#anyway I forgot how goddamn hard these two are to draw

[tarufai]

#spiderman #deadpool #spideypool #comic #I did this for a class #an ENGLISH class #but we're learning about comics as literature and for the most recent paper we had an option to make a comic #and the main theme we're studying this semester is power so i made this #anyway I forgot how goddamn hard these two are to draw #I hate how complicated their costumes are like its so unnecessary #but I also think this is the most accurately I've drawn them #and they looked consistent through this whole thing #so I'm really proud of myself #and yes this is gay but i'm imagining that in this scene they don't realize they have feelings for each other yet hee hee #some of these were fuckin hard angles too what was i doing to myself!!! this was hard af!!! wtf!!! #and to be honest i drew all of this yesterday and today!!! that was so much drawing!!! og my god!!! #but it was fun he he #except i will always hate the webs on spideys costume. hell world #they have to look such a specific way and it is not easy #enough rambling. enjoy #also sorry im reuploading this because i had accidentally colored in one of spideys speech bubbles as yellow

[prettyboyeddiemunson]

can you write something cute (and maybe smut) about taking bath with Eddie cause that idea ahghgfsshh

I NEED TO TAKE A BATH WITH HIM 😩😩

but yes, this would be super fucking cute—at first, anyway. it’s after sex, most likely, and i always see him as wanting to take a shower or bath with you as part of his aftercare routine. he wants to clean you up, to take care of you, and he wants to still be close to you while he does it. sometimes your body can take standing up in the shower afterwards, but other times? he’s gonna have your shit wrecked so much that you can barely walk, let alone stand. so, a bath it is.

he draws it for you, and makes you wait in bed while he does. he doesn’t want you to be in discomfort; he’s going to treat you like a queen after sex, every time, and you let him do it. i mean, who wouldn’t want to be given the royal treatment after you just had your brains fucked out? but anyway, he makes you drink some water while you’re waiting, and maybe even gently brushes your hair for you (if you have longer hair, it’s gonna be a tangled mess after sex, and he doesn’t want you to manage that by yourself).

and when the bath is ready, he’s either going to carry you to the bathroom, or give you his arm to hold like he’s your royal escort; there’s no in-between with this. he helps you into the tub, usually after he gets in first himself. he sits down and pulls you with him, your back to his chest, his lips pressing gentle, loving kisses along your neck and shoulder. he’s going to praise you, telling you what a good job you did earlier, and how you’re his best girl. which makes you laugh, since you’re his only girl, but it’s eddie. he’s going to be a dork; it’s inevitable.

you wash each other up—him first, you last. as he’s washing you, that’s when things start getting heated. he keeps touching you in your most sensitive areas, the ones that really get you going. he’s spending extra attention on your breasts, rolling the nipples under his thumbs as the soap cascades them. he’s reaching into the water to rub two fingers along your clit, teasing you a little. he’s laughing because of how wet you are, even though your lower half is submerged in water. he’s whispering stuff in your ear, such as, “fuck, you really can’t get enough of me, can you?” “what do you need, baby? tell me what’s going through your head,” and “i love how wet you get for me, y/n. even in water, there’s so much.”

you end up with your back to his chest again, one of his hands under the water to work your cunt. he’s two fingers deep, fucking you on them while you grind your clit against his palm. his free hand wraps around your throat, squeezing occasionally as his mouth finds your ear again. he’s going to say some dirty shit, and you can feel how hard he is against your lower back. you shift a little, so that you can reach back comfortably to jerk him off while his fingers slam into your pussy. eventually, he’s going to make you ride him, but only after he’s finished teasing you to hell & back first.

he’s got his face in your tits almost the whole time, enjoying how good they feel & how hot they look while soaking with water. he’s kissing them, leaving marks if that’s applicable, sucking your nipples fucking raw because goddamn, he can’t get enough. when he kisses you, it’s so messy, passionate, deep, and goes on for so long that you swore you forgot how to breathe. water sloshes onto the floor, but neither of you care. he’s going to thrust upward, fucking you hard as your hips slam down over & over. the water makes the movements a little more awkward, but goddamn if it doesn’t still feel absolutely incredible. you cum together—at his insistence—and just sit there together until you’ve regained yourselves and fingers & toes have turned to prunes.

baths become a favorite staple of aftercare for you from that point on, that’s for damn sure.

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n

[teenagedirt]

kissing in cars

A/n before I start I'm new to writing fanfic do I f I can improve please let me know. I'm also on the website toninhave no idea how to work anything. MIKE WILL NOT BE IN THIS!

Vic x female reader.

I lean over laughing so hard I can barely breath. "Yo, you good y/n ?" Vic asks me trying not to laugh

"Uhm yeah I'm fine" I say looking straight into his dark brown eyes. My face heats up,but he doesn't notice the blush My face now has because he's checking the time.

"Oh shit" Vic says under his breath and grabs my hand. My eyes open quickly.

"whats going on" I ask while he's basicly dragging me down the sidewalk.

"We were supposed to be at that damn Cafe thirty minutes ago" he says looking me in the eyes and continuing his fast pace and the tight grip on my hand.

"Oh shit" I say trying to walk faster"We are in for it this time,we are always late"

"There it is" I say slowing down and opening the door. I sigh and make my way over to the table where both Tony and Jaime were sitting with their notebooks,pens,and coffees.

"Whats the excuse for being late this time" Jaime asks.

"Well, we lost track of time. That's what happens when you put two bestfiends together for a walk,huh" Vic answered. We are just bestfriends but hearing that felt like a stab in the heart. Tony is the only one who knows about how I feel about Vic, he gives me a sympathetic look,but I quickly turn my head. I sigh tears bubbled in my eyes.

