people who were most dear to me. I almost caused the downfall of Corona--and the entire world quite easily could have followed.  

Yet still, when it was all said and done, Rapunzel still saw the light in me. Eugene, Lance, Varian, my dad, they all still saw the light in me. Despite all the pain and destruction, despite all the fear and uncertainty and my horrid crimes...they forgave me. They loved me.

I hated myself, and I wanted so badly for them to hate me, too. Maybe it’s what lesser people would have done, or maybe it’s what they should have done. I’m still not quite sure. Either way, they didn’t. They chose the path of forgiveness.  

That’s what love is. 

Rapunzel likes to say that I was never a bad person, and that I just lost my way. I hope that that is true, but honestly, I have no way of knowing. When I think of that time in my life, I’m detached. The memories are vivid and yet blurred. I don’t see that woman as me. I don’t. I can’t believe what I did, that my own two hands committed such offenses. I see that version of myself as a lost, sad, broken woman, descending further and further down a dangerous, shadowy path that would have ended in nothing but pain and destruction. I’d given up on myself. But my friends? They never gave up on me. They saved me from that.

Whether I was truly bad or just horribly lost is beside the point, because that’s not me anymore. It haunts me every waking moment, but it’s in the past. It hangs permanently in the back of my head, but I try to push it away, to ignore it. I’ve changed drastically. I now realize that I have, and always have had, so much to be grateful for. I still yearn for more. It’s almost as if it’s in my nature. But if it’s destined to come to me, then it will be manifested through my hard work. If it’s not, at least I tried.  

Most of the time, for me, happiness is hard to come by. Honestly, it is--even now, even though I realize I have much to be grateful for. It’s not such a bad thing to me, though, because when I do feel happiness...it’s exhilarating. It’s life-altering, and the taste of it sticks to my tongue like Monty’s taffy. When I do feel happiness, it makes all of the pain and all of the suffering that I’ve endured worth it. 

So, what is happiness to me?

Happiness...happiness is sharpening my weapons on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. Happiness is curling up by the fire, nose deep within a book, reading like my life depends on it. Happiness is  dark, windy, winding roads far from home, and the shiver that runs down your back when you realize, ‘I’m deciding my own destiny’. Happiness is a Coronan stable. Happiness is flying from town to town on horseback, meeting new people. Happiness is hunting with Owl, and sitting by the fire with Fidella. Happiness is a cup of ale, a shot of whiskey, and warm food. Happiness is laughing with friends, and melting into their arms after years apart. Happiness is the fact that you converse as if you hadn’t been away at all. Happiness is taking the horses out to the wall with Raps, and bickering with Eugene. Happiness is helping a greasy-handed Varian with one of his many ambitious projects, or screaming at Lance for eating your lunch. Happiness is having tea with Dad, and the prideful joy on his face when he pulls back from a hug. Happiness is loving, whether things, animals, or people. Happiness is being loved in return. 

Most of all, happiness is being alive. 

If it’s true that we only get one life, I’m happy that I’ve had the privilege and opportunity to spend mine the way that I have. 

That’s all for today. It’s time for this girl to get some rest.

Until next time,

Cassandra

[littlestarofthewest]

Title: Meeting Miss Morgan | Word Count: 1113 | Rating (for entire fic): 18+!!!

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female OC | Chapter: 07 of 08 |  Link to Masterlist

"What can I bring you?" the barkeeper asks.

"Whiskey, please," John says, tapping his fingers on the bar. He downs the shot in a second before turning to the barkeeper again. "And a question, if you don't mind."

"Sure, what do you need?"

"I'm looking for someone. Tall guy, a bounty hunter, goes by Tacitus-" 

John's about to say more, but the barkeeper already nods to the other end of the room. A dark figure is sitting in the corner, cloaked by shadows. 

"You should be sure that you really want to talk to him," the barkeeper says. "Not the friendliest feller, quick to anger. You better have a job for him."

"I do," John says, the truth of it leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

Even worse are the barkeeper's words. During his search for Arthur, John has heard similar things about him. It seems that he slipped back into old habits, not caring much about anybody. For the first time in his life, John is scared to approach Arthur, even more so with the news he's carrying.

John walks over and sits down opposite Arthur. "I fear I have some bad news."

For a moment, Arthur seems surprised to see him, but then his face turns grim again. "What? Heard from Dutch?"

"No, it's not about the gang," John says, still unsure how to bring Arthur the news. "A few weeks ago, some gang moved into the forest by the farm, you know, up by that pond."

"Smoke them out then," Arthur grunts, refilling his glass from a half-empty bottle.

"I wanted to, but Henderson and Abigail didn't let me," John says, hoping that Arthur won't just shoot him for what he's about to say. "Two days ago, a bunch of them raided the farm, probably thought it would be easy money. We fought them back, but- Goddamn, they took Julie."

Arthur's eyes narrow and his voice gets a dangerous edge. "They what?"

"She hasn't been in the house with us. They must have gotten her by the stables, I don't know," John rambles. "I rode after them, but they made themselves quite the camp in those woods. I can't get near without half those freaks shooting at me. I swear, Arthur, I tried-"

Arthur gets to his feet, waving John along. "Come on."

John hurries after Arthur to the street, glad that he's still got his head. "I have some money. We can ask around town, maybe get some hired guns…"

"No," Arthur says, pushing himself up on his horse. "You and me, Marston."

John wishes he could protest, but he remembers each time in his life when Arthur didn't hesitate to help him, no matter the odds. The last time was during the bank robbery, and now John can spend his days on a farm with his family instead of robbing and killing, everything thanks to Arthur.

Besides, John has seen Arthur like this before. It doesn't happen often, and everybody else might think he's calm and collected, but John knows that Arthur's like a powder case that's about to blow up. If anybody has a chance to get past those raiders in the woods, it's Arthur. John just hopes it's not too late for Julie.

--------

Arthur makes his horse fly, giving John a hard time to keep up with him. It only takes a few hours until they reach the woods. Before letting the horses go, they gear up until they look like they're going to war. Somehow, Arthur still manages to move quietly through the woods, schooled by Charles through various hunting trips, and John is once again impressed by Arthur's memory. 

He knows from Julie that Arthur drew the nearby pond, but that's been quite a while ago. Still, Arthur seems to know the area as if he's been here every day. He scans the woods methodically, and any lookouts of the raiders find their end on his knife. He doesn't even try to knock them out. 

Soon, they come to the center of the camp. John has never gotten this far before, and it's actually impressive what the raiders built here in just a few weeks. Most of the place is covered with tents surrounding a big fireplace, while a few small huts stand along the treeline. 

"How do you want to do this?" John asks, his heart beating faster. He doesn't think they'll be able to hide much longer.

"We could try to sneak into-" Arthur begins, but then he goes quiet. 

One of the raiders steps out from behind a few trees, and he's not alone. He's dragging Julie along on a rope that ties her hands together. She struggles against the binds and calls the men some very unflattering words until he shoves her into one of the small cabins.

"Arthur," John says, but he knows his warning will fall on deaf ears.

Arthur clenches his jaw, the muscles working under the skin. John can see the rage in his eyes. Time has run out for the raiders. 

Time seems to run slower then. Arthur gets up, aiming his rifle, and John feels like he has a strange dream. The world blurs, seemingly red, all noises have gone from the world. Then Arthur pulls the trigger, and their surroundings come back into focus.

Arthur keeps shooting, and most of the raiders fall like flies before they have a chance to understand what's happening. When they return fire, John pulls Arthur down behind a few big crates. Shards of wood fly around them whenever a bullet hits too close. 

They know they won't be able to stay in one spot for too long, so they cover each other while moving forward, crossing the whole camp this way. A few raiders try to flank them, and one of them manages to jump Arthur. It's the last thing he does. When Arthur can't reach his knife, he hooks one arm around his attacker's neck and drains the life out of him in seconds.

Although the dead bodies pile up behind them, there are still more men coming out of the woods. Arthur gets to his feet with an annoyed cry and makes a beeline for the cabin Julie's in. John tries his best to cover him while Arthur shoots and hacks his way through the raiders, his whole body soon painted with blood.

Finally, Arthur reaches the cabin and leans against the wall between the window and the door. Arthur drops his rifle, pulling out his gun instead. John has yet to see him miss his target with that thing. It was a gift from Hosea.

Whoever's waiting inside, John does not envy them.

[split-n-splice]

[Chapter Guide | FFn | Ao3]

37. Aura of Others – 10

It was only after Drakken had left and she’d had a few minutes to fully come back to her senses did she remember why she didn’t want to be left at her apartment in the first place. The solution was simple but not easy, and once again, she opted to ignore it completely, barely succeeding.

Instead of succumbing to the siren call of a little orange bottle or finally dumping the drug down the drain once and for all, Shilo decided a refreshing walk in the dark to the river for air and a smoke under the bridge was in order, followed by a stop at the 24-Seven for a Freezee and a snack. She couldn’t help finding herself back at the bridge, hoping just a little that her favorite stalker could take another pass through her neighborhood so she could hitch a ride with him, but no dingy white utility van came chugging out of the dark to whisk her off. After finishing her slushy and chips, she resigned herself to waiting the full twelve or so hours until he returned for her, even if she was tempted to turn on her heel and hoof it to the lair.

She slept in her own bed that night, as she should, blanket pulled up to her chin. It was all she could do to hold on tight to the phantom sensation of peace left behind by her old friend’s inexplicable magic touch.

Her efforts were almost in vain but determination anchored her in place throughout the night. When her alarm welcomed the dawn, she could barely give herself a pat on the back for not giving in and seeking out the quick solution with adverse effects. That she hadn’t scorched her bedsheets was a plus.

Hunched over a bowl of cereal at the wobbly dining table, she was just considering going back to bed to try sleeping in when the telephone rang, giving her a small start. She turned a deaf ear to it, dreading the likelihood of Buckley’s girls calling to get on her case about one thing or another, but grudgingly decided to answer when the caller tried a third time – although simply blasting the phone was definitely appealing.

“Hello, you’ve reached—,” she began monotonously, only to be interrupted with a crabby reply.

“Would you get out here already?” groused Drakken from the other end of the line. “I’ve only been honking for the past five minutes, and I’m starting to get looks.” She hadn’t noticed any honking over the obnoxious television blasting downstairs.

Shilo took an involuntary step toward the kitchen window, but the length of the cord stopped her. “Why not just knock?”

The stubborn man grunted. “It’s freezing outside. No.”

Some frosty fresh air might do the trick to wake her up, like a splash of cold water, she decided, and hung up without another word.

A couple minutes later, she was dressed and diving out the door with her go-bag slung over her shoulder. Restless night aside, she couldn’t stave off the trace of a smile until she was facing the beat-up old van, glad to get away from the temptation.

Her smile was definitely gone when Drakken greeted her with a wry, “Good morning, sunshine.” One tired look from her was all it took for his own smile to wither and fade, and he mumbled, “Or not.”

Or not was right. An overcast had the little desert oasis looking bleak today, and it certainly didn’t help that there was no henchman on duty to tend to the gate. The one upside was the new mobile phone Drakken passed to her to replace the one she’d destroyed some weeks ago, which was only to be used for work-related calls, not “bullshitting with friends,” as he put it.

