#stupid and to shut up. like i’m fundamentally okay. i am going to work. i am functioning at work. my manager is happy with how i’m doing

[fingertipsmp3]

Playing a game called ‘how long can I put off talking about my various mental problems with a medical professional’. It’s going badly. I recommend no one play this game, 0/5 stars

[orionsangel86]

SPN Conspiracies - Applying Logic to Chaos

Its been over 2 months now since the Supernatural finale aired. I am still so angry, hurt, and confused by it and I don’t think I will ever get closure unless someone like Andrew Dabb, or Jensen Ackles, actually opens up and gives us an explanation that makes sense.

What annoys me most right now is people trying to gaslight fans into believing that we should accept the narrative we have been given at face value: That the finale was always planned to be that way, that Destiel was never on the cards, that there was no Network interference, that the only changes made were due to covid and were minor at best.

This harmful gaslighting is FALSE.

NO ONE KNOWS THE TRUTH OF WHAT HAPPENED.

Look, I don’t agree with some of the crazier conspiracy theories. I don’t believe that there was some huge campaign among the CW Network execs to remove anything remotely gay out of homophobia. I don’t believe that the finale was changed because of some desire to make it into a Walker promo. I don’t believe that the finale was really bad on purpose in protest by Dabb for not getting to do an ending he truly wanted. I don’t believe that Dabb left us smart fans a bunch of secret messages in the finale to hint that he was on our side all along and that everything was fake.

I do, however, believe that all of these conspiracy theories have some elements in them that are plausible. At least, more plausible than the bullshit narrative mentioned above that some people are pushing in some desperate attempt to defend the Network (which imo is really strange behaviour anyway - why would anyone care about a TV network with a history of terrible behaviour?!?)

We have facts, based on information provided before the covid lockdown, which for some reason, people like Misha have since backpeddled on. So let me try to outline some of the information that makes no sense.

Below the cut I go on a deep dive into the conspiracies and statements I have heard about the SPN finale and try to make some sense of this whole fucked up situation. It gets long.

1. “Cas was never gonna be in the finale”.

False: We have many fan accounts of Misha confirming that he was filming the finale. We have video evidence of Misha confirming he was going back to film the finale after the lockdown. We have confirmation from fans in Misha M&Gs from March that he had about 5 days of filming left.

We also had fan accounts of discussions with Alex Calvert (I think) where he confirmed the final shot of the final episode was all four of them though I would LOVE if someone can find a source for this.

2. Okay, Misha was gonna be in the finale, but only as Jimmy Novak

False: I heavily side eyed Misha when he said this. But I think I can come up with a plausible explanation for it. Per above, Misha was supposed to film for 5 days. This does not align with the half a day he described of filming as Jimmy Novak. My own belief is that after Cas was cut from the finale (for whatever reason we don’t know) someone (probably Jensen Ackles) put up a fight and complained that Misha should be there for the final episode. The writers probably tried to come up with a way to bring Misha back without having to deal with Cas, and pitched the idea of Jimmy Novak being in Heaven. Misha, obviously annoyed about this, turned this stupid pitch down.

3. Destiel was never a thing, never planned, never part of Dabb’s ending. Bobo and Misha pushing the confession was the part of the season that was Wrong.

False: We have a SPN writer on record saying that Castiel’s confession was the first thing written for Season 15 when the writers returned to the writers room. If it wasn’t planned, why was it the first thing written, why does it align so well with the rest of season 15? Look I know some people either a. hate destiel and refuse to see it even if it slaps them in the face, or b. have major heteronormative goggles on, or c. are just homophobes in denial, but 15x18 fits in perfectly with the narrative of season 15. Everything Cas says, everything that happened in that scene was so in character it just works. It fit. If you just rewatch the season whilst applying some critical thinking skills and pay attention to the narrative and character arcs, trust me, the confession fits in with pretty much every other plot point, and character story in the season.

Also: We have known for a while that the network did market research into Destiel, wanting to know if it would go down well or not. They were well aware of its popularity and considering it. Where would this have come from if not pitched by the showrunner? Dabb must have at least been considering it. If you take all of Dabb era into consideration, starting with mid season 11, all the way through the season 12 build up, season 13 grief arc, and then Bobo’s Destiel break up arc in late season 14, early season 15, it is clear that there was some toing and froing on the issue of Destiel, but ultimately, I still believe that Dabb was on board. He wrote 13x01 for christs sake. No way he wasn’t taking it seriously.

 4. It’s always been about the brothers. The finale just stays true to what Supernatural is all about.

*rubs temples* Fundamentally FALSE: The show has time and again reasserted the message of “Family don’t end with blood”, as well as the messages of AKF and YANA. Sam and Dean may be at the heart of the show, but a heart can’t exist without a body to support it. Without bones, and lungs, and blood, and muscles, and a BRAIN. The finale abandons the shows core messages. It forces the characters back into their season 1 characterisations and the whole thing becomes hollow and souless. But I’m not here to complain, I’m here to lay down the facts. Dean’s heaven was supposed to be surrounded by loved ones right? We know OG Charlie Bradbury was gonna be in his Heaven, we also know CAS was gonna be in there. So this idea that the finale as it currently stands was how it was meant to be is wrong. Dean was supposed to die and reunite with his found family and loved ones. This alone would have been a far better ending than the one given. Do I think this was solely a covid issue? Fuck no.

The randoms that WERE in the finale are proof alone that they could have got people in and quarantined. We also have several actors on record saying that they WOULD have quarantined for the finale had they been asked to return but they WEREN’T.

Lies have been told. Samantha Ferris and Chad Limberg have confirmed that we have been lied to about the original plans for the finale.

This alone is proof enough that there is more plausibility in some of the conspiracy theories than any bullshit narrative some people are pushing in defence of the barbaric mess of a finale we were given.

So lets address some of the conspiracy theories now:

Conspiracy No.1: The CW Network reviewed Supernatural during the covid break, and due to homophobia, refused any Destiel arc that wasn’t already filmed, shut down any potential reciprocation from Dean, and forced Dabb to change his finale.

I don’t think this is entirely what happened. But I do think it is very strange how there is a such a huge disconnect particularly in Dean’s characterisations between what had come before the lockdown, and what came after. The one fact we have here, and please someone provide a source if you can find it because I know there is one, the finale script was still going through changes up to only 2 weeks before it was filmed. We know that there was some weird editing in 15x18 (which was still in post and uncompleted before lockdown) and we know from Jensen’s own mouth that there was more to the confession scene on Dean’s side that was cut. We also know that this isn’t the first time that Destiel heavy moments have been changed in post - the prayer scene is another big scene that went through a lot of changes and Bobo fought to have his script play out the way he wanted it.

There are certain things that in my own opinions, are basically true of SPN which I have put together from years of keeping one eye on the writers room, the network, and all the various comments made. My opinion is this:

The writers room has always been split on Destiel. Some writers heavily supported making it canon, others did not care, or were against it.

The Network considered it over the course of several years, did market research, green lit it, then changed their minds, possibly several times over the course of Dabb’s era. Destiel was pitched to the Network early in Dabb era.

The crew on set were also split. Some people heavily supported it, and worked to assist the reading, whereas others did not care/did not support it. The same can be said for the editing room.

Bob Singer supported the subtextual homoeroticism, but never supported bringing it into text (this is an opinion, but I think it aligns with everything we know about him.) IMO Bob Singer also supported subtextual homoeroticism between Sam and Dean - the guy is gross is what I’m saying. He isn’t exactly a progressive person.

Fun fact - a while back our old enemy Sera Gamble went on a Twitter rant about writers rooms and the ways a script goes through changes. I don’t think this was in relation to the SPN finale wank but she basically inadvertantly confirmed that the Network can step in and make sweeping changes to a script if they want to and if they decide they don’t like the direction of a story. Sera Gamble confirmed this as a fact.

Now. I’m not saying that this is what the CW did with Destiel. I just think its very strange how pre lockdown, the last thing filmed is a heartfelt homosexual declaration of love between Dean and Cas, and we have a finale script that Misha had not seen, but knew that he was meant to film as Castiel for 5 days (5 days on set is over half of an episode as far as I know). Then all of a sudden, Covid happens, and Cas is cut from the finale completely, a desperate attempt to bring Misha back only as Jimmy Novak takes place, which Misha rightly refuses, leading to a finale which makes zero sense narratively and appears in every way completely and utterly butchered.

The only explanation provided by anyone involved is that Covid meant changes had to happen - but that covid didn’t change the actual story at all.

But this makes no sense because we know that Cas was cut from the finale. This is FACT. Do not let anyone gaslight you into thinking otherwise. Misha was preparing to quaranting to return to set as Cas post Covid, so whatever happened to cut Cas from the finale, it wasn’t Covid.

I’m gonna have to Occum’s Razor this and say that the most logical explanation here is the one that is most likely true. Someone got cold feet with the Destiel story, and to prevent any possible interpretation that included Dean reciprocating, any hints of Destiel were removed from the finale script, including Castiel’s whole appearance.

Now, this isn’t me saying I think that Dabb’s original finale was full of Destiel love confessions and a homosexual kiss or whatever, but I am asking you all to really think about it and ask yourselves WHY Cas would have been totally cut from an episode he was supposed to be in at LEAST half of? 

We will probably never know the real reason Cas was cut, but he WAS cut. I’m not saying it was all homophobia, but some fuckery went down.

Conspiracy No. 2: The CW Network changed the finale to make it into a Walker promo because they only cared about raising up Jared and not Jensen and Misha as they were losing them anyway.

I don’t agree with this in terms of the finale being butchered solely to make it into a Walker promo. There are however moments in the finale that are clearly supposed to be Walker Easter Eggs and added to excite fans of Jared/Sam in particular such as Sam’s gratuitous and unnecessary topless scene, as well as the call on the “case in Austin”.

I will take this moment to say something pretty damn controversial though.

*Deep breath*

The fact is, Dean Winchester has been the “lead” character of Supernatural’s narrative for years now, with Sam often being sidelined and not given great storylines himself. Even in Season 15, right up until the finale, I myself felt bad for Sam sometimes because so much of this show has become all about Dean. Jensen Ackles is clearly the better actor when it comes to emotional story arcs, so the emotional heart of the story has most often leant on him.

So you can understand my confusion, when this is turned on its head in the final episode, to make Sam carry all the emotional weight, and have the most lines/screentime, and story resolution (even if his story resolution was just as crappy as Dean’s).

If we pretend that Destiel is not a thing, and ignore Cas’s confession, the story change in the finale from Dean focus to Sam focus is still rather suspicious. Again, I’m not saying I completely approve of or agree to the conspiracy theory that Walker influenced the butchering of the script, but I can believe that perhaps a note went down from the CW to someone like Bob Singer, to emphasise Sam/Jared more than they perhaps would normally, because the CW wanted to shine the spotlight on Jared to raise excitement for Walker.

I can also believe this note might have said something like “we wanna cater to fans of Sam/Jared the most - don’t do anything to piss them off.” but now I am getting into my own conspiracy theories so by all means dismiss this as me being bitter.

Conspiracy No.3: Dabb purposely made it bad, as a secret message to Destiel fans that he had been silenced, by layering meta clues into the episode that he knew fans would notice.

I doubt this one is true. Though some of the theories are quite compelling. The old vampire silent movie theory for instance starts off quite well, but loses me the moment it brings up Urban Dictionary slang.

Sometimes I have just had to accept that Supernatural is a bad show that is sometimes accidentally a masterpiece. However, some writers really did go That Deep with their stories - anything by Ben Edlund or Steve Yockey for instance, their episodes are meta masterpieces with a hundred different layers of beautiful subtextual storytelling and are a joy to analyse. Bobo Berens has certainly done some A+++ work especially now we KNOW that he was working hard all this time to bring Destiel to canon text (so any analysis of Destiel in the subtext in his episodes is very accurate). There have been many other key elements analysed over the years which have been confirmed true. Cas’s death in Season 12, Dean’s time as a demon in season 10, Season 11 ending in unity of dark and light, these were all plot points predicted by meta writers just by analysing the narrative. Sometimes the writers really have been very smart and they do add things to the show to aid us in our meta.

Richard Speight Jr for instance, confirmed that SPN has a visual library that the production team use to give clues and hints in the narrative. Pizza, for example, always means a lie has been told. Whenever Pizza is being eaten or even just mentioned on screen, there is dishonesty in that particular moment.

The beers also have a very specific message and the one thing I can’t let go about the finale, was that Dean was drinking El Sol beer. The beer his dad gave him, that was terrible.

El Sol has been used in the show to indicate something being wrong, a fake reality, or another lie, for the longest time. It is the beer of deception.

The fact that in the final episode of this entire show, Dean is in Heaven, supposedly at peace, and then he gets handed an El Sol beer to drink? Thats a HUGE red flag for any meta writer watching who can read SPNs visual library.

If they had given him the Margiekugel beer of family then it would make sense. Dean is in Heaven, with Bobby, his family, at peace. Margiekugel should have been the beer of choice. But nope. El Sol. Something is wrong.

I don’t know if it was Dabb, or Singer, or some disgruntled ADs and crew members who added these elements into the finale, but their very presence confirms some message of Wrongness.

I could go into a huge rant about Vampire Mimes not making sense and the very glaringly obvious symbolism of cutting out peoples tongues too, but that is high school level film analysis. It’s obvious. It means to silence someone. There is validity in interpreting this as Dabb saying he was silenced. I don’t know how true it is, but i can’t 100% dismiss it, because as I said, this is high school analysis levels of obvious subtextual storytelling.

So in summary, whilst I don’t think that Dabb intentionally went out of his way to sabotage his own script, and leave a breadtrail of secret messages for savvy fans to put together to confirm that he was silenced by an evil network into not getting what he wanted... I do think that there is validity in questioning these odd choices for the finale. Cutting out tongues? Vampire Mimes? El Sol beer?

The evidence is somewhat compelling is all I’m saying. I don’t believe the full conspiracy theories, but as I have said many times before, some fuckery went down.

So What Do I Believe?

That some fuckery went down and whatever company line they are pushing is bullshit.

I believe that the original script included Cas (since thats fact). I believe that the original script probably always had Dean dying on a vampire hunt (due to Jensen’s issues with it and in particular, his sarcastic comments about vampires in the past year or so which in hindsight are hilarious and prove he never really came to terms with Dean’s idiotic death). I believe Dabb’s original script was some less crappy version of what we got, which potentially included showing Jack rescuing Cas from the Empty and resolving the outstanding Empty plot points (potentially this was actually a 15x19 plot since Mark P commented that his final scenes were supposed to be with Jack and Cas), had Cas reunite with Dean in Heaven and had them have a discussion about Cas’s confession. I believe that there was probably a lot of back and forth over how to handle that with some people wanting Dean to obviously reciprocate and others believing they should keep it ambiguous. I believe that Dean and Cas would have reunited with Charlie Bradbury, and Bobby Singer, and possibly others (though if this was the case it must have been very early on since no one ever looped in Sam Ferris, Chad Linberg or any other Roadhouse people).

I believe that Sam’s ending probably didn’t change much, but I do feel that initially they were planning on him ending up with Eileen, because it is the only thing that narratively makes sense. Cutting Eileen and giving him a blurry wife is something I won’t ever understand and Jared’s bullshit explanations are quite clearly pulled out of his ass to appease bronly types. I believe the reunion on the bridge would have included Cas and Jack, with a final shot of all four of them together, at peace (as this aligns with Alex’s comments from around a year or so ago that the final shot was all four of them). (I also am not sure it was always supposed to be on a bridge since the foreshadowing in an earlier episode showed Dean, Cas and Sam all in the Roadhouse together).

I believe that script went through countless changes and redrafts, and not even production people or the types that some fandom people claim as their “sources” would even have seen those early scripts, since even Misha never saw it. I believe that these rumours of Dabb never having Cas in his finale and ignoring all Destiel elements likely come from people who only saw later versions, weren’t party to network discussions and felt bitter about the final scripts they did see (being the crappy butchered one that was ultimately filmed). Those “sources” are now spreading rumours to discredit Dabb.

I obviously believe Dabb is a weak ass pushover who either didn’t care enough to fight back, or gave up since he’s been stuck with fucking Bob Singer on his back for years, but I will NEVER believe he didn’t care about the DeanCas love story, because he has been one of the few writers who has championed for it for years. You can’t look back at Dabb’s episodes in earlier seasons and claim he didn’t care. Dabb was a writer whose creative ideas were beaten out of him by an unforgiving Network only concerned about where their future money was coming from. Do I think he gave up too easily? Yes. But I also have one other huge reason for not believing the bullshit about Dabb being this anti-Destiel villain.

Bobo. Because if Bobo truly believed Dabb was gonna fuck that up at the end, I don’t think he would have given us Cas’s love confession to begin with. If he had known it was gonna end like that, I think he would have reconsidered, because had Cas not confessed his love, I don’t think he would have been cut from the finale. Bobo - a gay man, would not have wanted such a horrible message for queer fans being put across in the show he worked so hard on. He started writing that confession scene the day they returned to the writers room. Dabb would have been there, would have seen what he was writing, probably discussed it with him, after all, other episodes were written with the confession in mind. No way was Dabb planning to fuck up the ending knowing what Bobo was giving us. Nope.

Something went very wrong over lockdown. Someone, somewhere up the chain of power caught wind of the confession scene in 15x18, realised that it demanded a resolution which would make Dean Winchester, their protagonist, queer, and pulled the plug. I believe this did not come from a place of homophobia, but of bad business sense.

The CW is constantly trying to win the approval and attention of the one demo group that they seem to fail at getting the most: young straight men. Supernatural was one of their only remaining shows that appeals to young straight men, and Dean Winchester is more often than not the fave character of those young straight men who project onto him. Making Dean Winchester, established Han Solo of Supernatural, queer and in love with his best friend in the finale would have come across as a betrayal to those young straight men. The CW probably feared they would lose that demo group for good, and with a show like Walker starting soon with Jared at the helm, they couldn’t take the risk.

Hence there was probably a whole bunch of back and forth script redrafts with the Network, with Dabb and Singer fighting to make a finale that would appeal to everyone. There was most likely no way that they could bring Cas back without addressing what had already been filmed, because any resolution of that plot would either a. make Dean queer, or b. address it awkwardly by having Dean reject Cas (this storyline would probably have been slammed by critics worse than the finale because it meant addressing it. It might have got the attention of LGBTQ activist groups and caused a bigger shitstorm than what we got). The best option was therefore C. Bury it and Cas, pretend it never happened. Never address it again and distract Dean with other things. Hope that Destiel fans will accept no answer from Dean as ambiguous enough to imagine a future reunion rather than shutting it down with a rejection, and still keep hold of the blissfully ignorant heteronormative straight boys so they can carry over to Walker when it starts.

I also believe (controversially probably) that there was concern that any resolution of Dean and Cas would have overshadowed network darling Jared Padalecki. If Dean and Cas had come together in the finale, with a very clearly textual homosexual reunion, then that would have been all anyone talked about. The reviewers, the critics, the audience, everyone. It would have been nothing but Dean and Cas (and look, if they did think this, they were right, Destiel trending over the US ELECTION.)

So what is the network to do, when they are losing the two stars who would get the most attention from this storyline? The one star they were holding on to and getting his own show, relegated to third place in the finale of the show where he was first on the call sheet? Nope. That’s pretty unacceptable. Even without Walker I can imagine people at all levels side eyeing the Destiel thing over the years. This IS a show about two brothers, and their relationship should be the core relationship, we can’t have one brother pushed aside in the finale to make way for a queer relationship that will get all the attention instead. It was never gonna get approved for this reason ALONE.

At the end of the day, if I look at it from a business perspective, it makes far more sense that the CW shut down Destiel, rather than “oh Dabb never cared and ruined it because he’s an idiot.” The writers cared, and had built on that story over years. But their mistake was leaving any Destiel resolution to the finale. If they had instead gone and got Dean and Cas together in early season 15, then they could have ended it in a way that satisfied everyone. Destiel wouldn’t have threatened pulling focus away from Sam and Dean, and the show could have gone out on a high.

When I lay out all the conspiracy theories, and line them up next to the cold hard facts, the conspiracy theories in some way or another, make more sense. To believe the company line, the narrative we have been fed, is to ignore your own eyes, ears, and memories pre March 2020.

All I’m asking people to do is take a look at the show, the narrative presented in the show, and the information presented above. I’m not telling you to believe what I’ve written here, half of which is just my own opinion. I’m asking you to ask yourselves if it makes sense to you. Because it sure as hell doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied.

[hatboyproject]

This is very long, but it might be of interest to someone, somewhere. I was asked recently about the direction I'm taking this romance in and whether or not I'll be addressing certain disability specific subjects within it. The answer, of course, is yes - I have always planned to do this in one form or another. Whilst no single piece of media can address everything I'd like to say on the subject, and I am working within the bounds of a larger story with its own pacing and focus to consider, there's still room to touch on some of these things.

I'm aware that my interpretations won't always be the same as others'. They are my interpretations, coloured by my experiences and feelings, and ultimately, this is my mod - I'm writing it for everybody who 'wears the ballcap,' so to speak! But, it's my interpretation of this character that I'm trying to share with everyone. Different people "took the helm" (laugh, I'm hilarious!) on writing Jeff across the trilogy, and as time has gone on I've been trying to convince myself that it's okay to have my turn at doing that, too - albeit in a non-professional capacity. So... Let's get into my interpretation of Jeff, where his stuff comes from on my view, and how things went to get him to where we are at the beginning of ME3, where the romance can occur.

A lot of how I interpret him comes from experiences in my own life with my own issues, and with those of my loved ones, some of whom are physically disabled in similar (but not identical) ways to Jeff. Some of this carries an element of catharsis for me.

Mechanically and narratively speaking, what draws me to writing this romance is the contrast between how these two characters are strong. It's this core idea that strength doesn't have only one manifestation in a person. That loving somebody doesn't have to be done only one way, that it can be beautiful and passionate and fulfilling - even if, when it gets physical, the headboard can't exactly be made to shatter with the force of it all. For me, it's also an exercise in insecurity and dealing with feelings of frustrated inadequacy - something that has plagued me my whole life.

Yes, yes, he's fictional - but the only way for me to really get into a character is to think about them as if they're a real being. When I look at Jeff as a person, I see many things... Some very positive, some pretty negative... I try to see him as a complete person with strengths and flaws.

On the surface he is often defensive, dismissive, sarcastic, and emotionally avoidant. But why is that? He is highly skilled, dedicated and capable, and knows it, but at the same time is a person who is constantly overlooked, underestimated, and asked to work thrice as hard to get the same considerations. Even then, his validity is questioned often by almost everyone around him. Over time, combined with the realities of living with his physical condition, this has given him some deep-seated insecurities. He feels the need to brag about his skills because they are, ultimately, the one thing about himself that he is absolutely certain has real worth. He overcompensates for this by abusing rules and technicalities wherever he can, because I think he knows that if he played life by the rules, he'd never have gotten anywhere. It's a stacked deck, so why not hide some aces up his sleeve? When you don't fit in the box provided, you question the value of every box you see.

When a person lives with this long enough, it can get hard to swim against the tide of society's expectations and still remain chipper about it, let alone not internalise some of it. It can cause a person to create a shell constructed out of distrust and untruth.

Living with a disability can really suck sometimes, and the suck is compounded when having to deal with your own frustrations plus those of others. In my personal experience, that happens a lot.

There is a certain sense of alienation that it can create, and it can become a kind of Sword of Damocles. It can be easier to anticipate rejection and others' assumptions, inabilities to understand or relate than to keep reaching out, only to have the same tired conversations about being different. I see a lot of this in him. I understand the chip he has on his shoulder.

I also see an extremely sensitive, empathetic, devoted and boundlessly loving person under all that. In fact, it's because of these things that I think he actively tries to distance himself. At the core of his being, I see Jeff as somebody who loves quickly and completely. I think he sees that as a vulnerability, incompatible with what he's learned he has to do to survive... and also with the machismo thing that comes with being a pilot. I think on some level he's terrified of that about himself, but he also can't help it. Jeff is ride or die. So, he tells himself he doesn't care and never lets anyone in. Any time anyone showed interest, he'd shut them down, alienate them, distance himself, and get in the seat of something that flies.

I think up until now, (ME3) he's seen intimacy both as a thing he longs for, but is also afraid of because of his fundamental knowledge that he is different. He thinks he can't "measure up" to what he sees all around him. He sees romance as something that will lead to his inevitable rejection and being crushed, emotionally - and if he's not careful, physically, too. I think he's embarrassed about that as well. He's very interested where it comes to all that, but the things he likes to watch, he knows he can't do like that. His only experience is second-hand as a voyeur, so some of his perceptions about that are unhealthy for him. I think any kind of attempt by the medical professionals in his life to broach the topic and offer support on, he's angrily changed the subject, or stopped listening to, because of the entire mess above. I think Jeff is kind of a lonely person, and some of it is self-imposed, though the reasons for him thinking it's the right thing to do aren't all within his control.

All this is difficult for him to reconcile with, because he has been desperately in love with his commanding officer since almost the moment s/he met him, but entirely unprepared to face it.

I think at first it was easy for him to dismiss it as a stupid crush. Everyone gets them when cramped up in close quarters in stressful situations and the Commander's magnetism was hard to ignore. But then it became clear that Shepard really hadn't read his file and really hadn't made any assumptions at all about him. S/he just wanted to know him, and as time progressed and that actually bore out, it got hard not to really feel something powerful, even though s/he was the Commander and it wasn't strictly appropriate to think that way. But, then there was that thing about not fitting in the box provided...

I think he agonised over coming to Shepard with it, but ultimately decided it would be selfish with everything they were going through. I think there was a part of him that decided s/he'd never be interested anyway, not when there were other, healthier people to choose from... People who didn't have these hangups or need special accommodations made for them. I think he decided to keep it to himself, for what he felt was both their sakes.

If/When the Commander quietly hooked up with someone else, I think he had a lot of feelings all at once. On the one hand, the person he cared for most was finding some peace in all the craziness. On the other, he wished that particular brand of peace was shared with him. Most of the time there were more important things to worry about, but during downtime, I think it was on his mind a lot.

I think he feels very sheepish about it, but occasionally his jealousy got the better of him and he interrupted Shepard at moments that got too hard to watch on the security cams. He watched the cams around the ship lot, and listened in on all the others a fair bit. I think because he saw himself as being at a remove from most people in a lot of ways, it was easy to justify that to himself. I think he saw it kind of like listening to a podcast or a soap opera or... Nature documentary, almost, or something. He got to know all of them in this way... Parasocially at first, but gradually, socially too. He felt better about trying, because he had this secret edge. Not the greatest stuff he's ever done, but... Complete person. Strengths and flaws.