"Hey guys I'm gonna go to the bathroom I'll be right back" I say, my voice almost a whisper. Tony looks up at me and weakly smiles. I walk into the bathroom and breakdown the way I am sobbing and hyperventilating you would think my family just got murdered, but no, I just feel unworthy of being with the man I'm in love with. The truth is I know that I could never be with him. I couldn't even try that would ruin everything,our friendship,the way the public sees me,and it would hurt what little bit of confidence I have left. When all my tears have dried up I look in the mirror making sure its not obvious that I just had a mental breakdown. I return to the table and get out my sketch book. I was the one who made all the cover art well the concepts anyway. Vic had already started on the songs and they knew what the albums was going to be called. The album was based around the stupid things you do when you're in love, and love subjects in general,rather it be sweet, or more of a breakup and betrayal song. I started sketching the title and their band name, I find myself drawing a boy and a girl, they look to be holding a cube together. Jaime looked at my sketch book in amazement.

"Hey guys look at this" he says pointing to my book. Vic's eyes widen and he smiles down at it.

"Goddamn that's good as he'll y/n" he says looking back to me. I blush slightly

"Thank you" I say and smile. Tony grabs my book to look at it closer

."Damn this is good y/n" he says smiling and handing me my book.

"We've gotten a lot done so i think we should head home." Tony says. Tony and Jaime share an apartment and me and Vic share one just down the street. I get up grab my book and pencils stuff them in my bag and start towards the door Vic following behind me. When we get outside he pats his pockets and his smile fades.

"Do you have your keys" he asks worry plastered on his face. "Uh yeah why" I ask walking backwards so I can see him.

"I forgot mine" he says while giving me a weak nervous smile. I giggle under my breath

"you always do" I say.

"You don't have to be mean about it" he says fake pouting. We both laugh for a minute and make it into the apartment

#vic fuentes #fanfic #x reader

[420technoblazeit]

anyway masterlist of responses to ppl's random messages on this form

hunters grab ur salt or hwatever. call my blog the winchesters bc we're time traveling in this fuckin car

IS HTIS WHY MY POLLS KEEP GETTING WEIRDLY SKEWED. GOD. FINE ILL ADD A 'DID NOT WATCH SUPERNATURAL' OPTION

im about to write a fix it where htey bring back crowley bc everything the writer's team did post-his death made me so goddamn angry. he adn cas die in the same episode and theyre like teehee. the antichrist brought cas back but not him bc idk. cas is Special. adn then they dont let rowena resurrect him im so alskdhgsadgasdgsadglhaldga

oh fukc are there angel robots in this. i keep making posts about gabriel spn adn people mistake it for ultrakill mayb i WILL play htis

i cant explain but like. hte type of cat that's black and white but the black adn white kinda meld together yk what im saying? lik,e an oreo milkshake

i handed in two of my final assignmetns last night so hopefully soon! im hella behind in one of my classes htough so we'll see

ive stayed up till 3 about 3 times in hte last 5 days. one of htose was bc the spn season 1 finale was a two parter adn i forgot and wanted to get to hte part where they got hit by the truck, another was bc i got really into a session of apex legedns, and the third was bc i had a final assignmetn and pissed away the rest of the day spn postign so. i think ur right

hwy are you the coolest person here what the fukc. like omg what's ur numberrrrrrrrr

WOE, DISCREET SUPERNATURAL REFERENCE IN MY MINECRAFT SMP BE UPON YE. it's a good nickname htough c!aster uses nicknames all the time for ppl anyway lmao. we've already got old man for sleep, princey for lux, dog breath for kota, etc etc. it fits

so fuckign true broski n boy am i having a time. i bought a crowley print a couple weeks ago but hte shipping for a print was too much money so i just bought a bigass sticker adn ykw. it worked. i also found out htat the artist now draws apex legends so im winning here

holy shit wait is htis just. literally a copy of super smash bros fuck yeah ill play that what the hell. why didtn u tell me about this sooner

this was on hte submission for judas. um,,,,, ,,, yeas

no youer so right. somebody did send a drawign in the drawing box of like. their little furry oc with hearts saying 'kys' adn i laughed so fucking hard at it. i didtn post it bc i wasnt sure if they were serious or not, i assume htey werent considering how cutesy it was but uh. yeha

sedn it to me im srs. i used to be hte biggest sabriel shipper back in the day before my brain apparently decided that angsty drowley shippign is superior. i love gabe though he's my fave

also im not puttign it here but someone sent a monologue? from somethign called fictional googology???? ??

LISTEN BITHC. WHEN QSMP GET'S HTE LORE ROLLING ILL DO IT. OR MAYBE GO TAKE A LOOK AT MY FUCKIGN BLOCK PEOPLE U EVER HTINK ABOUT THAT??? ?? anwyay im gonna b on wynne's vault hunters server u should go check them out n give them a follow theyre really cool

jesus fucking hcirst. u might as well just shoot me in hte leg dog

#the pig squeals #long post #spn spoilers

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Rain Check

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: 2860

Warnings: Lots of sexual tension and pining and ~heated glances~ or whatever but no actual sexy times. Author plays fast and loose with the canonical details of Spencer’s teaching sabbatical, as well as the logistics of grad school. There’s a teacher-student thing going on, but no weird age gap or whatever. Excessive objectification of Spencer’s hands, because really, what else do you expect from me? 

A/N: For the “mutual pining” square on my @cmbingo​ card! 

You trail off. Spencer’s staring like he’s waiting for you to say something else, even though you’ve been rambling for a while now. 

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. 

“For what?” 

“You probably didn’t need to know all of that.”

He blinks, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. 

