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arcielee · 10 months

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Farewell Wanderlust

Warnings: As always, MDNI, 18+ SA mentioned in passing/implied, abuse implied, death mentioned in passing, sexual inexperience, prostitution, oral (f receiving), p in v. Pairing: Osferth x OFC Word Count: 5075 Summary: Torn from her home country, Keavy finds herself trying to survive across the Irish sea. She happens across Uhtred and his motley crew, and finds herself befriending a monk who is determined to become a warrior. Author’s Note: Still very much a hybrid of the show and the books, with me adding flare as needed to fit the narrative. We have 2 more chapters to go! Anyway, enjoy. 💜 Thank you @annikin-im-panicin for being my beta reader and my muse! 💜 Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! Dividers are by @saradika Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @sylas-the-grim @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @tssf-imagines @triscy @assortedseaglass @whoknows333 @shesjustanothergeek @heavenly1927 @greenowlfactif @larlarle @babyblue711 @fangirlninja67 @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauftivy @vintageypanwitch @heimtathurs (Bold means it would not allow me to tag you!)

Chapter 5

Keavy did her best to keep busy, as her mind now seemed plagued to relive that failed intimate moment with Osferth before he had left for Beamfleot.

She thought of the warmth that bloomed from him that evening in the barracks, and how it prickled beneath her palms while her hands skimmed across his scalp. Her eyes appreciated the sharp angles of his face, admiring his defined jawline, his pointed profile of his nose to the natural curl of his pink lips. She noticed how his eyes were clenched, his knuckles white with the hold on his lap, and she allowed her fingers to skirt his jaw, cupping his face; only then did he open his eyes to look at her.

Keavy remembered the plume of crimson that washed over his cheeks as he lifted his hand to cover her own, and he turned his face to press the mouth she was just admiring against her palm, his lips soft. It was cold with his release and her arms fell boneless to her sides, watching as he stood up and pressing closer towards her.

She struggled to breath as his large palms moved to rest on her hips, and she was certain she was vibrating with the way her heart fluttered within, but Osferth did not seem to notice. Instead, he just asked her, “May I kiss you?”

It had to be her curse, her misfortune, that the damn Irishman chose that moment to barge through the door without thought, wearing a knowing smirk that played underneath his beard when he saw how they recoiled from one another. After Finan left them, she watched Osferth grab for his scabbard and she felt desperate for his touch, to kiss him, the tingle of his lips on her palm thrumming with the thought to capture his mouth with her own.

Somewhat emboldened, she had reached for him but only managed to catch his sleeve. She balked under his brilliant blue eyes and could only manage to say, “Return to me, Osferth.”

And she could feel the blood rush to her face from the small smile he hinted, from how careful he was to take her hand and the touch of his soft lips to her knuckles, with a gentleness that caused her heart to bruise against her chest bone.

I will, Keavy. I promise.

It was the echo of his words that fed a passion that fermented within her; she wished she would have kissed him and that intrusive thought repeated itself, filling the quiet. So Keavy was determined to stay busy, attentive to Gisela, to the children, to any task needed to be done as she waited for Osferth and the others to return.

“Regret is a useless, poisonous emotion,” Gisela had warned her but with her honeyed tone.

Keavy found there was only so much that could be done in a day before the quiet would come, accompanying the orange and purple hues of dusk, bringing along an unease that settled over like a heavy fog.

That evening, after the children were already abed, Keavy seated with Hild and Gisela at the table for a shared supper with a second round of the bitter ale; it was to help the time pass, but mostly she swirled the last bit at the bottom without taking a sip.

Gisela was mending a tunic, her focus on her stitching. “They will come back.” She did not look up from her hands but her voice was soothing, like she was stating a fact. “Uhtred always comes back,” and only then did she peer up at Keavy, wearing her sly smile. “Besides, did not Osferth promise he would return?”

Keavy burned with the direct question, her focus on the wood grain table as she ignored the soft laughter that fluttered between them. It was then that the door of the great hall creaked open, and the head of Edwin bobbed in excitedly. “Lady, they returned!”

The return of the Lord of Coccham reawakened the village with a roar of celebration. Bundles of sticks were brought and bonfires lit, creating pillars of warmth that spread throughout the growing night’s cool air. The doors to the hall were propped open, with the music of a lute, a vielle, and shawm reverberating throughout. The table was filled with cold cuts, cheeses, fruits, and mugs were passed around, the same bitter ale served for all in attendance; it was easy to be swept away, but Keavy pushed through with a determination to her steps.

She spotted Uhtred seated with Gisela pulled onto his lap; she glowed with laughter, with her felicity that her husband was back, and he seemed happy, mostly, but sorrow was pendent amongst the warriors returned. Keavy noted missing faces, Rypere and Clapa, unmistakingly gone, and soon there were toasts to confirm, cheers for those who were lost and now in Valhalla.

Keavy fell back against a wall, allowing her eyes to sweep over the faces in search of one in particular. It was Finan who brought her attention, with his loud bellow to cheer the champion of Beamfleot, and that is when she saw him.

Osferth cut through the crowd, a beacon with his broad smile that lined his cheeks with his dimples, the bloom of red blotches that peeked through his pale complexion. His eyes met with hers and she saw the crinkle that framed the corners before he broke away, weaving through the crowd and reaching for her hand.

Keavy took it, as she understood she always would for as long as it was offered. She followed as he pushed through, pulling her out front and away from the noise; the festivities seemed muted within the hall, though the music still spilled through the open doors and dissipated into the night.

They walked towards one of the bonfires and he stopped to face her, a golden hue of color from the flames that washed over him, giving him an almost kingly glow.

And Keavy felt the same desire bloom in her lower abdomen, the flutter of her heart with the realization that he was now close enough to touch, to reach for him, to press onto her tiptoes and press her lips against his own.

“You came back,” she said instead, burning from her intrusive thoughts. She could not stop her smile, so bold that she felt the ache of her scar with the gesture.

“I told you I would,” his tone was solemn, but she saw how his lips curled upwards with his words. Osferth exhaled and then reached to pull something from his waist, a large blade with a handle of leather bindings about the width of a wrist.

Her stomach lurched with recognition and her eyes met with his, wide and searching. “He is dead?” her voice was almost too quiet to be heard.

But he always seemed to be listening. “I killed Sigefriend, “ he confirmed as he placed it in her outstretched hands. “This is for you.”

The steel was cool against her palm and the blood sticky around the base, but she recognized it all the same, even without the detailed scabbard Sigefrid had worn over it. Its weight was an anchor, rooting her to the spot as she processed his words.

That Osferth had killed Sigefrid, how he brought her the blade of the man who once tormented her, and with it so much more.

It was another moment that passed before the men called out for Osferth, their blotto cryouts echoing into the night and beckoning him to come back. Keavy watched Osferth and how he brightened with the newfound comradery that battle always seemed to bring.

He looked back at her, almost pained to stay. She knew this was the acceptance he craved, his place knitted amongst Uhtred and his men; as much as she wished to reach for him, to press against his chest and capture his mouth, she instead softened her smile. “Go,” she encouraged. “Enjoy your night, champion of Beamfleot.”

There was a flush of color to his features, or perhaps it was the warm tones of the fire they stood by. Osferth bowed his head and left her poised, her hands sticky with the blood stained leather she gripped before she finally returned to her room.

Only when she was behind the closed door did she allow her tears to freely flow, an overwhelming relief to know Osferth was safe, that Sigefrid was dead, but an ache that still seemed to haunt her.

She looked down at the dagger that was no longer attached to that Dane, as he was no longer alive in this world. Keavy had sought Osferth for a kiss and instead, whether intentional or not, he had given her control of her life, of her destiny once again.

With this gift, Osferth showed that blood of a warrior that was interwoven with the royal ichor in his veins and Keavy thought to the last night with her maim, her last words spoken–you are far too pretty to survive across the sea, and it seemed that curse followed across the Irish sea with her.

She knew, in time, that Osferth would find a beautiful woman better suited for the status he was creating. Nonetheless, she swore her devotion to him, in whatever capacity that he would have her; Keavy knew she would be content to be a part of it, all the same.

+ + + +

Love is a powerful thing, the priest Pyrlig once said.

For Keavy, the emotion was cradled next to the vengeance rekindled by the gift of the blade Osferth brought her. She awoke early the next day and found Hild, determined to prepare as a warrior; the nun said nothing, but accompanied her to the blacksmith where she requested the steel to be forged into a seax.

They returned to find the chainmail that Hild gifted her and she smiled when she saw Keavy with it on. “You are a bit taller than me. It suits you better,” and Gisela agreed.

Stiorra watched them, her eyes wide with the sight before she announced that when she was grown, that she would also become a warrior. Gisela picked her up with a kiss to her cheek. “You have time to train until then, little one.”

And so with her secondhand armor, her seax and dagger, Keavy would accompany Uhtred and his men when they traveled the shores of the Temes, clearing out Danes and slavers. She was quick with her smaller blades and always welcomed any tidbits offered from Finan or Sihtric; she also enjoyed the intimacies she would share with Osferth, from how he rode alongside with her, to how they would stay up late around the fire.

When they were called to action, to fight, she found a sense of satisfaction with the bloodshed, with how it would soak into the earth while one miserable soul was chosen to return with a heeded warning.

Uhtred towered over, the tip of Serpent-Breath pressing into the throat of the chosen survivor. “You will go back to your rats’ nest and tell anyone who cares to listen,'' his tone would warn, “beyond Lunden the River Temes belongs to King Alfred and it is guarded by Uhtred of Bebbanburg.”

For the longer campaigns, Keavy would remain in Coccham. Time seemed stagnant, the only hint of its passing was the change in the weather, from the summer rains to the large autumn leaves that blanketed the ground, and always a crisp chill that perpetually hung in the night’s air.

Life would always bloom with their return, whether for a day, a month, or longer, and Keavy cherished the time she was allowed with Osferth. He would return unannounced, a welcomed shadow as he watched over her care of the children.

He would step in to help with their studies, as Oswald developed a passion for the written word and Osferth hummed his pride. “A scholar at heart,” he said, tapping him on his nose and the boy blushed, giggling.

“What will Uhtred say,” Keavy was smiling as she braided back Stiorra’s hair–the girl no longer had the taste of patience for flowers to be woven, adamant that a warrior would not have the time. “What will he think when he finds out that his only son wishes to learn and his only daughter has a growing bloodlust?”

“I will remind him that knowledge is a weapon as well,” and there was a dust of pink across his cheeks with his returned smile, “and that I will do my diligence so his children are formidably armed.”

Keavy admired how the years matured Osferth, how his face had leaned and his sharp features hardened, but that same kindness complemented the cerulean blue of his eyes still. He was lean, but his shoulders broadened and were toned from his years of wielding a sword; he’d grown apt behind the blade in a way that Uhtred boasted.

Always unchanging was the comfort she felt within his proximity, and how she remained ever-present whenever he was in Coccham. She was elated with their return in time for the blōt month celebration; cattle were slaughtered and there was ale by the tun so no tankard was ever empty, while the instruments were freshly strung and ballads twanged into the night, accompanied with heorisms regaled both bold and loud.

Keavy found her way to his side, as she always had, and he seemed anxious to pull her away, off into the night, by a fire as if they were back on the shores of the Temes. The glow of the flames caused shadows to dance across his features, his same severity with his furrowed brow.

Her own quirked with his demeanor. “What’s the matter, Osferth?”

“What am I to you?” His voice was soft with his question.

It was unexpected and she felt her cheeks burned, watching him carefully before she realized the quiet beneath the stars and the roared celebration that spilled from the great hall. “What am I to you, Keavy?” he repeated, his arms folding behind and resting on his lower back.

It was a moment before she could find the words. “You are everything to me, Osferth,” she began, truthfully, as her tongue unstuck from the roof of her mouth. She willed herself to close the space between them, but found she was rooted to the earth. “You awoke a warrior within me that I was not sure even existed, and allowed me to take control of my life, my destiny,” her eyes finally looked to him and his lips drew into a thin line, “I owe you everything and even then it cannot compare to what you have given me.”

Osferth looked away, unaware of how her hand fell to the hilt of her seax when she finished. He was quiet and she then stepped forward, pressing to the balls of her feet and pressing her lips to his cheek. He turned to look as she pulled back, the ghost of a kiss across his lips.

Keavy paused a moment, her hand still resting on his chest and her tongue wet her lips to taste him, before she pulled away. She meant to return to the barracks, but instead her feet pulled her outside the gates and towards the docks.

Only then could she finally breathe, and her exaggerated exhale caught the attention of a familiar shadowed embrace: Uhtred standing behind Gisela, his arms wrapped around her growing belly. Even though it was early in the pregnancy, Gisela told her she was confident it was another boy.

She faltered, deciding to leave and allow them their privacy when she heard Uhtred call to her. “Keavy!” And she shyly made her way forward, grateful how the night hid the warmth she felt in her cheeks.

“You are hiding from someone,” Gisela smiled with her words.

“I am,” she admitted.

Gisela looked to her husband and they both turned to face her, allowing the light of the stars and the moon to highlight them. “And who might be bothering you?”

“No one, lady,” Keavy was quick to correct, then paused before she added, “I feel I am the one who is bothering him.”

Her smirk remained. “Well, then, who is it you are bothering?”

“Osferth, lady.”

And there was a look that was shared between husband and wife, something Keavy was both aware and unaware with their silent exchange. Gisela pressed a kiss to the underside of Uhtred’s jaw and she smiled as she whispered in his ear.

“Keavy,” Uhtred exhaled. “You could not bother him, as the man is hopelessly smitten with you.”

The warmth in her cheeks now burned. “Lord?”

“Osferth,” he clarified and Keavy looked to see how Gisela smiled at her, the mixture of her excitement and her smugness. “He is besotted with you, Keavy, and has been for years. You should go to him, as I fear he will never make the first move.”

His words echoed in her head and she looked again to Gisela. “I told you, fate has brought you here for a reason,” she reminded Keavy. “But you must allow yourself a chance.”

And with those words, she rushed back.

+ + + +

For Osferth, it began with the constant jesting from Finan and Sihtric, how they teased him about what they said was only an infatuation, but he knew otherwise. He agreed with the priest, that love was a powerful thing but it was also maddening.

In truth, he was unsure how to approach the subject, to recreate that moment spoiled, and instead swore a silent devotion with its partnered torment. Osferth could not help but adore Keavy, with the wit she carried and her smile that remained with him when he was away from Coccham. Though he did not care for the risk, he respected her natural tenacity with her smaller blades, and a warmth curled in his chest when she showed him the seax crafted.

“I carry it with me, always,” she had told him.

When she joined them, he made sure to keep at her side. When he paced his horse with her own, he would remember how well she had fit in front of him, his cheeks burning with their conversations; Keavy would give updates of Oswald, how the boy asked for him, how Stiorra been given a wooden sword and sulked because she wished for steel.

At night when they camped and the men curled around the fire for whatever warmth they could get, it was Keavy and Osferth who were the last to fall asleep with their soft murmuring that fluttered between them. With the autumn months, there was a beginning frost that covered the ground and with it a threat of snowfall that hovered heavy, chilling in the air. But for Osferth, it was excuse enough.

“If it is too cold…” and he balked for his words, watching the smile that curled on her face.

“May I move closer to you, Osferth?” she finished for him and he nodded mutely as she moved her mat and furs, cuddling close to him in a way that almost felt sinful. She nestled against his chest, an enveloped warmth, and his heart beat until his bones rattled, but soon her soft breathing lulled him to sleep.

When morning came, he woke with a shadow that spread over and saw how Sihtric watched, his bicolor gaze steady and his brow lifted. Osferth appreciated the Dane’s discretion, a silence as they broke down the camp and returned to Coccham; not a word was spoken until they were back on the road again.

“Osferth,” Finan sounded pained. “Fuck her already, I’m begging ya,” and Osferth reddened from the bold words, “or fuck someone. To get over one woman, you can get underneath another, but this pining is insufferable.”

“Traitor,” Osferth breathed and Sihtric only grinned.

They eventually stopped in a city on the skirts of the kingdoms, a place where Finan and Sihtric pooled their silver and bought a woman for Osferth. She was lovely, with vivid blue eyes that peered from under dark lashes, bold against the auburn shade of her hair that was glossy and held a floral scent. Her smile was framed with full lips, her hand slipping into his own and beckoning him to follow her to her bed.

In the privacy of her quarters, she was incredulous with his request. “You only wish… to learn?”

“Yes, lady,” and he pursed his lips, his drawn expression decorated with the bloom of red blotches.

“And that is all, truly?”

Osferth only nodded.

“Oh, my,” and her realization glowed, warming her painted features. “You are in love?”

He could not answer her but his silence was confirmation enough; with the silver already paid, she disrobed and pulled him towards the mattress with her pitied gaze. She was kind, patient with him, with her soft guidance of his hands to explore the anatomy of a woman with his fingertips. He had enough intuition to follow in tandem to her soft pants and gasps, a glow of pride watching the bloom of her climax flutter over and the clench around his digits that confirmed her release.

She was flushed and laid against the pillows, her heart thrumming underneath the sweat sheen glow of her bare skin. “May I see what you have to offer?” her curiosity had the best of her when she finally regained her breath.

Osferth obediently disrobed and she felt her thighs clench at the sight of him. “My lord,” she breathed, a lusty haze over her half-lidded eyes. “Are you certain that you do not want to lay with me?”

He did not, but thanked her for the services rendered. The following day, as they made their way back to Coccham, did Osferth relive those intimate moments, his mind flitting over the instructions of the whore while also shamefully wondering what sweet sounds Keavy capable of, and how he wished to find out.

“It is hopeless, lord,” the bawdy tone of the Irishman brought him back to the present moment, atop his horse with the crisp air licking his face. Osferth peered towards the men and their smiles exchanged. Uhtred did not look back, but he saw how the corners of his eyes crinkled as well. “We thought the whore would clean his mind of her, but here he is…”

“Helplessly besotted?” Uhtred offered and only then did his head turn, a kind glimmer in the blue of his eyes. “Osferth, what do you intend to do about this? Allow this pining to accompany you across Northumbria?”

He still was not sure.

“A woman has telltale signs–”

“He is oblivious of them, lord!” Finan cut in.

Uhtred continued over the low chortle from the rest of the men. “There will be a moment presented and you will only need to respond to it.”

Coccham was already thrumming with celebration for the blood month when they returned. Osferth cleaned and changed, weaving throughout the crowds and its combination of music playing and laughter, the rich spices of cooked meat and spilled ale heavy in the air.

Osferth was determined to find her and Keavy followed him, without question, without hesitation, and they came to the outskirts of the festivities, distant enough to allow some privacy. The golden amber of the fire made her glow, a warmth to her features, accentuating the gold ring that complemented her green eyes and her smile exaggerating the dimple from the scarring on her cheekbone.

She has suffered so much, it reminded him. Uncertainty settled over him and came out in the question. “What am I to you?”

And her answer was lyrical, painting him in a light he did not feel was earned. He felt morose, as though there was a debt owed, so lost in that thought that he only caught the end of the kiss; he tried to catch her arm, to bring her close.

Instead, he allowed her to walk away.

Osferth remained rooted to the spot, his eyes looking over the flames that licked the logs and he heard the bawdy tone, once again, of the Irishman. “Don’t let my pet name rot your brain, baby monk,” and he looked to see his mug raised towards him. “You are still a man.”

His words sparked and Osferth left with a renewed vitality to his steps as he made his way towards the barracks, his knuckles rapping with urgency against her door. Moments ticked away before he realized its vacancy, and felt the returned uncertainty that smothered his fire to find her. Instead, he slipped into his room, lighting a candle and sinking into the mattress, his head heavy in his hands.

There was a soft tap on his closed door and he did not look up, just a muffled call out. “Come in,” knowing already it would be Sihtric, or Finan perhaps, coming to tease him still.