And then, the unthinkable happened. He couldn't accept that the ship was dying. He was sure he could save it... But when Shepard's hand touched his shoulder, when s/he'd come back for him, he knew it was over. And then, it really was over. Shepard paid the price for his arrogance. The person he wanted to protect the most spun off out into space. The communicator between his mask and that helmet was still in range for long enough that he could hear the choking. For a long time afterward, even hearing people cough made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

The Alliance grounded him. I don't think he even had the capacity to be mad about it. I think that was a hard time for Jeff. I think between being burdened with the knowledge of the Reapers, the loss of Shepard, and the weight of his guilt, he was pretty close to the very, very edge when Cerberus knocked on his door and made him a bunch of promises. Pretty sure those promises had nothing to do with leather seats and everything to do with Project Lazarus. I'm very sure that the promise of Shepard coming back is the reason he even let Cerberus pay for the surgeries he agreed to undergo, because I don't think he valued himself much at all at that point. I'm pretty sure it was being ready to help Shepard that he was thinking about when he was learning to walk on his painful legs without crutches for the very first time. When Cerberus offered him a big shiny reset button I think he took it without hesitation because there wasn't anything else to hope for. I think seeing Shepard in the docking bay galvanised him and without ever telling them so, he pledged his life to them even harder than before. I think he told himself that he would support Shepard in every way he could. He would go wherever, do whatever, and when dealing with him, try to give them what he knew they needed; a goddamn break.

So, fast forward again, and now we are here. With all of this in mind... Shepard might have had a dalliance with someone else, or might've been too damaged by their previous love interest on Horizon, or whatever. Either way, I think Jeff saw it as not his business to even dream about that. I think the guilt tore him up every time he looked at Shepard. I think he felt like on some level, he deserved the pain of unrequited feelings which only ever got more intense. If he didn't think himself worthy of it back then, doubly so now. I think during the six months of house arrest, he tried to visit, but the Alliance denied his every attempt. Then the attack on Earth happened.

And so now we have Jeff, who, just like other humans is confused and groping about for a sense of what's up and what's down. Fortunately for him, Shepard is part of that sense of stability. He's just better at hiding it, because avoiding it and telling himself to focus elsewhere is second nature to him by this point. But things are a little different, now. Shepard seems looking around for a connection too. Future days seem short in number and the rulebook less and less important by the minute. Denying it to himself becomes impossible, and even EDI prods him about it. Shepard won't stop being so goddamn nice to him and even responds with things that if he didn't know better, he could interpret as... But then all the old insecurities come rushing back and he's walking on his own damn eggshells again. Fuck it. It's time to admit it. To come clean. S/he has to know.

So he asks. And s/he accepts. He's equal parts thrilled, stunned and terrified. He's even on some level, suspicious. Is s/he setting him up for a fall? Are they angry about his responsibility? What do they want out of this, actually? He hasn't explained what it'd be like. That what they're doubtlessly expecting of him is unrealistic. That he's completely inexperienced. I think at this point, he's a bit pissed off with himself and feeling a lot of dread because he's pretty sure how this is going to go. He realises he's got so caught up in it that he's done things in the wrong order. Damage control. He has to talk with Shepard and explain what s/he should expect from him, because it will be different. Manage expectations because he's had to manage his own. He goes in steeled.

But s/he knows it will be different, it turns out. As ever, Shepard has made no assumptions whatsoever. S/he only wants to get to know him. Wants him for everything he is, and accepts what he is not. It was never an issue for them beyond understanding how to work with it, because he is worthy just as he is, and has worked hard enough. He has to teach them about his limitations, about underestimating and overestimating... But where there's a will, there's a way. Time for a few shared moments of peace before the end of days, and through all the craziness, something feels right at last. He feels safe enough to let Shepard in properly. Thus begins his reassessment of himself and reckoning with letting go of the insecurities he has that aren't actually his own, but come from outside.

Also he totally gets to sext the Commander now when s/he's on missions. Nice.

So. There's a lot more I could say and expound upon but it's been hours and I have stuff to do. That's my direction. It's not going to suit everyone, and I doubt I can get everything across... But I'll try. I'm just one person, with just one perspective, with just one version of this story. But I hope people like what I come up with surrounding this framework, because I have lived a lot of it myself. Just a few less Reapers in my version. Not everyone's experiences and responses will be the same.

[tillthelandslide]

Made to Love

Author's Note: Hello to all of you beautiful and wonderful people. I hope your day is going well. After having a whole day of writer's block, I listened to Made to Love by John Legend and this wonderful idea came into my head so I wrote it down. I hope you liked this and I'm thinking maybe I could do a part 2 if you guys like it?

This is set in a utopian world, not ours just so you know.

Tag List: @harrysthiccthighss @thereisa8ella @magdelen69 @henrythickcavill @hc-geralt-23 @kissthatlifeaway @darkbooksarwin @august-w-princess @speakerforthedead0 @pixie1484 @constip8merm8 @tigerbroadwaybaby @agniavateira @summersong69 @aestheticallywinchester @stephartrave @al-wiisa @henrycavillfanpage @intenselikes @anat2507 @ellixthea @aguspalazzo @1ookatthestars00 @wintersoldierslut @michelehansel @cavill-sass @thecavillstache  @xelizabethvalentinex @sesamepancakes @tumblenewby @thefangirlsblog @sugermelonwater

(if you would like to be added to my tag list, feel free to message me, if you are new to my blog then I post Henry Cavill fanfics and make   Henry Cavill fake Instagram posts, my requests are open so feel free to request anything  and I will try my best to make your vision come to life. Edit: requests are still open but there might be a delay as I am working my way through the current ones and all other stories I am writing)  

Growing up you were taught the laws of the world you lived in. You were taught that every person around you had different morals and different beliefs. But one thing everyone agreed on was the existence of soul mates, two people linked by destiny, made for each other, two people bound my fate to be together until death do they part. You were taught that you could tell who your soulmate is purely but the feeling you got. You were told that your soul mates aura would match yours and the closer you were to each other the deeper you would feel, the more intense your feelings would be, as if amplified by the other person. You were also taught that as you grew up you would get visions of your soul mate. You wouldn't see what they looked like or where they lived but would see visions of what they were like, what they did in their spare time. You knew yours was an actor (although how famous you didn't know), you knew he enjoyed video games just as much as you did, he grew up reading fantasy books just like you, you could feel that family was important to him, he had brothers but you weren't sure how many. You could also feel each other's emotions when you were apart, a constant reminder from destiny that you had to find each other to live in peace, to live in paradise with each other. The piece of information that made it difficult in finding him was that he was an actor, he was always travelling and was always filming. This made finding him difficult because you were a singer, a famous one at that, you were constantly on the road, never in the same place for more than a couple of days at a time.

But you were currently on a break from your life on the road, you had told your fans that you were going to take a hiatus and lots of them encouraged you to find your soul mate, because they wanted you to be happy.

One of the fundamental laws of soul mates was the push and pull dynamic, the more someone would push their soulmate away. the more they would find themselves needing that person. There were people who ignored these laws, and lived their lives running from destiny. Soulmates who were yet to find each other were allowed to carry out temporary relationships with non-soul mate individuals, named "betas" but were forbidden to marry them or reproduce with them. Again there were those who hated these laws, those who married non-soulmates to spite destiny.

As for you, you had a few relationships with betas, but they never satisfied that of your deepest desire. It was fun getting to know betas and you found yourself loving them, but not in the way that soulmates would love each other. Eventually the relationship between betas would come to an end when the other found their soulmate. But you were yet to find yours so all of your beta relationships had ended because they had been successful in carrying out the law.

So here you were, alone in your house in London, what was the point of a break if I can't even find my soulmate? you thought. You were beginning to lose hope, maybe you had done something to spite destiny and this was its way of punishing you.

You had begun to feel ill, your mother bringing you some soup in hopes you would feel better. Your mother was one of few individuals, who destiny had granted multiple soul mates, this only happened to people whose original soul mate had passed, destiny would grant them another if they had successfully carried out the law of soul mates in all its glory. And your mother had, she had found her soulmate when she was 21 and had gotten married soon after, having 4 beautiful children (you included) before sadly her soul mate (your father) and passed. Destiny had decided that she carried out the law so well that she deserved another one.

To say it irked you was an understatement, you were happy for her, sure, but there she was having had 2 soul mates and you were yet to find yours.

"He's on he's way dear" she said, as she was leaving your home.

"I don't know ma" you frowned, rubbing your forehead I wish this throbbing in my head would stop for christ sake you thought.

"He is, my love. Now rest and get better, I have to meet Derek for lunch" she said referring to your step farther.

"Have a lovely day ma" you said, making her smile and leave you.

Your head throbbed again, making you have to close your eyes as you felt like you were going to faint.

"What in the world?" you said, your hand coming up to rest against the wall to stop yourself from falling.

Sit down love you heard his voice in your head say. Oh yeah, another side effect of not finding your soulmate was having this kind of connection with them, they could communicate with you, through your mind. It sounds ridiculous but it's true, it takes practice to successfully send a message to your soul mate, apparently it becomes painstakingly easy when you've actually met them.

"You're not helping me" you chuckled out, crashing on your sofa.

You need to rest, your making me feel nauseous his voice said again

"Oh thanks love. Sorry to be such a pain" you said, sarcastically.

Sorry love you heard him chuckle

"It would be a lot easier if you were here dickhead" you laughed, joking with him, your eyes still shut. An image flashed in your mind... A lot of green, that's all you could see for miles.

"What are you doing?" you laughed, talking about the vision you got.

Walking Kal

"all I can see is green, like for miles?" you asked, and you heard him chuckle. He didn't say anything else and you sighed, resting your head against your sofa.

Wish I could help you. He sounded sad and he felt sad too, you could physically feel him frowning, but you knew it felt worse for him, that's how it worked. You were feeling dizzy, which meant he was feeling it a little too.

"Would be so much easier if I knew where you were." you said, your cat jumping up to sit on you.

Y'know how it works love, can't tell you that

He was right, another stupid rule was that if one soulmate attempted to send a message containing information about where they were or where they lived, the information would be corrupted, all the other would hear is muffled speech.

"I'll leave you to it then my love" you said quietly.

Okay love, rest well. Get someone to come round and look after you

"I'll try." you said. You managed to open your eyes, the world spinning a lot less now, the same throbbing in your head like someone was constantly playing a drum in there. You picked up your phone texting your best friend.

"Hey. Not well. Please come save me 😂" you typed, short sentences will have to do you thought.

"coming" was all you received back. Your friend arrived 10 minutes later, as she lived close by. She let herself in calling your name, to which you just groaned.

"Oh c'mon you big baby, it can't be that bad" she said upon seeing you.

"That's easy for you to say. You don't have what feels like someone kicking your head in every 2 seconds" you said, groaning when she tried pulling you up from your seat.

"We're going for a walk, the fresh air will do you good." she said, forcing your shoes on your feet.

"Really? I'm not well" you pouted.

"C'mon you need air" she said, pulling you up and to the door.

You began walking, every few steps you had to stop and shut your eyes, your vision became blurry and your head pounded and pounded with every step. You could see green again, a park?

"Hey it's okay, I've got you I'm here, Cmon sit down" she said, leading you to a bench.

Another vision: a bench?

Another one: two women?

Another one: a dog jumping excitedly

What was that?: An American Akita?

"This isn't working" you groaned loudly, your vision coming back to you, you looked around you, you were in a park, surrounded by green.

"Oh my god" you said, your head pounding, like a drum getting louder. You stood suddenly, your feet hurt but they carried you forward, you didn’t want to be walking but your body had other plans, your legs hurt... Everything hurt.

What's happening? You heard him say

You were falling, falling, your head throbbing more than ever, just as you were about to hit the ground, you felt something soft... Hands? You opened your eyes briefly, two blue eyes, the left had a bit of brown in it

 And then? Nothing.

The next thing you know, you were lying on the pavement, your head no longer hurt... That's good you thought. You opened your eyes, seeing the same blue eyes, your heart felt like it exploded, your back shooting up from the ground on its own accord, turning to look at the man.

"Oh my god" you cried, he was here, you found him.

"Told you to rest, love" he said, somehow making a joke out of it, but he had tears in his eyes too. You wrapped your arms around him, him pulling you to his chest.

"It's okay I've got you love, I've got you" he said, hugging you like he was never going to let go.

"You found me" you said, pulling back to look into his eyes.

"I found you alright" he said, nodding as tears fell from his eyes.

"Henry" you said, suddenly knowing his name as if you'd always known it, you knew everything there was to know about him, and he you.

"Y/N" he uttered, his hand grasping your face tightly in his hand, bringing it closer to his so he could finally kiss you. His lips were perfect against yours, it was everything everyone told you it would be, nothing but heightened emotions, destiny and fate.

"I love you so much" he uttered against your lips.

"I love you too" you replied, pulling back from the kiss.

"How's the head?" he said, his fingers rubbing at your temple.

[heartsck]

mischa & daci - late night feels

(this is a long thread we did on google docs so all under read more, also tw abuse, violence, death, daci having emotions on main)

@sodaparticles

daciana

A heartrender was meant to know her own body, her own mind, know it and control it such that she could then control others. It was one of the most fundamental tenets of her order, and something Daciana had always thought she was rather good at.

So why couldn’t she sort through the messiness in her mind now?

As she often did when she felt overwhelmed, although she would never admit this, she sought out Mischa. Wrapping her kefta over her thin nightgown, Daciana grabbed the bottle she’d been saving for saints knew what, and then followed the all too familiar path to his room. The halls of the little palace were empty, everyone tucked away for the night, but she didn’t care.

Daciana lingered outside his door for a moment, hearing his heartbeat like a metronome and the melody from his piano. She could picture it easily -  Mischa lost in the music with his long, graceful fingers dancing across the keys, perhaps his eyes were closed. He was probably at peace. She gave him one more moment of this, a slight twinge of something in her chest over her constant need to be the center of attention, and then pushed open the door.

He looked up at her, but she couldn’t say anything. Not now, not yet. The heartrender stepped into the room and closed the door behind her, setting the bottle down on top of the piano and slipping off her kefta with a level of care that did not match her current somewhat manic energy. She draped it over the back of a chair then rushed forward, joining him on the piano bench and kissed him - hard & desperate. One hand snaked around his neck while the other clutched at his shirt - too needy and too distracted for how she usually was.

It didn’t work.

After a moment, or maybe it was several minutes, she broke the kiss with a gasp that might have been a sob. Daciana leaned forward, pressing her face into his chest so he could not see that she was crying.

mischa

“Are you…. Are you okay?” he never thought he’d ask her this question. If anything, the roles would be reversed, and even then he wasn’t sure she’d be as he was. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling back just enough so he could see her face. Seeing the tears staining her cheeks, his chest suddenly felt hollow and his voice was soft and as comforting as he could manage. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong, Daciana?”

It was late, as late as it always was when he managed to gather the motivation to practice on the piano. It was always a constant for him, and he was grateful he was able to even have one in his room. Sometimes he thought he was beginning to become a snobby grisha like some of the others. Usually he wanted to forget everything about his past, but this was one thing he wanted to keep in the present. He could easily recall the nights he would play for his other siblings while they all danced or played with him, or it was background music for the bickering they would always do. Never a moment of peace in the Essen household. So he became Mischa Baluev, and became his own peace. Only it never really worked the way he wanted it to.

He sighed, messing up for what felt like the hundredth time. He was beginning to become frustrated, or tired; or both. Before he had the chance to completely give up and just go to bed, the door opened. He looked up at her, the other constant that had developed in his life. He forgot how he lived before her. Every moment she wasn’t around was a moment he was not in peace. He was always searching for her now, everywhere he went. Everything reminded him of her, and though most things went unsaid between them, he had a feeling that tonight would be different. She seemed different.

He stayed quiet as she took off the kefta, approached him, and sat on the bench, not wanting to ruin the moment with a stupid joke like he often did. As always, the silence between them was a comfortable one, but he could sense some type of tension radiating from her that was unusual.

When she kissed him, he tried to match her energy, but failed. Through furrowed brows, he placed his hands on her shoulders, almost pulling away before she did it for him. Confusion and horror mixed on his face as she broke from the kiss and still, said nothing. When she burrowed her face in his chest, he didn’t say anything for a moment. What could he say about something he didn’t even know was really happening?

daciana

She could not recall the last time she’d felt so untethered, like all of the benchmarks she’d built her life upon were suddenly gone and she was lost in some squallar’s storm. Daciana did not know what was worse, the conflicting emotions over her mother’s death or the utter helplessness from feeling so out of control. She hated them both.

She loved the way he looked at her.

Mischa looked at her like she was the only person in the room, even across a crowd. He looked at her like he saw every part of her - the good, the bad, and even those parts she kept buried deep behind all that hard glossy armor. He looked at her and she felt seen. She felt safe. But now, there was something else, concern ghosted across his face but he did not speak. Daciana felt the slight hitch in his breath, or maybe his heart, when she kissed him and she almost thought she’d gotten away with acting like everything was fine.

Until his hands moved to her shoulders, pushing her back in the same breath as she pulled away. Mischa knew her all too well, she’d forgotten that in her grief and confusion. His chest was warm, his heartbeat steady even though she could feel it ticking upwards with concern. When he spoke, she broke - the tears running freely onto his shirt and then her cheeks as he gently pulled her face up to look at him.

“I -” she fumbled for her words, she never did that, and her voice was raw, desperate. “My mother died. Or maybe he fucking killed her. And Sacha can’t talk about it, but I need to because I have no idea if I am sad or relieved or angry - no wait I am angry, I’m so fucking angry but I don’t know how to deal with it. And we have to fucking go back there and pretend to be sad and pretend she didn’t sit there passively everytime.” She let out a choked sob, then reached for the bottle of liquor she’d brought.

“Drink with me?” Daciana made sure her body still touched his, needing the reassurance of his steadiness, then uncapped the bottle and took a large pull. The heartrender grimaced, she did not drink often, and certainly not like this. She took another, then pressed the bottle into his hand. “I don’t know how to deal with this, Mischa.”

mischa

The way she acted scared him. There was no other word for it, and he didn’t know if he liked being scared when it came to her. Everything about her always screamed I got this, her confidence and ruthlessness was what drew him in in the first place. Mischa wasn’t used to this version of her. He was used to petty, distant remarks followed by the tip of her finger tracing his shoulder down to his arm with the flutter of her eyelids as she charmed her way into his heart. This stuttering, vulnerable girl was one he did not know. It scared him, but did not scare him away.

He could tell how hard she tried to keep her face stone cold with no expression. He could sense the lump in her throat as easily as he could sense it in his own, because seeing her this way made him just as upset. He would burn cities down for her, bury his own people for her. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to see her happy, or at the very least, normal.

Mischa thought he was hearing things as she spoke, trying to process everything before she was on to the next thing and shoving a bottle of alcohol in his hand. Sad, relieved, angry; emotions he didn’t know Daciana Zhirkova knew, but she proved him wrong again and again every day. She spoke so fast he didn’t know if he even caught all of it, but he still tried, noticing how she kept her body weight against him.

“Every time?” he dared, not used to feeling like he had to be careful around her. He tried to maneuver so he was looking her in the eyes, his hand instinctively pushing her hair back and smoothing it down in an attempt of reassurance. He didn’t know if it was futile, but he still tried. Mischa didn’t know how to help her, or reassure her. He didn’t know his parents, and he supposed he could just make up a story about them, but he didn’t want to lie around her. He didn’t want the relationship he wanted with her built around lies.

Mischa sat quietly again, trying to think of the right thing to say. Was there even a right thing to say in this situation? He watched as she downed some of the bottle, taking a tentative sip after her. He wanted to be fully comprehensive for this. “Gonna go out on a limb here and say she wasn’t…. The best mother?”

daciana

Rationally, somewhere, she knew this was too much to unload on him at once. He didn’t owe her anything, certainly not the kind of emotional support she was asking of him. But Mischa did not tell her to leave, he did not pull away or act in any way that would make her feel unwelcome. Daciana wouldn’t realize how much she’d needed this until much later.

She couldn’t answer his first question, not right away, and only shook her head quickly. His hand was gentle against her face, that bit of affection nearly broke her focus - Daciana had to squeeze her eyes shut to focus all her power on stabilizing her erratic heart beat. She watched as he took a small sip, then grasped at the bottle again and downed two more large gulps.

Very few people (read: almost no one) knew this, but Daciana Zhirkova was an incredible lightweight. More than two drinks spread out over a few hours and it went straight to her head. It was why she did not drink much, if anything at all. But this was different, and somewhere she knew she was safe with him. The alcohol seemed to wrap her mind in a cocoon, pushing against that hard glossy armor and finding the weak points, the places she could let a bit of her hidden self through. It was the only way. Daciana stood up quickly and paced as she spoke.

“Father is a heartrender like me, and mother a tidemaker. It was just me and Sacha, always has been, and we knew early on the only way to matter was to be grisha,” she glanced at him, “and the right kind of grisha.” Running a trembling hand through her hair, Daciana continued to pace. “I’d been like, I don’t know - affecting myself and Sacha for most of our childhood even before I really knew what it was. He got it the worst, and he always stood up for me - took it for me.” She finally stopped pacing and took a heavy breath.

“Father said he knew before he could walk.” She pulled up the hem of her nightgown over her hip to point out a shiny burn scar across her ribs. “I think we were five or six, and he wanted to see if we were inferni. Sacha must have been too traumatized for it to manifest then, or we were too young.  There were other scars but I was able to get rid of most of them, or cover them up with tattoos,” she rubbed the back of her neck absently. “She never did anything, never said anything, never protected us. She only seemed to remember us when she was drunk and only when we were very little. Like I can’t even tell if those memories are real or wishful thinking.” All the fight seemed to leave her body at once, and Daciana sank backwards to sit on his bed.

“Bit more than you thought you were getting into, yeah?”

mischa

Throughout her entire monologue, he stayed quiet. He didn’t know too many things, but he knew when to be silent. Eyes glued to her the entire time, never once straying. Mischa changed his expression, keeping the pity out of his eyes. He’d hate it if someone pitied his story, and knew her well enough to know that was the last thing she needed at that moment. His heart stung, his body was hot with anger. She could protect herself, but saints did he want to protect her from everything the world made her in that moment.

Mischa didn’t know when the lump in his throat burst and a small sob made its way through his lips when she lifted her nightgown to show the scar. He looked away immediately, rubbing the palm of his hand over his face. The tears that swelled in his eyes were from anger, and he had to swallow it down because he knew Daciana didn’t need that either. He knew better than most that she was entitled to her secrets, Saints knew he had tons of his own, but the ones she’d told him almost made him keel over.

He stood from the piano bench once she plopped back onto his bed, laying back next to her. He leaned on his elbow, leaning over top of her to look at her-- really look at her, as she lay there. This was the most vulnerable he’d ever seen her, and while it broke his own heart, it was nothing compared to what she had to be going through at that moment. Again, he brushed her hair away from her face, letting his fingers brush the stray tears away from her cheek and brushing his thumb over her bottom lip.

“You could have told me you killed a bunch of poor children and I’d probably still follow you around like a lost puppy,” Mischa said softly, chuckling just the same. Only for a moment, before his eyes returned to the seriousness they were moments before. All at once everything seemed to make sense. “What do you need from me, Daci?”

daciana

He did not look at her with pity, which was the one thing her frantic mind clung to as the secrets and shame spilled out from her lips. This was exactly why she did not drink, she talked way too much, rambled and spiraled and was utterly weak and she hated it. But now she did not feel the burn of shame that she expected, did not feel the need to knock him out and flee as far away as she could. Instead - she wanted to talk more.

“I don’t know why I can’t get rid of the burn, I mean it wasn’t even the worst of them just -” she paused, pressing her fingers into the scar and then winced slightly - too much. “And I’d rather die than ask a healer for help. I couldn’t deal with their pity.” She scoffed, a bit of her old cruelty seeping back into her voice, “Yuilya has probably seen all of Sacha’s scars, I doubt he told her the truth but I couldn’t stand it if she looked at me with that fucking self rightious pitying face.”

Daciana hadn’t been paying close enough attention to him to notice the shift in his tone, the slight sob or the tears - too wrapped up in her own grief and anger and trauma. But she saw how he rubbed his face, and for a moment feared she’d lost him. Still, Mischa stood and joined her on the bed, settling close and leaning over her with that protective, burning gaze she had come to rely on. A few more tears leaked from dark eyes but he brushed them away. Instinctually she leaned closer, her hand drifting up to clutch at the bicep of his hand now brushing across her trembling lip.

“The children had it coming,” she whispered, half laughing and half crying while trying to regain a bit of her old self - not this vulnerable trembling thing. She hadn’t been that girl in almost twenty-five years, not since she learned of her power and found her strength at the little palace. Maybe the suddenness of her mothers death and the conflicting emotions brought back the shy, weak little girl she once was - maybe had always been.

“I don’t know -” she whispered, fingers digging into his arm. “I don’t even know what I need from me. I just can’t be alone, I would fully lose it.” Daciana swallowed another sob then inhaled, holding her breath in until she felt even more lightheaded and exhaled. “Drink with me, please, and stop looking at me like I am made of glass.” She gave a half smirk but it did not reach her eyes. “I never drink like this, aren’t you interested in what other secrets I have?”

mischa

Mischa understood her, to the most basic extent. He had not learned all of her secrets, was not sure he ever would. He was content with this, because even if she never shared something like this with him ever again, he knew he was comfortable having her know him completely. He understood her intentions, though not always clear, it was easy for him to grasp. Even more so now that he knew some of her past, as much as it broke him to hear.

With the most innocuous intentions, Mischa leaned down and just barely brushed his lips against hers before leaving a trail of kisses across her cheeks to melt the tears away before laughing softly against her skin. “Those fucking kids definitely had it coming,” he joked back, leaning back again with a stupid grin on his lips. His thumb caressed her chin, the fingers on his other hand playing with her hair, smoothing it across his bed. He kept quiet and let the words of vulnerability she had spoken hang in the air for moments to come.

He laughed softly. “You’re not made of glass. You’re made of fucking titanium, woman,” he joked, shaking his head. With a few swift movements, Mischa pushed himself off of the bed and grabbed the bottle she had brought in with her, laying back in the position they were in before he moved. In another pathetic attempt to make her smile again because Saints, did he love her smile, Mischa brought the bottle up to her lips and tilted it so it poured into her mouth slowly before taking a swig of it himself.

Mischa sighed, smacking his lips together and leaning back on his elbow with the other hand flesh against the bottle, holding it against his chest, acting as if he were thinking deeply about what he wanted to ask her. Then, he shook his head. “Not unless you want me to know. I could tell you some of mine, maybe? Deep, deep stuff goes on in here.” he tapped the tip of the bottle against the side of his head playfully. If he wanted to be his honest, true self with her, then he supposed it was worth starting at the beginning.

daciana

Daciana let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding when he kissed her, even just lightly. Anyone else, she thought, would have pressed her further or would have coddled her and suffocated her until she couldn’t stand it. But Mischa was a soldier, a spy, just like she was. And one did not become skilled enough to survive in this line of work without a bit of trauma, a bit of history. She smiled.

“No, I am blood and bones and muscles and spite and cruelty and rage and everything else they say I am.” She moved her hand to his chin for just a moment. “Tell anyone of this weakness and you’ll never walk again.” Daciana innately knew she did not have to threaten him, but it felt more like her old self to do so - even if somewhere deep down they both knew she wouldn’t follow through.

“Yay,”  she opened her mouth obediently (she was only obedient in bed) and swallowed the alcohol with a shiver but less of a burn. Mischa took a sip himself and she nudged the bottle closer to him. “You have to catch up. It won’t matter though, another secret - I might be a lightweight.”