Something about him makes you want to open up; it’s been almost an hour of nonstop conversation, and you haven’t told him what you’re studying or even where you’re studying, but you feel like you’ve known him for years. You’ve talked about your favorite books and assorted high school traumas. He keeps insisting he’s not good at small talk anyway. 

“I really like listening to you talk,” he says, soft and sweet. “I just… I like watching you talk, too. I noticed your eyelashes and — and I got distracted.” 

Your cheeks feel hot, suddenly. You know the feeling. 

“Oh,” you manage.

There’s something about his hands; they’re just very fucking distracting, and every time he tucks his hair behind his ears, you lose your train of thought. It doesn’t help that he keeps absently-mindedly twirling a pen as he talks, long dexterous fingers moving with precise little movements, and — yeah. Distracting is putting it mildly. There’s this constant low flicker of want in your gut. 

“It’s been a long time since I enjoyed myself this much in a bar,” he admits, with a self-conscious little half-smile. 

“Me too.” 

Probably helps you’re not actually inside the bar. You’re tucked in the corner of the deck, leaning on the railing, and even though it’s crowded, you’ve barely noticed your surroundings. Every time you look at him, the rest of the world feels distant, like one of those perfect movie moments where the crowd parts and the hero and heroine walk toward each other in slow motion, meeting in a spotlight as everything else fades away. 

It’s just… those moments don’t happen, not in real life and certainly not to you. It’s never as simple as that: see — want — have. 

You can’t help but hope that this time might be different. 

Spencer’s smiling, and the way he looks at you with those big soft eyes makes you feel like you’re standing in a spotlight. It’s not a bad thing, necessarily. It’s just unusual, this jittery, excited, not-exactly-stage-fright thing happening in your chest. 

You have to remind yourself to breathe. 

The pause stretches a bit too long, and in an effort to fill the silence you blurt out, “What are you thinking about?” 

He hesitates, and his tongue slides along his lower lip, drawing your attention to his plush pink mouth as he says, “I was thinking—”

“Spence! There you are!” someone says loudly, and you’d be embarrassed by the way you jump, startled, if Spencer didn’t do the exact same thing. 

“Hey. Emily. Um… what’s up?” His voice cracks. He looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar; it’s flattering and oddly endearing. 

“We have a case.” The woman seems to be holding back a smile as she glances apologetically at you. “Meet you up front.” 

Spencer is visibly disappointed as he turns back to you. He gives you a helpless sort of shrug, and for a second, neither of you say anything. 

Your throat feels tight as your eyes lock on Spencer’s parted lips again. It’s been such a long time since you felt this drawn to a person; his closeness feels hypnotic. 

“I’d like to see you again,” he says shyly. “I — can you—” 

“Phone number?” you supply. His hands flutter and his eyebrows rise, like he forgot, for a second, that cell phones exist. Then he pats his pockets, pulls his out, and passes it to you. Once your number is saved, you give it back with a small smile. 

“I’ll probably be out of town for a few days, and then — maybe next weekend,” he says. 

“I’d really like that,” you admit, trying to make yourself take a step back. “This was — yeah. I’m glad I met you.” 

“Spencer!” someone says, from the door, and he waves them off without turning to look. 

“Earlier, when you asked—” He pauses, frowning, shifting his weight like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “I was thinking about how much I’d like to kiss you.” 

His voice is soft and husky, and it cracks on the last word like maybe his throat is tight too. You feel hot all over. 

You never even shook hands; there’s been no physical contact whatsoever between the two of you, and now your head is spinning with the urge to reach out, to touch, to get closer... but it feels like you missed your opportunity for that — it doesn’t feel right, not when you know it’d be over much too quickly. You can tell Spencer feels it too. 

Once two magnets snap together, it’s a lot harder to separate them. 

“Rain check on that,” you say breathlessly, and he nods, raising one hand in an awkward wave as he steps back. 

-

This is Spencer, by the way. I’m really glad I met you.

The text comes in just an hour or so later, when you’re sitting in the cab on your way home, and you smile so wide it feels like your cheeks might split with it. 

-

The giddiness lasts until Tuesday morning, when you walk into the first session of your six-week-intensive graduate seminar and see Spencer at the white board, writing down page numbers for your reading assignment. 

Your eyes lock, and there’s another of those moments where you can’t see anything other than him. It’s not so pleasant this time, though. 

Spencer drops his pen, and you promptly forget how to walk, stumbling and spilling coffee down your front. You curse so loudly that the rest of the class turns to stare at you. 

To add insult to injury, the only open seat is directly across from Spencer’s. 

Fantastic. 

You spend the next hour and a half trying very hard to avoid eye contact, and for the most part, you’re successful. He doesn’t seem to want to look at you either. 

You do sneak one glance, though, and he’s just as pretty in the harsh fluorescent light of the classroom as he was in the golden glow of the bar lights. It seems really fucking unfair. 

If it were any other class, you would consider dropping it, but you were lucky to get a spot; this is big for your resume. It’s a special, one-time-only class, and your advisor had described the guest professor as “a genius, and one of the leading names in his field.” 

...fuck. 

Spencer dismisses the class. You start packing hurriedly, convinced he’s going to ask you to stay back, but you get out the door without incident. You’re already halfway down the hall when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. 

Can we talk? 

It’d be so easy to lie, say you have somewhere to be, put the rejection off for another day, but instead you take a deep breath and turn around. 

Spencer is sitting right where he was, except now he’s cross-legged in the chair, twirling a pen and frowning at it like it contains the mysteries of the entire universe. He gives you a twitchy attempt at a smile, eyes wide with worry. 

You move closer, sitting down next to him, trying to ignore those fucking fingers as he plays with the pen. This would be a whole lot easier if he would stop doing that, because it’s just like the bar — the same hot, fluttering sensation low in your belly, no matter how much you try to ignore it now. 