“So, what’s on the agenda today?” she wondered, climbing out and rolling her shoulders. She tried not to glance toward the mess of aircraft odds and ends littering half the garage, or get her hopes up that she’d finally get to see him put them to good use.

Drakken flashed a crooked grin. “I can let you fire the cannon,” he offered. “Or you could give the henchmen a brushup. Keep them sharp.” He flapped a hand and shrugged then, taking a few quick steps ahead of her. “Or you could just sit around and look pretty. Whatever tickles your fancy, I suppose.”

“We need to do something exciting,” she complained, following him through the foyer and up the stairs.

The man snorted and shot a frown over his shoulder. “I tried that, but you had some very important business to attend to Friday night. Or did you forget?”

She wished she could. Her face warmed over as she wondered if it had really been worth sacrificing a weekend of thrills and ocean breeze. “Sore loser,” she coughed into her fist. Drakken’s frown turned into a deep grimace and his glare might have burned anyone else, but before he could open his mouth to retort anything, she gave his shoulder a rough shove through the lab door to push him toward the cannon. “C’mon, let’s fire that puppy up. I wanna take a shot.”

He grunted something curt but complied, wearily pleading her to hold her horses while henchmen on call moved the device to a safer location – outdoors and facing the mountainside. As the two goons in red jumpsuits retreated, Shego didn’t miss one of them playfully elbow Drakken hard enough to make him stumble. She almost barked a laugh, but wiped the smile from her face as Drakken rubbed his arm and came skulking up to her.

“Do they always push you around?” she mocked under her breath, though the henchmen were already out of earshot.

“They’re new,” he defended in a low grumble. “They’re still learning who the boss is around here.”

“Well, toughen up,” advised Shego, turning to inspect the cannon. “Maybe work on your evil laugh. Every villain worth their salt has an evil laugh. You know, go into the theatrics of it. It’s cheesy, I know, but it’ll remind those dropouts what they signed up for.” As she watched Drakken from the corner of her eye, pouting and stroking his chin, she couldn’t help musing inwardly that it might help remind him of what he’d hired her for too. They’d get to the chase eventually, once the looming threat of her family was off her back, but for now she’d have to resign herself to putting on charades and lying low.

Donning earmuffs and goggles, she couldn’t wait until the day came that lying low was no longer such a priority – because the thrill of firing a deadly weapon like a cannon only whet her appetite for what the future had in store.

She pushed up her goggles and knocked back the muffs, peering over the control board to see the fate of a wooden dummy and the boulder behind it. Barely a smoking sliver remained of the target, and all that was left of the boulder was jagged chunks of rubble.

Drakken’s hand clapped down on her shoulder, a wide grin stretched on his face. Protection aside, her ears still rang and she barely heard his laugh, let alone him ask, “Think that’ll stop an intruder?”

She gave a confirming thumb up. “Dead in their tracks.” Her answer was maybe a little louder than necessary, and maybe her smile was a little wider than necessary too.

He smothered his own grin then and pawed a droplet from his glasses, only to look skyward and subject himself to more speckles on the lenses. “Good day for this,” he decided merrily.

“The locals probably just think it’s thunder,” Shego agreed. She could hope, anyway.

Smiling proudly at his creation, her companion patted the body of the cannon before taking a swift step back, hissing and shaking his hand. With the onset of a drizzle, steam was beginning to rise from the weapon. “Two more shots, and we should let her cool down,” he said, retreating to his place a few steps behind her. “And dial it back, just a little. Don’t want to blast through the cafeteria wall. Or maybe it’s the dorms back there…” He scrunched his brow in uncertainty.

Looking up at the wooded mountain slope, it was hard to believe there was an entire subterranean headquarters dug into it, but she’d seen crazier things. Things like manholes and dumpsters that lead to the immaculate networks of tunnels and offices beneath cities, and lairs built anywhere from in plain sight to active volcanoes.

Drakken was exuberantly pleased with his handiwork and her use of it, even if she intentionally missed the second target to blow out the bottom of a pine to crush the target instead. By the third shot though, a warning light and persistent beep came on, and Drakken was practically shoving her aside to flip switches and smash a button or two, the humming cannon hissing and billowing steam and an ominous nitrogen fog which he danced from foot to foot in for a brief moment before bouncing away hissing half-formed curses under his breath.

“Okay!” he said, clapping his hands as he strode by. “This weather has gotten miserable. I don’t know about you, I’m ready for a nice cup of cocoa m—hot cocoa and a good book by the fire.”

The sprinkle hadn’t yet seeped through the fabric of her uniform, though she couldn’t deny it was a little nippy out. Still, Shego didn’t protest as she abandoned the weapon to cool down, and turning down a mug of hot chocolate proved impossible.

She didn’t count on Drakken actually grabbing a book off a bookshelf otherwise dedicated to houseplants before leaving the living room, and she lingered an extra minute on the couch, blowing into her piping hot mug for a moment before deciding she might like watching the fire better than the television after all.

As expected, Drakken was down in his office, settled in at his desk with the fat book split open before him to study some nonsense. When Shego threw herself down in the computer chair before the CCTV across the office, he looked up with wide eyes and wiped away his chocolate mustache.

“Did you just get here?” he blurted, sounding a little bewildered.

She didn’t answer, sparing only a glance his way before giving a small snort and kicking her feet up on the surveillance desk. The magazine stationed there had been read front to back more than once, but she spread it on her lap regardless.

The minutes ticked by, each second punctuated by the analog clock on the wall just behind Drakken, which Shego eventually had enough of. Maybe she was just a little too eager to blast anything even mildly annoying to smithereens after her fun with the cannon, but it was almost worth it just to hear him yelp as he ducked and shielded his head from falling debris.

“Shego!” he barked, nearly lunging across the desk toward her. “Don’t spook me like that! I have had a very bad night, and I’m jumpy enough as it is.”

Arching her brow at him, she had to wonder, “I thought everything was hakuna matata?”

“What?”

“Your mommy issue.” She settled back in her seat, turning back to her magazine. “Thought ya fixed it?”

“What?” he repeated, and shook his head with unkempt hair flapping. “No, no, not that kind of bad night. Bad as in…hnng...” He bit at his nails. “I-I don’t wanna talk about it.” He dropped back down into his seat.

“Sweet! I don’t wanna hear about it.”

“Shego,” Drakken whined.

She recognized the tone, if only because she’d heard it a million times from her baby brothers begging her for one thing or another. After all that practice, she really ought to be impervious to whining, but she made the mistake of casting another glance in his direction.

He wasted no time once he had her attention, blurting out, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Oh, not this again,” she groaned, head lolling back in exasperation before shooting him a critical frown. “What? Did something go bump in the night? You live in a creepy cave, man. What can I tell you?”

Drakken’s face had blushed purple and he stared intently at the fireplace. “It was a little more than a bump.”

“Then it was probably just a bad trip,” she decided when he stubbornly zipped his lips sealed tight.

Not tight enough, apparently. After only a second or two, the words flew out. “I swear there was someone in my lab with me last night! I kept feeling like I was being watched – or touched – and then one of the Bebes sat up and fell off the table, but she couldn’t have! She wasn’t even plugged in!” He flapped his hands as he explained, until he briefly hid his face in them. “And then when I tried to go to bed, the blankets suddenly – don’t give me that look, Shego! I’m not on anything, and I wasn’t drinking either, for your information!”

She wiped “that look” – whatever it was, cringing disbelief or something – from her face and tried to look back to the magazine. “O-kay,” she said, pursing her lips, and raised a finger to begin. “One, you’re so sleep-deprived on a regular basis, I’m not surprised if you hallucinate sometimes. Two, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen your robo-girlfriends you’re playing god with twitch all on their own before. They’re a little too lifelike, if you ask me. It’s creepy. Third, what about your blankie? What, did you see a sheet ghost?”

“YES!” he practically shrieked, interrupting her quiet chuckle. He was trembling on the edge of his seat. “I thought for sure it was you screwing with me! Something very strange is happening here, Shego. I-I am going to get to the bottom of it – but please – can you…not...go home? Tonight?” His nerves now surfaced, he’d made a complete 180-turn from his insistence she leave yesterday.

While Shego wasn’t sure she’d yet to see him so jittery and scared silly, her initial reflex was to decline. She held her tongue, though. “You’re not just trying to trick me into sleeping with you tonight, are you? What do I look like? A Cuddle Buddy?” she jeered, if only because dry humor was a better option than taking his concerns seriously. Still, she wished she’d thought twice before the words left her mouth, because her cheeks weren’t the only ones to get rosy.

Drakken blanched before his face flushed a deep purple. “Oh, no. Goodness no. Not if you – I would need to be out of my mind – that isn’t happening anymore, Shego. You may lay claim to the couch, and no more. I don’t like sharing.” He shook an unconvincing finger at her, as if he had the authority to tell her where she could and couldn’t crash. Which, technically as her boss and the owner of the lair, he sort of did – but she was willing to disregard that authority.

“Fine,” she said, still preferring to remain skeptical he’d seen anything at all. He had to have been imagining it. “Not sure how useful a bodyguard is against a ghost, but hey! I’ll give it a go. But you know that means you’ve gotta take me to Buckley’s in the morning, right?” She might have liked to see him struck with worry at the prospect, but he wasn’t.

“Right,” Drakken sighed, and he relaxed enough to surprise her. Whatever he may or may not have encountered last night had evidently spooked him enough to risk encountering the very real and very intimidating Joanne Buckley. “So you’ll stay?”

Shego gave a nod and a shrug. “If it makes you feel better.”

“I do think it would,” he mumbled, turning back to his book.

She stood as she knocked back the rest of her cocoa, and crossed the office to reach for Drakken’s mug. “Refill?” she offered.

“Uhm…yes—no—maybe. Sure, yes, please,” sputtered Drakken as he tugged his book away from her and pointedly rested his arms across the pages. Shego narrowed her eyes at the familiarity of it. If he was one of her brothers, if she was back home in Go City, she would have yanked the book away to see what comic he was reading when he ought to be studying.

The man gasped and grappled for it when she snatched it up anyway. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to find stamped into the cover, but she wasn’t surprised to catch him reading some Paranormal Science: Volume II baloney. She raised her brow at him as he stared back at her wide-eyed and reaching, and she studied his face just long enough to note the sickly bags under his eyes were especially dark today. He must have read Volume I last night, she figured.

She smirked and passed the book back, and he hastily clutched it close to his chest as if it were some invaluable possession his life depended on. She took his cup next and rolled her eyes as she turned away. “Promise me you’ll be doing something useful when I get back with your…cocoa moo,” she snickered over her shoulder. “That means lay off the scary bedtime stories.”

“They are not bedtime stories!” he snapped after her. “I really did see something!”

“I’m not checking for monsters under the bed,” she warned dryly as she swung into the stairwell. Goodness knew she’d had her fill of that.

His discontented grumbles faded away behind her as she climbed, yet his concerns still rang in her head. “A ghost, huh?” Shego scoffed to herself, glancing back down the dark twisting crag that sufficed for a stairwell. It was a creepy enough lair. An overactive imagination was all it would take to convince someone the place was haunted.

