#hes still reaching out for his brother and weeping as the music slows down he calms himself down | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blankdblank · 4 years

Text

Next Caller Pt 29

You knew it might ripple around that you were working on both popular shows, you just hoped that none would try to spend much time delving into your life. For a time at least you planned to be mum in interviews if offered and just let your work speak for itself. Truly how much interest could people have in the voice over artists. Animators and writers, of which you were for both on the animated show, you knew there would be of some interest but easily overshadowed by the show itself. At best you guessed to be asked to a convention or something to greet the few people with questions or wishing possibly for an autograph for the ancient show.

Closing up your garage you took another tour of each room seeing it all come together and oddly in your storage room holding your blankets and such you couldn’t help but notice that it could make a nice at home recording studio. Already you had a mic and worked with a group of friends to edit the background sounds for your radio show years prior with just your laptop. Certainly with your now ample funds and spacious abode you could have a lovely setup for a sound studio easing things even if somehow another season of the show was called for. It would be grueling with your job at the hotel but you could make it work with Celebrian and her twin cousins who had helped you with the animation for the show before just rating to have another project to get back into.

Added to the mix of house sketches you roughly designed a layout for the larger of the two storage rooms knowing you’d probably never have that much to store. The dream of a possible studio taking hold and demanding to be sketched at least. Desks, shelves, cubbies and the actual recording section with the built in booth and stand in one corner. The lighting was fine for what you would need sticking to the simple installed lanterns along the walls and every surface could have more than one use to utilize the small space to whatever that could pop up. An early night in by the time you’d priced out what you might need through dinner was called for and you were ready to get started on the next show.

Breakfast came with a whoosh from your phone alerting you to the email that rolled you over in bed. Lifting your phone you read the notice of a deposit into the account for your trust you’d set up from your father’s clan funds. 20k now sat in your little black card attached solely to that account and sighing deeply you grumbled wondering what you were going to do with your money. Turning your head however your eyes shifted to your study and sitting up you went to fetch your laptop.

You could feel another writing burst coming up and eventually you would have to type something and until you bought a chair you couldn’t properly use your wonderful new desk. Fetching your laptop you turned it on and right to the bookmarked website you found the chair on, with a click you ordered it and in the aftermath you eyed the screen only to groan and rub your face when the receipt was emailed to you and that whoosh sounded from your phone. You weren’t going to go crazy or blow through it but you were determined to not let it be a noose around your neck and this chair arriving, surprisingly the following day, would be the start of accepting that you just had those funds to use if you so wished.

In shorts and a tank top chosen from the heat felt in your trip to your mailbox to check for yesterday’s mail that turned out to just be an odd flyer for boats on sale you brought inside and added to your shred pile of mail that Kuu loves to handle for you, fully entertained by the use and effects of a shredder. Surely the strips would be scattered through nests and eventually be worn away to nothing in time. A messy bun was called for and tucked under your helmet allowing the breeze to cool the back of your neck on the ride to the shop.

At the early hour and quick stop you parked on the street outside and hurried inside for your mug from Balin while the others were oddly missing. His rag from cleaning the mess formerly covering the counter left in its green mush coated glory for all to see. A quick wave later and you were heading for the door as he said, “Can’t wait to hear what Bunny is up for today.” Your soft giggle was all he heard and chuckling to himself hoping that was a good sign and not one for more grim news for her.

Barely moments after you had left Thorin entered through the back door with Dwalin helping to smooth the flannel across his back. “I’m sorry, I thought he liked peas! He usually eats them so gladly.”

Thorin fired back tucking in the front of his fresh undershirt in he had in his trunk for emergencies, “He ate them fine, he just neglected to swallow them and then sneezed the chewed mess all over me.”

Dwalin, “Surely he,”

“Oh I’m not mad at Frodo. Strictly involuntary I get that, my issue was my mouth was open and everything.”

Balin chuckled again and said, “We’ve all been there. Just be glad it was peas, been there with my pebble with naught but her own snot exploding at me.”

Thorin sighed and looked to the bill that Balin was adding to the register, “How could I have missed her I wasn’t gone three minutes?!”

Balin chuckled, “You left it on the burner, I couldn’t think of a good excuse to have her linger and possibly be late.”

Thorin huffed and turned to lift the rag he took to the sink in the back to scrub clean, “I’ll handle this then.”

Dwalin said, “If it helps he never sneezes on Frerin and Gran always said a baby sneeze near you means that you’re their favorite!”

From the back Thorin rumbled, “I am so flattered.”

The brothers chuckled and got to finishing readying the shop for their first customers hoping to be in for the first part of the show in their usual seats already showing up to cue outside.

A ringing phone was how the show opened and from there Wolsey informed Countess Beatrice that he had found Bunny. Over the span of a week gradual hints of waking were spotted by the staff, always when the guests were out of the room. Until with a hard slap sitting up out of sleep the King of Gondor held his cheek staring at the empty bed Bunny had backed then slid off of out of her dream falling onto the floor with a pained cry. Leaning over the bed towards the woman tangled in the iv and various tethers to monitors now going off that they were disconnected he peered at the panting frantic collapse of the nightmare lingering in her eyes she had escaped from then said in the race of the nurses into the room, “Miss Bunny, welcome to Gondor.”

“Up you get Deary,” one kind nurse said while she and another helped Bunny up into the bed again untangling the chords and reattaching the monitors once she was safely lounging again.

Looking at the King Bunny got the play back of all she had missed until the narrator came in ready to drop in on his savior and thank them with the pictures he had drawn of her distracting her fully until Beatrice and the others could be brought in to embrace their badly smarting little friend. Lingering across the wall however Durin was noted to be watching intently the same woman he came to see daily without any word traded past a soft whisper he would return again the next day leaving a single tiny pile of white flowers gathered through her rest in his strolls through the gardens on his daily walks.

Every Durin listening in could feel tingling on their arms recognizing what they hoped to be the twist in the tale they had ached for catching hints shows prior that she might be one of the mysterious brides of Durin, mainly one he married in his final two lifetimes. Tiny white flowers and barely a word spoken between them with only rumors of an innocent saved selflessly with nearly the cost of her life. Nearly a spotless Dwarf lineage till that unspeakably irresistible half Hobbit that mingled the sudden love of blooms into the great bloodline.

It was a slow episode without much to spur angst or drama to make the heart beat faster but the sheer emotion in it had people all but openly weeping in the clear showing of adoration and hinted hope for more from the great Dwarf King reborn. The execution of Holm and burning of his body came with a spine tingling speech from Wolsey to the troops looking on leaving people actually clapping proudly for the fictional speaker. All the way through your final three minute clip of cheers and chants from the soldiers allowing you to slip out to go to the bathroom real quick after missing your chance earlier. Returning just in time for your sign off music to gather your things already feeling yourself smirking imagining the reactions on people’s faces when Bunny would be back at the helm the following show.

“You are maddening.” With a giggle you pulled your buzzing phone from your pocket while Mal said, “I can’t even try to keep up with you.”

“Good. Ample twists and turns coming up.”

“Will Bunny at least talk next show?”

Lowly you said leaning in to whisper, “She’s opening it.”

Mal chuckled and patted your shoulder, “Finally, some good news.”

You giggled again and reached over stroking BamBam’s head in his nap, “Nice to know he’s enjoying the five hour naps my show grants him.”

“He is. His leg is getting better everyday and he keeps getting heavier.”

“No doubt, heavier than you soon enough.”

“How are your birds?”

“Good, Belly and Darling are still on their honeymoon and Roac seems to be in good spirits still by what Thorin mentioned yesterday.”

With a grin she said, “So I hear we’re heading to the zoo tomorrow?”

“Ah, you’ve been invited as well,”

“Guys asked me yesterday. I hope they have the bear cub exhibit open.” She said adjusting the carrier in her grip on your way down to the garage, “Dain’s coming out to watch BamBam again, they seem to like one another.”

“Well that’s good as they’re set to live the rest of their lives together.” Making her giggle again. “No hint yet on how things went with Dis?”

Softly her cheeks shifted pink and she said, “We ate food. Talked.”

“Hmm.” You said making her look you over, shaking your head when her lips parted you said, “It’s clearly a courting thing I’m not privy to.”

“Oh don’t be like that. It’s just, a clan thing, supposed to remain-,”

You patted her arm, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just take it as a good sign of things settling down.”

“Not close to settling down.” You glanced at her, “There’s stages, we’ve been welcomed but it’s still a while off before settling down, living together is beyond question for some time and even if we did want to elope that would be downright scandalous to be so quickly.” She drew in a quick breath then said, “Not that we aren’t serious, there are-,”

“Rules.”

She sighed out in reply, “Rules.”

Easing your hand over her back you said, “Be thankful you aren’t an Elf, some courting can take centuries to even be accepted.” Open mouthed she looked at you and you nodded, “It’s always best to meet in childhood and then families warm up over time by the time you are grown.”

“Centuries?!” You nodded again and she asked, “What about Thorin? You would wait centuries to even have dinner?”

“We’ve had dinner, several, and seen a film, been on vacation.”

“I mean as a couple.”

“I know what you meant, and if he did want a relationship with me he would just have to ask me himself in blunt terms, of which I am certain he could hardly accomplish easily. The one plus I assume of having Maiar blood. I can take as long or be as swift as I care to be.”

“Why don’t you just ask then?”

For a moment she caught a timid glance away from her, “I don’t like being wrong.”

Her hand settled on your arm, “He’s not leading you on, and you aren’t wrong. I know your ex lied to you terribly but that’s not what’s happening here.”

“It’s just, odd.”

Leaning in her head tapped the side of yours in a sigh, “Courting is odd. You know how Amad and Adad got together?”

You shook your head, “She fell off a patio and got her leg stuck in a flower pot, one of those deep ones and by the time his brother found him he’d gotten her leg free and she was halfway over his shoulder in lifting her out. Reputation demanded they were courting.” You looked at her and she nodded, “I fell off a ladder and they caught me, all you had to do was say ‘surprise me’ and he fell into your trap while pretending he was the one saving you.”

“Oh really?” You said stepping out of the lift with her beside you.

“Oh yes, stuck in his own slump after a poorly crumbled romance you just scooped him out of. Lit up his world you did.”

“It’s terribly romantic when you put it like that.” She nodded, “Terribly stuffed with fiction,” earning a playful glare from Mal making you giggle out, “But romantic all the same.”

“Go get some tea and make your damsel swoon.” Rolling your eyes you giggled in her mounting her scooter to ride off again. Finally looking at the phone in your palm you read the notice from your email that the first Bombadil deposit had been added to your account. Helmet added and you settled onto your own scooter, easing your leg over the dip under the handlebars the key was eased into the ignition and turned to start the scooter. 80 k post taxes was just sitting there and in your head you crossed off 40 to be switched to your savings account settled for each thousand deposited to be exchanged with a gold coin added to a vault deep in the treasury in the heart of Erebor. The single coin that had sat there for nearly a century waiting for company now had a tiny pile of friends to keep him entertained.

“Frodo exploded on me.” Once at the counter Thorin ignored the still whispering people filling the room speculating on future parts to the show.

“Top or bottom,” you asked and he wet his lips.

“Mouthful of peas sneezed at me.”

“Ah, been there. Few of my best shirts fell to my sisters when they were toddlers.”

“My mouth was open.”

“No,” he nodded and you couldn’t help but giggle offering the folded bill between your fingers.

His fingers wrapped around it just barely brushing yours and he said, “Yes, one cup coming up, settle in and don’t mind the gossip.”

Smirking to yourself you turned for your usual high table and stool you hopped up onto, settling your bag in your lap you brought out one of your sketching journals that had you finishing a sketch you had started the other day of a tapestry that Durin was fabled to have woven himself for his love. One of thirty possible designs you hadn’t decided on for the second book illustrations for the unfolding of his storyline. Perhaps one raven too many your head tilted and chin propped in your palm only to look up when Thorin settled two mugs down on your table. Rumbling lowly, “And just what have you got there?”

Turning the book around you said, “Brainstorming.”

A smirk ghosted across his lips and he all but hummed back, “A betrothal tapestry. Lovely, though you need anvils across the tops.” Your brows furrowed and leaned in while he reached over taking hold of your pen you released to let him sketch out the required elements and naming each. “Yours was very close. For the show I take it?”

You nodded and asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have record of the real one somewhere? Would you?”

Barely above a whisper he replied, “Gran has an etching of it in mithril. Every marriage in our line has one, fully colored with gemstones.”

“Really?”

“Yes, though it’s meant to remain-,”

“In family,” your grin dropped and you looked down to take a picture of your mug only for his hand to lay over your free hand while you set down your phone to lift your mug.

“You, can see it.”

You shook your head after your sip, “It’s not you, something Mal mentioned.”

“Ah, if that has something to do with Dis or the boys it’s a step towards earning trust.”

“I get that.”

“It’s not all meant to be secretive, only with Dams to enter the family fold. Each clan has their own tradition and way of welcoming, phrases, rites of welcome that have to be crossed off. You were a spectacular buffer in the Festival, you are counted as an honorary Stonefoot, but until an engagement is settled in contract then it must remain between them.”

“It really is a culture difference, don’t mind me with four to choose from and to have had to memorize myself I have no right to pout on being on the outside of another.” Smirking in the retraction of his hand you lifted your mug.

“Four, which one would you follow then?”

“Whichever one I stumble into. Following where my feet decide, hasn’t steered me wrong yet.”

“No doubt.” He muttered keeping his eyes on you through his own sip and upon lowering his mug he asked, “What are you up to today?”

“Curtains. You?”

“I am helping Dwalin find a suitable stroller for Frodo and Billi.”

“Don’t they rent those?”

“Yes, but none good enough for our youngest pebbles.” Glancing around you eyed the still whispering tables, when he lowered his mug again he hummed out, “We wouldn’t happen to get to meet Durin’s wife, would we?”

“Anything is possible.”

“Have we already met her?” You gave a subtle shrug and he chuckled to himself, “Figures.”

A basic plan of which exhibits you might see in your trip to the zoo filled the rest of your stop. Until at the arrival of Bilbo to take Dwalin and Thorin shopping for strollers you joined them out to the parking lot and waved them goodbye as they piled into Dwalin’s car to drive off for their own shopping trip. In the back Thorin kept sight of you until you turned separate ways. Again at the fabric shop you followed the same steps you had followed when Thorin had brought you here. Into the bend of your arm you tucked each of the rolls of fabric you wanted that were longer than your body luring a pair of taller associated to come over and help you to the cutting table. A hefty stack of folded fabric was joined with colored thread to match and accenting buttons for the ties to hold back the curtains.

Home again you went and closing your garage behind you to stroll through your home hearing another awkward song from Belly while Dot was busy exploring her new home once again looking for extra details to add to her nest. Passing them you went to your storage room where you brought a teal trunk out to the living room to stand up on its side against the wall. Finding the bag with the curtain rods and loops you left by your couch.

Opening the split door on the top the two halves folded back revealing the cubies and shelves around the teal sewing desk you unfolded and settled your sewing machine on the end of. With projector on you listened to the show playing in the background while you got started on cutting the fabric. One section at a time you hemmed each end and stitched the fabric around the securing T shaped tabs for the loops you had bought. Pairing the curtains by destination you had the piles lined up then turned your gaze to the curtain rods once you had switched off your sewing machine.

“Belly?”

Your voice echoed through the house and curiously following it the raven found you atop a sideways turned trunk when you realized you still hadn’t bought a ladder yet. On the shelves by the door he landed and eyed the bar in your hand asking, “Yes Jackrabbit?”

“Is this even?” You asked with pencil in hand ready to mark where to secure the brackets.

Dangling from the doorframe Darling came to a stop curious what you were doing and Belly answered, “Yes, should it not be lower?”

Marking the one side with your arm outstretched holding the bar in place you pulled the pencil back and traded hold of each item to mark the other side of it. “No, the loops for the curtains are about two inches so to cover the window fully the bar has to be higher than the window frame.”

The peach curtains for your sisters’ room went in easily enough for their smaller window higher up on the wall than the other bedrooms but longer than the others. With screwdriver in hand you worked each securing bracket into place for one half of the window then opened the next kit to level that with the first. Fetching the curtains you brought them in now for the trio of Ravens to see you ease them onto their rods you lifted in your climb onto the trunk again to settle the bars in place. Grins eased onto their cheeks watching the finished product coming together as you eased them back to tie them back with your hand made straps secured by fake crystal coated star buttons.

Two trunks were needed to reach the nearly ceiling high level you wanted for your Naneth’s room. This one was easier to measure out once you laid the bar out on the windowsill seeing how much you had on either side of the window once it was centered. Still watching you once they had torn open the packs for you they flew up with the brackets and screws so you wouldn’t have to keep getting up and down easing the task greatly. Then when you lifted the curtain coated rod they helped to grip the rod holding the other end to ease it as a team into place. Using the pulley system on either end they helped you to ease the curtains open on the larger window with internal shades already built into the window just like the two smaller windows to the right of it you were leaving without the second set of curtains as they met on a corner.

The white orange accented bedroom was next with the white and grey striped curtains mounted nearly to the ceiling again. Two sets of double windows were covered easily on opposite ends of the same curved wall.

The blue/orange room proved more challenging with a small double window near the ceiling centered on one wall, up high next to the ceiling on the orange wall your blue and white curtains hung to the ground, easily secured by standing on the table you had assembled. Moving a trunk against the blue wall to the right of it you added a matching set up near the ceiling covering the double window. The other tan half of the wall had another high double window the third set was secured around reaching from floor to ceiling.

On your feet you nipped at your lip eyeing the final product bringing the rooms fuller into creation. To the living room again you went with your laptop settling onto the couch, first securing the transfer of half of your Bombadil funds to your savings adding forty more gold coins to your vault then switching to check the shipping on your office chair.

“Hey hey hey, it’s been a heck of a time but don’t you fret it’s just you and me your dear friend Bunny, devoted with my ear to the ground here to give you all the latest on those lovable Durin boys of ours.” Gasps rippled around only to fall silent as your voice rang out again spreading grins on the faces of the Durins listening in hoping to catch the next segment in their ancestor’s fictionalized past. They knew the truth from his journals and stories handed down through their line kept within the clan but they had to admit they loved hearing your version of it. “Out in the middle of who knows where in an impressively odd flying shark of all things I am currently tucked in a water closet hiding out from yet another person coming to tell me to get back to bed.” Grins spread at Bunny’s determination to be up and about. “But I’ve found this handy wheeled stool and as long as I don’t hit some steps I should be just peachy.”

At the sound of the door opening Wolsey could be heard saying, “There you are.” Then his groaning at your rolling past him.

Down the hall you rolled saying, “You’ll never catch me alive.”

Raul called out proudly, “Roll like the wind Bunny!”

Though Durin halted the game with her gasp in his playful rumble of, “I see we have two pirates aboard my ship.”

“Your point being, Shark King?”

“No point, just an order, back to bed.” Bunny groaned and he could be heard rolling her back to her room, “This is strictly a non fleeing floor.”

“No fun, at all. I can see why your lot is the least boisterous bunch I’ve seen in years.”

“That’s unfair, you haven’t even heard our music hours yet.”

“When would those be, half past unfun and never thirty?”

Awkwardly he chortled and rumbled back, “Funny, very funny. I will ensure you have a comfy seat right up front, at sunset, it stretches out to midnight.”

“For such rule sticklers you would assume there would be a bedtime you stuck to. No wonder you’re all scowling.” Again he chortled and the banter had the people listening in were melting at the moment they imagined to be their possible coupling. Only he was called away and Beatrice came in with her family around Bunny on her bed in the most comfortable room offered for guests.

Outside the booth you could see Ecthellion and Glorfindel. Mal had to hurry out to meet up with Dain so to their office you went taking a seat to go over all the details coming up in the plans for your book in the future. With confirmation of the stickers being in transit to be brought to the station this week you grinned readying the news in your head for the Durins to be told. Ecthellion said, “Now Gorgo is off next week and there is something planned for this weekend for her family so it would have to be next weekend possibly to handle the draft date. And all that is merely details the read through is just for how to rate the violence and such, they have accepted your book as is, it’s in writing as soon as it’s been rated the book etchings are off to print.”

Letting out a deep breath you replied, “So strange to be so close.”

The pair chuckled and Ecthellion handed you the check in an envelope he slid it into confirming the amount, “10.5k. Any plans for it yet?”

“Not sure yet, had a passing thought to maybe turn one of my storage rooms into an at home sound studio.”

Glorfindel, “That could be very useful, especially if weather were to turn sour or we needed to do repairs here. Or for ads, animated promos, we did leave it open for possible cartoon promotions for the novel, you record the voices do a little three minute skit.”

“I could do that. I’ll work on some things over next week.”

Ecthellion nodded through a grin at you, “Excellent, they will love that, really get the word out. Not to mention if they wanted to record an audio version of your novels or if the show did end up picking up ample amount of fire to possibly get another season. Not even mentioning the ideas Celebrian has had for shows you might join her on in the future.”

“I thought she was focusing on Arwen’s jumping lessons?”

Glorfindel chuckled, “You never know. Between that and the boys and their rock climbing ambitions she might need a getaway of her own.” Making you giggle on your way to the door slipping the envelope into your bag. Hugs were traded and they were off to meet with another possible group with new ideas for their time slot that was in great need for some fresh ideas.

Back down to your garage you had to admit to yourself it was useful that you’d already animated the novel and saved the audio on a hard drive. Back in one of your trunks had the box of animated original images you had drawn with the backup already being compiled into footage reels by Celebrian’s filming company that had promised to do so for you while you were waiting for interest in your story possibly even to self publish a sort of show or film series. The prospect now more possible than ever to come up with the radio spot and the impending book series.

Strapping your helmet on you straddled your bike feeling amply proud of yourself and your own patience through all of this. Even more than that your grump’s words about your achievements so far could only have you imagining how he would react to the news. Just hearing about the curtains could be enough to earn a grin from the serious Dwarf. For the short ride to the bank you remained focused on the ride over wondering how the zoo would go today. The marble building with a polished silver door coated with sword designs across the milky glass panels stood out in the shopping center.

Parked in the section for bikes you removed your helmet and crossed to the walkway heading inside, right up to the large doors that eased open in your approach allowing you in and a Hobbit on your left out. Flashing him a quick grin you continued on brushing your bangs out of your face feeling your long braid sliding across your back with each step you took. Large desks lined the vast hall and off to your left you walked to the counter coated in slips, with your wallet in hand you opened your wallet pulling out the card for your main account you swiped in the card reader then got to filling in the deposit slip. Once filled in you moved to one of the seats in the waiting lounge, from your bag you pulled out the envelope along with your journal you tried to keep busy looking through until the attendant came out saying, “Miss, Pear-?”

Grinning at the woman you stood seeing her eyes flinching from the handheld in her palm to you again with parted lips closing in a quick smile, “Pear is fine.”

Shifting on her feet she showed you back to her office that once she had you alone inside you could tell something was up with her creeping grin and continued stolen glances your way. “How can I help you today, Miss Pear?”

Handing her the deposit slip you pulled out the check that you signed the back of with a pen from your journal, “Just a check deposit over the two grand limit for the atm.”

Her grin split wider and she said, “Not a problem.” Easing through the process to scan the slip into the tabletop deposit system including the check after, you punched in your pin on the keypad aimed at you and she scanned her badge punching in her own authorization code. Again her grin flashed your way and she said, “Easy as pie.”

“Thank you.”

When you readied to stand she asked softly, “I just have one question, I am curious, you wouldn’t happen to be the same Miss Pear listed as working on the new show on Bombadil and the Bunny show?”

“Well, ya.”

“Could I get an autograph?”

“Uh, sure,” you said looking down to the slip of paper she slid to you and you signed a simple J Pear across it with the loop of the r making a pear shape around the name making her grin creep wider.

“Thank you so much! I am loving both shows.”

“Thank you.” Out again you followed her back to the main lobby and gave her a final goodbye and walked out to your scooter again while she giddily shared in whispers just who was just in the bank with her coworkers in the break room once she saw you were on your way out of the lot.

Pt 30

#Thorin x Reader OC #Hobbit #lotr

16 notes · View notes

my-brothers-corrupted · 5 years

Text

My Brothers, Corrupted

Chapter 1 : Section 2 : The Way That We Live

Marvin has been kidnapped by Anti and quickly punished for attempting to approach Dapper, who is forced to live alone in the attic. Red, badly wounded but already growing attached to the newcomer whom Anti promises will soon become his “twin,” waits anxiously upstairs to see what will happen to his tortured brothers. Twins Doktor and Trick are just doing their best to stay out of harm’s way in the chaos of a new brother in the house, but there is no such thing as a promise of safety in this house.

Trigger warnings: (not necessarily a complete list! Please tell me if you need others added up here because I’m just trying to remember what’s in here) blood, torture, hypnosis, discussion of psychosis, extreme distress, and abuse, including infantilization of a disabled character and abuse between brothers (this tag refers to an ego other than Anti being rough with one of his brothers).

Find this chapter’s masterlist here.

Part Two of Chapter One: The Way that We Live

immabethehero asked: Marvin.... Anti's a glitch. I've heard of a type of glitch that can be taken out with Mountain Dew Red. The drinks not around anymore, but if you can find it, give to Anti.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand!”

“Are you going to break my rules again?”

“No, no, no, no!”

“You’re going to be a good boy?”

“I’m going to be good! I’m going to be so good, please, please!”

“Say ‘good boy.’ I want to hear you say you’ll be a good boy.”

“I’ll be a good boy, Anti, I’ll be a good good boy, I’ll be a good little kitty cat, I’ll do everything you say, I - ”

“Good, good. Okay. Okay. We’re done, see? We’re done.”

Sobbing, hard.

“Now you know. Now you understand, yes? We don’t have to do this again if you’re good. Okay. It’s okay. Hey, hey. Look at me. There you go, oh, nice boy. Poor thing, come on, don’t cry.”

He wipes tears and blood from Marvin’s face. Dapper is unconscious at his feet. Possession takes a lot out of you.

“Just had to teach you to follow the rules,” murmurs Anti.

He kisses Marvin’s forehead and carefully unlocks his chains, helping him sink gently to the floor. Sitting down beside him, Anti pulls Marvin to his chest and begins to stroke his hair, slow, careful, running his fingers against his scalp until Marvin’s crying has reduced to a low whimper.

“There, not so bad,” murmurs Anti, sighing. “Not so bad. Now say thank you.”

Blue stares, dead-eyed, at the floor. “Thank you,” he rasps. “Thank you.”

Anti kisses the side of his head and rises. He glances down at Dapper, sighs, and then reaches down to pick him up. You realize that Dapper was not, in fact, unconscious, just playing dead - his hands, shaking, wrap around Anti’s shoulders as he clings to him.

Anti carries him up the stairs. The door falls shut again. For a long moment, you sit with Marvin in silence. It’s been hours. Most of the day is gone. The whole house is silent.

“Mountain Dew Red,” he whispers, and then bursts into laughter, collapsing onto the floor, staining his white dress shirt crimson.

spicydanhowell asked: marv you're gonna be okay, don't pass out. he won't kill you.