“Secret for a secret - it's your turn,” she nodded solemnly but suddenly realized she was invading his space, taking up his night, and unloading her trauma on him. In a rare moment of selflessness, Daciana reached out to cup his cheek. “You don’t have too, I bothered you with all my mixed up messiness. You don’t owe me anything.”

mischa

It was fair-- a secret for a secret. He knew it, but he had spent two decades rebuilding and rebuilding himself over and over through every person he met. He never thought he would truly be open and honest with someone about where he came from, how it shaped him into the man he turned out to be. The only person who knew who he was, where he came from, were his siblings and the general. With his siblings, he didn’t have to tell them anything. They knew just as he did the hardships that came with the life of being an orphan. And the general, well; the man was terrifying, and Mischa doubted he cared much where he came from as long as he did his job as a spy.

“Lucky for you, I don’t see it as weakness.” he said softly, a smile on his lips though it did not reach his eyes. Mischa smiled as she cupped his cheek, though it was a sad smile, and almost immediately he became detached. The softness in her tone didn’t shock him like it usually did. He was now too worried about being honest to think of how Daciana’s character changed slightly when she drank. Maybe she wouldn’t even remember anything he says in the morning, if he was lucky.

In a moment of fear, maybe even cowardice, Mischa sat up and kept his back to her. Maybe that would make it easier, but even still his heart pounded through to his ears and his limbs felt cold. He took a shaky breath, basically inhaling a long swig of the alcohol and coughing when he choked on it. He needed to take a minute, hoping he didn’t scare her away as soon as he opened his mouth. Here goes nothing.

“Baluev isn’t my last name,” a good starting point, no? Mischa shook his head, sighing frustratedly. His leg began shaking, a tell of how scared he was. He’d never really shown her this side of him, just as she had never shown him the side of her he saw minutes before. “I mean…. I chose it. It’s my last name, but not officially. The name on my…. Adoption papers says Essen,” he felt years of lies and storytelling fall off of his skin as if he were shedding it, though he knew in the morning it would only build up again, a new, shinier skin of stories he’d tell the first sucker to ask where he came from.

“I don’t know my real parents. They died in the fold, I guess, abandoned me when I was a baby. That’s what they tell me, anyway,” he shrugged, avoiding her eyes as much as he could. Was he shaking? He felt like he was shaking. “They left me, so I grew up in an orphanage. No one knew the extended family of a random baby left on an empty skiff.” he wasn’t the Mischa he knew anymore, let alone Daciana. He was back in the orphanage, being picked on by shitty little kids who would grow up to be otkazat’sya. “No one liked me there, hard to believe, I know,” though it was a joke, there was no playfulness in his tone. “That’s what the scar is from, on the back of my head. Surprised I didn’t bleed out on the forest ground, to be honest.”

He let the words hang in the air a bit, maybe giving her a chance to walk out and leave. When she didn’t, he continued with a sigh. “When I was 8 or 9, this guy came by the orphanage. Saints knows why, I guess he pitied me, the poor bastard. He took me in, Edmund Essen, along with four other straggly kids. Some of them are here, in the palace,” he dared a glance over to Daci, but scared himself into looking back toward the floor. “I guess I’m…. embarrassed? I don’t know. I make up stupid stories, fanciful backgrounds to….. Make people like me, I guess. Who wants to befriend a pathetic little orphan, you know?” the last few words died on his lips as barely a whisper, his eyes closing as he awaited the damage he’d just done. Mischa expected the worst, preparing himself to lose the one person he actually gave a shit about in this hellhole.

daciana

“Still doesn’t mean you can tell anyone,” she pouted, but it wasn’t all that serious. His face was warm in her hand, and she wanted to let it linger there a bit long, perhaps try to pull a bit of that fire into her own body. Daciana felt the shift in him before he pulled away, but stayed quiet. It was something she’d discovered in gathering information, people tended to speak to fill silences and if one was patient enough, the details would eventually come out. She tried not to think like that with him, but couldn’t help herself - anything he was this hesitant to say was something to store away in case she’d ever need it. At her core, Daciana was a selfish person and would always find a way to protect herself, her position, and her brother.

Before Mischa even spoke, Daciana felt his anxiety flood his body - his heart rate spiking and tremors that matched her own from before. She knew enough about the human body to recognize physical remnants of trauma, enough about trauma in her own life. Without even thinking the heartrender pressed her hand against the center of his back, slowing his heart rate and triggering what she knew to be calming. She’d always done this for Sacha when he was upset, trying not to show weakness in front of their father, stepping in front of her to protect her. It was a habit that now seemingly included Mischa.

He hadn’t mentioned much about his family before this, and she’d never pressed because she was the exact same way. But hearing him lose the confidant, cocky voice she was so attuned to and trust her with this truth jumbled her emotions almost more than her mother’s death. She was angry, fucking angry, that he’d lived so long without knowing how powerful he was. Her hand, now warm from his skin, drifted up his back and traced the scar she’d felt before on the back of his head but she wouldn’t try to fix it. Sometimes people liked their scars, or needed them.

“You’re not pathetic,” she whispered, sitting up behind him and pressing close, her head resting on his shoulder. “You never were. We aren’t responsible for the shit choices our parents make and the situations they put us in, it took me twenty years to figure that out.” Daciana didn’t speak above a whisper, not daring to give her insecurities any more power than they already had. Her arms slipped around his torso, pulling herself closer to him, focusing on the feeling of her heartbeat beside his. It didn’t change the way she saw him, he was still Mischa, her Mischa, all fire and flirtations and cocky smirks but also soft hands on her body and comfortable silence, a lightness and ease she found nowhere else.

Only now, and it would be a very difficult thing for her to admit, she realized she trusted completely and utterly like no one else.

“Was he kind?” she asked, “your adoptive father? I don’t think he pitied you, you have this like -” here she had to pause, moving around from behind him to crawl into his lap. Her fingers, cold again, closed around the bottle and she took another big swig, drunk Daciana craved touch. “This like thing about you, that makes people want to be near you,” she took another sip, the only reason she would ever consider saying what she did, and stared at him with somewhat glassy eyes. “Like charisma or something, warmth that people wanna be near even if you are an asshole sometimes. It wasn’t pity.”

mischa

For pretty much all of Mischa’s life, he’d built this facade around himself. It was all based on this inane idea that people would push him away or dislike him based on where he came from. He assumed that only because of how he was treated before the adoption; sneering side eyes and hurtful comments made about him when he walked by. Did he try too hard? Was he annoying? Not as annoying as all the other kids his age. Nonetheless, Mischa internalized all of it. How could he not? When you tell a child he isn't worth the effort, he believes you. When you tell him he talks too much about something he gets excited about, he believes you.

When he was adopted by Edmund Essen, Mischa was already six feet deep in that mindset. When you add trauma from your own life along with the trauma from the lives of four other kids, put them in the same house to grow up together, something is bound to set on fire. Or maybe they worked just well enough. It varied based on what happened to them during their lives. Sometimes Mischa wished he’d never been adopted at all, maybe then he’d have actually ended up dead by now.

But then he remembered the good things he’d achieved, without lying about his origins. He was one of the most skilled in combat, he was a spy for the general. Daciana. No matter how the two ended up, their relationship would always be one of his greatest acquisitions.

When she wrapped her arms around him, he flinched. He seemed to have forgotten where he was as he explained it all, his mind back in that dark place he was in all those years ago. When he came back, he was sitting on the bed, slouching over and the arms of the woman he loved was wrapped around him so tightly he thought he might dissipate if she let go. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at her, his own vulnerability still too fresh for him to really dissect, keeping his eyes closed as she offered him words of comfort he never thought he’d hear from her, knowing she most likely told herself the same words growing up. He wished he’d known her sooner.

He wanted to reply in the same cynical way he always did, but he wouldn’t shut her down the first chance he got just because she knew more about him than anyone ever had. It was scary, having someone know your entire truth. He didn’t know how to deal with it. When she found herself in his lap, his arms went around her like they always did. Mischa forced himself to look at her, the glassy eyed girl that had a personal space problem when she drank. He almost wanted to laugh.

“As nice as he could be when you adopt five kids,” he shrugged, laughing softly. As she continued speaking, his eyebrows shot up though he wasn’t as drunk as her, he still didn’t expect her words. “Daciana Zhirkova, was that your own personal way of asking me to marry you?” he teased, though the hollow feeling in his chest that he had just lost all of his own protection was still very comprehensible in his own mind.

daciana

When he flinched she nearly broke. And suddenly there it was, another crack in all that hard glossy armor. Sacha had always been one - her twin soul and shared heart, he knew her before she was even born and would always be a willing weakness & strength. Then there was the child she’d never truly gotten to be but always seemed to slip back into when she and Sacha were forced back to the house that would never be home. The perfect daughter, quiet & obedient, daddy’s little soldier who barely hesitated when he commands her to kill. She hated that weakness, that crack more than any.

But now, there was Mischa. The thought of him in pain, being hurt by others, was so foreign and unbearable she couldn’t comprehend. Mischa - who was one of the only people in the little palace who could actually hold his own against her, so quick witted with those biting comments to her own causal cruelty because they were always playing the same game even if no one else was. He was suddenly another crack, and one she willingly accepted.

His arms slipped around her and she felt like she had him back, having drawn him from the dark place in his mind with the sheer force of her will. Daciana smiled when he laughed and took another sip from the bottle. Saints she never drank this much, she shook her head lightly in an attempt to clear it then settled against his chest. She wouldn’t press him on that answer, not now at least. He’d tell her in time, and if not, well - he was still the inferni she relied on.

She laughed and it was the most genuine she’d had in a long time.

“Did I fuck up and give you too much dopamine or something?” She pulled back slightly, shifting in his lap to straddle him so that they were eye to eye. Daciana set the bottle down on the bedside table and placed both her hands on his cheeks, blinking slowly to try and focus through her haze. “This is why I don’t drink, I’m no good, I can’t focus.” She laughed again but it was harsher & almost cold, she was unable to even focus her power enough to read his heart rate for truthfulness, all she could feel was it's comforting rhythm.

“You wanna be stuck with me for the rest of your life? I’m not a nice person, Mischa, I’m not that girl and I could never be her. I’m cruel and cold and selfish. I’m a fucking monster, just like him, just like he made me.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a second and trembled. “I think that’s why my mother hated me, cause I have his eyes and his power and I was too young and afraid and desperate for approval that I let him turn me into this.”

“I was thirteen the first time he made me kill,” her hands dropped from his face and into her own lap, her eyes followed. “It was someone local to the town we grew up in, he was challenging father’s position. It was at the market in the middle of the afternoon, he threatened Sacha if I wouldn’t do it. And it was so easy to just reach out and fuck with the man’s heart, too easy.” She closed her eyes to keep from crying. “I didn’t feel bad at all, I was more angry over not being in control and terrified that he might hurt Sacha. How fucked is that?”

mischa

Mischa couldn’t help but feel that all the armor he’d built up over the years was broken into tiny pieces, spread out over the floor with no hope of being put back together. But it was his own fault, wasn’t it? He wanted complete honesty between them, he wanted her in his life forever, no matter the cost. And if the cost was to strip away all he was and give himself over to her, then so be it. That was what love was, what trust was. It hurt like hell, but he wanted Daciana more than he wanted to lie for the rest of his life.

Hearing her belly laugh so genuinely only confirmed it. He would give up everything for her and all she had to do was ask. If someone told him all those years ago he’d find someone he wanted to be around 24/7 he would have laughed right in their face, yet here he was.

“I’m thinking you’re the one with a little too much dopamine right now,” he teased, the smile from hearing her laugh still plastered on his lips. When she straddled him, he only pulled her closer, then rested his hands on her thighs. At her question, Mischa’s face turned stone serious and looked her right in the eyes, his voice not wavering for a single second. “Yes,” and it was the truth. He’d fought this hard for her so far, he wasn’t giving up that easily. Could he see himself marrying her? In time, yes. The answer to that question came as easy to him as breathing did.

“You’re right,” he nodded, the serious tone still hovering over his voice. “You aren’t nice. Not even a little bit. You were forced to survive in an environment that was set against you since you were born. You are selfish, but you aren’t a monster. Not even close, Daciana, and if it takes me telling you that every single day for the rest of our lives for you to believe me, then I will.” his fingers lingered beneath her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his.

“Despite the hatred you grew up around, despite being cruel and cold and selfish, you are so much more. You don’t need to have the entire world’s best interests at heart to be a good person.” Mischa knew it would be hard for her to believe, but he wanted her to hear them. And of course, it wouldn’t have been very much like Mischa if he didn’t immediately break out into a smile and replace the seriousness in his voice with a joking tone. “Now, with all of this being said…….. Will you marry me?”

daciana

She shook her head slowly when he said that she was the one with too much - too much alcohol for sure, but she found she liked how easy the alcohol made telling him things. Because part of her had always wanted to tell someone, to be fully seen and known and still have him look at her like that. Sacha knew her, of course, down to her marrow and knew her before she was even born. But that was different, he would always be there and had suffered the same. Mischa looked down at her bloodstained hands and took them in his willingly.

“Saints, maybe we are both mad.” She shook her head again, but let his fingers guide her chin up so that she was looking at him. Daciana didn’t know if she expected to find fear or pity in his eyes, but certainly not the burning look he gave her now. It melted a bit of the ice that had taken up residence between her ribs. She brought her hands back to his chest and lightly focused on the sound of his heartbeat - steady and true. “Or drunk, I’m drunk and you’re mad.” And maybe that was the reason she said what she did next, or a reckless pent up sort of energy that was a side effect of constantly feeling the need to be in control. Or maybe she just loved his smile.

“Ok,” she whispered, clearly shocking them both. Daciana leaned in and kissed him softly, almost too soft for her and without all the desperation from earlier. “But just for us, not a big thing, no fucking ordeal or whatever. We keep each other's secrets & always fight side by side. You keep me from spiraling and I won’t let you forget how powerful you are. Deal?”

mischa

Mischa was unable to help the soft laugh of disbelief that fell from his lips. Even as she kissed him, he couldn’t fully kiss her back-- was he going crazy? Did he hear what he thought he heard? Did Daciana Zhirkova, the most ruthless woman he’d ever met, renowned for her merciless ways, accept his marriage proposal? The one he wasn’t even serious about? Saints, she must have been completely wasted.

Of course, it was what he wanted, but not like this. A bad man would have taken her acceptance and ran with it, putting a ring on her finger and trapping her with him forever. Perhaps a worse man wouldn’t have joked about marriage at all when she was in as vulnerable a state as this, but Mischa never claimed to be good. He did, however, know Daciana. And he knew that if they were to really get married like this, unexpectedly, on the night Daci had gotten knews of her mother’s death, she would regret it. He knew if he took advantage of her vulnerability like this now, he’d lose the trust she had in him and maybe never earn it back again. He wouldn’t lose her so foolishly.

“No deal,” Mischa shook his head and pulled away, flopping back on the bed, leaning on his elbows and looking up at her. Of course he would make it seem lighthearted, but in truth he meant every word. He just hoped she was too far gone to notice the seriousness behind them. “Not like this. You don’t deserve a drunken proposal. Wouldn’t really be off to a good start, would it?”

daciana

He laughed at her, and the little part of her that had thawed at the idea of him wanting her froze over again. She shouldn’t have been this stupid, this fucking reckless. Her mother was dead, Sacha had sent a letter and her father hadn’t even bothered to tell her himself - yet all Daciana could do was hang on to Mischa and convince him to do things he didn’t actually want. Because he knew her well enough to know that this was rare, yes she was affectionate and touchy around him but she’d never been this raw and open. Had it been a mistake? Would he use this against her? Daciana’s mind raced as he hesitated to kiss her and then leaned away.

“Oh,” she didn’t move from where she sat straddling him even as he leaned back, only dropped her gaze back to her hands. The rejection stung more than she ever thought it could, heat rushing to her cheeks and turning them red. Fuck she hated this, she hated feeling so vulnerable - this was exactly why Daciana had tried to avoid feelings for most of her life. “Fuck, don’t hate me  I didn’t like mean anything.” She brought her hands up to cover her face, to hide the tears. “I’ve never felt this disconnected, I mean even neglect and abuse is better than nothing or absence. I don’t know how to react to this death and I’ve ruined, like, the only good relationship I have.”

“Don’t,” Daciana shook her head, tears still leaking from her eyes. “Don’t say things you don’t mean. I’m fucking horrible we both know this, I deserve nothing.” She hated how much she felt at this moment, she hated the weakness and the pain and utter loss. Mischa would look at her differently, she knew he would see the cracks in all the hard glossy armor and not think she was good enough to be his partner. She let out a half choked sob and then leaned forward and rolled off of him, curling up in a tight ball on the side of his bed with her back towards him.

“I know I’m a monster,” she whispered through the tears, “but I didn’t think I’d lose you this easily.”

mischa

Mischa was used to messing things up, saying the wrong thing around her. He should have known, but how could he have known? He’d never seen her in this state before, he didn’t know how much differently his words and regular demeanor would affect drunk Daciana rather than how they affected sober Daciana. His heart sank, and a frown immediately molded onto his face. Shit.

“What?” he asked in disbelief, not knowing what else to even say. How could he process this? What was he even processing? He knew her words and ramblings were just showcases to what it was really like inside of her head when she was sober, she was showing him who she was and what years and years of damaging blows looked like. He hated how he struggled to find words of comfort for her as she rolled off of him and curled up on the other side of his bed. So instead of words, he let the silence linger and then rolled over next to her.

He didn’t move her, didn’t force her to look at him. He let her go through the motions, and began trailing small kisses up her arm and to her shoulder. He sighed softly, resting his forehead against her shoulder and mumbled against her back. “Do you know how much I want you?” he said softly. “You couldn’t find the words to describe how much I want you. All of you, all the time,” by now he had pulled back, placed his hand on her shoulder to pull her back so she was laying against the bed and he was looking directly at her on his stomach. “Agreeing to marry me isn’t even on the list of things you could do that would scare me away,” he chuckled, though his tone was nothing but serious. If he had to comfort her all fucking night, he would. If she didn’t remember the words they spoke on this night, then he’d remind her every day for the rest of their lives if he had to.

“I love you, Daciana. Every part of you, with every part of me. There’s no scaring me away. Monster or no monster, you’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

daciana

This was what happened, this is what happened when one opened themselves up to another person - when one let weakness overcome self preservation and rational choices. Daciana wouldn’t let herself make this mistake again, she hated to even know that Mischa had seen her this vulnerable. Maybe he wouldn’t remember in the morning, hopefully she wouldn’t remember. But she knew she wasn’t that fucked up to not recall every second of this night.

For a moment, she thought he left. She was always too much, had always been too much - and so maybe he’d had enough and decided to just leave her alone in his bed until she’d gotten her shit together enough to pretend nothing had happened. But like she’d always been able to, Daci felt his closeness - his affection - before he said anything. She choked out another sob, her body trembling with more emotion than she’d permitted herself to feel in decades - it was almost painful. But she let him pull her back towards him, quickly wiping tears from her eyes.

“Make me that list then,” it was just a whisper, but it was all she could manage before the full weight of his words sunk in. Love. He loved her, all of her. It wasn’t something she was used to, something Daciana could even really understand fully. She loved Sacha, of course, loved him as she loved herself and he the same because he had always been a part of her. But the idea of someone else, someone who’s veins didn’t share the exact same blood as hers willingingly and openly carving out their heart and placing the vulnerable organ in her bloodstained hands - with utter trust and devotion.

“I -” Daciana swallowed thickly - what could she say? What could possibly be good enough to match I love you? Nothing - she could not offer the hollow, burnt out space between her ribs in exchange for his heart. It could never be enough. But part of her, maybe the little girl she once was who still hoped, felt something stir in that empty cage of her ribs. “I can’t love you the way you deserve to be loved, I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears still burning in her eyes. “But I want to, and I trust you more than anything, and I’d do anything for you. I just - I can’t say it, not now. But I’d die for you, and to me that’s more important than love.”

[osakaso5]

La Danse Macabre

Episode 14

Chapter Index

14-1: Collision (1)

Fuga: ........

Arme: Fuga, I'm sorry.

Fuga: ........

Arme: Fuga, I'm sorry.

Fuga: ........

Arme: Fuga, I'm..!

Fuga: Ah, shut up! What do you WANT!?

Arme: I want to apologize, for making you angry!

Fuga: Ugh. ...It's fine, really. I was just in a bad mood, anyway.

Arme: And I'm sorry for hogging Libel all to myself!

Fuga: Huh? Excuse me!? What's that supposed to mean!?

Arme: He probably thinks he needs to watch me at all times, to keep me safe.

Arme: So, if I learn to defend myself, he'll have more time for you again.

Fuga: Y-y-you, what're you... I-I wasn't mad because I was jealous or anything..!

Arme: Oh, I know! You could teach me how to fight! Become my trainer!

Fuga: Say what? A little practice isn't gonna teach someone like you how to survive in a place like the Surface!

Arme: It'll still be better than nothing. And you never know, I might have some kind of hidden talent.

Fuga: ...Hah.

Fuga: You're such a weirdo... Is anything I tell you gonna stop you?

Arme: No, it won't. Now, what should I do first?

Fuga: Ah... lemme think. I guess we could start with punches. Straights, jabs, that kinda stuff.

Arme: Ooh. Straights and jabs!

Cura: ...He's a good kid, huh?

Libel: That he is. Despite envying the people of the Surface, he's got something we lack.  

Libel: I like that about him.

Cura: Haha, you and me both.

Libel: He also has the power to make people smile, without really trying.

Cura: True. I always feel the corners of my mouth curl up when I talk to him.

Cura: Maybe that's the Celestial's true power.

Libel: Maybe.

Cura: That being said, we can't make any more round trips. As soon as we replenish our rations at District 2, we need to hurry back to the base.

Libel: ...Yeah, that's fine by me. We'll contact the Ark as soon as we get home.

Libel: The time we spent with Arme wasn't wasted... Of that I'm sure. 

- - - -

Cura: Hey, look at that...

Fuga: District 2's usually a bustling city... But now it feels weird. Empty.

Libel: ...I think I smell blood.

Fuga: Really? Maybe your nose is just super sensitive.

Cura: Something's off. ...But we need those supplies. Can't just sneak around the place.

Libel: I'll go ahead and investigate. You guys should stay hidden.

Fuga: I'll come too, Libel.

Libel: ........

Libel: Okay, follow me. I'm counting on you, Fuga.

Fuga: .......! Yes, boss!

Arme: Be careful, both of you!

Fuga: Don't you worry your little head over us! Just sit right there!

Arme: Hahaha!

Cura: Well, aren't you two chummy all of a sudden. 

- - - -

Fuga: It's even worse up close. You think they got raided or something?

Fuga: Even I can smell the blood now.

Libel: ....... Look at the bullet holes in that wall.

Fuga: Huh? ...Who uses bullets that big? What caliber are those even?

Libel: Nobody on the Surface, that's for sure. Definitely not raiders.

Fuga: Then...

Qual: We finally meet again, Surface dwelling worms.

Fuga: !?

Leiden: Wow, they really came. I wasn't all convinced, but I guess our intel was correct.

Libel: ...The Unity Order.

Fuga: They came down here...

Libel: What did you do to the people of this city?

Qual: Exterminated every last one of them. They resisted us, you see.

Qual: Were you drawn in by the scent of their blood?

Fuga: What...!?

Leiden: Oh, did you have friends here or something? We put 'em all in a neat little pile over there, feel free to  dig around if you have to. 

Fuga: You monters!

Libel: ...Calm down, Fuga. We need to stay calm...

Qual: Enough trivial chatter. Where is the Celestial? Return him to us at once.

Libel: Hmph... I don't think he wants to go back just yet.

Qual: ...Ngh.

Qual: Nonsense!

Qual: Someone like him should not be allowed to so much as set one foot in this filthy place!

Libel: ...I see.

Libel: Arme doesn't think like the rest of you do. Now I definitely don't think it's right to let you take him.

Qual: D-did you just call him "Arme"..!?

Qual: For someone like you to use his name lightly...

Qual: It's unforgivable!!!

[Clang]

Libel: Hmph!

Qual: Uaaaaargh!

Libel: ...Ugh!

14-2: Collision (2)

Leiden: I guess Qual's got dibs on the stronger-looking one. Well then...

Leiden: I guess I'll just have to play with you, kid.

Fuga: Sure... Time for the side characters to have their own showdown.

Fuga: I've been mad at you guys for a looong while now!

[Ratatat]

Leiden: Ooh. So you're a gunslinger.

Fuga: ......! He dodged my shots at point-blank range!?

Leiden: And a pretty fast one, too. You're probably the best shot I've met on the Surface so far.

Leiden: But... there's an even faster shooter on our side.

Fuga: Huh!? I didn't even see him..!

Leiden: Try not to get knocked out in one hit, 'kay?

Leiden: Hmph!

[Thud]

Fuga: Ugh...!

Fuga: Urk... Coff, coff..!

Leiden: ...You're a real softie. Work on those abs some more, Surface dweller.

Fuga: Huff... huff..! Q-quit talking smack..!

[Ratatat]

Leiden: Ooh... At least you've got guts.

Fuga: Coff, coff..! This guy's crazy strong..!

[Ratatat]

Fuga: I need to put some distance between us..! I'm gonna be out of the fight if he gets me again..!

Leiden: Nice responses. If you hadn't been born down here, I might've liked you as a subordinate.

Fuga: As if..!

Leiden: Yeah, thought so. C'mon, here comes another.

Fuga: !? He jumpe---!

[Thud]

Fuga: ......!?

Leiden: Great, you're still conscious.

Fuga: ...Ah, crap... I'm gonna die...

Leiden: Haha, don't be stupid, kid.

Leiden: You're not getting off that easy. This is what you get for baring your fangs at us.

[Thud]

[Thump]

Fuga: Help...

[Thud]

Fuga: Help, me...

[Bash]

[Thump]

Fuga: Help...

Fuga: Libel. 

- - - -

[Clang]

Qual: Huff... huff...!

Libel: .......

Qual: You're strong...

Libel: It's a shame. Someone with power like yours should be able to help us.

Qual: Fool. Why would I ever do that?

[Clang]

Libel: We're both human, aren't we? Let's find a way to coexist.

[Clang]

Qual: ...Pardon?

Qual: Oh, I see. There's clearly a fundamental difference to how we view things.

Qual: Because I've never once thought of you Surface dwellers as human.

[Clang]

Libel: ........

Qual: You look like us, talk like us.

Qual: You swarm this thoroughly contaminated land, gazing up at us with watery eyes.

Qual: ...There's no telling what goes on in your heads. It's all so eerie.

Qual: Your very existense is repulsive.

[Clang]

Libel: ........

Libel: I know what this is about.

Libel: You're scared of us.

Qual: What..?

[Clang]

Libel: You're afraid that someday, we'll get revenge. That someday, our positions will be reversed.

Libel: You're afraid that the ones you've been oppressing will gain power.

[Clang]

Qual: I would never fear the likes of you..!

Qual: Save me your deluded ramblings... And know your place, maggot..!

Libel: Relax. There's nothing to fear, trust me. We're trying to bring  equality, not get revenge..!

Qual: Silence!

[Thud]

Qual: Damn..!

Libel: ...You're wide open.

Qual: !!!

Leiden: Stop!

Libel: .......

Qual: ...Leiden.

Leiden: Stop, or the kid dies. He's only barely hanging on as it is.

Libel: Fuga!

Fuga: ...Libel...