It had to be contagious, because as she tread quietly down the hall to the lab, each footstep faintly echoing, the hairs on the back of her neck rose and she couldn’t help wondering if she heard a second set of footsteps. She paused at the lab to listen carefully, but all was silent save for a few gently-whirring motors running in the mainframe and the rumble of the furnace kicking in, so she shrugged it off as just the echo.

She couldn’t stop her mind from wandering. It was a big lair. Far from the biggest, but it certainly wasn’t the smallest either. She’d done a fair bit of venturing, and she’d wandered down enough long empty hallways leading to nothingness and dead ends to know someone could get lost on the lower levels buried deep in the heart of the mountain.

Hadn’t Drakken said he had skeletons in his basement?

She shook her head and kicked the door of Drakken’s apartment shut behind her, but even as she tried to focus on making fresh cocoa, she couldn’t dismiss the possibility someone had died in the lair, one way or another. In the fridge, a fresh beaker of a frothy purple concoction set beside the milk served to remind her that Dr. Drakken was a scientist to some degree after all, and he did call himself a villain, so the odds of a human test subject ending in terminal failure might not be completely out of the realm of possibility.

She shuddered and grabbed the milk, reminding herself that the peculiar purple fluid in the suspicious beaker was merely a harmless home-brewed beverage Drakken liked spiking his coffee with. How twisted could a man who indulged in frothy purple creamer be?

Had Drakken been kidding yesterday when he suggested offing her friends? He certainly hadn’t been when he’d given her the new-and-improved weaponized gloves and goaded her into attacking insubordinate henchmen. Her heart gave an uneasy thud as she studied the gleam of the metallic tips at the ends of her gloved fingers. Hadn’t his last set of henchmen been afraid of him? What did they know that the new guys didn’t?

Maybe someone had been killed in the lair before.

The whistle of the teakettle made her jump.

She reached for it in reflex, only to pause and stare at the squealing pot. The microwave dinged beside her to announce the two mugs of water were hot and ready for cocoa. Her brow knit. She hadn’t set the kettle, had she? She was too impatient to bother with kettles.

Quickly flicking the burner off and moving the kettle to another, her brow furrowed as she shook her head. She pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered to herself that she was just tired.

Just as she was mixing two spoons of cocoa and a dash of milk, surely not up to snuff for picky Drakken but good enough for her baby brothers, the scream of the kettle had her dropping the jug as she leaped back.

Blurting a swear and barely catching the milk jug mid-air, she stared wide-eyed at the kettle on the burner.

She was tired.

She was just tired.

She told herself so as she all but threw the kettle into the sink under a stream of cold water.

Her face was flushed and her heart was pounding and the hot cocoa was getting cold as she stood there in the kitchen, eyes peeled for the slightest movement. She watched and stared, but not so much as a leaf of the devil’s ivy atop the fridge quivered. It had to be a prank. She found no one hiding behind the kitchen island, but swore to herself it couldn’t be anything but a prank.

Had Drakken slipped something into her hot chocolate earlier? Could the purple froth creamer induce hallucination?

Had someone died here?

Shego rubbed her neck and inwardly berated herself for getting so easily spooked as she turned back to the lukewarm mugs waiting on the counter.

She was perfectly ready to write off any and all odd events as paranoia and delusions and fatigue, but as she reached for the mugs, a tap on her shoulder had her tensing.

That was it. The last straw. Someone was screwing with her, and she was sick of it.

Was that perfume she smelled?

Where had she smelled that cherry before—?

Reflex had her whirling around, a fist clenched and flying through the air. There was no time to let the punch fall short or feel dumb for overreacting and swinging at nothing, because suddenly her knuckles were connecting with the familiar solid feel of a jaw despite nobody in sight.

A barstool toppled over and Shego heard the distinct shout of a girl.

She blinked.

Indeed, there was a young woman lying on the floor, reaching for her jaw, a trace of cherry red already dribbling down her chin.

“Phew, that felt good,” Shego breathed, rubbing her knuckles and staring in a stupor down at Priscilla Kimbley mouthing obscenities. She’d wanted to get her hands on the girl for years, and here she was now, alone and vulnerable and down on Shego’s turf. It was an opportunity to wail on her Shego might never get again.

She didn’t though.

She stared until the obvious question came to mind as the girl sat up. ��How did you – where did you—?”

Priscilla’s eyes popped wide and locked on Shego’s. Her bloodied mouth fell open.

Suddenly she was gone.

“Hey! Get back here!” Shego shouted, and she dove after the – the apparition? Enemy? Intruder? She definitely landed on someone’s legs. Warm and very real to the touch, but completely invisible. Her fingers dug in to latch on, and a squeal punctuated the moment the sharpened tips of her gloves sunk through denim jeans. The girl, invisible or imagined, twisted in Shego’s grip and a heel struck her shoulder, but it wasn’t enough to dislodge her.

“Show yourself!” Shego demanded, grappling with the invisible intruder until she had the writhing girl pinned with a knee to her gut and arms held to the floor.

The squirming stopped. She felt the girl heaving for air. “Get offa me first, how ‘bout that?” spat the disembodied voice below her.

Shego hesitated.

A voice at the back of her head warned her she really shouldn’t, but she slowly backed off, one hand secure around a wrist.

Or so she thought.

A twist, and there was nothing but plain empty air to grip before she could grab hold of anything else. She was up and running, almost thankful for those middle school years in track together, and she slammed into the door just as it cracked open, slamming it shut in consequence. She locked it and leaned back heavily, blocking the only escape. The only escape she knew of anyway.

She reached out for the open air in front of her, feeling nothing. “I know you’re here,” she hissed. “How are you doing that? Did my brothers set you up with some kind of cloaking device? Did they send you?” That had to be it. “Show yourself!”

“Are you gonna punch me again?” seethed a voice from clear across the den, in the nook leading to Drakken’s room. She must have been planning to try an escape through the only other available door.

“Maybe!” Shego laughed incredulously. The idea of socking her was enticing – but getting some answers was regrettably more important.

She waited on edge for a reply.

Several seconds passed before Priscilla tried to haggle with her. “I’ll stop when you stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Your hands, pussycat.”

Her glance flicked down. Without consciously intending to, her hands were outstretched to her sides, clutching hot crackling plasma ready to throw. It took a deep breath and determination to withdraw it, taking comfort in knowing she could flare up again in an instant if need be. It would seem whatever trick Priscilla had up her sleeve, she could call on it just as quickly, so she had that to contend with.

Shego set her hands on her hips and waited impatiently.

Like a camouflaged chameleon, the disguise faded away until the girl was plain as day on the far side of the room.

“Alright, fork it over,” Shego insisted, holding out a hand.

“Fork what over?”

“The cloaking – whatever they gave you – whatever it is you’re doing that with! I want all your bugs on the table, right now,” she insisted, mustering up the commanding tone she’d once used on her little brothers. Issuing orders to Priscilla, one year her senior and the bad influence since preschool, felt a little wrong – but Shego had busted her fair and square infiltrating her boss’s lair—

She realized with a nervous skip of her heartbeat that she’d messed up. The fact someone had infiltrated at all, worse yet because of her, could not go over well with Dr. Drakken. Especially if the rat had been sent by the infamous spy organization manipulating her former team. She was guilty by association. She could always pretend she’d invited Prissy over – but Drakken was liable to blow a gasket – and there was still the problem of Global Justice – who was she kidding? That was a crappy idea. It would never work.

“Geez, Shi, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” scoffed the girl as she straightened her pink letter jacket.

“What?” she snapped. A ghost? Well, in a way she had. Priscilla must have been the ghoul haunting the lair. It would explain a lot. She shook her head and persisted. “The bugs. Any GJ tech you got on you. Get rid of it. Now.”

Priscilla crossed her arms and sneered. “What makes you think I’m working for them?”

“Because!” Shego spat. She almost stepped away from the door to storm up to the leery girl to throttle answers out of her. “Why else would you just show up right after my brothers? And you can’t expect me to believe you aren’t bugged when you can – when you can—,” she heaved for breath and reached for her temple.

Was she bugged? Practically ever since she became Shego, the slippery girl had evaded any attempt to confront her. Every time without fail, she’d disappeared without a trace.

Shego gawped at the girl who’d walked out of her life years ago, not unlike others. She had a lot of nerve to come walking back in now.

Priscilla’s smile wasn’t friendly. “That’s cute. You think you were the only ones in the blast radius to be affected when Lady Fate gave the neighborhood a makeover?” she snorted. “You think you’re the center of the world as always, I see. Still wanna feel wanted and special?”

A wolf in a cotton-candy sheep’s clothing, Priscilla sure knew where to hit where it hurt. Shego swallowed bile and willed herself not to let the wound show. Prissy would only pick at it.

“What do you mean, affected?” Shego hissed.

“Come on, you’re smarter than that. Don’t tell me you never noticed.” The intruder’s eyes idly wandered away and she tugged at the leaf of one of Drakken’s houseplants in the nook. “Those criminals you used to fight. Some seemed a little extra special, didn’t they? Kinda gifted, right? Funny how they didn’t pop up until after the impact.”

“Team Go aren’t the only ones with a glow,” Shego surmised flatly, though the possibility was still hard to wrap her head around. Global Justice had worked tirelessly to track down anyone who might have had even the faintest trace of a glow, evaluating everyone who’d been within the blast radius. Supposedly. They’d lied before. They’d even tried lying about Lady Fate striking Go City at all, though it had been too big a crater to cover up overnight.

“Uh-huh,” said Prissy nonchalantly, breaking off a large leaf of Drakken’s monstera plant to fan herself with. She sighed. “Look, I was gonna just mess with you a bit and pop out and be like, surprise! We can be besties again! But then I find out you’re still doing the whole Shego thing, and now it’s all kind of weird.” She blew a raspberry and feigned a pout.

Shego stared with a raised eyebrow for a long moment before laughing incredulously. “You can’t expect me to believe that crock,” she shot.

“Mickey went to talk to you last night, didn’t he?” Prissy innocently wondered. “He was supposed to anyway. He was gonna explain how we couldn’t keep hanging out with you as long as Global Justice was watching you. We didn’t want to get busted and drug into it and made to join some stupid team just because it was the right thing to do.” The way she rolled her eyes, Shego was inclined to believe her.

Her chest ached. She couldn’t believe that she was buying it. “You seriously – you seriously have a glow?” she blurted. “Then why can’t I see it?”

Priscilla shrugged. “There are things the human eye can’t see,” she explained simply, and as she did, the big jagged leaf was engulfed in a shimmer like heatwaves down to every tip, and then it was gone. Yet she continued to fan herself with it. “We really did think it would be cool to reconnect and all, but I guess this was a waste of time since you’re still Shego. I should probably bail.”

Shego took a single cautious step away from the door. “Yeah. You should. I’ll get Doc to take me into town for lunch so you can hitch a ride in.” Was she seriously about to let a potential spy go running back to snitch? Potentially so. “Just keep it low-pro until then.” She’d have to weigh the potential drawbacks for beating her to a pulp later.

“Sure thing, babe,” chimed Priscilla, her apathetic voice already disembodied.

A knock at the door made Shego jump and swear under her breath. How many times was she going to jump today? She should not be this jumpy. She was willing to blame side effects of the drug.