“Not going to be okay,” whispers Marvin, though, for your sake, he tries to keep his eyes open. “Not okay… none of this is ever going to be okay… once it was just me I thought about… but I didn’t and now here I am…”

He is slicked in blood.

“With Jameson’s hands,” he whispers. “My baby brother. All my brothers, strung up like puppets… is that… is that going to happen to me too? Is this - ”

He chokes and spits something up, shaking hard. “Is this what he did to all of them too? And I wasn’t here? Did he torture my brothers like th-this? I c-can’t… I want… I wish I was never… please…”

musical-in-theory asked: Hey you’re still you. You’re responding to your name. Host hold on. We’ll help you get through this

Marvin laughs and cries, smiling at you with stained teeth. “Thank you,” he gasps desperately. “Thank you, yes, at least you still know who I am. At least someone will be here who isn’t his. Hey, will you - if he gets me, will you - will you remember who I was? Please, I don’t want - oh, I’m scared to die without dying.”

Anonymous asked: ...Did the others hear all that?

You try to reset your connection with Doktor and Trickshot and find them farther away than they’ve ever been. In fact, they’re a couple miles away, and as the feed returns, you see them sitting in a laundromat side-by-side, their hands resting close together.

Neither of them bothers with “hear what?”

“The basement’s pretty sound proof,” mumbles Trick. “But it’s not like we don’t know.”

“Dapper though,” whispers Doktor.

“It’s been a long time,” says Trick. “A long time since Dapper was in the basement.”

oasisofgalaxies asked: We’ll always remember you Marvin. We can’t forget you, Marvin the Magnificent. Damn me if I do. And I’ll remind you if you forget. I think we all will.

“You’re sweet!” he laughs, trying to sit up. “Thank you, fuck. You know I haven’t t-talked to much of anyone in the past few months. It has been… lonely, you know…”

He sits back against the wall, breathing hard. “Fuck, I’m so tired,” he mumbles.

spicydanhowell asked: carver? what's going on?

Your link with Carver re-establishes, but your camera was dropped in all the commotion, and now you’re lying sideways on the floor outside of the attic bedroom. Inside, you can see his legs on the bed, turned towards one of the walls, but he doesn’t answer you. He doesn’t move at all.

There are faint bloodstains on the floor, but they could be Marvin’s, tracked upstairs from standing on the floor of the basement. You aren’t sure.

Anonymous asked: It’s been a hard day for everyone. Maybe you just need some rest. Just be careful, I’m worried for yah. And it’s nice to talk to you too. Just wish I could help.

“Thank you. Yeah, I should… I should rest, huh? And I’ll be careful, I’ll be careful. I won’t - ” His voice breaks and he closes his eyes. “Won’t break the rules again.”

Anonymous asked: Do you think you'd be able to get upstairs before passing out, Marvin? I know you're hurt real badly, but there's at least blankets or sleeping bags up there, and I think Henrik won't want to come down to the basement and help you.

“Yeah,” whispers Marvin. “Yeah, I think he gets pretty scared when Anti is angry… and who could blame him? But I do need to get upstairs.”

He licks his mouth and stares up from the basement, a sort of desperation in his eyes. If you look, you can see that they are no longer quite so wildly blue as they in the past couple days, when he still had some of his strength. For a second, not wanting to upset you, he tries to struggle to his feet, but it is clear that he doesn’t have the strength, and he crumples back to the floor, coughing frailly, clutching at his stomach with bloody hands. Tears roll miserably down his cheeks.

“You don’t think Anti would let me die, do you?” he begs. “You don’t think - ”

The door above him swings open and light pours down on him. For a second, he flinches horribly, slamming back against the wall, but it is not Anti at the top of the stairs.

“Ja - Red,” begs Marvin, weeping. “Red, please. Are you going to beat me too?”

Red stares down at him, his face blank, trying to work up the courage to set foot on the stairs.

spicydanhowell asked: carver?

He coughs softly and shifts on the bed almost like he’s re-awakening. There’s a long pause, several minutes, where he just sits on the bed, turned slightly towards you.

Eventually, he gets up, and moves closer.

He’s bizarrely quiet, his feet making no sound that you can pick up on as he pads across the room in clean white socks. He pauses in front of you, and then finally, slowly, bends down and picks the camera up.

He’s no longer wearing his yellow jumper. Instead he has a blue hoodie with perfectly even strings, the hood pulled up over his head. He stares blankly at you. There is a dark red bruise swelling across his right eye.

And a thin brown rope tied around his throat, leading to the bed.

You can see, behind him, what was once his angel drawing, now smudged into nothing but chalk.

Anonymous asked: Red? It's okay. We know Blue broke the rules, but he's already been punished for it. He should be allowed upstairs now, right? Can you help him up?

“I know he’s been punished,” whispers Red. He sets one booted foot on the second stair. “I’ve just… spent a lot of time in the basement.”

He takes another step, his mouth trembling. “But he… he looked after me… so now I… now I… I can do this, I can do this. I’m big brother, I’m in charge, I have to look after them. Me, me, no one else will do it. He looked after me, now I look after him.”

Anonymous asked: red please help the baby

“Here,” whispers Red, stepping down into the basement. “Here, I’m here, it’s okay.”

“Are you really you?” cries Marvin, slumped against the concrete wall. “Is that you, is that my - my - ”

“It’s just Red,” he says, wearily. “Try to calm down. Come on, let’s get you upstairs.”

“No, no, you’re - you’re hurt, you can’t carry me.”

Red crouches down beside him and carefully brushes a streak of blood from his cheek, stroking his thumb down his beard. Marvin falls silent, staring up at him, suddenly calmed by what he sees.

Maybe he’s not Jackie entire, but… there’s still so much of him left.

“We’ll do it together,” offers Red. “Okay?”

“Okay,” whispers Marv, swallowing tears. “Okay.”

Red moves to his side and hooks a careful arm around his waist. Together, they rise to their feet, and stumble towards the stairs, suspended in a tense survivalist’s trust, the old taste of brotherhood lingering somewhere in the air between them.

Anonymous asked: Oh, Dap... How are you feeling, buddy?

Dapper blinks at you. For a second, there is a harsh anger in the lines of his face, and then a bizarre cheerfulness, and then confusion, and finally a very quiet sorrow. His eyes are dull. He doesn’t answer you, just takes you to the window and sets you back on the sill, like he did yesterday. You see him settle down beside you, staring out at the open sky, where birds are circling, but none of them come down to him. He cries without emotion on his bruised face and waits for night time, even though he knows no one will come to hold him now. At least later he can show you whatever it was he wanted to play “I, Spy” with.

Anonymous asked: Thank you, Red. All of you look out for each other, that's why you're brothers. You did a really good thing.

“Oh,” he stammers, staring at you. A smile flickers across his mouth. “Oh, I did good? Oh, yeah, well.” He straightens up proudly, shrugging. “Well, I - I always do, of course. Of course. I did really good, I did a really good thing.”

He nods to himself and returns his attention to his brother, lying beside him. Marvin has gone very slack in his hands, staring blankly up at the ceiling, his pupils blown wide.

“Hey,” murmurs Red, touching his cheek. Marvin doesn’t answer. His breathing comes thin and ragged. “Hey, Blue.”

He glances at you, then back at his twin, biting his lip. “Hey, I’m just going to put you to sleep, okay?” he offers gently, brushing his fingers over his head. Marvin whimpers distantly, his eyes rolling a little.

Red fetches the same sedative he was given last night and preps it carefully, grateful that he remembered to restock first aid the other week. He slides the needle into Marvin’s arm with a practiced hand and draws it out again, swiping away the blood that rises with gentle hands. And then, moments later, peace. Marvin is asleep.

Red stares at him for a long moment.

It’s so strange. So impossible, how someone can be so familiar and so strange at the same time. He spent long months hating him, this last annoyance they just couldn’t track down, but now he’s just…

Red rubs his face, trying to keep it together. He’s just been lonely for a really long time.

He gets to work stitching his twin up. Twins look after each other. Brothers look after each other. Blue looks after him, and he looks after Blue.

He’s gentle with him. Almost makes him laugh. In all the time he’s been Red, he knows that there is no one in the whole world who would have described him as gentle until this very moment.

musical-in-theory asked: (To all of them) “David”

Dok and Trick glance at you askew; Dapper frowns. Red dismisses it as a glitch and ignores you, stitching up Marvin’s arm.

musical-in-theory asked: Funny how barely anyone bats an eye at a name like David, but to other names Like Henrik or Jackie, it’s a whole other story. Almost like those names mean something more...

All three of the younger boys wince at the sound of those two names, not just taken aback but in fact reaching up to cover their ears. “Ugh, what the fuck?” grumbles Trick, slapping the side of the camera. “Some kind of interference or something. That’s a horrible fucking screech. Sorry, what did you say? What’s a whole other story?”

But Jackie, stitching up a deep cut on Marvin’s stomach, only gives you a dark glare, warning in his sharp blue eyes.

Anonymous asked: Hey Marv? Do you need a hug? I hope you’re ok. You’ll be fine. It’ll all be fine. You’re so strong and I believe in you.

“A hug,” mumbles Marvin, mostly unconscious. His body is numb, but this hardly settles his mind. He laughs softly, trying to stay awake, feeling warm. “Mmh, long time since I’ve had a hug, yeah. Yeah, I could use one. Thank you, I… I’m going to try and believe you.”

He blinks slower and slower, staring up at the wooden slats of the ceiling. He’s drifting quickly off. It feels nice. But before he goes, he could swear there is a second where someone leans in close, and pulls him to their chest, and hugs him very softly.

His fingers cling to the fabric of Red’s hoodie. He falls asleep.

immabethehero asked: Poppalazzi!!!!!

“Pop, pop, pop,” Trick mimics, sliding around, bored, on the bench of the laundromat. “Poppalazziiii. Dok-dok, when’s the laundry done? This is dull!”

He drags the last word out dramatically, flopping down on his brother’s lap and grinning at you. He’s a lot looser when he’s not at home. There’s nobody else in this laundromat. Just him and his Dok. He loves the laundromat.

Anonymous asked: it's okay baby. can you tell us what anti did? it looks like he hit you in the face. did he hit you anywhere else?

Carver blinks and reaches up to touch his face, only to draw his fingers quickly away, startled by the pain. Suddenly cognizant of it, he tumbles back onto the bed and lies there, confused. “Who hit me?” he asks, tilting his head at you. “Not Anti. Look, Anti gave me my blue hoodie. I love my blue hoodie.” He hugs himself, rocking slightly on the bed. “Anti says I’m his bluebird.”

He winces slightly and begins patting around his body, alerted to more pain. You see his eyes well up with tears and he hisses through his teeth, lifting up his hoodie to find bruises across one side of his body. He stops using his right arm, rocking harder now, confused.

“It’s okay, baby,” he signs to himself, sinking back on the bed, crying. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. It’s okay, baby brother.”

Anonymous asked: carver, he tied you up, see? i'm so sorry he hurt you like that. poor boy, do you need anything?

Carver reaches up, confused, to touch his throat, and finds the rope. Instantly, a switch is thrown; the stiffness and sorrow flies out of him and he is nothing but humiliated, jerking away from you with a gasp. His cheeks flame red and he drags himself away from the bed, yanking desperately against the rope. You hear a rough choking gasp, something like a scream, and he does it again and again, thrashing on the rope, tearing at his hair.

“No, no, no!” he weeps. “Not again, not again, I don’t know what I did! I hate it, I hate it, stop that!”

And then he stops short, falling hard to the ground, staring blankly at the wall. His hands fall away from the rope and he goes quiet again, and very still, clicking his tongue gently in his mouth. The blood drains from his cheeks and his face calms. “Poor boy,” he signs distantly. “Poor boy, poor… I wish my bird would come see me. I wish I had my charcoal… I wish…”

He tilts his head oddly and sits, breathing, raking his nails very slowly across the floorboards.

Anonymous asked: Carver, do you know what's going on? What all do you remember?

“Never remember anything,” he signs, almost too slow for you to read. “Everything’s just…”

He reaches up and moves his hand through the air like he’s conducting a symphony only he can hear. He closes his eyes, click click clicking his tongue. His free hand reaches into his hoodie pocket and stays there.

“Everything is now and then and yesterday. I can’t keep track.” He lets his head fall back slightly and startles at the sensation of the rope digging against his throat. He grabs it and looks up at you, stunned. “Why am I tied up? What did I do? Oh, no, no, please! No, I don’t want - ”

But now he stops again, stilling. His gaze is fixed on the window outside.

His mouth falls open in a gentle “oh” and he points up at the window.

Night has fallen and everything is quiet. You can’t see what he’s looking at, but you can see the brightness returned to his eyes.

“That’s what I wanted to show you,” he says, breathing deep and relaxing. He gets up to sit on the bed again. “That was you, wasn’t it? Pretty, isn’t it? I spy, with my little eye…. midnight dancing in the lovely sky.”

This post was reblogged with comments from ari-trash reading “the stars?” and spicydanhowell reading “is it birdy??”

“Oh, good guesses, good guesses. You’re all so clever, you’re all so warm. But no, no, look, even better…”

He lifts you up to the window.

“I spy with my little eye… aurora borealis.”

Above the trees, the sky is alight with movement, fine swirling colors, electric and breathing across the stars. Carver stares up at them in silence, his hand resting on top of the camera. There is no twitching or confusion in his face, no distress, nothing numb or dead. He looks calm. He brushes hair from his eyes and pulls his hood off, breathing deep the night air.

Downstairs, Trick keeps watch, staring up at what he can see of the northern lights. Soft shifting upstairs tells him he is not the only at watch, and he spares a moment of - not pity, maybe, but a moment of sameness, a moment of understanding, for the little brother he never sees.

“I’m not so lonely or so scared with the lights in the sky,” says Jameson Jackson. “Even if I am being tortured and tied up like a dog. And I’m not so lonely or so scared when I’m with you. So… thank you. I try very hard to keep track of who I am and what’s happening to me, but time seems to move like northern lights these days, swaying, swirling, changing… disappearing again as soon as morning comes.”

He puts his chin down on the window sill, closing his eyes.

“I think I saw Marvin today,” he signs gently. ��But maybe that was just a dream… I dream of him often… I dream of everything that was, and is no longer, but soon enough it all slips away again, and I am alone, or worse than alone, because Jameson stops existing, and then I do not even have myself to keep me company.”

You sit up with him a long time. Eventually, he falls asleep. And morning breaks, bright and cold and clear, and Carver wakes up alone.

florenceisfalling asked: trick, what do you usually stay on lookout for? like,,, who ever comes out there anyway?

Trick startles, turning to stare at you in astonishment. “Fuck, it’s crazy how you don’t know. I mean, good question, right, who would come up here? Sometimes kids or hikers or dogs and shit, yeah. But you don’t need a military grade sniper for that.”

He sighs and looks back out at his window, stroking his gun.

“You weren’t here the last time we got found,” he says. His voice suddenly wavers and he coughs, swallowing. “Red didn’t clean up after a murder or a theft or something, and we nearly lost everything right then. They almost dragged him off to jail - not that I would have cared, I mean, I - I wouldn’t, okay? But the worse part was that Dok - ”

He’s asleep at his side. It’s late and Trick’s turn to watch. Trick stares down at him, and then up at you, putting a finger over his mouth. Shhh. He grabs the camera and draws you close, and then, very carefully, draws the blanket back from Doktor’s mouth and shoulders. He can even, with a soft murmur to reassure him, pull his shirt up, revealing a small and almost perfectly circular scar in Doktor’s stomach, deep and white as snow.

Trick draws you away and covers his brother back up again, taking the glasses he fell asleep in off his face as he goes. He avoids his gaze, turning back to the window. His body shakes minutely. Ferocity is etched in the curves of his back. He leaves a hand on Doktor’s shoulder.

Anonymous asked: What happens if you don't have enough, Red? Do you risk stealing or just go without? Where does Anti get the money anyway?

Red draws you closer warily. “Don’t say ‘don’t have enough,’” he whispers, a little afraid. “We, um, we don’t complain around here. Sometimes I steal shit, or Doktor’s pretty good. But Anti doesn’t like it if we draw attention to ourselves.”

Red bites his lip and closes his eyes. “But he also doesn’t like it if I ask for more,” he whispers. “So sometimes, I… I don’t know what to do, I just…”

He wipes at his eyes, turning angrily away from you. “Anyway,” he grumbles. “I don’t know where Anti gets it. He just hands me this hack credit card. So I can’t even hide what I buy from him.”

Realizing what he said, he nearly drops you. “Not that I ever would!” he gasps, nearly waking up Blue beside him. “Not that I would ever - just - I’ve thought about having an emergency supply, in case he - but I don’t, I can’t. I wouldn’t.”

Stressed, he turns you slightly away and huddles closer to Blue.

seagullsausage asked: Didn’t Red mention earlier that Dapper needed meds? What are they for?

“Oh, fuck,” mumbles Red, rubbing at his face. “Um… that’s a long story.” He laughs breathily.

“Few months ago, Dapper went… Dapper had what Anti calls a ‘snap.’ Freaky shit happened, okay? So since then he takes some medicine, I don’t know what, Anti just tells me to pick it up. I think it’s just an anxiety thing. When you’ve got a kid with that much power, losing your mind becomes a little more dangerous.

“But he’s fine now,” he adds hastily. “Anti said so. He’s fine. He won’t snap again.”

Anonymous asked: what happened last time dapper was in the basement? do any of you know? Another anon added: When was the last time Dapper was in the basement. And… why?

Across their two cameras, Red and Trick both flinch.

“Look,” mumbles Red. “Dap’s always had it pretty good, but used to be when he got too far out of hand, Anti would take him down in the basement just like the rest of us. But something happened, and now Anti’s usually… gentler with him. That kid is a goddamn cosmos, that’s all I’m saying about it.”

But Trick scoffs, shakes his head, looks you right in the eye and says, “Yeah. That was when he was losing his fucking mind.”

He readjusts as though he’s done talking, but reconsiders, his voice a little loud. “And hey, far, far be it from me to criticize Anti - I love him, I trust him, he always does what’s best for us - but that night….

“The basement didn’t help. That’s all I’m saying.”

Trick shivers and tightens his grip on his gun.

“The basement did not help.”

This was it for the irl night, so there is a skip to morning.

Anonymous asked: doktor, do you know what happened to carver? when he "snapped"?

Doktor’s eating a granola bar, sitting up on the stairs, looking clean and healthy and surrounded by freshly washed blankets. He blinks at you and then laughs slightly. “Fuck, were you all talking about that horrible incident last night? Poor little boy. ‘Snapped,’ ha. It was a nervous episode, that’s all.”

He pauses, his eyes fogging over slightly. “Mind you, I don’t remember most of it… Nightmares and confusion and paranoia, and his hands reaching out for things that weren’t really there… but, anyway, I helped Anti calm him down and prescribed some medicine, and now he’s okay. So no need to worry about that. It won’t happen again. Poor little thing, you’ve never seen a young man so scared.”

spicydanhowell asked: so then... what happened to carver in the basement last time? what did he even do wrong that got him there?

“He was acting very strangely,” says Doktor, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to recall. “I believe he struck Anti, or attempted to, and this was what caused him to be brought to basement. I don’t remember what happened after that, except that… I felt very strange and many things changed around me.”

“Dok,” calls Trick sleepily. “Don’t talk about this, it stresses you out. You’ll work yourself up again.”

Doktor blinks and then frowns, curling slightly in on himself. “Don’t work myself up,” he grumbles, crumpling up his granola bar wrapper.

“Yes, you do,” growls back Trick. “And then guess who has to spend the whole day calming you down again?”

Doktor blushes bright red and and turns away from him with a scowl on his face, crossing his arms and mumbling about how no one has to do anything for him, he’s fine, doesn’t need some little marksman babying him as if he -

“Dok,” snaps Trick.

The pair falls into irritable silence.

Anonymous asked: Anti... What now? Are you even home at the moment or are you out and about doing whatever it is you do?

Words flicker across your screen again.

“I’m home,” says Anti.

But your viewpoint is across the main room, and you don’t see him. Just Doktor sitting on the stairs that lead to the nest, eating breakfast, and Trick, nocturnal, settling in for a nap a few feet away. Marvin and Red are lying in their corner, stirring.

Marvin comes to with a groan, turning on his side and ending up closer to Red, practically pressed against his body. Red opens his eyes and smiles at him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and beginning to carefully rub his back, avoiding a gash low on the back of his throat. Marvin shivers and opens sleepy eyes, staring back at him.

A warm swell of affection rises him. He spends a few minutes letting Red rub his back, assured by the simple brotherhood of it. This is something they could have done when the world was right and they were still together. How can Anti even say that Red is his? This is just Marvin’s Jackie. He daydreams sleepily about the day they’ll escape, and bring all their little brothers with them, and go back to living well. Jackie isn’t lost to him after all.

“I missed you so much,” whispers Marvin, snuggling in closer to his chest. “I’m glad we’re together again, even if it’s like this.”

“Ah, what a sweet little kitty. I love you too, Blue.”

Marvin freezes.

Looks up.

Black eyes.

Red’s grip adjusts on the back of his throat, holding him tightly down. Marvin is too afraid to whimper.

“What’s the matter, little one?” asks Anti, smiling at him. “Come on, let’s just relax. Let’s have a nice lie-in.”

“Are you - ” Marvin has to swallow to make his throat work. “Are you going to torture me again?”

“No, no, darling, you haven’t done anything wrong, have you?” Anti resumes rubbing his back. “Let’s just have a nice quiet morning. Put your head back against my chest.”

Marvin stares up at him, feeling dizzy.

“Put your head,” repeats Anti, slower. “Back against my chest.”

Marvin puts his shaking head down on Red’s collarbone and tries to keep breathing.

Anonymous asked: Trick, Dok, are you guys seeing this? What's this mean for Red right now??

Trick and Doktor noticed the moment the tension in the room changed. The two of them are often on the receiving end of casual cruelty and they’re attuned to the taste Anti leaves in the air, the slight buzzing of his power, the harsh oil smell. They’re sitting up straight, silent and watchful, eyes wide, scared.

“Is he over there?” whispers Trick.

“He’s wearing Red,” whispers Doktor. He turns to you. “Red will be mostly fine, but - ”

“We’re going on a walk,” says Trick, getting to his feet and grabbing his brother’s arm.

“We’re not allowed to go without telling someone and we - ”

Trick yanks him to his feet and drags him towards the door, his face set. Too much bullshit is going on lately and he is not about to get caught in the crossfire. Blue will have to handle this on his own.

florenceisfalling asked: what if you get in trouble for leaving on a walk without asking?

“Yes, Trick, let’s just hide!” cries Dok, yanking back against his grip. They’re in the yard outside the house. “We haven’t gotten in trouble yet! This is just because you don’t like it when Anti - ”

“Shut up!” screams Trick, and he grabs his other shoulder and he shakes him, hard. “Shut up, you’re going to get us killed!”

Doktor gasps and reasserts himself, standing straight. “You’re the one who’s going to get us killed cause you’re so scared of possession that you can’t - ”

Trick grabs Doktor by the hair and ignores the little scream he gives, dragging him into the woods, casting fearful glances back at the house, until at last it is gone from his view. He pants hard, his eyes wild, but not black. Not black. He’s fine. Doktor’s fine. This is fine.

Doktor gives a choked whine and then falls into silence, pulled along beside him.

Anonymous asked: Hang in there, Marvin! It's okay. You're surviving, that's all that matters. Anti will leave soon and you'll have Jackie back. Just hold out until he's done.

“Right,” whispers Marvin, choking on his own panic. “Right, right, right. Just… just hold out.”

Anti takes his chin in his hand and tilts his head up, and Marvin is sinking almost immediately, the second he meets his swirling eyes, dizzy and confused.

“Mmh,” hums Anti, stroking a hand through his hair. “There we go.”

Marvin can’t breathe. Marvin can’t look away.

“How long do you think you could stay like this?” asks Anti gently. His fingers are very nice across his scalp. Marvin’s eyes begin to droop, but Anti tilts his chin back up and strokes his cheek, keeping him focused. “I’ll give you a hint - I once, in reward for the first time he called Henrik ‘Doktor,’ hypnotized Chase for more than twenty-four hours. It was exhausting, but so fucking worth it - he hasn’t said his name or Henrik’s since. Turned out to be a little much for him, actually. He went into a complete hysteria and then just - flopped. Like a real puppet, haha! He couldn’t do a thing without a command. I think he hardly breathed. Wouldn’t let go of me. Wept for me.”

Anti sighs and draws Marvin right to his chest, knocking their foreheads together.

“Here is the truth, Blue,” he says. “I love nothing better than the five of you. But by the end of the day I was born, you had already been turned against me. It wasn’t fair! No one would stay with me. No one would let me in, or even say my name. But I am Jack too and he can’t just keep you away from me.”

His voice breaks in a snarl and he grips Marvin’s shirt tightly, pricking at stitched up cuts along his body.

“You’re my big brother. I’ve missed you. I’ve wanted you. Please, stay with me,” he whispers. “Stay here with me, where you belong. Be mine, be your brother’s. Stay with me.”

A wave of pity rushes over Marvin like a tidal wave; he is drowning in it. Suddenly he is affectionate - bizarrely affectionate, he’s never been very touchy-feely - and he wraps his arms around Anti’s shoulders and throws himself against his body, holding him close, close, close. He is warm and soft and he looks like Red. Fuck, what was he so afraid of all this time? Of this, of living with Anti? Of this feeling of being loved, so overwhelming it hurts? Of seeing all his family again? This was where he was always meant to be.

“It’s okay, Anti,” whispers Blue, buried in his shoulder. “It’s okay, little brother. I’ll stay. I’ll stay.”

And he nearly faints from the joy the words give him - or maybe from the blood he lost last night, when the person who is holding him now cut him nearly dry.

“I love you,” murmurs Anti, stroking his hair. Humming a distant song about the birds flying home in the springtime.

“I love you too,” promises Blue, slack in his grip. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“You won’t say that tomorrow,” sighs Anti. “But, eventually, I will make it stick in this little brain of yours - you belong to me. And you’re staying right here with me, until time itself has ended.”

oasisofgalaxies asked: Marvin!! No, you can’t let him work into your brain! He’s got you wrapped around his pinky finger, you gotta cut the strings! Don’t forget! Don’t forget Marvin!!

Blue blinks and shudders, drawing slightly back. Anti tightens his grip on his shoulders. “No, wait,” Marvin pants, shrinking away. “No, no, wait, Anti, please. I’m not - ”

“But you are!” Anti grabs his chin, harshly now, and drags his head up. Marvin screams and closes his eyes, trying to look away. “Open your eyes, Blue.”

Fuck, fuck, something has happened, something has changed - he feels like he can’t control his own head, his own face, he is looking back, why can’t he keep looking away?

“You want to look at me, you know you do. Look at Master like a good boy.”

Blue’s eyes flash open and fixate on Anti’s again, and he shivers hard, nearly choking on all the things that it makes him feel, all the love and warmth and joy and confusion and the subtle wrongness that sits beneath everything and fails to draw him out again.

“There you go, sweetheart,” purrs Anti. “There you go.”

“Anti,” breathes Blue, staring up at him with pupils over-large. “I d-don’t understand what’s happening.”