But it was a quiet entrance, accompanied with the familiar scent of rosemary and thyme, with the hint of rose petals. He looked up to see Keavy close the door behind her, leaning against flushed with the pink hues that spilled from her cheeks to her chest, that rose and fell with her silent breaths.

Osferth was quick to push himself to stand, a step towards her. “Keavy, earlier, what I meant to ask you–”

His question was stilled on his tongue as she moved to press her lips against his, the welcomed warmth as she melded against his chest. It was chaste and when she shifted, his arms moved to wrap around the small of her waist, pulling her flush against him. With his soft moan, her tongue was hesitant to taste but he reciprocated, meeting with the languid pace she set.

Her touch was shy and his fingers flitted over, taking their turns to remove layers until they were both bare. He noted her trepidation, the solemn expression that robbed him of her sweet smile that he always carried with him. Osferth cupped her face and she leaned into his touch, his thumb careful to trail the scar along her jawbone.

“I would never hurt you,” he whispered with a kiss, a promise. “I will only go as far as you allow.”

His heart pulled with the curl of her lips, the glimmer of gold halo from the candle lit reflecting in her eyes. “I know,” and Keavy kissed him again.

Osferth combed his fingers through her soft curls, the smell of roses now lingering with his touch, and he pulled her closer, walking her towards the bed. She moved to lay back against the mattress and his pupils swallowed the blue of his eyes at the sight of her, with how the rose coloring flushed her in the most enticing way.

Keavy pushed back up to her elbows and his gaze watched the natural slope of her breasts, the soft folds of her curves. “Osferth,” her words were both bashful and bold. “Come here.”

And he obliged, kneeling between her like before an altar, his lips touching the inside of her knee with a trail of open-mouthed kisses towards her center, hot against the silk of her thighs and each carefully placed to savor, to bask in a scent that was so intimately her own.

The sweet sounds that spilled from her kiss-swollen lips caused his cock to twitch. “Osferth,” she breathed, her back arching with his touch, taking handfuls of his dirty blonde locks, pulling him closer.

His palms molded into the inside of her thighs, a gentle squeeze so she was aware as he moved towards her center, his fingers flitting through her dark curls over her silken folds. His tongue was tentative, gentle to begin, and listening for the unmistakable gasp that left her lips, fueled from the passion that was curling at the base of her spine and pinning her to the bed. Oferth hummed against her cunt and her thighs tightened around his face, but he pressed forward with the curl of one finger, and then another, pushing within her velvet walls until she melted with his touch.

“Osferth,” tears brimmed her eyes, her words, and her hands grasped at the bedsheets. “Please, don’t stop.”

He hummed again and its vibration, in tandem with the ministrations of his fingers, his mouth, tipped her over the edge. Her ecstasy spilled, flushing throughout her body, a ripple of gooseflesh and her nipples peaked with her pleasure as he continued throughout its entirety, and before he pulled his fingers from her, he placed a gentle kiss to the bloom above her entrance.

As he cleaned his fingers, she reached to pull him towards her, capturing his mouth with a hungry rapture, enjoying her taste on his lips. His kisses and caresses renewed, with an unadulterated adoration for every inch of her skin bared.

“Osferth,” she begged between pants, “I need you.”

Osferth burned with her words and was careful to shift his weight, a genial glide as he sheathed inside her cunt. He paused, burying his face into her neck so she was unable to see his pained expression from how she clenched, steadying his breath as she feathered kisses along his jaw, to the soft divot underneath.

This is how it is meant to be, was the sweet thought that waltzed across her mind as he turned to capture her mouth. Keavy hummed against his lips, “Osferth, please,” she repeated and only then did he begin to rock against her hips.

The slow motion of his hips rekindled a prurient pleasure that coiled within her, her nails biting against his pale skin and leaving crescent marks on his shoulders. Osferth panted between his fevered kisses against the curve of her neck and she mewled pitifully with the crash of her second release, with a clenching desperation for his own peak and he groaned, with a low rumble from the back of his throat as he followed after.

She settled against his chest, curled in the bedsheets and their bare limbs entangled, with nothing but the soft exchange of their breaths. In the quiet, there was a burning curiosity and she dared to ask him. “How long have you felt this, Osferth?”

And she felt his rumbled hum vibrate throughout his chest before he answered. “Always,” and then he placed a gentle kiss on her hairline.

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#the last kingdom #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fanfiction #osferth #osferth fanfic #osferth fanfiction #osferth x ofc #osferth x keavy #we need more osferth fanfic #slow burn #farewell wanderlust

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scullysexual · 3 months

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A Jewel Beneath The Moonight [Rewrite]

@today-in-fic | ao3

Summary: For Mulder, a wealthy English-bred socialite who's had everything given to him since birth, the Titanic is shipping him off to a prison, a life he no longer wishes for or wants. For Scully, an Irish stranger from the lower class, it offers a new life, a future she can truly envision in America. What if the universe put them on the same path to achieve those dreams at the cost of life?

Chapter Two.

The accommodation is located on B-deck; easy enough to find. Phoebe and Mother are stopped along the way, a conversation proceeds in the middle of the hallway between the two women and some other people Mulder doesn’t care to remember the name of. His father shakes his head leading Mulder away.

“They’ll join us when they’re ready,” Bill says as they continue to walk to their rooms.

And the rooms are nice enough; mahogany furniture, floral tapestries covering the couches and chairs. The bedroom is large: a walk-in wardrobe Phoebe should hopefully be happy with. He touches the pillows and his disappointment comes when he finds they are feather. He places it back down.

In the mirror, he catches the reflection of the safe. Spinning around on his heels, he walks over to it, pulling it open. His hand strokes the inside feeling the cold iron. It’s of decent size, enough room to place valuables. He looks to the carry-on he’d brought on with him, an idea in his head. Reaching into the bag, his fingers gripping hold of the old leather book. He places it inside the safe. With a bit of manoeuvring he manages to fit it in and is still able to lock the safe afterwards.

Few people know about that book, a few more know about his talent that comes with it. Phoebe knew about the talent but not the book. His parents know briefly of his talent but again, not the book. The book is his and while he is in no way ashamed of his drawings- in fact, if one were to turn the first page they would be met with a very innocent drawing of his sister, however a bit further on and they’ll find the not-so-innocent drawings. It was those he wanted to keep secret.

“Fox!” he hears Phoebe’s clear-cut voice break through the air. Sighing, his moment of peace over, he double-checks that the safe is shut and locked and exits the bedroom to see his dearly beloved fiancé and the mutt she holds in a cage.

Mulder groans.

“Did you really have to bring that thing, Phoebe?”

Phoebe looks at him as though he’s just told her she wouldn’t be eating dinner for a month.

“Of course I had to bring her Fox,” she says in utter disgust. “Did you just expect me to leave her behind?” She takes the Maltese out of its cage, giving the cage to one of her maids before she holds the animal up.

“I know you don’t like the cage, sweetie. You can stay out of it from now on.” The dog begins fussing in her arms and Phoebe gasps. “Tuppence needs a potty break,” she hands the dog out to Mulder. “Take her.”

Mulder stares at the hairball currently in his face. “Can’t you take her?” he asks, careful to use the word ‘her’ rather than ‘it’.

“I can’t. I need to unpack.”

“I can do that.”

Phoebe looks at him like he’s grown another head.

“No, you’ll just put things in the wrong place.”

Mulder sighs and accepts his punishment.

“Alright, where’s the leash?”

Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the doggy pooping area is the third class deck but it does. He had looked for an official area originally but there didn’t seem to be one that existed. He sees another dog doing its business on the deck and follows suit.

He lets the dog get on with it, lets it take its time too, maybe it’ll wander too far to the rail and fall off the ship, but Mulder’s never had much luck on his side before.

His attention moves away from the dog to the people. A man and his daughter who sits on the rails, her back against his chest, an arm securing her so she doesn’t fall off. The father points to the islands in the distance. Mulder can’t hear the words but he imagines that he’s telling her the names of them, maybe stories about who those people were. Maybe the man knows who the people were.

A second man, older than the first, sits on a bench with his eyes shut and lets the breeze ruffle what little hair he has.

Mulder’s eyes move to another little girl who kicks a ball over to a red-headed boy. The boy picks the ball up, turning his face to the sky and Mulder watches as he balances the ball on his nose like a sealion in a zoo. The little girl laughs and as does another girl with the same red hair as the boy. Mulder finds himself drawn to it, drawn to the girl, a genuine smile breaking out across his face for what feels like the first time in a long time, his stomach twisting and heart folding in on itself all in a good way as he stares at her. Whatever this feeling is, he likes it.

“How old you do think that boy is?” a voice beside him asks. Mulder startles, never even hearing the man approach. “Fifteen? Sixteen?” Mulder moves his gaze back over to the red haired boy. “When I was fifteen, my father sent me off to boarding school.”

“You envy them?” Mulder asks. Most people he’s met in his life scorn them, question how they could live like that. Mulder appreciates the change of opinion.

“A little bit. Makes you wonder what experiences he’s had this far.”

The boy turns and Mulder is taken back slightly by the gash on his face.

“He’s experienced a good punch if that cut is anything to go by,” Mulder laughs. He stretches his arm out towards the man. “I’m Mulder,” he says.

The name strikes no recognition with a man for which Mulder is absolutely grateful for.

“John Byers.”

Similarly, the name does strike any recognition for Mulder either. The two shake hands just as the dogs wander over. Mulder opens the gate, attaching the leash back onto Tuppence.

“I’ll see you at dinner, then?” Byers calls as Mulder makes his way back inside.

“Yes, you will.”

Dinner turns out to be a dull affair, minus a bit of drama beforehand: Phoebe’s hissy fit at having “Nothing to wear” Mulder had got back to the room to find that everything had been packed away. The walk-in wardrobe he thought Phoebe would be fine with only has enough room to fit half her clothes into. She had cried that she wasn’t prepared to live out of her suitcase for a week. Mulder had compromised, given up the small area he’d reserved for his clothes to fit the rest of Phoebe’s. Now his clothes reside in his father’s room.

All in all, the whole debacle had delayed them by thirty minutes.

Other than that, the dinner remained uneventful. Mulder was continuously zoning out throughout it, his thoughts entirely focused upon the girl on the deck. Who was she? Why did he feel what he felt? What did he even feel? And why couldn’t he pull his thoughts away from her?

“Fox…Fox…” he swears he hears his Mother saying.

It’s Phoebe’s sigh of annoyance that forces him out of his reverie.

“He’s doing that thing again, Mother.”

“Fox!” his father barks. Mulder looks to his father, dazed for a moment and fully aware he has no idea what conversation is happening at the table. “Mr Skinner is speaking to you.”

Mulder looks towards the bald man, only now realising that he had joined their table.

“I’m sorry, Mr Skinner,” Mulder apologises. “You were saying?”

“I was just congratulating you and Miss Green on your engagement,” Skinner tells him.

Mulder smiles and reaches for Phoebe’s hand on the table, clasping their fingers together. Not showing anything is amiss, Phoebe smiles.

“Thank you, Mr Skinner,” Mulder says. He looks to Phoebe then. “My only wish is for this week to hurry so I can officially make Phoebe my wife.”

He brings the hand he holds to his lips then, placing a gentle kiss to the top of it. And Phoebe sends him a sincere smile.

Disgust rolls inside his stomach, curdling the food he’s just eaten, disgusted with himself. Mulder’s never hated himself more.

Just as they’re finishing their third course does the conversation change once more. Mulder pays no mind to it, he nods when he’s expected to and that is all.

“You’re old friend Bill,” a man from the farther end of the table shouts over. “Spender- is he on the ship, do you know?”

“I saw his son before,” says Phoebe. “He didn’t look too happy.”

“You remember Jeffrey, don’t you, son?” Bill asks Mulder.

“Yes, he was in my Psychology class at Oxford,” Mulder answers simply before going back to his soup.

The man at the end of the table pipes up again. “I never saw the point in educating yourself on those types of subjects. Seems a waste of time.”

“Fox has a special knack for reading people, don’t you?”

Mulder nods. He could read these people perfectly.

Dessert is on its way when the conversation changes once more. The man at the end of the table telling everyone, once again, that he has an opinion to make.

“Would anyone else sleep better knowing we weren’t sharing a boat with steerage?”

Mulder’s stomach twists, the chocolate mousse halfway to his mouth suddenly appearing unappetising.

“Mother and I saw some wandering down our hallway earlier. How they managed to get up there, I have no idea.”

“Maybe they were just lost, Phoebe,” Mulder says as gently as he can, the anger seething beneath.

“Whatever they’re excuse was, a crewmember soon shouted at them to leave and off they scurried.”

“Like rats in the woodwork, back down to the sewers where they belong,” the man at the end of the table gruffly laughs.

“I’m sure they won’t be an issue anymore,” says Father.

Done with the conversation and dinner all together, Mulder pushes his untouched dessert away.

“Fox?” his mother asks. Her eyes dart around, absorbing the reactions of everyone else at the table, a stickler for public perception.

“I just feel a bit sick,” Mulder says responds.

“You might have caught something off the docks earlier,” says Phoebe reaching up to touch his forehead. She looks to the table party worriedly, “He is burning up.”

Mulder brings her hand away. “I’ll see you later on,” he says and with that he leaves the table, no kiss, no hug, no form of intimacy at all, he just leaves.

The breeze is welcomed from the hot and stuffy dining room. For all their visitors at the table Mulder hoped the man he met earlier- Byers- would have joined them. It would have been nice to have somebody at the table who thought similarly to him.

He makes his way to the back of the ship, away from on-lookers and those who would judge him, happy to find the stern empty.

He walks over to the rails, feeling the cold oak between his fingers as he looks out to the darkness around him. His mind drifts back to earlier, to the father and daughter and he finds himself beginning to climb the rails.

His heart is in this throat every step. Mulder never considered himself afraid of much, if he was dared to do something he’d do it but maybe it’s the fact that he’s alone that scares him now, nobody around to catch him if he falls. Out here it’s only him- only him, the ship, and the sea and if he does fall that’s it.

He thinks about how that little girl must have felt. Was she afraid at first? Did she refuse to sit on the rail for fear of falling? Was it only when she felt her father behind her, arms around her chest that she felt safe, that only then did she trust she wasn’t going to fall?

“I hope you’re not considering jumping?”

Mulder startles, almost losing his balance in the process. He grips the rails tighter, suddenly questioning his choice of seating.

A nervous laugh falls from his lips.

“I wasn’t until you nearly made me.”

“Sorry,” the woman says. A woman’s voice. “I just saw you climb up there and got a wee bit nervous, that’s all.”

Mulder twists slightly so he can see the person. As he turns, he almost falls again when he realises who’s standing there.

The red-headed girl from earlier.

“Maybe you should get down,” she says, face a full display of concern. She edges closer slowly. “It’s a long way down if you fall off.”

She leans against the rails just as he’d done earlier.

“Maybe I like the risk,” Mulder says, a façade of a fearless smile appearing across his face. Really, he was shitting bricks.

“You won’t like the fall,” she says, her voice serious, no hint of the playfulness he was hoping to convey. “It’ll be like hitting concrete and if you just so happened to survive that, it won’t take long for the cold to get you.”

Mulder looks down into the water directly below him.

“How long we talking?” he asks.

Her answer is quick, ready like she’d been prepared to answer all along.

“Thirty minutes for the hypothermia to kick in, one to two hours before you die.” The facts all out, she turns sombre and concerned once more. “Not exactly a quick death if that’s what you wanted.”

Gaining her point, he begins to twist on the rails, back to the sea as he jumps down.

“There,” he says, dusting himself off. “No harm done.” He looks down at her, realising just how much he towers over her. Phoebe is tall for a woman, almost his height in heels, but this girl…Mulder estimates she not much taller than 5’4.

He stretches out his hand, curious as to why the universe has thrown her in his path for a second time that day and even more curious to know why she knows so much about cold water and hypothermia.

“I’m Mulder.”

She ignores his hand, an eyebrow shooting up. “Mulder? I’m not entitled to a first name?”

Mulder laughs nervously again, dropping his arm to his side. “You don’t want to know it.”

She regards him, as if wondering whether he is worth an interest in or not.

“In that case…” Her hand slides out towards him. “I’m Scully.”

Mulder stares at her hand for a moment before he takes it, feeling soft, warm skin under his own despite the cold evening. A warmth spreads through him, an undeniable connection being forged between their joined hands. Fate sure was a strange entity.

#the x-files #the x files #txf fic #xfiles fanfiction #a jewel beneath the moonlight rewrite #titanic au #scullysexualwrites

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inkwolvesandcoffee · 9 months

Text

The Brown Cat: A Modern Irish Fairytale | Moodboard & Wee Imagine

TH Masterlist

Y/N

I remember the stories my Nan used to tell me. Now, we Irish remember and especially those of the fílid, like my family. I especially liked the story, a local legend, about an Irish princess who fell in love with a Viking. She used to tell me that one over and over during rainy days, the ones on which it seems like the sky has a tear in it. Seated by the fire and enjoying tea with a sweet treat, she’d recount the tragic love story of the would-be king and queen of Waterford. Indeed, tragic, for, you see, the ancient Irish saw Love as a fatal affliction.

Their story didn’t end happily. The Viking was turned into a cat by the princess’s mother, feeling merciful enough to turn the man into her daughter’s favourite animal. However, after the transformation was completed, the pair heard a banshee howl.

And a few days after, the princess, mourning the loss of her love, thinking him dead on the battlefield, jumped off the cliffs. Some say you can see her at night, clutching an amulet of Thor. Others claim they’ve heard her wailing as they witnessed her fall or heard her laments on the wind.

The warrior-turned-cat has wandered the land ever since, desperately looking for his love because only true love’s kiss can break the curse. Nan used to say he looked like the fluffy yet gruff brown cat that wandered around the town in my youth. He was a gentle creature if a bit grumpy.

But surely too many years have passed for it to be the same cat who frequents my abode or the one that always seems to show up at the markets I participate in to promote my micro bakery.

Surely.

Then again, this is Ireland.

And she remembers.

Alfie

I used to be known by a different name. Alftun Bloodaxe, rumoured to be the spawn of Fenrir and I might very fucking well have been.

But the moment I saw the little dove we had captured as a hostage in the battle for Waterford, I was ready to put down my axe and become her guardian full time. Fucking hell, I was ready and craved the honour of becoming her man.

I brought her books, the thing she seemed to miss the most. There were nights she read some of them to me, either in her native tongue or in broken Norse. She soon got better at the latter, though. After all, she was a clever little bird.

She didn’t like the way I came by those books and scrolls, but I couldn’t exactly walk up to a monastery and simply expect them to hand over their best works. No, there was silver and gold to be had too.

Even back in the day, before becoming a quite literally damned cat, I was consumed by Greed.

Slowly but surely we started to understand each other. She taught me Gaeilge and how to read and I taught her Norse and told her the stories our skalds have told for ages. In turn, she told me those of her people.

She was an incredible storyteller. A proper fílid.

The similarities between some of those tales and sagas made us realise we weren’t so different.

She wasn’t meant to end up as my slave, a means to warm my bed.

And I hope she wished me to become something else other than a head on a pike or a very crispy corpse on a pire, cast out of Valhalla forever.

She was my equal.

She fucking was to be my queen.

Then Mommy dearest, some half-fairy witch from a powerful bloodline, swooped in and turned me into a ball of fluff when we marched on Waterford. I could console myself with knowledge my little dove had my amulet and that Freya would somehow let her know what happened.

But then came that horrible screech.

I’ll never forget that high-pitched wail, like a dying person’s last desperate attempt to call for help while dragging their iron nails over a blackboard.

That’s when I knew.

I knew I’d lose her.

And there was nothing I could do.

Nothing but hope I’d find her some day.

And now that I’ve finally have for the second time, having lost her once in her youth, I’m not letting her out of my sight.

Never again.

Tag List: @potter-solomons @mollybegger-blog @liliac-dreamer @hecatemoon87 @zablife @buttercupsandboys @wandawiccan60 @solomons-finest-rum @babaohhhriley @rose-like-the-phoenix @dreamlandcreations @vir-tual

Side note: I might turn this concept into a proper story once I've gotten over the massive writer's block I've been dealing with. If only because I can't get this off my mind and I need to nerd out over all things Irish, haha.