“Shego? Are you in there?” called Drakken. “Why is the door locked? Oh, fiddlesticks, where are my keys…?”

For a fleeting moment she considered holding the door shut, but disregarded the childish notion and reluctantly unlocked the door for Drakken instead.

He must have been leaning on it trying to force it open, because he came stumbling in. “Ah, Shego! There you are,” he greeted, a little winded as he patted her on the shoulder. “Look what I found! Look, look, just look.” He was determined to make her look even if she didn’t want to, practically shoving an item in her face. So much for trying not to be childish.

She glanced between him and the door and where Priscilla had been standing moments ago across the room, until Drakken stepped into her line of sight to model goggles more absurd and protruding than his usual magnification set.

“You look ridiculous,” she grumbled as he spieled an explanation on infrared goggles and how they worked. He eagerly attempted to cinch them down and begin a search as he prattled, but she reached for them to pull off his head. “Can we play ghost hunters later? I’m starved,” she groused, trying to stay situated directly in front of him so he couldn’t peek past her to take a look around.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge,” he dismissed. He cracked a huge grin and reached for her face. “Oh, do you look strange.”

She swatted his hand away from her cheek. “You’re one to talk. Chow. Now.” Her blush had to be visible enough without thermal imaging.

“No,” he said stubbornly. “I’m going to prove it to you. I am not imagining things.” He sidestepped around her.

Shego grabbed for his wrist, willing her hand to remain cold as she did, and tugged him back toward the door. “Okay, fine. I believe you. There’s a ghost. Now can we please just go—”

“Shego?” Drakken’s confident and eager demeanor had changed in an instant. He seemed suddenly smaller, with a wavering note of fear in his voice. She didn’t like the sound of it. “W-what’s that?”

“W-w-what’s what?” she mocked with a sarcastic stutter. He was pointing a trembling finger behind her before she could pull him back to the door. She knew exactly what he had to be pointing at, but wryly suggested anyway, “I’unno. A plant?”

A hand rested on her shoulder then, and it wasn’t Drakken’s. She spared a tiny glance down, saw the fingers, and heard the intruder’s voice practically in her ear. “Gig’s up, babe.”

Drakken squealed and lurched away. “It can talk!” he shrieked, and Shego all but ripped his hodgepodge homemade goggles off so he could see for himself that it was no ghost hovering behind her before he could faint.

[captainofthebrokentides]

Briefcases and Blood Splatter Chapter 2: Guilty Pleasures and Pool Benny Colon x OC

Thank you everyone who read the first chapter and enjoyed it! it’s always a boost when someone appreciates your work. It makes you work faster to get the next part out!! I hope you all enjoy this one!! let me know! :)   2453 words

The hours had ticked by without Olivia even noticing. The sun was beginning to dip behind the New York skyline, and TAC’s muted windows allowed the little lab to be flooded with a warm orange light. Beeps and whirs came from the temporary machinery, but she paid them no heed, bobbing her head rhythmically along to the music coming through her headphones.

She tapped her pen against the table, her dark eyes searching through the data that her earlier blood and hair analysis tests had provided, hoping to find any new information that had not been in the ‘welcome’ pack she had been given by Marissa.

“Blood-Alcohol level is high. 0.10. High, but not life threatening. Impaired, but not belligerent.” She thought to herself, chewing the cap of her pen, a habit she hadn’t been able to shake since university. “I need to get a test sample of the semen from Alyssa’s body and from the kid. Look and see if there’s blood content mixed in it, or any hallucinogen or toxin.”

She was so involved in the paperwork and her thoughts she hadn’t realised she had company, until he was standing beside her. That delicious smell of sandalwood, leather and citrus engulfed her nose, and she inhaled it happily, closing her eyes for a brief second to savour it.

Benny gently touched her shoulder to get her attention. She looked up at him, and saw his lips moving, but her music drowned out his words. She quickly removed her headphones and smiled up at him apologetically.

“Hey Benny, sorry, I was involved in …”

“The Lion King?” he cut her off with a smirk before she could finish her sentence.

The expression on his face made her mouth dry. Olivia had never been one to get all giggly and shy around men. Even the ones she found attractive. That was her friend Dawn, she normally stayed cool and collected, but there was something about Benny that had struck a cord from the moment the pair of them had made eye contact. It had been completely solidified when Cable and Danny had dropped in to introduce themselves and encouraged her to join them in peeking down into mock court. He oozed confidence while he paced back and forth in front of the jury. He was confident, but not arrogant. His voice full of heat, passion and strength. Olivia was sure she’d never seen someone put so much heart and soul into something that was essentially just an act. He had looked up towards the end of his closing argument and caught her eye. Without missing a beat he’d shot her a dashing smile and a subtle wink.

And in that moment Olivia knew she’d have to keep her wits about her around the lawyer, or she’d become one of those giggly girls she never thought she’d be.

“Sorry?” she said, furrowing her brow in confusion.

“Your headphones, I distinctly heard the opening beats to ‘I just can’t wait to be king’”

Olivia fought the blush that threatened to spider it’s way up her cheeks. She let out a slightly strained laugh instead. “You caught me.” She joked good naturedly “Everywhere I look in my job there’s doom and gloom. Its nice to listen to something light hearted, you know.” She wasn’t sure why she was explaining herself to him, the words just bubbled out of her throat. “So much death, and it’s always blood readings this, urinalysis that, I’m normally up to my elbows is some form of body fluid – and at home, if I’m in the morgue the people I’m working on don’t mind because you know, they’re dead …”

Benny said nothing, but listened to her talk with big smile on his face, showcasing his perfectly straight pearly whites and showing off his boyish dimples. His eyes were alight with amusement, but with no malice.

“I should really shut up, shouldn’t I? Because now I’m babbling at you, and you obviously came in here to ask me something, before I started waffling at you about the merits of Disney soundtracks.” She sighed and bit her lip. She put her pen down and flattened her hands out on the table to mentally and physically ground herself.  “I’ll try again. What can I do for you, Benny?”

The lawyer shook his head and laughed. It was a deep, smooth sound that Olivia had instantly come to adore, and she hadn’t spent that long in his company so far. ‘this man is going to be the death of me … but I think I could live with it.’ He gently placed a reassuring hand on top of hers, his fingers curling under her palms and giving the appendage a gentle squeeze.

“If I didn’t already like Disney, you’d have made me a convert.” His deep velvety tones were laced with humour.

“You’re a Disney fan?” the words and their surprised tone had slipped from Olivia’s mouth before she realised they had left her brain.

Benny snorted, “Of course.”

“You’re a dark horse aren’t you? Is the brooding, serious lawyer mask hiding more guilty pleasures?” and now she was flirting. Olivia could barely believe herself. But Benny didn’t seem to have a problem with it, although an intensity took over his dark eyes as he regarded her.

“There’s so much more to me than that, Miss Byrne. I’ll be happy to show you sometime.”

She was sure her ears weren’t deceiving her … was he … flirting back?

She bit her lip again and felt the blush course up her cheeks, unhindered this time. She swore he shifted his weight towards her, closing the gap between them a little more.

The temporary lab door swung open and Marissa wandered in, her head buried in a manilla TAC folder, as usual. Olivia was beginning to realise that was Marissa’s default during the planning stages of a case. Benny almost jumped, as if coming to his senses, and shuffled back to put a bit more space between them. Liv lamented the loss of his warmth by her side.

“Any luck with the blood and hair Liv?” Marissa asked looking up from her folder with a warm smile. She looked at Benny a little shocked. “Oh Benny …”

“I came to ask Olivia here if she’d like to join us at the bar for drinks tonight. Sort of a welcome thing.” He explained deftly. Olivia noted he’d left out any mention of Disney, or what they were really discussing when Marissa had interrupted.

Marissa nodded emphatically, “You should, it’ll be good to get to know you, and you us, a little better.”

Olivia chewed on her bottom lip. It had been a long day, and she’d not yet managed to return to her hotel and unpack her things, but she supposed one drink wouldn’t hurt. She did want to get to know them all, after all. “I really shouldn’t, as I’ve not even unpacked yet. But I want to keep that jet lag at bay. Gotta get myself properly in your time zone. I’ll come for one.”

Marissa grinned happily, and Benny nodded at her, still regarding her with that hot, intense gaze.

“One it is! There will be plenty more times. We’re only just getting started.” The blonde said. “But back to why I’m here. Any luck with the blood and hair?”

Olivia opened her own file and pointed to her results with her pen as she spoke, both Benny and Marissa looking over her shoulders.

“Not much more than you already had. I’ve got the tox and alcohol levels all rated and labelled for you. Is there any way I can get access to the body? I know an autopsy has already been performed, but I’d like to see a few things for myself.”

Marissa nodded, making some notes in her own file. “I will do my best, is there anything else I can do for you?”

Olivia busied herself closing up her notes and packing up her desk. “Yes, I need some semen.”

Benny made an audible choking noise. She glanced at him out the corner of her eye. It was her turn to smirk.

“Semen?” Marissa repeated, checking she was clear.

“Yep, a sample from the girl’s body and a living sample from Brandon so I can compare counts and check for abnormalities … ooh and if you can, a sample of what was on Brandon’s clothing for the night in question. In my experience, teenage boys aren’t exactly brilliantly skilled with their target practice, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

She could see Benny’s shoulders moving as he chuckled under his breath.

“ok … I’m not sure how I’ll broach that subject, but I’ll do what I can. This could get awkward.”

“Yeah, sorry, I’ve got the easy bit this end.” Olivia shrugged apologetically.

“No problem, I’ll get this logged. See you at the bar.”

Benny gave Marissa a minute to exit before he turned to her with a devilish grin. “In your experience, huh?”

She laughed and lightly slapped his arm. She was very pleased to feel the hard sinew of bulging muscle beneath the finely tailored cloth he wore.

“Get your head out the gutter, I’m probably old enough to be his mum.”

“Probably more like a disapproving aunt.” He held his arm out to her like a gentleman when she threw her handbag over her shoulder. “Shall we?”

She willingly accepted his crooked elbow, and let him lead her from the room. “I used to work in a all boys boarding school while I was putting myself through uni. Trust me, there are a few things I wish I could unsee.”

 ***

“… And a passionfruit daquiri for our newest member of the family. We’re glad you’re here.” Chunk placed the glass of frosted cocktail down in front of her.

Olivia found herself seated around a large round table, sandwiched between Chunk and Cable, with Marissa and Danny opposite them. They were all laughing, joking and learning things about each other, but she always found her eyes straying to the pool table nearby, where Benny and Bull were in the middle of a heated game.

Benny was currently leaning against the bar, with his pool cue tucked safely behind one leg. He had discarded his suit jacket, waistcoat and tie. The collar of his light blue shirt open by a few buttons and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The fabric did a wonderful job of showing off his muscles. He was laughing and baiting Bull, nursing what was left of his scotch. Occasionally his eyes would flicker up and meet hers, and he would smile, a soft smile.

“So where did you say you trained in medicine?” Danny asked jovially, catching Olivia’s attention.

“Oh, Southampton, it’s not a big city or a prestigious university, but it was homely.”

“Southampton …” Chunk tapped his fingers on the table in thought, “Where the Titanic sailed from?”