“I know, kitten, I’m sorry about that. Really I am. It can be painful at first. I know it feels strange, and I know other things start to slip away. I know things get forgotten. But you just have to hold on to me and eventually it will all turn out okay. It’s just going to be a rough couple days as you adjust, okay? Don’t be scared. The memories you lose aren’t important anyway. And I’ve got you. I’m watching out for you. Okay?”

Blue blinks slowly, trying to figure out what it is they were talking about. All he knows is that he feels warm and well and cared for. “Okay,” he says, nodding.

He grins up at his little brother and relaxes, blinking his fatigue away. His body is so tired, but he doesn’t remember why. Oh, well. It hardly matters now.

Anonymous asked: Uh so how long are you going to keep him like that, Anti?

Anti glances at you, and then back down at Blue, staring dizzily up at him.

“I don’t want to overwhelm him,” he says. “Maybe just a little while today. And then there’s this wonderful afterimage that remains even after I’m gone, where he can just sit, high on this power. Red too. I would do the same thing with Doktor and Trickshot all the time when they were still learning. Possess one, hypnotize the other, leave them to ride through it together. It’s good for them. I need to make sure they look out for each other. With what I have planned for them, they can’t afford to not have each other’s backs.”

He looks down at Blue, warm in his arms.

“And I don’t plan to lose either one of them,” he murmurs.

Anonymous asked: Marvin, you cant give up yet. please remember! you cant fade away into Blue, think of your brothers. You cant help them if you also have forgotten who you are. Please, don't leave us. Please remember!

Anti growls, reaching up to push the camera farther away from them, curling in on Blue’s body. “Why do none of you understand?” he snarls. “You want him to keep fighting? Can’t you see how long he’s been alone? Touch-starved, thin, pale, exhausted - I found him on the fucking streets, trying to live completely disconnected from the rest of the world, so no one can find him. Is that what you think freedom is? He’ll be happier here. You want him to hold on to the miserable little person he used to be, all on his own? If you want him to keep fighting, say the word.” Anti draws a knife from Red’s hoodie, baring his teeth at you. “And I will punish him accordingly.”

Blue whimpers and hides his face in Anti’s chest.

Anonymous asked: What DO you have planned that requires then to be in pairs? Is it just for security?

“Pairs are important for lots of reasons,” he says. “Comfort, care, attention, affection. Touch, company, time, self-esteem. Balance, watch-guard, hierarchy, threat.”

He gazes between Red’s hands and Blue’s, looped around his waist.

“Threat perhaps most importantly,” he murmurs, smiling at you. “Threat and report. But in my plans for Red and Blue - yes, security and safety, trust in a brother who watches your back. How else will they get through their missions?”

musical-in-theory asked: You know what they say about plans, don’t you Anti? How they always fall apart... so fuck you.

“Plans can fall apart. And then my little time traveler picks the pieces back up again… and I win. Over and over and over. What do I have to fear?”

musical-in-theory asked: Fear their bond. Something that you will never have, Artificer. They outnumber you and the minute you test their bond, that’s when their love for each other will drown you in your own murky depths. Fuck (and I cannot stress this enough) you.

“Fuck - and I cannot stress this enough - ” Anti bursts into laughter. “That’s funny!”

He sighs contentedly and relaxes back against Red’s sleeping bag, soaking in stray afternoon sunlight. After a minute, he runs his hands through a dozing Blue’s long dark hair, and tilts his chin up to face him.

“I’m going to let you come down from this now,” he tells him gently.

“Oh, no,” whines Blue, curling up against his stomach. “No, stay here with me.”

“I don’t want you to get sick.”

“But, Anti, I don’t feel good already, can’t you watch over me?”

“Red’s going to watch you.”

“Anti…”

Anti giggles and brushes his hair from his eyes. “Stop fussing. I have to go work anyway. Say, ‘okay, Anti.’“

“Okay, Anti,” grumbles Blue.

Anti kisses the top of his head fondly and he simpers childishly, practically purring. “There’s a good boy. Get some rest.”

A flicker across the screen, a moment of darkness. When your vision returns, Red is collapsed across his sleeping bag, shaking hard but still holding Blue close to his chest.

“Red?” asks Blue sleepily. “Are you okay?”

Red stammers and closes his eyes against a wave of pain. “I don’t know,” he stammers, his head swimming. His whole body feels… wrong, but he shouldn’t be scared. He should be used to this by now. He shouldn’t be crying. Stop, stop. He needs something else to focus on. “Are you?”

Blue blinks, hugging his waist. “I don’t know,” he admits, softly.

Red pushes away from him. Hurt by the rejection, Blue curls in on himself on the sleeping bag, and they fall into silence, both overwhelmed and exhausted.

Anonymous asked: Are trick and doctor still on their walk? When are you guys planning to come back?

Trick and Doktor have come to a stop higher up in the mountains. Red and brown leaves flicker through the air and falter to the ground only to be crunched under sneakers and boots. Trick is standing towards the sea, his hands shoved in his pockets, chewing anxiously on his lip, sniffling through quiet tears. A few feet away, Doktor sits on the ground beside a big pine tree, his knees drawn up to his chest and his eyes fixed on the ground. A leaf comes and hits the side of his head and he doesn’t bother to reach up and take it out of his hair.

“I’m sorry,” calls Trick, after a long moment, swallowing hard. “I didn’t mean to grab you too rough.”

Doktor doesn’t answer or look up. His face is very blank. Trick’s not sure he heard him.

“We can head back in a minute,” calls Trick, gently.

But this doesn’t reach Dok either.

Anonymous asked: Red is back. Trick and Dok, where are you?

“Dok,” calls Trick, turning to him. He wipes the tears off his face and heads closer to his brother. “Hey, man, did you hear them? Red’s free. Him and Blue probably need you. Should we go back, man?”

Doktor stares at the leaves on the ground. His eyes are a very clear blue beneath his cracked glasses.

“Dok,” cries Trick, frustrated. “Come on, buddy, please? Don’t get like this on me. I’m sorry, okay, I shouldn’t have - ”

He rubs his face, guilt choking in his throat.

“I’m really sorry, Deutsch, talk to me.”

musical-in-theory asked: Trick what do you think will happen if you go back to the house with Dok like this after you both “ran away”?

“It’s not like that,” stammers Trick, beginning to look a little panicked. “We go out for walks all the time, we just - we’re just supposed to ask Red. And I - him like this - I’ll get him out of this, okay! Fuck, just don’t - don’t tell Anti and we can sneak back without getting noticed! Don’t threaten us! It’s fine. It’s fine. You’re going to scare my brother! It’s okay, Dok-dok, it’s okay.” He bites down hard on his lip and rakes a hand through his hair, shaking.

immabethehero asked: Don't forget the drinks! You'll need to stay hydrated!

“The drinks - yeah, thanks for reminding me, I need to fill up the jug. Yes. Okay. I can do that. Get some water in him and… yeah. Yeah. This is fine. Okay. The stream’s just over here, I’ll go fill the jug up. Okay, Dok?”

He touches his brother’s shoulder and finds him trembling. With a sigh, Trick pulls himself to his feet and walks away to fill up the canteen he carries with him.

Doktor does not look at you or anything. He stares at the ground. You see his mouth moving minutely, like he’s mumbling something.

Anonymous asked: Hey... Dok? Can you hear us..?

Doktor reaches up slowly to touch his hair. His scalp hurts. Someone grabbed him by the hair.

His hands twitch.

loganandoli asked: Doktor? Are you ok? What are you saying?

Turning up your volume, you can make out a string of low German babbling, soft and steady. He stares at the ground.

Anonymous asked: Dok... it's alright. You're safe with Trick, n' now you can go back and be safe with the rest of your brothers.

“Safe,” he whispers, so soft you barely hear it.

Rage and terror contort his face. With shaking hands, he reaches into his pocket, his fingers curling and his mouth locked in a snarl, his eyes still dead, fixed, unseeing, on the ground in front of him. He’s breathing very fast.

Anonymous asked: When was the last time trick was possessed?

Trick whimpers, turning his gaze away from you. He grips his hands tightly shut and shakes his head, hard. After a long moment, he manages to whisper “couple months ago. Bad… bad night.”

He dips his canteen in the mountain spring and tries to recollect himself, rubbing the tears from his eyes and taking deep, shaky breaths.

musical-in-theory asked: Or you could just stay away for a little while longer. Wouldn’t that be nice? A little more fresh air might be good for the doctor. You could go back to the laundromat or maybe to a park. There’s so many wonderful things out here.

Trick sighs, twisting down the lid of the canteen and turning to make his way back towards Doktor. “Yes,” he grumbles. “Obviously that would be nice. And we could just walk around and not… not worry about who was watching.”

His sneakers crunch through the leaves. There is a sudden sorrow in his eyes, one he rarely shows to anyone, except, of course, his Doktor.

“I’m really tired,” he says.

There’s a shuffling in the leaves in front of him and he looks up with relief to see Doktor getting on his feet. He smiles wearily at his brother and makes his way closer, giving him that look you’ve seen before - the silent question, the check-in, “I’m okay, are you?”

Doktor is not okay.

Trick doesn’t have time to be afraid before Doktor grabs him by the throat.

“Dok!” screams Trick, and then he is choking.

“Schlag mich nicht,” whispers Doktor. His voice shakes, but only a little. His tone is firm and hateful. “Schlag mich nicht.”

“Dok!” gasps Trick. “Please!”

Doktor slams him back against a tree and his head collides hard with the bark. He scrambles at Doktor’s hands, not yet willing to attack his face like he knows he should.

“Schlag mich nicht! Sag mir nicht was ich tun sull!”

“English, please,” begs Trick, kicking at his feet, gasping. “Ich spreche kein Deutsch!”

Doktor drops him abruptly to the ground, but Trick doesn’t have time to be relieved; Doktor grabs his hair just as tight as he did earlier and yanks his head off the ground, making him yelp, his eyes filling up with tears. “You don’t get to grab me, you don’t get to drag me around - ”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” shrieks Trick. Doktor pulls his hand out from his coat pocket and with it comes a syringe with a needle as long as a finger; Trick screams as it is shoved up against his throat.

“Where’s Trick?” screams Doktor. “Where’s Trick, where is he, I want him! I want my little brother!”

“It’s me, it’s me! Please, please! No, no, no, Doktor, I’m scared, it’s me, I’m sorry, you’re my older brother, you’re smarter than me, you’re better than me, I’m small and I’m stupid, please don’t hurt me, I can’t take a beating from you too, please, please, please, I love you.”

He dissolves into sobbing, gripping desperately at Doktor’s hands.

“Please, it’s just one of your episodes, but no one’s trying to hurt you, no one needs an operation, you didn’t fail anyone, it’s just me, I’m right here, please…”

Doktor is breathing so fast and so thin that he is beginning to look blue. He clutches the collar of Trick’s jacket in shaking hands.

Finally he drops Trick to the ground and straightens up, staring out at the ocean, his eyes closed, trying to breathe.

“Where am I?” whispers Henrik, clutching at his head. “Where am I, what… what’s happening to me? I’m losing my mind…”

At his feet, Trick cries until he cannot breathe.

Anonymous asked: Henrik? Henrik is it you? Not Doktor, is it you? Henrik? Schneep? If it is you, you scared Chase badly, he doesn’t remember he’s Chase. Schneep, Henrik. If you remember, you have to help him.

Trick groans at the horrible shrieking that covers up the names, cowering down in the leaves. Henrik, for his part, only stares distantly at you, confused.

“I don’t remember anything… I don’t… I never remember anything, though…”

“Dok, please,” Trick begs through sobs. “This is just one of your episodes, you know you get confused, please, you’ll draw Anti’s attention and he’ll hurt you!”

“Trick,” mumbles Doktor, sinking to his knees. He grips at his hair.

musical-in-theory asked: Oh Henrik! Scheisse! We get one back but we lose another. Schneep you gotta work fast. You and your brothers have been under Anti’s influence for a long time now. He has Marvin. You gotta get away.

Trick and Doktor both groan, shaking their heads at the terrible ringing. Glitches flicker over your screen, and for a moment, everything is very dark, the afternoon sun shadowed by a black filter. Movement in the trees behind them - a silhouette emerging from the trees.

The boys look up together, shocked out of tears.

“Anti?” whispers Trick, in a voice that shakes.

Anti steps towards them. In fact, Anti hurries towards them, and there is not anger or violence in his face, just concern. He looks human. His hair is pulled back into a small bun. “Dok? Trick? What are they talking to you about? Asking you stupid questions? Are you guys okay?”

He falls to his knees beside them. There is, for a second, a terrible tension - and then Anti whispers “hey, hey,” and draws Trick in for a hug with one arm, reaching out to pet Doktor’s head with his other hand. “Something upset you, what’s wrong? You didn’t tell me you were going somewhere, I got scared…”

Doktor sobs and falls against his shoulder, wrapping his arms around his waist. Likewise, Trick just buries his face in his shoulder and shakes.

Anti looks up at you and the worry and concern falls away. He glares. His eyes are black. His canines poke out of his mouth. And then he turns back towards his pets, calm again, only anxious for them, the picture of affectionate fear.

Anonymous asked: Hey, Chase, it’s ok, it’s gonna be fine. Take a few deep breaths, maybe that will help? Seven seconds in, seven out. It works for me. Maybe focus on the ocean too. What color is it? What does it sound like? Is it calm or stormy?

Trick shudders against Anti’s shoulder, trying to breathe.

“That’s good advice,” mumbles Anti, playing with his hair. “That’s good advice, do what they tell you.”

Obedient, Trick tries to breathe slow and deep, clinging to Anti’s shirt, looking up at you with tear-stained eyes. Truth be told, he’s still waiting for the moment Anti will snap and decide to punish him and Dok for leaving, but for now, all he can do is hope that he’s okay, and think about anything else.

“The ocean,” he stammers. “Is calm today - is bright, is blue, is moving like it’s breathing. I can’t hear it from here, but when I go down to it, it sloshes back and forth in this low rushing breath… When it was warmer, Doktor would roll up his pants and stand in the water for hours…”

“There, okay,” whispers Anti. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Deutsch, how about you? Huh? Baby, can you look at me?”

But Doktor has retreated into his own head again, staring blankly at the leaves, clutching the shattered syringe in his fingers. Anti murmurs reassurances against the side of his head and gently pulls broken glass away from his limp fingers. “Did they upset you, big brother? Wasn’t that cruel of them? Don’t they know you get sick? Poor thing.”

Anonymous asked: trick, please don't do anything stupid. it's going to be okay. and- how's marvin?

“I already did something stupid,” he sobs, hiding from Anti’s gaze. “Anti, I - I did something stupid. It wasn’t them, it was me. I grabbed his hair, I got scared. I dragged him away from the house. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please hurt me, not him, it’s my fault!”

“Hey, hey,” cries Anti, taking his face in his hands and trying to get him to look up. “Calm down, it’s okay. I saw you go. I know that it scares you sometimes, when I need a body. Right?”

“Yes, Anti, I’m sorry, I’m a coward, I didn’t mean - ” He can hardly breathe through tears.

“It’s okay to get scared sometimes. It’s okay. I should have made sure you were okay before I put Red on. I’ll remember that next time, alright? What’s this about you grabbing his hair?”

“I tried to drag him away from the house,” sniffles Trick.

“And he let you?” asks Anti, his voice suddenly sharper.

“No, no - I mean, I dragged him away, and then he - it wasn’t his fault, he was scared, Anti, he had one of his episodes!”

“Just tell me what he did,” orders Anti flatly.

Trick chokes on a sob. “He grabbed my throat and - the syringe - he didn’t know, you know he gets confused - ”

Anti sits in thought for a moment, rubbing both of their backs.

Then he laughs.

“He put you in your place, huh?” Anti grabs Trick’s cheek and shoves him playfully onto the ground. “You got a little rough with big brother and he pushed you back? Shit, I always forget how much fire he really has in him. Come on, Trick, don’t cry, it’s okay, poor thing. You had a little scuffle, that’s all. But Doktor knows how to handle you when you’re bad. Put you right back where you belong, just like Red does. Your big brothers know how to keep you on track.”

Trick’s eyes well up with hot tears.

It’s true that Red’s made sure he was aware of his place at the bottom of the pack more than once before.

But Doktor isn’t supposed to be like that.

Doktor’s supposed to be… his.

Was that all this was, just his big brother shoving him back down the ladder? Just revenge for grabbing his hair too tight?

Trick thinks he could throw up. He wishes Anti would hypnotize him. He wishes today had never happened.

“Can we go home?” he whispers.

“Yes,” says Anti, tucking a curl of brown hair behind his ear. “Just promise me you won’t run off again. Okay?”

“Yes, Anti, of course. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. I know. But twin kept an eye on you, and everything’s okay. Get up, then, little one. Let’s go home.”

Anonymous asked: Anti, Doktor wasn't himself for a moment. Will he be okay?

He turns to you, concerned. “I’m glad you noticed that,” he sighs. “I’d appreciate whatever help you can give me keeping an eye on it. And the name isn’t - look, whatever, I give two fucks about the name, but he gets so goddamn lost sometimes…”

Trick is walking on the path a few feet behind him, his head down and his face red and blotchy. Doktor is kept close under Anti’s arm, still unresponsive, but at least walking. Anti glances over at him and runs a hand over his head.

“He’s had episodes in the past where he would try to stab things. Me included. He’s wild, really, my Doktor. Once woke up Red up in the middle of the night by attempting to sedate him for a surgery he had decided he needed. Fuck, little nightmare. I adore him. It’s my fault, though, you know… fuck, I… I’ve had him do things for me in the past, bloody things, and now sometimes… he freaks out like that.”

He knocks his head against Doktor’s and Doktor looks up slightly, blinking. For a second, they don’t look like anything but brothers. Could just as well be Jack and Henrik out for a walk.

“You need new glasses,” Anti mumbles, tugging gently on his ear, and Doktor, in response, gives him a small, shaky smile.

musical-in-theory asked: Oh go fuck yourself Anti.

Doktor looks up, something flashing through his eyes. “Don’t talk to him like that,” he rasps, his mouth twitching, first with a frown, then with a snarl.

Anti smiles at you, petting the back of his head.

Anonymous asked: Not really a question for any of the boys, more for the mod, but what are we? Are we just a bunch of cameras or..?

Yes and no. For my purposes I like to describe you as someone looking in through a camera, but you don’t have to imagine it that way. Anti probably does keep cameras on them and around the house, but in most scenes if I’m talking about a physical camera, it’s just for the literary function it serves. Clearly it’s not limited to the camera view, because we see them through an omniscient viewpoint, often talking about the way they’re feeling or what they’re thinking. So I mostly just talk about you being a bunch of cameras cause that’s what works for me. But if you prefer to think you’re there with them or something, that’s okay.

Thanks for asking. Make sense?

Anonymous asked: Dapper you alright by yourself? Things got a bit... hectic outside for a moment. Don't want you feeling too alone though.

Dapper is down on his hands and knees, staring at the floor. He glances up at you, frowning.

“There are flowers,” he says. “Coming out of my floorboards.”

And there are. Crocus. Growing up through the ceiling.

spicydanhowell asked: marv... do you remember what just happened?

Blue grabs the camera off the island and picks you up, swinging in a circle, laughing. “I woke up with Anti! My whole head feels like the ocean when it’s angry! But I feel good! I feel really good, I think I’m high.”

He bursts into laughter. His eyes are very, very blue.

Vines creep up the walls behind him, curling in through Doktor and Trick’s window.

Anonymous asked: Was there always plants growing there? Or does it have... more of a magical feel to it?

Red stares at you, looking mildly panicked. “These were not here before,” he whispers, turning you around to see a floor littered in heavy white roses. “These are not… normal.”

You can hear Blue rambling on the other side of the room.

Anonymous asked: M A G I C flowers, mayhaps?

“I was not trained for magic flowers!” cries Red. “Blue, what the hell is happening?”

florenceisfalling asked: flowers? marvin/blue, is everything okay?

“Everything’s good! I feel good! I feel great! I feel powerful! Is this what Anti always feels like?”

Blue is standing in Trick and Doktor’s nest, laughing. The sun casts him into golden light. He’s wearing a pair of Red’s sweatpants and a white t-shirt. Through it, you can see heavy bandaging, but he doesn’t move like he’s injured.

“Blue,” cries Red, worried. “Sit down and let’s figure this out, please.”

“What are you so worried about?” giggles Blue, turning to him with arms spread wide. Blood swells through the cloth of his shirt and stains it red. “Isn’t Anti your little puppetmaster? Aren’t you happy to see me like this? Aren’t you happy, Red?”

Red has gone pale; his eyes flicker across the rapidly blooming flowers with a low anxiety in his eyes.

Anonymous asked: Oh god, I hope blue won't be in trouble...

Red clutches at his hair, hurrying towards Blue on the other side of the room, though he rarely crosses into Trick and Doktor’s territory.

“Come down,” he urges, grabbing Blue’s hands. “Come on, come down. I don’t know how Anti will react to seeing this. You need to come down and let’s - let’s tear these up.”

“Tear up my flowers?” whines Blue. “Why, why?”

“You’re - Blue, I think you’re hurting yourself, you’re high. It’s okay, let’s just take a break, okay?”

Blue groans, throwing his head back. “No, no, no, I feel good - I feel good - I feel good, I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

“You’re bleeding, bud.”

“Bud?” Blue blinks and startles, staggering slightly amid Trick and Doktor’s blankets. “Bud?”

Red glances at you, then back at Blue. “Um, yeah. Bud. Are you doing okay?”

Marvin’s face has gone very white. He stares at Red, beginning to feel ill. “Been a long time since you called me bud,” he mumbles, staring at him.

Anonymous asked: red, make him sit down. he's going to crash at some point and it won't be pretty. the euphoria will wear off and he'll be humiliated

“Fuck,” hisses Red. “You’re right, I - Blue?”

Marvin’s crumpling to his knees, his hands clutching at the bloody cut beneath his arm. “No, no, no,” he groans, shaking his head. “No, no, I feel good.”

Red grabs him as he shakes his way to his knees, scooping him into his arms like he weighs nothing. He’s thin and trembling in his grip, and Red ignores the confused cry that he gives, turning around to haul him back behind the island.

“You need to lie down,” he commands, setting his twin on the bag.

“No, no!” shrieks Blue, scratching at his bandages. “No, I feel good! I don’t know what’s happening! Where’s Anti? I want Anti! Go get Anti!”

“Blue, be quiet!” cries Red, panicked. “You could get in trouble, you could get hurt! I don’t know what he’ll think of this! Please, just lie quiet!”

“I don’t want to lose my mind!” Marvin shrieks, gripping at his hair. “I don’t want to lose my mind, I don’t want to be his little whore! I’m not a pet, I’m not a toy! What’s happening to me?”

Red slams his hand down hard on the wood beside Marvin’s head, crushing a violet back into the floorboards.

Blue flinches hard, gasping, and stares up at him. Red leans in close.

“You stay quiet,” he hisses. “So I can keep you safe. I’m not asking. Do you fucking understand me?”

Blue blinks, shaking.

“I don’t have to stick my neck out for you,” snaps Red. “I don’t have to. I don’t know why I care. It’d be so much easier not to care. About you, about Doktor, about Trick. I want so badly to hate you. You have no fucking idea.”

Blue’s eyes well with tears.

“But I can’t. all I can do is keep you as safe as I can. As full as I can. As happy as I can. As obedient as I can, so you don’t all get your idiot asses fucking killed. So lie quiet. Do you understand me?”

Marvin’s mouth trembles. “Yes,” he manages finally. “Yes, okay.”

Red breathes deep, struggling to control his temper. Blue’s face is changing rapidly, euphoric one second, exhausted the next, but he’s stopped yelling and running around, and the flowers are no longer spreading.

“Okay then,” whispers Red.

He touches the side of his face. Blue reaches out to take his hand. Red draws it away.

“Okay.”

spicydanhowell asked: you said you love him marv. is that true?

“L-love who?” Marvin stammers, curling in on himself, clutching at his bandaged ribs. “Who - Anti?”

He tries to breathe, sinking down against his sleeping bag. “Of course,” chokes Blue. “Of course, of course I love him, why - why won’t he come back and hold me again? I don’t feel well… I feel good, I feel so good…”

Anonymous asked: This house has been struck with a bad case of delirium today

Red turns to you, grinning coldly. “You’d be fucking surprised,” he says, his voice shaking. “Just how often that happens.”

Anonymous asked: How’s Marvin, or perhaps Blue, doing back at the house?

Anti stops short on the path outside their house, his grip tightening on Doktor’s shoulder. Doktor blinks and looks up, startled to see grasses grown tall around the walls of the house, flowers bursting up through cracks in concrete and the muddy dirt of the lawn.

“Anti?” asks Trick behind him, fearful. “What’s going on?”

Anti’s eyes flicker as he searches across his cameras.

“Nothing to be worried about,” he murmurs, resuming his calm walk back towards the house. “We’ll just have to figure out how to get a leash on this.”

Trick hurries up beside him and then reach the house together, peering in the open doorway. “Blue?” calls Trick. “Red? What’s going on?”

Red pokes his head up over the island. Anti’s eyes narrow.

“Cat doing okay?” he asks.

“Yes, Anti,” says Red, looking pale.

“Did he do this?”

“The flowers, yes, Anti, I think so.”

“You didn’t stop him.”

“I woke him up, Anti.”

“Woke him up?”

“He did it while he was dreaming. Started tossing and turning and all the flowers came up.”

Anti relaxes slightly, stepping closer to Red and rounding the island, finding Blue stretched out on the sleeping bag, exhausted. “Poor kitty,” he purrs, crouching down beside him. Blue smiles shakily and reaches up to grip his hand. Anti kisses the back of his wrist, humming. “Still mine, baby?”

“Of course, of course…”

“How long did it take the flowers to come up, Red?”

Two minutes, probably. “Bout half an hour, Anti.”

Anti nods, considering. “Okay,” he says, finally. “Blue, I don’t want this happening if you can help it, okay?”

“Okay, Anti,” murmurs Blue, looking ashamed.

“We’ll fix the bad dreams, okay? No more flowers.”

“No more flowers,” whispers Blue, eyes downcast.

Anti gets back to his feet, turning back to his right hand. “I have work to do,” he says. “Don’t disturb me again.”

“Yes, Anti.”

“Dok’s in one of his close-offs. Don’t let him wander or hurt himself.”

“Yes, Anti.”

“And keep a better eye on your twin if you want to keep him.”

Red does not so much as shift. There is no fear in his eyes. He never shows anything to his master.

“Yes, Anti.”

Anti clucks his chin. “Good boy,” he murmurs, and then, with a flash of static glitching, he is gone again.

Doktor and Trick stand in the doorway, staring at the flowers. Red, shaking minutely, falls to his knees and grips at his hair.

Anonymous asked: How many times can Dapper go back and fix things though? Seems like he gets fatigued pretty quickly.

Dapper is picking up the tiny flowers all over his room. He has transitioned from confused to delighted and he is smiling brightly, darting across the room in pursuit of the next flower and carefully pulling it up from the floor. Occasionally, he seems to forget that there’s a rope around his throat, and he’ll trip over it and yank on his throat, which has begun to turn blue as the crocus.