“I thought you worked for the FBI,” you mumble and he lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sigh. 

“I do,” he says ruefully. “I just — also teach, sometimes?” 

“Yeah. I got that.” 

His tongue does that slow swipe across his lower lip. You bite your own lip, trying not to stare, and Spencer drops the pen with a clatter. 

“Sorry,” he says, shoving both hands through his hair. “I’m so sorry if I — if this is — is this going to make you uncomfortable?” 

You frown, looking at him blankly for a second, because that was so not the reaction you expected. “Uncomfortable?” 

“Knowing that I — that I’m attracted to you? I’m aware of the power imbalance inherent in the situation and I promise I would never—” 

“Present tense?” you blurt out, and Spencer stops, blinking at you. 

“Well… yes. I thought that was obvious. I meant it, you know; I don’t just meet people like that,” he says, agitated. “It’s usually difficult for me to talk to strangers, and you’re — you’re just — yes. I’m attracted to you.” 

“I figured you would think I was immature, and — I mean, it’s such a fucking cliche,” you laugh, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. “I usually try to avoid modeling my life on Van Halen songs.” He gives you a blank look and you add hastily, “Never mind. Point is, a student with a crush, throwing themselves at a professor? Seems like a recipe for embarrassment.” 

“Oh,” he says, as a smile spreads across his face. “So… maybe after the class is over, we could—” 

“Yeah?”  

Spencer is blushing. Jesus pogo-jumping Christ, you want to kiss him. 

“It’s just six weeks. We’ll keep it strictly professional — appropriate — for six weeks.” The words are quiet, all husky and promising, and you can’t tell whether it’s intentional or not, but something about that tone sounds very fucking inappropriate. “And then… we’ll take that rain check.” 

You nod and clear your throat. “You’re on.” 

SIx weeks, two classes a week, ninety minutes per class. Easy enough. 

-

It’s not easy. Not in the fucking slightest. 

Part of you wishes he could be a bad teacher, or something. If he was boring — if he had an obnoxious laugh — something. Instead, every goddamn minute spent in his classroom seems like another reason to fall for this guy. 

And yeah, sure, he’s pretty. You catch yourself staring, sometimes: his long lashes, the hint of gold in his eyes, the sharp angles of his jawline, the messy hair… and you’re not the only one. It seems like the entire class is crushing on him by the end of the second meeting, boys and girls alike, and maybe you would make fun of the Indiana Jones-style lash-fluttering that’s aimed his way if you weren’t guilty of doing the same thing yourself. 

Once word gets around that there’s a cute new professor in the criminology department, rumors start to fly left and right. You’ve heard other students talking about him, speculating about the apparently “way more badass than you’d think” Doctor Reid. You hear stories about how he got shot once — was kidnapped and tortured — overdosed on heroin — saved a train full of people by talking down a lunatic with a gun — hooked up with a movie star — went to jail for murder — you name it, every story more far-fetched than the last. 

Well, he did mention getting shot one time, but you’re pretty sure the rest are too absurd to be true. 

Either way, it’s not the looks or the legends that have you hopelessly head-over-heels. 

It’s the way he lights up when he gets started on a subject that interests him. It’s the joy in his expression when a student asks a good question, or when they draw the right conclusion; his smile is bright and brilliant every time. 

The first time one of those smiles is aimed in your direction, along with a half-shouted, “Correct!” and an excited wave of his pen, you’re just about blinded. It quickly becomes one of the driving goals of your day-to-day life: make Spencer smile. 

He’s beautiful, in those moments when he’s grinning and enthusiastic, but the quiet moments are even worse. 

Sometimes he stares as you work your way through a train of thought, eyes glinting as he fixes them on you with a breathtaking intensity and this fierce pride. Sometimes, his voice is firm and sharp, and sometimes when he says things like, “Yes, exactly like that,” it sounds so much dirtier than it should. 

Sometimes — sometimes — once or twice or a dozen times — you fantasize about that voice. You’re only human. 

You never realized there was such a thing as a “praise kink,” but… yeah. That about sums it up. 

At first you worry that he’ll lose interest: that you’ll say something stupid or he’ll find someone else, because in your experience with men, they don’t wait around for six hours, let alone six weeks, once they’ve realized they can’t immediately have what they want. Instead, it only gets worse as the weeks pass. 

It’s nothing obvious, nothing that could be labeled as inappropriate — you still haven’t touched Spencer, not so much as an accidental brush of his hand against yours when he passes back a graded essay. It’s just that his gaze lingers, whenever he looks in your direction, just a moment longer than it would on anyone else. Every time your eyes meet, you have a hard time remembering that the rest of the world exists. It might as well just be the two of you. There’s this heat between you, this crackling electricity, like touching a live wire every single time, like you can’t pull yourself away to break the current. 

It’s the longest six weeks of your life. 

-

“That’s our time,” Spencer says, glancing at his watch. “I’ll get your essays marked and returned to you before break, and on Sunday evening, I’ll submit your final grades, at which point—” His eyes flick to you, and you bite your lip. “— my responsibilities as your professor are complete. It’s been a pleasure.” 

-

“Hi,” Spencer says, without preamble, when you pick up the phone on Saturday evening. “This is — um. This is Spencer?” 

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning so hard you can barely say, “Yeah, I know.” 

“Right. Um… where are you?”

“Just dropped off a few library books.” 

“I got grades done a little early,” he says hesitantly. “Do you want to… meet me at my office, maybe? We could go out for dinner?” 

You’ve never been there before, but you know where it is. Open office hours with Spencer always seemed like a disaster waiting to happen, because your self-control only goes so far.

“Sounds good,” you say, voice strained, heart racing. “Be there soon.” 