Libel: Don't speak. It's fine, just stay there.

Unity Order Troop: Captain, Leiden. We have the Celestial in our custody!

Arme: .......! I'm sorry, Libel!

Unity Order Troop: We've also captured Cura. We confiscated any explosives we could find on him.

Cura: Let me go, damn you!

Libel: Arme, Cura...

Leiden: Checkmate, Rebellion.

Qual: Aah... How glad I am to see you safe. Please excuse my tardiness.

Arme: ...Qual.

Qual: I've come to bring you home, Celestial. 

To be continued...

[maisondenachtai]

I Like That (Part 3)

Title: I Like That Pairing: Erik X BlackFemale!Reader Previous Parts: Part 1, Part 2 summary: just uh....hide your purse aight? (author’s note: uh, ...so...um...it’s been a while right? very sorry about that but it’s here now and I already know how i’m ending it so that’s great. ...this part is written in erik’s pov cause that really helped me break the block i had on it. ...I hope you enjoy it. only one more part to go.) He knew he had fucked up. She wouldn’t even look at him and had scooted as close to her door as she possibly could. He mentally cursed himself and his ego. He wasn’t even sure why he had snapped at her so hard. What she said was fundamentally true and she had the right to speak on what she knew first hand, but it must have been the mixture of David, her being so mad at him, and the fact that her blow had hurt that had him acting up.

“Y/n, listen.”

“Erik, I said shut up.” She said looking down at her nails that were done in a french tip, something she had been doing since grade school. He remembered how her mom thought color was too ‘grown’ and that ‘young women should only have French tipped nails’. He remembered laughing at her nails in the car when she held them out for him to see, and then he remembered moaning as those same nails wrapped around him.

“I’m sorry, alright.” He sighed and rubbed his hand down his face.

“You’re always sorry Erik. It never helps anything. You’re a sorry ass nigga. So what?” She finally looked at him fury and sadness in her brown eyes.

He swallowed his anger at her name calling and looked out of the window to calm down, “Listen, I know you fucking hate me, and I don’t blame you. I treated you like shit in high school.”

“No, you treated me worst than shit. You dogged me, Erik. Do you know how it feels to be beaten down by the nigga you thought you were in love with? No you don’t because everybody loved you.” Her voice had raised, he could tell that she didn’t give a shit about the mixed company they were in.

“Y/n.”

“Don’t Y/n me. I’m going to say what I should have been said, Erik. You fucked me in private. Used me like a sex toy and in public I was your verbal punching bag. And you set the tone for everyone else in high school. High school was hell for me.”

“What was I supposed to do about it? I was a kid, Y/n. I really feel like you’re overestimating my influence.”

“You were supposed to stop it, not add on to it.”

“Well I’m sorry. I truly am. I wasn’t perfect back then and I’m not perfect now and all I can do now is apologize.”

She shook her head, wiping under her eyes quickly. “It was so long ago, and I haven’t thought about it in years. I stopped being your victim a long time ago Erik….it’s just this reunion has brought up so many memories.” She took a deep breath and exhaled looking at him again. “I’m sorry too. I’ve been acting like a child.”

“Yes you have.” He joked, laughing when she shot a scowl his way. “I’m kidding. I understand your anger. I really do. It’s not right how I treated you, and if any man treated my daughter like that I’d kill him with my bare hands.”

“Your daughter? You got a child?” She looked surprised.

He smirked, “What if I said I did? What would that mean?”

“That you still haven’t learned to use condoms.” She shook her head, running her hand through her hair. She looked surprised, as if that wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

He smirked to himself.“I’m kidding. No kids yet. …Ain’t found the right woman…” He looked down her seated frame, biting down on his lip as his gaze settled on her hips and the thigh that had poked out of the slit on the dress. “And the woman I want to have my babies don’t want me.”

She was pointedly ignoring his blatant staring, choosing instead to scroll through her phone. “Well maybe you’ll have luck at the reunion. Remember that girl Monica? She’s been asking the facebook group if you were coming.”

He rolled his eyes and sat back in his seat, “Don’t nobody want Monica. Her breath was stank.” She chuckled and the sound warmed his soul.

The best times he could remember in high school was of her and him chilling in his car outside of her house. She would sneak out the window because her mom didn’t allow boys in the house and honestly didn’t like him one bit but she would take the chances of being caught outside with him anyway.

They would sit and listen to the radio, singing along with their favorite songs, and roasting the bad songs. They would sling insults back and forth until they ended up not being able to speak from laughing so hard.                

In tough times, she would be a warm shoulder to lean on, saying nothing that might make him close up when he happened to cry. In reverse, he would be there times when her dad would flake on her again or forget her birthday, or when her mom was just being too restrictive.

It was those times he remembered, even more than the sex they shared, those times where she was his best friend. He missed that.

“Her breath did used to be a little tart.” She spoke back looking at him.

“A little? The girl used to exhale and burn off people’s eyebrows.”

She laughed then, fully, holding onto her stomach. “You’re mean.”

“I’m honest.” He looked out the window. They still had about twenty minutes until they made it to the reunion. “So, where did you meet David?”

She looked at him and shook her head. “Uh uh.”

“Uh uh? What do you mean uh uh?”

“You are not fixin to clown my man, okay? No. I’m not letting it happen.”

“Ain’t nobody about to clown your man. …I mean I didn’t know you liked light skinned men but-

“See you’re already clowning him.”

He shook his head, “No, I was just joking. Seriously, tell me I want to know.”

She rolled her eyes, “Well if you must know, we met at a conference in Arizona.”

“So he’s in business?”

“No, tech actually. He was at the conference networking. At the time he was trying to startup this app, Nozzle. It’s a app that-

“I know about Nozzle.” Erik actually knew Nozzle pretty well seeing as he had invested some money in the startup a while back trying to get his portfolio up.

However, he didn’t remember seeing David’s name in the business plan. “So, he’s still working with Nozzle then?”

“Nah, they ousted him. He had a completely different vision than the other two men and they decided to part ways amicably.  He’s actually working on a festival idea, kind of like a black Coachella but not like Afropunk or anything. That’s why he’s not here right now. He had a meeting to attend with some investors.”

Erik couldn’t help but smirk, “A festival?”

“Don’t even-“

“I bet its going to be lit. …Straight…Fyre.”

“I’m not talking to you anymore.” She looked out of the window folding her arms again.

“Wait, wait. I’m just kidding.” He pulled one of her arms down, so she wouldn’t close up on him again. “Seriously though, he does know a new festival right now, it’s not the move.”

She sighed, “It’s legit though and he has a good plan for it. Nothing too extravagant. I’ve been working it out with him, setting up meetings for him.”

“Setting up meetings for him? You a secretary now?”

“Nah, I’m a good girlfriend. Why shouldn’t I help him if I can?”

Erik looked at her and then shrugged, “I mean, I guess. But…just don’t put none of your money in it.” When she didn’t say anything, he sighed. “How much?”

It was her turn to rub the back of her neck, “Uh…just 50,000 dollars.”

“50,000 dollars?”

“We got a loan, so he could have the capital to start moving stuff and showing investors he wasn’t coming in empty handed.”

“Oh my god, Y/n. The whole reason you get investors is so that you don’t have to get loans like that or at least so you can pay off the damn loan. How much has he paid off.”

“10,000.”

“Oh my godddd.” Erik wanted to die. He wanted to strangle Y/n, in the most loving way, for being so stupid and then he wanted to kill David. “He’s fucking scamming you and probably everyone else he’s talked to. Why did he get ousted from Nozzle?”

“I told you because they had different visions-“

“Nah, that’s what that nigga told you.” He pulled out his phone. “Send me a picture of him.”

“Why?” Erik rolled his eyes and tried hard not to snap at her, “Don’t argue with me right now. Send me a picture.” When she pulled out her phone he sighed.

“This nigga is running your name into the ground and you probably don’t even know it.”

“He’s legit Erik.” The airdrop notification came up on his phone and he accepted it, getting a fairly clear picture of David.

“We’ll see.” He pulled up an app that allowed him to search FBI databases, search engines, wanted ads, and many more places by picture and name.

“What’s his name?”

“David Johnson.” She had moved closer trying to see what he was doing on his phone. “Are you doing a background check on him?”

“Nah, but you should have.” He hit search and the app began trying to match David’s photo and name to anything they could.

“I can’t believe this. You’re so fucking smart, Y/n. You graduated summa cum lade and you’re nearly running that firm you’re at. I can’t believe that you can’t smell a scammer from a mile away.”

“How do you know all of that?”               

                     Before he could answer his phone dinged, he smirked pressing the article that came up. David Johnson was Gregory Malcolm, the man who was caught misappropriating funds from Nozzle. Who was still wanted by authorities in California, New York, and Georgia.

“Is David’s middle name Joanne?” He started looking down at the picture of David being escorted out of a building in handcuffs.

“No…why?”

“Cause your man’s a fucking scammer.”

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

(author’s note: just

and I hope that this part was not a total let down.) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist: @halonahoney @scumyeol @fangirlingbookworm1 @elaindeereads @groovybbyyy  @holy-minseok  @ljstraightnochaser @chefjessypooh @sweet-epiphany85 @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @tiava143

@chaneajoyyy​ @ raysunshine78   fuckmegoodbruhh ghostfacekill-monger  mellifluousbabe  browngirldominion

(i probably didn’t tag half the people that wanted to be tagged. sorry about that!)

[trans-darkwing]

"I missed you"with della ?

hi, its been forever since i got these prompts and i had this one done for a long time but i was trying to answer them in the order i got them, but it seems like im not gonna get the others done, so sorry about that, but before the new season comes here’s della!!

—

“It’s just a talk with your brother,” she reasoned towards the bathroom wall, she still couldn’t look in the mirror. “Your brother who you’ve known since birth! Inseparable!” She exclaimed.

“Except you haven’t seen him in ten years,” she added, still chipper but voice straining.

“Donald,” she started in her most stern voice, “you and I need to have a talk.”

She winced, “No, no, no, no! Who am I!? Scrooge?” She demanded of herself.

“Donny, maybe we could just have a chit-chat!”

“NO!”

“Donald Fauntleroy Duck we need to talk.”

“Aah! No! He didn’t get sent to the principal’s office!”

“Donald, could you please talk to me in private?”

“Ugh! It sounds like a tragedy happened.”

“Donald. Talk. Me.”

A knock sounded on the other side of the door and she jumped, before turning to casually lean on the sink— even though they couldn’t actually see her. She answered, wrangling her voice into something calm and feeling like she’d just got caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Yeah? What’s up? Somebody’s in here and that someone is me!” She called as cheerfully as she could. Hoping they would just turn away and use one of the many other bathrooms in the mansion.

To her horror, Donald’s distinct voice called back to her, “I thought I heard you say my name. Did you need toilet paper or something?”

She stood stock-still for a moment, not making a sound. She could tell him she was fine, send him away from the door and keep avoiding these words for another day, a week, a month, a year. Maybe if she kept it up long enough she would never have to say it. Never have to poke at those ten-year-old wounds.She opened the door.

“— too cheap to even put an extra roll of toilet paper—” Donald was muttering angrily to himself as she peeked out.

He cut himself off when he saw her. “Are you okay?”

She straightened up, ignoring the question and trying to seem perfectly fine. As if everything was swell, as if she hadn’t been gone for ten years. 

“You wanna come in?” She invited, opening the door wider. Which was probably a little strange, but she and Donald had never really been normal.

The thing was, she found she could think most clearly in enclosed spaces. It used to be that flying in the open sky was the fastest way to clear her head. But now small closed-off areas felt safest, like she was at home base again. And this bathroom was on the third floor so it had a nice window, which she liked, just to look at the yard, remind herself she was home. The children were playing outside too and she preferred being able to watch over them.

He silently accepted her invitation, stepping past the threshold while she gestured him in. He glanced at the mirror with a towel draped over it, but didn’t comment. Instead, he went to sit on the edge of the tub.

“You wanna talk?” he tried.

She felt like face-palming. He did it so simply.

“Yeah,” she said quickly, shutting the door and sitting on the toilet lid to join him. “yeah, I was gonna talk with you,” she agreed, trying to psyche herself up.

He was quiet for a long while and she hated sitting like this, trying to think. She had been bouncing her leg but gave up on sitting down and began pacing back and forth.

“What if I ask what it is and you tell me yes or no?” Donald suggests.

Of course, he’s so good at this. The person who spent years struggling to be understood would have learned how to best communicate. And that’s not to mention having raised three boys on his own for ten years. She wanted to rip her hair out.

Instead, she buried her face in her hands and groaned, “no, Donald!”

“Okay,” he said slowly, sounding slightly put out, “do you want to write it down then?”

“No! I mean—! I’m just—!” she gasped out the words desperately trying to find a sentence that worked. She dropped her hands, fists clenched at her sides, “I’m sorry!” she yelled, close to tears now. He froze, his mouth parted in shock as he stared at her silently, “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

She’d thought about it for a long time, how the last conversation she had with her brother, was a screaming match. And he had been telling her not to go.

“You were right,” she went on, “you were so right. And— and I didn’t want our reunion to be like… how it was. It was a high-stress situation and I just— I know I can’t have a do-over. But I’m just sorry,” she said again for the third time. “I missed you,” she admitted finally. 

And she’d already said it to him, but this time was different. They weren’t on that stupid beach, for one. The place where her brother had crashed, with no one even knowing he was stranded there. She knew exactly what that felt like. This time, instead of everything else going on, it was just them. No pressure, no time limit, no threat to their lives. Here she was just telling him a fundamental truth, simply making sure he knew it.

“I missed you too,” he breathed, tears in his eyes now too.

He stood, holding his arms open, she didn’t hesitate to lean in and squeeze him tight.

After another quiet moment, he spoke, words quiet and his bill just beside her head. “I already forgave you. You made a mistake, Della. It was a long time ago and you already had too many consequences. You can forgive yourself now too.”

The tears were escaping as she tucked her chin over his shoulder and held onto him tighter, “okay,” she breathed out the word. It felt as though, up until this moment, she’d been holding her breath and now she could finally let go.Slowly they pulled away and she smiled at him gratefully. 

“We kinda did have a do-over, huh?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood as she wiped the tears from her face. They had repeated some things, others were new additions.

He returned her grin, “I’m gonna be honest, I barely remember that day.”

“What?” she asked, barking out a startled laugh.

“Well, if this is the one I remember it’s fine with me,” he shrugged.

“Yeah,” she said, amused and fairly concerned, “me too.”

“So, you wanna leave the bathroom now?” He suggested.

She paused, considering it, “actually, I kinda do have to go now I’m thinking about it, but you can leave.”

He faltered, “you were in here for so long… did— did that conversation make you have to…?” he wondered, bewildered.

“Yes, heartfelt conversations make me piss, now get out,” she said shoving him towards the door, as he laughed and elbowed her childishly in return.

Once he was out she started to close the door but paused to poke her head out, “Hey, Don?”

“Yeah,” he glanced back at her, almost having turned away.

“I love you,” she told him.

His eyebrows knit as a smile bloomed on his face, “I love you too, you big palooka,” he said, “now go pee!”

She laughed as she shut the door, sitting down on the toilet again, lid up this time. Only to glance over and realize there was absolutely no toilet paper on the roll.

“Really?” she grumbled to herself before glancing around for a spare, with nothing to show for it. “Scrooge, when I find you,” she started to mutter to herself furiously, “too cheap to even put a—” she cut herself off with a scream, “DONALD!”

[tired-enjolras]

Capable of Being Terrible. Enjolras/Grantaire.

Read on AO3

NEXT CHAPTER HERE

Warnings: alcoholism, smoking, addiction/recovery arc.

Genre: Angst-Hurt/Comfort.

Words: 1297.

Summary: It’s a hard semester for everyone, Combeferre and Joly are working an internship, Éponine works two jobs and somehow gets it all done, and Grantaire drinks himself an inch from incoherent every night. Enjolras doesn’t have it worse than anyone - better than most, actually. But this year keeps knocking Enjolras down and, for the first time, cannot figure how to get back up again.

CHAPTER ONE.

It was Friday night. Every other student in the city was off doing something fun and frivolous. Enjolras was not. He was not one for fun until work was complete. The blonde man could laugh louder and harder than all of his friends and co-workers combined, but he’d simply have to party on Saturday instead. He was only days out from the start of exams week. Desires could wait. His computer was open on the bed, resting on a red pillowcase and gray sheets. It was playing a documentary film about the Paris Climate Accords that was required for a biology class - his lowest grade this semester was this class. He cared about science and certainly about climate change, but he was just fundamentally bad at the subject. There were others who could handle it. Enjolras could be the change in other areas.

Enjolras did not focus on the monitor, but instead his hand scrawled ferociously in a yellow spiral-bound notebook. One could hardly blame him for his excitement. Not only had he prepared a new pamphlet for his student political organization - which he would need to remember to copy at the library the next day - but he had discovered this American politician called Harvey Milk. He was working on final stage research and outlining for a research project on him for his World LGBT Advocacy class. That remained one of about two classes that were worth him expending a fuck on during this particular semester.

The number of credits he had chosen was much too high. 7 classes (one having a lab) was an irrational choice. It was Enjolras’ first year funding half of his own housing off-campus. He worked a real job. As real as scanning books and accepting payment could be. This, really, was the first year Enjolras had learned that everyone was correct in telling him that he was incapable of doing everything he assumed he could.

He did not live alone, but it felt like he did. The other half of the rent was supposed to be paid by Combeferre, who had been gracious and helpful and always so willing to do his part. Until he wasn’t and moved out. Combeferre had moved in with a very tall and very stupid man that Enjolras sincerely enjoyed named Courfeyrac. The two men cared terribly for each other, so Enjolras was happy to see them be able to make a sort of home together. Combeferre’s replacement was not gracious or helpful and almost never willing to do his part. René Grantaire had crashed into the apartment like a car fire. Enjolras was decently sure he would not enjoy his time with Grantaire whatsoever; that they would be professional and nothing more to each other. That never happened. Initially, he was very pleased that Grantaire never imposed an organizational system for Enjolras because everything he had sat in stacks, falling off of shelves and spread across each open surface. Grantaire picked up on this philosophy and effortless operated within it. For a while, they seemed to make perfect sense to each other.

In mornings, Grantaire would get coffee brewing, immediately being able to remember how Enjolras took it. In exchange, Enjolras would sit in destroyed stack of leaflet rough drafts and crack an egg and a shot of hot sauce into a glass for Grantaire. They moved in perfect sync like Aristophanes four-limbed love people. Before too long, they stopped being roommates and started being bedmates. Their relationship lacked definition, but both miraculously kept their affections exclusive and they liked this way.

Then Grantaire’s drinking, once consisting of some wine, a few beers and maybe one or two of something a little stiffer over the course of an entire week turned into several bottles of wine, a case of beer and empty liquor bottles collecting in the trashbagless bin in front of the kitchen sink. So Enjolras tried to take some actions.

The bedroom door swung open.

“Good evening, mon Ange,” Grantaire often called him this. My Angel. Grantaire thought was funny because he may as well have been saying Mon Enj. My Enjolras. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy...”

Grantaire stood, leading against the doorframe. Whether for physical support or confident swagger was still unclear. He looked bad. Enjolras felt sick to his stomach to consider saying that about this person he cared for, Grantaire could never really look bad to him, but he was glassy eyed and sallow. Grantaire pushed himself off of the door, and walked to the side of the bed, crouching to his knees to throw an arm around Enjolras flat to the bed body.

“You smell like alcohol.” Enjolras stared plainly.

Grantaire scoffed. “Good nose you’ve got there,” he reached out and gently flicked Enjolras across the nose. “I was, in fact, drinking.”

Enjolras sighed, refusing to look over at his... whatever they were. If he looked at him now, he would get emotional. Hysterical or angry, it wasn’t yet clear which. “We talked about this.”

“I know, but look at me—“

“Hey, how much did you drink?”

“Oh, am I being cross-examined now?”

Enjolras sat up on his knees in bed, Grantaire’s arm sliding away. He was looking at the darker haired man now. His blue-green eyes burned. “No, but I can call a witness, if you’d like...” he extended his fingers to the other side of the bed for his phone. Marius would know. Éponine perhaps was there. Bahoral, or Courf, maybe. Wouldn’t take too many calls to figure it out.

“Lord God Almighty, Enj... Fine. A lot. Lost count after a couple rounds. But it’s Friday. I’m...” Grantaire cleared his throat, trying to sober his voice up some. “I’m not working tomorrow. Big deal. Don’t you ever get tired of talking about ol’ me?”

“Friday’s fantastic, but what about every other day that isn’t Friday?”

“It’s social. I’m social.”

“Grantaire.”

Fuck. “Mhmm?”

Enjolras’ jaw was tight. He was not going to yell. It was after midnight and the neighbors would call their pig of a landlord again. “Couch tonight.”

“It’s Friday!”

“René,” Enjolras had said this in the voice that mothers use when their child doesn’t understand why they can’t keep sticking their hand in the cookie jar. It was not mean, it was firm. Final. Grantaire sat up a little straighter. “Couch. Please. I love you to pieces, but this is getting fucking ridiculous. Sleep it off.”

Slowly, Grantaire raised himself to his full height. “You win. You always win. Happy?” He braced an arm on the bed and leaned down to plant a kiss on the top of Enjoras’ curls. The brunette swiped a discarded blanket off of this ugly leopard print chair that sat in the corner. Grantaire walked through the door, not bothering with a change of clothes for bed and shut it quietly behind him.

Enjolras was far from happy. It had been so truly okay and it’s not anymore. Everything was too much. Homework, organizing that protest, holding the pieces together for Grantaire when there’s clearly more going on than what he wants to share. Grantaire was Enjolras’ most important person and he was going to watch him finish his degree if it killed them both. Dear Reader, do not think for a second that Enjolras believed Grantaire was some kind of burden. He wasn’t. Enjolras loved him too much to ever consider him to be one, he just was unsure of how best to be supportive. No one ever supported Grantaire so Enjolras would simply have to be that person. There were too many things to care about in Enjolras’ life, too many problems. But that had historically been where he thrived. And Enjolras would find the time to fix them all. He always did.

[tae-cup]

.hamartia. ‘Part 3,

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (f) x Taehyung (?)

Genre: Mafia!Au, Fluff, Angst (Mostly angst oopsies) I DO NOT CONDONE BEHAVIOR DISPLAYED IN THIS, PLEASE IT’S FICTION AND DON’T DO STUPID THINGS THANK YOU

Plot: Y/N is a skilled, well, torturer, though you don’t like to call yourself that; it makes what you do too real. When mafia boss Yoongi wants information or wants a hostage to suffer, you step in. However, one fateful day you are thrown Taehyung, another person who does your line of work. You need answers, he is determined not to give them to you. That’s when you try...a different approach, and Yoongi is not pleased.

Rating: TV-MA

WARNINGS: YO IF YOU’RE NOT COOL WITH SUBTLE BI AGENDAS THEN I’M SORRY THIS IS NOT THE PLACE FOR YOU, Blood, torture, mafia things (ya know?), drugs alcohol, sadistic tendencies, a fundamentally flawed main character (I’m sorry i’m just writing myself pretty much), assault, harassment, stalking (not bad), romance (somehow), Maybe stockholm syndrome???

Word Count: 1.2k words I’m sorry this one is sorta short :(

A/N: I am...exhausted today. Please please be aware, this chapter has dark themes. If you are sensitive to su*cide and otherwise, this may be a little dark for you. I will mark out the scene where it’s mentioned, however. 

Other:

Masterlist 

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Next

Avoir le mal de quelqu’qun

~(phr.)intensely missing someone so much, it literally makes you sick. 

-

-

It took two doses of the sleeping meds to put him to sleep. Taehyung was so resistant, despite you continuously proving you had good intentions over the past few days. You glared at his now unconscious body. You knew he probably couldn’t hear you, but you spoke to him all the while as you bustled around the room. 

“Ah, taehyung, it’s so good to have you here. I just know you’ll love the new room.” You mused. 

The only reason it had taken a few days for anything to physically change in his treatment, was because Yoongi refused to give him a bedroom upstairs. When you had fired back with “My job is to get information, you never said how.”, he relented. Though, he had questioned if you thought this was worth it. You could have sworn there was a hint of jealousy in his voice, but you dismissed it out of hand. Now, your eyes swept around the luxurious room. It was one of many spares, and it was right across the hall from yours. 

“I hope you like the room color.” You looked around at the dark navy blue walls. “I picked it out thinking of you.” You said, almost as if you were to be husband and wife. not captor and hostage. 

You had also spent the past few days redesigning the layout of the room. Instead of keeping him in a cage like an animal, you decided to give him a doghouse. Comfortable, but still, very much a cage. The windows were now plastic with several layers of it too. If he wanted fresh air, he could open the small side window. It was barely big enough to fit a hand through, much less a person. He had a desk in the far right corner and the bed face the right as well, head board resting on the left wall. There was a nice carpet on the floor, but no rugs or anything. If he was as dangerous as Yoongi led you to believe, you knew he could probably do any multitude of things with limited resources. You made sure to check and double check the room for any potential issues. 

There was a tooth brush, blunt, not very stabby, and a hair brush in the bathroom. The desk held no writing utensils, just paper. You decided that if he wanted to write, you would have someone watch him carefully while he did so. There were no light fixtures on the ceiling to prevent suicide and there were no mirrors. There were no locks except on the main door, and he couldn’t control that one. All furniture was bolted to the floor to make it so he couldn’t prevent anyone from entering the room by barricading himself in. 

You had trouble reading him, despite getting to know him better recently. He rarely spoke to you or Jimin. Speaking of which, the silver haired male strutted into the room behind you. He also did a check and nodded. With that, you untied Taehyung and with the help of Jimin, you hoisted him onto the bed. You both set to work tucking him in. Then you placed the loose chain around his ankles onto him and pocketed the key. The chain was long enough that he could go anywhere in the room without any issue, and it was loose enough that he hopefully wouldn’t notice it much. Still, it was a safety precaution. You watched his sleeping form for a moment before your eyes flicked away. He looked so peaceful and innocent. 

You had come to realize that Mr. Kim Taehyung was anything but innocent. He had yet to tell you his real job, but he alluded to a much more serious job than a low level drug dealer when you spoke to him. You and Jimin quietly left the room. There were security cameras in three corners of the room and a hidden one in the wall sconce if he managed to disable the others. You made sure no blindspots were left. 

Jimin turned to you, a small smile on his face. 

“If this works, I want you to re-evaluate how we do things.” He said calmly. 

“What? Really?” Your eyes narrowed at the idea. You had done things differently before, but you didn’t like how that turned out.

“We don’t have to be inhumane and barbaric. I mean, you know I’ve always hated this. The only reason I’m here is because of you and the others.” He explained sheepishly. He scratched the back of his head. “I could leave at any time, I have the means.” 

It was like a slap in the face. You knew he was never happy with his situation, but you had begun to think he had accepted it. After all, he carried out your commands without flinching now. You cared for him as a partner and friend. You didn’t want him to leave. He understood that you would be alone if he left, he knew that. Yoongi was practically just a stranger to you now; a stranger you knew a lot more about than you should. And Jimin...Jimin was a source of comfort for you. He was too good to be in this world of filth.

Hesitantly, you place your hands on his shoulders. 