Olivia nodded, taking a mouthful of her drink and sighing, it was just what she needed, “That’s the place.”

“I’ve only ever seen London, I’d like to go back and travel around, see Cornwall and places like that, I hear they’re beautiful.” Marissa said dreamily.

“Cornwall is gorgeous, have you ever had a proper British cream tea?”

“Shhhh, don’t mention food, Benny has the hearing of a bat when it comes to food.” Danny laughed. Olivia too giggled and watched the subject of their conversation through her eyelashes. He was leaning over the pool table, lining his cue up to take a shot. She tried not to openly ogle his ass too much, she’d barely been in their company a day, she didn’t want a reputation, but she had to admit, it was hard.

“Seriously, I’ve never seen someone eat like he does. I’m surprised he’s not fat.” Chunk held his hands up.

“And he’s like a child if he gets hungry, so if he is, I’d make a break for it Liv, save yourself!!” Cable laughed and made a dramatic hand gesture.

“I’m sure I can handle him.” She laughed too. “I’ll bring you all some if I get a chance to make some scones.”

There was a loud pop as the final ball of the pool game was potted, and Bull whooped in victory. “And that my friend is why you need to keep your head in the game.” He sounded smug, and Benny slumped onto his bar stool in defeat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“How about you, new girl, play pool much?” Bull asked her, looking at her over the top of his glasses.

Liv shook her head. “Not really, a couple of times at uni, and when I was young.”

“Come play the next game with me, I promise I wont clean out your wallet unlike Benny here.”

Everyone was watching her to gauge her reaction, it was Bull’s way of testing her mettle in a friendly manner, to see if she fit in with his little ‘family’.

“I don’t play much, I might need a few pointers.” She excused herself from the group and joined the two men at the pool table, she was determined to show Bull that she could hold her own.

“I’ll help you.” Benny said smoothly, finishing his drink and letting his eyes linger on her with that burning intensity.

“Thank you, Benny.” She said sweetly, taking the cue from his outstretched hand. Their fingers brushed against each other and Liv felt her tummy jingle with butterflies.

“My pleasure.” It was almost a hungry growl, gravelly, low and almost erotic.

“And I will enjoy beating you both.” Bull said loudly destroying the moment between them.

“Take him down a peg, Liv!” cheered Chunk and Cable.

Olivia grinned and gave them a thumbs up.

“Your break” Bull said lining up the balls in their starter positions.

“Ok, so if you line up your cue here …” Benny placed one hand on the table where he was indicating and used his other to guide her to the table, his touch warm and secure on the bottom of her back.

She lined the cue up against his hand and looked down the shaft of wood. “Like this?”

“Mhmm, but a little closer, and lower … like this …” Benny encircled her body with his arms, his chin resting on her shoulder, so he could see. He was warm against her back, and Olivia couldn’t help the big, goofy grin on her face at the contact.

Across the other side of the table Bull smirked, satisfied with himself as he watched the pair of them. He looked at Marissa, who shook her head with a resigned smile.

@reelovesbennycolon​

[brookelynnsanders]

Anti Cool Girl - The last fall

A/N: here we go - @arin-schreave​ and Brooke’s first date. Thank you anna for this ridiculous rp and thank you @evalinkatrineberg​ elise for being an amazing beta. Also the title is a reference to dodie’s song cool girl - enjoy!

Cold water trickles down Brooke Lynn’s lean frame, washing off the accumulated sweat sticking to her heated skin. The aching in her thighs spreads towards the hollow of her knee - the water unable to soothe the sting. Luckily it cools down her boiling thoughts. She takes in a moment of silence just for herself. No wary eyes, no protocols to follow, and no time to kill. So she just keeps on breathing and counts each droplet gracing her skin. Delaying the inevitable moment of having to leave her little chamber behind. Not ready to face her upcoming date. 

“Lady Brooke, did you fell asleep in the shower again?”

The blonde automatically groans at the sound of her maid’s nagging voice. Can’t I have a quiet second for once?

“No, I just don’t moan when I pleasure myself in the shower”, the woman shouts while stepping out of the shower. Her calm interior is now completely destroyed - her defense mechanism filling its space. At least her comeback urged Brita to fall silent. Giving the blonde some last few moments of peace.

So Brooke quietly wraps herself in a fluffy towel and tries to shoot herself an encouraging smile in the mirror, which ends up being a hopeless grimace. Her stomach slowly ties itself into a knot at the prospect of the upcoming hours. So she focuses on drying off her body instead, watching each droplet either moisten the towel in her hand or glaze over the floor. Afterward, she squirts some pomegranate scented body lotion into her palms and carefully slicks up her limbs before wrapping herself into a baby blue silk robe. With a deep breath, still very wet hair, and a polite smile on her lips, she steps outside into the arms of her personal headache.

 Sandra, one of the mute maids, grabs the blonde’s arm tightly and leads her towards the vanity - seemingly in a hurry to get the woman ready. Once Brooke Lynn's bum touches the chair, all of her maids are already over her. Prepping her skin, teasing her hair, and painting her face for the big event. 

The speed of her maids awakes an unsettling feeling in the blonde who's heart starts to beat a bit faster. Her palms glitz with sweat as Brita keeps on muttering about Brooke's unmanageable hair. Blue eyes stare back at a strange figure, surrounded by buzzing bees, as she attempts to keep her calm. A deep breath in and a deep breath out.  

Yet once Brooke is shown the outfit prepared for her, she just knows. This will be her downfall. 

Brooke Lynn walks up to the front steps 10 minutes early for her date. The note she had received two days ago is held in her left fist. Opening and closing around the royal paper, fidgeting to calm her mind. Already imagining each worst-case scenario she can think of. Yet still unable to stay in her room any longer - the hustle wrecking her nerves. So she lets her gaze wander around and lets out a deep breath - relieved that no one is present. Her fingers scratch her light brown breeches, attempting to get used to the tight fit of them.

"Lady Brooke." 

A slight shiver runs down the woman’s back at the voice onset of her date. Not mentally prepared to meet the Prince so suddenly but within a blink of an eye, she spins around and puts her crumbled invitation into her vest’s jacket. Her face sporting a very neutral look. "Your royal highness." Luckily she remembers her manners. 

"Shall we?" Prince Arin asks with a slightly forced smile while he motions in the direction of the stables. Dressed in equally flattering clothes as Brooke Lynn. 

Brooke Lynn's blue orbs widen at the reference, having hoped she could delay their departure to the stables a bit. But sadly that isn't the case, so she just clicks her tongue and side-eyes the prince while mumbling "We shall." Her confidence not quite yet at the forefront.

 "So... How have you been?" 

Awful, thanks for asking. 

Brooke settles with, "I am not dead yet, so can't complain, "  and a subtle wink. 

"Well, I'm glad we set the bar really low here at the palace," he counters with an ever so slight eyebrow raise. Not as amused by her comment as she is. 

"No offense, but my bar for this entire experience is very low." A little giggle colors her voice. "I didn't even personally sign up so I have zero expectations."

After a brief pause of awkward silence, she realizes that her prior statement might have sounded a bit rude. Even though it's just a factual truth. "But that only means I am pleasantly surprised all the time," the blonde hurriedly adds, not wanting to ruin the date before it has even properly begun. 

“At least you can find some positive things in this whole situation.” The two keep on walking in silence, each a prisoner of their own thoughts. Yet once the stables are in their sights, the Prince speaks up again. “Do you like horses?”

“I am actually terrified,” Brooke answers honestly for once. The woman attempts to keep her cool though, not wanting to look like a scared 3-year-old, but her shaking hand betrays her.

 The prince slows down his walking and looks at her. “Oh, I’m sorry... I didn’t know.”

Brooke Lynn stops for a second and closes her eyes, before plastering a forced smile on her face. The foundation of her walls now fully replaced.  “It's fine. I'll manage - somehow. But if that horse kills me, I'll haunt you until eternity,” she teases him with a cheeky wink.

“You're not really selling it,” he glances over his shoulder, “We can go back.”

“Aren't you the one who is supposed to show me that deep down I've always wanted to be a horse girl?” Brooke side-eyes him with a smirk, trying her best to keep the conversation light. “But seriously, you chose this activity for a reason... So I might as well give it a shot.”

He just shakes his head. “It wasn't actually my idea, sorry.” 

“So you got a little matchmaker advisor who tells you how to find a wife or what?” Another teasing smile graces her lips while she throws her carefully crafted side braid behind her back.  Yet once her glance lands on the horses she can now clearly see, the knot in her stomach tightens.

“No... I have a mother who involved herself and a friend who helped her.”

“So you are a mommy boy?” Brooke asks in a teasing tone and scrunches her nose in amusement.

“Well considering I have two I don’t know else I’d be,” Arin replies with a slow blink.

The blonde can’t help but snort at his response and tries her very hardest to suppress her giggles. “You've got a fair point.”

“Well, at least I can make you laugh.”

“Maybe a giggle or two will come out of those pretty lips when the horse throws me into the mud.” An awkward smile graces the woman’s lips as she peeks into the stables. “Why do they gotta be so Goddamn tall,” Brooke mumbles to herself. Still very intimidated by those animals.

“They ate their fruits and vegetables.” Apparently, she wasn’t too quiet.

“And so did I,” Brooke replies as she looks up at towards the prince, “still I am not that tall.” Her waving hand motions an attempt to highlight her point. 

“Well, you're not a horse....” 

Who would have guessed?

Brooke Lynn rolls her eyes and decides that now is the moment to face her fears and just walks inside the stable. “Let's get this over with.”

“We don't have to do this. It won't hurt my feelings if we don't.” 

He really sounds like a little kid not wanting to go shopping with his mum.

On the tip of her toes, Brooke Lynn turns around and fixates him with termination carved into her irises. “No matter if you came up with this idea or someone else - enough effort went into this and I am very sure my maids would be upset if they see this outfit wasn't but to use.” And she isn’t prepared to get into another fight with her maids. Once the two are truly inside, the blonde looks around, very lost. “So wanna show me what I've missed in my life without horse riding?”

Prince Arin just looks at her and blinks in surprise, and if Brooke isn’t wrong she actually hears him chuckle. “You're asking the wrong person. Horses aren't really my thing.” He mentions casually while he walks towards a stall, already greeting one of the horses.

Brooke Lynn stops in her tracks, slightly regretting having pushed him. “Great precondition,” she mumbles to no one in particular.

“There's still time to back out.”

She has him pushed him so far that there is no way to back down now.

“And not watch you crash and burn with me?” Her left eyebrow raised in suspicion as she turns towards the stall gate, taking in the horse nearest to her.

Arin leads the way inside so Brooke Lynn just cautiously follows him trying her best not to use any sudden movements so she won’t scare the horses. At least that’s what she tells herself. Cautiously she rolls her shoulders and straightens her back - not wanting to look too intimidated.

The gate is being pulled open by the prince who then gently tugs on the reins of a tall light brown horse that walks out. “You ready?” Raised eyebrows clearly worried about the woman’s reaction. 

The overly nervous woman inhales a deep breath and gifts the man her best smile, refusing to give up on this rocky date already. “Ready as I'll ever be.”