#Alfie Solomons #Alfie Solomons imagine #Peaky Blinders #Peaky Blinders imagine #Alfie Solomons x Reader

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 2 years

Note

Jay White and ELP remind me of mean but playful frat brothers so could I request something with the both of them and the reader playing dirty truth or dare, ending in them sharing the reader? Love your writing, thank youuu😁

Let’s consider this a “Warm up to Halloweek” Part 2 😏. Thank you so much for the compliment and you’re welcome, love 😘💋

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @damnnhausen , @starwithaheart, @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @baysexuality , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @sldghmmr , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @blaquekittycat

Sigma Kappa Lambda was the biggest and most popular fraternity of your university. Every guy wished to be a “brother” and every girl desired to date one of its members.

They were known for their good looks, amazing parties and enormous collection of trophies and medals. They won everything, from sports competition to the biggest fundraiser in the history of the university.

Their chaotic Halloween party always hosted hundreds of people and sometimes even a few professors could be seen sneaking inside the party every year.

You were sure you were the only one who never stepped a foot inside Sigma Kappa to enjoy a party until today.

To be honest you always preferred the company of books over people, but the earlier events pushed you to stand where you are right now, which is playing truth or dare with the two most desired athletes of Sigma: Jay and Riley.

You don't remember how you ended up in this position, you just know that they were the first ones to greet you when you came in and they haven’t left your side since then.

“C’mon geeky, it’s your turn” Riley pointed to the empty beer bottle on Jay’s bedroom floor.

You twisted the bottle and it stopped on Jay who smirked “Dare”

You thought for a while and came up with the first dumb idea that crossed your mind “I dare you to… lick the sole of my shoe”

“Really?” Jay chuckled “How old are we? Twelve?”

“What? Is a good dare”

“Of course it is! What will you dare us to do next? Drink toilet water?” Riley teased before taking a sip of his beer.

“So what do you want me to do? Make an 18+ kind of dare?” You teased back, already waiting for them to laugh along with you.

When they only stared at you with knowing smirks, the laugh died on your throat “I was joking, you know”

“But that’s a wonderful idea, nerdy” Jay crawled towards you until his face was mere inches apart from yours “I was kind of expecting that Riley would make such an offer not you, but you know what? Something tells me you’ll be a wonderful little surprise”

You gulped hard and instantly darted your tongue out to lick your dry lips. Jay’s gray eyes followed your tongue as it wetted the supple meat of your bottom lip before he asked in a whisper “Give me my dare, honeybee”

“I…I dare you to kiss me”

“That will be by far the easiest dare I’ve ever had” Was the last thing Jay said before his lips tasted yours in a deep, slow, sensual kiss that seemed to last forever until Riley spoke:

“Alright, it’s my turn now” His voice was an octave lower, with a hint of lust and envy in its timbre.

He didn’t even mind to twist the bottle, he simply smirked “I dare you to kiss me”

An unfamiliar courage took over you and you suddenly saw yourself kneeling in front of him. Since Riley was still sitting on the floor, that gave you a few inches of advantage and you decided to use that to straddle his hips.

Your hands cupped his bearded cheeks, feeling the soft beard caress your skin. Riley’s hands came to rest on your ass, kneading and stroking your clothed flesh.

Looking into the sky blue eyes, you darted your tongue out to give soft kitten licks on his bottom and upper lips.

Riley groaned and pulled you closer to his body “Stop teasing me, bunny”

“You look like the kind that enjoys some teasing” You smirked confidently

“Not when my cock is rock hard though”

Your lips immediately covered his in a burning kiss that made you lose control over yourself. A light tug on your scalp made you break the kiss to soon have your back pressed against Jay’s torso.

“You’re something else, aren’t you, little bee?” His hand tugged harder on your hair, making a soft moan escape your lips

“Looking so innocent and naïve but that’s just a façade, isn’t it? Because deep down, there’s not even an ounce of innocence in you” One of Riley’s hands cupped your breast as the other closed around your throat “Because if you were, you wouldn’t be offering yourself like a cheap slut for us”

“What’s the matter? I thought you two liked a cheap slut. Isn’t that what you’re used to after all?” You teased, which earned you a hard hair tug from Jay and a slap on the ass from Riley.

“And I thought that pretty little mouth was only good to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. I see that I was wrong” Jay whispered in your ear making you cackle “You have no idea of what this mouth can do”

“Oh really?” Riley smirked, “Why don’t you show us then, bunny?” His fingers caressed your bottom lip “Show us what that mouth and pussy can do”

The loud laugh that left your lips was wicked and didn’t resemble you at all as you dared both men “Make me”

#jay white fanfiction #jay white imagine #jay white x reader #switchblade jay white #jay white #el phantasmo x reader #elp fanfiction #elp imagine #elp x reader #el phantasmo imagine #masochist writes #masochist headcanons #njpw wrestling #njpw smut #njpw imagine

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bbygirl-aemond · 1 year

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Wanted to ask this question a long time ago: how old is everyone exactly? If Aemond in your fic is around 20, that makes Aegon and Helaena older too. And the children, Daemyra's children especially, all seven of them, what are the ages you go by? If I remember correctly, you moved Daemyra's marriage years according to the books rather than series, which also makes everything a little complicated. Can you clarify on the ages please, because I'm a little bit confused.

ooh yes i've been wanting to talk about this actually! i did fudge several of the ages a bit. inspiration came from the show ages (which are a bit nebulous at times), the book ages, and the actor's ages. i'll put a list of all of the main characters' ages below, but first i wanted to explain the justification for some of the larger changes:

aemond: i wanted him to be an actual adult, and to be irish twins with helaena (to strengthen the parallels between them and also for secret valyrian purposes); i didn't want to put a teenager or especially a minor in the mature poltiical and sexual situations i have planned for this work

daeron: i wanted him to be much younger than his other siblings, who are all only a year apart, to emphasize how distant he feels from them. also, aemond was canonically premature and it's not unreasonable that alicent would take a break from having kids after a difficult pregnancy. it also makes viserys more of an asshole for conceiving daeron in the first place since it risked another difficult birth

alicent: i wanted her a little younger, more like fourteen when she was married, to emphasize how awful viserys really was and how helpless she was in that entire situation

rhaenyra: i wanted her a little younger to make her baby daddy decision a little more sympathetic due to immaturity, and to leave more time for future children

daemon: i wanted a more sympathetic reason for his immaturity at the beginning of the series (his youth), to give him and criston more in common to emphasize the parallels drawn between them, and to avoid making myself sad by thinking about him dying 2+ decades before his family because he's old

baela: it's not mentioned that she and rhaena are twins in the show, and they're not played by the same actor the way the lannister twins were, so by the time i realized they were meant to be twins it would've affected the plot. baela has major big sister energy tho so i'm not mad about it

okay so all that being said, here are the (rough) ages that i imagine everyone to be as i write. you'll see that all members of the main triad have been moved closer to their irl actors' ages:

maelor: 2

viserys: 5-6

jaehaera and jaehaerys: 6

aegon the younger: 9

joffrey and alyn: 11-12

rhaena, lucerys, and addam: 14-15

jacaerys, baela, and daeron: 16-17

aemond: 21

helaena: 21 (she and aemond are irish twins)

aegon: 22

rhaenyra: 31-32

alicent: 36

criston and daemon: 41-42

i'm also trying to avoid explicit mentions of people's age for the most part, to leave everything a little squidgy. also if this conflicts horribly with either canon please do not tell me eye do not wish to know <3

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hirukochan · 6 months

Note

Hi!! I love your writing so much I was just wondering what do you plan to do in the future? I’d love to live in your brain for like one minute because the ideas you have and the way you write is so amazing and unique.

Hi!! <3

My brain is a very crowded, forgetful and cramped place, zero out of five stars would not recommend lol.

I have a few ideas for the future!

Of course A Servant of Death. I have four parts in total planned for that series and there is a vampire arc coming up in part three I am so excited for! It’s a huge project and I try not to stress myself out to prevent burn out. The first part ended up being longer than the HP book it was based on 😅. So that - even though it’s updating slower rn (I might have gotten a tad too excited and published too many WIPs right after one another 😅) it’s my baby, my love, my passion project. It’s not getting abandoned, it’ll just need some time to grow 🥰.

I am being strict with myself to finish my WIPs before I publish anything longer than a oneshot. Your tears is nearing its end though I am beginning to fear it’ll be longer than I anticipated because I’ve had a few more ideas (cramped and crowded brain and terrible planning skills + a lack of self control 😬). A most unexpected turn of events won’t be too long (she said optimistic for the fourth time now???) and with Carrying Atlas I honestly have no idea. I could spend forever developing their relationship and ignore the plot I have planned. I’m avoiding sitting down and fleshing it out for now in favour of writing smut!

As for oneshots:

I have a second part for Ministry Documents planned!

A Snape/Reader/Voldemort oneshot, the reader is either an Auror they trap and ‘punish’ together or a new recruit that has to prove her loyalty, haven’t decided yet, might write both.

I have a half finished Snape/Reader/Crouch jr professor-student oneshot lying around where the reader has been sleeping with both her professors but neither knew about the other and they punish her together.

I am writing on a Snarriet oneshot, Snape is a demon Harrie summons but something goes wrong.

I have a few more ideas for Snarriet, including one Muggle AU where James and Lily are alive and Snape is Uncle Sev 🤭 (no blood relation!!) Questionable but it’s intriguing me.

Then I would love to rewrite an old fic of mine. It’s a Snape/OC story that’s very dear to me. It has its own magical society within the wizarding world. It follows Snape and Theodora O’Brian who has to attend Hogwarts against her wishes. She experiences racism, discrimination, classims, cultural genocide and the literal murder of her relatives because they arn’t ‘real’ witches and wizards.

It takes place during the first and the second war. They both join Voldemort after school, both get sucked into this cult and soon realise it’s not what they were promised it would be. Voldemort takes advantage of them, he seduces them and they have to navigate their life together, their complicated feelings for Voldemort, Dumbledore’s questionable morals and many more challenges. So it’s teen!Snape and adult!Snape. And there is an irish wolfhound named Duchess!

I have a Severitus fic with fem!Harry planned! Snape has to care for baby Harrie after the war. Voldemort is dead once and for all, no Horcruxes. It’ll be a bit of a character study I think, exploring Snape’s trauma and his struggles with reentering the ‘normal’ society after a horrible time among Death Eaters, his struggles as a parent, his wish to do better for her than his parents did for him. I think Snape reconciling with one of his parents during his journey as adoptive dad would be nice too.

Another old story I’d like to rewrite is about Snape suddenly having to take a far more active role in raising his baby sister. It takes place before Harry comes to Hogwarts. She is sixteen (or fifteen??? I can’t remember lol) and a whirlwind of chaos, anger and some underlying issue she isn’t talking about. She went to Ilvermorny because Eileen moved to the US with her when she was a baby, leaving Snape alone with their father. After their mother dies Snape lets her stay at Ilvermorny. She gets expelled and Snape brings her to Hogwarts to finish her education. They bump heads all the time. It’s a lot of chaos 🤣 but also a fiercely protective older brother!Snape 🥰

I have probably more ideas that I forgot about and are now rotting in some notebook I’ll rediscover in a few weeks 🤣

But these are those stories I have lined up to write once I have cleared some things off my plate ☺️💚

#ask #fic ideas #future fic #ao3 fanfic #severus snape fanfiction

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niall-ate-mynamee · 9 months

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Please do a drabble where Niall is really tiny, and he’s at the library and he can’t reach a book and Harry helps him? Andddddd then they exchange numbers and BOOM 1 year later they become a couple? Thank youuuuuuu

note: i’ve taken a few inches off Niall’s actual height (5’8) just to make this drabble just that little bit more adorable :’)

but, i hope you like this, niallermybabe! this was fun to write :) if any of you were here in the first few years of my tumblr acc, you might remember how much i adored Narry, so i love writing their pairing! feel free to keep sending those prompts/drabbles! 💜

anyways, enjoy! :)

“Oh, come on,” 18 year old Niall Horan groaned as he tried to reach for the book he wanted. Niall was 5’4, he blamed his Irishness for that. He hated being small, he swears people in the street purposely bump into him and nearly knock him over. Even in his flat he couldn’t use the higher shelves without a stool. He hated it. And now, this library was just taunting him.

“You suck,” He huffed, glaring up at the shelf as if it was to blame. He didn’t like asking for help, it was embarrassing. His height was the bane of his life, it was the only thing he wished he could change about himself.

His mother had always called it “cute”, his father loved picking him up teasingly, and his older brother used to hold things above his head just to spite him. Fair to say, Niall wished he was taller. Especially now at 18, an adult for goodness sake, he needed to be able to do things for himself.

He sighed, looking around the area for any sort of stool he could sneakily use, before trying one last time to reach for the book, until a voice suddenly sounded from behind him. “You okay there, sir?” When Niall turned around, he froze, for there stood the most beautiful man he had ever seen with the curliest hair and cutest dimples as he grinned.

“H-hi…” He squeaked, immediately mentally berating himself. He felt the blood rush to his cheeks, and knew he was blushing furiously.

“Hi yourself,” The guy chuckled, “Do you need any help?”

“Um, I, uh…can’t reach…the book,” Niall stuttered, looking up at the shelf briefly before looking at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Which one were you after? I can give you a hand, if you want?” The guy asked, smiling fondly.

“Uh, it’s the uh, James Patterson ‘The Murder House’ one…up there…” He said, pointing out the book and watching as this earth angel easily grabbed the book, taking a quick glance at the cover before handing it to Niall, “Thank you so much!” Niall exclaimed, hugging the book close to his chest as he grinned up at the man.

“It’s no problem at all, sweetheart,” The guy replied, “I’m Harry, by the way. Harry Styles,” He introduced himself, holding out his hand.

“I’m Niall Horan, it’s nice to meet ya, Harry,” He grinned back, shaking Harry’s hand and feeling sparks immediately. Boy, he couldn’t wait to go home and call his mam about this man. Niall knew he was super attracted to this Harry…

“Do you work here?” Niall asked, curiously.

“Yeah! My best friend, Louis, got me the job last year. He works on the counter over there,” He pointed to a fluffy haired guy behind the counter, chatting away happily to a girl, “We work the same shifts since we car share, so it made sense,”

“That’s so cool!” Niall said, “I mean, getting to work with your best friend must be fun,” He giggled. Harry grinned at the sound, and Niall blushed once again.

“Yeah, it is pretty cool. Is this your first time here? I haven’t seen you in here before, and I never forget a face!” Harry asked, cocking his head slightly to the side, and Niall thought it was the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

“I’ve just moved in down the street. Finally ‘flew the nest’ as my ma put it. She’s back in Ireland, but I always dreamed of living in London, so I found a job, found a cheap flat, and here I am!” He explained, waving one hand around, as he talked.

Harry laughed, “I like you, Niall. You’re cute,” Harry winked, and Niall felt like his knees would buckle any second, “Come, let me introduce you to Louis!”

With that, Harry took Niall’s hand and dragged him over to the counter and, that was the start of something very magical and very special for both Niall and Harry.

•••

One Year Later…

“Ni, babe, have you seen my phone?” Harry called up the stairs to his boyfriend of 6 months as he patted his pockets while turning his head side to side looking for the missing device.

There was silence for a moment before there was a chuckle and footsteps coming down the stairs, “You left it on the bedside table,” Niall smirked, holding the phone out for Harry to take. His boyfriend laughed and grabbed the phone, then took Niall’s hand and pulled him down the last step gently, pulling him close.

“This is why I kept you around,” Harry smirked back, leaning forwards and pressing his lips to his boyfriend’s.

“Hmm,” Niall hummed happily, “That the only reason?” The Irishman smirked, pulling back but keeping his arms around Harry’s neck.

Harry pressed his forehead to Niall’s, “Hm, maybe not the only reason…” He whispered, kissing him again before Niall pulled away.

“Come on, babe, we’ve got a lunch date with Louis and Liam, we don’t wanna be late again,” Niall laughed, moving his arms away from Harry’s neck and moving to grab Harry’s car keys.

“That was your fault last time! You were the one who insisted we stop off at the store!” Harry exclaimed, following Niall to the front door.

Niall turned around just as Harry was close enough so their bodies were pressed together. Harry grabbed Niall’s hands and they locked eyes. “I love you, Haz,” Niall whispered, biting his lip as he took in the face he adored so much.

“I love you more, Ni,” Harry replied just as quietly, looking at Niall’s lips before he tilted Niall’s chin up and pressed their lips together for a soft and loving kiss, “Thank you for saying yes,” Harry said softly, leaning their foreheads together once more.

“Thank you for making me the happiest I’ve ever been,” Niall replied, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and cuddling into him, closing his eyes and sighing softly as he felt Harry hold him tightly. He felt lips press against the top of his head and grinned happily.

A year ago, Niall was just a new kid in a big city, wanting a book from a small library, and who knew that he would meet his whole world there? He moved out of his small, one bed flat, a month into their relationship, and now lives in a two story, two bed house with the love of his life. What could be better! Niall adored Harry with everything in him, and he knew Harry felt the same.

They were two peas in a pod, two hearts combined into one, two souls connected forever. They were NiallandHarry, HarryandNiall, and nothing could break them apart.

Yes, Niall thought happily, This man is my forever.

well, there you go! :) sorry if it feels kinda rushed at the end, i already felt like it was getting a bit too long to be considered a drabble, so i didn’t wanna drone on! i hope you enjoyed it all the same!! it was so fun and cute to write, hahahah! 💜

as always, lemme know what you think!

p.s i realised i missed out the exchanging of phone numbers bit, im so sorry!! i hope it’s still good, tho!

#niall horan #one direction #harry styles #liam payne #louis tomlinson #niallerrr #zianourry #zayn malik #niall centric #narry storan #narry drabble #niall drabble #harry drabble #we ship narry here #hint at lilo together too #lilo

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boxingcleverrr · 1 month

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So Kate and her (righteous, correct) annoyance at puritanical people unable to engage with Poor Things normally reminded me today of one of my faaaavorite Christian Romance Novels (tm) from back in the day. And I realized it's a perfect example of "why you sometimes NEED sex scenes, no hyperbole or moralizing required."

Jeanette Oke is a famous Christian author, I'm sure plenty of people have heard of the Love Comes Softly series, or When Calls The Heart series, cause they've both been made into tv shows - terrible ones, with terrible production values, lol.

If that's all you know her by, you might be surprised to learn that the source material doesn't suck! She tells a very good story, builds all kinds of relationships well, and definitely does way more historical research than the producers of any films/shows based on her work. They're very PG to PG13 as far as violence goes, no smut obv, usually with a religious message buried or shoehorned in there.

It's kinda like how Louis L'amour is an objectively solid writer of westerns, while adaptations are usually middling, cause his fanbase tends to be within uh, certain other (white) demographics who wish to push certain other (white) agendas via their traditional-looking settings.

But I digress.

Basically the writing = good and engaging. She coulda just been a wildly successful historical fiction writer, but yanno, gotta get something Jesus-y into EVERY tome.

Which brings us to my favorite, A Bride For Donegan.

This was a mail order bride story set in the 1880s I believe, based on the very real practice of skeezy agencies realizing they could make big money off frontiersmen looking for wives, via poor UK & European women and girls looking to escape poverty and blights. It follows one girl from Ireland stuck in a terrible home situation in England, who LEAPS at the chance to gtfo.

And the dynamic set up is very good, and a heart-wrenching portrait of her trauma! She'd endured sexist and racist abuse from her English stepmother, who drilled into her that no man would ever want her plain, overly-chatty, Irish self for a wife (gee I wonder why this appealed to 13 year old annoying, undiagnosed me). Donegan is a quiet, successful young rancher who has less character development, of course, he's just So Nice, Kinda Funny, and Tall. But the book does make it clear that he was looking for a friend first and foremost, to share this life he made with, and to draw him out of his shell.