“Why do you ask? Do you need to redo something?”

He jumps onto his bed and begins arranging the flowers he’s collected in careful lines. “Fatigued pretty quickly. I - I get dizzy very often. But please, don’t tell anyone I tire too fast. I’m supposed to be very powerful and big brother doesn’t like it when I can’t go any farther.”

He sighs and pauses in his flower arrangements, grimacing.

“The number of times I can go back changes based on how far back you need me to go. Four hours is usually what Anti asks. I can do that about six times… but I told Anti eight.”

Dapper stares down at his fingers.

“I don’t like to disappoint him.”

Anonymous asked: red, someone needs to be taking care of him while he's hysterical like this. where are trick and doktor?

“Fuck, I should have gone looking for them earlier,” says Red. “Before Anti had to do it. I…didn’t look after them.”

He rises to his feet, pausing only to grab at his bandaged head, which has begun to ache again. He needs more rest than he’s getting. He never gets any rest.

“You two okay?” he asks sharply, turning to the twins.

Trick and Doktor stare back. Truth be told, they look the worse for the wear, and Red feels a surge of fear at the thought that Anti was hitting them again - Trick only looks this dejected after a beating, and Dok’s turned off completely, something Red has come to view as a small mercy - but Trick, at least, still has enough fire to snap at him.

“Like you fucking care,” he grumbles.

“Shut up,” snaps Red, but, truth be told, he’s grateful to see him still fighting. “What happened to Dok? He doesn’t close off like that for nothing.”

Trick’s eyes well up with tears. Humiliated, he gives no answer, stalking away from Red and returning to his nest, as usual, as always, and takes his gun back into his hands, shoving lilies off the grip. Red blinks, surprised to see him go without dragging his twin after him, but he doesn’t have time for that now.

“Dok,” calls Red, moving closer to him. “Do you think you can look at Blue for me? They’re right, he needs some help.”

Doktor shifts on his feet, breathing a little oddly. Nevertheless, he manages to look up. “Some help?” he repeats raspily, pushing at his glasses.

Red sighs. “Yeah, Dok, I need you to look after Blue.”

“Who… I don’t know a Blue…”

“The magician, Dok.”

Doktor blinks. Shifts. And, suddenly, wakes up again.

“Oh, Blue!” he cries, already hurrying towards the island. “Fuck dammit, Red, tell me a little sooner next time!”

Red throws up his hands, exasperated. “Just take it easy, okay, you had another one of your little breakdowns. Thanks a lot for running off, by the way.”

“One of my little - I don’t have breakdowns.” Doktor readjusts his glasses and reaches Blue’s side. “Ah! You have got blood everywhere. Shirt off, let’s get cleaned up then, yeah? Good Doktor is here. Good Doktor is right here.”

In the corner, Trick turns his face to the window, so nobody can see him cry.

Anonymous asked: is doktor all right? who will look after him and blue? has he ever hurt himself or anyone before?

“I’m fine, of course! I don’t know what you’re all going on with all this worry. Trick and I just… I think we went for a walk. And now we are back, yes? So no need to worry.”

Red sighs and sits down beside him and Blue.

“Dok, are you sure you’re okay?” asks Blue, in a soft voice. “Did something happen?”

Doktor blinks and draws back, his eyes momentarily foggy again, but he returns to himself right away. “It’s you we should be worried about, Blue. Anti can be overwhelming the first time, yes? And these cuts… tsk, tsk. Let’s get cleaned up. Need new stitches.”

Red puts a hand on the back of Doktor’s neck. “Clean him up and I’ll let you pick something out from the store, okay?”

Doktor whirls on him, a desperate relief in his face. “Gloves? Like you said? So Trick doesn’t lose his fingers clutching that gun all night?”

Red nods, considering. “Sure, yeah.” He’s too exhausted to disagree anyway. He just needs to keep them together, functioning, quiet and easily ignored, before they reach the ends of Anti’s patience.

“Now you’re talking,” grins Dok, pulling out gauze and sutures. “Fuck, you all need to stop getting hurt! Why is this family so goddamn accident prone? Clumsy disasters that you all are.”

He ignores the second half of your question. But Trick’s camera is running too, and he turns you toward him, his eyes puffy and red and angry, tears streaming down his face.

“He’s not okay,” he croaks out. “He hurts himself a lot, you have no - you have no idea, his nightmares are like torture, I…”

He breaks off, rubbing his face, whimpering.

“I’m so tired of living like this,” he whispers, and sets his head down beside his gun, closing his eyes.

musical-in-theory asked: Marvin? Please you have to come back to us! You can’t let him win like this!

Blue nods slowly, staring at you. A flicker of anguish runs over his face. “I know there’s something I’m supposed to be remembering,” he moans. “But everything keeps coming and going.”

“Hey, calm down,” murmurs Doktor, brushing hair from his eyes. “The first time is scary, is overwhelming. But soon…”

Marvin reaches up to cling to his hand, staring at him with tears in his eyes.

“Soon it all vanishes behind you. A few weeks, okay? And then the pain stops.”

Marvin chokes, staring up at Red, who stares back, at a loss for what to say to the great ocean of fear in his face.

“Is this what you think painlessness is?” he cries. “Is this what he’s made you believe is happiness? My brothers - my brothers - my brothers, made like slaves.”

Doktor pauses, taken aback, but Red does not flinch. What can Marvin say that he has not asked himself a hundred times over? It doesn’t matter. He has to learn his place. He has to adjust to this. And Red knows, knows all too well, that if he is not there to reinforce everything his master does, his little brothers will not bend right.

The price of life is silence.

Red reaches forward, face blank, and touches his finger to Marvin’s mouth. Shh.

And Blue, crying, obeys him.

musical-in-theory asked: Hey Anti! You’ll never be shit, glitch! You’re just like your father!

“Hmm,” says Anti, padding up the stairs towards his work room. “That’s a good one. But you know, I think Jack’s favorite was… fuck, do you remember it? ‘I smell like beef.’ Ha ha!”

He steps into his room and sits down on the blood-stained wooden chair in the middle, staring at you, face cold. Then there is a flicker across your vision, a glitch across the whole room, and you are staring, suddenly, at a recording room you have seen many times before - grey walls, a green padded chair, and a very familiar face in the middle.

Anti just looks like Jack. He smiles cheerily, his movements more energetic, his face bright and enthusiastic.

“I can do a very good Jack impression!” he tells you. “He loved memes, he loved jokes like that! What a goof! I learned all about what he liked when I was living in his head. He was always so… cheerful. I guess that’s the one thing I never understood. He was happy to be alive.”

He glitches again and he’s wearing a PMA hoodie, his face pensive. “And so… so very full of fears.”

Anti shrugs, hums, considers.

“I know everything about him,” he says. “I know everything. Do you think you would like it, being born already having been another person? Being everything he hates about himself, everything he’s afraid of? I guess I am like my father. Isn’t that funny? Isn’t that so funny? You’ll never be shit, goose… what was that game he played, with the goose running around… he thought it was so funny… he was so happy to be alive…

“Oh, well. You can mock me if you want. It doesn’t mean much. I’ve won. What’s a hate comment after all that? He had twenty million viewers to watch him fail his little toys, his precious little characters. And the irony is that you’re still watching. That you’d still be watching, even if he wasn’t here, calling me jack shit to make yourself feel better about the fact that… well… you lose.”

The illusion fades away. He sits in his chair, blood-stained, and watches you. His eyes are blue.

“You lose,” he says, softly. He looks tired. “You lose. There is nothing… nothing he can do to change that…”

Anonymous asked: He treats them like animals. Why?

Anti sits back, frowning. “How else would I treat them?” he asks. “Don’t you know I was somebody’s pet once too? Let off the leash once a year, so you could all rack up his view count. Now his little darlings belong to me, and I’m the master. I’m the one in charge.”

He turns away from you, shaking his head. Closes his eyes. His body is translucent. “I’m the one in charge,” he whispers. “I am, I am, I am… he can’t find me… me and my pets… I’m the one in control. That will never change again.”

Anonymous asked: Okay, Jack can't find you... But are you able to find Jack? Seems you aren't interested in doing so, but is that just out of general disinterest or are you actively avoiding him?

Anti stands up, grabbing the camera. “No more talking about this,” he hisses, abandoning you on the other side of the room and turning back to his computer, his teeth gritted tight in his mouth.

musical-in-theory asked: Anti, Jack never even wanted you. You aren’t one of his egos. The fans made you and he played along. You aren’t their brother. You never could be.

The screen explodes into static and a terrible shrieking rings through the connection like a scream.

“Not one of his egos? Not one of his egos? Do you think you’re fucking funny? I’m wearing his goddamn face! He made me! He put silver in his hands, that was him, that was him! Like he didn’t choose me! Not their brother, I - ”

Screaming, Anti rises to his feet, flashing between dog and man. Downstairs, Trick, Dok, and Red react immediately, scrambling for hiding places, with Red shoving Blue into the corner of the island and Doktor hurrying towards Trick. Dapper, in his room, snaps to attention, getting down from the bed, confused by the noise of his brother’s rage - he isn’t as used to taking the brunt of his rage, and so he doesn’t react fast enough.

Anti grabs him by the rope on the back of his throat and yanks him in front of the camera, shaking him. “Does this not look like my brother? Is that what you fucking think? Huh?” He slaps Dapper’s cheek and his little brother gasps, making a small, desperate clicking noise with his tongue, the best form of begging he has with his hands held up to his throat, trying to stop the rope from cutting further into his bleeding throat.

“What, you think Jack wanted him more than me? Like he wasn’t half-dead by the time he created him? Like he was anything more than a last-ditch attempt at protection?”

He hauls Dapper back towards him, grabbing his face and forcing him to look up to him. “Jack didn’t want you!” he screams. “Jack didn’t give a fuck about you! He just needed a time traveler to fix his mistakes! You were nothing! You are nothing!”

The power he’s emitting is not only glitching across the camera, it’s physically burning the screen. His eyes are black. Dapper’s eyes are black too, he squirms, his fingers grappling for his clock, and then he reaches it, and then -

As is usual to indicate that Dapper has turned back time, a previous post was reblogged with Dapper’s addition. In this case, Dapper reversed to the time of the post where Red told Blue to be quiet and Blue, crying, obeyed him. Any events between that time and this have been undone in the timeline.

Upstairs, Dapper is panting hard, lying on his bed with his flowers on the window, clutching the rope around his throat in one hand, and his clock in the other.

It’s okay. He’s okay. He undid it. He undid it. He’s okay.

“Please don’t tell him that again,” he begs, and then, shaking, he staggers off his bed, and crawls beneath, hiding himself in his arms, clutching a blue crocus flower in his hand.

Anonymous asked: ANTI YOU"RE FUCKING HOT

“Well, as Jack would say - ” Anti reaches up to turn off the camera. “That’s enough internet for me today.”

Moderator’s note: I would just like you all to know that that ^ is the most popular post on this blog as of January 2020.

Anonymous asked: Hey, Cha- Trick. It’s hard for you, and I understand that. I have no clue. But I have a feeling something good is coming. Keep hope, dude. I believe in you!

Trick glances up, his mouth trembling. “You really think that? I could use something good coming.”

He glances up at finds Doktor coming towards him, clutching triumphant blueberry bagels in his hands, a reward for cleaning Blue up. Mouth tightening white, eyes watery, Trick turns back to his window and focuses on his scope.

“Trick, let’s have dinner,” says Doktor, coming up behind him and sitting down in their blankets, tearing his bagel into slices. “Did we eat this morning? I feel so hungry.”

He holds out the bagel, but Trick doesn’t have it to look up. Confused, Dok knocks his shoulder, and Trick jumps hard, jerking away from him.

Doktor draws back, confused.

“Bad day?” asks Doktor, bewildered. “Hurt? Let me see.”

Trick shakes his head, biting down on his lip hard.

Doktor sits back, mouth slightly agape.

Anonymous asked: Holy shit, that was actually kinda scary

Dapper draws you close to his chest, lying under the bed, hiding, nodding. You can hear him crying softly, but it doesn’t last long. He’s tired. Doesn’t have him in it to be upset.

He hates the isolation. He hates the isolation. And, yes, he’s scared out of his mind, he’s always scared out of his mind, unless he’s losing it - but the fact is that even if there were anyone in the world who cared about him, he’d still be alone right now, because no one else knows what just happened.

He wishes… he wishes…

There’s a soft caw, caw in the window.

Anonymous asked: trick, how does he hurt himself? please be strong. i know you don't have it easy, but doktor will be himself again soon and you'll make up

Trick wipes at his eyes, grabbing one of the blankets he usually shares and dragging it over his shoulder. Doktor’s retreated to the five stairs that lead to the nest, giving him space.

“Dok gets scared,” he rasps. “Angry. Confused. He has these nightmares… or this one nightmare, anyway, over and over again. I keep watch. He scratches at his arms. And then sometimes, when he’s awake…”

Trick grits his teeth, groaning to himself. “When he goes dead, like that he - he scares me so much. I never know what he’ll do. Once he got his scalpel out and I found him - he used to be a heart surgeon, you know, he must have thought - it was awful. But he’s never…”

He trails off into tears, hiding his face from you.

“He’s never attacked me before… I didn’t think he - I thought Doktor was safe… the only one that was safe… We’re supposed to take care of each other. Fuck, why did I fucking grab him? I’m so stupid. I’m so sorry, you don’t have to listen to this.”

He shoves the camera slightly away, sobbing. “This is all my fault, fuck.”

florenceisfalling asked: trick, it's not your fault. it isn't, i promise. you're doing so well, people need you. people care for you. i promise. i would suggest listening to music to make you feel better, but i don't know if thats an option for you guys...?

Trick blinks. “Oh… oh, I’d love some music… Red has the little mp3 player, Anti gives it to him sometimes when he has to go on missions far away…”

He sighs, glancing back at his brothers. He can hear Blue and Red talking softly in their corner. It’s… really strange. He’s never heard Red speak so softly to anyone.

“Things change when you have a twin,” he murmurs. “Because… you’re right. Someone does need me. Someone does care for me.“

His eyes well up again. He curses himself for how easily he cries. It’s never done him much good in his life. “But you don’t think - do you think - do you think he grabbed me like that on purpose? Do you think he - ” He covers his mouth with his hands, dropping the gun. Doktor jumps, turning to stare at him, alarmed now.

“Do you think he hates me too?”

Anonymous asked: Trick, things are changing and they're changing quickly. It's a lot, and it's scary. Everyone's stressed and adjusting, and sometimes things get out of hand. Give it time, let things settle. The good changes will stay. The bad ones, we'll just have to work through until they're better, okay? Keep your brothers close.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s true. So much is changing, I don’t - I feel like everything got so out of hand so fast. I need to work through it, I gotta work through this.” He groans and wipes desperately at his soaking face. “Why am I always such a mess? I try so hard to keep it together, then I fuck up again and everyone sees me crying like a baby… no wonder I’m the least favorite.”

He sniffles and pulls his blankets in tighter. “Keep my brothers close… I… I need him, I just don’t know how to stop thinking about his hands around my neck…”

nikkilbook asked: Trick, I think he DID think he was keeping you safe. Remember, he was saying something about you, about not hurting Trick. He didn’t realize you were you. He was trying to find you, keep you safe. He wasn’t putting you in your place. He was trying to look out for you, just like you were trying to look out for him when you took him outside.

Trick’s eyes clear slightly. He rubs at his eyes. “That’s true,” he whispers. “He was calling for me. He always calls for me when he’s afraid, you know… not for Anti, not for Red. Just for me.”

He relaxes slightly, staring out the window. He’s looked out on these trees so many times he thinks it would have driven him insane if he were alone. At least he always had someone to lie next to him, to talk about nothing and everything with. At least he’s had someone to live for.

“I keep him safe,” he mumbles. “That’s why I get up in the morning. I keep him and Anti safe. We look out for each other. Even though what happened today sucked ass.”

Anonymous asked: Do you guys ever talk about what you're feeling? I think some communication would help you guys right now, if not with us, at least with each other.

“Trick,” calls Dok, softly, from the stairs.

Trick glances at you, biting hard on his lip.

“Can we talk?” asks Dok.

It takes Trick a long moment to answer. He shakes, his hands clenched tight.

And then they loosen, releasing the gun.

“Yeah,” he whispers, turning back to him. “Yeah, I want that.”

End Section Two of Chapter One.

Find this chapter’s masterlist here.

#the way that we live #abuse between brothers tw #hypnosis tw #abuse tw #writers of jack

32 notes · View notes

imagine-loki · 5 years

Text

Eating Crow

Title: Eating Crow

Rating: M

Author: ckoehlrbm

Prompt: Imagine Loki faking his death in order to go undercover.

Chapter: 1/? (Four intended chapters, but we all know what they say about intentions.)

Note: Please be kind. This is my first multi-chapter Loki fic. I have submitted several imagines and some one-shots, but fingers crossed our Emerald King will behave just slightly for me while writing this!

Chapter One: Breaking

Air wasn’t supposed to taste like it burned, but this did. It prickled at the skin as she reached out desperately, trying to stop the inevitable.

She had once watched a quarter balance on its side at the entrance to a sewer. Spinning and tantalizing, she knew instinctively she had no hope of catching the quarter, even at her small size. She was seven and closer to the ground than the grown man who had dropped the coin, but as it wobbled ever so carefully, she knew it would fall.

Even as she reached out to Loki now, she knew he would fall. She wasn’t tall enough to stretch to reach him, even as she screamed for him to hold on. Give her one more moment. She could almost brush her fingers against his. Don’t fall. Please don’t fall. She was almost there….

The snap of her spine widened her eyes as she heard it. She tried still to reach but she could no longer see Loki’s fingers….

Alys woke with a scream of “NO! LOKI!” and tried to bolt upright, forgetting for a moment that she no longer had that ability. It was lost to her as much as her legs were lost to her. She felt cold enter her heart again and the desire to weep was present, but the soul-deep need to cry was absent. It had been for a long while now. She had learned a valuable lesson.

You could love someone so hard that their absence rendered your soul into a pile of shreds and every breath hurt…. But you could live with that hurt.

That fateful day, a sword of one of the ancient dead had severed her spine, narrowly missing her esophagus and stomach. That hadn’t hurt so much as knowing that she had failed Loki, failed to be there the one time he truly needed her. As Hela’s troops had overrun the Bifrost, slaughtering Asgardians, she had been focused on saving him and she had failed…

And countless souls had perished for her efforts. Not that anyone was as crass as to openly blame her for the deaths that she had not prevented.

Thor had been her companion during her recovery, lifting her to and from bed as needed. The blond giant of a male had cradled her in those too-large, seemingly too-clumsy hands as if she were a precious bird and murmured about how he would always be around to help the sister of his heart. That surely Valhalla awaited her and the Valkyries would shake before her might.

Tony had designed her wheelchair thanks to a partnership between Stark Industries and an Israeli tech firm that permitted her to fight on her feet if she needed to. Her house was now a smart house, powered by the same tech that fuelled the Stark Industries building in Manhattan, and completely disabled friendly. Tony had sent in crews of workmen to make sure that she had every available comfort once she was discharged from the hospital.

Rhodey had been a guardian angel and punched the guy who called her a ‘rapeable freak’. Which was partially Rhodey’s fault since he had set up the date, but Alys didn’t blame him for other people’s idiocy. An ableist was going to be an ableist, an asshole would be an asshole.

Pepper… Pepper Potts was God’s own personal assistant. She managed everything, found live-in help, made sure maintenance was done, that Alys’ stipend from being ‘Avenger support staff’ wasn’t terminated when she was disabled, coordinated Alys’ medical care, arranged for interviews with world-class surgeons on the incredibly generous Stark Employee Health Plan, found a therapist for her to speak with when grief and hopelessness had spiraled Alys into a suicide attempt…. Pepper Potts deserved sainthood for the way she simply handled everything and then hugged you so tight that you almost couldn’t breathe for the feeling of being home.

Wanda had taken time to make sure she ate. There were soups, native Sokovian foods, some things that Vision had helped the young woman make. They were still frequent guests and most welcome. Wanda never made her feel helpless and Vision was careful to state that she was still Alys, even if she couldn’t walk. She didn’t need legs to use her brain and be herself.

Natasha gave her physical therapy to make sure her legs didn’t fully atrophy. Alys had not seen the point and had verbally expressed a wish to kick the Russian assassin numerous occasions when she felt pain from her legs being moved around. Natasha had been quick to tell her that even feeling pain was a good sign that perhaps there could be some recovery of movement. They had cried together the first time she moved her big toes, celebrating with ice cream and a rousing rendition of ‘Wait For It’ from the Hamilton musical. Of course, they had done that DURING the show, which the cast had not exactly appreciated until Tony had cleared up the misunderstanding. After that, Alys had a standing invite to join the show during matinees.

Steve had been a sweetheart the entire time, but never more so than the first time she had tried to get out of the tub by herself and ended up falling face first in the bathroom. She had screamed her frustration, weeping helplessly because she could not get into her wheelchair when it was RIGHT THERE! She should have been strong enough to do this SIMPLE task, but she wasn’t. Her legs were laying behind her like limp noodles.

The super soldier had entered the bathroom and blushed at her nudity before handing her a robe and helping her get situated on the edge of the tub. Then, with as much care as Thor, he lifted her, bypassed the wheelchair, and took her straight to her bedroom, sitting her at her vanity. “You know, there was a girl with polio in the apartment next to my mother’s. I would watch her and do her hair at times. I learned that women never feel quite right unless their hair is on point.” That said, he snagged her brush and began to comb out her brunette locks until they shone before braiding them deftly and tying it off with a green ribbon.

She smiled at the fond memories of her team putting the pieces of her back together. They had done what had seemed impossible at one point. She originally had not wanted to live in a world where Loki wasn’t there. They had persevered and won her over, though, and now she could not imagine anything else.

Alys rose for the day and with the help of her live-in aid, Brigid, bathed, dressed, and cooked her morning meal. There was a serenity in knowing that she wasn’t alone, that if she fell out of her chair there was someone there…. That her team was a shout away, that FRIDAY was watching out for her.

There was a knock on the door and Alys frowned. She wasn’t expecting anyone…. She looked at Brigid who shrugged and went back to tending the start of the evening pot roast. Alys eyed it to make sure it was large enough for everyone they were expecting before gesturing silently to Brigid to get the other one out as well. If Banner made an appearance, they would need more food.

When the brunette opened the door, she couldn’t help but stare. This could not be happening. Not again. Not when she had worked so hard to get beyond this…

Green eyes stared at her in adoration, black hair was smoothed back and flowing loose down his back. He was bittersweet trouble like dark chocolate ice cream- delicious temptation.

Alys felt herself tremble as she gazed up at him, felt the burn of tears even as she shook her head. “No. Not this. Not this dream. Please. Sweet merciful gods, not this dream….”

“My queen, my love, what dream?”

Her breath came faster and she closed her eyes, trying to regain control. She had to remember what Dr. Finklestein said. The dreams were because of the trauma. The trauma was because she had lost him so quickly. The loss still affected her, even five years later. She needed to breathe and find her center so she could exit the dream.

“You died, Loki. That day on the Bifrost. You died, my love. I’m so sorry. I know I was supposed to try to save you, but I couldn’t. This is a dream and Dr. Finklestein says that they should not still be occurring. I need this to stop, Loki. Oh, my love... “ She was rambling, even in her own head. There was so much to tell Loki, to let him know, to affirm her love still burned…

The tears were flowing down her cheek and she could taste the salt of them. They were bitter, but she could not stop them. Her arms came around her body even as her chair moved back, away from the door. She was allowing him in, even as she screamed for Brigid.

The nurse was a tall red-head, frizzy haired, friendly, bright, and personable. “Miss Crow? Are you well?”

“Brigid, this is a dream. It has to be. It’s a dream. Wake me. I can’t wake up. Please. It’s not real. He’s not here. I know he’s not here.”

“Miss Crow, you’re hyperventilating. It does look like we have a guest. Breathe for me. Slow. An eight count, miss. In, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…. Hold, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight… Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight… Again, Miss Crow.” Thus being distracted by the order to simply breathe, she listened to Brigid turn to their guest.

“And who are you to so upset Miss Crow? Do you know who she is? This is Alys Crow, hero of Asgard, personal friend to the Avengers! She has Tony Stark and King Thor on speed dial. Do we need to call them?”

Loki’s voice was darkly amused, sweet sinful velvet. “You could call my brother or the Man of Iron, but neither of them could keep me away from my queen. In fact, do call the Man of Iron. Call my brother. Both of them know I am here.”

Alys’ brain was racing. This was looking more and more like a reality. A reality where Loki lived. Where Loki publicly called her queen rather than whispering it heatedly in her ear as he commanded her body like a king. Thor and Tony both knew he was here?

How had this happened?

The answer came to her so quick that she could not bottle up the rage that flooded her body. She reached out, grabbed a Waterford vase and threw it at Loki as hard as she could. “You lying BASTARD!” she screamed out as crystals shattered around Loki. “You lied to me! TO ME?! You DARED! LIE! TO! ME!”

He was staring at her like he had never seen her before. More specifically, he was staring at her chair. The look on his face was horror and Alys felt her heart shatter even further.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1VDUlDgOqCRt5AB-mOeBSwl-NyuAWDuFzFPc7zsn3Slk/edit?usp=drivesdk

#Loki #Lover #Angst #Others #Submitted fic #submission #ckoehlrbm #eating crow

65 notes · View notes

crazed-rambling · 4 years

Text

The Devil Went Down To Georgia

Not that anyone would know but they say the Devil plays a golden fiddle.

But once again no one who meets the Devil is really capable of coherent speech, let alone a discussion about the Devil’s musical preferences. Still rumours persist. As they always do, you have to remember a rumour, you can find proof of a fact but the only way to know a rumour is to hold it close.

Rumours and Devils non withstanding; even the dead will dance to tunes from a golden string. More worryingly it is entirely possible for the living to dance until they join them, and long after that. Flesh bleeding to bone, feet pounding the ground until bone is dust. If you were to ask her father, he would say that it is impossible for a body to dance with no breath that no feet could move with flesh and muscle torn away. And he’d tell you stories from the battlefields, just to get his point across, how men grew cold and stiff, blood seeping from bullet wounds, men who would never dance again. He’d tell the sort of stories that made little girls cry hard enough to never ask unwanted questions again.

Years on the battlefield should have shown my father how little say he has in the realm of the dead, for all his anger no man has ever ceased to bleed on his command. And so despite his protests; the dead dance. But only for the right musician.

There’s no real explanation for why it happens, but one day a musician will start to play even the simplest of tunes and the notes are engraved in your very bones. You’re spinning, turning, pounding feet, screams on your lips, blood on the ground and you’re dancing, dancing, dancing. You’d dance you shoes to tatters, then your soles and the spilt blood just makes the dance harder. Dance until you drop, give every last breath you have, then drag your corpse off the ground to dance among the living once more. They find them sometimes, before they give out, before they’re nothing more than hollow marionettes jerked by invisible strings until even they shatter. They’re easy to find. They scream. Until they don’t. But only sometimes, towns are distant and even if they weren’t; if you can hear the screams you still might hear the music. Better to leave the dying to the dead than join them.