“Okay.” You relented. Anything to get him to stay. “Just don’t up and leave me, please.” You said softly. You couldn’t tell if you were a monster or a human capable of love; a very damaged human. Maybe all monsters were damaged human beings. 

-

-

Su*cidal Thoughts WARNING (Please, as someone who has struggled with these thoughts, please please please reach out to someone.) Hotlines

“Y/N, you need to stop this nonsense, really.” Yoongi, remained calm, absolutely still. He suspected this was just another mental breakdown of yours. “Love, just, just step back over the railing, let’s talk about this.” 

“Yoongi.” Your voice quivered. You turned from your spot on the balcony. You were on the other side of the railing, arms out behind you, gripping on for dear life. Below was a long drop to darkness. When you turned to look at him, your eyes were wet and your nose pink from crying. Inside felt eerily still, as if this was meant to be. Your body longed for the ground below. “Yoongi, I’m a monster. I can’t live with myself knowing what I’ve done to these people.” You whispered, worried the night wind would take your breath away. 

Yoongi had always known you were on the edge of sanity. He had asked you to take a break, to which you had refused. Still, every time he saw you on the balcony, in that bathtub, on that chair, his heart dropped. Did he have any right to keep holding onto you anymore? Could he keep doing this? Maybe it was best if he helped you get away from this life. But his selfishness, his greed to keep you to himself was too great. 

He had been in that place, over the railing, on the chair, in the tub. Now, he peered into your eyes, breath catching and wondering if this was it. Would this be the time he lost you? It seemed death longed for you as much as he did and between that war, where did you fall? Where was your humanity; your opinion? 

“I love you, Y/N.” He uttered those words a million times and each seemed to carry a different tone. He took another hesitant step forward. You turned back around with a grimace, looking at the fall below. You hadn’t been scared of heights, but now you shook. Was this right? Where else would you go if you didn’t end this here. What other purpose did you have besides misery? And at that moment, it felt like you had struck a deal with the devil. 

You could cause misery, lots of it. You didn’t climb back over that railing because of Yoongi rushing to you, hugging you, and whispering I Love Yous. No, You climbed over that railing a new woman. It was a sharp turn. You took the innocent girl that was you, and you locked her in the closet while she was blissfully unaware. Even when she screamed to come out, you held the door shut. 

END of Su*cidal Thoughts 

-

-

You watched Kim Taehyung eagerly. It felt like when you planned a surprise part for a friend. You were awaiting a reaction. The surveillance room was dark as it was well past midnight. Jimin was asleep on the couch behind you. 

“Psst.” You turned around and nudged him with a shoe. “I think he’s waking up.” 

Jimin jolted awake, seemingly dazed for a few seconds as he fought to regain a sense of his surroundings. 

“I see.” He yawned loudly and stretched his hands upwards. He then stood and leaned over you as you studied the screen. Taehyung seemed surprised, an eyebrow jerking upwards. You saw him take note of the room, a very observant creature indeed. You then saw him look at each surveillance camera, no doubt wondering how to disable them. Then you saw him stand and move towards the bathroom. You didn’t have surveillance there as you had a little decency. But he didn’t know that. You sat back, watching his explore the room. He half-heartedly shook his ankle, seeing how loose it was. Then he made his way to the desk. Upon seeing there were no utensils for writing, he scowled. He looked up to the blank ceiling, then back down to the bolted down furniture. 

“Funny.” He said, loud enough for the audio to pick him up. “You guys are smart. You planned well.” He ran a few fingers through his curly hair. Then he looked up at a camera. “It might take even me a few weeks to figure out how to escape.” 

You didn’t know whether to feel flattered or annoyed at his arrogance. YOu found yourself crossing your arms unhappily, even though he couldn’t see you. It still felt like he was staring into your soul through that camera. Jimin shooed you out of the seat and he sat down to work on other surveillance related things. You had gotten permission from Jin to use his surveillance room for the night and you crashed on the couch. It was surprisingly comfortable, no wonder Jimin fell asleep so quickly. You closed your eyes, feeling yourself drift off. 

Then you felt yourself falling. It was falling like you had dreamed of, a fall that landed on soft grass and the night sky above you as the world went black. It was all a fantasy, but your stomach churned this time as you felt your body in a free dive. You woke up with a start, breath heavy and labored. Jimin was resting at the surveillance desk, eyes barely open. 

You took in your surroundings. You weren’t falling. You were just fine... You carefully dug around the room that was packed with all sorts of things, and you found a blanket. You wrapped Jimin in the blanket and went about getting yourself comfortable. You had a feeling Mr. Kim wouldn’t be all too entertaining for the next few hours as he had managed to fall asleep again. You had no idea how he managed that when you couldn’t seem to go a few hours without waking up shaking. As you watched the two sleep, one on screen and one next to you, you smiled ever so slightly. Perhaps Jimin was right, maybe you really did need to re-evaluate. It was nice going to sleep without dried blood under your fingernails. 

-

- 

part 3, d o n e. I mean, not like you guys asked for it but I felt like it. Let me know your thoughts!

Previous | Next

[amelink66world]

Love of my Life

Heyy Guys!! This is my first time writing a fanfiction and I'm really nervous. But I'm so excited to share my version of AmeLink with y'all. I hope you like it. The story will solely revolve around AmeLink cause why not?! ;)

               Many of the plot lines coincide with the show but I've changed some of them. The first chapter will be up by tomorrow so until then!!

Alternative Pain Relief

It was too much for Amelia to stay in Seattle. She had just lost Betty and came to know that Teddy was in fact pregnant with the father being none other than Owen. On top of that Owen said some pretty hurtful things at the lawyer's office when they went to sign Leo's adoption papers. She couldn't even comprehend that such a thing could come out of the mouth of the man who she considered to be the love of her life. There is some fundamental part of you that is incapable of love or being loved. It caused her too much heartache. She needed a change of pace for a few days.

   

    So here she was in San Diego attending The Western States' Conference for Alternative Pain Relief. She could really use some pain relief right now and drugs were not an option! She wanted some change. She even cut her long brown tresses. Her hair was really short now, it ended just a few inches above her shoulders. She asked Bailey for a few days off, packed her bags and flew to San Diego as soon as she heard about the conference. She thought she kind of looked sexy in pant suit and earrings. She generally doesn't dress up but she she wanted to feel good today. Currently Amelia with a list of the sessions she was interested to attend was trying to find where the line to register her name was.

Amelia's PoV :

My God, there are so many sessions I can attend! Now which shall I attend first? The next generation NSAIDS panel sounds appealing. Now where is the registration line?! I never thought so many people attended these conferences. Finally giving up on my search I tap the shoulder of a tall, muscular man in a grey suit in hopes of asking where the freaking line was!

" Excuse me, is this the line...Heyy!!..", I trail off as soon as the person I asked turned and revealed his face. It was Link !! What is he doing here ?! My life is so damn awesome! The one person I was trying to avoid in the hospital apart from Owen is here !!

" Heeyy!! What are you doing here??", Link says while chuckling. There is shock evident on his face. Both of us didn't imagine running into each other here.

I forgot I had to speak. Recovering from my shock I scramble for words. " Uhhh..." I look here and there to say something and the banner of the conference comes into view. Finally finding my voice, I say pointing to the banner, " Like the banner says Western States' Conference for Alternative Pain Relief".

" I didn't know you were into this stuff", says Link.

" Yeah I'm not. I mean...I'm interested ever since that day of the mass overdose." Ughh why did I have to mention that day?! Stupid.

Link's expression changes to that of understanding.

"Yeah tough day" , he says with sadness.

" Yes. I cried at you...convulsively. You might recall?"

" I haven't seen you around much since then", Link says with creases on his forehead asking a silent question.

" Yeah that was intentional. It's hard to know where to go after that" He understands and chuckles. I can't help but chuckle along with him. Changing the subject I finally ask him why he is here." Anyway I'm newly into this stuff. How about you?"

"Uh I do like three of these a year. I'm giving um... a lecture." , he says sheepishly.

"WOW!!" I'm shocked. I can't help but stare at his face while he speaks. This is the first time I'm seeing him in something other than scrubs. I can say that he is definitely not hard on the eyes!! The fact that he gives a lecture on this stuff does not help either. I suddenly feel the same Pants Feelings I felt when I first saw him walking around the hospital with that funny looking robotics arm. " When is that?"

" Tomorow. But right now I was gonna hit up this acupuncture demo. Interested? " Again I catch myself staring.  FOCUS!!

" Well I'm headed to this next generation NSAIDS panel. No. But you know what? I think I'd rather get poked." Wait. That sounded wrong. I hurriedly add, "...with needles." I catch a gleam in his eyes. I sigh, "Nevermind. I'm gonna keep avoiding you. Have a nice time". And I take off when I hear him laughing. Stupid stupid stupid. Why couldn't I just keep my mouth shut? I just had to make a fool of myself. Ughh. I look above silently asking God why didn't He give me a filter? I whisper " Oh my God " 

I completely miss Link laughing and the playful look on his face after my ramble when he turned to look at my retreating form.

1 hour later :

Amelia is seriously thinking why she didn't just accompany Link. The NSAIDS panel was so damn boring. She is now headed to something called Sound Bathing.

         A woman leads her to a dark room with numerous makeshift beds on the floor. There were numerous people on the beds. She saw a woman in a white dress sitting in front of what appeared to be a giant instrument. She occupied the bed closest to her. As soon as she turned her head to see the person next to her, she was left speechless again. There he was! In his perfect physique and perfect clothes lying right next to her !! ' Seems like the Gods are not in my favour today! ', she thought.

" Oh. Huh. Okay. Well hello again", she says with a nervous chuckle.

Link turned her way. He really seemed to enjoy her nervousness and asked her all the while chuckling,  " You want me to move?"

" No! No of course not."  Thank God. Link didn't want to move either. He was actually enjoying Amelia's company.

Link closed his eyes and laid back down. She couldn't help but ask after a few awkward seconds. " So what does this do? "

" The frequencies respond to the energy meridians and resonate..." She doesn't let him finish and interrupts him whilst chuckling nervously, " Oh okay. Energy meridians. Oh my God. " She lays back down. He lays down too but says, " You're not supposed to talk"

She laughs and says, " Yeah I'm not supposed to be here." She gets up halfway when suddenly the woman in the white dress starts playing the instrument. Amelia lays back down hearing the sound. It piques her interest. Link slightly smiles and stares at her face for a few seconds thanking God that she decided to stay. He really was liking her company!

After the Sound Bath :

Amelia finally is comfortable around Link.

" Can I walk you back to your room? ", Link asks hoping she'd say yes. He didn't want to say goodbye to her yet.

" Yeah why not", she says with a smile. Link just stares at her smiling face for a few seconds and nods. They reach her floor. All the while Amelia felt a bit wobbly on her feet. They were making small talk when she suddenly asks, " Did that make you dizzy? Like loopy?" Still wobbly on her feet.

Link looks at her antics and answers while shrugging, " No. It just kinda chilled me out."

With a hint of playfulness, Amelia says, " I feel like I need a meeting. Ooofff. Hey could we sit for a second Link?"

" Yeah. Yeah sure. Let me just find a place..." Link immediately begins searching for a chair or a place for her to sit and trails off when he suddenly finds her sitting right there on the floor with the wall supporting her. He just stands there for a second looking at her. After a few moments he joins her on the floor with the wall behind him supporting their backs. He waits for her to speak.

" Sorry I'm falling apart here."

" No need to apologize", he smiles.

She looks content. Even Amelia doesn't know what prompted her to open up to Link. Was it his warm eyes or welcoming smile or just his calm personality, she didn't know. She told him everything about Betty. How she was an addict and she took her in to help her. She got emotionally attached to her but then her parents came back and she had to say goodbye to her. She told him she missed her and worried about her still. All the while Link was patiently and attentively listening to her.

She thought Link is judging her when he said..." You sound like a...". She yet again interrupted him and completed his sentence for him with a silent question, " A mess? "

"No! A parent. "  His answer shocked her and she turned her face to look at him properly. There was a level of softness in his eyes and a knowing and warm smile on his face while he was telling her about his mother worrying about him when he went to college just like Amelia is worrying about Betty.

They continue staring at each other. Amelia's gaze travels to his entire face. Link is observing her looking at him. Suddenly she says, " My God. You are just chiseled." This makes Link laugh loudly. She continues, " ...like a statue. It's like your chin has muscles." She leans slightly forward to stare at his chin properly. Link is chuckling and playfully says, " Well I do work out my chin pretty hard. It takes a whole day!" It makes her laugh.

Suddenly they feel like a spell has been cast on them and they can't look away from each other. They continue staring at each other and feel themselves inching closer. When their lips are just slightly away from each other, Amelia turns her head. Link is slightly disappointed that he didn't get to kiss her beautiful mouth. Amelia is a bit nervous and says with a soft smile on her face, " I should go to my room."

" And I should go..." Link trails off looking at her expectantly hoping Amelia would say what he wants her to say. Instead she says with a knowing smile on her face, "...to your room"

Link is disappointed but understands. They both get up from the floor. " You have a presentation tomorrow and I am not fit for human contact. " She hopes he would understand though she herself is not that happy with her decision but she knows it is the right one.

"See you in the morning?", he asks hopefully.

"Yeah. Goodnight.", she smiles.

" Night." He looks at her retreating form longingly for a few long moments. She turns and they share an eye contact briefly and they both turn heading their separate ways.

They keep running into each other both intentionally and unintentionally and engage in heavy flirting for the rest of the conference. They just can't help themselves as they are obviously very attracted to each other. Soon it is time for Link's speech. Her presence brings a smile to his face and stops for a second to admire her. When he continues with his speech, he knows many will be hurt with his course of treatment but continues anyway. Midway he finds Amelia leaving as she is obviously offended. He is highly disheartened as she didn't get to hear the good part before judging him.

He goes back to her room after his lecture in the hope of redeeming himself. He knocks on her door and moments later comes face to face with her. She is initially very rude to him and accused him of failing and costing a child his life. Link is hurt and tells her the rest of the story how he left medicine for a year and is now back and trying to do everything he can to fix the system.

"...maybe we can fight this thing together like Batman and...Batman." This seems to do the trick and her gaze finally softens. She smiles and takes a step towards him. " Okay "

" So you're not mad at me anymore? 'Cause it looked like you wanted go hit me for a second ", he says this sheepishly.

" I've got a bit of a hair trigger which can be scary." She smiles and apologizes for her behaviour. " I'm sorry. I've been in a weird place these days."

" I can roll with weird ", he flirts. He doesn't want to part with her yet and asks her out to dinner. He notices her eyes glazing over when she steps closer and says " Yes". But soon denies and kisses him full on the lips.

Link is astonished for a second. He feels that electrifying spark between them in that kiss that jolts through his entire body. He hungrily kisses her back. He wraps his arms around her waist and brings her body closer to his. He had been wanting to do that since the minute he saw her rambling the day before.

Amelia doesn't know what came over her. She just knew that she wanted to kiss him. No. She had to kiss him. She needed to kiss him. She wraps her arms around his neck when she feels him pulling her body closer to his by grabbing her slim waist.

He slides his hand up her back eliciting a moan from her all the while kissing her desperately when she feels him pulling back slightly. She stares at him questioningly and prays that he doesn't back out. She really needed him close to her. He rests his forehead against hers briefly before answering.

" I feel like I'm taking advantage ",he says with his eyes downcast.

" Why? "

" Because you're in a place and I think you're insanely pretty." This seals the deal. Now she knows that she isn't doing anything wrong.

" The feeling is mutual" , she smiles her charming smile. His eyes glaze over and he stares at her mouth hungrily when she moves her hands from around his neck and starts unbuttoning his coat and removes it. It drops on the floor when he leans down and captures her parted lips. He kisses her hungrily and brings her body even closer to his if that is possible, all the while Amelia was hurriedly unbuttoning his shirt.

She lets go of his shirt and wraps her hands around his neck again when her pulls her closer. They kiss vigorously when she pulls back. She just had to say this one thing. It is now Link's turn to look at her questioningly. Amelia doesn't want complicated now. She is done with messy.

" This isn't going anywhere. It's just alternative pain relief. "

" I could use some of that ", he says with a sultry smile.

Link leans in and bites her lower lip. They start kissing as if their life depended on it. He slowly starts backing her up towards the bed. She now pushes his shirt over his shoulders and it slides down. Link picks her petite body up in his muscular arms and lowers them on the bed never breaking their kiss. He pins her small body on the bed with his big bulky one and moves down to her neck eliciting a moan from her.

Their aerobic alternative pain relief continued till the  wee hours of the morning until both of them tired each other out and succumbed to blissful sleep in each other's arms. Both had content smiles on their faces excited for the future and the experiences that behold them.

Author's Notes:

Hey guys!! So this was the end of the first chapter. I remember that I said I'll post it tomorrow but I just couldn't wait!!! It's a bit long and I hope you really like it. Please share your thoughts in the comments!! I'd really like to know whether I should continue this story or not. The next chapter will be up in a few days. I just have so many ideas for AmeLink! Can't wait ;)

[ladybugsfanfics]

Shut Up And Kiss Me [Prologue] | Tom Hiddleston x reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x reader

Style: Multichap (honestly no idea how many chaps)

WC: 1273

Warnings: idk, not much happens here, its a prologue for a reason

Summary:  You and Professor Hiddleston have been colleagues for many years now, and through those years the hatred for each other has only grown. Now, as a new school year starts, you’re being told that you have to share a classroom or a class. Neither are happy about the outcome, but knowing you’ll never come to an agreement, you let the class choose for you. Team-teaching is rare in 2019, but it is a lot harder to do when you can’t stand the person you’re doing it with.

A/N: So, I’ve been working on this for like a week now, or more. I have almost four chaps done (not including this) and I can’t wait for you all to join me in my slowburn misery because this will be long and it will be cruel. 

If you want to be added/removed from the taglist, please let me know ^_^

Series Masterlist | Part One

Red chairs make up the rows, each row a little higher than the one before. A set of stairs divide it into two parts, with a door at the top. The rows are lined in an oval, every chair turned to the front to see a teacher’s desk, a blackboard and a projector screen. 

In one room, the teacher leans against his desk, smiling at the fresh students coming into the room. He lets the chatter last. Lets the students feel comfortable. Lets the few who whisper, giggle and watch his way continue for yet another while. 

On the blackboard at the front it says PROFESSOR Y/L/N in big block letters. The professor the name belongs to is nowhere to be seen, but the desk is scattered with books, along with two stacks of notebooks. A laptop rests among the mess. In this room, the chatter grows at the sight of mess and no teacher. 

The professor claps his hands together. He clears his throat and smile at the new faces. “I’m professor Hiddleston,” he says. “Welcome to English literature.”

“Please sit on chairs.” The voice comes from the back as a young woman enters. The students cease their talk and scramble to chairs. “That’s the number one rule.” She leans against the teacher’s desk and gazes up at the students. “Welcome to history. As you probably already figured, I’m professor Y/L/N.” The professor gestures to the blackboard behind her. 

Professor Hiddleston scans the room. “Anyone who knows they are in the wrong room, please don’t be shy, and leave now. This is a normal thing.” The room stays quiet until a pair of steps can be heard from the back. The male is out of the room before anyone can register who it is. 

As the room quiets down, Professor Y/L/N sighs. She erases her name from the board and writes a one. “You already know this rule. Sit on chairs.” The woman writes a number two and turns back to the students. “Number two,” she says, “is simple. No one talks while I talk. You only talk when I give you permission. You can interrupt by raising a hand, but don’t speak before I’ve called upon you.”

“That sorted out, let’s start, shall we?” He smiles. “First, some practical information. I will hand you a list of books you can choose from, please choose one you want to read throughout the semester. You will need to borrow this and Hamlet at the university library before the next class.”

“Number three.” Professor Y/L/N writes a three on the blackboard. “Ask questions. Anything you don’t understand or anywhere you believe I’m wrong, please raise your hand. And in any discourse, you are welcomed to disagree with me.”

The professor hands a paper to the male closest to him on the first row. It contains a list of books and how to choose. “There will be assignments to what you choose. These are mandatory and will help improve your grade. Though, remember that this is supposed to be both fun and learning.”

She writes a four and strike a line through it. “There is no fourth rule, simply a suggestion.” The woman walks to the front of the desk. “I hand out assignments. I expect them to be done within a certain time period. In that period, I don’t expect you to hand them in before they are due,” she pauses, “but I do suggest it. I want to help to the best of my abilities and I believe this is how. By handing them in before they are due, I will go over them and return them before the deadline so that you can learn and correct mistakes. It might very well improve your grade.”

He writes fundamental on the blackboard. His handwriting has the students guessing, but as he says the word it comes clear. “Fundamental. It is fundamental that you know two things. One, that there will be no eating in class. Two, that I like talking and you will hear my voice a lot. That does not mean there isn't room for yours.”

“On another topic, I also expect you to ask how to use history in assignments for other classes. Some double major, some have more to do. Use more than one class during more assignments and ask me if you need any help. I have a PhD in History, yes, but also in philosophy, in addition a masters in English.”

Professor Hiddleston nods at the girl who raises her hand in the air. “Are you going to teach the creative writing course, too?” 

As the professor turns on her laptop and connects it to the projector, she looks up at the students. “Anyone who has, by now, realised they are in the wrong room can leave. Please do so now and not later.” No one stands up. “In that case, let’s begin.”

He purses his lips. “There is a slightly different note to the course this year. Due to many applicants there are two classes. I will have one of them, and a professor Y/L/N will have the other.”

 --

“You can’t be serious.” Professor Y/L/N throws her hands up. She gives the Dean of English a gaze of annoyance and disbelief. 

Richie McHallan only smiles apologetically. “I am,” he says. “There might be two courses, but we don’t have the room for it. You will have to divide the room or share the course.”

Y/L/N leans back in her chair with a sigh. She gazes over at her coworker. “We don’t get along, Richie, how do you expect it to work?” 

“For once, I agree with her.” Professor Hiddleston looks at McHallan. “Plus, the classes are full, how are we supposed to fit all those students into one classroom?”

The dean sighs. “You will. You’ll show professionalism, and you’ll make agreements with each other, understood?”

The two professors nod, though neither look happy with the decision. 

“Here’s a list of scheduling. The room you’ll have will be there. And here's a list over the students.” McHallan slides two pieces of paper to each of the professors. Both lists contain a room number, dates and time, and a list of fifteen students each. 

Professor Y/L/N takes the list. “Why can’t I just move the class to the evening? There will be free classrooms.”

The dean shakes his head. “Not possible. There are night time courses here and even then there are few rooms available. Do this or lose the class.”

The woman mutters something under her breath. “Okay, I give up.” She grabs the list and walks out of the room, each step make a sound. So does the door as she rips it open and lets it slam shut. 

Hiddleston chuckles. “I really don’t see the point in this,” he says. 

“Really? You don’t?” The dean scoffs. “You two have never seen eye to eye, but you enjoy it when she’s mad. I need you two to be able to work together. Dr. Grant suggested this actually.”

“Ah, of course.” He nods, a smile caressing his lips. “I’ll be nice, you know I will.”

“Ever the gentleman.” The dean shakes his head. “You’re much too cocky for your own good.”

“Oh, but you do enjoy it.” 

McHallan sighs. “Unfortunately.” He waves a gesture to make the professor leave. “But I enjoy her more than you, so don’t do anything stupid, understood?”

The man only chuckles as he walks out, more than intent on making the most of an otherwise unwanted situation. 

Taglist: @inlovewith3 @mindlesschicca @bookgirlunicorn @plooffairy @just-the-hiddles @jennytwoshoes @lokissidehoe @fruitfly123 @devilbat @princetale

Bold in the taglist are people tumblr won’t let me mention. Please send me a DM and we can try to fix the problem ^_^

[panharmonium]

since i am on the cusp of watching the last four episodes of merlin (again, disclaimer: these are episodes i have never seen, and for which i still remain unspoiled, so please help me continue to stay spoiler-free for the next couple of days), i wanted to try to set down a record of where my thoughts are now, because you can only be in a place where you haven’t finished something once - “once a thing is known, it can’t be unknown,” etc - i’ll never be able to come back to this mindset, so i’d like to be able to remember what i was thinking before i knew how it ended.  if nothing else, this will mean that i can come back here and laugh at my wildly off-base suspicions.

this is relevant to absolutely nobody, since everybody else finished this show eight years ago; so under the cut it goes!

so. 

right now i have a feeling that merlin is going to end...badly.  i’ve never been outright spoiled for what happens at the end of this show, but various little hints of feelings i’ve picked up from people just indicate that...it’s not a good time.  it would be nice to be wrong!  but that is just the sense i have gotten.

with that in mind, my current thinking is as follows:

arthur: i think arthur’s doomed.  i used to think it was going to be merlin, but that was last year, and i’ve recalibrated and rewatched since then, and honestly, ‘the disir’ gives me a real bad feeling.  you can’t just ignore all these people being like “THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE!  IT WILL NOT COME AGAIN!”  i’m not sure if he’s doomed now, or if they’re gonna have him survive the immediate crisis and then fast-forward to the future so we can watch him die and get shipped off to avalon later, but either way, i think arthur’s in trouble.  

(and, quite frankly, i don’t think merlin’s going to get his good ending, either.  i’m afraid he’s going to end up dead or living as a hermit or trapped in dragoon’s ancient body or something stupid like that.)