Brooke Lynn’s words are the kickoff to officially start the date. Arin walks around the stable, pulling saddles from left and right and carefully prepares the two royal horses for their ride. As the awkward silence starts to grow, Brooke starts to sort through her brain, pulling out possible small talk topics. 

“So if you are not a horse kind of guy - any other animals and hobbies you prefer?”

“I like fish, I guess. And some other things yeah,” Arin mentions as he walks over to his horse.

“Fish?” That’s specific.”Wanna indulge in me that?”

“I have a fish.” The prince concentrates on closing the belts of the saddle. “And they’re a good source of protein.”

“What's their na-”; Brooke Lynn stops in her tracks as the second part of his statement reaches her consciousness. Within a second her polite smile falls from her face. Replaced by a heavy heart as disappointment oozes out of her being

“Her name is Gillian.” No remorse only confusion plastered on his face.

“That's a nice name,” Brooke Lynn replies with an awkward smile, trying her best to not judge him. But she does.”But like how can you have a pet fish that you cared enough to name... And still, eat fish.” Her brows are furrowed as hurt and confusion mixes in the sea within her eyes as  Arin finishes up the last details of preparing the horses.

“Fish can be friends and food?” He glances over at her as his statement comes out more than a question.

Yet Brooke Lynn’s mouth only falls open in shock. “How can you say that?”

“I um... like fish?”

Brooke Lynn takes a deep breath so she can collect her thoughts and arguments so she won’t lash out at him. 

“But how can you say you like fish as living beings and then still eat them? Like the fish industry is exploiting our oceans and seas while endangering so many species.” With each spoken word she feels a bit sicker as her shoulders and the corner of her mouth hang low.

“I... I'm sorry?” 

How am I supposed to see this man as a potential partner?

“No need to apologize - at least not to me but maybe you wanna look into the issues surrounding the consumption of animals and animal products.” With a deep sigh, Brooke lets the topic go. “Speaking of animals,” her eyes glance towards the regal horse by her side, “how is this supposed to go down?”

“Um... now we just mount.”

“Just mount?” A slight waver in her reveals her helplessness. She hasn’t felt that small in a while.

After being told they need to bring the horses outside first, Brook cautiously takes her horse's reins and waits for Arin to lead the way outside, cautiously looking over his shoulder at her as they go. Which prompts an apologetic smile by Brooke. Once the two get to the pasture he circles around with the horse to face her. “Are you ready?”

“I guess we'll see.”

Arin makes it look so easy the way he mounts his horse so regally and then just looks down at her from his horse. “You can do it.”

With a deep breath, Brooke collects all her strength and puts her right foot into her horse's stirrup and swings herself onto the horse. A victorious smile already presents itself on her glossy lips but soon falters as she realizes that she ended up on the horse facing the butt. Fucking great. 

"Do you need help?" 

"Unless this is the preferred way to ride a horse I guess yeah." Brooke attempts to be very nonchalant, yet a quiet giggle escapes her lips. Too amused by the ridiculousness of the situation. 

And like her knight in bright armor, the prince dismounts his horse and walks over to Brooke. "What can I do for you?"

"Whatever the fuck -" Manners. "Whatever the freak is needed to be done." Her nose scrunches an attempt to hide her embarrassment. 

Arin slightly hesitates before offering his hand to the blonde as he carefully puts one hand on her waist. "Ready?" 

Brooke's vocal cords are suddenly unable to form any words so she just nods and attempts to turn herself around. Yet somehow she miscalculates the curvature of the horse’s back and so she loses her balance. As the blonde realized her mistake it was already too late. Brooke tightly closes her eyes as she tumbles off the horse - fully prepared to hit the ground. But somehow strong arms are able to half catch her in time. After a brief second - which feels like an eternity - Brooke opens her eyes again and stares up at her savior. 

Within a moment his arms are gone and Brooke is back on her feet. "Are you okay?" A hint of concern colors his voice as gives Brooke a quick one over. 

"Yeah, just wanted to test the reflexes of our soon to be King," the blonde adds with a wink, bringing out her usual cocky self. She smiles a bit to herself, glad Arin had been so quick on his feet, before looking back to the horse and taking a deep breath - not ready to give up. "No, seriously thank you," she adds with a look behind her shoulder as she prepares to finally get this right. With a determined nod she mounts her right foot onto the stirrup again and is about to push herself of. However, she freezes for a moment - realizing the mistake she has made switches her Foot. With her corrected position she manages to mount her horse in a swift motion and ends up correct in her saddle. "Not too bad." 

Arin gives her a smile for her victory before adding: "I’m glad you’re okay."

The blonde returns his smile as she watches him go back to his own horse, satisfied with the outcome so far. Until she realizes this is only the first step to actual horseback riding. "Got a coin to start the engine? 

He chuckles at her remark. He actually chuckles at her remark." No, you just nudge her with your foot a little and say - let’s go."

"Okay," the blonde replies very focused on the tasks at the head but still manages to offer a small nod and smile as she nudges her horse. A "let's go" escapes her lips as the regal animal suddenly picks up its pace. 

"Are you okay?" The prince's voice barely reaching the girl's pina as his horse trails behind. 

"So far," Brooke Lynn shouts back as she keeps her gaze ahead - trying her best not to fall off this wobbly ride. Her thoughts suddenly swirling around how the horse could possibly understand her directions. 

"You're still alive, see." An encouraging smile suddenly by her side. 

"That's a plus." Her first genuine laughter escapes her throat. 

"We can be done if you want." 

Brooke doesn't have to look over to see the concern plastered onto his face. Slightly wondering if he even wants to be around her, not really buying his sudden concern. 

"You really sound like you don't wanna be here, but I am finally on a horse - there is no stopping now." With a click of her tongue and a feisty nudge to her horse's rips, she spurts it on to go faster and faster. Craving serotonin to fill her blood. 

"Horses aren’t really my thing." The prince's call nearly lost in the woods. 

Ocean eyes roll at the reveal of his dark secret. "Oh who would have guessed." 

As the trees enclosing her vision move past her and the stark wind cools all her limbs she wonders if that's what true freedom feels like. 

"Not you," Airn voices once he manages to catch up to. "You’re a lot better at this than I am." 

Ohh okay? Maybe we can forget this fish situation. 

“Seems like I have natural talent then,” the girl confidentially exclaims with a big grin.

“Maybe you do.” His voice suddenly getting closer and closer until Brooke can see the other surpass them.

“Are you trying to win a racehorse boy?” She shouts at him, urging her horse to go faster - trying to catch up.

“Boy?”

“You gotta earn the horseman title,” she challenges him with a wink as she is at an eye level with him again.

“Last between the two trees gotta bake the other a cake.” 

Within a whirlwind, she passes him and encourages her horse to go even faster, determined to win the race. Her laughter halls through the cool air as the wind plays with her baby hairs. Brooke refuses to look back and she just focuses on the horizon. Her heart and head feel a bit lighter with each added mile between her and the palace. If she just closed her eyes she could pretend she is in her own adventure - not prince who doesn’t want to get to know her trailing along.

The blonde doesn't look back and just takes in the serotonin buzzing through her bloodstream as she comes to the finished line closer and closer. Her head is free of constant overthinking once she reaches the finish line. Yet all of a sudden her horse’s fuse blows and within a second she already greets the grass as her horse attempts to circle the fox in its way. Brooke Lynn’s left foot is still caught in the stirrup once her horse calms down, so she tumbles to the floor and just rests on her back. Kinda in shock, yet glad for her verst as bubbly laughter escapes her chest, patiently waiting for Arin to arrive.

Once his horse stops alongside hers, he carefully gets down and rushes over to her. Clearly worried. Not that he should worry. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, cause I won,” Brooke cheers with her fist raised high, “so this is a wonderful position to cloud watch. You should join me.”

“Alright, Van Grunsven, let's go.” Arin immediately leans down to untangle her from the saddle, wasting no time.

The blonde says a small ‘thank you’ as she scrunches her nose and smiles at him. She completely lays on her back now as she is freed from the saddle and nocks onto the grass next to her. A silent invitation for Arin to join her. The need to share the beautiful sight in the sky with him immense.

However, Brooke Lynn can only feel an expecting look on her skin. Not sure what he wants from her.

“You're free,” he adds after a moment of awkward silence and raises his eyebrows at her.

“Yeah. Thank you,” She repeats confused, petting the grass next to her again while scrutinizing him. “Please don't tell me you also hate cloud watching.”

“I don’t... I just don’t really want to lay in the ground.” He nonchalantly replies with and outstretched arm. Brooke only rolls her eyes and mouths the word wimp but takes his hand anyway. 

In a smooth motion, he pulls her up.  “I’m guessing we’re done with horses for the day?”

With a nod, the girl confirms his suspicions. So she grabs her horse’s reins, ready to walk her way back to the palace, but pets her horse on the head slightly. Still a bit scared of the majestic creature, yet still having found a place in her heart for it. “Thanks for not killing me,” she mumbles lovingly.

Arin shoots her an amused look at the interaction. “Not so bad, huh?”

“Yep,” the girl pops the p and nods, “especially since you owe me a cake now.” Actually really excited at the prospect of a cake just for her. Unable to let it go that she actually won.

“I think you’ll be disappointed,” he says not very convincing, leading the horse towards the stables. The evening sun highlighting a light sweat patch on his horse’s back and neck.

“We'll see - maybe you'll discover your sudden love for baking.” The blonde shoots him an amused look as she walks beside him, unable to really look him in the day due to the blinding sun rays hitting her iris.

“Or burning the palace down,” Arin mutters as a response.  

“That will definitely make it into the history books.”

The prince blinks surprised, seemingly having hoped Brooke wouldn’t hear him. “I’d hope not.”

“It's in your hands,” she replies with a coy smirk before letting her gaze shift towards the closer inching palace. Her smile slightly drops at its sight, not ready to be a prisoner of her golden cage again.

“What’s wrong?”

Shit.

Hurridly the blonde morphs her phase into a neutral expression, relaxing her furrowed brows and clenches jaw. “Ohhh it's just that I enjoyed the company - I am not really looking forward to being alone again.“ The woman exhales deeply and bites her bottom lip trying to find the balance between being honest and still keeping her walls intact. Not trusting the stranger opposite her yet.

“I'm sure there are lots of people in the Women's Room.”

A polite smile stretches across her lips, not really wanting to share her lack of social contact in this place. Not even remembering the last time she had visited the Women’s Room. Luckily the Prince immediately leads his horse into the stable once they neared the palace. He politely waits until she's inside behind him before he starts to take the saddle off.

Brooke Lynn, on the other hand, simply watches him in silence caught up with her own thoughts but keeps a polite smile on her face. Torn between labeling this date a total disaster and progress in the right direction. Because she didn’t really hate it. But maybe he did?

A ‘Can I’ catches her a bit off guard. It takes her a second before she realizes that he wants her to hand him her horse’s reigns.

“Will you take Skippy back to his stall?” He asks, nodding towards his horse while he approaches hers.

“Skippy?” A bright smile shining on her lips. “Your brilliant idea or did someone else name him?” The girl walks towards Arin’shorse and slowly approaches him before carefully taking his reigns in her hands. She walks him into his stable, careful not to step into horse shit.