So, quiet guy orders a wife, gets girl whose been told no man wants a chatty partner, much silent hilarity and misunderstanding ensues. These characters go on through a very good slow burn to break down that wall, they're cute and funny together, eventually have like, 5 kids? And of course in the last chapter Jesus gets found, yaaaaay (why is The Lord ALWAYS getting lost, does he not have maps). I always skipped the last chapter.

But even as a 13 year old virgin who was mostly still Jesus-pilled, I remember getting to points early on in the novel and being like, "wait. They've had sex?!"

There's ONE scene in the second act, where they're still barely talking to each other yet, when he worries that she might get pregnant while they're still relative strangers.

That's IT.

So this establishes that, in the say, 3-4 months they're first married, they're having sex like good married people should, but barely talking.

And though I had no experience at that point whatsoever, I just squinted at the page all, "So...what IS that sex life like? I am engaged in this slow burn that's happening, and yet I have no idea what's going through either of your heads when you KISS, let alone be more intimate. Are either of you worrying about how much the other person is engaged? Consenting?! This is the late 19th century, how much sex-ed do either of you have? Do you get any inkling of each others' softer sides when you undress before bed? Hell, do you snuggle in your sleep and wake up just...not addressing it?!"

Their bedroom is, otherwise, just a place we know all those kids get made, eventually, somehow.

Am I to infer that this guy, with a wry sense of humor to his internal monologue, is cool with this situation of just...begetting with a girl who I guess I should also infer is just lying back and thinking of Ireland?!

The story ends with them both delighted by each other, she chatty, he listening, riding horses and enthusiastically having babies. So obviously consent was there. But it was just so glaring and educational to me, what was missing, and that it was a huge, important aspect of their interaction and growth.

Not all stories are about or need sex, obviously. But any time I see people saying they're NEVER needed, like. Even as a good little church girl, I knew important lessons about how people in love interacted within intimacy were being left out of what I was consuming, and it was leaving a big gap in my understanding of how love and intimacy could look, good bad or somewhere unfinished in-between.

And no, as far as I know there's no fanfiction of this anywhere, haha of course there isn't (though I have years later found this LOTR fic about Eomer/Lothiriel that scratched that itch very well).

Humans have sex. Not all humans, but most, that's just a fact. Every part of messy human interaction has a place in storytelling, and when it doesn't, uh, well. A lot of people I know personally grew up assuming those blanks in their knowledge would just magically be filled in by....someone. Someday.

It didn't go great for a lot of them.

#blathering #Stop Emulating Puritans 2024 #Love Comes Softly was genuinely good #The When Calls books however were her most rife with white saviorism sooooo of course they got adapted

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focsle · 1 year

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An unaddressed letter Marshall had at the back of his book, discussing his dynamic with the captain’s wife, and some advice he gives himself.

“I think you wished me very ill when you told me you were glad that the Capt was going to carry his wife, for she is a source of trouble to me[,] not that she interferes with my business but because it makes me feel home sick and heart sick likewise every time I look at her. There is one thing I feel truly thankfull for and that is this that god while dealing out his numerable blessings did not see proper to bless him with any children and what this reason is is more than I am able to tell unless it was he did not see fit to bring sickly and ill looking brood of chickens into existence as they would surely do. She is very good friend of mine just at the preasant time but how long her friendship will last is more than I can say. I have though[t] the reason she kept on such good terms with me was because she has got two or three sisters that is marageable [marriageable] and are in search of a husband. Yes she has told me as much. She told me one day when I was getting ready to go on shore if I went on shore and behaved myself she would introduce me to twenty girls on her island home and of course I did so for I am noted for keeping on ladys weather bow, and at night when I came on board she was writing to one of her sisters and Mr Brown being a native of Nantucket told her to remember him to her. I then asked her if she was single and she told me she was I said to her just remember me to her also. She laughed and said she would. You know if an irish potato get rotten on one side the whole potato tastes of that same disease and I think as one rotten potato is married into the family the whole tribe must be affected, so Marshall you keep to your tacks aboard and steer a straight course for Sally [in this instance, likely a nickname for his Sarah] but mind you must not get on her lee bow for when there it is a dead beat and a head swell and a strong tide sitting you to leeward and the next thing you will bring up on a lee shore.”

#mr marshall keith #awhalin #either way….straight course for the person he ultimately marries when he goes ashore and spends his journal thinking about #who isn’t any of these Hypothetical Nantucket Sisters #HRUGHHHHH why did I Promise not to transcribe his dreams they speak so much to his emotional world #BUT I SHAN’T…..IT’D BE RUDE…#you’ll just have to go to the source and read em yourself

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grandmaster-anne · 1 year

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Gyles Brandreth's Exclusive Extract Part 2

The Mail Plus | Published 26 November 2022

WHENEVER the names of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex come up in court circles, courtiers flinch and change the subject or refer to them as ‘persons who live overseas’.

If Harry and Meghan are mentioned to members of the Royal Family, they simply smile briefly and say ‘we wish them all the best’ and nothing else.

As I write this, members of the new King’s communications team are bracing themselves for what may come when Prince Harry publishes his much-talked-about memoir – the ‘accurate and wholly truthful’ account of his life – in January.

‘I’m writing this not as the prince I was born, but as the man I have become,’ said Harry when the book was initially announced. In fact, of course, he was not writing it at all: he was telling his story to a ghost-writer.

Harry’s tell-all memoir, for which he received an advance of $20 million (£16.53 million), was originally promised for the autumn of 2022. It seems he’d been informed his grandmother was quite poorly and decided to pause publication in consequence. Was he worried about adding stress, worry and disappointment to her final months? Possibly.

There is no evidence, however, that the Queen was distressed by her grandson’s decision to go ahead with the book in the first place. She ‘understood’ Harry’s desire to write his book, not only for the money but because he wanted to tell his story – to speak his truth, as Meghan might put it.

He wouldn’t have been the first member of the Royal Family to do so: the Queen remembered ‘the fuss there was’ in 1951 when her uncle, the Duke of Windsor, published his own ghost-written volume of memoirs, A King’s Story. He too had wanted to tell his truth, and he needed the money. The memoir itself has long since been forgotten.

Although the Queen had never read any of the books about the Royal Family, her attitude towards them had changed over the years.

Indiscrete: Marion Crawford with the then-Princess Elizabeth and her sister in 1939

In 1950, when Marion Crawford published an innocuous memoir about her years in the royal household as governess to the then Princess Elizabeth and her sister Princess Margaret, the Royal Family was utterly appalled.

But by the time ‘Crawfie’ died, aged 78 in 1988, Elizabeth II had forgiven her, though I am not sure Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, ever could.

More recently, the Queen’s dresser Angela Kelly published two books – Dressing The Queen: The Jubilee Wardrobe and The Other Side Of The Coin: The Queen, The Dresser And The Wardrobe. And she did so with her royal boss’s full blessing and approval.

As time went by, the Queen was increasingly able to take the long view. She had lived so long that she did sometimes feel that she had ‘seen it all before’.

For example, when the Duke of York (who did himself no favours with his self-justifying interview for Newsnight in 2019) was harrumphing about Harry and Meghan’s interview with Oprah Winfrey on American television in 2020, the Queen chipped in gently: ‘Didn’t Sarah do something similar?’

She did. In 2011, the Oprah Winfrey Network in the US aired Finding Sarah, a six-part TV series in which the former Duchess of York shared her tears and her heartache with a TV psychiatrist and the viewing millions.

It was by no means Sarah’s first transgression – those infamous photos of her having her toes sucked by her financial adviser come to mind. Yet the Queen continued to go out of her way to stay in touch with Sarah, even though Prince Philip found his former daughter-law ‘beyond the pale’.

The Queen’s greatest quality, her husband told me once, was tolerance. ‘She is infinitely tolerant,’ the Duke of Edinburgh said, ‘and forgiving.’

Famously, in 2012, in a historic encounter at Belfast’s Lyric Theatre, the Queen shook hands with Martin McGuinness, formerly an Irish Republican Army commander, despite having lost a close relative, Lord Mountbatten of Burma, to an IRA bomb in 1979.

Although she remained instinctively conservative, she was always tolerant of the traditions and beliefs of others and became increasingly accepting of the changing mores she saw around her. In the 1980s, she’d encouraged her then footman Paul Burrell to marry, and offered he and his wife a honeymoon at Balmoral.

The marriage later collapsed, and in 2017 Burrell married his new partner, Graham Cooper.

Discreetly, a few months after the marriage, a wedding present arrived from Her Majesty. ‘The Queen has always been incredibly broad-minded and accepting and generous,’ said Paul.

The Queen believed, too, in the reality of redemption. She looked for the good in people, not the bad.

So what does all this have to do with Harry and his wife, Meghan?

I can tell you, because I know this, that the Queen was always more concerned for Harry’s well-being than about ‘this television nonsense’, meaning both the Oprah Winfrey interview – which caused so much controversy – and the lucrative deal the Sussexes made with Netflix.

Again, her view differed from that of Prince Philip. I know from someone close to him that he thought Meghan and Harry’s interview with Oprah was ‘madness’ and ‘no good would come of it’.

I also know that the Queen liked Meghan’s mother, and was sorry the Markle family was ‘fractured’. And I know she was anxious that Harry should ‘find his feet’ in California and ‘find really useful things to do’.

The Queen was devoted to Harry. She loved him, she thought him ‘huge fun’, and she truly wished him well in his new life abroad.

Whenever Harry called his grandmother from Montecito, he was always put through to Her Majesty immediately.

The truth is that when her grandson told her he was marrying Meghan Markle, she was truly delighted by the prospect. She liked Meghan and told lots of people so. And she did everything she could to make her future granddaughter-in-law feel welcome.

She was concerned for her future happiness. At their first meeting, the Queen said to Meghan: ‘You can carry on being an actress if you like – that’s your profession, after all.’

She would have been totally understanding if Meghan had decided to continue her career. But the former Suits actress was ready for royal duty and, of course, the Queen was delighted by that. She was particularly delighted by the enthusiasm Meghan showed for the Commonwealth and by the commitment she made to do ‘whatever you think we should be doing for the Commonwealth’.

Indeed, Meghan promised that when it came to the Commonwealth, she wouldn’t let Her Majesty down.

The Queen (who, of course, had seen it all before) understood that Harry’s girl might find adjusting to royal life ‘challenging to begin with’ (as she put it). ‘It is very jolty, but you soon get used to it’ – that was Her Majesty’s experience going back many years.

To help Meghan, the Queen suggested that her daughter-in-law, Sophie Wessex, would be an ideal mentor. ‘Sophie can help show you the ropes,’ said the Queen.

Meghan made it clear that she did not feel she needed Sophie’s help. She had Harry. The Queen was a little concerned at that, and concerned, too, when word reached her that Meghan was reportedly occasionally a bit ‘high-handed’ with staff. The Queen put it down to pre-wedding nerves.

Harry and Meghan’s wedding in 2018 was warmly welcomed by all and sundry. No great play was made of it, but it was generally reckoned ‘a good thing’ having a mixed-race person joining the Royal Family.

Harry’s father expressed his genuine delight; Harry expressed his dewy-eyed devotion; Meghan announced she would retire from acting and become a British citizen (this may not happen, since you need to be resident in the United Kingdom for three consecutive years before you can apply for citizenship as a spouse).

Less than a month after the wedding, the Queen took Meghan on her first solo outing – to my old constituency, the City of Chester. The date marked the first anniversary of the Grenfell Tower tragedy and the Queen wore a green outfit in memory of the victims of the fire.

Meghan (in cream-coloured Givenchy) looked beautiful – and did her bit, effortlessly and well, to the manner born. She kept a step behind the Queen without fail, she smiled, she chatted, she coped with her hair in the blustery weather and she admitted she had never been to the North of England before but was ‘loving it already’.

‘Top marks,’ said the Queen, who had chosen this particular day for her new granddaughter-in-law’s induction to royal duty, in part because it was ‘a fairly typical day’, but mainly because the programme included a visit to a theatre – ‘and she is an actress after all’.

The courtiers accompanying the royal party that day included Samantha Cohen, former assistant private secretary to the Queen, who had been persuaded to stay on in royal service to help Meghan as she began her new life as a member of the Family Firm.

Unhappily, as we know, it did not work out. During their short time as working members of the Royal Family, quite a number of staff left the Sussexes’ service, including Cohen and another private secretary, two personal assistants and two nannies. Cohen, after she had left, reportedly said it had been like ‘working for a couple of teenagers’. Others called Meghan ‘an outrageous bully’ and ‘a narcissistic sociopath’. Meghan’s solicitor denied the allegations, saying they were part of a ‘calculated smear campaign’.

The only concern the Queen let slip in the early days of the Sussexes’ marriage was to wonder to a friend if Harry wasn’t ‘perhaps a little over-in-love’. This was as far as she came – to my knowledge at least – to ever uttering a word against the new Duchess of Sussex.

On June 4, 2021, at the Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital in California, Meghan, the Duchess of Sussex, gave birth to her second child and first daughter and she and her husband, Harry, Duke of Sussex, decided to call their newborn Lilibet Diana – in honour of the Queen, Harry’s grandmother, and his mother, Diana, Princess of Wales.

Lilibet had been King George V’s pet name for his favourite grandchild, based on the way Princess Elizabeth pronounced her name when she first began to talk. It was a very personal nickname: only a tiny handful of people outside the Queen’s immediate family called her Lilibet throughout her life.

According to the Sussexes, Harry sought his grandmother’s permission to use her family nickname as the Christian name for her 11th great-grandchild. The Queen’s recollection was a little different.

According to the Queen, Harry told her the Sussexes wanted to call the baby ‘Lilibet’ in her honour and she accepted their choice with good grace, taking it as the compliment it was intended to be.

Others in the family found the choice ‘bewildering’ and ‘rather presumptuous’, given that ‘Lilibet’ as a name had always been intimately and exclusively the Queen’s.

Later, the Queen said: ‘I hear they’re calling her “Lili”, which is very pretty and seems just right.’

Now that the Queen is dead, Lili Mountbatten-Windsor is seventh in the line of succession to the British throne – one behind her brother, Archie, and one ahead of her great-uncle, Prince Andrew.

As a male-line great-grandchild of a monarch, she was not a princess during Elizabeth II’s lifetime, but, technically, under a letters patent issued by George V in 1917, she could be entitled to become a princess now that her grandfather Charles is King.

This is not a likely prospect, however, given that Lili is being brought up in America and the Sussexes have withdrawn from official royal life in the United Kingdom.

The Queen took firm action in January 2020 when Harry and Meghan announced their desire to ‘step back’ from their lives as ‘senior royals’.

They planned to divide their time between the United Kingdom and North America; they wanted financial independence; they hoped to be able to continue to serve Queen and Commonwealth, but on their own terms. It was a naive hope and not to be. The Queen convened a family meeting at Sandringham – attended by Charles, William and Harry – and a way forward was agreed.

Harry and Meghan could do as they pleased, but they could not represent the Queen while doing so. Their HRH titles would be put in abeyance and Harry, to his dismay, was required to give up his royal patronages and military appointments. Harry was distressed, as he put it, ‘that it should come to this’. So was his grandmother.

In a personal statement, she made it clear that Harry and Meghan would always be close members of her family, and she went out of her way to praise her American granddaughter-in-law. But she was equally clear that she wasn’t going to have a couple of freelance royals roaming the world doing their own thing in any sense in her name.

The Duke of Edinburgh was not pleased: he did not believe Harry and Meghan were doing the right thing, either for the country or for themselves. ‘It’s a big mistake to think about yourself,’ he told me, more than once. ‘No one is interested in you in the long run. Don’t court popularity. It doesn’t last. Remember that the attention comes because of the position you are privileged to hold, not because of who you are. If you think it’s all about you, you’ll never be happy.’

Although Prince Philip regretted Harry’s decision, he did not get involved in its aftermath. On the day the Queen held her Sandringham ‘summit’, he made himself scarce, deliberately leaving the main house at Sandringham and retreating to Wood Farm.

‘I’ll soon be out of it,’ he said, ‘and not before time.’

George Harewood, the grandson of Queen Mary and King George V, remembered a family where emotional inhibition was the order of the day. ‘We did not talk of love and affection and what we meant to each other,’ he said, ‘but rather of duty and behaviour and what we ought to do.’

That was the Windsor way – and the world Elizabeth II was born into, a million miles from the world of Meghan Markle who, famously, said of her relationship with Prince Harry ‘we’ve just focused on who we are as a couple’, and ‘this is for us. It’s part of what makes it so special, that it’s just ours.’

There was a streak of hysteria in Diana, Princess of Wales: you sensed it even with a brief acquaintance. Some see a streak of narcissism in Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. The Queen was not like that.

The Queen was as sane and sensible as they come. She kept her feet on the ground. (Actually, spending time with her, I noticed she stood for long periods, feet slightly apart, moving her weight regularly from one foot to the other.)

She was rarely flustered: however hectic the schedule, however many stops on the tour, her own steady pace did not vary. ‘Steady as she goes’ was her way – but it wasn’t all plain sailing. Now and again, she did hit choppy waters.

But if you asked her ‘how are you?’, she would invariably reply: ‘Very well, thank you.’ She would never say, as Meghan famously did: ‘Thank you for asking, because not many people have asked if I’m OK.’

Unlike Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother, she did not avoid unpleasantness by putting her head in the sand but nor was she an interfering busybody.

Time heals so much and ‘least said soonest mended’ is a policy that often pays dividends. The Queen believed in prayer and patience and hoping for the best.

Sometimes she admitted to being tired at the end of a long day, but Elizabeth II never complained – ever – of doing her royal duty.

‘I can’t believe I’m not getting paid for this,’ Meghan is reported to have said, in an aside, while meeting Australians on her first royal tour. That was not something the Queen would ever have said – or thought.

Nor, according to the Duke of Edinburgh, did she ever cry. Some thought they detected tears when the Royal Yacht, launched by the Queen in 1953, was taken out of service in 1997. ‘It was the middle of December,’ snorted Prince Philip. ‘It was bloody cold. We all had tears in our eyes.’

Crying in public is not the Windsor way. The only person seen to conspicuously shed a tear on the day of the Queen’s funeral was Meghan.

To the Queen, the parallels between Harry’s marriage to Meghan and that of her uncle David, the name she used for Edward VIII, to Wallis Simpson, would have been obvious.

The Prince of Wales (who became Edward VIII) and the Duke of York (who became George VI) were brothers, born only a year or so apart in the mid-1890s, and very close when they were young. The present Prince of Wales (William) and the Duke of Sussex (Harry), are brothers, too, born only a year or two apart in the early 1980s, and they, also, were very close when they were young.

With each set of brothers, the arrival of a 35-year-old American divorcee changed the dynamic of their relationship and ruined everything. And, like the Duke of Windsor, Harry opted for a life in exile. In 1956, the Duchess of Windsor published her own book – The Heart Has Its Reasons – just as surely as Meghan will one day publish hers, possibly with a not dissimilar title.

That same year, the Windsors even gave a no-holds-barred television interview to the Oprah Winfrey of the day, Edward R. Murrow, appearing on the legendary broadcaster’s Person To Person chat show.

Four years earlier, the Duke had returned to England for the funeral of the late King, his younger brother, and reported to his wife that, superficially, he was handled impeccably by courtiers and relations alike – ‘but gee,’ he added, ‘the crust is hard & only granite below.’

Is that how Meghan feels? We may know one day when she ‘speaks her truth’ in full.

The Duke of Windsor returned to England again in 1953 to attend his mother, Queen Mary’s funeral, but was not invited to the family dinner at Windsor Castle that followed. He wrote to his wife: ‘What a smug, stinking lot my relations are and you’ve never seen such a seedy worn-out bunch of old hags most of them have become.’

Whether Harry, when talking privately to Meghan, has ever been as vitriolic about his family as the Queen’s Uncle David was when writing privately to Wallis, we shall never know. Or perhaps we shall.