(i would LOVE to be wrong, fyi.  i have absolutely no reason to have these suspicions other than the vague sense from others that the ending of this show made people bitterly unhappy.)

i don’t know how there is a way for them to do this that doesn’t feel like a huge waste or something that doesn’t make sense.  the messaging on this show has always been that the time of albion hasn’t actually happened yet, that arthur is going to unite the land and be the greatest king of all time.  the message has never been that he’s already done it.  like - it’s never been presented as “the three years between S4 and S5 were what we consider to be the once and future king’s glorious reign.”  so it just feels...like it would be very weird to remove arthur without that promise ever being fulfilled.  i’m not sure how they can manage that without pulling the rug out from under their audience in an unpleasant/dishonest way.

i also don’t see how this kind of ending would work without breaking the show’s promise to merlin - that one day he will be known for who and what he is, that he and arthur are destined for greatness, that the appearance of a white dragon “BODES WELL” for them and the world they are trying to build.

mordred: i have no idea what’s going to happen with mordred.  i stand by what i said before, that i like him and don’t care if that means i get burned.  i don’t know if they’re planning on having him either a) be revealed as a traitor with his own agenda (one not necessary aligned with morgana’s) or b) be sincerely trying to be a good knight but doing a 180 and turning on arthur due to...idk, frustration about not being accepted, old grudge-holding from that confrontation with merlin when he was a kid, new grudge-holding from merlin constantly trying to get him killed, etc.  

i have always been concerned that merlin’s behavior is going to drive mordred to do something evil, thus accidentally bringing about the events he’s trying to prevent, so that still looms large in my mind.

morgana: ?????  whatever plan she has is going to blow up in her face, it seems, given the substance of merlin’s vision in 5.01 (not that she appears to have a plan at all, this season - she’s been all about the wacky schemes, lately; she has no allies and no army, as far as we know.  (that will change, though, i’m sure, once we get to That Dread Place, though how, i don’t know.)   “the legends speak of an alliance between mordred and morgana” - so maybe mordred ends up sort of helping her after all, and turning on her in the end (though he’s already done that, it seems, so i really don’t know how that makes sense).  

if it were up to me, i’d want morgana to be released, at the end of everything.  not redeemed, exactly - i don’t think she would cozy up in camelot with everybody and let things go back to normal, but i think she could be more than what she is.  i think it would be an appropriate arc, actually, for us to see her losing her allies and her armies, for her to see people drifting away from her methods, like when annis refuses to help her any further in 4.05.  morgana started off as the voice of moral authority on this show, but she’s descended far enough now that she’s driving people away from her cause.

but i still think she deserves a chance.  i think she’s the kind of person who has the capacity to come back from the brink.  i would like to see further exploration of the conflict she obviously feels when mordred appeals to her humanity in 5.09.  i would like to see the conflict she must feel about hurting people she used to love, and i would like to see conflict from them in her direction, as well.  i don’t believe it would be simple for arthur to ever consider killing his sister.  i don’t think gwen would just give up on morgana without a fight.  i do think merlin, for his part, has hardened his heart against her, and that seems appropriate, given their history, but i also think that merlin’s primary motivator in this world is love.  

i think he could learn.  i think he would realize, after some difficulty, that he owes it to her to try to reach her, somehow.  

gwen: it’s hard for me to say what i expect for gwen, because honestly, she hasn’t had much of an arc this season, and therefore we don’t have much to work with.  i’m not sure if TPTB just stopped knowing what to do with her once she became queen, or what, but if i had been putting down my expectations for her in season 5 as a whole, i would have expected to see gwen kind of like - struggling a bit with her huge change in circumstance (from servant to queen, i mean, that’s massive; there would be so many things she’d have to adjust to, and then dealing with other people as well, not all of whom would be thrilled by her upward mobility - eg nobles who are threatened by the idea that common folk feel like they can aspire to the second highest office in the land, or other servants who used to be her friends and would never wish her ill but are now maybe nervous around her - but none of that happened, so i honestly don’t know what the plan is for her.  i would have liked to see gwen showing up a bit more for merlin, i suppose...they were so close, before, and if anyone would have noticed that something was bothering merlin, gwen would have - but there’s just this gap between them now.

gwaine, too.  gwaine and merlin were tight.  and now they’re sort of…i mean, gwaine is there, and he on his end is still invested in merlin, but there’s a weird distancing happening between them.  merlin is too preoccupied with the all-consuming ‘make sure arthur doesn’t die’ to put much of himself into his other relationships.

to be clear, i’m not actually criticizing that as a writing decision.  i do think it’s something merlin would do.  i think it absolutely makes sense for merlin to be shutting down all the “extra” parts of his life, one after another, until the only thing left is the Mission.  his “destiny.”   he can only focus on that one thing.  he only thinks his life is worth something if he can succeed at this one thing.

it makes me very sad, but i do think it’s something that would happen to him.  it strikes me as an appropriate step for his character arc.  because merlin in S5 is kind of disintegrating, and even in S4 he was starting to pull away from other people.  but i would expect this problem to be addressed as season 5 progressed, and i fully do not expect that to happen now. 

i’m honestly not sure the show actually sees it as a problem at all.  i’m not sure...i can never tell if this show understands that merlin feels like all of his relationships are shams, that he feels that everyone who “loves” him would hate him if they knew who he actually was, not just arthur.  he thinks people only care about him because he lies.  he thinks his true self is fundamentally unlovable, in this particular world.  he doesn’t remember what genuine friendship feels like anymore - it’s been such a long time since he experienced it.

i think that’s a problem.  i expected it to be one of the problems we would address in S5.  but i’m not sure we’re actually going there.

gaius: i was REAL concerned about gaius when we started S5.  i was sure he was a goner.  he’d already survived way longer than i expected him to and i was so pleased about that fact; i loved it; i loved how merlin said “camelot needs BOTH of us” and refused to ever leave him behind.  

i’m still kind of um...worried about him, i guess.  i’m not sure where he would fit in a post-finale world.  though that really depends on where the finale leaves us.  

the dragons: don’t even ask me.  are we ever going to get clarification on how kilgharrah allowed aithusa to get swept up by morgana and then trapped in a pit for two years?  nah?  okay then.

i would really, really like merlin to be able to help aithusa.  it doesn’t matter if aithusa is “with” morgana; merlin is still a dragonlord.  he would still feel responsible.  he would still care.  you can tell how upset he is when he sees aithusa in 5.02.  i hope we can get something to this effect - who knows, maybe he and morgana can connect on this one thing.  

wider concerns: the magical community.  i’ve been waiting for merlin to take a stand for them for a long time, but again, i don’t think we’re going there.  i wish we were, but merlin thinks the only way he can help them is by helping arthur, because someone somewhere once told him arthur was the one who could put everything right.

(and again, that’s something that makes me sad.  why does this community have to wait for their oppressor to slowly, maybe come around?  the fact that we, the audience, are fond of arthur doesn’t make it okay for anyone to tell a group of oppressed people to sit around and wait their turn.  they deserve to be free now.  merlin deserves to be free now.  these people have every right to declare themselves free people, unbowed and unshackled - morgana is right about that much, at least.)

wider concerns: the political situation.  is anyone ever going to actually explain what albion looks like?  the show keeps saying “the five kingdoms” when there are DEMONSTRABLY more than five monarchs introduced across various seasons - are there just five extra-prominent kingdoms, like medieval superpowers?  or what?  this wasn’t really a big deal before and you could kind of handwave it away, but if arthur’s supposed to be uniting these places, it becomes a little more relevant.

and of course, merlin: 

i don’t want to write too much about my many many fears for merlin himself here.  i’ve written about them enough elsewhere, and, as gaius says, “i’m not sure my heart can take it.” 

suffice to say, my biggest fear is that merlin won’t get his good ending.  

for years, people have been telling merlin (and us, by extension!) that one day, someday, if he struggles enough, if he suffers enough, if he is very, very patient, and very, very strong, he will finally be known and loved for who he is.  

i am afraid that these people were either mistaken or lying.

people shouldn’t have to earn their happiness in the first place, but by god, if they did, merlin has done enough.  he has been hiding in the shadows all his life, doing nothing but help people and sacrifice himself for others’ sakes, even as he believes that all the people he cares about would hate the person he is inside.  

he deserves a spot in the sun.

[my-brothers-corrupted]

My Brothers, Corrupted

Chapter 2 : Section 7 : Runaways

The outburst of Blue’s power, too strong to be hidden beneath Anti’s careful, means they are no longer secure in their hiding place at the height of the mountain, and Anti no longer cares about making sure his curse is safe before using it. Dapper is breaking down, Red and Blue are on the chopping block for the choice they made, and Anti is struggling desperately to maintain control as he takes his puppets and flees to the north.

Trigger warnings for some of the most severe abuse yet, including manipulation, abuse between brothers, and abuse of a character having a psychotic episode.  I’m telling you right now, this chapter bites. Please be careful.

Find Chapter One here.

Find Chapter Two here.

 Section Seven of Chapter Two: Runaways

Anonymous asked: Trick, Dok, Genesis, anyone? Are you guys okay?

When the signal comes back, your camera seems to be vibrating.

Thud thud thudding rapidly as colors and lights fly by. Mounted on the ledge of a car window, pointing back in towards the other side.

Trick is the only one who looks up at the faint beeping, his eyes wide. He glances towards the front of the car and gives you no answer, stroking his twin’s hair. Dok is sitting on the floor at his feet with the weighted blanket over his shoulders, his forehead pressed against Trick’s thigh so you can’t see his face. Dapper sits beside Trick, his knees drawn up to his chest, his big, teary eyes fixed on the floor. He’s holding his fluffy white bear to his chest, and, from his crooked nose all the way back to his right ear, there is one huge bruise, bright purple and deep black.

They’re traveling somewhere.

Above the driver’s seat, you can see the plastic antlers of Blue’s Christmas gift mask.

Anonymous asked: Just let her go, Chase. She’s got a family just like you do. It’ll alright, love.

Trick turns his face away from you, holding Doktor closer against his thigh. Dapper stares over at you, his mouth in a deep frown and tears slinking down his cheeks. Eventually he shifts, snuffling, and lets you see the golden hilt of that beautiful knife, returned to him now and cleaned of Genesis’s blood.

The car pulls over and stops.

“Okay,” says a flat voice from the front. “Wait here. I’ll get gas.”

Anti’s car door opens and shuts. Nobody moves.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Where's Red and Blue, guys?

“Front,” mumbles Trick.

Red turns back to you just for a second. His body shakes and no one has bandaged his cuts. He wears that black muzzle on his face - you can tell what it is beneath a thick scarf. He is handcuffed to the car door. You can recognize, by now, the way that guilt looks on him, and you can recognize, by instinct, the look of a man haunted.

Anonymous asked: Still wearing our boy, Anti?

Blue’s palms are a vivid red, not the flaking skin he had before, but burned. They must be painful. Anti sets them to the handle of the filthy gas nozzle and starts loading up the clean little car - stolen more likely than rented, but it hardly matters now.

“I can’t trust him right now,” he says, his voice dark. He seems to take none of his usual joy in it and his eyes are fixed blankly on the nozzle. “But I… I will… I’ll… fix it. Too much power for him.”

He sighs deep and runs his hand through Blue’s hair, singed black on one side. “Mmh… need to put the others back, too. Should I focus on Red or Dap, do you think? None of the medicine seems to be working on my little one, which makes him harder to reign in… but Red was so far off the fucking rails last night… maybe Red, maybe Red…”

Anonymous asked: personally bro I think you should focus on why it is that your whole schtick keeps tanking cuz I think there's some fundamental imbalances here that need to be addressed that you're refusing to acknowledge. or something.

Anti chews on his lip, staring at the gas nozzle.

“Should I… I just… I didn’t expect five to be so much harder than four!”

He pulls at his hair, distressed. “I thought I had taught Red better than that. Maybe I should just go back to four and keep a closer eye on all of them. Maybe I should just kill Trick and be done with it, reset them all and just… I think I could manage that, right? I used to manage Red and Trick and Dok and Dapper so well, they were just sad, and I wanted Blue to change that… but Dok would be a good twin to Dap, wouldn’t he? And Red and Blue would still be able to guard like Trick does. Maybe I should just give up on having the full set like I always wanted. Ship Trick’s body back to Jack and make him cry. I hate… I know he did this just to make it harder for me!”

Anti breaths in and then shakes his head at himself, pulling the nozzle out of the car. “No, no, no. Once I cull Blue’s power off I won’t have to be so worried about hiding them all the time and I can put all five of them back in their neat little lines. I can still do this. I just need to keep them away from the magical orders. If the Lapwings couldn’t protect Marvin from me, the Ravens won’t be able to help them either. I just need to do what I came to this country to do and then we can go again, and no one will take my pets from me.”

Anonymous asked: You read one book and suddenly you're able to take on who-knows-how-many magicians? You barely handled blue back in Norway and he hardly know what he was doing. What are you going to do against people that are actually trained?

Anti growls at you. “You are underestimating, first of all, what a goddamn little powerhouse this stupid brat is. Hardly knew what he was doing? He was one of the most accomplished magicians in the UK, you dumb fucks. Anyway, he would have been easy to kill - it’s just that I didn’t want my new pet dead.”

He snarls down at the gas nozzle and shoves it back into the tower. The electric little screen reading “S/.116.030″ glitches and the number disappears.

“These little thieves who are trying to take what belongs to me have no such guarantee. I will slaughter anyone who comes near them.”

nikkilbook asked: Yes, because literally the only possibly reason Jack could have created them all was exclusively to annoy you. No other reason. Not like they’re people, have been people, always will be people, and people don’t exist for only reason and especially not just out of spite. No, it’s definitely just to annoy you.

“He made that stupid little Jameson just to save him! That stupid doctor because he could feel me growing and knew he would need a healer! Jackie to protect him, Marvin to hide him, Chase to laugh while he cried! You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe him to be a selfless man - you’ll recall, after all, that I was only ever created to fucking entertain you!”

Anonymous asked: you're ignoring that there's actually six of you. you can't even handle yourself, bro. it IS an option to just like. let the boys do whatever they want. love is a stronger bond than fear, you saw that firsthand last night my dude.

“But then they’d go!” Anti clutches his burned hands into fists so hard he makes welts burst, and blood and clear puss come running down his wrists. “And they can’t! They can’t go! They’re mine, I’m owed them! They belong to me now! Better than being with Jack! Better than being with Jack!”

Anonymous asked: ok I would like your logic on why they were sad and if it doesn't include somewhere the phrase "being held against their will by a volatile puppetmaster and stripped of essential human freedoms" i'd kindly ask you to reword yourself

“Maybe they deserve to be sad sometimes,” Anti snarls, gritting his teeth. “Maybe they deserve everything I’ve ever done to them.”

Anonymous asked: bruhhhh if they loved you enough they'd never go. that's the reason we can't get Blue to up and skedaddle. he loves his brothers way more than he fears you.

“But they don’t love me,” says Anti. “And no one does without my control. So there’s no point to you trying to convince me. I know what I am. I only pretend not to be a monster around them, you know. I don’t try to tell myself any different. I never have. Not since I was little.”

bupine asked: what is it that you came to this country to do, anti? we never did find that out. is it something you're gonna be cryptic about or can you tell us?

“You never asked,” he says. And then: “There are parts of the world that are more magical than others. And I have a spell to cast.”

immabethehero asked: Hey Anti, here's a wild idea. let them run around for like a week with no chains and then they'll be happy.

“Haha! Oh, fuck, are you joking? They’d fall apart and never come back to me. Bet you a thousand sols at least one of them would die. Most of them would come running back to me. Hey, have you guys ever read Life of Pi?”

He glances at you like he expects an answer, but doesn’t actually check for one.

“He talks about, like… people like to go ‘oh, the poor animals in the zoo, all locked away!’ But the animals in the zoo aren’t actually unhappy. They’re glad they’re in the zoo. They’ve got space and food and routine. And if you shoved a family of people out of their house and you went ‘go, be free!’ they wouldn’t actually be free and they wouldn’t want to leave. They’d want to go back into the house. They’d want to go back into the house aggressively. They’d force you to let them go back into the house.”

He shrugs. “My boys belong in the house. Being let out wouldn’t be real freedom. Especially seeing as most of them would be caught and put in jail for life! Red and Dapper certainly, probably Dok too, maybe Trick if they could convict him. No, no, better off with me. The outside world is a scary place without master to look after you. I guarantee - I fucking promise - soon enough, they’d miss me.”

Anonymous asked: I’m sorry, but you don’t get the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it’s time for you to move on to better things, y’know? Find some other...hobby or whatever. They’ll never stop breaking out of what ever the hell you’ve put them under, and soon they’ll be too strong for you to ever get them back under. They are so much more than puppets and once you realize that it’ll be far too late for you.

“I didn’t ask you for the benefit of the doubt and I don’t care what you think. And if you’re so convinced that they’ll never stop? They’ll never give up, they’ll never stop trying to be free?”

He turns to you with black eyes.

“I swear I will match every second of their determination, and bring them back under my control. Every. Single. Time. If I have to struggle for the rest of my fucking life. So be it. So be it.”

bupine asked: anti, my dude, look at urself. ur stressed the fuck out and the boys are scared and hurt and remembering again. you can't take care of all of this urself, u just fucking can't. u can't keep wiping their memories and torturing and gaslighting and burning urself out. i know ur not gonna listen to this at all and ur probably just gonna give some sarcastic response but fucking hell u know u can't keep doing this. something has to change here, and that something is u, i'm gonna be honest.

“I’ll do this as many times as I have to!” he screams.

It’s a good thing this gas station lot is mostly empty. He’s starting to look stressed.

“I’ll do whatever I have to! As long as I have to! Forever! I’m not letting anyone go! They’re mine! They’re mine! They’re mine!”

Anonymous asked: That doesn’t sound like a way to live

“Better than the alternative!” screams Anti. “Better than being - I’m not going back to - I’m not letting them go!”

immabethehero asked: You're stressed, Anti. It really shows

“Thank you for your stunning analysis, PsyD,” he snarls.

Anonymous asked: whatever you say, pal. just trying to make your life easier.

Anti growls and turns away from you. “None of you understand anything.”

dancing-anon asked: So, Anti, what's the deal with you and Sean? Why do you hate him?

“Don’t say that fucking name. We’re not talking about this. All of you be quiet.”

musical-in-theory asked: Anti you are a textbook control freak who’s just now learning that they have so very little control. Poor little thing, your strings are becoming quite frayed...

“Bit the strings off myself,” he mumbles. “No connections left to him now.”

Anonymous asked: Dapper this is not your fault, please do not blame yourself, love.

Dapper looks up at you, weakly clutching his bear to his chest, and tries to nod. Trick reaches over to rub his shoulder, but Dapper draws away, hiding his face in his bear.

dancing-anon asked: Okay now I just wanna know more about Anti and Sean-

Anti laughs hysterically. “I know you do! Everyone did! Because that’s all I ever was! A storyline! Yes, I know, you want to know all about me, don’t you? Want to see me a hundred times over! I’m a fun toy to play with, aren’t I? A fun video to rewatch? Oh, do you still shiver when he draws the little toy knife to his throat? Did JJJJ scare you? And when you finally saw me with the others, all of us lined up just the way Jack wanted, in his little costumes and accents and special effects, didn’t it just make your month! Leave me the fuck alone. I’m not a goddamn prop.”

Anonymous asked: “Gotta love how you don't even try to be better. 'Oh, poor me, made to be a monster' well fucking change that, then. If you hate your Jack so much because of what he made you, then stop doing exactly what he made you to do. And you want to be loved by these five who you admit to hating so much? I don't even know where to begin with that. You’re so obsessed with every ounce of control, that you can't even settle for being as in control as you clearly already are. That's sad." - I!A

“There’s no changing anything now. There never was any changing anything. I just realized late.”

Anonymous asked: Why are you so afraid of being on your own?

“I’m not afraid,” hisses Anti.

Glitches warp the gas station tower screen.

“I’m not afraid.”

immabethehero asked: Are you still in Mexico, drama queen?

“I’ve never been in fucking Mexico! Why did you think Mexico? Because they speak Spanish here?”

Anonymous asked: dapper, are you all right? any symptoms hurting you too much? i know what it's like... some of the stuff you're dealing with... and i'm sorry medication hasn't been helping you. you're doing a great job hanging in there

“I can’t tell what’s going on,” moans Dapper, barely taking his hands off his bear to sign to you. “N-nobody looks right, and everyone’s acting weird, and my face hurts, and I’m scared, I’m scared, I don’t know what’s happening, I want to go home.”

“He’s having bad delusions,” mumbles Trick, still just stroking Dok’s hair, for hours, for hours. His twin stopped responding some time ago.

immabethehero asked: YOU'RE IN SPAIN

“NO, I’M NOT. HOW MANY SPANISH-SPEAKING COUNTRIES DO YOU THINK THERE ARE?”

Anonymous asked: Columbia, Brazil, Ecuador, Peru?

“Don’t care to tell you,” Anti simpers, looking a little calmer now. He knows and you don’t.

Anonymous asked: Brazil. Got it.

“Oh, haha, are you pleased with yourself? No. I let you see plenty of hints so you figure it out.”

immabethehero asked: Puerto Rico?

“Leave me alone.”

Anonymous asked: I figured it was Brazil, smartass. Ever heard of confirmation?

“It’s not Brazil. Ever heard of being wrong?”

Anonymous asked: It’s Ecuador.

“I told you, I’m done talking.”

Anonymous asked: My mistake, Ecuador, right? They speak Portuguese in Brazil, pardon.

“They do speak Portuguese in Brazil, yes. A lot of you are Americans, huh? We’re done talking about this. I’ll ignore the rest of you, do you understand?”

Anonymous asked: Well damn, you certainly wanted to be far away from Jack then, huh?

Anti chuckles. “We’ve been all over. Dap and I were in Japan for a while. Just wanted to see what it was like. I love it there, actually. If I could stay somewhere, it would probably be Japan.”

Anonymous asked: Maybe the medicine is working too well, Dap...

“No,” says Trick, looking a little grumpy at this. “You saw him when the medicine was working. You were with us in Norway. He got a little confused, sometimes, but for the most part he was able to function just fine. It’s when he doesn’t have his medicine right that things get to be hard for him.”

Dap stares over at Trick, a little hope coming back to him. “It’s just medicine problems, C-love? It’s just confusion? Will I remember once we fix it?”

“Yeah, sweetie, yeah.” Trick reaches over to stroke his hair, and this time, Dap allows it. “I’m sure you’re just confused, honey. We’re trying really hard to make it work, okay?”

Anonymous asked: Hey Red, just want you to know you did the right thing. Don't lose faith.

Red doesn’t turn back to you.

But you see him shaking his head, just a little, his shoulders heaving.

immabethehero asked: Trick, is Doc okay?

“Um…”

Trick glances down at Dok, running his fingers through his hair.

“I… he… there’s just a lot going on right now. Once we’re safe, everything will be a-okay, a-okay. Anti’s taking us somewhere safe! To make up for fucking Red and Blue…”

nikkilbook asked: Red, I know this is probably cold comfort, but I think you made the right decision in helping Blue up the mountain. You did a good job, you were a good brother. I’m really proud of you. And I think Blue is, too.

Red slams his head back against the car headrest, panting. Trick lets out a grim laugh, looking shaken.

“Blue’s not anything, right now.”

nikkilbook asked: If you’re not a prop, stop acting like it. A prop is defined exclusively by its purpose within a scene, how it’s used and who uses it. A good actor can give the illusion that it’s always existed, but ultimately it is defined from curtain to curtain. A person is defined by a hundred thousand billion things, their relationships and interactions and wants and desires and flaws and struggles and emotions. All you’ve ever shown us is that you are doing these things to thumb your nose at him, prop.

“This is me being more than a prop. When was the last time you saw a scenic armchair kidnap five characters and drag them away from the storywriter?”

bupine asked: we know you're not a prop, anti. we just want you to leave the boys alone, which we know you won't do cause you're quite frankly just a stubborn, attention seeking asshole. like yeah we know you've got abandonment issues but fuck stop making that everyone else's problem fdhfghjhdg

“Yep, sounds about right,” he taunts you.

bupine asked: so what were the boys like before you had them, anti? tell us about that

Anti pauses, staring out at the sky.

“I remember… the fear in Jameson’s eyes, but also the determination, stabbing at my hands when I tried to take him away. And he was scared to swear but when he saw things he would hiss and spit at them until the paranoia made him break down, cause there was also something fearless to him.”

Anti opens his mouth and then pauses, maybe regretting his sentimentalizing.

“I don’t know. Jackie was loud and he hunted me well, I’ll give him that much. Marvin was this cocky, powerful thing, always flashing with jewelry - I always liked the way he shone. Henrik was tireless, Chase was a survivor. They had become, like I had, their own people.”

nikkilbook asked: Dap, I don’t think we ever asked, sorry—who are the ghosts? I remember seeing you having a puppet show with one, about Bro Average, but no one ever explained what was going on? And you don’t have to explain this if you don’t want to, but... who’s the red man?

Dapper sits back in his chair, a slightly glazed look coming over his eyes.

“Oh, I can see so many ghosts. Sometimes they’re scary but sometimes they’re nice. Look!” 

He points over at Doktor. Trick nervously holds his twin against him.

“It’s H-healing! His hair’s all green and he’s in Jack’s silly doctor costume. He keeps making jokes about fake surgeries and he’s so loud! He’ll bring me medicine if I get sick, but he’s still a ghost, he just doesn’t know it.”

Anonymous asked: Ah yes this again, because Jack is actually capable of love and you wanna daddy to love you, too, right?

Anti stares into the distance.

“Well, I guess that’s the other thing I remember,” he says. “That they all really loved each other. Always kind of… fucking hated that. And they’d all be smiling…”

Blue’s lips curl up into a sneer.

Anonymous asked: Ruined five perfectly good people, is what you did. Look at them, they've got anxiety.

“Glad we agree they’re ruined. Okay, let’s wrap this up, idiots, we gotta keep moving and I hope you know I’m not talking to you in the car.”

musical-in-theory asked: Why the fuck do you think that they deserve any of this???

“Please,” snaps Anti. “Assholes. Stupid - with their fucking house all together and all their goddamn ranting about ‘oh, we’re all brothers, we’re all family!’ Here’s what I think of your brotherhood - I can cut you into pairs and make you obsess over each other. Annoying fuckers. And Jack always looking at them with his goddamn - and they look - they look fucking just like him, and not in a way like I look like him, no matter how much I look like him, because they’re - they’re - they’re like him and - ”

Anti cuts himself off, turning away from you, panting.

Anonymous asked: Please see sense, Anti. Something about your methods has to change. It's not Blue's power or Dap's medicine that's the real problem. They will always rebel if your first instinct is to muzzle and collar and torture them.

“I’ll squash every rebellion, then.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Anti, who are you to decide what they deserve and what they don't? Even if they are your brothers, you should all be included and loved equally

“Okay, Mother Theresa, thanks for your words of wisdom. What about me makes you think I give a damn, and how do I correct that perception?”

Anonymous asked: Hes a scaredycat aw

“Shut the fuck up!” screams Anti. “Shut the fuck up!”

bupine asked: did you used to believe you weren't a monster?

“No, of course I did! I - you think you can look like a thing like me and not - you think - as if I wasn’t born with blood all over my hands, like - I know what I am! Why does the past matter?”

Anonymous asked: Why are you so hell-bent on keeping them?

“They’re mine, they’re mine, they’re mine!” screams Anti, shrieking like a seagull and glitching like a virus. “If I can’t have Jack I’ll take every fucking part of him! They belong to me, he owes them to me, he can’t them, he’s mine! I’m the master, I am, I am! Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up!”

the-weirdest-fan asked: Do you ever regret making them your puppets, Anti? I know you probably dont feel bad for them, but do you miss the collection process? Surely that was pretty fun, right? Are you ever tempted to just say the hell with it, and kill them?

“I always used to dream about killing them,” says Anti, in a voice shaking with fervor, his eyes too wide. Blood is welling up against his shirt. “Sometimes I just want to see them all stop breathing. I could d-drive all six of us off a cliff and that would be it, that would be it, that would be it. Miss collection, miss collection, no, no, no, I like having them with me. Everything was so much safer once I had my little boy. Everything was promised, everything is okay when my little boy is working right. I just have to put him back together and cast my spell and go and everything is fine, everything is fine, everything is fine…”

Anonymous asked: You must be really scared then, Anti, being away from your own master and all.

Anti freezes stiff, his face turned away from you.

The wind brushes through his hair and the sun glows down on him. Blue’s deer mask fills up with light, and for just a second, Anti stands in it, and you see the light dusting of freckles along Blue’s arms, and the burned hairs of his beard, and the strong, proud curve of that back.

Eventually Anti turns around again and limps towards the car like he’s been punched in the stomach, taking you with him. His trembling hands turn the camera off, and you are plunged back into darkness as you lose your connection to the car.

Anonymous asked: I know a lot has happened and were in a real transitional mess once again...but I have to know: How is Noodle the cat?

Your sound comes back before your video.

A car door slams shut and then another opens, and someone gives a small gasp. There is a fumbling bumping noise as the camera is pressed into someone’s hands.

“So I can keep an eye on you all.” Anti’s voice is simmering water. There is a small click and Trick’s face appears above you, looking pale and scared. “I’m going to go get you something to eat. Keep your brothers in line.”