Sometimes it’s a stranger, worse are the times when they are not. Worse are the times when they walk into town one day just a little different than the day before and pick up their bow. Maybe people will gather, these musicians were always incredible, and no one will notice the fifth string glinting gold. At least not at first. And that is all we know about them.

If you listen to the church, they’re witches, man and woman alike who cast God aside for power. But as the pastor preaches, claiming I am somehow subservient to my father, my brothers and any unknown husband they deem suitable I can’t help but think that maybe these so-called witches had the right idea. If I’m to get into bed with a devil, better for it to be the one I know.

Then the pastor says God is always watching over us and anger bleeds to fear. Denying my blasphemies in fevered pleas and begging for forgiveness. I have long since grown fluent in the ways of my mother, weak pleas and tears to soften blows, promises to soothe the monsters who you made your home. And yet as I pray, I hear the whispers. Lies. Lies. Are you lying to him? Are you lying to yourself? Or does truth taste of shortened breathes and thoughts that make sure to look behind before letting themselves be?

Church has always left me like this, all too aware that for all the wonder awe may bring, it brings fear in more than equal measure. Sunday mornings I could feel it build up, air trapped in a kettle too long, until all that is left is to scream. Kept caged behind closed lips and false pleasantries exchanged with neighbours as we filter into our homes. Most stay, I cannot.

With a murmur about meeting the local girls and a fiddle I should not own stashed under my arm I’m out the door. The first time I made the walk across the square I was all too aware of every window, every set of eyes which weren’t watching me and every glance that lingered too long for the weeks after. Now I know better, I know the free moments after church when everyone of far too focused on lunch to pay much attention to what any one girl might be doing. Just long enough to slip across the square, not to slow nor to fast, but brisk enough for people to assume that I had been sent by father to fetch something he had left behind, should they care to look. They never do. But I don’t slow down once reach the dirt road winding between our fields, looking over my shoulder, just in case, always just in case.

Just in case isn’t always enough.

Today I looked back and there is a man.

Today there is a stranger on the road. Dearing had no need for strangers and strangers had even less need for Dearing. Even we would make the journey to Allenhurst if we were in need of clothes or the sheriff, which we rarely are, small towns have their own justice. Justice as God intended, is what my father would say moments before he and his gun walked out the door. The shots echo. Still Dearing had nothing more than a dozen farm houses and a church to its name. This man appears to have little need of farms nor churches.

He dressed better than any man I’d seen around Dearing or even Allenhurst. I had watched as masters of the old plantation estates, grown rich in coin and blood before the war, rode through town. All crisp shirts and silks. Yet under the clothes they were just men like any other, maybe made prettier by privilege, but a few weeks in their fields would cure them of that. The stranger wore his clothes differently as though he could be wearing the same as any farm hand and it would not matter. That it was him, not the fine fabrics that made him well dressed. All black head to toe with not a speck of dust on him, despite the summer sun beating down hard enough to leave the earth brittle and flaking. Just the type to coat your boots and skirts no matter how careful you may be or slowly you may walk. Stranger still was his lack of sweat. The sun baked the entire road to Allenhurst, three miles with no respite, even men who had lived and worked the fields their entire lives would have sweat on their brow. Lord knows that my hurry to be unseen has imprinted the worst of summer on me along with all the grime and sweat that came with it. I must seem nothing before this man. Another simple farm girl caught dead in her tracks at the first sign of a handsome man. I wonder how many of me there have been? How many more will come?

Yet the man is also still, not ten paces from me. Standing languid before the sun, a golden fiddle held loosely in his grip, so natural as though he had always been there. A reflection of me if I had been born just a little bit more.

The man spoke for the first time with many voices, a full chorus of harmonies with every syllable carried so much further than it should down the dirt track. It left the uncomfortable feeling that the man and I were standing chest to chest, indecent in all the ways the church claims sinners should be. Followed by the somehow more uncomfortable realization that I would like to be closer still.

It takes another moment still to register his words, lost in the multitude of voices.

“I hear you’re the best. So sorry to take that title from you.” His voice, under all the others, was anything but sorry. The smile of his face more of a cat facing a cornered mouse than an apology.

“How about this? You win, the title is yours. I’ll even give you something more precious for your time. I win? You give me the most precious thing you hold.” He speaks as though offering me a favour, with no worry of losing anything of real importance. What is a loss to a rich man? What is a loss to a farm girl? My fingers tighten around the neck of my fiddle, hands clammy around the wood, at the very thought of this man taking it. Sensing my distress, he speaks again,

“You’re young, it’s not even much of a loss, you’ll hardly miss it. It makes life so much easier; you don’t have to worry about where you’re going, in the grand scheme of things. A life lived with no regrets, no one staring over your shoulder, prying through your head. And I promise you, win or lose it will change your life.”

Maybe it is because I am still a little enraptured by this man, maybe it is smallest spark of pride which leaves me unable to deny anything to a man who talent no one else cared to see. Maybe it is simply the desire to give the world a shove and see what change could unfold. Or maybe I didn’t think at all.

I nod my head.

The fiddle on his shoulders, a blinding point among the black, he raises his bow. And the strings screeched the most beautiful sounds, I had thought his voice a choir but it pales in comparison to this. As if the entire world ceased for a moment simply to hear him, only to crush you in its rush to return to its rightful place the moment he stops. My stranger played no song I’ve ever heard. I don’t imagine I’ll ever hear it again. The melody mattered little. This man had the same four strings I’d always played yet he carries nothing but awe in every note. Awe in all it’s terrifying glory. It was the type of song to make you weep.

Maybe I am. Unbidden tears rolling down my face, summoned by beauty, wonder and regret. What have I done? How can I compare to this, if even the memory of the melody leaves me paralyzed? How do I live if I cannot win? To return home missing a part of myself, invisibly maimed, to face screams clawing inside my throat silently. Will I silently marry, to silently serve and obey, until I am like my mother, never to face the sky until the day they lay me down?

And then the thought echoes in the space fear had hollowed, soft at first but growing louder with each reverberation. Not if I win. Not if I win. Not when I win.

This man has come to my home, a home which I know better than the rooms and streets I walk. Small and secretive but built from wood worn from years of use, blood spilt from strings too sharp, grips too tight, the feel of strings under my bow. This man says he’s better than me. Men tell me lots of lies, that I’m foolish, that I’m weak, how I need protection and guidance. If they saw my fiddle in my hand, they’d know that they are better than me, by the very nature of being men. Just one more lie. What do lies matter to me? What could these men know of me? When they do not even sense the fire they lit? The way it licks under my skin and screams. The cry of something kept too small for too long. Louder in my head than any curses of men.

Yet my stranger burnt a different kind of flame in me, the sort that drives pistons and moves worlds. He told no lies. I am good. I am the best. Half child half woman but no song of man sings sharper or faster than those drawn from my bow. He came because I am the best. He asked for proof and how could my pride give him anything less.

I breathe in. The world silences.

I raise by bow. The world is silent no more.

I am nothing like this man, I know nothing of awe and no song I could play would change that. So I play what I know, because I always have and because I know I am the greatest. The symphony of all my private sins; of hiking up my skirts and wading bare foot in the stream long after it was proper, of secret sips of whisky with farm hands behind the barns. Most importantly each time I picked up my fiddle again despite every warning that it was for God and men to create and that women should simply dance to their tune. A song of smiles hidden by lowed heads.

Life is both long and short; my song felt the same. Eternal as I played it, no sun on my back, no aching fire in my arms, and just once my father, my brothers, the preacher were quiet in my head. But all things must stop, even songs and the world must return. Except it doesn’t have to leave and I feel it building up in my chest, coursing through my veins, melodies to wash the fear away. Itching fingers itching to set them free.

I open my eyes unafraid. I have so many songs left in me and this man will not take them from me. I face my stranger with my head held high, ready to look him in the eyes and fight if I must for my victory. But I do not meet his eyes. He holds his hat in his hand, back bent, eyes low. He bowed. And there is nothing left of the lackadaisical demeanour he’d shown. Respect for the victor.

He looks up his face almost contorted into a grin, wider and sharper than any had a right to be. All teeth and manic eyes. Pupils blown wide in the way my fathers do when he’s gone to long without his medicine. Before it softens his edges and lets him sleep, the first puff brings nothing but a possessive euphoria. Frightening in its intensity, turned on me. And it feels like awe.

Mania is contagious, tangled in victory, in pride, infecting me with a thrumming indifference to everything but absolute joy. In this moment I understood nothing more than this man, his grin echoed in my own. As though the world extended no further than this track, this man. And it was perfect. And it all was mine.

Lowering my fiddle, I’m blinded, a flash of gold, here then gone leaving floating after images imprinted on my eyes. I rip my eyes from the intensity of my stranger’s gaze and see it glinting, the colour of greed in the midday light. A fifth and final string. The meaning sinks in, fear and pride and all its possibilities building upon mania, and I look up.

The road is empty. My stranger is gone. His euphoria remains, and my laughs resound in the summer air, loud and echoing into the sky as I turn towards town.

The pastor says God is always watching but now the shadow at my back feels more like my stranger than any god I’ve known. Walking at my heels and standing silent. Hushed and reverent as though praying. This man stands at my altar and he wants to hear every sound I make. Maybe the pastor is right and God is watching me. Maybe my stranger is my penance for all my heresies, smothered in their cradle before they saw the light of day. But I tire of slaughtering parts of myself for the eyes of men. From now on God and men may watch all they like, but they will listen.

Better yet, they will dance.

4 notes · View notes

inkjackets · 6 years

Text

But Promises Are Made To Be Broken

Here is the fic I wrote based on @skesgo’s reset au!!!

Summary: Sans and Papyrus were used to resets, but then monsters started to vanish. The world reset again and again, the underground’s numbers grew fewer and fewer… until finally there were only two monsters left.

And then only one.

Disclaimer: Reset AU and Reset!Blue belong to @skesgo. The events in this fic are NOT canon to their au, just merely inspired by it. (Go check out their amazing au and art HERE if you haven’t already!!)

The excerpt that Sans reads is from The Universe in Your Hand by Christophe Galfard.

Warnings: Major Character Death, Angst (like, a lot of it. like oh my god i am so so sorry why would you read this why would i write this), Graphic Grieving i guess? and just one f-word.

Word Count: 6234

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18214481

uhhhh enjoy?

——————

The innkeeper’s daughter had been the first to vanish. Sans would never forget that terrible morning.

The bone-chilling screams that shattered the morning air.

The raw desperation in the mother’s eyes.

Her pleading, her begging, her clawing at Papyrus’ hoodie to please do something. Find her! Bring her back! PLEASE!

They had spent hours searching in the forest. Sans had done his best to keep up moral and positivity and hope, but he hadn’t been able to dislodge the despair in everyone’s eyes. They all knew the search was futile.

For the child was gone.

Despite the strange circumstances, despite the distinct lack of dust, they knew that the child wasn’t coming back. The empty pyjamas laid out under the duvet covers, sleeves wrapped around the little toy bunny, was proof of that.

But Sans had soldiered on. He had kept searching until he had been the only one left. And would have kept going if Papyrus hadn’t forced him back to town.

Sans had cried out in protest. They couldn’t just do nothing!

Papyrus had silenced him with a single look. Tears had risen in Sans’ eyes but he’d understood. The child was gone, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t do something. Even if that something was incredibly painful. Even if that something was acceptance.

Sans had followed a pace behind Papyrus’ solemn figure back towards the inn. Papyrus paused outside the entrance. He laid a bony hand on the smooth wooden door before closing his eyes and taking a long drag from his cigarette. Sans took a moment to breathe as well. He inhaled deeply and let the icy air course through him, rinsing himself of unwanted emotion, before opening his eyes and bracing himself for what was to come.

Papyrus pushed the door open.

They found the mother crumpled next to the child’s bed. Hands clutching the duvet, damp from her tears. Sans’ heart fell as the flash of hope in her eyes faded when she saw their expressions. Papyrus knelt down next to her.

‘No, no, no.’ The mother shook her head. ‘She can’t be gone.’ Her voice grew hysterical. ‘There’s not even any dust! She can’t be gone! No, no…’ She collapsed onto Papyrus and burst into tears. Papyrus held her as she wailed into his shoulder. Sans tried his best to shove his emotions down but the mother’s grief was infectious. Within no time his cheeks were wet and shining with silent tears.

Eventually the mother’s sobs slowed. Papyrus helped her stand up.

‘Sans,’ Papyrus said without looking at him. Sans hastily wiped his eyes and gazed up at his brother. ‘Bring the child’s pyjamas and soft toy.’

Sans did as asked, gingerly gathering up the clothes and nestling the little bunny safely among them. Papyrus led them outside. There was a small crowd of concerned townsfolk standing in the snow. Papyrus spoke to them, but Sans didn’t hear what was said. He was too busy concentrating on holding the child’s belongings like they were the most delicate treasure in the world.

Because at that moment, they were.

The weeping mother clutched onto Papyrus as he traipsed into the forest. Sans followed. The villagers of Snowdin trailed behind. They walked and walked and walked. Sans lost track of time, focused on his task of holding the delicate treasure. He looked up only when Papyrus stopped. They had reached one of the most beautiful trees in the forest. It was more isolated than the others and stood in the middle of a small clearing. It was a magnificent thing. Its branches reached high and wide and glittered with ice and reflections from the cavern’s gemstones as its leaves hung gracefully down and fanned out over them, like it was protecting them from some hidden danger.

The crowd silently filtered out and around. It felt as if the whole underground were holding its breath. Sans felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up. His brother nodded and gave him a meaningful gaze. Sans knew what he had to do.

Sans walked forward, his lonely footsteps crunching in the snow, echoing. He knelt down and gently lay the child’s belongings at the foot of the tree. He stroked the bunny once before falling back to Papyrus’ side.

‘Now her essence will live on in the tree,’ Papyrus said softly.

The mother burst into tears.

Sans couldn’t remember how long they had all stood out in the silent snow, listening to the mother cry, praying that the bunny held enough of the child’s essence to allow her to live on.

~*~*~

The mother had vanished the following reset. Sans fell to his knees when he went to check on her. Papyrus closed his eyes and swore under his breath. Sans, apathy taking over his body, had gathered up the clothes and made his way out into the forest. Papyrus didn’t follow. Sans had lain the clothes next to the daughter’s and knelt in silence as the snow steadily soaked his trousers, numbing both his bones and his mind.

Three more piles of belongings had appeared that day.

Napstaton had started playing hopeful and uplifting speeches after the third reset. Sans had them all memorised by the ninth. Through his motivational music and inspiring sermons, Napstaton was successful at keeping up moral in the underground, however his demeanour suddenly changed after the eleventh reset. Sans couldn’t figure out why. Only two relatively unknown monsters had vanished that day: a monster known as Onion-san, and one called Mettablook.

The world reset again. And again. And again.

The little memorial site Papyrus had started grew. And grew. And grew.

Waterfall, Hotland, and New Home all started their own as numbers in the underground decreased.

Undyne had vanished on the twenty-third reset.

Papyrus had walked out the door under the pretence of buying cigarettes, but didn’t return. Sans spent hours searching for him all over the underground but hadn’t been able to find him. He eventually went home and sat on the couch, frozen stiff and wide-awake, until his brother came back. Papyrus finally returned a full twenty-four hours later, not smelling of cigarette smoke like usual, but of dog food. His eyes had been redder than usual, and the shadows under them deep.

On the twenty-fourth reset Alphys had vanished. Sans hadn’t believed it. Not Alphys. Not the strong fearless leader of the Royal Guard. No. She couldn’t… she can’t vanish.

‘Tell me it’s not true, Papyrus!’ He cried as both numbness and hysteria crawled through his bones. ‘PAPYRUS! PLEASE! Not Alphys!’ Tears streamed down his cheeks. ‘Not her! She can’t.’ He hadn’t been able to speak after that. The words got stuck in his throat as sobs wracked his body, wrought with pain. Papyrus held his brother tight. Neither of them had noticed the faint yellow glow in Sans’ eyes.

Three weeks into the thirty-ninth reset, Papyrus went missing. Sans knew he hadn’t vanished, but he still panicked as he ran all over the underground in search for him, terrible ‘what-if’ scenarios running riot in his head. Eventually Sans found him outside the entrance to the ruins, slumped against the wall and covered in dirt and brick-dust. The magnificent door had been reduced to rubble. There were damaged bones, both white and orange, half buried in the debris.

Sans ran up to his brother but halted when he saw the purple robe he held in his hands. Papyrus looked up at him, despair clouded his eyes and dirty tears streaked down his face. Sans sat next to his brother and embraced him. Papyrus had curled up and cried on his brother’s shoulder for what felt like an eternity.

The underground had fallen silent when Napstaton vanished. It was the fifty-first reset.

Sans had sat in front of the radio, just listening to the static on full blast.

‘You can’t sit there forever,’ Papyrus said.

Sans shook his head fervently. ‘He’ll be back. And I’ll be waiting for him.’

Silence. The sound of grief-stricken exhaustion. Then the slow thud of footsteps as Papyrus headed towards the door. A gust of cold wind washed over Sans as the door opened, momentarily filling the void within him, before gently clicking shut. Sans sat immobile and staring at the wall. His vision went blurry. His body grew numb. His head rang with the static’s anaesthetising buzz as he disassociated from reality. The blue in his eyes had faded as they gave way to yellow.

With every reset it was harder and harder to act like normal. But Sans tried, oh how he tried. He’d make breakfast every morning, chat happily with Papyrus, then go out and check his traps. But it was difficult when getting groceries meant raiding the ownerless store (though he always left gold on the counter, just in case). It was a struggle when Papyrus refused to get out of bed, and if he did he’d just sit on the front step and smoke the day away. It was impossible when checking the traps brought back memories of playing with Chara oh so many resets ago. Dreams of what could have been, what should have been, plaguing his mind as he sat huddled in the snow, gazing up at the caverns and imagining the stars.

The queen had vanished on the sixty-seventh reset.

‘Papyrus.’ Sans turned to face his brother, tears brimming in his eyes. ‘There must be a way to go back. To bring them all back.’

Papyrus held his brother’s gaze, unable to tell him the truth but not able to lie either. He said nothing.

‘I’ll bring them back! I’ll find a way!’ Sans cried in response to Papyrus’ silence, his voice taking on an edge of hysteria. ‘Even if I have to do it alone!’ Papyrus had pulled his distraught brother close and held him tight until both their shoulders were damp with each other’s tears.

The world reset relentlessly.

The underground’s numbers dwindled drastically.

Hope faded to a tenacious glimmer that existed solely in Sans’ yellow-blue eyes.

~*~*~

Sans slowly woke from his fitful sleep. He breathed a sigh of relief, the world hadn’t reset. Today was safe. He rolled out of bed and rearranged the sheets before throwing on some clothes and making his way downstairs to cook breakfast, just like normal.

It had been two months since the last reset, the ninety-second reset, and Sans still made every effort to act like he always had.

He hummed as he cooked. He ignored the lack of people outside and the silent radio, choosing instead to focus on enjoying the act of cooking: the whisking of fresh ingredients, the sizzle of oil in the pan, the buttery smell of pancakes.

Once he was done, Sans piled the pancakes high onto a plate and called Papyrus down, just like normal. For once, his brother actually responded. Sans smiled as Papyrus took a seat at the table.

‘So I’m thinking of going to check on the traps today!’ Sans said enthusiastically, just like normal. He placed two pancakes on Papyrus’ plate and three on his. ‘Would you like to join me?’ Papyrus said nothing as Sans piled cream and fruit onto his own plate, just like normal. Sans handed Papyrus the honey but frowned when his brother poured barely a drizzle over his pancakes. Sans reached over and turned the bottle back upside down so that the pancakes were drowning in the golden syrup. Just like normal.

‘I’m thinking about modifying the third one. You know the one with the switches? It could be better designed, what do you think?’ When Papyrus failed to reply he continued. ‘Also the fifth one gets covered in snow way too easily-‘

‘-Sans,’ Papyrus cut over him, but Sans ignored him and continued his normal conversation.

‘Maybe I should build a small snow wall to stop the snow drift? Or I could get some sort of cover I guess-

-Sans,’ Papyrus repeated, an edge of desperation in his voice.

Sans swallowed. ‘I think I’ll decide when I get there,’ his voice took on a forced tone, ‘after all I don’t want to waste time building a wall for noth-

‘-Sans, Sans stop.’ Papyrus pleaded, ‘We have to talk about this.’

Sans chewed slowly. His grip tightened on his knife and fork. ‘Talking doesn’t work, remember?’ he said, dropping all pretence of normalcy. ‘Or have you forgotten the last time we tried?’

Papyrus averted his gaze. He clenched his jaw. ‘I’m not talking about Chara,’ he said as he looked back at Sans, ‘I’m talking about you. I’m worried about you.’

‘Worried about me?’ Sans spluttered with disbelief, ‘At least I’m able to get up in the mornings!’

‘At least I’m not acting like everything’s normal when it so blatantly isn’t!’ Papyrus’ sharp voice cut into Sans.

Sans didn’t say anything as he stared down at his half-eaten breakfast, appetite gone. He couldn’t do this. Not here. Not now. Why couldn’t everything just go back to normal?

Papyrus groaned and ran his hands over his skull. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I didn’t mean to yell like that.’

‘Can we just enjoy the pancakes?’ Sans said quietly, ‘Please?’

Papyrus looked at his brother in dismay but then forced himself to smile. ‘Yeah, okay.’

The metallic clinks of cutlery were the only sounds that broke the solemn silence between the two brothers as they ate their breakfast.

It was anything but normal.

~*~*~

Sans trudged out into the forest by himself, making his way to the traps. Though he soon realised his feet were leading him somewhere else, leading him to the memorial tree. He didn’t object and eventually came upon the little clearing. At least a hundred piles of belongings were strung up on the lower branches of the tree and carefully placed about in the snow around the trunk. It was supposed to look beautiful and moving, but the only image it brought to Sans’ mind was of a dismal looking Christmas tree.

Sans let the cold air wash over him as he gazed out at the bundles of belongings, all of them frozen stiff. Snow drifts piled up against them while ice drew its patterns in the cloth. Two little bunny ears fluttering by the tree caught his eye. He wondered over and crouched in front of the very first bundle that had been placed here. He gently brushed away the snow that covered the little toy and gave it a little hug to warm away the ice particles. He gently placed it back down so it was resting comfortably against the tree. Sans closed his eyes. The trees whispered and the wind swirled and the gems in the caverns shone coldly down on him as he inhaled and clenched the fabric of his shorts. He was going to bring them all back. He was going to stop Chara. He didn’t know how, but he was going to do it. He had to. The alternative was too horrific to even contemplate.

Sans opened his eyes when he heard whimpering behind him. He turned to see a lonely whimsun hovering inches above the snow, clearly distressed.

Sans jumped up and ran over to it. ‘Are you okay? What are you doing out here?’ Concern laced his voice. ‘Are your family gone too?’ The whimsun nodded and started to cry. Sans wrapped his arms around it. ‘Don’t you worry, they’ll all come back, just you wait and see.’ He pulled back and wiped the whimsun’s tears away. ‘But in the meantime, would you like to stay with me and my brother?’ The whimsun nodded. ‘Come on then.’ Sans took its trembling hand, frozen with cold, and gently lead it back to Snowdin Town.

Papyrus was sitting on the front step of their house when Sans and the whimsun returned. Cigarette butts littered the snow around him and a freshly lit one was softly smoking in between his fingers. Papyrus’ questioning eyes flicked to the whimsun and then back at Sans.

‘It’s staying with us until everyone comes back,’ Sans said.

Papyrus gave his brother a measured look. ‘You still believe that, huh?’

Sans shot him a glare as tears rose in the whimsun’s eyes. He tightened his grip on the whimsun’s hand. ‘Of course I do.’

Papyrus flinched as regret sank into his features. 'Sans, I-'

Sans pushed past his brother and led the whimsun into the house.

By the time Papyrus came back inside, Sans had wrapped the whimsun in blankets, made it tea and food, and was now huddled up next to it on the couch, reading it his favourite book. Papyrus sat down at the table and listened in.

‘…you now gaze at the stars with the eyes of a child.

‘What is the universe made of? What lies in the vicinity of the Earth? And beyond? How far can one look? Is anything known about the universe’s history? Does it even have one?

‘As the waves gently wash over the shore, as you wonder if one will ever be able to probe these cosmic mysteries, the twinkling of the stars seems to lull your body into a half-conscious state. You can hear your approaching friends’ conversations, but, strangely, you already feel the world differently than you did a few minutes ago. Everything seems somehow richer, more profound, as if your mind and body were both part of something much, much, bigger than anything you had ever thought of before. Your hands, your legs, your skin…Matter…Time…Space…Intertwined fields of forces all around you…

‘A veil you didn’t even know was there has been lifted from the world to reveal a mysterious and unexpected reality. Your mind yearns to be back among the stars, and you have the feeling that some extraordinary journey is about to take you very far away from your home world.’

Sans’s words faded into silence. The whimsun had fallen asleep. Sans closed the book and sat up, however as soon as he moved the whimsun started to whimper and tremble as nightmares plagued its mind. Sans placed a hand on the monster’s head and gently stroked it while murmuring words of comfort. It immediately relaxed. It nestled into Sans side and breathed easier. Sans continued to stroke it. Papyrus simply watched from his seat at the table, slouched on his side with his head in his hand.

For a moment the only sounds where the gentle snores of the whimsun and Sans’ soft strokes on its head. The two brothers couldn’t help but feel at peace.

‘Do you know how many times Chara has reset the world?’ Sans asked quietly, breaking the silence.

Papyrus gave a tired shrug, ‘At least fifty since that kid vanished so… a couple hundred since the beginning? Why?’

Sans’ hand stilled on the whimsun. ‘Four hundred and eighty-three,’ he said softly.

Papyrus lifted his head. ‘…What?’ Disbelief clear in his voice.

Sans raised his listless eyes, they bored into Papyrus’ unusually wide ones. ‘Ninety-two since the inn-keeper’s daughter vanished, but four-hundred and eighty-three times since Chara fell. I’ve been keeping count.

‘What? Why? How?’ Papyrus shook his head. ‘That doesn’t matter, you shouldn’t have kept count, it’s not good for your sanity!’ The air grew cold as Papyrus’ words gave way to silence. Sans resumed his stroking of the whimsun.

‘It’s four hundred and eighty-three times I’ve not given in,’ he said, a sliver of optimism ringing through his words. His eyes grew piercing as he held his brother’s gaze. ‘You want to know why I’m trying to act like normal? It’s because if I don’t, it means the others aren’t coming back. It means we’ll never get to the surface and it means Chara’s won. But worst of all, it means I’ve given up.’ His blue eyes shone yellow with grim determination. ‘And I won’t let that happen.’ His blazing words hung there, glistening, in front of Papyrus’ solemn face.

A peal of laughter rang out.

Sans’ eyes widened as Papyrus leant back in his chair and laughed; the soft sound shattered the tense air.

Sans was nonplussed. ‘I’m being serious!’ he exclaimed.

‘Oh I don’t doubt it,’ Papyrus said, grinning. In an uncharacteristic display of energy, he ran over to his brother and leapt on him, giving him a bone crushing hug.