You walk fast. 

The building is mostly deserted, at this hour, and as you walk quickly down the hall, the catch and release of breath in your lungs seems too loud for your quiet surroundings. 

You might be panicking a little bit. There’s still a part of you that’s just waiting for him to change his mind, to realize how dorky and awkward you are, to find someone more polished or accomplished or… something — fuck, this seems to good to be true. 

Spencer has one of the old, cramped temporary offices used by visiting professors, and even though he’s only been here for a month and a half, he’s amassed quite a collection of books in the small space. When you step through the open door, he’s got his sleeves rolled up as he places a couple books gently in a box. He runs his hands through his hair with a sigh, making it even more hopelessly touseled. 

“Hey,” you say, and he turns around, wide-eyed and nervous for a moment before a smile — one of the brilliant too-bright ones you’ve become so fond of — transforms his face. 

“Hi! Um, I’ll come back tomorrow to finish cleaning, I was just — we could go out, I don’t have to — dinner? Are you hungry?” He picks up a pen from the cluttered desk, twirling it like he just really needs something to do with his hands; he seems just as anxious as you feel. It’s comforting, for some reason. At least you’re both awkward dorks. 

“Not hungry,” you say shyly. You close the door, slow and deliberate. 

Spencer’s eyes widen and then go dark, all heavy-lidded and heated. 

He drops the pen, closes the distance between you in two long strides, and cups your face in his hands before kissing you, deep and urgent, dizzyingly perfect. It’s desperate, after all this time, all that pent-up longing and suppressed electricity surging through you all at once, making you gasp at the sharp incredible sting of his teeth nipping your lower lip. 

It’s one hundred percent worth the wait. 

You’re both breathless when he breaks the kiss, but you sway closer anyway, trying to follow his mouth, and blink like you’re coming out of a trance. His lips are red and swollen. 

“Rain check on dinner?” he asks. His voice is suggestive and smoky — there’s nothing appropriate about it. 

When you nod, he just reaches behind you and locks the door. 

.

.

Smutty bit is now here!

.

More CM fic here! 

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction

[sharkneto]

a couple hrs late bc i was taking a test but!!! i know smthng u bring up a lot is five not remembering that elephants exist but do u have any other niche/uncommon Thoughts about ways growing up in the apocalypse fucked with Five/ stuff he forgot? (does this even count as asking you about your fics or is this asking you about your headcanons... im not sure lmao) also i already said congrats but congrats!!!

There's lots of little things floating around, things that I'll probably figure out as I keep slogging through writing the apocalypse fic, but nothing as Big as Five forgetting about elephants (which I love so much). I think he has a very loose grasp on personal property - everything in the world was his for decades. If he needs it, he grabs it. Whether that belongs to a sibling or a store. With that, I think he doesn't really get money. He was a child billionaire and then lived in Nothing forever. When the Commission scooped him up and was like "here's your salary, here are your benefits, here is your retirement plan" Five said "Yes?" and just let that do whatever it was going to do. The Commission hammered in paying for things because otherwise he would draw unwanted attention to himself while bopping around time, but it's about a 50/50 shot if he's going to actually remember or not. Money in general is Meaningless to him, outside of an abstract understanding that you need it to get things (unless you can teleport and you're fast, then you can just take the things).

I think old habits from the apocalypse sneak up on him. Not just things like hoarding food and how he stores things to keep bugs out (which he also does), but things that used to be true for him before he mini-ed himself. He expects to be stiff after sitting for a while. Expects his knee to hurt when it rains. Expects to be slower, to tire sooner, to ache more. Expects to be taller (although, not much) and have larger hands, longer arms and legs. He'll plan out his route somewhere around the easiest path, easiest to walk, easiest to bike, before he remembers he doesn't have to do that - for one the streets are all smooth, all connected, and for two he's fucking thirteen and has energy for goddamn days (when he remembers to eat). His body is young but sometimes he forgets that.

I think he has a hard time finding hobbies, figuring out how to fill his time. Everything he's done for so long was For Survival. The idea of having free time to do random whatever just for the fun of it is utterly alien; he's never had that a day in his life. His default in free time is to do math because that's what he did for decades. He doesn't necessarily have math to work on, now, and it's easy for him to spiral a bit into it, lose time; the siblings would prefer if he didn't keep doing all that math, but he doesn't really know anything else. He knows how to do other things - garden, knit, sew, etc - but they were always activities for survival, things he had to do, so it's hard to switch them into something he wants to do for fun, so he doesn't. I still haven't really settled on what I think Five would actually do once he's actually done with everything and on his way to a Functional Person. I like the idea of him being an engineer, tbh - building and creating after all his destruction. Plus he still gets some math to do.

I think he does really, really badly on his own. Which he doesn't get because he was fine on his own forever so he thinks he's fine but he's Really Not. He spirals, quickly. Gets anxious and prickly and generally unpleasant and antsy while pretending he's Fine to himself and getting mad at his siblings for how they're all out doing Dumb Things but it's fine because everyone is an adult here and can do whatever they want. As soon as a sibling shows back up, there's Five. He's like a cat, just in the same room. Oh, they're going to the kitchen? Five needed some more coffee, anyway. Going back to the living room now? Well, the armchair is much comfier than the kitchen chair to sit and read in. He's also Not Pleasant to be around because he's got all that energy keyed up that he didn't have anything to do with and he's hurting from being alone (not that he acknowledges that) so it comes out as general extra grumpiness, which is a fun time for the siblings to deal with.