Seventy years on, Harry chose not to attend the Duke of Edinburgh’s memorial service at Westminster Abbey. And when he and Meghan came over from California for the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee celebrations in June, they were welcomed at some, but by no means all, the family gatherings.

‘Family rifts are always sad,’ the Queen once said to her cousin Margaret Rhodes.

In later life, the Queen came to regret not having been closer to her uncle David. Had she lived on for a few more years, she would almost certainly have continued to provide loving support to Harry and his wife.

Would that have made a difference? Shortly before Elizabeth II’s death, Meghan let slip in an interview that she was not obliged to sign an NDA (non-disclosure agreement) when she and Harry stepped down from their royal duties in 2020.

She also revealed that when she returned to their home at Frogmore Cottage in Windsor for the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee celebrations, she’d found a journal that she had kept during her days as an active member of the Family Firm.

This sorry Sussex saga will run and run, just as the earlier sorry saga of the Duke and Duchess of Windsor did from the time of the Abdication in 1936 until their dying days.

When we get to the Coronation of Charles III, the issue of ‘Harry and Meghan’ – where they are seated, what uniform (if any) he will be allowed to wear, what her body language is telling us, etc, etc – will be unavoidable.

And, from the new King’s point of view, deeply regrettable.

In 2022, when she heard that Harry and Meghan would not be attending the memorial service for the Duke of Edinburgh, the Queen reportedly said: ‘Thank goodness.’

What did she mean? Thank goodness they’re not coming? Or thank goodness, because they’re not coming the press coverage won’t be all about them? I suspect the latter, but I don’t know. I do know that in 2020, when she read that Pope Francis had used his Sunday morning homily to urge the faithful to steer clear of gossip, calling it ‘the devil’s work and more deadly than the coronavirus’, she heartily agreed.

Tentatively, I once raised all this with the Duke of Edinburgh. I suggested to him that he and the Queen were both ‘emotionally self-sufficient’. He agreed, but added: ‘Being emotionally self-sufficient does not make one unfeeling.’

The Queen was delighted when Zara and Mike Tindall named their middle child Lena Elizabeth. She was, however, confused when told the name is pronounced ‘Lay-na’.

‘It is short for Elena,’ explained Zara.

‘What’s wrong with Elena?’ asked the Queen, ‘Elena’s a lovely name.’

‘Her initials would then have been E.T.,’ said Zara.

‘I’m afraid you’ve lost me there,’ said the Queen.

#i missed part 1 yesterday #will post it right after this one #elizabeth: an intimate portrait #gyles brandreth #queen elizabeth ii #biography

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witchhatproductions · 1 year

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Witch Hat News #1: Weird Stories from Space

This is an archived version of our microfiction newsletter! You can read along on our tumblr, or subscribe here.

Hi there! Do you remember signing up to some newsletter from someone you kinda know on twitter? That's me. I'm the newsletter, and I'm here to letter you some news.

For real, though, I have a lot to say about this newsletter. If you know me (I'm Samantha Calthrop, by the way, not a sentient email, hi) then you probably know that I make comics and TTRPGs, which are met with critical acclaim by my extensive audience of almost nobody. I spent my teens in fandom spaces and my early twenties making standalone games.

In other words, I make things, and I put them online, and not a lot of people see them. C'est la vie.

In recent years, I've been drifting increasingly away from social media, and towards real-world creative spaces. I'm fortunate enough to have several social outlets for my art. Between my local comics group, my university, and my small group of mutuals in Irish journo twitter, I feel accomplished enough to be proud regardless of how many Instagram followers I have. (It's 151, much like the original Pokédex.)

That's the problem with the Internet. Even in the coolest and most supportive rings of Twitter and Tumblr there is nothing to achieve but online fame, which has been famously awful for everyone who has ever obtained it. (I imagine social media to be divided into rings, much like the rings of hell in Dante's Inferno.) There are very few spaces online that feel personal and contained, because by nature the internet is large and completely impersonal.

The consequence is that being an up-and-coming creator is like shouting into the void, except the void has a handful of your confused friends and relations in it, some of whom are giving you the thumbs up.

I was thinking about the lack of digital spaces for exploring any kind of fiction that isn't short stories or published novels, and how many cool things have been made by people I know, which nobody ever sees. I thought, man, I wish somebody would start a newsletter about it or something. Then I realised that I was somebody, and I already had a creative label which I'd been using to publish things already. Then I turned to Luke Sophia and said, "Hey, we're starting a newsletter", and wrote this before I could be stopped.

So I guess this newsletter seeks to fill that missing niche; a small, personal space that celebrates obscure creative projects. We're starting out primarily with creators that we know already - friends, past collaborators, and things we're already fans of. That means right now, it's mainly webcomics, podcasts, TTRPGS, and other types of online storytelling.

To that end, here's your bimonthly dose of local talent. By coincidence, all these stories are set in space, and all of them have a wonderfully weird take on the sci-fi genre. Check it out:

Neokosmos is about the horror of being raised by people you don't understand. This series of illustrated sci-fi stories follow the last living humans, who are being raised in captivity many years after the destruction of the Earth. Neokosmos is a deeply beautiful, deeply weird, and deeply visceral story about love, cruelty, and family between completely different alien species. The first book made me realise I like speculative sci-fi. The second book made me sit on my bed, put my head in my hands, and think about how I spent my early twenties. I can't recommend it enough. Neokosmos is in open beta right now, and is available to read for free online.

Chain of Being is a delightfully strange eldritch-horror-ish audio drama by Cai Gwilym Pritchard. It's set in a mystic sci-fi universe with deep folkloric roots, and it's both written and performed unlike any other podcast I've come across. I recommend listening with headphones just for the editing. Chain of Being is also casting voice actors for Season 2 right now - more info here. They're paid roles, and actors with non-standard podcast accents are encouraged to apply.

Fetch Quest by @toonlynnk is a silly fantasy adventure in a spaceship universe. Unambitious Hugh the human is happy to settle for an NPC career and a lifetime of mediocrity, but is instead dragged into the life of an adventurer-for-hire. A webcomic set in a video game universe, and is promising to be the kind of PG comedy adventure that ends up wrenching your guts out, in the style of Owl House and Amphibia.

Your project here. Do you make art of any kind - visual, written, performed? Are you starting a project or recruiting co-creators? We want to hear from you! Email us at [email protected]. A proper submission procedure will be created if needed, but for now, it's open season - show us anything. Fire away.

That's it for now. All going well, I'll see you in a few weeks!

#newsletter #witch hat news #microfiction

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my-brothers-corrupted · 3 months

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My Brothers, Corrupted

Book Five: Section Two

As they arrive in Ireland, the brothers try to find a place to settle and handle some crises as best they can. Masterlist

Tws for rejection-sensitive dysphoria, discussion of past abuse, arguing and shouting between brothers, and stress over money/poverty. Tws may not be completely exhaustive - keep in mind the heaviness of the fic and look out for yourself.

Thank you to @lehhoh7822 for taking the time to compile this book!

Anonymous asked: Hey guys, not to be a downer on your plans, but didn't Anti burn down the house inside the mirror portal? I swear I remember him bragging about that.

“He did,” signs Dapper quietly, even as Blue looks up at you and shrugs.

“We need that safe space, that’s the important part. If we have to rebuild we can. Or just get a fucking tent, ha. Go camping permanently. Do you - do you remember the mirror dimension I made, Dap?”

Dapper looks up at him, nodding. “Sometimes. It was nice there. I showed the cameras once. There are trees all around and the house in the middle.”

“But Anti burned it?”

“I remember him setting it alight. I don’t know what happened after that.”

Blue sets his chin in his hand, his mouth twisted up as he thinks. He gazes out the window as the flight attendant gives a speech about what to do if everything crashes and burns.

aether-mae asked: Is noodles okay? Don’t put him in a suitcase or anything, poor baby

“Here’s my sweet boy,” says Chase, lifting up a cat carrier inside which a very restless golden cat is scraping at the bars. “I’ll get you your harness once we dig it out, baby, yes I will.”

Jackie is burrowing in a blue gym bag, tossing things out as he looks for the harness. He’s just handed you to Henrik, who picks at a sticker on the side without speaking.

“Camera’s up and running,” sighs Jackie, pushing at his hair. “Let’s just find Blue and Dap and get somewhere to stay for the night. Hi, by the way. Fuck, that flight. Glad we’re here. Yeah, Chaser?”

Chase raises his eyebrows at you. Being stuck between a dead silent twin and a very bored, nervous Jackie for twelve hours was not his idea of a good time.

“Yep.”

“Here, snacks.”

He hands Chase a pack of peanut butter crackers and they tear it open like raccoons, their stomachs growling, and split the crackers between them.

Anonymous asked: Hey maybe jacks old cabin is vacant?

“What’s that?” asks Chase through a mouthful of crackers.

“I’d love to have a cabin to stay in right about now,” says Jackie. “But anything that doesn’t have warding against other magicians finding us isn’t safe. We really need to find that house we used to stay in again. But in the meantime, I mean. I guess we just lay low and hope that Blue and Dapper can hide their power. And that the Irish magicians are less aggressive than the British ones.”

nikkilbook asked: Random nature fact, but it turns out that Lapwing-the-literal-actual-bird things tend to chill in a lot of the wetlands, and that there’s an estuary where loads of the native duders live—as opposed to the summer and winter visitors from the continent—called Shannon Calloway where there can be tens of thousands of the little guys.

It happens to be in County Offaly.

Don’t know to what degree magicians mimic their birds, but if we’re avoiding Lapwings right now, maybe don’t go to Jack’s old cabin just yet.

Jackie giggles, handing Chase the harness and shoving a book out of the bag. “I hope they can all turn into little fat birds and fly around. I wish Blue could do that. His only fault, hahaha. Well, maybe we can see some real lapwings while we’re here.”

Henrik sets you beside him, bending down to pick up the book that has spilled out of the bag. It’s the little golden novel they bought in a shop in Norway - Thornton Wilder’s the Bridge of San Luis Rey. He strokes the cover, turning his eyes towards the trees.

“Want to see some birds?” Jackie asks him fondly, reaching out to tug playfully on his hair. After hours trapped on a plane, he’s about vibrating with energy. “You still like to go for walks, huh, Dok? We can go for walks now.”

He tugs on Henrik’s hair and clothes and hands, chattering incessantly. Chase’s gaze darkens the longer it goes on.

“Jackie, give him a break.”

“We can go all over if you want, Dok-Dok.” Jackie ruffles up his hair, laughing and knocking their heads together, and Henrik just sits there, blinking. “Whatever you want, bud.”

“Stop touching him like that, Jackie, cut it out,” snipes Chase, eyes flashing. “He’s not a toy just because he doesn’t talk anymore.”

Jackie draws back, startled. He turns away. They fall into silence. The birds are chirping.

nikkilbook asked: Hey, guys? Can we have a quick conversation?

Jackie, can you explain, as best you can, why you decided to physically engage with Schneep?

Chase, can you explain why you felt his behavior was objectionable?

Even though the two of you are brothers, and even though you both have so much love to give, you speak different languages most of the time. I suggest we set up some kind of quick-and-dirty translation guide for the both of you, before anything blows up.

“You don’t just have to - grab at him like that,” grumbles Chase, clutching Noodle to his chest. “Are we just going to pretend he’s normal forever? Just our weird silent brother now? Is that what we’re - oh, fuck, Jackie, don’t - fuck.”

He’s turned away from him and crying, his hood tugged low over his eyes. Chase groans and sinks down on the bench, rubbing his face. “You’re kidding, you’re kidding.”

Now he just feels bad.

nikkilbook asked: (So who’s going to give the camera little robot arms so I can start handing out hugs? I feel like this is a long-overdue modification.)

Jackie, what are you feeling right now? Try and doodle it on something if you can’t find the words. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s okay, but I think it might need to exist outside of the echo chamber that is your head.

You too, Chase. What thoughts and emotions triggered your statement? What’s the connection between physically touching Schneep and pretending like this is normal? And why is that something bad? Neither of you are mind readers.

“He’s my twin, okay?” says Chase. “Not yours. He’s my job. And he’s hurt right now! He can’t tell you if he wants you to touch him or not while he’s like this. Probably he doesn’t! So I just wanted you to keep your hands off, okay? Cause he’s not himself and I don’t know why we’re all just pretending he is.”

He looks up at Henrik, aching for a second for anything familiar to register through his brother’s eyes.

Henrik is buried in that book, his fingers sliding over the pages, his eyes taking nothing in. Esteban, reads the chapter title, and Chase feels something burn in his eyes. He takes the book from him and slams it shut, shoving it into the suitcase.

“I’m here, Dok,” he mumbles, touching his brother’s hands. “I’m not going to let anybody hurt you again.”

Jackie cringes, pulling at his hoodie strings. He’s exhausted and overwhelmed and the airplane was loud and hot and crowded and his ears popped. Now he’s being a bad brother again. Too touchy, too stupid, too mean. Chase still thinks he’s going to hurt them again. He probably will. He’s just rage and anxiety and dumb decisions.

“Jackie, I’m sorry, I just overreacted and snapped a little. I’m not actually mad. You don’t gotta cry, man.”

He’s bad. He can feel it down to his chest, so intense it stings. He needs to throw up. He chews on the strings of his hoodie, clenching his fists in and out. In and out. In and out. He should have stayed with Blue and let the others go together so only his twin would have to see him like this - the wreck he really is.

crystalninjaphoenix asked: No harm was meant here. Chase is protective and just lashed out. Jackie didn't understand that contact would lead to a reaction. You're both on edge. Just remember no harm was meant.

“I’m sorry,” mumbles Chase. “But don’t freak out, okay? I just lashed out, they’re right.”

Jackie nods frantically, hiding beneath his hood. He wants to not be upset. He knows he’s overreacting and it doesn’t help for a second.

Chase sighs. “Want Noodle?” he offers weakly.

Jackie pauses, sniffing. After a second he nods. Chase hands the cat over and lets his brother hide his face and bury his fingers there in the golden fur of the kitten.

“I’ll guard,” he sighs, and you see him straighten and compose himself, finding a comfortable position and settling down to watch for danger so Jackie can rest. This is what he was meant to do.

nikkilbook asked: Jackie, listen to me for a second. Focus on the little words on my little camera face.

Your brain is trying to protect you from something. It has noticed something and has decided that it’s a threat. It’s trying to help. What is it trying to warn you about? What’s the threat? What is going to happen to you?

Now, what evidence can you find—actual things you can observe or remember observing—that confirm that? What evidence can you find that contradicts it?

Your brain is trying to help you, Jackie. It’s just been through a lot and the wires are kind of messy now. The red alert button is the only thing it can find sometimes. You and me, we have to spend a bit of time trying to unravel the messages. What is your brain trying to tell you right now?

“That I’m a bad brother,” cries Jackie. “And when I’m bad I - ”

His own thought process stops him short suddenly. He bites his lip and stays buried low against Noodle, who just purrs enthusiastically.

“You’re not… a bad brother. I just got mad,” sighs Chase, picking unhappily at a peanut butter cracker. “Jackie, you’re like the toughest guy I know, but sometimes when we say little tiny things, you take them really really hard and think about them forever. The - the evidence, if that’s what you need, is that I told you I forgave you for what happened between all of us weeks ago, and I like you a lot, and I know you’re trying to take care of us. Look, you got me crackers and you’ve been looking out for us this whole time.”

Jackie sighs and sets his face to the side, calming down a little.

“All I said was that I didn’t want you touching him too much, and that was a little harsh, and there was nothing about you being a bad brother in there.”

“I make everyone angry,” mumbles Jackie. “Like that guy on the plane who yelled at me for kicking his seat.”

“Whatever, Jackie, he was a dick,” says Chase, scowling now. “He was probably just grouchy from being stuck on a plane like we were.”

“That’s all? You were just grouchy?”

“Just grouchy and worried about Henrik.”

Jackie scratches at his beard, nodding slowly. That does make more sense than Chase secretly hating him. But the truth is that the logic won’t do much to stop the self-hatred from burning into him later, cause Chaser is right - he takes everything too hard. It’s not something he can help.

“Sorry I’m a baby.”

“You’re not a baby,” laughs Chase, and it actually perks Jackie up a little just to hear him say it. “Dude, you just get a little freaked when you think someone’s mad at you. And, um. I get it, you know? Cause I know… I know what would happen when Anti would get mad at you. ”

Ah. There it is. Jackie and Chase go quiet again, kicking their feet against the pavement.

“Maybe we can talk about something else,” suggests Jackie.

“Sure,” agrees Chase wearily. “Yeah, sure.”

nikkilbook asked: I remember him bragging too, but I don’t trust that he was telling the truth anymore. He struggled so much to keep Marv’s magic at bay that I wonder how much he could do to a place like that. He bragged that he killed your cats, and I believe Max saw their bodies, but I don’t think I trust that either, because they weren’t ordinary flesh-and-blood cats. He used Athanasius’ name as a code word for Dap at one point, though I don’t know what that means. Basically, I don’t trust a word of what he said about anything, because he was a liar, even if he used statements that were factually correct. Anti always lied.

“He did lie a lot,” mumbles Jackie.

“Thought we weren’t talking about this?”

“But do you get that too?” asks Jackie, almost desperate as he whirls on him. “Do you get scared that you’re going to get hurt whenever someone raises their voice or snaps at you? Whenever someone moves too fast somewhere in your vicinity or you smell oil? Do you get that too?”

Chase stares at him for a second, mouth pursed with uncharacteristic reluctance. He turns away again, quietly clearing a leaf off Henrik’s shoulder. “Anti didn’t really hurt me like that, Jackie.”

“What?”

Chase shrugs, too interested in Henrik’s torn white coat.

“Sure he did. He screamed at you and kicked you around and smacked you. I saw him, lots of times.”

Something flickers through Chase’s eyes, faint and timid. He shakes his head a little, mouth taut.

Jackie turns away again, frowning. Dok always used to tell them that they shouldn’t challenge Dapper too much on his delusions if they were helping him cope. Maybe this is the same. Maybe he just needs to let Chase cope a little, and come back to it when he’s seeing a therapist or something.

“I get scared when I hear the rest of you calling out,” says Chase after a long moment, and Jackie turns back to him, wide-eyed. “You… nightmare in your sleep, Jackie, did you know that? You shout. And then I can’t move. Even if I want to wake you up. I just lie really still and hold my pocketknife and hide under the covers with Dok. Cause… that’s what I’ve always done. And I’m sorry for that.”

Jackie stares at him, head turned.

“I’m sorry that you had to be everybody’s protector and I just hid and stared out the window all those years.”

“Not your fault,” murmurs Jackie, as if on instinct. “Being able to protect any of you, even just for one night - that’s the only thing that ever kept me functioning, Trick.”

“Chase,” he reminds him gently.

Jackie blinks, nodding. “Right, sorry. Sorry. Chase.”

Chase brushes his shoulder gently and sighs out.

“Okay. Topic change again. That’s all I got in me for now.”

nikkilbook asked: For later, when you have the space in your brain and heart to think about this, this is what I gathered from what you said:

Threat: people are mad at you because you are a bad brother/person, and that means that you are about to be physically hurt or attacked.

Evidence for: when Anti lost his temper with you, he told you that you were being a bad brother, and then he punished you for it. When Trick was angry at you or scared of something you had done, he lashed out verbally and reinforced the idea that you were a bad brother.

Evidence against: Chase has forgiven you for what you did while you were trying to be Red, and has said that he does not believe you are a bad brother and that he knew some of your aggressive actions were actually to protect him and the others from Anti. Your actual brothers have never physically harmed you for being “bad,” unless Anti’s shenanigans were involved. Since you defeated Anti, no one has physically harmed you or “punished” you, unless they were douchecanoe xenophobic Robins in another timeline.

Conclusion: Anti punished you when you were bad by his standards. Anti is dead, and your brothers do not share his standards. Their anger does not result in physical harm or punishment. Nothing you have done has been out of malicious intent, regardless of whether or not it ended up backfiring in some way.