The door shuts and Anti is gone.

For a long moment, the car is silent.

Trick puts you back up on the ledge of the window so you can see everyone, smiling weakly. Dok is sitting beside him now, with Dapper on the floor instead. Red, in the passenger’s seat, might be asleep, and you can hear him breathing steady and deep.

“Noodle,” says Trick, trying to keep his voice light. “Is great! He’s the best boy in the world and I’ve got him right here.”

He reaches down to scoop the little cat up, presenting him to you with a shaking grin. Noodle mewls softly and paws at his hands, and suddenly Trick, without knowing why, is on the verge of tears.

“Yeah, you’re a good boy, huh?” he whispers, kissing his cat’s head. “You’re my good boy. Everything’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

Anonymous asked: They're in Peru. (or were, depending on when we reconnect). What are your thoughts on the Nazca Lines?

“Oh, uh,” Trick pauses, laughing nervously. “I didn’t know where we were. I, uh. Don’t know what those are. I’m sorry. I didn’t leave the house much… in fact, I haven’t in… weeks… well, not farther than the mountainside. I haven’t seen the city since we got off the plane. So, not much sight-seeing, you know? Those sound cool, though, whatever they are.”

“Carvings in the desert,” mumbles Dok, his head resting against the cool glass of the car window. “Far south of us.”

Relief washes down Trick’s face and he turns to grab his shoulder, beaming at him. “Hey, buddy, you with me again?”

Dok breathes slowly in. He seems to be making an effort to turn his head back towards Trick, to open his mouth and answer him, but eventually he just takes a shuddering breath and sinks down onto Trick’s shoulder, burying his face against him.

Trick squishes him into a hug, pressing their heads close together.

 “We’re okay. We’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay. I got you, don’t I? So everything’s going to be just fine.”

Anonymous asked: They’ll come, Marvin, just wait. It’s gonna be okay. Take it slow.

Dapper stares up at you, distress beginning to fill up his face again. You hear Trick give a deep sigh.

“Who’s coming? Where are we, where are we going? Why is nobody acting like themselves? I don’t want the bad men to come. There are people coming to get us and hurt us and eat us.”

“Dap! Nobody’s going to eat us!”

“Where’s Marvin? What is he waiting for? I want Marvin, I want Marvin!”

“Dapper, please, all you’ve been doing for hours is crying! Can you cut it out for two minutes, please!”

“We’re going somewhere bad! We’re going somewhere bad! Everything is shaking with power and it gets worse the closer we are. Too much magic, too much magic. I want Marvin. I’m hungry.”

“Anti went to get food, Dap.”

“Anti?”

Dapper falls quiet, rocking himself on the floor of the car.

Trick sighs and turns back to you. “And that’s something to thank God for, let me tell you. I was starting to get worried we were just going to keep driving and driving.”

“Blue’s not here to take care of us,” whispers Dok. “So he almost forgot we needed to eat.”

Trick sobers, staring down at the floor.

“They’re coming to get us,” Dapper complains, his eyes closed and his head pushed against the back of Red’s seat. “Scared, scared, scared. Ghosts! Ghosts! My stomach hurts, I hate this new medicine, I want my brain to work again!”

Trick runs his hand down his face, tugs Dok closer to his shoulder, and checks again on Red’s heartbeat, beginning to feel more than a little overwhelmed. Noodle sits purring on his lap.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: How long have you guys been on the road?

“Hours, I guess,” sighs Trick, staring out his window. “Clock on the car is digital, so it just keeps glitching. Sun’s high now. We left in the dead of night. We stopped for a bathroom like, twice, but that’s all. I hope Anti gets us something good. Pizza or hamburgers - or - fried chicken or something so fatty and American it just about kills me on the spot.” His face is lit up. “Dok, what would you go for if you could have anything in the world right now?”

Dok lets out a short sigh, trying to think. “Mh… bacon sandwich…”

Laughter bubbles out of Trick like a fountain. “Bacon sandwich?”

“Bacon sandwich,” whispers Dok, grinning frailly up at him. His eyes may as well be lit from the inside, and heated, too, with warmth like that. “Toasty bacon sandwich… with… tomato.”

“Oh, here he comes!”

Anti returns to the car and pulls open Trick’s door. “Look edible, pup?”

Trick startles. “Oh - me?”

“Yeah? Aren’t you hungry?”

He can’t remember the last time Anti called him puppy! A burst of schadenfreude joy lights up in Trick’s chest and he resists the urge to give Dapper a smirk, instead reaching eagerly out to accept the brown take-out bag from Anti’s hands. Inside, sandwiches gleam brighter than silver inside of crinkling aluminum foil.

“Fuck, you got so many,” gasps Trick. “And - mashed potatoes too, and green beans!”

“I need to make sure you all get a good meal. Things might be… rough for a while. We might have to fight soon, Trick.”

Trick looks up, afraid. “Those people… they’re really going to catch up with us. Aren’t they, master?”

Anti sighs. For a second, he doesn’t look angry, or cruel, or biting - he just looks sad.

“Yeah, Tricks, I think so.”

“Anti?” asks Dok. “Can we get out of the car for a while?”

“Yeah, come on. Get Dap and Red out too. Stretch and sit down and eat. I think we need to… talk about some things before anything happens.”

A cold light gleams in his eyes again. “And maybe I need to reinforce a couple old lessons.”

bupine asked: shit, anti, can you not leave them alone for two minutes?

Anti seats himself at a little park table as his boys gather themselves together and start helping each other out of the car - well, mostly Trick, though Dok keeps turning around to check that Dapper is close at hand. Noodle paces around a tree on a little cat leash fashioned lovingly, carefully, out of cheap string.

Anti hums, feeling a breeze brush over Blue’s hair. He holds himself strangely, slumped over the table but not allowing his chest to touch the wood. He keeps shifting his hands and readjusting the mask on his pale face.

“Look,” he says. “What would be the point of any of this if I left them alone? If they sat here happily on this bench eating their green beans and giving Dapper little kisses on the cheek til his boo-boos are gone? If I let Blue go and him and Red got to cuddle for a while and feed each other roast beef? Please.”

Anti shifts, massaging at his chest, a little winded.

“Besides, then none of them would learn their lesson. The way Red, Blue, and Dapper acted last night is the most unacceptable thing I’ve seen since the night Jackie tried to run away with Dapper. No, he has to learn his lesson again, like he did now. And let’s stop lying to each other - you’re going to love every aching second of it.”

He smirks and adjusts the camera so you can see the expanse of the little rest stop lawn, some privacy provided between him and the convenience store where he bought the sandwiches by a few thin but determined trees.

“In fact,” he says. “Seeing as you were a part of what happened last night, I think you should be a part of this too, don’t you think?

“Red and Dapper need to be punished, and it has to happen before those fucking magicians catch up with us. Blue will get what he deserves when we get where we’re going. But we have a couple options and I think we should be entertained by it, don’t you? So you can pick.

“I can hypnotize one of them and spar with the other - you choose which of each, it doesn’t matter to me. Or I can make them both spar with each other, and the winner can beat the other one into a goddamn pulp.”

Anti leans back, Blue’s eyes glittering black in his stolen face.

“Decide. We both know you want to. You can do it without even telling us who you are… are you already thinking about it? Wouldn’t it be fun to see Dap hypnotized? Or Red? To spare one of them the pain of a real punishment, and let him sink back into my power again? Or wouldn’t you like to find out which one of them would win in a real fight? Come on. Don’t pretend. Decide.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: How about none of the above? Let them be who they are, Anti.

“Boring,” sings Anti. “You can be more creative than that, can’t you? I’ll let you have some time to decide, but I expect an answer.”

He sits back as his boys approach, Trick chattering to Dok about everything and nothing, re-invigorated by affection and food. He sits himself right down next to Anti - a bold move - and starts pulling out food for his brothers. Dok sits wearily down beside him, pulling open his sandwich with tentative eyes, like he expects something to jump out and sting him. Dapper stares down at his sandwich, unenthused.

Red, for his part, is still standing by the car, looking panicked and ill, afraid of what Anti is planning for him - and he knows it must be something. Trick did not help him to the table and Dok and Dapper are not well enough to care for anyone right now.

“Um, Anti,” begins Dok softly.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Dok’s mouth opens and closes again. He’s looking at Blue’s thin frame. After a moment he shakes his head and sits back again, glancing nervously over at you for help as Anti picks boredly at the wood of the table, not even glancing at the food and water.

bupine asked: anti, is your chest hurt? also, when did red and dapper try to run away, was that is norway? unrelated to both of these questions but how about no one fights! i feel like the trauma of last night is punishment enough, but i know you won't agree

“Oh, no,” says Anti. He reaches over and rubs at Dapper’s back, pulling on his overgrown curls. Dapper doesn’t seem to know how to react. “That was back in… yeah, we were still near home then. I brought Dapper to lure the hero in. He came almost right away. I broke him in pretty well, but after about a month he had a moment of weakness and he took Dap and ran. My poor little boy was too sick to even protest, just followed after the hero.”

His voice stiffens as he rereads your question. “Blue’s chest is… it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

Doktor sinks down on the other side of the table, picking nervously at his bread.

Anonymous asked: dok is something wrong? are you worried about something?

Dok glances over at you and touches his stomach, looking back at Blue.

Anonymous asked: Hey Anti, it might be a good idea to let Blue eat. He’s probably starving after all that energy he used. He’ll get sick if he doesn’t. Anonymous asked: Anti, you should eat something. Blue’s body is starving like this. Bupine asked: anti, you need to eat too. For blue, obviously. He’s human too man. Anonymous said: anti, you’re going to seriously hurt blue if you don’t eat and drink. If you want to have an easier time managing them, you might want to prevent him from becoming severely ill

“Oh.” Anti blinks and sits up, scowling. “I forgot about that. I’ll eat later. Hate that fucking… swallowing and the way the stomach moves… and if I’m being honest, Blue doesn’t fit very well. He kind of - ”

Anti flinches suddenly, eyes wide, and his hands clench together.

“Stings,” he hisses, waving them through the air. “But maybe that’s the… burns…”

“Anti,” whispers Dok.

“What, darling?”

When Dok doesn’t answer right away, Anti looks up at him.

His face is bloodlessly pale and his hands folded gently in his lap. Downcast eyebrows and a pinched, sorrowful mouth make him look about as pathetic as Anti has ever seen him.

Usually Anti would laugh at him for begging, or pet and flatter him and enjoy the moment of weakness, but suddenly he doesn’t think that Dok is begging or acting at all. Not like Dapper learned to do when he was small. Dok has never done that. Dok is too straight-forward. Dok is a rod and always has been.

“I would like you please to eat,” he says softly. “Please.”

Blue’s mouth falls slightly open as he stares at him.

Then he shuts it again with a deep sigh, trying to banish old memories of a spit-fire doctor with a scalpel in his hand and Chase under his arm, yelling and refusing to be hypnotized, kicking when he was taken out of his cell…

“You never cause me any trouble, do you, Dok?”

Dok’s mouth smiles, but it never reaches his eyes.

“Try not to, master.”

Anti stares at him. Memorizes his face, in all the ways it is different from the others - the streaks of grey in his hair, the imprints of the carefully clean glasses, the way he holds himself, still proud after all these years…

“When we get where we’re going,” he says. “You’re going to watch over your little brothers and keep them hidden. You’re going to be tough and not break down and stop talking again. You’re going to keep Dapper safe and away from the fighting. Okay?”

“Yes, Anti,” whispers Dok. “Whatever you ask.”

Anti nods shortly, a small blush on his cheek, no longer able to meet Doktor’s eyes.

“Good boy,” he says shortly, and reaches for a sandwich.

Anonymous asked: Hey Dap, why don’t you take the camera over to Red and see if we can get him to come to the table to eat, yeah?

“Who’s Red?” whimpers Dap, curling in on himself. “Why is everyone acting so wrong? Why does Marvin burn like that? He is radiating black and blue. That’s not the right kind of light. That’s how you get burned. Bad magic. Good magic. Doesn’t it sting? Why is everyone acting so wrong?”

nikkilbook asked: Red? How’re you feeling, buddy? You weren’t doing so great the last time I talked to you, but then it looked like you at least got some sleep. Will Anti let you eat, or no? At the very least, you should go sit with Noodle. I bet playing with a little kitty will help.

Red is shaky and white. He glances over at you on the car window, his face contorted with pain. After a moment, you see his hands reach up to touch the muzzle on his face - and then fall again - and then rise again - he crumples back against the car door, panting through his nose and clutching at his hair.

“Hungry,” he signs. “But bad. Punishment. Afraid.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Dap? How much of the truth are you remembering?

“I can’t tell what’s real,” wheezes Dapper with shaking hands, growing more and more upset, though a hand on his shoulder from Dok helps to calm him a little. “I can see a thousand pasts. I can’t see a single future. I want to go home but don’t remember where it is.”

“Dapper,” warns Anti softly, his eyes flickering up to him. Be cautious.

immabethehero asked: Dapper, Anti'll be furious if he hears you call Marvin by his real name. The others too. Marvin is Blue. That's who Anti is possessing right now. Jackie is Red. Chase is Trick. Henrik is Doktor. Use those names and don't let Anti know about this! He might do something awful!

Dapper rubs at his teary face, distressed. “No, none of them are my brothers! They’re all Anti! I can feel him! I can see ghosts! I can see their ghosts! Anti killed my brothers!”

nikkilbook asked: Red’s the name Glitchy McGee gave J-happy.

“Happy, happy,” whisper Dapper’s hands. “Joy.”

He breathes in and out deeply. You can almost see him forcing himself to calm down, staring over at Red by the car, his eyes wide. After a moment, he rises to his feet and heads towards Red.

Anti allows it, chewing on his sandwich. Trick and Dok exchange anxious looks, but they’re splitting a cup of mashed potatoes as quickly as they can, like they’re afraid the food will disappear.

“Here, here,” signs Dap, approaching. “It’s okay, Joy.”

Red’s eyes are like a horse caught in a barn fire. He throws his head, his hands reaching up, scared to unclasp the muzzle.

It’s like Blue said. You can always untie the rope, or tear out the stake, or unclasp the mask, but you never know what might come afterwards.

Dapper reaches gently up and undoes the clasp, pulling it away from Red’s face. It has dug dark purple bruises into his face and his mouth is white without enough blood moving through it, but it doesn’t seem to matter. His eyes are fixed on Dapper.

“Come on.” Dapper reaches out a hand. Red takes it and lets himself be pulled carefully towards the table and the food.

immabethehero asked: Dapper. Anti's brainwashed all your brothers. They're not dead. Just brainwashed.

“Oh, please, stop playing with him,” sighs Anti, rolling his eyes. “You can’t make sense to him when he’s all fucking crazy like this. Just leave him alone. I bet I can make him play baby again if I fuss over him for a little while, or wake up Carver if I shove him around a little. He’s fine. He just has… days. It’s a confused day, that’s all.”

Anonymous asked: maybe some other kinds of medication could help dap, not just with his hallucinations, but also with his paranoia? maybe anxiety medication could help?

“Haven’t had time to try anything like that,” mumbles Dok, rubbing at his face. Oh, his bones are so tired. “Barely got him off the Risperdal - he had to have it all out of his system before I could start him on anything new. And then the last one I tried made him really sick and moody and weepy, so I’m just getting him off that one too so we can try something else. Maybe some combinations would be a good idea. I’m afraid nothing is ever going to work as well as the Haldol did. But sometimes our bodies get too used to medicines and we just have to work around it now. Soon as we settle down safe again, I’ll find something that works, I promise.”

Anonymous asked: Thank you, Dap.

He gives you a big, nervous smile, his face twitching.

immabethehero asked: Why do you have so many nicknames for Dapper? Are they his own egos? (No pun intended i swear)

Anti blinks, assessing his youngest from the other side of the table.

“Mostly it was just me being fond of him. Pet names and what not. Carver is a compliment, it means he’s like me. But as I began to spend time with him and saw the ways his mental state could change from day to day, I did notice a difference, and at some point, I started to think of the more violent days as Carver’s, and the sweeter ones as Dapper’s. And, when he’s very, very quiet, and very deep in his own head, and can’t even get his limbs to move, and his magic is beyond his control, that is Monochroma. But I haven’t seen Monochroma since his snap. No, though, he doesn’t have alters or anything like that. It’s just me organizing his moods.”

nikkilbook asked: Anti said something about having you and Dapper fight. He wasn’t sure if he was going to possess one of you or just have you fight until one of you’s beat into the ground. We’re trying to make him change his mind, but... I don’t know if we’ll be able to. I’m sorry. Be safe, okay? And please, go see if they’ll let you eat. No sense letting yourself starve. Abirbable and pixie-in-trebleland sent similar asks and were added.

Red’s face contorts for a second at the first message, but he’s too hungry to focus on it. He reaches anxiously out for a sandwich and Dok presses it into his hand.

Red sinks away from the table and begins scarfing it down, his eyes flickering all around, waiting for the attack he knows is coming. He can’t get himself to calm down and even the brightness of the afternoon seems painful when he’s this overwhelmed. He feels a little more comfortable with Dapper at his side, at least.

He scoots in front of his little brother, relieved to have him behind him.

Anonymous asked: Dok don’t stress out, you’re all doing your best and that’s all that matters, alright? You’re taking care of Dapper and everyone else very well.

“Yeah!” Trick beams at his twin and presses a bottle of water into his hand. “Everything’s okay, Dok-Dok, see?”

Dok smiles wearily at both of you, his eyes ringed in dark circles.

“Guess for now I can just eat, huh?”

“Exactly,” soothes Trick, squeezing his hand. “Exactly. We’re okay. Anti’s got everything under control. Right, Anti?”

“Course, baby.”

Trick glows with affection, simpering at Anti, who giggles just to see that dopey, over-enthused smile. He reaches out to put his hand on Trick’s, massaging his palm, and Trick about melts.

“Listen, love,” says Anti. “I need to talk to you for a second.”

“Oh, yes, Anti, okay.”

“Red and Blue can’t be trusted right now. You know that.”

“Yes, Anti. They’re the ones that caused this. We’d be safe if they hadn’t done that.”

“There’s my good boy. You have been listening, huh? I’m worried the magicians maybe even got into their heads.”

Trick’s eyes are wide. “Really?”

“Yes. So you can’t listen to anyone but me now, right? Me and Dok. Those magicians might try and get in your head too. They might promise you things. Hell, even these fuckers in the camera might promise you things.”

Trick shoots you an irritable look.

“But I need to be able to finish this project with Blue. While I’m doing that, I can’t be interrupted. Do you understand?”

“Oh, yes. And you can’t trust Red to watch your back.”

“Exactly. Dok isn’t a fighter and Dapper isn’t well right now. That means you, Trick - you have to protect them while I do what I need to do.”

Trick has puffed up like a lion, his back straight. “Of course. I’ll keep them both safe. I won’t listen to anyone who tells me to go or to let anything bad happen. Anti, I’ll be really, really good.”

Anti smiles warmly at him and Trick’s cheeks rush with blood.

“You keep Dapper and Doktor safe from the magicians when they come,” he says. “And you and your twin can have anything you want in the next place we stay. Okay?”

“Yes, Anti. Yes.”

“Promise me.”

“I swear, Anti. I swear.”

“Good boy.”

nikkilbook asked: You had a scarf, right? To hide the muzzle? Try pulling that over your head to filter out some of the light.

Red likes that. All he wants to sense right now is the taste of his food and Dapper’s library book smell. He lies down in the grass and tugs his scarf over his eyes, breathing out a sigh of relief and running his hands over the patchy yellow grass.

abirbable asked: This may sound weird, but maybe try some breathing exercises, Red. That always calms me down. Or even listening to someone else’s pulse (as long as it’s steady).

Red breathes in.

Breathes out.

Breathes in -

Oh, shaky on that one.

Breathes out.

Trying not to cry.

“Want Blue,” he whispers.

spicydanhowell asked: trick you fucking bootlicker istg

Doktor barks out a laugh and immediately covers his mouth with his hands. Trick blushes bright red, a sudden terror in his eyes. Doktor looks guilty the second their eyes meet across the table.

“Sorry!” He tells him hastily, reaching out to pat Trick’s hand. “Wasn’t agreeing! Just surprised me.”

His twin draws away, trying to swallow.

Then Anti giggles too.

Trying to breathe, Trick chokes out something about checking on his cat and hurries over to Noodle before he can start crying, turning his back to the table and sitting quickly down with him in his lap. He pets rapidly at Noodle’s head, hugging him to his chest.

“You’re such a good boy,” he croaks, kissing his cat. “You’re good, you’re good, you’re good. You’re just trying to be good, it’s okay, I love you.”

Anonymous asked: hey dap, i know how scared and alone you must feel right now. we’re going to play a quick little game, okay? I want you to name five little things you can see around you, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. can you do that for me?

Dapper claps his hands together, a slightly over-bright light in his eyes, beginning to get his manic, confused enthusiasm back as his mood shifts again.

“I see - a deer covered in flowers. A pretty golden cat. I see bruises down this face and burns hiding on that one. I see my mustache!”

He pouts out his lips to bring it into his eyesight and grins at you. The smile is a little crooked.

“I can touch… warm grass. Black sweatshirt. Clean white dress shirt, except that my nose bled all over it. Bruise on my face. Stings. Stings. Master kicked me.”

The smile is very crooked.

“I can hear him breathing a little too fast next to me. I can hear him crying over by the trees. I can hear the wind.”

“I smell… forest magic. Black magic. Not a good combination, you see. We’re getting closer and closer and closer to a place very powerful. This, I think, is bad.”

He nods sagely and pops a bit of sandwich into his mouth.

“And I can taste roast beef! That was fun!”

Abirbable asked: I have a great idea for a third option! How about a fuckiNG V I B E C H E C K to the face?! Spicydanhowell asked: I don’t want to see them hypnotized. Ughhfbdshgdfn. Anonymous asked: Seriously? We can’t do that to them, Anti. Anonymous asked: uhhhhhhhh no. Anonymous asked: You know you can’t force down reality forever, right? They’re still the same people deep down, no matter how many spells you cast or minds you destroy. I get that maybe all you want is to be loved, but training your brothers to be your hound dogs that fight for scraps isn’t really the way to truly achieve that. Leave them be.

“You five,” says Anti, pointing at the camera. “Are the boring ones.”

He gets to his feet. Dok looks up at him, surprised, finishing off his second sandwich.

“Are we going, Anti?”

“In a moment. But first, why don’t we play a game, huh, Dok-Dok?”

immabethehero asked: WHo needs Anti's love, Trick? You've got the love of Dok and Red and Blue and Dap, and us! We're annoying as fuck but we don't constantly abuse you and take our daddy issues out on you

“I don’t want to talk,” whispers Trick, hiding his face in Noodle’s fur. He meows, valiantly licking at Trick’s fingers.

Anonymous asked: why don't you fight one of them, glitch bitch?

“Now we’re talking,” grins Anti, his eyes filling up with a wild light.

Anonymous asked: I really don’t like the sound of that.

“Check that. You six are the boring ones.”

Anonymous asked: Dap, do you know where you guys are headed?

“Some place much too powerful,” mumble Dapper’s hands, beginning to get a little sloppy with his signing. “A place for bad spells and bad people.”

“Dap, Red,” calls Anti. “Get up, boys.”

Anonymous asked: Would you fight with Marvin on though?

“Oh, of course, my darlings. That’s half the fun of it. Especially if you pick my dear Red.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Iiiii think Dap should be hypno'ed and Red to spar with? He has some pent up anger.

“Ahh,” breathes Anti, smiling wide. “Thank you, my friend. I knew someone would decide. I quite like that idea.”

Anonymous asked: Are you sure? I think seeing Carver would be interesting.

“Oh? Seeing Carver fight? We have an objection in the court. What would you all prefer? I’m quite impartial.”

spicydanhowell asked: NO DO NOT HYPNOTIZE DAP

“Oh, you don’t want your darling boy anymore confused than he already is, hm? I could do Red instead… or pit the two of them against each other…”

abirbable asked: One day you’re gonna break one or more of them beyond repair, Anti. You have NO idea what being a human is like nor the emotional trauma you’re continually causing them.

“Oh, please. You should have seen the time Doktor forgot the difference between a scalpel and a band-aid. Screaming for three days straight. Babbling in German no matter how much Trick tried to calm him down. But eventually he came back to himself. Eventually they all come back to themselves. I’ll handle it.”

Anonymous asked: Would this be Marvin’s punishment then? Getting beat to a pulp by his brothers?

“Oh, no. I have something much more important in mind. Blue will need his strength tonight. I expect we’ll be there in a few hours.”

nikkilbook asked: Carver versus you. Red’s punishment would be not being able to prevent either of his brothers from being hurt or hurting each other. Give what he risked today and why he risked it, seems like that would cut pretty deep.

“Intriguing. I like the way you think. But I can’t just let him be. He needs to be under my control one way or another - physical punishment or hypnotism.”

Anonymous asked: And one day they won’t be fixable and then you’ll be yelling at us like the whinny bitch you are. You made your bed, have fun sleeping in it.

“I will, thanks - wait a second, whinny? I think that’s a horse noise.”

spicydanhowell asked: just.... them against each other.... i know they won't kill each other..... Bupine asked: if I really, really had to choose? Pit them against each other, no hypnotism. Fair fight. Anonymous asked: Red v. Dapper? That’d be a very emotional fight.

“Ah, and now we’ve had all three options proposed! I knew you’d all make choices when it came down to it. How will we decide…?”

Interesting! I’ll make posts for each option and then compare the notes on them soon. Whichever has the most notes, I’ll write - and then, when that’s done, we’ll be at the final scene of the chapter tomorrow. Thanks, guys. Wasn’t sure you’d play along… but hey! I had to try out something new! Audience participation and all that.

Post 1: Dapper and Red should fight each other.

Post 2: Dapper should be hypnotized and Anti should fight Red.

Post 3: Red should be hypnotized and Anti should fight Dapper.

nikkilbook asked: Dap, could you do me a favor? Without touching J-happy’s skin, could you squish him as tight as you can? Like, put a bunch of pressure on his shoulders. He hasn’t had that in a while, and he’s having a really hard time right now.

Dapper and Red watch as Anti discusses with one of the cameras.

He holds in his hand a large silver knife, swinging it around with shining eyes as he demands and manipulates, searching for a decision to be made - but about what, they don’t know.

Dapper blinks over at you and then looks up at Red, seeing his big brother shaking hard, his face drawn and guilty and resigned. He has not been bandaged or cared for since last night and there is still blood on his face, deep bruises from the muzzle, and scoring cuts from the plants with which his twin’s power consumed him.

He looks so overwhelmed he could shatter. Red is an Atlas and always has been.

Dapper tugs gently on his sleeve, smiling up at him, and Red turns wearily towards him, softening a little for the look on his face. Dapper holds out his arms cautiously, beckoning for Red to let himself be held.

Red wipes at his face and sniffles. Nobody’s supposed to see him in pain. Nobody’s supposed to see him needing comfort. Least of all his youngest brother, clever, wild little Dapper. Well, not so little, really - standing beside him now, Red can see that Dapper is exactly his height.

Oh, he’s so tired.

He puts his head down on Dapper’s shoulder.