I'm going to cut myself off now, lol. Don't want to turn this into an essay or accidentally start myself on another WIP (I really don't need to add to my list rip). Hopefully this was a bit of what you were looking for <3

#thank you for the ask friend <3 #hope your test went well! #shark's one year fic-aversary #ficblogging #tua #number 5 #shark's tua thoughts

[hermannsthumb]

I've read fics where Hermann disapproves of PDAs but what about the reverse? As in he's so stunned at winning the most amazing man in the Shatterdome (6 phds, literal rockstar, gorgeous Newt) that he deliberately provokes contact and shows of affection. Just to show off to people and send a clear back off signal. And Newt just dotes on him obliviously.

ok this one is another super old prompt and when I was writing it this week it KINDA got away from me. but I hope everyone enjoyyyys. partially inspired from conversations with @k-sci-janitor 👀 totally sfw, except for one brief reference

anyway, a fic about hermann being all affectionate with newt and also discovering what relaxation is 

——————————————-------------------------------------------

The day after the world doesn’t end, Hermann brings Newt breakfast in bed.

Honestly, it surprises Newt more than the whole world not ending thing. Up until the previous evening, after all, Newt was pretty damn sure the guy absolutely hated him, and that if Hermann was gonna do something as out of character as bringing him breakfast, it surely meant he’d spat in it first. Or maybe poisoned it. If hated isn’t the right word, Newt would say Hermann at the very least barely tolerated. And then the whole sharing the neural load thing happened. And, after that, hugging, not once, but twice, and then falling asleep in bed together. And now Hermann’s perched on the edge of his bed (which they shared while they slept) and handing him a plate.

“You had quite the busy day yesterday,” Hermann says kindly. Hermann has never spoken to Newt kindly before. Atop the plate are two pieces of toast, a soft-boiled egg, and a mug of coffee. The coffee and toast (Newt notices) are exactly the shade he prefers. He wonders if Hermann picked up on it before or after the whole mind-melding thing. Before wouldn’t surprise him—Hermann has always been weird about noticing details like that. The egg, however, is something purely Hermann in taste. “I imagine you could use a nice spot of breakfast,” he adds.

Newt shoves his glasses on and blinks at Hermann groggily. He struggles to sit up, partially tangled in his sheets, and then takes the plate. A little bit of coffee sloshes down onto one of the slices of toast. “Are you wearing my sweatshirt?” he says.

Hermann smiles and looks down at the ragged old MIT sweatshirt he’s tossed on. He may have a few inches on Newt, but he’s still one skinny motherfucker, and it hangs almost comically off his frame. “I am,” he says. “I poked around in your closet, I hope you don’t mind. My clothing was in a rather sorry state.”

Sorry state is an understatement for both of them. Newt’s surprised they haven’t been formally ordered to burn the shit they wore to the bone slums yet. Blood, dirt, and kaiju guts aside, Newt’s, at least, reeks to high heaven with sweat. “No worries,” Newt says. He picks up the coffee and blows on it. He wonders where Hermann got coffee that smells this good. It’s been hard to find anything decent and non-instant on the base these days, and (thanks to limited rations) chain shops like Starbucks cost an arm and a leg for even a small. He also wonders what people thought when they saw Hermann strutting around the base with bedhead in a sweatshirt that obviously wasn’t his. Newt almost wants to blush on his behalf. Scandalous.

Before Newt can so much as take a sip of the coffee, Hermann is suddenly unbuckling and shucking off his grey slacks. “Dude!” Newt yelps, flushing bright red to the tips of his ears. Hermann blinks at him innocently. “What are you doing?”

It’s not so much that Newt is upset as it is that it’s so wildly out of character for Hermann that he feels he owes it to Hermann to act at least moderately scandalized. In all his years of knowing and working alongside Hermann, he’s never so much as seen Hermann’s bare wrist before. Now he’s in Newt’s goddamn bed flashing calves, and thighs, and neatly-pressed little white briefs… Hermann rolls his eyes and tosses the slacks (unfolded!) onto Newt’s desk chair. “Making myself comfortable,” he says. “Would you like me to stop?”

Does Hermann iron his underwear? It would be at odds with the rest of his clothing if he did, which is usually in various stages of frumpy to outright wrinkled, but Newt can’t think of how else it would look like that. He wonders if Hermann’s stitched his name on the inner waistband. It seems like the kind of thing Hermann would do. Newt suddenly realizes he’s been staring at Hermann’s briefs (and, worse still, considering how cute Hermann looks in just them and Newt’s sweatshirt) for an uncomfortably long time, so he quickly shakes his head and drags his eyes to Hermann’s face. One of Hermann’s eyebrows is quirked up. Newt hasn’t been subtle. “No,” he says. He clears his throat. “No, dude, you’re—all good.”

He chokes down a too-hot sip of coffee to have something to do with his mouth.

Hermann smirks.

The bedcovers are drawn back. Hermann slips under them and drapes an arm across Newt’s chest, his hand curling protectively over Newt’s hip. With his other hand he snags Newt’s coffee from his grasp and takes a sip. Newt watches his jaw and throat work as he swallows it, a funny feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach. The mug is handed back over, Hermann’s fingers brushing against Newt’s, which make Newt feel even funnier. “Newton,” Hermann declares. “I think we ought to have sex.”

“Oh,” Newt says. “Can I finish my breakfast first?”

“Certainly,” Hermann says.

Newt’s heart pounds as he spreads a little packet of margarine across one of the pieces of toast; he can feel Hermann’s eyes on him, never straying once. Hermann’s hand draws little circles on his hip. Newt drops his toast twice to the plate before he can successfully take a bite, and even when he does, he doesn’t taste it. Hermann’s fingers dip under the hem of his t-shirt. Newt swallows his toast. “Why?” he says.