‘Papyrus!’ Sans squealed as he was squashed beneath his giant brother. ‘You’ll wake the whimsun!’

‘Oops, sorry.’ But Papyrus sounded anything but apologetic as he lazily rolled over and sat up next to Sans, a glimmer of laughter still in his eye.

‘What was that all about?’ Sans asked, but he was smiling. He felt warmth growing within him as he looked at his happy brother.

‘I’m sorry for doubting you,’ Papyrus said. ‘You are the magnificent Sans after all.’ He wrapped his arms around Sans and pulled him close. ‘I love you so so much,’ he said quietly. ‘Please don’t ever change.’

Sans returned the hug. ‘I’ll do my best. I love you too.’

They stayed like that all evening, entwined together on the couch. They were happy, actually happy, something they hadn’t felt in a very long time and they held onto it dearly. Sans wished he could have frozen the moment and just stayed there forever. He didn’t want this happiness to disappear. But time is cruel.

Especially when controlled by a malevolent demon.

~*~*~

Sans rolled over in his bed. He froze. No. He clenched his eyes shut. No, no, no. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep on the couch next to his brother, the little whimsun huddled between them. So the fact that he was back in bed…

He burst out his room and slammed his hands to his mouth when he laid eyes on the sofa, empty apart from a little whimsun robe bundled in the middle. ‘No, no, no,’ he mumbled through his hands as he shook his head in denial.

Papyrus came out of his own room. He paled when he saw the empty whimsun robe. His body swayed. He muttered something about being right back before running down the stairs and flying out the door.

‘Papyrus, wait!’ Sans cried, confused, and ran out after him, but he had already gone. Sans stood still in the silent snow. His body slowly turned numb with cold. Only when he started shivering did he go back inside and face the vanished whimsun. He sat on the couch and laid the robe in his lap. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He sat there for hours, staring down at the robe, unmoving, as his glowing blue eyes flickered yellow.

Eventually Papyrus returned. Sans’ head shot up as the door slammed shut. He looked into Papyrus’ dark eyes. His brother didn’t even need to speak, his expression said it all.

They were the only ones left.

Papyrus staggered and collapsed onto the dining chair as anxiety and dread took over him. Tears shone in his terrified eyes. Sans jumped off the couch when he realised his brother wasn’t coping. He gently took Papyrus’ hand.

‘Come on Papy, let’s go put the whimsun with the others.’

Papyrus stared at him in disbelief, but he let Sans lead him out the house and into the forest.

Sans tried not to think about the empty houses they passed, lights still on and clocks still ticking, as if everyone had just popped out for a minute, all at the same time.

He tried not to think about how painfully loud their footsteps were as they trudged through the silent underground. Each crunch a reminder that they were the only living beings left.

He forced himself not to think about what would happen if the world reset again.

They eventually made it to the memorial tree. Sans knelt down in the snow pulled his brother down next to him. Together they laid the little robe in the snow.

Neither of them moved as the trees sighed around them, as if they too mourned. The caverns glittered down upon them, bathing the world in a soft silver and a gentle breeze wrapped itself around them, comforting them in their sorrow.

‘Don’t worry, Papyrus,’ Sans eventually broke the silence. His voice was soft but gritty with determination. ‘I’ll find a way to bring them all back.’

‘I know you will.’ Papyrus’ voice was a mere whisper on the wind.

Sans clenched his fists as the weight of the mountain suddenly pressed in around him. ‘And then we’ll get to the surface and we’ll have our happy ending, just you wait and see!’

There was silence. Papyrus sniffed and wiped his eyes. ‘I wish I could have your hope,’ his voice cracked. Sans turned and hugged his brother. Tears started flowing down Papyrus’ cheeks and soaked into Sans’ shoulder.

‘How can you still believe that?’ Papyrus sobbed, ‘After everything that’s happened?’

Sans tightened his grip on his brother. He clenched his teeth and buried his head into Papyrus’ shoulder. ‘I have to,’ he said as he forced his tears down. ‘If I don’t have hope, then I have nothing.’

Papyrus sucked in his breath. Sans gasped as his brother squeeze him tight. ‘Don’t say that,’ pain was clear in Papyrus’ voice. ‘You have me. We have each other.’

Sans hugged his brother so hard it hurt. Heat rose behind his eyes as tears spilt. Sans bit down hard on his tongue to stop the unspoken question from slipping through his teeth…

But for how long?

~*~*~

Sans woke suddenly from his sleep. He kept his eyes shut. He didn’t move a muscle. He barely even breathed.

He knew it. He didn’t need to hear, he didn’t need to move, he didn’t even need to see, and he knew it.

He curled over and dug his fingers into his skull as he gritted his teeth and forced himself not to cry. He slammed his hands over his mouth as a wail escaped.

He forced himself to breathe. In and out. In. And out.

He tried to reason with himself. Just because the world has reset, doesn’t mean everyone is gone. There have been resets before where no monster vanished. This is probably just one of them. He felt sick.

Still, with that thought at the front of his mind, he managed to get out of bed. Getting out his room was another matter though. Ever since the whimsun vanished, he and Papyrus had slept together on the couch. So this door was the only thing between him and the possibility of his worst nightmare. He forced his dark thoughts down. He placed his hand on the handle and took a deep, shuddering breath before pushing the door wide.

His mind went numb. His vision swam. His breath stuck in his throat.

No.

He shortcut down the stairs and appeared in front of the couch.

No.

He raised a trembling hand and reached towards Papyrus’ empty jeans and hoodie lying haphazardly on the couch. One arm was flung over the back of the sofa and the other tucked in the pockets. The exact same position he’d been in last night.

Sans tried to cry. He tried to scream. He tried to raise his emotions and destroy the world with its sadistic ways.

But all he could do was stand there in horror.

He couldn’t feel anything. Not the worn softness of Papyrus’ hoodie as he gently picked it up. Not the bite of icy air as he stepped outside. Not the snow flattening beneath his feet as he made his way out into the forest.

Was it hours or seconds that passed? All Sans knew was that he was at the memorial tree. He gazed out unseeing at the hundreds of piles of belongings.

He fell to his knees.

He stared at the blinding white snow. It contrasted sickeningly with the orange of Papyrus’ hoodie in his hands.

Numbness mercilessly pricked his body. All he could feel was a mounting pressure behind his eyes and a ringing in his ears and a wetness on his cheeks.

The memory of the last time he and Papyrus had come here rose foggily to mind, when they had said farewell to the last whimsun - to the last monster.

A bubble of hysterical laughter welled within him. Turns out the answer was twenty-six days. Twenty-six fucking days. Not even a month.

A small breeze weaved around him, making the sleeves of Papyrus’ hoodie flutter. He tried to lower it onto the snow but his hands started violently trembling. They wouldn’t let him put it down. They wouldn’t let him accept that Papyrus was gone. They shook and shook as tears flowed down his cheeks and pressure pounded in his head and they shook.

His breathing quickened.

Papyrus was gone.

Sans choked.

Papyrus was gone.

Sans doubled over. His breathing grew shallower and shallower until it stuck in his throat. His eyes grew hot. Sickness churned inside him. Tightness spread across his chest and his throat closed up as his vision swam in front of him. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He clawed at his throat but his bony phalanges slid uselessly over his vertebrae as panic and horror flared in his gut. He fell onto all fours and retched into the snow, his body spasming as it denied reality and its horrible truth. Unwanted magic surged within him. It was angry and burnt his insides. Gaster Blasters appeared in the air above him. He groaned as the pressure grated on his soul. His skull throbbed, it pounded, as blaster after blaster filled the space above him. Sans clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth and gave a wordless cry of pain as reality’s horrors started to sink in. He gasped. He retched. He sobbed.

Papyrus was gone.

Sans screamed as raw emotion slammed back into his being. Blasters roared; bones crashed; trees uprooted as misery and magic poured out of him, all added to the terrible noise ripping itself from Sans. It was a cacophony of agony, despair and grief. It was the sound of a world being torn to shreds. It was the sound of sanity shattering.

It filled the entire underground.

~*~*~

Sans trembled alone in the snow. He was knelt curled in a ball, head in the snow by his knees, hugging Papyrus’ hoodie. He shivered and shook as tears poured silently down his cheeks, steaming slightly as they hit the snow. Ash and leaves and dirty flecks of snow fluttered and settled around him. The forest around him had been decimated. Every tree was either burnt or damaged or entirely non-existent. All except for the memorial tree. Somehow, it had managed to survive completely unscathed. It stood still and silent as it watched over the lonely figure huddled at its feet.

Sans’ mind was empty as he lay there. The darkness was warm and his breathing comforting. He would have lain like that forever, unmoving in the snow, if it hadn’t been for the laughter.

Sans froze when he heard it ring out, terrified for a moment that the maniacal sound came from himself. But no, he knew that laugh. He sat up. His eyes were orange and flickered like flames in the night.

It was the laugh of a demon.

Sans looked out across the memorial site. Chara stepped out from behind the tree, their blood red eyes glittered dangerously. Sans, shoving his grief aside, jumped to his feet and summoned a bone. He gritted his teeth. He stood his ground. Chara leant against the tree and lazily toyed with a knife. They tossed it into the air. Sans’ eyes followed it as it slowly spun, the metal glinting threateningly, before falling back down and landing in Chara’s outstretched hand.

Sans turned cold as those demonic eyes turned onto him. Chara grinned.

Ẁ͈̆̾͒ẹ̲̺̈́̆l̜̻̳̬̉l̪̙̺̩̟̦̳̅͌̒ ̦̯̦͢ì̼̝̺͒̐̉ŝ̢̘͉n̑'̹̻͉͔̼͇̆̽͗̏̑͠t͔̩̹̆ͩ͆ ̢͖͖͇̼̠ͫͣ̎͆ͦ́t̛̿̊͆͊ͪͧh̻̹̪͙̥̺ͮ͂̓͆i̊̆ͯ͊̏̃͑š̆̅ͬ̚ ͈͍̥͉͎̓͋̇̍̃͘ȉ̺̬̮̅̆̊ͣͬn͖͖͎̯̮̓ͮt̰̘̮̙̤͇̑́ͨͥͅe̹̦͎ṙ͍̟̦̪̭̜͎̆́̄ë̞͚̭͖̻͉̺́͌͂͒ŝ̳̩͙̥̭̗̔͝t̙͓ͩ̈́̅i̒͆̍ͤ̾͋͏͖̮̥̲͈̝̣n̗ͭ͗ͥ͑̚͘g̴͉̥̜̩.͎̟̱ͮ͐̒̽͞ ̨̤̯̰̺̼̲̻͋̅ͥ̽̄

Sans snapped.

His eyes blazed as rage exploded within him and waves of bones poured from his outstretched arms. First white. Then blue. And then orange.

He cried with fury as blasters fired a thousand beams of light towards the demon and blinded the world.

Tears poured down his cheeks and blurred his vision as he focused on destroying those laughing red eyes belonging to the being who had taken everything from him.

He didn’t see the memorial tree get torn up.

He didn’t see the piles of belongings go up in smoke.

He didn’t see Papyrus’ hoodie flutter dangerously close to his wrath.

All he saw was those mocking red eyes as laughter danced around him

Sans’ chest heaved as his attack faded and the fire in his eyes dulled. Flakes of fabric and snow drifted around him. The world slowly came back into focus.

Sans’ eyes widened as he took in the carnage around him.

No, no, no.

He took a step back. Horrified. He shook his head. What had he done.

He raised his hands to his mouth, but that was when he saw the ruined piece of cloth tangling from his fingers.

He choked.

The hoodie was singed and torn beyond repair. Sans swayed as dizziness clouded his vision.

Laughter rang out around him once more.

Sans wailed. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t cope.

Sans ran. He ran and ran and tried to outrun the grief clipping his heels; the pain squeezing his soul; the demonic laughter burning his mind. The torn orange hoodie streamed from his hands and flared out behind him.

He ran through the forest, branches scraping and scratching his bones as he barely bothered to dodge them.

He ran through the empty town and tried not to scream.

The snow turned to slush as he ran into Waterfall, mud splattering his trousers and rain soaking him to the core.

He ran through the glittering caverns, the gemstones shining down on him with indifferent brilliance.

He ran into a field of echo flowers. His foot snagged on a hidden root. He cried out as he tripped and landed face first in the dirt.

The grief caught up with him.

Sans cried out in pain as sobs wracked his body and anguish filled his mind. His tears sank into the earth as he weeped into the cold soil. He cried his heart out as he mourned the lost souls of the underground, mourned his lost brother, mourned his lost hope.

Sans didn’t know how long he lay there for on the cold wet ground. Eventually his sobs lessoned as he started to shiver, but he was beyond getting up. As the silence grew around him he started to become aware of whispering around him. He froze with horror, but relaxed when he realised the whisperings were of a peaceful nature.

It was the echo flowers.

He closed his eyes and let the murmurings wash over him.

*I want Dad to come back. That’s my wish.

*Despite everything that’s happened, I’d still like to climb this mountain we're all buried under.

*Please, I just want my sister back. Is that too much to ask?

*Let’s not think about the future. Right now, we still have each other.

His breathing deepened and his tears slowed as the echo flowers calmed and comforted him. With a groan he managed to roll himself onto his back. He opened his eyes. He gazed up at the icy blue flowers leaning over him.

*Do you really think they are all gone? Truly?

*No, I believe that they’ll come back one day.

*But so many people have vanished. How can you believe that?

*If something can vanish, why can’t it reappear?

Slowly, ever so slowly, Sans started to sit up. The effort was almost beyond him and he started crying again as he forced himself upright. His bones screamed at him in protest. His vision doubled. His chest tightened.

*Someday we’ll look at the stars for real. You, me, and everyone that vanished.

Sans took a shuddering breath. As the echo flowers whispered their words, he felt something alight inside of him.

*Someone will save us. I know it.

Hope.

Sans lifted his head. The people of the underground hadn’t been erased, not completely. Even if they didn’t physically exist, their hopes and dreams still did. Sans gave the barest of smiles. He wasn’t alone.

Orange caught the corner of his eye. His smile dropped. He picked up the ruined cloth and hugged it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, ‘I lost my hope for a second there.’ He laid the torn hoodie out in front of him and ripped off a bit of fabric. He tied it around his leg. ‘But I won’t ever let that happen again,’ he said with a quiet intensity. He then started to dig a small hole in front of one of the echo flowers. He inhaled. The smell of fresh flowers and soil cleansed him from the inside. He laid the hoodie in the hole and covered it with earth. He summoned a small blue-orange bone and stuck it half in the dirt, marking the little grave. The echo flower leant over protectively. Its petals were wide and expectant, waiting for Sans’ words.

Sans spoke. His words were soft yet determined to the core. The echo flower soaked them up and sung them back at him, adding his voice to the chorus of hopes and dreams in the underground.

‘I’ll bring you back, Papyrus. I’ll bring you all back.’

‘I promise.’

193 notes · View notes

aninconsistentwriter · 4 years

Text

and with a slow crescendo, my world explodes “Naruto”

or... read it here on Ao3!

-------

Naruto knew from a very young age that his soulmate was someone who was very very sad. That was the only way he could describe the sounds in his head. He hadn’t known what they were until he started attending the academy and Iruka-sensei taught them about soulmates and soulmate songs.

“Everyone has a song in their head,” his teacher had said. “The song is meant to guide you to your soulmate. Until you meet them, the melody is incomplete. But when you meet your soulmate for the first time, the melody is completed and that is how you know you’ve found your soulmate.”

“But Iruka-sensei, how do you know the melody is completed?” a young Sakura had asked, glancing shyly at the raven-haired boy seated next to her.

“No one can truly explain it, Sakura-chan. People have described it as an overwhelming feeling of completeness. The song changes and you can feel it.”

Naruto had wondered if he would ever meet the person who caused such a sad song to play in his head.

Once, when they were on an overnight mission, his genin team decided to discuss their soulmate songs. Sakura had described hers as if spring had a voice, soft staccatos and uplifting. She hummed for a moment and Naruto smiled at her. He was glad her song was such a happy one.

Sasuke had surprised them by describing his song as sweet. Lilting notes that blended into each other to create a beautiful melody.

His teammates looked at him, waiting for him to describe his song. Naruto had merely said “they’re sad” before Sakura had pulled him into a fierce hug. Sasuke whispered an apology to him.

That night changed their friendships forever.

It was when he opened the hotel door and saw red and black eyes staring down at him that he understood why the song in his head was so sad. Before he could truly realize what was happening his head exploded with sound. Iruka-sensei had been both right and wrong. The sad, haunting melody in his head was still there but now it was just so much more. There was more to it, a harmony for the soft melody filled with discordant notes that left him wanting to cry from the ache they created.

The eyes that bore into his own widened with acknowledgement and grief. But it was all brought to a harsh pause when Sasuke’s voice resounded down the hallway and Naruto realized this was the man Sasuke wanted to kill.

Naruto didn’t talk about what had happened until several days later, when Jiraiya and he were relaxing in the onsen during their journey back to Konoha. “Who were those men at the hotel,” he asked.

“They are part of an organization trying to collect the tailed beasts like Kyubbi.”

“Why did Sasuke attack the one man?”Jiraiya sighed, “has Sasuke ever explained to you what happened to his clan?” Naruto shook his head in response. “That man is his older brother, Itachi. A few years ago, Itachi killed their entire clan except for Sasuke.”

Naruto looked down at the steaming water that surrounded him, the haunting song loud and clear in his head. “Oh,” he turned towards his mentor, “that man is my soulmate.”

They didn’t discuss it, after that one conversation. He supposed Jiraiya felt it would be too painful for the young boy. Afterall, his soulmate was a mass murderer who had killed his entire family except his younger brother, who happened to be Naruto’s teammate and best friend.

Also, his soulmate worked for an organization who were actively trying to kill him.

It was all a little painful, if Naruto was honest with himself. And yet, the song inside his head played on.

The dreams started shortly after that. Meeting your soulmate so close to puberty did Naruto no favors when it came to his nightly dreams. He’d only had such a brief time to look at his other half and yet his dreams were so vivid, filled with creamy skin and a deep voice. The whole situation was driving Naruto mad.

Relief only came with heartbreak, however. The maddening dreams subsided as Naruto was forced to focus on training with Jiraiya in order to bring Sasuke back. So, Naruto pushed the melody in his head to the back of his mind and focused on becoming stronger and Naruto never mentioned his soulmate to Jiraiya during the three years.

Naruto decided to tell Sakura when he came back. Her own song had been completed when they met Rock Lee the first time, surprisingly. While neither had been pursuing a romantic relationship with each other when Naruto had left, he returned to find them comfortably together. It was a relief for him, that at least one of his teammates was happy.

So, after they had beaten Kakashi at the revamped bell test Naruto spilled his secret to his best friend. She cried with him, for him, as they sat together. It was the first time Naruto had allowed himself to cry about his situation. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest, like he maybe now he could move forward. At least, that’s what he thought until he was facing his soulmate again just a few days later.

It was the first time he heard his name fall from his soulmate’s lips, Naruto realized dazedly. “Naruto-kun, I am sorry,” Itachi’s rich voice reached his ears and Naruto felt that he could weep all over again. He wanted to curl up on the ground and weep as the melody in his head grew louder in the presence of his soul’s other half. Instead he harshly bit the inside of his cheek until it bled and forced himself forward with a rasengan.

He wanted to cry even more when he realized he had been placed under a genjutsu.

But he didn’t cry, he didn’t even curse his soulmate when they discovered it had been an impersonation jutsu. Instead he just kept going, fighting his way to save Gaara.

It was when all was said and done, Gaara brought back and the Konoha shinobi were making their way back to their village that Sakura approached him. With Lee suitably preoccupied by his latest insane self-challenge, Sakura walked next to her blonde teammate in silence for a while. Eventually though her hand slipped into his and she asked him, “are you okay?”

Naruto squeezed her hand tightly before releasing it, “no, I’m not. But I suppose I will be. I have no other choice.” And if a couple of tears escaped his eyes this time? Well no one said anything to him.

Naruto fell into a routine. He completed missions and trained. He got to know Sai and Yamato. He saw Sasuke again for the first time in three years. He trained more, he trained harder. He hung out with his friends and allowed himself to laugh. Eventually, the melody quieted enough that he felt that he could breathe a little bit easier again.

Jiraiya apparently had told Kakashi as the man asked him about it one day during training. “How are you dealing with it, Naruto?”

The blonde closed his eyes tightly, willing the song back into the corners of his mind where he could ignore it. He forced his eyes open wide and smiled at his sensei, “I’m just fine, Kaka-sense! What are you talking about?”

Kakashi didn’t ask again.

Naruto was fine. He was surviving. He was getting stronger and things were great. That’s what he told himself when the melody was too loud or too haunting. He was going to bring Sasuke back and it didn’t matter that he was doomed to have a soulmate he could never be with. It didn’t matter. What mattered was protecting his precious people and becoming Hokage.

It was like a mantra in his head, intertwined with the ever present song. Somehow the idea that capturing Itachi would be the best way to bring Sasuke back to the village was decided. Naruto wanted to scream in frustration. It was as if Fate had decided to continue playing cruel jokes on him, over and over and over again. He couldn’t escape the raven haired man who starred in his dreams and who’s song played constantly in his head.

Naruto could feel both Sakura and Kakashi looking at him, waiting for him to object. Instead he plastered on his best determined smile and told Tsunade to plan the mission.

That was how Naruto found himself alone with his soulmate for the first time in the four years since their melody had completed itself. “I promise I won’t harm you, Naruto-kun. I only wish to speak with you.”

Naruto looked into black eyes, realizing it was another first between the two. I’ve never seen him without his Sharingan activated, the jinchuuriki thought. “Tell me, Itachi-san, does it hurt for you as much as it does for me?” He clenched his shirt in the area above his heart, feeling the familiar ache settling there, the one that always came when he listened to the music too closely.

“I am sorry, Naruto-kun. It was never my wish for you to be involved in this mess.”Naruto scoffed at that, “you talk as if we ever get to choose who our soulmates are. I’m used to Fate treating me like a punching bag. I’m a jinchuuriki and an orphan. Of course my soulmate would be tragic as well.” His laugh was bitter and cold.

Itachi frowned at him, “tell me Naruto, you are alone. Why don’t you run?”

“I can go from one to a thousand in an instant, I am never alone. Besides, if I capture you then I get to see Sasuke!” There, move the topic away from us. Focus on Sasuke. Focus on what you CAN change!

Sharingan eyes flashed at him and Naruto wanted to scream at the sight of them. Itachi’s eyes were far more beautiful in their natural state. “What is your attachment to my little brother?”

“He is my best friend. He is like a brother to me! I will bring him back to the village where he belongs!”

Naruto could have sworn that Itachi smiled at his response. “And if he doesn’t come willingly? Or what if he were to try and attack Konoha? What would you do then, Naruto-kun?”

“Why would he attack the village?”

“Sasuke is still naive. He could be painted many colors by those who wish harm. Would you protect the village against him?”

Naruto was confused, this conversation had taken a turn he hadn’t been able to predict. “I’ll bring him back and protect the village!”

The raven haired man chuckled at him, the sound surprising Naruto even further, “you are still so naive as well. Still, it cannot be helped.” Itachi walked up to him and placed a finger under Naruto’s chin. The touch sent an electric spark down the blonde’s spine and he had to force himself not to shiver. “Things are going to start moving quickly and I am sorry that you are stuck in the middle of it all. I am leaving Sasuke in your care, Naruto-kun.” Itachi leaned in, placing his lips firmly against the younger’s.

Their melody crescendoed in Naruto’s head and his knees felt weak. He pushed up to meet the Uchiha’s firm lips, deepening the kiss with a small gasp. Itachi’s tongue traced the seam of Naruto’s lips softly before he leaned back with a sad sigh, separating the two. Naruto opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them to begin with, and his world flashed red.

“I am leaving you with a gift, Naruto. I wish things could have been different between us,” Itachi’s voice echoed around him before Naruto saw a crow fly towards him. It’s beak forced its way between his lips before making the trip down his throat, all while Naruto struggled not to choke. When the red world faded, he dropped to his knees and looked up at the other man. His eyes were black once again and Naruto forced himself to memorize the image before him. “Goodbye, Naruto-kun,” Itachi said before he disappeared and left Naruto alone.

Kiba found him shortly after that, still on his hands and knees staring at the grass. The blonde boy got up and placed a mask on his face, ignoring his buzzing lips and the discordant notes inside his head. He pushed aside the sense of impending doom Itachi left in his wake and focused on the task at hand. He gave a terse nod to his teammate and off they went, searching for his soulmate’s wayward brother.

It was later that day, when they were all trying to figure out the mystery that was the orange masked Akatsuki member, that it happened. The strange plant-like man who Tobi addressed as Zetsu appeared with an odd apology for interrupting. He looked at Tobi before announcing “Uchiha Itachi is dead. Sasuke killed him.”

Naruto fell to the ground as a strangled scream ripped from his throat.

#fanfiction #naruto fanfiction #naruto #itachi uchiha #itanaru #itachi x naruto #soulmate au #also on ao3

1 note · View note

beerecordings · 5 years

Note

7 whump with Marvin if you please :)

Kenzie!! Je t’aime!! Thanks for requesting! Sorry this one got a little out of hand length-wise and also it turned out… pretty dark. Hope you enjoy it anyway :)

7. “Friends? You think they’d be proud to see what you’ve become?”

Hedid it. He did it. He did it.

Heset him free. He set Jack free. The poison is gone from him. Thecorruption is gone from him. Anti is gone from him.

Hishands are still up in front of him, shaking from the exertion of thepower he used to drive the demon out. Jameson is holding him, theirheads close together and their hands clenched, though Marvin has lostmost of the feeling throughout his body. All that remains is heat,and sweat on his face, and the painfully violent beating of hisheart.

Anda darkness in his vision. A darkness in his chest. A darkness in hispower.

“Whatis this?” he whispers, his eyes sliding shut. Pain grits his teethand he groans.

Aroundhim, he hears his family gasping and reassuring and rejoicing. Theysurround him like stars the moon, and there, in the center of it all,is Jack himself.

Heopens his eyes and they are no longer black.

“Reallygone?” Marvin hears Henrik ask, in a whisper.

“R-really– ” Jack coughs and swallows and tries again, his face white andhis throat red. “Really gone. I – you did it.”

“Marv,”says Chase, his voice flooded with admiration.

“ThankGod,” laughs Jackie, happier than he’s been in a long, long time.

AndJameson is pressed warmly against his head, stiff with relief,breathing slow and steady.

They’reproud of him. He hears it as music. Feels it as cold holy water onhis fingers. But he feels also the darkness.

“Whatis this?” Marvin repeats, struggling to swallow. “What is this?”

Thispain? This shadow? This strangeness, like when you wake up in themiddle of the night and know, without knowing how you know, thatthere is someone standing, still and silent, at the foot of your bed,and all you can do is lie there, breathing as quiet as you can,praying, praying, praying that it isn’t real?

Poorkitty cat, says Anti, sweetly,from inside his head, alive in the lower portion of his left frontallobe, and fear makes Marvin’s blood burn in waves across his heart.You really thought you could get rid of me.

Inthe initial storm of cold panic and a desperate need to regain somecontrol, Marvin decides to isolate himself completely.