You’re a good person, Jackie, and a good brother. If you’re up to it, maybe talk to the others and find out what their boundaries are, so you know what their definition of a good brother is. It’s nice to know what the rules of engagement are, at least until you feel more confident in your new dynamic.

“Douchecanoe,” Jackie laughs, and you see Chase relax again at the sound of it, because when Jackie’s okay, everbody’s okay, and that’s been the way things have gone for a long time. “Huh, yeah… all written out like that, yeah…”

He pauses, picking at his beard. “Nobody’s… hurt me at all since he died.”

Chase gazes down at the ground, eyes dark. They look at each other a moment later and both try to smile.

Henrik glances between the two of them, patient in his silence. He’s picked his book up again at some point, and it’s open to the same chapter: Esteban.

“He’ll come back to himself when he’s ready,” adds Jackie after a moment.

Chase pushes a strand of hair from Henrik’s face. “I hope you’re right,” he says.

“What’s that book about, anyways?”

Chase shakes his head. “It’s sad. I don’t know. It’s about some people dying. It’s short and he memorized it the first time he read it through, but he still always kept it.”

“It’s about people dying?”

“Yeah… about some people who all fall on a bridge. And this monk tries to figure out why, but then it’s more complex than he thought. Cause even the good people had secrets and the bad people loved other people. And at the end… it’s just about death, I guess, and how you love people as long and as hard as you can even though you’re going to lose them some day.”

“Who’s Esteban?”

Chase stares down at the chapter. “Just… one of the people who dies. That’s all.”

Henrik’s fingers are resting against the word.

“I got to use the bathroom. I’ll run inside with him if you’ll watch Noodle. Be right back.”

“Hey, wait, just leave him with me,” laughs Jackie, touching Henrik’s shoulder - gently now, though, not plucking or teasing. “He’s fine for just a minute.”

Chase pauses, staring down at his twin, but after a terse smile, he goes inside. He knows Jackie won’t hurt him.

“Want me to read?” asks Jackie gently.

Henrik looks at him. He’s got those big starry eyes like Dapper has these days. Jackie tugs fondly at a strand of his ear and then leans over the book, and begins to read, slow and jilted. He isn’t much of a reader - always found the focusing and the spelling to be both impossible and humiliating, and literary devices escape him for the most part - but he’d read for hours if Henrik asked him to.

Or even if those big star eyes seemed to soften just a little as he spoke.

“On Friday noon, July the twentieth, 1714, the finest bridge in all Peru broke and precipitated five travelers into the gulf below…”

“Dammit, Rojo, you promised me we would stay out of illegal shit. Promised me! If we get caught - ”

“We won’t get caught!”

“You are so wanted they’d ship us off to America or Italy or Peru before they could even figure out which one of us is which.”

“We don’t have the cash to stay anywhere else, Blue!”

The five of them found each other at the library two days ago and, exhausted from traveling, ended up crashing in an abandoned bus halfway across town. Jackie’s grateful it’s summer, but sitting cramped against chewed-up cushions and spending the whole night listening to the others try to convince Dapper that the bus was not, in fact, driving them towards Purgatory or about to fall in on itself was not particularly restful.

Then again, breaking into this house just because a couple neighbors told him that the Humphreys are out of town for a month or two isn’t exactly safe either if they get caught.

“Honey, focus, please.” Blue plucks wearily at the dog tags on his brother’s hoodie, his eyes hollow with fatigue. “Let’s just go back to the bus. That’s not breaking and entering.”

“Dapper needs somewhere safe and quiet, Blue. Hell, you’re the one who was worried he was going to attack the lady on the plane just for handing him a Coke. We all need somewhere stable. We need real rest.”

Chase and Henrik watch in silence as their siblings argue, Noodle chasing a bug around the garden nearby. Dapper is lying across Chase’s lap, eyes closed.

“We could spring for a hotel just for a couple nights,” suggests Blue. “Just until we can make some cash or find another place.”

“How are we going to make any money, huh?”

“We’ll figure something out, Jackie.”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s not fight,” sighs Blue, touching his shoulder. “We’re on the same team. Let’s just ask the cameras.”

“Okay. Sure, yeah.”

Anonymous asked: Did we miss the flight? Well I guess it would be hard to keep cameras with you on an airplane. Where are you boys now?

“I don’t even remember what fucking city,” sighs Blue, rubbing at his head. “Yeah, we’ve been here a day or two.”

“We’re in Waterford,” says Jackie, moving towards the house despite their ongoing disagreement and beginning to inspect the locks. “Suburban neighborhood with a little space in between the houses. We can hide out here just fine. No sight of any magicians yet, thank God.”

“It’s not good if we can’t find anyone to help us get to the mirror dimension.”

“We can figure it out on our own.”

nikkilbook asked: Jackie, I just did some research—when you get to Ireland, try and make it to Malin Head on the Inishowen Peninsula, at the northern tip. (Hopefully there won’t be any UK Robins there, I don’t know how much magicians pay attention to colonial boundaries). Apparently that is the best place in Ireland to see the Northern Lights, and if I’ve got my realities straight, the aurora brings magic to the surface. Marvin may have gone to see it regularly before.

“When I was young, it felt so out of control. But I would come up here where the aurora summons all magic to the surface, and suddenly I could feel how it was a part of me… how it belonged to me.”

If that fails, try going to the University College Dublin, to the National Folklore Collection. You might be able to find naturally magical places that way. Look for fairy forts, raths, sidhe mounds, fairy roads, etc. I know Marvin’s magic isn’t exactly the same as the folkloric magic, but it might be worth a shot. Maybe look for ones near Offaly, where Jack grew up.

“See, maybe that could be something,” says Jackie, pointing back at the camera. “A library that might have info for us instead of talking to any asshole magicians. We could maybe take a trip up North sometimes. Although, right now we just need to get a little settled.”

crystalninjaphoenix asked: I say its too risky to try and break into a house. For now, at least. We don't want any run-ins with police or magicians

“Thank you,” sighs Blue. “Boys, let’s go back to the bus or find a hotel. I think there are even shelters in the area, if - ”

“You know how I feel about shelters,” snaps Jackie. “Too many eyes on you. I don’t care how sweet the nuns are. Someone will notice how off we are and then Schneep’s in the psych ward or people are asking too many questions - just no.”

“Okay, geez, I get it. Let’s just keep it in mind.”

“Blue, I said no,” says Jackie, louder now.

Blue stares at him for a second, eyes hard. After a second he scoffs and turns away. “C'mon. Let’s go.”

“No,” says Jackie. “No.”

Chase glances up at them, exchanging a look with Dapper a moment later.

nikkilbook asked: Jackie, you doing okay? You’re repeating yourself, and getting a bit monosyllabic. I can see you’re looking out for your brothers’ wellbeing, and I’m really proud of you for that. Are there any other options we can talk through before actually breaking and entering, just to make sure you’ve covered all possible bases? If this is the only option then it’s the only option, and we’ll go for it. But we’ve still got some spaghetti in the pot that we haven’t thrown at the wall yet, we can take a second to see what what else might stick.

Blue lets out a deep breath, centering himself before he moves back towards Jackie and lays a hand on his shoulder, rubbing circles into his sleeve. “I know you haven’t been getting much sleep and that you’re under a lot of stress,” he says. “But I’m afraid of what would happen if the cops found us and we could get a hotel or go back to the bus, okay? What makes you not want to do that?”

“Money,” mumbles Jackie. “And the bus is not… good.”

“Good? What do you mean?”

Jackie shakes his head, eyes focused on the lock on the door.

“What’s wrong with the bus, Jackie?”

“I want a house. I’m not… I want you to have… to have a house.”

“There are more important things right now, aren’t there?”

“No.”

“Is everything okay?” asks Chase.

“Yeah, fine, sugar,” sighs Blue. “Just give us a second. Look, the cameras seem to agree with me, and they usually lead us well, yeah?”

“Hmm.”

Anonymous asked: First off, this is great communication, I'm proud of both of you. Second off, Jackie, what is it about specifically a house that is important? Can you tell us that?

Jackie winces, shaking his head. Blue’s just looking at him and so is everybody else, it feels like. He drags his eyes away from his twin’s, rocking on his heels.

Dapper looks back up at the stars, blinking through a wash of memories.

He was Anti’s first in England, and they stayed in a small home in the country where Anti broke so many laws they eventually had to run even from non-magical cops. There was an apartment in Japan and then, gaining Jackie, they moved through Italy and parts of the surrounding world in villas and townhouses and once even a castle that Anti rented just for fun, cackling as he ran his hands over the ancient strength of the walls. A cabin in Norway and an old medical building in Peru, complete with a kitchen and bathrooms and beds. A mansion in California.

On occasion they would stop in a warehouse or spend the night waiting for an airport layover. But Anti always found them somewhere stable to stay soon enough, glitching out information to make it looked like he owned the property, paying for it with stolen money, or just over-throwing cameras to keep them well-hidden. It was a talent of his. Anti always found them somewhere stable to stay.

Jackie looks miserably back at his siblings. Anti was a monster, but he could always get them food and medication and security and a place to stay if he just decided to care. He doesn’t know why he can’t do that. He pushes at the door like it will swing open and welcome him inside.

nikkilbook asked: Jackie, what is it about a house that is so important? What does a house have that a shelter/hotel/bus/tent doesn’t?

“Trying to be… good,” mumbles Jackie. “I don’t want to be a bad big brother anymore. And I hate that bus anyway. Scratchy and loud and there’s bugs and rain. I want - I want something to be ours. Mine. I just…”

He wishes Dapper had never taken him back in time and shown him that perfect little house where his whole family was healthy and happy. Where he had a room all his own and everything was neat and quiet and exactly where he wanted it. He just wants that now, now, now. He’s so tired of waiting when things never get better. He sinks down against the porch of the house, holding his head in his hands.

Blue sits down beside him.

“You told me things would be better after he died,” Jackie whispers.

“This is better!”

Jackie looks up at him, anguished.

And dammit, Blue can’t hold his gaze. He closes his eyes, letting his head thunk back against the door of that house, exhausted.

nikkilbook asked: I’m so, so sorry, Jackie. I’m sorry it isn’t better yet. I’m sorry it’s still so hard. And I’m sorry, but this house won’t be your house either. It doesn’t have your room, it doesn’t have things where you want them, and you’d have to be so careful about not leaving a trace of you and looking over your shoulder and hiding from everything still. It’s a house, but it’s not your house. And I’m sorry for that.

Jackie’s mouth tenses, his head tilted aside. He glances at his siblings just for a second. White bandages and a torn doctor’s coat. Hollow faces and circled eyes. Mussed hair and faded, worn-out shoes.

He thinks he understands why Dapper always used to call them ghosts.

He had hoped revelations like that would stop after they cut their infection out, but the wound that festered is still lying in their flesh, barely even wrapped up, still oozing blood. He wonders if maybe that wound will still kill them.

“Jackie,” says Blue, that firm, warm hand on his shoulder again. “Don’t get too deep in your head. I need you right now, okay? We - ”

Jackie gets up and breaks the lock in one vicious shove of his arm. Blue jerks back, mouth gaping.

“No, it’s not my house,” says Jackie calmly, dropping the broken handle. “But we’ll stay here for a couple days. Come on.”

“Ro!” snaps Blue. “Are you kidding? The cameras and I both said - ”

“I’m the one in charge!” screams Red, whirling on him.

Silence in the garden. Chase and Henrik stare at him with huge eyes. Dapper might be laughing, splayed across Chase’s lap, his chest shaking and a manic grin on his mouth.

“I’m big brother. I make the decisions. Not you. Not the cameras,” says Jackie, taking one cold step towards his twin. “So I want everyone to stop acting like I don’t know what’s right for them. I can be a better brother than Anti, fuck! I’m in control and you’re the caretaker. That’s what you do. So how about, instead of questioning me, you get my brothers inside and take care of them because that’s your damn job.”

Blue’s hands are clenched, his teeth gritted. He seethes even as his eyes water up. Jackie turns away from him, mouth only trembling for a moment.

“What if I don’t?” spits Blue.

“You will,” Jackie answers sharply.

He does not look back as he disappears into the house.

nikkilbook asked: Hey Jaimer, a thought for you: do our cameras have a viewport you could look through? Or ways for you to take a picture and what we see? What are we, like a GoPro or a DSLR or something? I remember we sent you a picture of a shaggy highland cow once, back in Peru.

If there is a way for that to work, the next time you see Anti, point us at him and take a picture. This might not work the way it works with other people’s hallucinations, since Anti’s code is part of why we exist in the first place, but it’s worth a shot.

And Jaimer? Next time he shows up, tell us what he’s doing. Specifically, tell us how he’s interacting with your brothers, if at all. And then tell us how you think he would have interacted in the past, before the forest. I almost wonder if having somewhere to write this down would be helpful. For science, ya know?

“I saw him just now,” answers Dapper dreamily. “Did you see him? He was yelling at my brother.”

Anonymous asked: Family isn't a job. Family isn't a cast list of roles to play and those roles only. Your decisions are your own but they make their own decisions too. Sometimes you need to make decisions together, and most often, you'll need to compromise. But forcing your decisions to override everyone else's in the name of family due to a familial "rank" ... That doesn't sit right, Jackie. What you want, what you need, and what you have might not align right now, but rash decisions and clashing amongst yourselves won't achieve those goals any faster.

“No, this is how things are!” shrieks Jackie, striking the wall with his palm and making Henrik jump. “That’s how it goes, that’s what we do, that’s what it is, don’t - don’t try to change every - just - you don’t get to tell me - ”

“Stop fucking yelling!” screams Blue, charging into the house after him. “You are scaring my little brothers!”

They stare at each other, both panting, stances poised. Jackie sucks in one harsh breath and turns to rush away from him, shoving into the first bedroom he finds and slamming the door shut behind him.

Blue shakes in the doorway, swallowing hard, tears dripping down his face. He turns to look back at the others. All three of them stare at him in silence.

“It’s okay now,” says Blue.

They’re all just blank-faced and quiet, looking at him or picking at the grass. He supposes they’re just used to it by now. Or at least that they know how to keep a low profile and bury their panic until it’s safe to let out.

Fuck, they are fucking all this up.

“Let’s go, guys, come on.”

And they get up and follow him in.

Anonymous asked: Oof. Jackie, I understand you're stressed and overwhelmed and things are bad... but maybe take a second look at that interaction. Not now, maybe, but just... at some point in the future. And just... remember that you're all more than your "roles."

“Yeah, not now,” whispers Blue, helping his brothers pick up their bags. “Not now. That’s why he ran off. Cause he knows he’ll just yell and get angrier, cause he can’t take it right now and he knows himself well enough. He’s just trying to protect us from his own temper. He didn’t mean to yell.”

“I think we have a lot of problems,” says Chase steadfastly.

Blue laughs weakly. “What gave it away?”

“But we don’t really work on them.”

“What?”

“We have to talk about all this at some point,” says Chase.

Blue closes his eyes, sighing. “Amata… Jackie really needs some structure. Once we’re settled - ”

“Yeah, once we’re settled, once we’re medicated, once we’re safe, whatever,” mutters Chase, sliding an arm around Henrik’s shoulders and walking towards the door. “I get it.”

“None of us are stable enough to have big conversations right now, Chase!”

Chase looks back at him, and Blue sees that frustration in him, that exhaustion. Blue reaches out, worried for him, and touches his cheek, letting their eyes meet.

Something odd happens in that moment. Blue isn’t sure what when he looks back. But Chase’s expression changes - his eyes blink and then glaze just a little, and his body relaxes, and his mouth goes soft and quiet.

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right. Just… well, tomorrow’s another day.”

Blue frowns, drawing back from him as he moves towards the house. “Um. Yeah. Right. Tomorrow.”

Dapper’s at his side, looking up at him. “Something the matter?”

“What, on top of everything?” he grouses.

Dapper doesn’t answer, and Blue turns to him in apology, putting his arm around his shoulder in mimicry of the twins. “Come on. Let’s get you some sleep. Doing okay?”

“Fine,” signs Dapper flatly, and his face is as blank as his signs, his body stiff and twitchy. Blue knocks their heads together for a moment, sighing.

“Tomorrow I’ll see about getting you to see a clinician. If our identities are in the health care system we can go right to an urgent care place. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Anonymous asked: Jackie, the difference between you and Anti, while it partially lies in powers, is that you chose to care. Most of the time Anti didn't chose to care for you all. He treated it like love and stability was something you had to "earn". You know that's not true though, I can tell. You want to protect them simply because you love them, and you care very much. You can do this, you're strong and resilient, and you love with all your heart. You can make it through this darkness, Jackieboy Man.

He’s tense in the darkness of an unfamiliar house, and he’s already awake by the time he hears the crying in his doorway.

“Blue… hey, I’m… I’m sorry…”

He rubs at his eyes, turning over to see the silhouette of his twin slinking towards him in the darkness and pausing anxiously at the foot of his bed.

“I know you are, Rose,” he sighs, making room in the bed. “I know. Come on, then.”

Jackie crawls into bed beside him and wraps around him like an octopus, still fully dressed, burying his face in Blue’s shoulder. He cries into his shirt for long minutes, contrite and exhausted, repeating apologies again and again: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I’m sorry I yelled. I’m not good at this. I’m a bad brother.”

“You’re not a bad brother. Just worn out. I know. I know.”

He’s run out of energy for anger. Honestly he isn’t even that concerned for Jackie right now. Too tired to feel much else but this deepset and painful apathy. He stares up at the ceiling and rubs Jackie’s back.

“Are we failing at this, Blue?” whispers Jackie after long minutes, when his crying has trailed off and his breathing is steady. “Weren’t we supposed to save them from all this? Wasn’t that the plan?”

Blue doesn’t know what to say.

“We’ll get through this, Ro,” he answers finally, because you don’t always have to believe in comfort to pass it on. “We’ll get through the darkness.”

They spend the night side by side.

nikkilbook asked: Jaimer... which brother was he yelling at?

There’s a figure curled around a mug on the back porch of the home, blowing carefully on his tea as he waits for it to cool. “Does it matter?” he signs shortly, setting the mug beside him. “He’s always gone again when I come to. Or look through the cameras, like you said…”

He picks up the little camcorder and gazes out at the trees, one eye pressed to the sight. “See? Now all the monsters are invisible. Just talking to me, that’s all they do.”

nikkilbook asked: Hey Jaimer—do you remember in Peru, I think right after Christmas, after Jackie got in trouble, when your meds were still super weird? I remember you playing a game with yourself and talking to Bro Average, and you kept talking to/about your brothers and saying they were ghosts, that Anti had killed them. That’s why you got so upset with Red at the gas station, because you felt like he had killed Jackie, that he was more Anti than Jackie now.

When you see Anti now, what happens to your other brothers? Do they stay and he’s separate from them, or does he take their place? Is it like at the front door just then, where he was yelling at your brother? I believe that you see him. I believe you more and more each time.

I have a thought that I’m still putting together, and I was wondering if you remembered.

Dapper pauses, staring away from you. His blue eyes have morning light in them. He takes a pensive, tired sip of his tea, steeping the bag up and down, up and down, before setting it aside again.

“I don’t usually see him as himself. He doesn’t appear with a bleeding throat or mismatched eyes or the black clothes and gauges. My proud, vain twin. Sometimes he comes to me like that when I’m alone, but usually… no, I don’t see him like that.