Apparently it’s the right question. Hermann nods, like he’s pleased Newt has asked. Like they’re talking theories or something. “I came to the conclusion while I fetching your coffee,” Hermann says. “It occurred to me that I wouldn’t have gotten up at seven in the morning to get coffee for just anyone. Then, of course, there is the whole drifting business—”

“You realized you wouldn’t have done that for just anyone too, huh?” Newt says with a smile. Hermann’s hand on his hip stills, and his cheeks go pink. Newt’s relieved to have gotten some ground back here. “Hermann, that’s sooo romantic.”

“The world was at stake,” Hermann sniffs.

“It’s okay,” Newt says. “I won’t tell anyone the great Dr. Gottlieb has feelings. So, what, you realized you have a big ole crush on me?”

Hermann takes the unfinished piece of toast from him and sets it down on his plate. He pulls Newt’s glasses off, kisses him soundly, and then puts Newt’s glasses back on. His mouth tastes like toothpaste. “On the contrary, I’ve always suspected it,” he says. “It’s just that now I have the time to confirm it.” He reaches up and strokes at Newt’s hair. “We have the time for lots of things, now, Newton. Whatever we’d like.”

Newt finishes off his coffee quickly, not even caring when he burns his tongue, and then tosses the remainder of his breakfast to the floor. His egg spills onto the massacred skinny corduroys he wore yesterday. Whatever, Newt’s burning them anyway. “God, get overhere already, man,” he says, tugging at Hermann’s borrowed sweatshirt. He needs to help Hermann confirm his crush or whatever, pronto.

--

It’s a few days before Newt and Hermann finally drag themselves out of bed and to the lab to tackle what little work remains for them to do—cataloguing what are apparently the last kaiju samples known to man (Newt), recording and backing up their drift data (Newt’s solo drift, and then their joint data), drawing some random scribbles on the board and pretending they’re important calculations about the possibility of the Breach reopening (Hermann. Okay, whatever, maybe they are important). Unfortunately, the delay isn’t for any sexy reasons, as much as Newt would’ve liked it to have been. The events of the last day of the war caught up with them pretty quickly after that morning in Newt’s bed, and they mostly just slept, ordered out dinner, popped ibuprofen for their various aches, and avoided medical at all costs. (Rumor had it the medical staff on base were looking for him and Hermann so they could do some brain scans. Apparently drifting with a kaiju brain is potentially dangerous, who knew.)

A rancid smell washes over them the second they push the heavy lab doors open, and Newt spots several hunks of kaiju organs rotting away on his workbench. Hermann clamps a hand to his mouth. “Oops,” Newt says, turning to Hermann sheepishly. He can’t help but cower as he does. He and Hermann got along swimmingly the past couple days—it’ll be sad to see all that hard work go down the drain over this. “Guess I forgot to clean up the other day. In my defense—we were kind of busy.”

But Hermann doesn’t snap at Newt, or thump his cane on the ground, or call Newt an idiot, or even look annoyed; he lowers his hand from his mouth and laughs. Albeit a terse laugh, but still. Newt gapes at him. “We were rather busy,” Hermann concedes. “So long as you clean it up in the next ten minutes, I—what, Newton?”

“Nothing,” Newt says, quickly. “I’m gonna—um—deal with it now.”

Hermann disappears from the lab while Newt is digging around in the storage closet for extra heavy-duty trash bags. When he comes back an hour later, he’s holding a cardboard tray of small plastic cups, and Newt has just hefted his last spoiled sample into the lab’s airtight biohazard bin (a bit mournfully, if he’s being honest, since he’s sure there’s still more to learn about the kaiju from them). Newt squints at the cups in the tray while he rips his messy disposable work gloves off. “What’s that?” he says.

“Iced coffee,” Hermann declares.

The gloves slap, wetly, into the biohazard bin, and Newt lets out a low whistle. “Dude. No way. From where?” He’s not sure when he gave off the impression that the way to his heart was good coffee, but maybe it’s true. Then again, Hermann could probably win him over with a cup of lukewarm tap water. Not because Newt is desperate or anything. He just really likes Hermann.

“A little shop a bit away from the base,” Hermann says. “I took the bus.” He draws back his chair and sits down with a soft sigh, setting his cane against his desk. Then he draws out a small brown paper bag from his parka pocket. He tosses it to Newt; Newt catches it with one hand. “They had these funny little cakes on sticks. I thought you might like one.”

“Cake pops?” Newt says.

“I presume,” Hermann says. While Newt inhales the little chocolate-dipped cake pop (which is so good, oh my God, Newt hasn’t had dessert that didn’t come from a vending machine in plastic shrink wrap in years), Hermann adds, “I wasn’t sure what sort of iced coffee you liked, so I made sure to get a variety.”

“Sick,” Newt says, spewing crumbs on his shirt. “Um. But, like, why though?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermann says. “I suppose I wanted to do something kind for you.” He carefully slides a straw out of its paper wrappings and pokes it into the lid of one of the coffees. Once he crumples up the wrapper and tosses It into his train bin, he grips his cane, and uses the handle to nudge Newt’s desk chair towards him. “You worked awfully hard cleaning the laboratory.”

Newt preens a little, even as he privately wonders why Hermann’s acting so weird. Well, nice. But nice is weird for Hermann, so they’re basically the same thing. Is this part of his whole deciding whether or not he digs Newt thing? Newt just assumed the awesome morning they spent together would be proof enough of that. Then again, Hermann’s pretty thorough. “I guess,” Newt says. “It was kind of my mess, though.”

Hermann pats at the empty chair with a smile. Hermann’s smiles are so rare—crooked, and stupid cute—that Newt’s heart gives a painful little twist at the sight of it, and he realizes he doesn’t actually give a shit about why Hermann’s being all weird, actually. “You’ve earned a break,” Hermann says. “Besides, I’d like to spend time with you.”