“Uh... my mom came up with it.”

“It's actually a really adorable name,” she says, mostly directed at the horse that manages to elicit a small smile from her as well. He also receives a light pet from her before carefully closing the gate and walking back towards Arin.

”Will you take Lou, too?”

Brooke Lynn nods as a response and walks Lou to her stall and gives her a fake evil look before silently cracking up. “Thanks for not killing me Lou,” she mumbles with a smirk.

“So, what's the verdict?”

About what? Ohh the horses, Brooke mentally facepalms.

“I am still alive, so this couldn't have gone better!” The girl exclaims with a smirk and her left hand against her hip. Not deadly terrified of horses anymore, but still in need of a 21-year long break of horseback riding.

“Well, staying alive in a date is always a good standard to have.”

“And if the standard couldn't have been upheld - I couldn't be disappointed cause I'd be dead,” the girl laughs a bit morbid. Either because Brooke stopped caring about looking perfect or because she has gained a concussion over the past few days. Not quite sure yet.

Nervous laughter by her side makes Brooke only crack up more.

“Just kidding. You are too easy to spook.”

“Am I?” He motions for her to follow him as he walks back towards their meet up spot.

“Seems like it at least,” the girl calmly replies, solely focussed on the steps leading towards a side entrance of the great hall.

“Interesting observation,” are his last words before he falls silent, accompanying her. 

Brooke Lynn slowly drags her feet across the path, an attempt to delay the end of this evening. Yet once the two reach the top of the stairs the prince and the girl say their goodbye’s with polite smiles resting on their faces. Both left alone with their thoughts from now on.

Not sure if they’ll see each other again.

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S4 Ep 14 Pt1: Rex and Weevils Ultimate Betrayal No One Gave a Damn About

Just finished watching the Superbowl, which I never ever do, and it was VERY confusing and I thought I remembered this sport but I did not. I don’t know what’s happening. I do not understand how Kansas City got that field goal on San Fransisco when their feet never touched the goal line. So, I’m just gonna...change gears completely and wrap up this long post about a VERY complicated anime that came out before some of y’all were born, instead. Today I just really wanted to feel lost.

Last episode, Yugi (the main character of the show, the one this show is named after) hella died, and Rex and Weevil decided to leave the party very, very quickly.

You’d think that the one event (Yugi’s dead) would have to do with the other event (getting the hellllll away), considering how rude and judgy Yami is, but they actually left for cards. They accidentally did a very wise decision in order to do something incredibly stupid and cancel out any wisdom they showed in pedaling as fast as they could possibly pedal away from the reincarnated ghost who just very suddenly achieved full control of a human body.

They accidentally pedaled away from every Mummy movie super villain and somehow ended up with a much more worse villain.

Like I say that this whole season is about Yugi’s crazy commute, but Rex and Weevil’s commute has just been so much more. They are just clinging to whatever vehicle is near them in order to find these legendary cards sitting somewhere in American Soil. They are so ambivalent to all the very real world terrible problems around them because they’re PRETTY SURE they’re gonna get rich. It’s like the Gold Rush but with helicopters.

Also the 49ers never rode tandem bikes, but you know they would’ve if they could’ve.

And for some, weird reason, Rafeal decides not to pick them up under his arms and toss them directly onto an unsuspecting Joey Wheeler like he just did with Yugi. Rafael and Alister decided...nah...I’ll keep these strange small manchildren.

It seems really off brand for Rafael and Alister but maybe they just got too tired to deal with it right now.

Speaking of tired--this horse.

I mean I’ll do the math eventually--not this post but maybe the next one I just did a lot of math trying to remember why the hell it’s 6 points for a goal in football--but this horse that we estimated would take over 20 days to ride to Death Valley just rode all the way back in the same day. Congratulations horse, the strongest force in all of Yugioh, (second to Yugi’s neck, holding that 70 lb necklace at all hours of the day.)

The girls seem to think that everything is OK initially, mostly because Yugi doesn’t really lose games that often, since the list of ways to beat Yugi in a card game up until now didn’t include “trick Yami into murdering the hell out of Yugi Muto.” Crazy that that actually worked, but Yami isn’t that bright.

PS please admire how chubby this horse appears in this scene.

OK I’m glad we all acknowledged the elephant in the room that was a horse last shot.

Also...maybe he didn’t hug her back because she just shoved a very sharp pyramid necklace straight into his small intestines?

(more under the cut)

I’ll spare you Transatlantacism this time.

Tea is concerned but more surprised than straight up angry. An anger which is more honed by Rebecca because Yami just killed her only friend (other than this horse) and possibly her only future husband that would ever put up with her (other than this horse.)

Like it seems kind of rude in the show out of context that everyone took a moment to lay a big dump on Yami Muto, but can you imagine if you straight up killed your twin (by accident but only by like 75% accident, lets be real) and this was your only punishment?

Like getting punched out is just how Yami treats himself every single day, so I don’t think Joey made too much of a difference in the situation. But you know, it’s Yugioh, so getting punched does is somehow the correct answer.

It was very lucky for Yami that Tea was too busy trying to console Rebecca to punch Yami before Joey got to him first because hot damn that would have sent him straight back to Death Valley.

And then I think this next exchange between Duke and Tristan was somewhat lost in translation. Please admire the censorship here. Safe for kids now.

I say this like a joke but have you seen Equinox? I live in the Bay, so trust me. Equinox is absolutely reviving the Great Leviathan. No doubt in my mind.

Anyway, Rafael and Alister hear Rex and Weevil’s plea to join the evil task force and they’re like...

...yeah, I guess you can apply, why not? No need to interview your or anything before we harass Darts with you.

Like Rafael and Alister were completely bonkers children that were driven to insanity by very extreme circumstances, and then there’s Rex and Weevil. They’re just...kind of middling at cards and that’s it.

But sure, yeah, I’m sure they’ll fit right into the completely maniacal card corporate atmosphere here at DartsCorp. I’m sure Rex and Weevil will jump out of a plane on a motorcycle and then do stunts all the way towards Atlantis Island.

Sure.

(course, now that I think of it, they did introduce themselves to Alister and Rafael by accidentally doing a stunt over a canyon onto a helicopter so...maybe they accidentally think Rex and Weevil are cool?)

Which, in hindsight, makes Mai make a hell of a lot more sense because y’all, they should be SO distracted right now, and shouldn’t let anyone in here who isn’t insane or insanely good at cards. But instead they’re like...I guess you have a duel disk, you’ll work. It’s not like there’s a line of people at the door.

Anyway, because the show has to acknowledge that there might be new viewers, they do their best to try and explain this very lengthy Yugi mechanic as if we’ve never heard it before and honestly, it just sounded like everyone was very frustrated.

Like for reals what is he wearing?

Why are there so few normal ass suits in Yugioh? Why is KAIBA the only person who knows what colors belong on a fitted suit? (And he just wears white, which isn’t a color and is always very safe but youknow it still boggles my mind that the power suit people are so into very friendly soft pastels from Gozaburo, to Pegasus, to Noah, to Darts.)

I would wear this suit to Easter Sunday. Darts just wears it every day.

And so then we get a little insight into what it takes to become an Orichalcos card champion.

While before, Darts just kinda poked Mai in the forehead and she was instantly imbued with Aqua Green Evilness, he decided to do a weird test on Rex and Weevil. Just to make sure they realllllly wanted to be here.

As if they didn’t stow away in a 18 hour flight stuffed into a handbag, hold in their piss for said 18 hours, then get shipped by accident to the Tenderloin, where they were mugged twice, and then get shoved into the trunk of Duke’s car, and then took a broken tandem bike to the hottest desert in America, where they then rode said bike off of a cliff in order to hang onto a flying helicopter.

Like I think this test was unnecessary, I think they want to be here.

But youknow, I think Darts just wanted to torture em for kicks.

And then Rex and Weevil have to grab two of these Oricalchos stones that were farting special effects and were very, very opposed to being owned by Rex and Weevil. But they managed to do it.

And uh congrats--their betrayal has begun!

And I don’t think anyone else on this show even recognized that they freakin left. Like they just kinda disappeared in Death Valley and then Duke was like “eh. They’ll find their way home.”

Kind of incredible that Joey and friends left these two stranded in Death Valley, That alone should have killed Rex and Weevil and like...Wow. Wow is Joey and co such a freakin asshole.

So don’t leave people stranded in Death Valley, they will join a card cult and freakin kill you. If the insane heat doesn’t kill them first.

And then because...I don’t know...I don’t know why, after sending his best and brightest fighters, Darts decided to downgrade and do this:

(based on a true story where a friend of mine worked as an intern in the city, and because they couldn’t pay him a living wage, he lived in a closet at said startup for nearly 2 years. Start-up culture is pretty real, folks, it’s PRETTY REAL. But, on the bright side, at least they had a shower in-house.)

So, I’m gonna go remove my contacts and try to forget how much queso I ate at that Superbowl party.

It was a lot of queso.

and if you just got here, this is a handy link to read these from the start.

PS anyone else pull the Yugioh fest in PAD? Because I have played this game...a lot over the course of 5 years and saved up over 300 free stones for several months in anticipation for this collab and then I pulled Kuriboh about 15 times. Most of you have no idea what that means, but for some of you out there, your heart just broke for me 15 times. (I did get 2 Yugis so I’m fine, but damn it) Then, bro saved up his stones and pulled Seto Kaiba, Marik, and Bakura all in a row. Freakin gotcha games, man. Freakin gotcha games.

[mobius-prime]

70. Knuckles the Echidna #2

Previous / Table of Contents / Next

The Dark Legion (Book Two): Sins of the Fathers

Writers: Ken Penders and Kent Taylor Pencils: Manny Galan and Andrew Pepoy Colors: Karl Bollers

The intro page for this issue highlights how Knuckles life has, up until very recently, been mostly a simple one, living in the wilderness of his island and looking after its inhabitants in relative peace. Now, however, he suddenly faced with the reality that he's not the only echidna left in the world (besides Athair, of course) and not only that, but it appears the others of his kind are, well, assholes.

Anyway, even though the last issue ended with them awake and alert, this issue begins with a soldier throwing water on an unconscious Knuckles sitting against a rock in the enemy camp while his friends watch, leading me to believe that at some point between then and now Knuckles decided to try to fight the entirety of the army on his own and got knocked out - which, honestly, is pretty in character for him. What isn't in character is this ridiculous cheesy faux-action-hero sass that he always seems to spout whenever Kenders is the one writing him seriously Kenders why do you do this.

Anyway, the soldiers lead him off to Kragok's tent for a little chat now that he's awake. He whines about his handcuffs, so Kragok orders him freed so they can chat more comfortably. I'm sure Knuckles won't take advantage of that at all, right?

We continue with the intermittent flashbacks in this issue. Apparently the fire ants are just as concerned about the echidna situation as the echidnas themselves, so the queen (because of course they're led by a queen) volunteers one ant, Christopheles (you see what I mean about these names?!) to guide Edmund, the new echidna guardian, in his role.

Christopheles warns Edmund about the danger Steppenwolf is currently in, prompting Edmund to rush off to rescue his son on a freaking horse he just acquired from nowhere. You might notice this also establishes the precedent of the guardians being guided by fire ants, as Archimedes now does for Knuckles.