Hedoesn’t know how he’s going to save himself, but he’ll be damned ifhe takes anyone else down with him. He runs.

Cutsoff contact with his brothers and leaves his cats at home, evenHabakkuk. Calls up a friend who’s out of town and asks to stay at herplace, and then stops talking to any of his other acquaintances –friends from football, friends from the bookstore, the handsomeviolinist he’d been flirting with for weeks. He even stops takingcalls from his human, watching with dull eyes as Jack’s name appearsand reappears, appears and reappears, appears and reappears on thescreen of his phone, followed every time by an increasingly concernedvoicemail.

“Marvin!Man, where did you go? You can’t just disappear like this. Did youuse too much power? Are you hurt? Or sick? I need you to come back.I’m – Marv, I’m scared.”

Noneof it matters. None of it matters until he can get rid of Anti. He’sno longer safe for his family. For his friends. For his Jack.

He’dthought it was scary to see Jack slowly collapse beneath the weightof Anti’s possession. But this – having him in his head – fuck,he didn’t know what fear was. He didn’t have the first idea.

Existencebecomes a survival struggle. Ghost pains echo through his whole body,leaving him exhausted and dismayed. Glimpses of the demon haunt theedges of his visions and his paranoia heightens to a virtually endlessstate of terror. He wakes up almost hourly from his nightmaredattempts to sleep and often finds himself staggering to the bathroomto vomit blood until his teeth are stained red.

He’snever felt so out of control. His emotions are untetherable and hisbody is failing him. His level-headedness has become a wild andendless desperation and sometimes he feels the demon moving hislimbs, his eyes, his mouth, without his consent or even awareness.

He’sscared. He’s scared.

“I’mlosing my mind,” he says three days in, when he wakes up to findhimself standing in Cassie’s kitchen, holding a knife.

There’sblood running down his left cheek. He’s cut himself, hard, a freshred scar perpetually sliced across his white face. He doesn’tremember doing it.

He’ssmart. He’s always been smart. Proud, too. Dignified, he likes tothink, with his fine hair tied back and his blue eyes flashing, hisbody fit for fighting and his clothes neat and suave. He has a quicktemper but rarely lets it drive him wild for more than a moment.

“I’mlosing my mind,” he says again, and tries not to cry.

Antiis quiet. Anti is waiting.

“I’mlosing my mind. I’m losing my… I’m losing.”

Hewants Jamie, or Jackie, or Henrik, or Chase. He wants Cassie, orDominic, or Hesed, or any of his friends. He wants Jack.

Buthe doesn’t want to put them in danger.

Hetrembles his way to the bathroom and presses a hopeless bandage overhis fat new scar. Blood drips off his chin. His eyes are red andswollen with exhaustion. There’s an unrooted dandelion curling likean earring on the side of his head, and he tears it off with oneweary motion of his shaking hands.

Hedoesn’t want them to see him like this anyway.

Thethought makes Anti laugh.

Onday four, he tries his best option. His only option, by now. His onlyconceivable option, now that so many others have failed him, and hisresolve is crumbling. Trembling with fervor and fear, he takes atrain to the country and returns to his favorite woods, wanderingdeep, deep into the forest, where the wind blows in cold ribbons pastthe ancient trunks of the trees and his magic curls like somethingvisceral and blue in his mouth.

Theundead thing in his body shrivels beneath the taste of his power,still weak from his attempt to overtake Jack, but does not die.

“Leaveme, leave me, leave me alone,” Marvin says.

Marvinscreams. Marvin sings, Marvin whispers, Marvin cries.

“Leaveme, leave me, leave me alone.”

Hekneels against the cold pure earth, his arms wrapped around himselfand his head to the ground, and he begs everything good andworthwhile within him to reject the horrible hot presence of thedemon, and the strong old forest to take Anti away, and return him tothe nothing he came from.

ButAnti does not go.

You’repathetic, says Anti’s voice,still soft inside his brain. My darling, my kitten, mydearest friend – don’t you know you can’t be rid of me?

“Iwill be rid of you,” Marvin hisses. “I will.”

Thepurification you gave to Jack was your last hope. You exhausted ahundred other options. Nothing gets rid of me. Purify again andyou’ll just give me up to another host, faekid. In any body, I willdestroy my oh-so-generous soul-keep, track down and slaughtereveryone you love, and tear my way back into Sean’s body to make himmy own again.

“Howdare you speak his name?” Marvin howled, and clover and moss burstup in the place where his fists struck the ground.

Faceit, says Anti, and, for just amoment, he actually sounds like he pities him. You’ve lost.And you always will.

Marvin leaves saplings in his footsteps and blue orchids for everypatch of earth dampened by his crying, but he cannot leave the demonbehind. As he walks away, he muses that even the forest no longerwants him.

Corrupt,says Anti, and then nothing more for the rest of the day.

Hegoes to Hesed a week in.

He’sfully weeping his way down the pavement and he’s incredibly cognizantof everyone turning to look at him, frowning as he passes, murmuringto each other as he goes. It makes his blood burn and his face hotwith shame and anger. There’s two more bandages across his face andone is still welling blood from where Anti tried to carve his ownname into Marvin’s cheek. There are flowers in his arms. They lookenough like a bouquet, but they sprouted in his arms and they won’tstop growing – roses, red carnations, poppies, and a spattering ofwhat he thinks are freesia dancing happily in his arms and tumblingonto the pavement behind him.

Atleast his hair looks nice. He managed to shower, to braid it and pinit up into a neat bun. It smells like coconut and there’s one wavingstrand untucked from his ear.

Heknocks frailly on the door of his friend – your friend!Anti laughs at him and Marvin considers turning back, white withfear, but Hesed is already opening the door.

“Oh,”he says, softly, sweetly, worried. “Hi, baby.”

Marvinnearly chokes on relief. In a second, he is shoving forward with hisroses and carnations and poppies and freesia, and there’s brightviolet heliotropium too now, and Hesed reaches out as if on instinctand pulls Marvin right to his chest, wrapping his arms around him andholding him close, close, close. His violinist’s fingers are cool andunscarred.

“Oh,baby, where were you? Are you okay? What’s wrong? Even sick you lookgorgeous, do you know that? What happened to your face, huh? Fuck, Ineed to call Jackie, he’s been so stressed looking for you – ”

“No,”cries Marvin, burying his face in Hesed’s shoulder. “No, don’t callhim. He can’t help, Hesed.”

“Whatare you talking about? Marvin, look at me. Look at me. What’s wrong?”

Hiseyes are deep and brown. He is beautiful the way old buildings andoverfull gardens and love are beautiful. His mouth is very gentle.He’s only ever shown Marvin kindness and he laughs often, but now hejust looks scared. Marvin wishes he could –

“Youdisgust me,” says Anti, and for a second, Marvin assumes it’s justinside his head, but then he realizes his mouth has moved, and Hesedfrowns.

Hedoesn’t shout or reject him, though. He just repeats: “Marvin.What’s wrong?”

Marvinshoves away from him, spilling his flowers onto the floor, and hedarts past him to the bathroom. He can’t tell if it’s him or Antimoving.

Andthen he is in front of the mirror.

AndAnti looks back.

“I’mgoing to kill your little darling,” Anti sings, opening the firstdrawer of the shelves beneath Hesed’s sink. There’s a toothbrush anda first aid kit inside.

“No,”Marvin whispers. Tries to whisper. There’s no movement on his tongue,on his mouth, on his face.

“No?You don’t want me to? You can’t see him again.”

“Iwon’t see him again. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I was justlonely. I’m sorry.”

“Ringaround the rosie,” Anti sings, opening the second drawer, whereHesed’s medicines are arranged in neat categories. Anti’s fingersmuse over a powerful antihistamine near the back, but then he moveson. Marvin hears Hesed swear and mess with his phone.

“Pocketfull of posies…”

“He’scalling Jackie,” Marvin warns. Anti wipes tears off their face. “Ifhe comes, he’ll stop you.”

Alie. They both know he’s lying.

“Ashes,ashes!” Anti opens the bottom drawer, where Hesed stores his razorand clippers and the thin sort of scissors hairdressers use to trimoff split ends. Anti glances up at his reflection and smiles.

“Jackie?”Hesed demands. “Jackie, it’s me – he’s here, he locked himself inthe bathroom. You need to come right now.”

“I’lldo whatever you want,” Marvin struggles to speak. Anti doesn’t evenseem to notice the battle he’s waging. “Whatever you want. Just lethim go. We can go back to Cassie’s apartment. He’s not a part ofthis. He’s not a part of this. Let him go.”

“Youlove him?” asks Anti sweetly.

“I�� I – he – ”

“Admit,kitty. I want to hear you say it.”

“Ilove him. I love him, let him go.”

“No,he didn’t say,” Hesed is explaining. He sounds frantic. He soundsscared. “Jackie, please – what, am I just supposed to let thishappen? You want me to step back and leave it to you? I love him –”

“Callyourself my bitch,” Anti continues, sing-song, delighted.

“Andyou’ll leave him alone?”

“Callyourself my bitch, say it.”

“Fuck,I – I’m your – ” Marvin chokes on his dignity. Anti snatchesthe silver scissors out of the bottom drawer, teeth bared.

“No,please! I’m your bitch!”

Antieven lets their mouth move to speak it. It makes the demon laugh,loud and erratic.

“Holyshit,” whispers Hesed, and the handle of the door shakes, hard, buthe can’t break in. “Darling, it’s okay, whatever’s wrong, we’regoing to get you help, okay, I’m here, I’m right here.”

“I’msorry,” Marvin manages to choke out, but then Anti is in controlagain, and the silver scissors are still in hand.

“Okay,”grants the demon. “He doesn’t need to be punished. What a sweet boyhe is. You do, though. Yeah, kitty. Look at your pretty hair. Youdon’t need that anymore. You’re not gonna see your little worshipperever again.”

Hegrips the braided bun on Marvin’s head – on his head. Not reallyhis style.

“Ringaround the rosie, pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes!”

Marvinis crying.

“Weall fall down!”

Anticuts his hair off.

Heloses control rapidly after that.

Jackiedoesn’t show up in time to resist either of them. Anti slams Hesed’shead against the side of the bathroom door until he’s unconscious andditches Marvin’s phone.

Theydon’t go back to Cassie’s. He doesn’t know where they are. It smellslike dust and no one bothers them. It’s more like an office buildingor a warehouse than a home.

Anti,not yet strong enough to hold the reigns for long, lets Marvin go fora few hours, but all he does is fail at warding off a complete mentalbreakdown.

Hewants his friends and his violinist. He wants Jameson, Chase, Henrik,and Jackie. He wants Jack.

Ican’t keep him safe. I can’t keep the demon away. I can’t even savemyself.

Itburns to admit. It burns. Anti laughs.

Marvintears at the torn remains of his hair and weeps.

Hehates this, he hates this, he hates himself, he hates this.

Dayspass and he begins to die. His panic transfers to power and his heartcan’t take the constant outpour. Flowers and fire and floating thingsaround him. He hears thoughts that aren’t his when they’re on thestreet and sometimes dead things appear in the edges of his vision.He can’t sleep. Anti doesn’t feed him.

I’mlosing my mind, I’m losing my mind, I’m losing.

“Youwant to be saved,” says Anti softly. “I know, sweetheart. Go on,say it.”

“Iwant to be saved!”

Hedoes, he does, he does.

“I’llbe with my human again soon.”

DidAnti say that or did he? Is this even his flesh? Anti gives him a fewminutes of control and he spends the whole time staring at his hands,trying to force himself to realize that they’re his.

Thisis real. This is real. Is this what I’ve become?

Hefinds himself in front of a mirror. He doesn’t know how much time haspassed. He doesn’t know what Anti’s done.

Hiswhole face – from his forehead to his chin, from ear to ear – iscovered in deep, heavy-bleeding scars.

Criss-cross,straight, long and short. There’s too much blood in his right eye forhim to see out of it, or maybe Anti has popped it out.

Heis the ugliest thing he’s ever seen.

“Wantanother one?”

Ittakes him a long time to realize Anti is asking him a question.

“No,”he says, dazed.

Hypnotized,he realizes absent-mindedly. That’s why nothing hurts. When did thathappen? He doesn’t remember anything.

“You’lldie in a few days,” says Anti gently. “After I leave you to goback to my human. How does that sound?”

Hismouth opens and closes again. For a second, he sits in the haze ofAnti’s power, but then his fear sets him free.

“No!”he screams, jerking back, and pain – no, fire, sunfire, hellfire –erupts through the slashed flesh of his face. His eye is actuallygone; he can feel the empty squelching of veins in its socket.Horror and revulsion explode like smoke bombs in his ribcage. “No,I don’t want to die! I want to go home! I want my family! I want myfriends! Jameson! Jackie! Sean! Sean!Please, someone help me! Please, God, pl – ”

Hechokes and vomits as Anti yanks back control, throwing him to theback of his own head. Marvin screams in whatever medium he has leftand thorns explode in the walls around them, tearing through cheapcork walls and tile flooring to wrap around Anti’s wrists – no, hisown wrists, where he used to hang his bracelets or tug on the ends ofhis gloves, his wrists, his body. A holler comes from his mouth, andthis time, the cry is Anti’s.

“Littlebrat,” hisses the demon, tearing at the thorns. He laughs as theytear deep into Marvin’s wrists, causing them both hurt. “Look,aren’t we joined close now? You can’t get rid of me and you werestupid to think you could. Say it, admit it. You can’t get rid ofme.”

“We’llfind a way,” Marvin snarls.

Andit is he who drags them to their feet.

“Who’s‘we?‘” Anti laughs.

“Mybrothers. My friends. Sean and I. Fine, you’re right, I was stupid. Ishould never have tried to handle this alone.”

Heshoves through the barricaded door of the abandoned building andstumbles down into the street. Someone screams. He wonders if they’llcall the cops. He needs to get home, soon. Lucky for him, Anti’sarrogant. He doubts they’re far from his family. He grabs the man whoscreamed and, in a polite slur of exhaustion and blood loss, asks himwhich way it is to Carnation Park, close to home.

“Youthink your brothers will want you?” Anti hisses as they barrel downthe street, blood dripping down their face. “Look at you. Look atyou. Look at you.”

Marvinswallows back copper. Passes by his favorite bookstore. Inside, hesees Dominic – warm, friendly, funny Dominic, an old friend –working the counter.

“Gotalk to him,” laughs Anti. “Show him your missing eye and yourshorn hair, little sheep. He’d help you!”

Shamewells in Marvin’s gut. He can’t bear to think of Dominic seeing himlike this. He keeps going, dizzy and sick. Bleeding fast.

Hesed’sapartment building rises before him.

“Gosee him! Your love! Your darling! Go kiss him and have him call yourbrothers! Or do you think he will have forgotten what you did?Tearing into his house like a freak, flowers squirming with growth inyour arms, cutting off your hair in his bathroom and leaving himunconscious and afraid. He probably thought you were high. But heloves you, doesn’t he? Go see him!”

Tearsburn in Marvin’s eyes. No, Hesed won’t want him after that. And hedeserves better anyways.

“I’mclose enough I can get to my brothers,” he croaks, and the demonlaughs.

Theystumble. Anti hasn’t cared for Marvin’s body at all. Maybe themagician will die soon after all. He’s never missed Henrik more.

It’sbeen weeks, but Carnation Park is the same as it always is.

Onlya block away from the hidden house, this place has always beenimportant to them. This is where Chase brings his kids when they’rewith them, pushing them up and down on the swings for hours on end.Jameson kissed his first romance here, beneath the bird’s nest wherethe woodpeckers live – came home flushed and proud, grinning fromear to ear, someone else’s scent still lingering on his jacket. WhenHenrik’s trauma was trapping him in the house, this was the firstplace he forced himself to walk to, and when Jackie was exhaustedafter a fight, this was where he came to watch the leaves fall andstop thinking about anything at all. It is the address they give tocab drivers, the meeting spot for any excursion, the place marked“Home” on all their Google Maps.

Andit is here that Marvin stops.

Stops,sinks, collapses onto a green bench beneath a dogwood tree by the moss pond, and can go nofurther.

Fora minute, Anti is quiet too.

Theywatch the birds flit through the trees. Someone’s dog barks. It’stwilight and the moon is already visible in the blue-dusk sky.

Thereare flowers everywhere. It’s spring. Marvin can’t see them. There isblood and salt in his eyes.

Whyare you crying? asks Anti.

Hissmile makes Marvin’s mouth turn up. Cold and hateful. Too manyreddened teeth.

Ithought you were going to get help. I thought you were going back toyour little hiding hole. Isn’t there something you were looking for,kitty cat?

Marvinsobs.

Curlsup on himself on that park bench.

Bloodstains his black dress pants.

“Iwant my brothers,” he whispers. “Please, please. I want myfriends. My brothers. My human.”

“Oh,Marvin,” says Anti, lifting up their head slowly, slowly. “Youthink any of them will want you now?”

“They’dlove me no matter what,” Marvin screams. “They’d love memutilated. They’d love me blind. I know that! I know that!”

“Butyou don’t go to them! And forget the way you look, my dove, myrabbit, my witch. Don’t you know what I’ve used this body for? Deathand worse, faekid. Death and worse. Rosebushes bursting fromribcages…”

“No!”Marvin howls.

Isthe blood on his hands from his face or his enemies? He doesn’tremember. He didn’t know. It’s not his fault. “It’s not my fault!It’s not my fault! I didn’t know!”

“Oh,puppet, but you remember some of it. You remember calling yourselfmine. You remember leaving that forest, even though it was your lasthope. You’ve had a thousand chances to kill yourself, and maybe takeme out with you, but you haven’t! Coward boy.”

“No,”Marvin says again. It is the only thing he can say. He can hardlyspeak through the rapid-fire beating of his heart, hardly thinkthrough the heat swallowing up his brain. “No, no, no.”

“Yourfriends? You think they’d be proud, to see what you’ve become? They’dhand you over to the police, don’t you know that? Hand you over andremember you as a freak. You can’t trust them. They don’t want you.

“Yourbrothers? You think they could still love you, after this? You ranaway from them. And for what? I’ve won anyway, Marvin. Now you’re alittle murderer. I should have let Jackie catch us as we took theirlives. I would have loved for you to see the hatred in his eyes. Therevulsion. Ugly little thing.

“Andas for my human –well, pet, you and I both know Sean would never want you after this.He created you to save him. And could you do it?”

Alie.

Jackdid not create Marvin to save him.

Hejust wanted a friend.

Hejust wanted a brother.

Inthat moment, Jack would have done anything for Marvin to come home.Would have given anything to wipe the blood from his face, smooth his short hair, and hold him close, close, close. The others would burst in too, so relieved it would make their chests hurt. Henrik would patch everything up and make all the pain go away, and Jackie and Chase would be there too, soothing and comforting, distracting him for hours on end and promising him safety, and Jameson - Jameson, JJ, his friend, his brother - would stay by his side and cling to him for hours and hours and hours, the word “love” pressed in sign language against his heart.

ButMarvin doesn’t come home.

Marvin doesn’t come home.

“AmI wrong?” asks Anti.

Bloodand salt. Black flowers beneath hisfeet. He’s never seen any flowers like them.

“Justgo to them,” Anti mocks him. “Just go. Go to your friends. Go toyour brothers. Won’t they be proud? Won’t they be proud to see you?Magnificent. Magnificent. Get up. Isn’t that what you wanted? Getup.”

But Reader, Marvin never does get up.

Marvinnever does get up.

JustAnti.

Theflowers in Carnation Park wither.

#marvin the magnificent #antisepticeye #jseegos #SORRY I PROMISE NEXT ONE LESS DARK #bee writes #yeah more of anti singing creepy kids songs #more of marvin with plant powers #i hope you really do like it even though it did get a little out of hand #love you kenzie!!#gore tw #vomit tw

47 notes · View notes

seattle-hq · 5 years

Photo

basics.

March 10th, 1995 (24) Gender / pronouns: Male / He & Him Hometown: Seattle, WA Occupation: Song Writer Face-claim: Thomas Doherty

biography.

tw: car accident, death, depression

Plato spoke of soulmates. He spun a story that humans were rightfully born with four arms, four legs, and a single head of two faces. He explained how the Gods felt threatened by these humans, and as punishment split them in half, forcing one half to long for their other. It was in this dialogue that he argued this was what created the ideology of soulmates. What he hadn’t understood then, and what many don’t understand now, is the bond shared between twins. Identical twins, born when a singular egg splits into two. Separated but joined all the same. That was the tragedy of Cooper Knox’s birth and life.

Born two minutes after his brother, Cooper would spend his life hearing of how he was the younger one, the second born despite the sheer luck that saw Parker being the first. But that was how their life would go. Constant teasing, endless bickering, playful slaps turning into all out brawls on the living room floor until their mother was screaming for them to take it outside. They were nothing more than normal boys born into a traditional family. A white picket fence surrounding a modest two story home, settled into the middle class neighborhood of Seattle. There was nothing ever extravagant about their lives, aside from the family trips out to Whidbey Island ( if one could even call that extravagant ). And that was how their lives went for years, normalcy bleeding into the Knox family as if they had no other choice, until the fateful day fell on them with no warning.

It was a Thursday afternoon, with the boys returning home from school, walking together as they always did. Parker was talking about the basketball team once again, of how he was ready for the next season to start and that he was finally going to be the starting point guard. Cooper, on the other hand, listened intently as his fingers moved against each other as if he were holding a guitar in his arms. The boys, despite the mirror image they were to one another, were completely opposite in so many ways. Parker enjoyed watching and playing sports, Cooper never gave them the time of day. Cooper listened to various genres of music, tapping along to the notes on his legs. Parker only ever cared about the popular music, listening to what the rest of the boys on his team listened to. Perhaps that was what prompted the playful argument, Parker making a comment about Cooper’s hand in the air, fingers pressing against his thumb as if the fingerboard were truly there. They’d stopped in the crosswalk for the briefest of moments, grins on their faces as they teased the other of his interest. Neither of them saw the car in time, neither of them knew that the driver hadn’t been paying attention nor that they had been speeding in the school zone. The impact was sudden.

Waking up to the blinding white lights of a hospital room, Cooper couldn’t recall the moments that had led up to this one. His head felt like a pound of bricks, his body like it had been hit by a bus careening down the street, and despite his struggles, he found that he couldn’t open his mouth. The beeping beside him, growing incessant with each passing second, throbbed within his head. He attempted to reach over, to smack what he imagined to be his alarm clock off the bedside table. But when his arm lifted, he saw the various IVs poking out from the crook of his arm. And that’s when the panic settled in, causing that incessant beeping to become louder, more urgent until an unknown woman came rushing into his room. Her voice was low, soft and gentle as she assured him that everything was fine. That he was safe. But what would prompt this need? Why did she find it necessary to say such things? And where was his parents, his brother? Why weren’t they here? The questions continued to rattle off in his head, but not a single one of them was able to be voiced, Cooper still unable to force his mouth open.

It was hours before Cooper would understand why. When the nurse had been unable to calm him down, she’d given him something that would. Something that had immediately put him back into the welcoming darkness, drifting into more peaceful thoughts. When he woke again, still to the same inability to open his mouth, he saw his mother and father sitting at the side of his bed. Grave faces on the pair of them. His mother, with her always warm brown eyes, looked as if she hadn’t stopped crying in weeks. And his father, who always held that stern look in his features, appeared as if he’d been told the answer to the universe and didn’t quite understand it. With slow movements, Cooper reached a hand out, fingers stretching to be able to take theirs in his own. The movement spurred on more tears to leak from the sides of his mother’s eyes, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth instead of reaching out for his. It was his father, the man who hardly ever showed emotion, that grasped his son’s hand, holding it tightly as the explanation started to slip off the tip of his tongue. It was broken, choppy as his father had to continue pausing, struggling to gather himself to tell his young son of what had happened.

Struck by a speeding car. Both boys rushed to the emergency room. Three broken ribs, a shattered collarbone, and a broken jaw. So that explained why he was unable to open his mouth, wired shut to ensure that he healed properly. But the injuries were only given of himself, what had happened to Parker? When he was unable to voice his question, Cooper had attempted to get the point across in other ways, with mumbled noises and gestures of his free hand. Though his father didn’t understand the noises or gestures, he knew exactly what his son was attempting to get at. With a glance to his weeping wife, Cooper’s father finally gave his son exactly what he needed to hear: Parker hadn’t made it. When the car had struck them, he’d taken most of the impact. And despite all that the EMTs had done, Parker hadn’t made it to the hospital.

The loss had been devastating for the small family, for Parker had been the core of it, the piece that had held each of them together. As days turned to weeks turned to months, each member of the family grieved in their own way. For his mother, she hadn’t left the safety of her own bedroom, Cooper hearing the constant crying from down the hall. His father, on the other hand, had shoved himself into his job, staying later and later at the office instead of coming home. As for Cooper, he holed himself up in his bedroom, in the music room at the school, anywhere that would allow him the outlet of drowning himself in music. Despite the devastation of the loss of his brother, he forced himself to keep moving forward, knowing that was what Parker would want. He continued to practice his guitar lessons, continued to scribble down words that he claimed were part of a song he was writing. This continued for years until the second time in his young life that everything was changed.

It was in high school that he would meet the three individuals that would change his life. Each of them shared a particular love for music, one that found them staying up into the wee hours of the morning playing or writing any and everything that came to mind. They sat on the rooftops of their various homes, talking about how one day they would get their big break, become a sensation among their peers in the music industry. It was this group of boys, one in particular, that drew Cooper out of the shell that he had forced himself into. The shell that had him continuing to write the angsty songs that one only ever listened to when they were feeling particularly down. Even if nothing came from this band of theirs, even if he graduated high school and moved across the country to only study music in the hopes of one day teaching it, Cooper would always look back fondly on these nights. Nothing could have quite prepared him for the future that was coming.

Two years passed them by quickly, the band going from playing strictly in their parents’ garages to opening for various acts on differing stages before they were being scouted by a man that promised them fame and fortune. In the beginning, Cooper thought it nothing more than talk. But when he was being whisked away to New York City before he’d even graduated high school, he was in shock. And before he knew it, their songs were being splashed across the Top 100, raved about in the media until he continued to see their names everywhere. It had all happened so fast; one minute they were playing in his parents’ garage, the next they weren’t opening act, they were the main act. But surely this was a fluke, surely they would wake up one morning no longer being in the eye of the world. Yet as the weeks turned to months turned to years, Cooper was continuing to live on cloud nine, thriving in this new world of his. That is, until everything came crashing down around him.

The call came late one night, stirring him from his sleep to the persistent ringing, until he finally gave in and answered it. Bankrupt. No money. The band is breaking up. The words were hard to understand, Cooper attempting to fight off his sleep to focus on each one as they were quickly riddled off to him. Their singer, the man he had fallen in love with over the years, the one that he’d given everything to, had thrown it back in their faces. Struck a solo deal. Took everything in his quest to be the best of the best. The band was in shambles, struggling with trying to understand what had happened, while attempting to stay afloat with what they could scramble together. Money was tight, barely enough to get a new manager when theirs had left with the singer. They’d tried, despite the betrayal that darkened each of them, to keep the band together, to continue to do what they all loved. But eventually, when they all finally came to terms with what had happened, agreed that the band just wasn’t the same, and there was no longer a future for it.