I can’t tell where he is, you know? He’s hiding somewhere. Under someone’s skin. He whispers to me all the time so I know he’s close. But where is he hiding? He changes. Somedays he’s wearing Blue or Red or Trick or even Dok, when he’s quiet, and I see his eyes fixate on something cold or very red. But mostly I think he’s in all of us, and if he really wanted to make me hurt someone, he could still do it. I’m not in control. Just voices, and I can’t find JJ under Dapper and Anti and Carver and all the other monsters who have eaten me up over the years. I think JJ did die. I’m not sure if the others did - Jackie and Marvin and Chase and Henrik. Sometimes I see them, but only acting sometimes like themselves, and sometimes it’s Anti pretending, so who’s to say? Everybody’s always talking to me. Sometimes Red is right beside me but Jackie is yelling in my ear, screaming that he’s going to save me, that he’s going to save the both of us, that we’ll go home. But the radio is so loud too…”

Dapper rubs at his forehead for a second, expression vaguely pained. “I’m losing it. I’m losing my mind again. I always do. Crazy Dapper.”

nikkilbook asked: Have you ever heard the poem “The Future”? The poet, Neil, he talks about all the irrational things he’s done because of his mental illness. That particular poem he mentions being bipolar, but in a different poem he mentions schizophrenia. There’s this one particular stanza that has always stuck with me—

They keep telling me seeing things that aren't technically there

is called "disturbed cognitive functioning." I call it

"having a superpower." Once, I pulled over on the 110 freeway

and jumped out of my old Jeep because I saw it burst

into flames twenty seconds before it actually burst

into flames.

I’ve had this theory for the last several months, or maybe since I first heard that poem years ago. I’ve heard that part of schizophrenia is that sensory information goes in, something scrambles, and a completely different message makes it to the “this is what’s what” part of the brain. And I’ve wondered, what if the message that comes out the other side is still trying to tell you something about your environment that is rooted in reality? Like, if my sensory receptors smell smoke or oil or hear something or see something, and my brain can’t figure out how to translate that into Swahili so it just starts pantomiming and trying to get the point across by coming up with a visual hallucination.

And I don’t want to be the reason you completely clock out from reality. It’s like I told Jackie—if my brain sends a red alert, it is trying to warn me of something based in reality, but that doesn’t mean that reality actually warrants a red alert. I just wonder what it is you’re noticing around you that influences what you see.

We know there’s an echo of Anti left behind in us. We’ve seen him. I made him disappear in a poof because he’s been reduced to a couple of pixels and the emotional maturity of a toddler. He has no power in us—he can’t turn us off or direct our gaze.

But I think maybe there’s an echo left in each of you, too. And sometimes it comes out.

“Sometimes my delusions and hallucinations are pieces of real warnings,” Dapper signs gently, the wind brushing against that slightly-overgrown hair at his nape. “Maybe sometimes I do see pieces of him still alive in them. A part of me would like that, but I usually see him in anger, mocking me, shouting, losing his temper, making threats. I guess when you come down to it that’s the echo he left me.”

It burns in JJ’s eyes for a second, angry and hurt.

“I always knew he was a monster. But he was the monster that was real and tangible and predictable in a sea of terrors I could never get a read on. Because some of my hallucinations and delusions and psychosis - they come no matter how safe and cared for I am. The big red monster who stares at me from the closet, the birds that pick at my face and my legs in my sleep, the over-powering paranoia that everything in the world wants to hurt me - they don’t connect to anything. They’re just my brain. Just my psychosis. Just my demons. And those won’t leave me even if I could convince myself my brother is dead.”

A bitter sip of his tea, full of sugar. He closes his eyes.

It’s now that pounding footsteps come racing towards the door, and Blue races out onto the porch, yelping as he almost trips over his youngest brother. “Dapper! Red’s gone. Have you seen him? Oh, fuck.”

Anonymous asked: Blue, JJ, be kind to each other and be mindful of each other. You're both dealing with Anti's death in very different ways, and it could result in arguments or in-fighting, when what you both need most right now is a brother to be there for you.

“Blue,” signs Dapper, tugging on his shirt as he tries to race away from him. “Wait, wait.”

“What?” snaps Blue, whirling on him. “What, where’s my brother?”

Dapper sinks in on himself, his expression torn somewhere between timid and dangerous, a unique cocktail he’s perfected over the years. “He just went for a run, Blue. He’s fine.”

“Oh, so I have to break into a house when he tells me to but he’s allowed to go off for a run without telling anybody whenever he wants?” shouts Blue, advancing on him. “How does that fucking work, huh? Tell me that, Dapper.”

“He told me,” signs Dapper, shrinking away from his sibling.

“I mean someone who could do something about it if he was in trouble,” Blue shoots back.

Dapper looks away, burying himself in his tea. Blue stands shaking for a moment, his hair askew and his face still lined with pillow indentations, before he glances down at your message and feels guilty. A deep breath enters him automatically and he sinks down on the porch, sighing out again as he sits.

“I didn’t mean that,” he says.

“You did,” answers Dapper calmly. “You’re right. I’m useless right now.”

“Dapper. You’re not.”

“Yeah? What am I good for then?”

Blue stares at him, face heated with embarrassed regret. “You don’t have to be good for something, baby.”

“Stop calling me baby!” signs Dapper, striking his hands together hard. “I’m not your goddamn baby!”

They fall into shocked silence, both surprised by their own behaviors.

“Sorry,” whispers Blue after a moment.

“Me too,” signs Dapper. “You and Red just have such bad tempers lately.”

“I… I know. I’ll try harder.”

Anonymous asked: Chase is right though. There are so many issues plaguing your family right now, you're all exhausted, traumatized, messes. You need to talk things out when you get the chance. Holding back all these feelings from each other will only drive you apart and make things more difficult. Check up on each other and be willing to listen. I know it sounds like a broken record, us cameras, but maybe the reason for that is that some of us know a thing or two about healing, and we care about you in a way that makes us want to help. You boys need each other badly. Don't let your family be torn apart over miscommunication and hidden emotions.

The door behind them creaks meekly open and a tousled head of yellow-brown hair appears behind them.

“Guys?” asks Chase softly. “What’s the yelling about?”

Blue beckons his little brother forward, and of course Henrik follows after him, eyes lighting up a little at the wind and the smell of last night’s rain. He tries to walk down the porch and Chase pulls him gently back, sitting him down on the swing chair and rocking them both along, until Henrik’s gaze is fixed on the movement of their feet.

“How’s he?” asks Blue.

“Mh,” hums Chase, carefully re-adjusting a bandage on his twin’s cheek. “Slept good. Bruises fading a little. Does not like waking up to fighting, though. It makes him shake.”

Blue closes his eyes, shaking his head. “Yeah. Okay. Maybe you were right.”

“About what?” asks Chase. “What, me? What was I right about?”

Blue chuckles, running his hands over the smooth wood of the porch. “I guess we all need to talk, huh?”

Chase glances at Dapper, who hides against his tea again, blinking up at him.

“Okay,” says Chase. “Let’s talk.”

nikkilbook asked: My dudes, Not-a-Therapist here, but in all honesty—you need some kind of first step. You’ve got plans that are twenty miles down the road, and I don’t think you even know WHICH road. You’ve got a couple milestones here and there that might maybe point you in the right direction, but you don’t have a first step. Which is why you are in someone else’s house with a busted doorknob now.

I’m seeing two threads here: get your brains screwed back on right, and get to your mirror house. They’re interconnected, but I don’t think you should wait on one before you start on the other. You need some kind of first step, something that will point you even vaguely in the right direction.

I don’t know, maybe you AREN’T in a space where you can have huge heavy conversations, but you can have small ones. Chase and Jackie had one like a day ago. You need professional help, but that doesn’t mean you can’t start working on some of this yourself.

I’m worried about what will happen if you don’t. You’ve each got a little Anti left inside you, I think, and I don’t know what happens if you don’t figure out what to do with it.

“I think that’s a really good idea,” says Blue, getting to his feet. “We need to know where we go from here. We need a plan.”

He moves into the house even as Jackie appears down the path from the trees, fully hoodied and gloved even in the heat, the heel of one of his torn old running shoes flapping beneath him. “Hey,” he calls, surprised to see them all up and together. “What’s going on? See you made yourself at home, Dap.”

Dapper sips vengefully at his tea. “You’re the one who broke in, mister. And this is real tea. Finally.”

Jackie laughs and pats his head as he passes, meeting his twin in the doorway, his face ruddy and bright from the exercise and the freedom, still as refreshing as it was the day he burned his faux brother to ash. “What are we doing, Azul?”

“We’re talking about our plan from here, honey,” says Blue, plucking at his twin’s dog tags for a second before sitting down on the steps beside Dapper again. He’s fetched a few napkins and a pen. “We want to decide at least our first steps for what we need to do for ourselves and what we need to do to get back home.”

“Don’t worry about it, dude,” says Jackie, plopping onto the swing beside Henrik and Chase. “I got a plan.”

“And what is that?”

“I got some ideas,” says Jackie, frowning slightly. “We can talk about it together, just the two of us.”

Blue blinks around at his brothers, but nobody else protests.

Anonymous asked: Uhhhhhh you sure about that 'just the two of us' bit, Jackie? I mean, we're trying to stick together, right? Y'all are a unit, you need to work with each other.

Jackie throws his hands up for a second, glancing uncomfortably around and you and his siblings in turn. “Blue, can we talk about this for like, two seconds?”

And Blue’s mad.

Blue’s mad, so mad it hurts in his chest, so mad he recognizes the emotion, a moment later, as pure grief for something Anti took from his brothers.

Why won’t Chase or Dapper say anything when Jackie does that? Why didn’t they say anything yesterday when he and Jackie were arguing about where to stay without asking them once what they wanted to do? Is that part of the reason Henrik is so far away from them now, because no one was listening anyway? How long did it take Anti to convince the youngest three that they couldn’t make their own decisions?

“No, Jackie,” he says, meeting his eyes directly. “No. We’re all in this mess as a family, so we’re going to deal with it as a family. Why are you so opposed to all of us figuring this out, huh?”

“Blue,” says Jackie, a little sharper. “Please just come talk to me for a second.”

“Why don’t you tell your little brothers why you don’t respect their opinion instead of expecting me to keep your secrets for you?”

“I respect - ”

“Do you?”

“Fine!” shouts Jackie, striking the swing so hard that Henrik grips the armrest tight. “I’ll tell them if you want! All three of you are too fucking fragile, alright? All you should have to do right now is heal because you can’t handle anything else! Chase and Dapper have both tried to fucking kill themselves in the last year and Henrik is barely even there anymore! You’re broken the fuck in half and I’m not going to stop taking care of you now just because he’s gone!”

The silence is so deeply strained that Blue is surprised that all five of them don’t break out into a cold sweat. The birds sing and they glance at each other, stare at the wood of the porch, or pretend the others aren’t there. Jackie keeps Blue’s gaze, too long, too intense, before crumpling back against the swing, closing his eyes.

And Blue just wishes - Chase, say something. Dapper, say something. Henrik, wake up for a moment, please.

But Chase is quiet and Dapper drinks his tea as Henrik rocks himself, gently, on the swing.

“I’m in charge,” says Jackie, voice trembling. “I am, I make the decisions, I’m in control. Blue helps. But the rest of you… fuck. Please just get better. Please. Cause I can’t watch you collapse in on yourselves again. I already… already lost Dok.”

“Not lost,” whispers Chase.

Dok rocks. Rocks. Rocks. Smiling faintly, his eyes faraway.

nikkilbook asked: Jackie, everyone needs to be in on this. You’re all brothers—and, if I may be so blunt—none of you are actually twins. That was an invention of Anti’s to make you codependent. There is no inherent division between you, and everyone needs to be equally involved in what the plan is. And it’s not just the “find the house” plan, here. It’s the “find out who the heck y’all are now” plan. You’re brothers, and you’re equals. You’re all adults, capable of making decisions, and you all deserve the agency to make those decisions, especially after who knows how long with Anti taking that away from you. You know this, Jackie. It’s just like with Jaimer at the airport. Just because you’re big brother and you’re looking out for them doesn’t mean you get to control them or keep them in the dark. Remember, Jackieboy—you love by telling the truth.

There’s a slight rearing back from the camera from the four oldest, while Dapper just fixes his haunted eyes on you, mouth taut.

“Hey, hold on,” laughs Red nervously. “I am Blue’s twin. Always.”

Blue chews on the end of his nail, looking at the grass. “But not literally.”

“What’s the difference?” snorts Red, shaking his head. “We don’t remember anything before Anti reset us and we’re pretty much identical.”

“But so are all of us,” adds Blue.

“Look, this is the way things are,” says Jackie, his anger turning more and more rapidly into distress. “Why are we trying to change things? You’re my twin, and Dok and Trick are twins, and Dapper’s the little brother, okay? And I make the decisions when Anti’s not around. That’s how it goes. That’s how it goes!”

“Ro,” protests Blue. “Look, I know you got used to us living one way, but it was a monster who taught us to live like that.”

“I don’t care,” snarls Jackie, his eyes starting to burn. “I don’t care, that’s - that’s how things are. That’s how they are!”

Blue rubs at his face, shaking his head. The others are beginning to notice something wrong now too, Chase laying his hand on his older brother’s shoulder. Jackie pushes him away, his fists clenching and unclenching.

“You’re just parroting things Anti told us,” says Chase. “I don’t think you even believe that I’m too dumb or broken to make my own decisions, and I think you already knew we weren’t all biologically twins. I think that’s just the way things have always been.”

And Jackie does not like change. Blue grits his teeth as Jackie strikes the swing a second time, scaring Henrik again.

“Jackie, you have to stop. We can’t keep doing this day after day. You have to stop. I don’t know what to do to help you be less overwhelmed. I know making change is hard but - ”

“Stop telling me what to do,” protests Jackie, his shouting turning into whimpers. “Stop, stop. That’s not how this goes.”

He clutches his head, eyes squeezed shut. Chase reaches for him again and Jackie shoves him away, drawing a gasp out of Henrik.

“Stop cause you’re scaring Dok,” says Blue firmly. “Jackie, take a break.”

Jackie seethes through his teeth, eyes still closed, and for a second Blue thinks his brother is going to lose it again, lashing out, wild and out of control, but Jackie just sinks to his knees on the porch and curls down over himself, his forehead against the wood, bowing to the forest and hugging his knees.

“Okay, let’s just breathe for a second,” whispers Blue. “Okay. We’re okay.”

nikkilbook asked: Not sure how else to say this, but yes, you are messed up. That would be the trauma. The pathways and frequencies in your brain have been significantly altered because your brain has stored a whole mess of memories in unhealthy places, and that’s on top of the atypical wiring your brain already had. Regular stimuli goes in and who the frick knows what’s coming out the other side. It’s hard, and it’s upsetting, and yeah, it’s messed up. It’ll be okay—we’ll make sure of that—but that doesn’t make it less messed up in the moment. Jesus rose on the third day, but he was also kinda dead for the other two.

“Do… you guys really think Dok is just… lost?” asks Chase weakly, when long minutes of slow breathing have passed, and the wind has been the only one speaking.

Blue opens his mouth with optimism, because it’s his job to comfort Chase, to reassure him, to make him feel better -

No. That was his job. Now he’s his equal. His sibling. His friend. And maybe he needs to be a little more honest, not just for Chase’s sake, but for his own, because he thinks this despair might just eat him alive if he keeps it in any longer.

“No.”

He sees the movement of Dapper signing in his periphery and blinks as he realizes that a moment of silence from him and Red has allowed their youngest brother to speak.

“No, he’s still Dok. Henrik. He’s still him.”

Chase blinks at him, moved more than he thought he would be. “Really?”

“Yeah,” knocks Dapper a little shyly, shrugging his shoulders. “I know what it’s like to just be stuck in your own head. To be stuck in your room or in your catatonia or in your fear. But it’s still you. You just have to do what you have to do to protect yourself. Dok hid because he was strong enough to find a way to protect himself. He didn’t give in. He hid, but that’s not weakness. Sometimes all you can do is survive another day.”

Jackie hears himself let out a shuddering breath. That’s something he understands, at least. Sometimes all you can do is survive, even if you fail at every other thing you wanted to do and be. Even if you can’t even speak or take care of yourself or connect with the world anymore. Survival is strength too. Henrik is surviving.

Chase touches Henrik’s chin gently, trying to get his attention, fleeting though it might be, and Henrik gazes back at him, quiet and calm. There’s no message in his eyes and no words in his mouth. But after a long moment, his hand rises slightly and, as if by instinct, presses against the muscles of Chase’s shoulders just like he always used to do, to ease his pain through the long night.

“I do still see him,” murmurs Chase. “But I’m just scared that… maybe he’ll be like this for the rest of his life.”

Jackie has slumped back against the door to the porch, exhausted.

“I guess we’re all pretty fucked up right now,” Chase offers weakly, and faint laughter comes from his siblings, all gathered together.

“We’re all a little messed up,” says Blue. “Even big brother?”

Jackie snorts, rubbing at his face. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“And maybe everyone should have some help making decisions, not just little brothers?”

Jackie tries to smile for his sake, looking away. “It’s going to take me some time to get there, if that’s what you want.”

“I know you want the others to be allowed to be themselves again,” Blue entreats him, scooting closer to him on the porch. “What if that starts with us letting them make some of their own choices? Even if you are a good leader - and dammit, Jackie, you are, you really are - we still have to make sure that we don’t do what Anti did. We have to start seeing each other as equals again. As capable despite what we’ve been through.”

“Then I’ll do it,” mumbles Jackie, but under his breath, he adds: “It might just kill me, but I’ll do it.”

“Maybe this is what it is to be dead for three days before you can rise,” says Dapper. “For all of us. Darkness before dawn. Or winter before spring?”

“And a beautiful summer afterwards,” sighs Chase, looking out at the green trees and cool sky.

“Well,” Blue says, clicking his pen and settling himself down there in the middle of all his brothers. “If Dok is this way forever, then we’ll take care of him. But in the meantime, I think we should try everything we can. What if we just started our plan - our one step - with what Dok needs. That’s something we can all work on together, right? One thing we can do this week for Dok, and what we should aim for in the future. What do we think?”

crystalninjaphoenix asked: Well that's... a lot. But, believe it or not, I think it's good to get these feelings out in the air, even if this wasn't the most... delicate way of going about it. And please, please take care of yourself, too, Jackie.

“I want to stop scaring Henrik,” says Chase, sudden and loud, and when everyone looks at him, he sinks back again, squishing his shoulder to Henrik’s.

“Like… the yelling?” asks Blue.

“Yeah, like the yelling,” sighs Chase. “And the hitting stuff when we’re angry. And being loud or angry around him. I know he seems so spaced out - I know that - but I can tell he still gets scared. Last night when it rained, he was thrashing around and crying, and I could just think about him abandoned out on that porch, chained up in the rain or the heat while the bugs ate at him and Anti just… attacked him again and again.”

Chase turns away, teeth gritted, pressing his face against Henrik’s shoulder. His brother rocks, rocks, rocks, and for once - for the first time in a long time - everyone else is quiet as they wait for a brother to speak.

“So I wish we could stop the yelling,” continues Chase meekly, when he’s ready. “And the lashing out. And fuck, Jackie, I know you try so hard with your temper, man, and Blue, I know you have some shit going on too, and Dapper sometimes gets a little out of control when he’s psychotic or triggered, but guys, we just have to set down some rules, cause this is too much.”

“I don’t like the yelling either,” Dapper adds. “None of you listen to me when you’re yelling. Sometimes you won’t even look over because you can all be loud and I can’t, not like that. Everyone stops paying attention to me. And it’s hard enough for me to keep track of everything I hallucinate hearing when things are quiet, let alone when everyone’s screaming. So I think that when we’re angry, we should sign instead of speaking out loud. When we start to get angry at all, we should sign. Less scary for Dok. Less loud for me. Easier to stay calm for everyone.”

Jackie is staring at Dapper, eyes wide. The look in his eyes could, at first, be mistaken for awe that his little brother could contribute like that, or shock that he spoke up at all, but if you look at him closely, you will see that look for what it is - recognition of a brother he has met once or twice before, clever, competent, talented Jameson. The same man who cleaned him up after a gunshot wound in Colombia or lead him carefully through a past he had forgotten or shared his pain for so long before they found the others.

But there is still the fear underneath. How long until he loses himself again? When will it become too much for him? I have to protect him so I never have to see him in pain again.