Dapper wraps his arms around him and squishes him tight, tight, tight, just like you wanted to, a string of soothing, soft, meaningless clicks chirping from his mouth, the warmest reassurance in the world.

“Okay,” says Anti, turning towards them. “Are you two ready?”

Dapper and Red should fight each other.

“Do you remember,” begins Anti, pacing towards them. “When you two used to spar all the time?”

Dapper and Red look at each other.

“I guess you probably don’t, do you, Red? And maybe Dapper, you’re a little confused.”

“No,” Dapper interrupts. “No, I remember.”

His hands are clenched into fists.

“Oh, good. Well, I love it when you do. We haven’t in a long time because first Red was rather badly off, and there was Blue to deal with, and then Dapper! You got stabbed! Wasn’t that silly! So you were on bed rest. But now - well, look at the two of you, standing tall.”

Red wipes at the blood on his cheeks, trembling. Dapper frowns and it makes his broken nose hurt.

“It’s really good practice for you both, seeing as you’re my strongest fighters and all that. My right-hand soldier, my Red, fighting like a guardian, refusing to be moved, refusing to let anything get past him, waiting for the right moment to get a good strike in. And the sly little pet that sleeps beneath my throne… my violent, dirty, sudden little fighter, Dapper who never seems to feel any pain. Of course when I let him use his powers he always crushes you into pulp, Red - he can see your every move coming. But that won’t work now… Dapper’s having a little trouble getting it up.”

Dapper’s face rushes with blush and he stares down at his feet.

“You wouldn’t cast when I told you to, would you, Dapper?”

He doesn’t have an answer.

“Why?”

“Please, master, I’m so - I don’t know what you’re talking about, I can’t - there was just fire, and I couldn’t - I don’t - I can’t find the right past and I - ”

“Shut up, shut up,” snarls Anti, annoyed. “I don’t want fucking excuses.”

He creeps forward, stepping right into Dapper’s space. For a moment, he stares at him.

“Dapper,” he murmurs, leaning down, so Blue’s mouth brushes by his ear. “Reverse this. Reverse all this and go back to before Blue gave himself up on the mountainside, and I will stop all of this, and you won’t be punished.”

Watery eyes stare up at Anti from above an open, desperate mouth. “Reverse?” stammer Dapper’s hands. “B-but I don’t… I don’t know what Blue giving himself up means?”

“Before the fire last night, Dap! Before Blue and Red snuck off up the mountainside to cast spells!”

Dapper shakes his head, choking.

“Change it back!” screams Anti, grabbing his wrists. “Change it back, I don’t care how much energy it takes! I know you’ve turned back a whole day before. I know you can! Change it back and you won’t get hurt, do you understand me? Why won’t you listen to me? Why did you suddenly disobey? Are you so out of your fucking mind that you can’t - ”

“Anti!”

A hand is suddenly clutching at Anti’s shoulder and he turns, panting, to see Red grabbing at his shirt. Pain spikes across the untreated burns that coat Blue’s chest, leaving Anti wheezing, sparks in his vision. Something is stinging throughout his whole body, like he’s gotten the wrong blood transfusion, and his hands are beginning to ache horribly, though he does not know why.

“Please,” cries Red. “Look at him. You’re going to make him snap again!”

There is a faint silver light in Dapper’s eyes and panic in his face. Anti turns to him, fear rising on the back of his neck.

“He’s lost track of the timeline. You’ve seen him do this before. If you push him past that, if you push him to reverse anyway, he won’t be able to go back safely and time will start to tear around us. Everything will blur together and we could all get lost or hurt or killed.”

“How do you know this?” whispers Anti.

For all that he’s angry at Red, the memory of Jameson’s snap is enough to halt him in his tracks.

“You were reset after that. You shouldn’t remember.”

“I don’t,” says Red faintly. “That was Blue’s speculation. He always wanted to know what you meant by a snap. He was sure it was more than a psychotic episode, or you wouldn’t talk about it the way that you do. Judging by your reaction… he was right.”

Anti turns to sneer at him, making Blue’s face ugly, and Red’s heart twists. “Fine,” he spits. “Your little baby doesn’t have to turn anything back since he can’t keep his head on straight. But you still have to have your practice for the day, my darlings.”

“Anti,” whispers Red. “Please. I don’t think you even want to do this, do you?”

“I want things to go back to the way they were!” screams Anti, backing away from him. “Just yesterday, we were so close to safety, Red! But you and Blue fucking ruined it, and Dapper refuses to fix your mistake! So, yes, I do want to see you two beating each other into the ground, like the wild, stupid animals you are. You’ll be broken in again as many times as it takes, and tonight, when I call upon you, you will fight for me.”

“I’m tired of beating my brothers around!” screams Red. “Look how scared he is, how scared he is of me! I’m done slapping them and yelling at them and grabbing them when they do something wrong! I’m - ”

“Oh, don’t fucking start,” snarls Anti. “Your stupid act.”

“No! This isn’t who I want to be anymore! I don’t want to do this!”

Anti’s voice raises in volume and pitch. “If you won’t fight the little brat, I will, and I promise you, I won’t stop til he can’t breathe through the blood in his face.”

“Please, just punish me, it’s not his fault!”

Anti stalks towards Dapper, raising the knife.

“No!” Red steps in front of him. Anti stares up at him. The hatred in his eyes - in Blue’s eyes - is so powerful Red could faint, and suddenly, all his courage is gone, and he is afraid.

“You’ll do it, then?” asks Anti coolly.

Red can feel Dapper shivering behind him.

“I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”

Over by the bench, Trick and Dok are standing so close to each other they could be Siamese, clutching Noodle between them. For a second, they look at each other, and see in the other’s eyes a question silently asked: should we do something?

But the other only answers, what can we do? What have we ever been able to do?

And they do not act.

Anti shoves Dapper towards Red and they regard each other uncertainly. In his impatience, Anti ends up striking Dapper three times on his own before Red is spurred into action, and begins to drive his little brother back, striking with sudden, harsh blows and following no matter how much Dapper tried to back away, confused and terrified. It’s a boring, aching sort of fight, and Dapper is upset and Red is hurting himself worse than he’s hurting Dapper, and then, after one badly-planned blow that ends up smashing hard against Dapper’s already blackened nose -

Dapper changes.

Red’s eyes widen as his little brother’s posture shifts entirely, his shoulders drawing back and his feet planting themselves steady on the earth, lifting him up on the pads of his feet. Suddenly Dapper’s befuddled distress looks more like a wild sort of fury.

He bares his teeth like a dog and begins forward, a hiss falling out of his mouth.

“There’s my Carver,” purrs Anti, sitting back on the park table, popping green beans into his mouth. “There’s my ferocious little pet.”

“Dapper,” calls Red, gently. “Dap, it’s okay. We’re just sparring, bud. It’s just me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hit,” snarl Carver’s hands. “Hit me. Slap. Red man. Bad.”

“Dapper - Dapper - ”

“I want my brother!” screams Carver. “I want my brother! But you are not him! You are not him! Jackie would never hit me! Anti has killed him! Anti has killed him, and you are the monster that remains!”

Carver tears forward like a jungle cat, teeth flashing.

From then on, Anti is laughing the whole fight long.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

You can hear him sobbing it from the front of the car. Blood is flowing from his nose and he is curled in on himself, crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I’ll never do it again, I’ll never disobey you again!”

Anti flickers through radio channels, humming.

“I was bad, I was bad, I was bad! I’m sorry!”

“Holy shit!” laughs Anti. “Are they playing this? Why? Haha, in Peru? That’s hilarious.”

‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’ blares out of the radio speaker. Anti sits back, drumming Blue’s fingers against the wheel and humming.

Behind him, Doktor and Trick are no longer sitting one on the ground and one on the seat of the car, but both curled into a single chair, hiding in each other’s arms. Noodle sits on the ground beneath them, gone silent, staring at Carver, who writhes in the other chair, screaming without sound.

He and Red are hand-cuffed together, Red’s arm reaching back from the front of the car, and Dapper’s reaching forward. Carver’s had his other hand tied down to the armrest too since he wouldn’t stop trying to lash out at himself or the twins.

“Now, Red,” purrs Anti. “You’re going to watch over Dapper really well once we get to the equator, right?”

“Yes, Anti, yes, Anti, yes, Anti, I am, I am, I am.”

Carver hisses and kicks at the seat in front of him, sobbing. He drags his hand up to draw a finger across his throat, and no one knows if he’s calling for Anti or making threats.

“You’re going to keep your little brother very safe?”

“Yes, Anti, won’t let anything happen to him, won’t go with the magicians, won’t listen to anyone but you, yes, yes, yes.”

“Dap, would you tire yourself out already back there? Goddamn. Country roads, take my home, to the place, I belong!” Anti bursts into giggles and the glitches on the radio laugh with him.

“Tomorrow all will be well,” he purrs, speaking to someone no one else can see. “Tomorrow, my darling, I will strip the magic out of your traitorous little chest in one of the most powerful places in the world, just to be sure nothing remains inside of you, and put it into my own instead. Your power will hide beneath mine and you will never be able to betray me again.”

He can hear something inside his head screaming out, just like it was while Red and Dapper fought, watching his brothers bite and strike and beat each other, until at last, Red surrendered.

“West Virginia,” sings Anti. “Mountain mama! Take me home, country roads.”

I’m going to fucking kill you one day, shouts Marvin, inside his own head. I’m going to fucking kill you for what you’ve done to my family.

Anti bursts into laughter and turns the radio up.

 End Section Seven of Chapter Two.

Find the final section here.

[megaderping]

Dealing with some anxiety over the past few weeks about some stuff I dealt with growing up that didn’t fully sink in until just now. It is very personal. It is also very heavy. If you decide to read, please keep in mind that this deals with some pretty heavy baggage, including... Trigger Warnings: CSA, Incest, Abuse, Bullying, Ableism, Trauma, Aphobia, Homophobia Because this is a personal rant, I’d rather avoid reblogs. Thank you for understanding.

So. When I was younger, I spent a lot of time with one of my cousins. She was a good 6 - 8 years older than me. At the time, I looked up to her. I thought she was cool and smart. I trusted her. Because I was so young, I didn’t think it weird that she described french kissing to me in great detail. I never told an adult. I was too young to know that this was not okay. This wasn’t even the last time, though. When I was in first grade, she was so eager to show and describe matters related to being a teenage girl and the changes therein. I won’t go into great detail- but the way she demonstrated this... It was definitely hands on. What bothers me is that at the time, it didn’t hit me that THIS wasn’t okay either. I didn’t tell an adult because I didn’t know I was supposed to. That this was sexual abuse. She did some things with me that- it only happened once, but it REALLY, fundamentally bothers me that my longterm reaction to this was... desensitization. Maybe that’s a form of trauma in itself? I dunno. But I was able to move on eventually when she wasn’t in my life anymore. Sometimes I tell myself I shouldn’t hold it against her because she was a teenager at the time with her own issues, but... I dunno. I didn’t talk about this with anyone. I didn’t really think about it, save for once in a blue moon when I was in high school and I was like, “...maybe that was messed up.” But if you asked me at the time, I would’ve said I was okay. But I’m honestly not sure if I was. I was bullied throughout my entire public schooling. People would punch me. They’d call me names. They’d make fun of me for liking cartoons and video games and come up to me with the most ableistic voices demanding I “draw them pokaymanz”. I was the one who had to go to the school councilor for being a problem. They didn’t get in trouble. In high school, I would go out into the pod to try and study and work on assignments because the very same people who had bullied me in grade school would not SHUT UP when we were supposed to be doing assigned reading. They were not punished. Nobody stepped in when I raised concerns- the best I got was permission to distance myself. I remember sitting on the bus one day in high school, minding my own business when these girls in the seat in front of me started making fun of my name. They started making fun of my appearance. The bus driver never stepped in. I got off the bus in tears. And this was hardly the first time. This was a problem from grade school ‘til graduation. 12 - 13 years of this. Sometimes when I’m at work, trying to do my JOB, my mind will go back to something a classmate said, something a classmate DID, and I’ll lose my focus. It’ll bring me to tears even though I SHOULD be over it by now. And this has always happened to me. People talking behind my back. Spreading rumors. Going to OTHERS to deal with their problems with me instead of talking to me because apparently human decency is too much to ask. People would spread rumors that I “pooped on the playground”. They’d say I liked to sneak into the boys’ bathroom. When I was in first grade, someone shoved a leaf up my nose. I still remember that, too. I remember being told by people I considered friends that we couldn’t be friends anymore because they had new friends who didn’t like me. I remember people being cruel. A lack of understanding. It turned me into a wallflower over time because I was scared to make connections and for a time I dealt with it by being cold and abrasive because I didn’t want to hurt anymore. I remember being asked on a school trip, “Were you ever diagnosed with anything?” OUT OF NOWHERE. To this day, I wonder about that... And I don’t know if I should seek diagnosis. I probably should? I definitely need a therapist, that way I can talk this stuff out with a professional instead of rambling on a blog post just to try and calm down from a random anxiety attack. I remember classmates and chaperones resenting the fact that I got left behind on that trip because I didn’t want to jaywalk. So I had to get help from some local cops who set me up with a cab back to the hotel because I was lost and nobody thought to look if I was left behind. People would talk down to me all the time, too. Treat me like a child. And why? Because I liked cartoons? Because I’m asexual and aromantic? GOD. I remember classmates in middle school were SO OFFENDED by my asexuality, too. I recall this one girl being like, “you better get a boyfriend or people might think you’re a ~lesbian~”. ...okay, first of all. What if I was? I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m not- I don’t really feel that kinda attraction to anyone. But. There is NOTHING wrong with being gay, lesbian, bi, pan, trans, NB, etc, etc. THESE PEOPLE EXIST. People who are not straight and/or cis exist. And also, thirteen year olds acting like they NEED to rush into relationships... That’s. Extremely concerning to me. It always was. But I guess I was just... desensitized over time because of how sexualized the climate was during those days. And it wasn’t just at school.

I have a long history of RPing. When I was in middle school, I was basically pressured into RPing a nsfw situation by some castmates. I should have said no, but I was scared to. And I think, ultimately, that also led to me being desensitized. Because that stuff was everywhere. These were RPs with young teenagers AND adults as players and nobody put their foot down and said, “hey, maybe DON’T RP nsfw in a space with minors”. Nobody said LOCK those posts. Tag them nsfw. It was just there. Out in the open. I was fourteen. And I’m not here to say that all NSFW content is inherently bad or that every adult should constantly be monitoring every space. Internet strangers are not babysitters. I get that. But I do think it’s a problem when communities full of young teens AND adults are too lax on the former’s access to 18+ content. Because there’s a difference between someone ignoring age restrictions and warnings and accidentally coming across content or being pressured to participate in such content. Now. Over time, people wised up. Many of these communities DID eventually lock that stuff to 18+. But a lot of open meme and sandbox communities did not. There were posts that’d devolve into smut on a regular basis that weren’t tagged or properly warned. But because I’d been exposed to this kinda stuff for so many years- it didn’t hit me that there was a lack of moderation. I was taught that it just comes with the territory because “this is the internet.” So for a long time, I just... accepted that. “It’s the internet.” Even within the past few years, I held onto that mindset because... it was just. What I was used to. I didn’t like it, but I assumed that was just... how things go and to express otherwise was pointless. I still don’t condone online harassment and I do think people will take properly tagged fandom content way too far (even if I disagree WITH said content)- but this isn’t ABOUT that. Because properly tagged content establishes the boundaries that were so wholly lacking in these spaces. And the fact is, I don’t LIKE that I am/was desensitized. Because the truth is, I didn’t LIKE any of it. I didn’t like the scenario I was coerced into as a young teen through RP. I didn’t like how easy it was to just... stumble upon NSFW content on accident. It’s just... I dunno. I just don’t know, and I hate that I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t let it get to me. It’s just online stuff that happened ten to twelve years ago, right? It’s nowhere near as serious as the actual sexual abuse and the actual bullying... but I think it still affected me. And just like with my cousin before, I didn’t really... talk to anyone about it? It was a very different fandom climate. The early to late 2000′s were very different. And I think just... it bothers me. That it took this long for me to realize that maybe this stuff affected me after all. Like. I’m a CSA survivor and it only JUST now clicked that I am? What’s up with that? Like. I don’t know. I need a therapist. I think I’ve needed one for years given how often I fall victim to invasive thoughts, how often I get too scared to speak my mind, how eager I am to please EVERYONE and thus it is SO hard for me to confront people when I am upset or draw the line. I’m constantly worrying about hurting or upsetting people so sometimes I guess I’m cowardly. Because I guess it’s a coping mechanism I’ve developed? Just... avoiding. Turning a blind eye. That’s probably not okay either. But I think the root of it all really is just from my childhood. How going to adults when I was bullied or abused never seemed to DO anything. So maybe I just developed a worst case scenario mindset. I just don’t know, so that’s why I need some help. So I can just... work this all out. I guess a part of me is just a little scared. And that’s stupid. Why should I be scared of something that can only HELP me? Ranting on tumblr can only do so much. But for now, just getting it off my chest is the best I can do. It’s a start, anyway.

[planetsam]

a story where alex was the one in the pod at the end not rosa?

Michael pulls up as soon as he’s ready to go.

Cursing their laughably bad timing, Alex forces himself to stand there. He said that he was ready to talk and they are going to talk. What he isn’t expecting is for Michael to get out of his truck and storm towards him, anger rolling off him in waves. Alex has never been afraid of Michael, even with everything he knows, but for the first time he feels something like fear. He doesn’t back away even as Michael throws the chair in his way to the side.

“What the hell are you?” He demands.

“Excuse—“

“Answer the question. Or I swear to god, I will—“

“You’ll what?” Alex demands, meeting the challenge.

“I found Alex! I know your secret so what the hell are you?”

Alex raises his eyebrows. His secret? Michael knows all of his secrets, even the ones he didn’t particularly want him to know. He has no idea what Michael thinks he found out, but from the look on his face it’s big. There’s no softness in his gaze or any of that underlying emotion he can usually tease out. It’s just rage and pain. And protectiveness. To his surprise another car pulls up and Isobel and Max come flying out. Michael turns fast and a wave of something rocks towards them. They both pull up sharply, Max holds his hands up like Michael is something wild. Wild and dangerous.

“Michael—“

“Shut up!” Michael snarls and turns back to him, “what the hell are you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He says.

“You need to come with us,” isobel speaks up, “please.”

He doesn’t feel like he’s got much of a choice, he never wants Michael to look at him the way he’s looking at him. He can’t stomach Michael seeing his father when he looks at him too. He drives to the middle of nowhere and follows them along the desert to some nameless faceless cave. There’s a big object there covered by a blanket. Max and Isobel hang back but Michael, still trembling with rage grabs the blanket and yanks it off the pod.

He isn’t expecting to see himself in there.

It’s pre-teenage him, from the spiked hair to the black lining his eyes to the chipped polish on his nails. He’s naked and the scars from his father are so much fresher than they are right now. His legs, both of them, are tucked in front of him and his arms are around them, but even he can see that whatever is in the pod is very, very dead. He can’t say it’s Alex Manes, he’s Alex Manes. This is something else.

“That’s not me,” He says.

“Don’t lie to me!” Michael roars.

“It’s not me!” He shouts, “that thing isn’t me. I’m right here,” he looks at the body, “that—“ he stops, “I don’t know what that is. But it’s not me.”

They don’t believe him.

“Look at him, that’s a kid! It’s not me,” he says, “he’s what? Twelve?” He shakes his head, “I’m not him.”

“So who the hell are you?”

Alex looks at the body laying in the pod, clearly dead. It’s a kid. Right around the time his father’s abuse turned more violent and more physical, right around when his dad left. He doesn’t want the puzzle pieces to do anything, let alone start to assemble into something. His phone vibrates and he takes it out, answering the call before anyone can stop him.

“Now isn’t—-“

“Your father attacked me and I put him in a coma,” Kyle blurts out, “I’m in jail I need you to call a lawyer for me and I figured you’d want to know.”

Alex hasn’t been relieved to see his father since he was younger than whatever is floating in the pod. But if anyone can tell him about what is going on, it’s a man who has spent his entire life fighting aliens. He turns from the pod and looks at the three of them.

“My father’s back,” he says, “he’s in the hospital.”

“Let’s go,” Isobel says.

Max can bring him out of whatever is going on. Michael lingers and unfolds the blanet, carefully covering the pod. If Alex had any doubts that Michael loved him, they are answered in the care he takes. Their eyes meet in and the venom is back. There’s no more don’t that Michael loves Alex Manes.

He’s just not sure that’s him.

He doesn’t remember the drive back, but Jesse Manes is awake when they get there. Alex knows there are several ways to play this but he goes for the one that gets them on the same page the quickest. He locks the door in their faces, he doesn’t care. This is something he needs to know.

“I found Alex’s body,” he says.

For the first time he can remember, Jess’s shoulders relax.

Alex feels sick. Sicker than he did a moment ago. The entire time he thought his father hated him because he was a monster, because he was gay. Not because he was a monster who murdered his kid. After years he could say that he didn’t deserve to be hated for what he was. The loss of that certainty rocks him even before Jesse looks up at him.

“You preserved it,” he says, “I want to bury him—“

”He’s twelve,” Alex cuts in, “I saw the belt marks. It’s right before mom left. I’ll take you to the body, I want to know what happened and why you would bring a monster home. Why don’t I remember?” Jesse is quiet, “do you want your sons body or not?!” He demands.

Jesse reacts to that and Alex feels sick. He always longed for the day when his father was afraid and he was in charge. But not like this. Never like this.

“Alex was smart and inquisitive,” he says, “never took no for an answer. I thought he was ready,” he looks down, “I was such a fool,” he looks at Alex with venom that suddenly makes a lot more sense, “You killed him. You took his face. His body. Everything.”

“You brought him to Caulfield?!” Alex stares at him in horror, the image of a kid running around that place making him sick.

“He needed to know,” Jesse says.

Alex fights the urge to vomit.

“You needed to bring an Alex home,” he says.

“It wasn’t all a loss,” he says, “the military—“

“You brought me home and tortured me for six years!” Alex says, suddenly not caring about anything else. Jesse doesn’t even flinch, “and you were beating your son.”

“He needed discipline,” Jesse says, “you were an experiment,” Alex feels sick, “everyone could sense you were wrong. You are a poison.”

Alex can accept he is a monster, he thinks. What he won’t accept is the blame for Jesse’s sick experiments. They might both be monsters but the kid in that bubble did not put those belt marks on himself. There’s no hollow promise of blood when he looks at Jesse, just a sick man in a hospital bed.

“Where is my son?” Jesse demands, “you said—“

“I lied,” Alex cuts in, “your son is right here.”

He leaves before Jesse can respond, he’s not going to give up anything else and Alex is afraid of what he’ll do. He comes out to see Isobel and Max looking anxious but Michael is actually pacing. Alex doesn’t know what to think or what to feel. He just knows that everything has fundamentally changed.  A horrible thought occurs to him as he looks at the three of them and remembers Michael screaming about family and his own words.

“Are you all related?” He asks.

“No,” Michael says but whether it’s a denial of that or something else, Alex isn’t sure. Michael starts forward and for the first time, Alex flinches away, “Okay,” He says slowly.

“Let’s go outside,” Isobel says, “we need to not be here.”

They get outside in a blur. Alex is already compartmentalizing  things. Everything is infuriatingly normal. Nothing has shifted except his own awareness. He needs to go home. He needs to rip apart every record until he figures out who he is and how he could do this. He cannot explain anything if he doesn’t understand it himself. When he gets to his car he reaches for the door handle only to be blocked by Michael.

“You can’t drive.”

“Of course i can.”

Michael gets that stupid look on his face that tells Alex he isn’t moving. Alex knows he’s right but he doesn’t want to give him that. He wants to know the truth.

“We could be related,” he says, “do you understand that?”

“We didn’t know,” Michael says.

“This isn’t Star Wars!”

Michael snatches his keys and only the knowledge that he has killed a child makes him not lunge for him. Michael being the sane calm one is not something he wants to happen regularly. He’s not sure he can take it. But he finds himself in the back of his car before he has any idea how he got there. Michael’s barely stopped it before he’s barreling into the bunker, desperate to know everything he can. If he’s not Alex Manes, if he’s never been Alex Manes, then who the hell is he.

“Alex,” Michael says.

“Don’t call me that,” Alex snaps back.

“What the hell am I supposed to call you?” Michael demands.

“Nothing. Just let me work,” he orders, focusing in on the task at hand.

Michael exhales in frustration but Alex ignores him. He can’t say anything. He has to figure this out. He has to focus on the tax at hand. Honestly it’s almost embarrassingly easy to find now that he knows what to look for. He takes it back to the time when Alex would have been the age he was in the pod. Does it make it better or worse that all the shit Alex has been through is him? He can’t figure that out at the moment. He can only focus on finding—

It’s him.

He gasps audibly and Michael shoots up, ignoring any boundary of personal space to peer at the information. There’s no point in asking if he’s sure. Alex knows. The words used to describe him are so ugly there is something personal about it. He forces himself to read about any information he gave up. About anything credible. The thing that surprises him the most is how tied his file is with someone else. Or a rumor of someone else.

“Holy shit it’s Noah,” Michael says. He looks at him, “did you—“

“No!” Alex says. He scans down and immediately wishes that he had, “oh my God.”

“Oh my God what?” Michael nearly pushes him out of the way and leans forward, “oh my God,” he looks at him, “you—“

“I think I might be sick—“

“With Max?!”

Max Evans his the epitome of a straight white boy and somehow, according to this, they were together before they were violently murdered. Together as in married. His pride at Antar’s progressive nature doesn’t quite help him with the sick feeling of finding out he’s an alien, a murderer and somehow married to Max and under the protection of Noah. It’s such a strange thing to think of, he doesn’t know how to reconcile it with who he thought he was. He still doesn’t feel like this person. He doesn’t feel like anything close to who the file says he is.

“You mind warp,” Michael says.

“Gives a whole new meaning to self sabotage,” he says dully, glancing over at him. MIchael looks at him quietly, “I think I warped my own memories.”

Michael blows out a breath but doesn’t tell him that it’s impossible or any of the things that Alex half hopes that he will say. He’s quiet and thoughtful, the way that Michael rarely is. He’s always been brilliant in a way that stuns Alex, there’s an ease to it that seems to bypass all the work everyone else puts in. He knows this is a big deal because Michael is quiet, quiet and thoughtful.

“We knew each other,” he says.

“What?”

“We knew each other. Back there,” Michael says, reaching out. Alex jerks back, “Alex—“

“That isn’t my name,” Alex says.

Determination takes Michael’s features and Alex finds himself being all but dragged up the ladder. He’s not surprised to see the twins there, though he’s not sure he can ever look at Max the same way. It’s an issue for another time. MIchael drags him over to Isobel.

“We need to know his name,” he says. Isobel raises an eyebrow, “he’s not Alex,” he looks at him, “she can influence you, maybe she can find it if—“

“Yes.”

He’s a murdering alien what the hell does he care about privacy at the moment. He’d ask her to pull all of it but he’s not sure he can come back from that. Isobel locks eyes with him and it’s a strange sensation. Like something is being pushed up from the bottom of some long forgotten place. Or well. Or compartment. He was always so good at compartmentalizing.

“What’s your name?” Isobel asks.

“Avim.”