Anyway, as we all knew would happen, the minute Knuckles is released from his cuffs he immediately tackles Kragok in anger. Kragok attempts to question him while his lackeys hold him down, but Knuckles just gives some sass back, which leads to honestly one of my favorite dramatic pages in this entire extended comic so far:

Idk, something about that line and delivery is so cool to me. "I'll just do as you suggest! Beat him!"? Damn, that's some legitimately badass villainous wordplay there. I have to steal that for myself sometime.

Anyway, Kragok here has made that classic villain mistake of walking away to let his lackeys do the beating instead of supervising it himself. Knuckles easily overpowers both attackers and steals one of their robes, meaning we get to see the now robeless echidna lying on the ground, and he looks absolutely messed up, covered in cybernetics and machinery. I'm honestly surprised Knuckles doesn't mention it, instead making some quip about being glad the robes fit him due to all echidnas being the same size. I think you're forgetting that they're all just clones of you at this point, Knux…

In the flashback, Edmund has arrived at the scene of his son's crash, where some members of the fledgling Dark Legion are searching for a body to confirm Steppenwolf's death. Edmund easily takes the two in front of him out, but tragically, forgets to check his six.

As the murderers leave the scene, Steppenwolf, alive and unhurt, runs up to his father's body, sobbing. Christopheles then appears in a puff of smoke, offering his help moving forward.

Back in the here and now, Knuckles heads back to where his friends are being guarded and frees them, before they begin eyeing a nearby tank. Oh, boy…

Meanwhile, someone interesting has decided to make his appearance! First of all, when alarms begin going off once more Knuckles' father refers to his base as "Haven," marking the first time we've seen it being given a name. When he investigates, he finds none other than Athair waiting for him, being mysterious as always.

Oh yeah, remember that incredibly fiery greeting Knuckles gave him a few issues ago? Well, his father's response is more icy, but either way it's pretty clear Knuckles learned to dislike his great-grandfather through his father's example, despite never having met him before. Athair, however, blows off his grandson's anger and shows a quick vision of the three Ancient Walkers' masks before calling it "a warning" and disappearing once more, leaving Knuckles' father and Archimedes, who's been with him this entire time, scratching their heads and worried.

We get to see Haven in the past, too. With Edmund a little too dead to teach his son how to be a guardian, that task falls to Christopheles instead. Steppenwolf hones his abilities with a lot of practice, and eventually is shown by the fire ant to his new sanctuary from where to conduct his business. Hey, doesn't that landscape look a little familiar…?

You guessed it - not only is that the same place that Knuckles' father first left his son behind when he was a kid, it's also the same desert where Knuckles and Archimedes found that mysterious oasis in the Knuckles miniseries. Guess we found out what really happened when daddy-o jumped into the wall of fire, huh?

Oh, hey, speaking of a wall of fire…

Boy, villains in this series really do love taking a scorched earth approach to everything, don't they? We end on the cliffhanger of Knuckles and the Chaotix trapped between a wall of flame and panicking, fleeing Mobians on one side, and the Dark Legion on the other.

[believerindaydreams]

iv. yet another GBU/Rawhide scene

Rowdy’s POV. takes us up to just before the river encampment. 

The ache to be herding again, nothing more to worry about than moving cattle from one spot on a map to another spot, Rowdy wouldn’t have guessed he could want that back again so badly.

But that was simple, so simple he could go a whole day without words. Saluting and cow punching and tumbling down into prairie grass at night, tired enough he wouldn’t wake until the bugle blew. Hadn’t taken much thinking. It was towns where he got into trouble, generally.

Now this campsite isn’t a town, but he’s still in trouble up to his neck- no. No, he musn’t think that.

He should stay calm. That’ll keep Tuco happy- he’s noticed that much, the way that the bandito will soften words and cajole and even lie to smooth things over, until it gets to be too much and he yells with vinegar, the way he had at Pablo. Behavior like that makes no sense to Rowdy, it really doesn’t.

But left alone like this, he has to take after somebody- well, Favor would tell him to be his own man but what kind of advice is that? Favor lived by it all his life, and all it’s netted him is a one-way ticket to his death with Wallace.

Tuco nudges him. “What’s the matter, don’t you like the soup? There’s plenty of it, you don’t need to steal out of my bowl this time.”

Rowdy flushes, deeply. It’d only been the once, an accident late at night on the road between the monastery and the Union camp, but Tuco seems to have guessed too well what it meant. How he’d found himself trusting this criminal, if only a little.

“Can’t say as I care for the company,” he says out loud; and marvels at how grown-up that sounds.

“Blondie, you know, I am friends with you- but I am also friends with him. So-“

“It doesn’t work that way, Tuco,” Angel Eyes interrupts, with a voice dry and cold as wind in the desert night. “He saw me hurting Favor. He can’t forgive and forget so easily as you can.”

Tuco snorts, looks pained. “I told you about this. One of these days, those exotic tastes would get you into trouble.”

“Hmm,” Angel says, sipping at his own soup. “Not as much trouble as all that, if Blondie’s still willing to lead us to the spot- what’s the situation now, tenderfoot? Now you’re out of that prison camp, are you still willing to lead us there without shooting anyone in the back?”

He doesn’t know anymore, what Favor would do. Try to shoot Angel for torturing a friend of his, maybe. The Colt revolver feels heavy against his thigh.

Rowdy looks around, aware that he’s stalling for time. Stops when he realises why.

“Can’t say as I’d try just at present. I wouldn’t care for your friends to reciprocate.”

- because he was a cowhand, and he does know how the feel of a campsite changes when there’s rustlers on the prowl, and he’ll be a jumping frog if there isn’t a man or six waiting out there.

Angel laughs at him, a long genuine sound. “All right, fellows. Come out and mind your manners.”

The men file in quietly, weapons in easy reach but not drawn. Help themselves to soup from the pot, as though this had all been planned out.

“Oh, not you people again,” Tuco says tiredly. “Angel, Angel- no. They left me to die! Seventy five miles from civilisation!”

“Now the way I reckon it, you ought to have seen that coming,” Angel Eyes says. “Letting word of that gold slip, what did you expect?”

“No worse a mistake than leaving that boy alive to gossip,” Tuco retorts. “What’s the matter, Angel, going soft in your old age?”

He’d almost swear, Rowdy thinks, that beneath that ironic exterior Angel’s wincing. “Blind spot. It was a mistake last time, too- all those damned oranges cost me a fortune.”

None of the others seem to understand what that means, and Rowdy certainly doesn’t; but he doesn’t need to grasp the words when he can see Tuco’s barely concealed rage, the way a brown hand tugs for a lanyard and then lets go. “Enough! I don’t trust you, I don’t trust anybody- I’ll make it there myself, and beat you all to the gold.”

“You’ll never reach it alive,” Angel says indolently. “There’s a Union-held river crossing in the way. I’m the one with enough rank to get us all past it-“

The bandito’s already picking up his pack, swinging himself over a horse’s back. “Then I’ll swim!”

“He’ll be dead before the week’s out. One less claimant for the gold, then,” Angel says dismissively over the sound of galloping hooves. “Don’t worry, Blondie, you can sleep very easy tonight. Just a few nice quiet lads who’ll make sure nothing happens to you, we’re trustworthy enough.”

In a war zone like this, Rowdy supposes, this probably is as safe as it gets.

Doesn’t improve his appetite for Angel’s soup, all the same.

*********

A few days later, the men start to disappear.

One while hunting for water, one keeping guard at night; clean bullet shots through the heart.

It’s not Angel Eyes doing it, at least. The man was napping in clear sight when the first death happened; and the way Angel responds to the loss, shutting up close and turning uncommunicative, that’s enough like Favor for Rowdy to cling close to him. Offering up wordless acceptable comfort, the way he knows how to do.  

It comes to him that this is more than just fretting. That he’s in mourning for Favor- well, at that he’s probably the only one left to do it, considering the wife who went north when Favor stayed south. There’s a kind of sharp hollowness to the pain that hits him every morning- a few moments of breathing in morning air, feeling himself freshly recovered from the desert’s ordeal- and then memory plows into him like an express train and he hurts all over again.

It’s not something he can even talk about, which just makes it ache all the more.

He wishes that Tuco hadn’t left so abruptly. The bandito was loud and reckless enough for any three outlaws, but there’d been an easy kind of trust between them. So the motivation had been selfish enough; that hadn’t made Tuco’s concern for him less real. Riding gently, letting time slip away from them and resting when they liked- he’d never enjoyed such easy laxness before, and the contrast with Angel’s briskly efficient leadership is one that shouldn’t bother him after Favor, but he can’t help some resentment.

With Angel, of course, they’re on a job again. At least he knows how to do that, though he’s not really being allowed to do it properly.

“I know how to scout. I was a ramrod for a whole year, I was good enough at that.”

“Blondie-“ and there’s a muffled sound that might have been an “hmm” or “m’boy” or anything, and Rowdy’s not sure which it is or how to respond. “You are, at present, worth your weight in gold. So unless you want to up and tell me the solitary secret that happens to be keeping you alive, I am taking pains to keep you as well guarded as possible.”

“Mortimer,” one of the men says, beckoning impatiently. “Get off your high horse and decide whether we’re staying the night in this town or not.”

“We’re staying. Blondie here wants a bath.”

Rowdy blinks. He does, in fact, want one- had mentioned that to Tuco in passing, how the next time he had a chance at a real tub instead of a sparing pitcher to clean with, he was going to jump in feet first. “…a deserted town left in ruins by shelling, and there’s a bath here?”

“Yes,” Angel Eyes says rather calmly. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

The bath turns out to be a huge metal thing, filled with cool water, and it embarrasses Rowdy hugely to think that some hardened mercenary added all those fluffy bubbles just for him- but then, it’s kinder work than what they’re used to, probably. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

He strips down and sinks into it gratefully, very happy. Starts scrubbing comfortably, even has a go at whistling the Streets of Laredo-

then there’s a shot outside, and realising that his gun’s way off on the other side of the room, why he’ll never get to it in time-

“I’m armed,” Rowdy manages to gasp out as the shooter comes in- and then he sees who it is.

“In a bath, sure,” Favor says, almost humorously. “How was that going to work, Rowdy, planning to whip out a gun from under the bubbles?”

“Uhm.”

It’s hard for him to think. Surprised, glad to be sure, but anxious- Favor looks ghastly, he must have been through hell. And he would….he would like it better, if Favor would put that gun away instead of leaving it casually pointed at his heart.

“What happened?”

“Wallace is dead. I’m not.”

That’s terse. He’s hardly daring to stir- can’t even reach out and get his jeans, without showing off more of himself than he really feels comfortable with.

“I’ve been tracking this gang, picking them off one by one- those I can, that damned scout is impossible to get a bead on- well. You weren’t going to take them out all by yourself, were you?”

Rowdy’s not too sure how to say, that he hadn’t really been thinking about that at all. That even a seventh or eighth share of two hundred thousand had sounded fine, enough for anybody. “So it’s just us again, then?”

“That’s right. Put your clothes on, we need to get moving.”

It’s a small thing. Not even worth mentioning.

But he can’t help remembering that Tuco would have let him finish getting clean first.