For Cooper, this meant returning home to Seattle, to the past that he had long since given up. His parents had moved away years ago, with the help from the records he had sold. He didn’t know what life was in store for him, but he hadn’t quite given up on that music dream of his, so he continued to write, selling songs to whichever artist or band was interested in them. It was enough to keep him afloat, enough to draw himself out of the hole that he had been forced into by a betrayal that had come out of nowhere.

personality.

+ compassionate, creative, loyal – overly trusting, fearful, stubborn

#all #m #central #cooper knox #thomas doherty

3 notes · View notes

harrisonstories · 6 years

Photo

First off, the 2018 Mix, Take 5 Instrumental Backing Track, and Esher Demo of Back in the U.S.S.R. are now on Spotify.

Secondly, Rolling Stone just published an article noting the “15 most revelatory moments” by Rob Sheffield, who was lucky enough to be able to listen to the Super Deluxe Edition of The White Album. You can read the full article here.

[...] The outtakes defies the conventional wisdom that this is where the band split into four solo artists. “Do you think the perception of the Beatles history has been tainted by their own commentary in the early Seventies?” [Giles] Martin asks. “That’s what I get. I think post-Beatles, when the champagne cork has flown out of the bottle, and they’ve gone their separate ways, they reacted against it. ‘Oh, to be honest we didn’t work well as a group,’ and that sort of thing. Yet they never slowed down creatively. I quite like the idea of them throwing cups of tea at each other in the studio. I’m mildly disappointed not to find it. But what they’re doing is making a record.”

The Deluxe and Super Deluxe Editions finally unveil the Esher demos, which hardcore Beatle freaks have been clamoring to hear for years. In May 1968, just back from India, the group gathered at George’s bungalow in Esher (pronounced “Ee-sher”) to tape unplugged versions of the new songs they’d already stockpiled for the new album. Over the next days, working together or solo, they busked 27 songs. The tapes sat in a suitcase in George’s house for years. Seven tracks came out on Anthology 3; others have never been released in any Beatle version, including John’s “Child of Nature” and George’s “Sour Milk Sea.” The Esher tapes alone make this collection essential, with a fresh homemade intimacy that’s unique. Martin says, “They’re rough takes, but spiritually, the performances stand on their own.”

Here are 15 of the most revelatory moments:

1. “Revolution 1” The legendary Take 18, a nearly 11-minute jam from the first day of the White Album sessions. The other Beatles were surprised to see someone new at John’s side: Yoko Ono, who became a constant presence in the studio. It begins as the version you know from the record: John’s flubbed guitar intro, engineer Geoff Emerick’s “take two,” John’s “okaaay.” But where the original fades out, this one is just getting started. The groove builds as John keeps chanting “all right, all right,” from a low moan to a high scream. Yoko joins the band to add distorted synth feedback, while Paul clangs on piano. She recites prose poetry, fragments of which that ended up in “Revolution 9”: “It’s like being naked…if you become naked.”

The story of this jam has been told many times, usually presented as a grim scene where Yoko barges in, sowing the seeds of discord—the beginning of the end. So it’s a surprise to hear how much fun they’re all having. It ends in a fit of laughter—she nervously asks, “That’s too much?” John tells her it sounds great and Paul agrees: “Yeah, it’s wild!”

2. “Sexy Sadie” As the band warms up, George playfully sings a hook from Sgt. Pepper: “It’s getting better all the tiiiime!” John snorts. “Is it, right?” Take 3 is an acerbic version of “Sexy Sadie,” with Paul doodling on the organ. Yet despite the nasty wit, the band sounds totally in sync. When George asks, “How fast, John?,” he responds, “However you feel it.”

3. “Long, Long, Long” George’s hushed hymn has always been underrated—partly because it’s mastered way too quiet. In the fantastic Take 44, “Long, Long, Long” comes alive as a duet between George and Ringo, with the drums crashing in dialogue with the whispery vocals. Giles Martin explains, “I suppose, as is documented here, George was Ringo’s best friend, as he says. That song is kind of the two of them.” George starts freestyling at the end: “Gathering, gesturing, glimmering, glittering, happening, hovering, humoring, hammering, laquering, lecturing, laboring, lumbering, mirroring…” It closes with the spooky death-rattle chord, originally the sound of a wine bottle vibrating on Paul’s amp. “It still gives you the fear when it comes.”

4. “Good Night” Of all the alternate takes, “Good Night” is the one that will leave most listeners baffled why this wasn’t the version that made the album. Instead of lush strings, it has John’s finger-picking guitar and the whole group harmonizing on the “good night, sleep tight” chorus. It’s rare to hear all four singing together at this stage, and it’s breathtaking in its warmth. “I do prefer this version to the record,” Martin admits. (He won’t be the last to say this.)

John plays the same guitar pattern as “Dear Prudence” and “Julia.” That’s one of the distinctive sonic features of the White Album—the Beatles had their acoustic chops in peak condition, since there had been nothing else to do for kicks in Rishikesh. In India, their fellow pilgrim Donovan taught them the finger-picking style of London folkies like Davey Graham. “Donovan taught him this guitar part. John was like ‘great!,’ and then in classic Beatle style, went and wrote three songs using the same guitar part.”

The other “Good Night” takes are closer to the original’s cornball lullaby spirit. In one, Ringo croons over George Martin’s spare piano; in another, he does a spoken-word introduction. “Come on now, put all those toys away—it’s time to jump into bed. Go off into dreamland. Yes, Daddy will sing a song for you.” By the end, he quips, “Ringo’s gone a bit crazy.”

5. “Helter Skelter” This Paul song inspired endless studio jams, lurching into proto-headbang noise—they started it the day after the Yellow Submarine premiere, so maybe they just craved the opposite extreme. This take is 13 minutes of primal thud—remarkably close to Black Sabbath, around the time Sabbath were still in Birmingham inventing their sound.

6. “Blackbird” Paul plays around with the song—“Dark black, dark black, dark black night”—trying to nail the vibe. It isn’t there yet. He tells George Martin, “See, if we’re ever to reach it, I’ll be able to tell you when I’ve just done it. It just needs forgetting about it. It’s a decision which voice to use.” He thinks his way through the song, his then-girlfriend Francie audible in the background. “It’s all in his timing,” Martin says. “There’s two separate things, a great guitarist and a great singer—he’s managed to disconnect and put them back together. He’s trying to work out where they meet.”

7. “Dear Prudence” Of all the Esher demos, “Dear Prudence” might be the one that best shows off their rowdy humor. John ends his childlike reverie by cracking up his bandmates, narrating the tale of Prudence Farrow that inspired the song. “A meditation course in Rishikesh, India,” he declares. “She was to go completely berserk under the care of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Everybody around was very worried about the girl, because she was going insaaaane. So we sang to her.”

8. “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” There’s an early acoustic demo, but Take 27, recorded over a month later, rocks harder than the album version—John on organ, Paul on piano, lead guitar from special guest Eric Clapton. (George invited his friend to come play, partly because he knew the others would behave themselves around Clapton.) The groove only falls part when George tries to hit a Smokey Robinson-style high note and totally flubs it. “It’s okay,” George says. “I tried to do a Smokey, and I just aren’t Smokey.”

9. “Hey Jude” Recorded in the midst of the sessions, but planned for a one-off single, Paul’s ballad is still in raw shape, but even in this first take, it’s already designed as a 7-minute epic, with Paul singing the na-na-na outro himself. Another gem on this box: an early attempt at “Let It Be,” with Paul’s original lyric showing his explicit link to American R&B: “When I find myself in times of trouble / Brother Malcolm comes to me.”

10. “Child of Nature” Another treasure from Esher. “Child of Nature” is a gentle ballad John wrote about the retreat to India: “On the road to Rishikesh / I was dreaming more or less.” He scrapped it for the album, but dug it back out a few years later, wrote new words, and turned it into one of his most famous solo tunes: “Jealous Guy.”

11. “JULIA” One of John’s most intimate confessions—the only Beatle track where he’s performing all by himself. You can hear his nerves as he sits with his guitar and asks George Martin, in a jokey Scouse accent, “Is it better standing up, do you think? It’s very hard to sing this, you know.” The producer reassures him. “It’s a very hard song, John.” “‘Julia’ was one of my dad’s favorites,” Giles says. “When I began playing guitar in my teens, he told me to learn that one.”

12. “Can You Take Me Back?” The snippet on Side Four that serves as an eerie transition into the abstract sound-collage chaos of “Revolution 9.” Paul toys with it for a couple of minutes, trying to flesh it out into a bit of country blues—“I ain’t happy here, my honey, are you happy here?”

13. “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” Paul spent a week driving the band through this ditty, until John finally stormed out of the studio. He returned a few hours later, stoned out of his mind, then banged on the piano in a rage, coming up with the jingle-jangle intro that gets the riff going. This early version is pleasant but overly smooth—it shows why the song really did need that nasty edge. A perfect example of the Beatle collaborative spirit: John might loathe the song, Paul might resent John’s sabotage, but both care too deeply about the music not to get it right.

14. “Sour Milk Sea” A great George highlight from the Esher tapes—“Sour Milk Sea” didn’t make the cut for the album, but he gave it to Liverpool pal Jackie Lomax who scored a one-shot hit with it. (It definitely deserved to rank ahead of “Piggies,” which remains the weakest track on any version of this album.) “Not Guilty” and “Circles” are other George demos that fell into limbo—“Not Guilty” sounds ready to go at Esher, yet in the studio, it was doomed to over a hundred fruitless takes.

15. “Happiness Is a Warm Gun” A tricky experiment they learned together in the studio, with John toying with the structure and his mock doo-wop falsetto. “Is anybody finding it easier?” he asks. “It seems a little easier—it’s just no fun, but it’s easier.” George pipes in. “Easier and fun.” John replies, “Oh, all right, if you insist.” It’s a moment that sums up all the surprising discoveries on this White Album edition: a moment where the Beatles find themselves at the edge of the unknown, with no one to count on except each other. But that’s when they inspire each other to charge ahead and greet the brand new day.

#john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #giles martin #yoko ono #george martin #eric clapton #the white album #esher demos #i disagree about piggies but anyway...#the beatles #1968 #rishikesh

37 notes · View notes

wynja2007 · 5 years

Text

Gondolin, the Hidden

Chapter One: Birth

The birth of any City requires the blood of three individuals; a woman in childbirth, a warrior, an old person. This is the real reason there were few elven cities; elves were created immortal, and although childbirth and battle hold similar risks for elves as for humankind, old age is not something they know, just the weariness of ages.

Beautiful Tirion of the musical voice, he was born from the wisdom and sacrifice of one of the Maia, who foresaw the need for Cities, who had heard them sung softly in the Song of Creation, but it had been a brief threnody, growing stronger only when the theme of the rise of Men joined the melody. This one had thought it worth his life to take age upon himself and sit in the tallest tower of the city until the weight of his borrowed years crumbled him to dust that blew away through the open windows to be carried in the high winds across the land. Some settled like a blessing on the streets of Tirion, sparkling and glinting gold in the corners, for this was where his heart had ever dwelt.

(But some of his life force carried across the continent to fall elsewhere, to prepare the ground for further sacrifices).

The mother of Fëanor, Míriel Serindë, died shortly after he was born, but the deliberate sacrifice of all her strength to pour it into her fine, bright, doomed son began sooner, so that it was childbirth, his birth that began the process which took her life, and her essence of death was caught by the Maian sacrifice and mingled in the earth, waiting for the birth of the City. A son of Tirion, new to weapons and armour, died at Alqualondë, defending his friends amongst the shipbuilders, weeping as he saw friend turned against friend, brother against brother, and prayed for an end to kinslaying. (The same events saw the birth of Alqualondë from the ashes and flotsam of its broken fleet just a few days later, while Valmar, first of cities in Valinor, was last to gain her personification in the darkness following the silencing of the lamps.)

The Maia’s sacrifice, then, gave three cities the chance to grow and thrive. But this story concerns Gondolin, firstborn city of Middle Earth.

He was nearly born from the ice.

So many deaths, so much emotion, such need, calling out to anyone who might help, the sense of knowing the help sought would not come. The despair, the need, the need.

He stirred in Vinyamar, turning and stretching and testing out the bounds of the dark womb around him, but something held him back, some power outside himself, something with pity in its heart and awareness of his nascent agitation.

Finally, though, it was on the plain of Tumladen when the land shook, and shook, and shook that finally he broke free of the earth and stretched and stood tall, bewildered and exhausted from his difficult gestation and long-deferred birth.

Around him was a wide spread of the greenest grass, crossed with rivulets and streams. Above, the sky was unbearably blue and the sun was warm on his naked back. Around his feet, bursts of colour; Larkspur in bloom.

He felt a tug, a yearning in his heart, and started to turn, seeking the source, allowing his gaze to roam the landscape. There!

In the middle of the plain, walls of sheer stone rose up, forbidding and stern, beckoning, crowned with the towers and turrets and fine-made walls of Gondolin itself. Young as he was, new as he was, he could taste the people, their hopes and fears, their loves and their rivalries, the sense of relief, the sense of dread, and he saw himself reaching out to nurture them…

He smiled and set off towards the cliffs.

‘My lord? Can you come? There is something happening.’

Ecthelion, Lord of the House of the Singing Fountains and Captain of the Great Gate nodded and picked up his helm. He followed the sentry from his office – in reality a desk outside the armoury – through the passageways to the lookout point. His companions jokingly referred to it as ‘The Eyrie’, but such an appellation always made Ecthelion shiver; his friend Glorfindel spoke often of how he thought they were not so much blessed by visits from the eagles, birds of Manwë, as spied upon by them…

He repressed a shudder. They were all on edge, the secret city barely finished, the people still so recently arrived that sometimes they missed their way, still, nothing was familiar yet, nothing felt safe and so anything out of the ordinary was a cause for concern. The earthquake, in the night; had it been a warning? A sign that Morgoth was moving in the depths of the earth far away, sending his evil through the ground to shake them, to seek them out…?

There had been deaths that some said boded ill; a warrior, injured on the way and grimly hanging on to life, his wounds healing and breaking, had finally succumbed to injury and breathed his last on the plain. Then an elleth nobody had known was here had fallen, somehow, from the walls, and the saddest thing, the saddest thing, was that she had been about to give birth, but it was too late; the child had quickened, and died before any help could come. Ecthelion made a mental note to try to find a faster way down to the plain than the current system of tunnels and stairs and slopes with defensive corners and reminded himself he was not a superstitious elf, he knew a sign from the Valar would not come as an earthquake or an unexpected death, but as a formal, direct approach, a message or a visitation. After all, there had been another death, that of one of the oldest, earliest-born elves, who had travelled to Valinor and back again, and who had become world-weary and had said surely, this was what it felt to be old, and had faded, just two days ago. No. Not all deaths were bad, sad though they were for elves.

Ecthelion pulled his long, black hair back out of the way with one hand and passed under the archway that led to the lookout post before sliding his helm into place with the other; it was a fine piece of workmanship, decorative and elegant, and part of the uniform, but it was also topped with a high silver spike that sometimes got in the way and to constantly scrape it against the stonework was embarrassing.

At the lookout, the sentry saluted smartly, hand on heart, and stood aside. Ecthelion passed through to find the narrow ledge crammed with his warriors, all with bows drawn, arrows nocked and trained on a figure that seemed to be erupting from the greensward.

Ecthelion caught his breath; they were all jittery, fearing discovery, exposure. The king’s standing orders were to shoot first and question later; but there was something about the way this individual moved, the way Ecthelion’s heart had lifted…

‘Sir?’ The voice of the captain of the archers was tremulous, tight. ‘Orders, sir?’

Ecthelion stared at the figure. Tall, strong, gleaming in the sunlight with golden hair that shimmered and fell in waves to his waist, naked and obviously unarmed, he had begun to move slowly towards the cliffs below the lookout post. Slowly, but not cautiously; it was more that the individual was unused to walking, his feet sliding through the grass as if the landscape was flowing around him, carrying him forward.

As if he was part of the land…

Something, an unconscious connection in Ecthelion’s mind…

‘Send for Lord Glorfindel.’

‘Sir?’

The captain was right to question him; it was against standing orders, the stranger, by rights, should be lying dead and bleeding on the plain by now. But…

‘Keep your weapons on him, but do not fire yet. I think this is not an enemy.’

The message: ‘The Captain of the Great Gate demands your attendance, my lord,’ found Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, in the midst of debating with his sisters on the merits of yellow over blue as a colour for the Festival of Spring, so that it was with some relief that he headed out. He paused to collect his sword and helm, slung his bright red cloak across his shoulders, and was on his way to the Great Gate before his sisters even had time to complain.

He had time on the way to consider the summons from his friend, his more-than-friend Ecthelion; the formality, the use of his military title rather than his name or even his House title made it clear that this was not a social invitation. Ah, well. Thel’s duty tour was over soon, and there’d be time then to meet and dine and talk and all that could follow after…

He did not blink as he went from bright sunlight to dark, torch-lit passages as he entered the tunnels leading to the Gate, his eyes adjusting easily, but he did slow his pace as he considered the wording of the summons again. Not a social invitation, fine. But… it was odd. There was no strategic reason that Glorfindel should be needed here; if it was something serious, then Turgon, the king, should be informed. So why call him…?

Well. He’d soon find out.

‘Lord Glorfindel, there you are. Take a look and tell me what you make of this, would you?’

No friendly greeting, no ‘Hullo, Findel, old friend,’ no wink, no touch of hand on arm… but even as he assessed this, Findel was making his way to Ecthelion’s side. Together, they looked out.

Glorfindel spoke first.

‘Company?’

The stranger was closer now, so much nearer to the wall that the angle at which the archers had to hold their bows had steepened. One or two of the guards were glancing anxiously at their captain as they strained to keep the target clearly in sight.

‘Apparently so,’ Ecthelion said in an almost-laconic tone. ‘Remind you of anyone? Anything?’

‘The hair, could be mine…’

‘Don’t flatter yourself!’ A whisper, a flash of a grin that made Findel stifle a laugh as Ecthelion continued. ‘He broke free from the greensward and has been making his way towards us steadily ever since.’

The stranger was near enough now to make out features, details. His ears had the pointed tips that all elves had; his eyes seemed to shine and glow and there was something to him that reminded Findel of a long-ago, long-missed lord…

‘Tirion. He reminds me of Tirion the Fair.’ Findel gave a half-sigh, half-laugh. ‘I had thought him a Maia at first, until they explained to me that he was the City, its heart and fëa, walking amongst us.’

Ecthelion nodded. ‘I never met any of the Valinor Cities, but I remembered your descriptions of Tirion the Fair. What do you think?’

‘I think…’ Glorfindel paused, thinking. Every city had its City in Valinor, of course, the embodiment of the settlement, its soul, its streets, its people’s fëar all wrapped up and walking about through its own byways and highways. ‘If he is, then your arrows won’t kill him. But if he’s… what? Newly hatched, newborn? He could be angry, and although he may be vulnerable, he will still be dangerous. And besides, do you think it’s polite to make our first action on meeting him to shoot at him? Turgon’s standing orders be blowed, I think we need to talk to this fellow first, at least. Maybe offer him a pair of leggings before we all go cross-eyes from trying not to look…’

Behind Findel, one of the watch suppressed an anxious laugh; others took it up and a glance around showed several of the archers grinning; the tension was broken, at least.

‘Very well. Send to Stores, spare tunic and leggings…’

‘Extra-long,’ Findel said. ‘And probably extra-large, too.’

They argued in official, formal tones about who should take the garments.

‘This is my watch, my lord Glorfindel,’ Ecthelion pointed out. ‘It is my duty, and my responsibility, to investigate.’

‘Yet we all know that if you do so, you will be countermanding your orders, Lord Captain of the Great Gate. This is not my watch-post, and therefore while you may protest my actions, your life would not be forfeit for such disobedience. Nor would mine, since I am simply investigating, and the archers are watching with you in command of them.’

‘Yet the paths and tunnels running to the plain are many and finding the quickest way will be difficult for you; I have the knowledge to reach this… individual more swiftly.’

Suddenly Findel relaxed, grinning.

‘Oh, I know a faster way than the tunnels,’ he said, and vaulted over the parapet wall, the bundled garments tucked under one arm.

Gasps from the guard. Ecthelion shook his head, striding forward to look.

‘The Lord of the Golden Flower has not jumped to his doom, never fear,’ he admonished them. ‘Make way, there!’

Glorfindel was seated on a narrow ledge just below the wall, booted feet dangling over the void as if he cared not a jot for the danger. He glanced up and back at Ecthelion, grinning.

‘If this is our City,’ he said, ‘I’ve nothing to fear. Watch him carefully… Ai, but he looks so young! See how blue his eyes are? Bluer than mine, even!’

‘Never!' Echtelion leaned forward to whisper in Findel’s ear. 'Never was there anyone, nor will be anyone, with eyes as blue as yours, my lord of the Golden Flower!’

Glorfindel grinned, but continued. ‘…And freckles, whoever heard of an elf with freckles…?’

Lifting a hand, he waved to the probable-City.

‘Greetings, down there!’ he called out. ‘I wish to parley, may I join you?’

Things were happening; people were clustering, there were… things… sharp, pointy things… arrows, directed towards him. He felt the intention, the wariness, sensed the leader’s hesitation, his unwillingness to take life without need. Compassion. It was good, good that one of the first emotions he felt from his people was compassion; somehow, he felt it would form him into a compassionate city…

…but there was fear, and weariness of fear, and he could also sense that these, his people, had been afraid for a long time.

He continued on his slow progress towards the cliffs.

A new arrival, a golden, shining figure, and he felt his heart swell and reach out; this one, whoever he might be, he was precious, he was beloved, he was dear to someone… he mattered…

The golden person jumped over the wall and sat, apparently unconcerned about the drop beneath; he could feel that, sense it even as he was aware of curiosity and intelligence, warmth and friendliness. A lifted hand, a wave, a call…

He waved back, looked at the rocks of the cliff and thought of how a person might get from a ledge to the ground in safety. The rocks shifted, slurred, melted and reformed into a stepped pathway down which the friendly golden creature could descend.

A murmur from the watchers above, but the golden one was descending, unfazed by the sudden stairway’s appearance.

The new-born City waited, a stirring of impatience troubling him. But above, there were still pointed things aimed towards him; although he felt strong enough to withstand such minor things as they seemed, and the intent behind them was not malicious, it seemed right to wait here until he knew more.

So much was still unknown, just guesses at the edge of knowledge.

Finally the figure reached the lower steps, jumped down the last two.

‘Hullo! I’m Glorfindel,’ he said, smiling, and there was no doubting the warmth behind the words, the… wonderful, happy feeling… ‘Here; some clothes for you. It’s a bright day, but still a little cool and we didn’t know if you’d be like an elf, or impervious, or what. So. Welcome to Gondolin… you are our City, I take it?’

‘Gondolin. I am Gondolin.’ The new City took the garments, shook them, tried to work them out. ‘This is Gondolin?’

‘This is Tumladen the plain surrounding the city. Look, here, this… you step in, one leg in each side. Sit down, might be easier.’

Gondolin frowned, concentrating, finding out the ways of the clothes. The leg coverings tied in front, and the tunic tied at the neck, and the fabric felt strange against his skin, confining.

‘I am Gondolin. Where are my spires, my towers, my fountains? Ah, I can feel them I can… there are markets and wide squares, armouries and fine houses… it is beautiful!’

‘Well, we like it,’ the golden one said.

Gondolin turned to him, taking him in.

‘Glorfindel. Golden hair, you are beautiful. Bright blue eyes and elegant ears. Strong but not heavy with muscle. You are a fine person.’

Glorfindel laughed.

‘Well, you’re not so bad yourself, you know. Better hair than me, bluer eyes, although Ecthelion says otherwise.’

‘Ecthelion?’

The City repeated the name, taking into himself all that he could sense of the bright warrior in Glorfindel’s heart. It was like to his own emotional response to Glorfindel, and he wondered if he would feel for all his citizens as he did now, if it were a normal, usual thing.

‘Yes, Ecthelion, Lord of the Great Gate, amongst other things. You know, you could have got into awful trouble, emerging like that, if it hadn’t been him on duty today; I’ve talked to him of my City, Tirion – my first City, that is. You’re my City now. But what I mean is, there are orders… to protect the city, that’s all, but that all strangers should be… forbidden entry and… not allowed to leave.’

‘This is a riddle. How can one not leave and yet not be admitted?’

Glorfindel shrugged. ‘Orders are for the guards to shoot first and ask questions afterwards…’

‘Another riddle, Glorfindel. For how…?’ Gondolin felt the hard meaning of the phrase, the sense of regret from the glowing, beautiful elf before him, and understood. ‘They would not harm me. No ordinary weapon could harm me.’

‘Well, no. Probably not. But you’re… new. I understand that newborn Cities are more fragile than those who are established. Anyway, that doesn’t matter, what matters is that Thel – Ecthelion, knew of Tirion through me, and wondered it perhaps you were our Gondolin.’ Glorfindel smiled, but his eyes were anxious. ‘Do you mind waiting here while I tell him it’s all right? Then he’ll send for Turgon, probably, our king, and… oh, you’re probably hungry and thirsty. You wait here, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

‘I…’ Gondolin frowned, puzzled at how suddenly he did not want Glorfindel to leave, at how much he wanted to stay at his side. Realisation dawned. ‘I love you, beautiful Glorfindel.’

Glorfindel smiled and twisted his shoulders, as if he felt awkward.

‘I love you, too. Or I will; you’re my City. And you’ll love all of us; we’re your people. So that’s all right, then. Only it might take a little time, with some of them. It’s been a long and hard road to get here.’

‘So…?’ Ecthelion asked as Glorfindel vaulted over the wall and onto the watch platform.

‘If this were my command, I’d stand them down. We have ourselves a City.’ He grinned suddenly, shaking his head as he saw the blank expressions on many of the guard. ‘What that means, essentially, is that Gondolin – or Gondolin, our new city – is important enough, vital enough, that it’s become personified; that individual down there, on the Tumladen – he is our City. He will walk with us, talk with us, share our fears and hopes, support our king. He will feel our pain, and he will strengthen our walls, he will care for us and we will care for him, and we will be the stronger for that. Now, someone should take meat and drink to our City, he will be hungry and he’ll want to meet you all as soon as possible. And if I may make a suggestion, we should send to Lord Turgon and give him the joyful news.’

‘And it is a matter of joy because…?’

Glorfindel clapped Ecthelion briefly on the shoulder, his eyes shining.’

‘Because, my dear Captain of the Great Gate, Cities don’t just happen at random; this means that Gondolin is here to stay!’

Notes:

With grateful thanks and acknowledgement to thecitysmith for permission to take their wonderful idea from 'Paris Burning' and re-imagine it for Tolkien's Legendarium. As well as the stories here on AO3, many wonderful tales for this inventive and fascinating new concept can be found on tumblr.

This story is in no way connected to, or dependent on, the amazing 'Hands of stone or hands of tallow' by consumptive_sphinx and our concepts of the City are a little different. But read it, read it anyway.

#thecitysmith

1 note · View note