And operating within the system Anti forced onto them is the only way he remembers to do that.

“Dap,” says Blue. “That’s a really good idea.”

“Yeah, I’m up for it,” says Chase.

And Jackie’s little brothers all look at him, because despite the temper, despite the fear, despite his desperate clinging to the system he was taught with blood and pain for so long, they still trust him to be their leader.

Fuck, he would die for them in a heartbeat.

“Yes,” he says. “It’s a really good idea. Please remind me if I get angry and forget to do it. I’m sorry for my freak-outs. I love you all.”

nikkilbook asked: Hey, guys—have we considered giving Schneep an AAC board? Like, nothing too terribly complex, maybe just yes and no to start with, but I have a feeling. Judging by what I’ve seen so far, it’s like parts of his brain and personality and fine motor skills have gone to sleep, for protection, but he still responds to certain things including the cameras. I looked it up, and Esteban, from his book, is a twin who lost his brother and whose well-intentioned choices always seemed to backfire. I think he can still recognize things on a conceptual level. He may not always use it, but it gives him the option of a voice.

“Does he still respond to things?” asks Blue. “You said he was scared of the rain.”

“Yeah, he responds to, like, stimuli,” says Chase, frowning. “But I don’t know about communicating. He doesn’t nod or shake his head when I give him options or anything like that. He kind of smiles at me when I talk to him sometimes, like he can tell someone’s talking to him, but he just doesn’t know what they’re saying or what’s going on.”

“Well… maybe we could start with more yes and no questions,” suggests Blue. “Try to get him back in the habit of responding. And then maybe a board with pictures? And we can do things like give him options and show him the options? We need to get him responding again if we can.”

“If we think the problem is that he’s still hiding because of what happened to him, then we need to get him feeling safe again,” says Jackie. “Which means having enough to eat and finding a stable home.”

“Those are kind of long-term things,” says Blue. “Is there something we can do right now other than signing instead of yelling?”

“I say we stop beating around the bush and skip to the obvious,” says Jackie stubbornly. “He needs a brain scan and a psychologist. I was planning to take him as soon as I check that we have fake identities set up in the health care system. And that those identities aren’t, you know, going to get us arrested when we show up.”

“Can you do that today?” asks Chase hopefully.

“Sure. I’m already in the wifi. Only thing is I’ll need to use that, uh, phone.”

“The one that was in Anti’s room?” asks Blue nervously. “It could still have stuff of his on there.”

“I know,” sighs Jackie. “But I don’t have any other means of checking and we can’t afford a new phone right now.”

“It’s important that we get some health care, for sure. Just… be careful, okay?”

“Won’t the doctors be suspicious of all his cuts and bruises and everything if we get him checked out?” asks Chase.

“That’s a good point,” says Blue. “Cause we all need physicals. None of us are in great condition. Jackie at least has been working out.”

Jackie perks up from his weariness for a second, puffing his chest up a little and sitting up.

“We can all go to different doctors. That will help ease suspicion.”

“But… what do we tell them about all these scars and injuries and everything?”

nikkilbook asked: it’s weird, Jackie probably wouldn’t tell Chase or Henrik if they asked. But he’s looking at his little brother and thinking about how Jameson was taught not to speak about this sort of thing and that affection and support are petty and ridiculous and stupid, and he feels like he owes it to JJ to look at him as his complete equal and give him the full truth.

so he just melts

and starts telling JJ everything that’s on his mind, everything that scares him, sinking in on himself, knowing he looks weak, and JJ gets this bizarre though “huh, we’re actually the exact same height, I always thought he was taller than me??” and then five minutes in they’re going “oh, i totally feel the same way sometimes” and “wow i get that too and it’s like i want to yell at my brain to stop freaking out because I KNOW how stupid it is - ” “ - but I just can’t! yeah, exactly! what the FUCK, brain??” and they’re kind of laughing and kind of shaken and kind of have never trusted each other more and eventually Jackie falls asleep against JJ’s shoulder and Jameson gets to be the one who’s on watch, who’s on guard duty, waiting for Chase to come home and Henrik to need him and making sure that Jackie’s okay. and it’s empowering for him as a person, and teaches him a lot about healthy coping and friendship, and he’s never been more devoted to Jackie, because while Anti demanded this overwhelming adoration, Jackie is willing to trust JJ in return. and JJ recognizes it, immediately, as a better kind of love than anything Anti ever asked for - love that shares, trusts, validates, love that knows how to show weakness sometimes.

Jackie’s eyes fall, ashamed, while Blue and Chase continue to exchange options. For a moment, he looks up, and there’s Dapper looking at him.

“Do you really think that I’m too broken to be my own anymore?” Dapper signs, and Jackie realizes that there’s nothing accusatory in the question, nothing demanding. He’s really asking.

Jackie bites his lip, looking away again.

“Dapper… it’s my job to look after you. You’re so sick… could you live on your own right now?”

“Could you?” Dapper answers.

Oh.

Jackie sits back for a second, blinking.

Oh. He couldn’t. No.

He stares at Dapper, open-mouthed, and his little brother stares back, grief in his eyes.

“So what’s the difference then?” asks Dapper wearily.

Jackie rubs his face. He has to decide if he really wants to say what he’s thinking or if he should let it go. But they’re trying to be honest, right? Is that a form of love? Is that a form of equality?

“Dapper,” he signs. “I helped kill Anti. You didn’t.”

Pain flashes across Dapper’s face, so intense that Jackie almost reaches out to keep him from collapsing. But Dapper just jerks away from him and turns his head.

“Dap,” Jackie demands, snapping for him to look. “Dap, I just - I just need to protect you, okay? And you’re not well right now.”

“You think I don’t feel that too?” asks Dapper, eyes shining now, damp and watering. “Don’t you know that for more than a year now all I have wanted is a chance to take care of one of my brothers? To take care of anyone? But I was stuck all alone in that room, helpless to even hold you, listening to you all scream and beg and suffer. Don’t you know how much it meant to me when Anti let me look after Chase after his attempt or when you let me bandage you when you were shot? Oh, God, all I could do was pray and survive! Jackie, do you know what I would do to have the privilege of being the big brother for just ten minutes?”

Jackie is speechless. Jackie is silent. No, he didn’t know.

“Jackie,” whisper Dapper’s hands. “Red. I don’t know if I can take care of myself or make good decisions anymore. Maybe after so long being treated like a baby, I just forgot how. And maybe I need a lot of help when I’m unmedicated. But I know one thing for sure - if you don’t start believing in me, I don’t have a chance in hell of making any progress if you want to make me your little locked-away, safe-from-the-world baby brother like Anti did.”

“I can’t see you get hurt again,” whispers Jackie, forgetting to sign now, dropping his hands. “I can’t. If I have to lock you away…”

He remembers handcuffing him in Colombia. The betrayal in his brother’s face. The grief. And worse than the grief - the acceptance of his fate. Worse than death.

“Let’s talk about this now when you’re medicated,” signs Jackie, sitting back. “For now, please let me take care of you.”

“For now, I don’t think I could do much else.”

“Okay. Kiss, hug, love.”

“Love,” Dapper signs back, forgiving. “Love, love.”

nikkilbook asked: You told Jaimer you were going for a run. You trusted him to let the others know, and to do something if something went wrong. You can let him and the others be the big brother in small things, too, like be the shield between you and a crowd when you’re overwhelmed or watch over you when you need to lie down and let the world stop for a second. Big brother doesn’t have to mean “the one who’s in active danger all the time so that the others are hidden behind he-who-is-nothing-more-than-a-shield-of-ablative-meat.” Sometimes it just means “he-who-is-doing-the-hugging.”

Jackie keeps watching Dapper even as he turns back to Blue and Chase’s conversation. He can’t focus now, not on anything but this.

It’s true, he supposes. Anti is gone. No one is here who will force him to be their shield, their protector, the attack dog. It’s freedom again, the same as when he goes for a run in the morning without being scared that anyone will punish him for it when he goes home.

But this does not feel like the running does. This is the other side of freedom.

Because if that isn’t what big brother means, then what does it mean?

If that isn’t who he is, who is he?

Too much. Too much, too much. This is not how things are supposed to be. This is not how things are. He leans back against the door and watches quietly as his brothers keep talking, distressed every moment that they will not let him make the decisions for them.

nikkilbook asked: Do you know if it would help for, when your “regular” monsters are attacking, to tell us about it? I get the feeling that maybe the others would put more of their energy into trying to tell you that they aren’t real, or that you’re safe, and from what you’ve said and what I’ve seen, that doesn’t seem to be what you need? Cuz you’re smart, Jaimer. You know they aren’t the kind of real that your brothers can see or the kind of real that will leave physical marks on your skin. But that doesn’t really matter, because they are your current reality. Maybe you can tell us about the red man and the birds and what the monsters whisper to you, and if you need reassurance that they aren’t the hurt-you-kind-of-real, you can look through our viewport.

And can you let us know what Anti whispers to you? And what he says while he is wearing the others? Because I think you might be the only one to be seeing that reality clearly.

“Okay, so for Dok we have: seeing a neurologist, letting him make some easy choices if we can, and keeping the fighting… less intense. Right?”

“Right,” says Chase, who seems to have taken a liking to the list idea, curled over Blue’s shoulder as he writes on the little napkin. “Yeah, and talking to him, just don’t talk to him like he’s dumb. He’s still there, he’s just sleeping, kind of.”

“Okay,” agrees Blue, ink seeping onto his knees as he writes against them. “Dapper, what do you think you need?”

“What?” Dapper’s drawn out of his conversation with Jackie, turning back to his siblings.

“What do you want for, like - like what’s the plan for you, you know? We’re going to go through with everybody, okay?”

“I just want my medication.”

“What, that’s it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ll get an appointment scheduled once Jackie’s checked that we’re in the system. We can get that. But don’t you want to work on other stuff?”

“I can’t work on anything while I’m unmedicated.”

“That’s really not true, honey,” protests Blue. “Come on, how about telling us when you’re hallucinating?”

Dapper shrugs, closing his eyes.

“You don’t think that would help?”

“No.”

“Dapper, come on - ”

“I just need my medication,” he signs, slow and whining, looking up at Blue with those big eyes and long eyelashes, his mouth pouting. “I just need my - ”

“How about working on the fact that you still act like a fucking six-year-old?” snaps Blue, clicking the pen shut.

The childishness falls out of Dapper’s face. His mouth twitches coldly, his eyes narrowing, and he smiles, just a little. Or maybe sneers.

Blue turns away from him. He’s not guilty, not yet. He just can’t look Anti in the face like that.

nikkilbook asked: Hey, JJ—I think you’re right, we’re in addiction territory. I’m not an expert or a professional, but I did learn recently that with some drugs it’s insanely dangerous to quit cold turkey. Is there something we or your brothers could do to fill the gap until you’re a little more even-keeled and ready to make a decision about who it is you want to be?

“Just get your infant brother his fucking meds, how about that?” signs Dapper bitterly, getting to his feet. “Oh, and by the way - this isn’t me breaking down. You wait until I snap in half, Blue, and on that day you can turn away from me like I’m something you killed a long time ago.”

“You’re not going to snap in half,” mutters Blue, his irritation overwhelmed by his desire to be able to help his little brother, because he has to, because he loves him, because that’s his job. “I’ll get you whatever you need.”

“I want my brother,” cries Dapper, throwing his head back for a second. “If he’s going to talk to me all the time why can’t I just have him? Why’d you kill him, you just took away the touch of him…”

“I’ll get you your meds, Dap. I will. Okay?”

“I want my brother… How are you all going to control me when I’m really sick? Somebody has to be around to control me.”

“You can figure this out on your own with a little help,” says Blue. “Just… please help me make some goals here, okay? Please.”

Dapper stares at him, eyes hollow. Chase makes a face at him from the swing, mouthing a little plea of his own, and Dapper sinks back onto the porch, tired.

“I just want medication and to be left alone, okay? Don’t you know how much safer I feel when somebody else is… look, I just… can’t do this, can’t think, I’m tired…”

Blue bites down hard on his mouth, eyes flickering to the ground. Fuck, he couldn’t express in words how much he hates it - watching him grieve Anti, watching him act the way Anti taught him, seeing the remnants of him in his little brother. The truth is that lately, he doesn’t think he would even know what Dapper would look like or act like or speak like if he ever got rid of that influence on him. He thinks he would be a lot less fucking pathetic, that’s for sure. How can he goddamn stand to keep acting like this?

“Okay, fine, okay,” he says, because he’s the one who makes the decisions when it comes to their brothers being okay, and he knows Jackie will leave this to him. “We’ll talk about it more later. And if you just kind of need to keep pretending nothing’s changed for a while, okay. But we’re going to have to start facing this, and soon. Would you just - dammit, Dap. Can you just tell me why you even cling on to this version of yourself?”

Dapper stares off at the trees, face cool again.

“He still calls himself Blue,” laughs Anti from somewhere beside him, close as he ever was, mouth next to his ear. “He’s projecting because you two are the only ones who remember the day I killed every other version of yourselves that ever existed.”

Anonymous asked: "Big brother" has been tainted and coded by blood and pain. All of you need to unlearn many survival behaviours, but unlearning the 'big brother' system is one of the most important. You need equality and to treat each other like capable adults. None of you are above the other. Rebuild your brotherhood with good things and happy memories. You've all changed, sure, but you never had to stay the same. Make yourselves anew and build off good things! Change should be welcome and good.

“Do you want to do some goals, Jackie?” asks Blue.

Jackie meets his eyes and knows he needs him to have his back on this one. Okay, get it together. “Right,” he says. “Uh, yeah, sure. I know I got shit to work on, I always have. I just think that when my temper’s getting out of control, I just need some space. So please don’t try to follow me or anything. I’m going to figure out how to control this, but right now I just need to be gone when I’m mad. Because I never want to be… yeah, well. I’m going to get better at it.”

“Okay, yeah. We can do that, right?” asks Blue, and Chase gives him a big smile in agreement.

“Sure, Blue.”

“Thanks, angel,” purrs Blue, squeezing his wrist fondly.

Jackie fake gags and rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I also just want to keep working on the material stuff. I’m going to keep trying to find us some housing and I’ll keep food on the table, okay? I’m going to get a job!”

Blue blinks, hand falling from Chase’s wrist. “Whoa, what?”

“I was thinking like something in technology,” says Jackie. “Doesn’t have to be something fancy, we just need to get some money coming in.”

“I thought we were filing for unemployment,” protests Blue. “Maybe even disability for Dap and Dok. There’s good benefits around here. You don’t have to get a job right away, Jackie.”

“I’m going to,” says Jackie. “What are you talking about? I’m going to take care of it. I don’t want us to have to worry.”

“Well, I’ll work then,” protests Blue, sitting up straighter.

“We both can. Sure. Maybe together! I’m going to go look for jobs later. And a safer place to stay.”

Blue’s mouth feels dry. He doesn’t know why it makes him nervous. Chase sets his chin down on the top of his head and he laughs weakly.

“I just - they’re right about the big brother stuff, you know? You don’t have to - ”

“I want to,” says Jackie. “I thought you knew I wanted to do that? I want a job.”

“Um. Okay. Okay. I’ll put it on your list, then. I… yeah.”

Jackie nods firmly, uncurling from the ball he was in and smiling again. Chase looks at Blue, a worried little grin on his mouth.

“Maybe Ro’s not the only one with some big brother issues,” he mutters.

“Hey, I’m not being overprotective,” Blue grumbles back. “You keep your cute mouth shut.”

Chase laughs. “Okay, dude, whatever you say.”

crystalninjaphoenix asked: A bit of a tone issue there, Marvin, but I do agree with the concept. Dapper, acting like a kid has helped you with Anti, we know. It's a coping mechanism that's served you well in the past. But it's going to cause problems in the future. Medication is good, but it won't help you with that particular issue. And Marvin: you lash out a lot. It can hurt people. We need to acknowledge both these things in a more peaceful way before we can work on them.

“I wouldn’t lash out if you just - ”

Chase thwacks him gently in the back of the head and shuts him up.

“Hey, I think that’s really fair, saying that,” Chase agrees. “If we can come back to it for a second. A coping mechanism. Because that’s… what it becomes. As someone who’s… been where Dapper was, if not for as long. You act - you act how you have to act to get even just a mouthful of attention…”

“But - but Anti’s gone,” protests Blue. “How long will it take for that to set in with him?”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure Dapper knows that,” replies Chase quietly, dropping his voice again. “So just cut him a little slack. It’s, um. Really hard to wake up from that.”

“I was just thinking about that,” laughs Jackie. “Like when Dapper’s acting kiddish it pisses you off, Blue, but then Chase is just your lil Amata, haha. You don’t want Dapper to be a baby but Chase just acts like he’s Trick again when you two are hanging out.”

Chase and Blue both freeze in unison. Chase jerks back from Blue, staring at Jackie.

Anonymous asked: I know change is absolutely terrifying Jackie, as a fellow autistic person I know that it can feel like hell. Your brothers need you to loosen the reigns. They need to be able to think for themselves. In Peru at one point, someone asked JJ what would happen if Anti was gone. He said "Red would become the new Anti." And frankly with the way you're headed you will just become the new Anti. Give your brothers freedom to choose for themselves, like Anti never did. Be everything he wasn't for them.

“Wait, what?” shouts Red. “You said that about me? Dapper?”

“I’m not still acting like Trick,” whimpers Chase, sinking back against the swing. “I’m not, I’m - I’m being good, I’m - ”

“Amata, stop it, guys, we need to sign if we’re going to get mad or Dok will get stressed - ”

“Dapper? You think that, you really think that about me, is that - hey! Look at me at least!”

“Guys - ”

“And yeah, Chase, you do, man, come on, I thought you knew that? You don’t let Dok out of your sight and you’re still pretending like everything’s fine. You think we don’t all hear you crying your heart out at night? Then you’re just Anti’s little sunshine boy again in the morning.”

“Red! Fuck you! That’s - ”

“Don’t call me Red!”

“Okay, okay!” screams Blue, and the porch splits open as bitter milkweed bursts up from the ground. “Stop it! That’s enough hard truths for one day, just - Jackie, alone time, that’s what you said you - ”

“Yeah, I guess it is better for me to be alone,” shouts Jackie, his eyes burning. “Since you just think I’m going to - that I - fuck, don’t you know I’m sorry, I - I’m going for a run.”

“You just went for a - ”

“I said I’m going for a run!”

And he’s off like a shot even as Blue is distracted by Chase grabbing Henrik and rushing back into the house, wiping at his face frantically.

“Chase, honey.”

“I’m not your honey, Blue!”

The wind parts the grass. A cuckoo bird repeats its trill again and again. A car passes by.

Blue slumps against the door, rubbing his face.

“Well, that went great,” he whispers.

Dapper’s still there on the stairs, his head lowered and his hands clutching his ears.

“Come inside, Dap,” whispers Blue, moving towards him. “Hey, come on.”

“If I go to my room, I won’t ever come out again.”

Blue’s chest aches. He closes his eyes and presses his palms into his face, feeling almost faint.

“You do get mad at me but not Trick,” signs Dapper slowly. “Because you don’t like me.”

“No,” cries Blue, sitting down beside him. “Hey, don’t say that. I love you. Dapper! I love you, I love you.”

And he wants to hold him like he holds Chase, to grip his wrist or stroke his hair or hug him or anything, anything, but he just - he just doesn’t.

He just can’t.

He realizes a moment later that Dapper can’t either, because his pale, scarred hand is hovering in the air like he might just touch clasp Blue’s shoulder -

But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t.

And Blue doesn’t know why, but he realizes that in the end, it might just be true, this contradiction, this bitterness, this tension in the air between them. Because he loves Dapper, yes.

But fuck, does he hate him too.

Revulsion and grief wash over him in waves. Dapper stares at nothing, face dark and empty. Just the broken thing Anti left behind. Just the brother Blue didn’t save in time.

He gets to his feet and he disappears into the house.

Dapper sits in the wind. He does not move for a long time.

#chapter five

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