Newt’s too stunned to argue with that one. When he sits down, Hermann inches their chairs together until their knees are touching.

--

They don’t necessarily fall back into their usual habits by the next week, but the better ones they’ve picked up (being a little kinder to each other, a little more patient, a little more respectful, and also the fact that Hermann can’t seem to stop touching Newt) all but fall into the background as Newt throws himself into his work with renewed determination. Unfortunately, his desire to get it all done as soon as fucking possible speaks less to his awesome work ethic, and more to the fact that he’s just not sure what else to do with himself now, and he likes that work gives him the excuse to not think about it. Hermann said they have all the time to do whatever they like now. Well, Newt likes working. He knows working. Relaxation is a foreign concept to him, and it was a foreign concept to Hermann up until recently. While Newt is toiling away over his decaying kaiju samples in the lab, Hermann is out—

“Where?” Newt says.

Hermann gives Newt the most serene smile Newt’s ever seen cross his face. “I took a bath,” he says. “It was very nice. I bought some nice soaps, and lit some candles, and looked online to see how to do one of those mud masks. It was very relaxing. You ought to try it.”

“Try bathing?” Newt says.

“Yes. Well, no. I mean taking a bath. Is there something you’re not understanding?”

Newt tries to imagine Hermann with a mud mask on his face and cucumbers over his eyes and fails miserably. Hermann hates messes. He would never stand for mud, let alone on his skin. Where’d he even find a bathtub? Did he break into the rangers’ locker room again? Aren't candles banned on base for being a fire hazard, anyway? “Yeah,” Newt says. “Pretty much all of it.”

Hermann shakes his head with a snort, and Newt catches a whiff of something floral and fragrant—his fancy new soap or oil, he guesses. “I’m not surprised. You know, Newton, you are awfully tense.”

Hearing that from Hermann of all people, the king of having-a-massive-stick-up-your-ass, is probably the funniest thing that’s ever happened to Newt. He laughs out loud and plunges a bare hand into his kaiju sample with a gross squelching noise. “Sure, dude.”

He’s almost too engrossed in his sample to feel Hermann sidling up behind him and setting a hand at his waist. He definitely feels Hermann nose a kiss behind his ear, though, and the hot flush that spreads down across his neck from it. Newt’s hand goes sweaty around his scalpel. One thing he definitely wasn’t expecting from a post-no-apocalypse Hermann is how free he is with affection in any and all forms. “Give it a rest, love,” Hermann murmurs. He nudges at the heel of Newt’s boot with the end of his cane. Love? “Why don’t we head back to my quarters and watch a film? You can pick.”

“But.” Newt fidgets. “I have—my sample—”

Another little kiss. The soapy-oil smell is stronger now. Newt thinks it might be lavender. He wonders if the mud mask left Hermann’s skin all soft. “It won’t be going anywhere, Newton.”

Newt sets down his scalpel.

When they they pass by a group of LOCCENT staff in the hallway, Newt makes to drop Hermann’s hand (which Hermann had laced together with his own before they left the lab), but Hermann holds fast, maybe even faster than before, and looks at him with his stupidly sweet set of big eyes. Newt waits until they round the corner to say anything. “Sorry,” he says, lamely. “Um. I thought—you wouldn’t want—” Hermann continues to stare at him. His iris is still ringed red like Newt’s. “I just mean I know you’re weird about stuff like that. Public stuff.” Hermann has been a closed and tightly-bound book for as long as Newt’s known him; he can’t imagine that would suddenly change and he would start broadcasting his emotions far and wide in the course of a week just because he’s a little less stressed.

Or, you know. Maybe Newt’s totally wrong on this. “Ah,” Hermann says. He nods, very seriously. “Yes. I have been considering that as well. I see no reason to hide recent developments in our relationship.” He squeezes Newt’s hand. "In fact, I see no reason to not be quite, er, proud of them. You’re quite the catch.”

Newt remembers the stolen sweatshirt. Maybe Hermann wearing it out to get them breakfast was more calculated than he realized. “So if I made out with you against the wall right now you wouldn’t be mad?” Newt says.

“Well,” Hermann says, inclining his head to his door, "seeing as my quarters are right there, it seems a rather unnecessary inconvenience.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Newt smiles as Hermann leads him in. “Can I really pick the movie?”

“Within reason.”

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #esperata

[willowbird]

can we get an Aaron POV of him beating the abuslute shit out of Jack in the locker room. i’m talking about slamming this boys head into the locker beating, he need kevin, matt and nicky to get aaron to stop and even then he still struggling to get more in till andrew comes into his vision. show me that same aaron from that secne in thanksgiving!!!

I am so SO sorry it's taken me so long to answer this!! Work was getting hectic and I was working on something else BUT now I'm for sure gonna get through the rest of these asks ^.^

Aaron losing his shit on Jack, huh? Well, we can sure do that ^.^ 

I changed a few things from your prompt just because as I was sitting down to write it made the most sense to me that if Aaron was gonna go after Jack it probably wouldn’t be about Andrew or Neil. Neil and Andrew take care of themselves, more or less, and if they can’t then they’ve got each other. Not that Aaron wouldn’t beat the ever-living shit out of Jack for doing or saying something to Andrew, but he just probably wouldn’t have to -- if only because Andrew doesn’t care enough about Jack to be affected by him. 

Nicky on the other hand...? Well, I’m a bit soft for the twins being protective of Nicky.

Warning for violence, depression, mentions of suicidal thoughts, triggering language. Take care of  yourselves.

----

“Jesus fucking Christ. That was the most pathetic excuse of teamwork I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life, and this is my sixth year coaching this fucks-forsaken team.” Coach Wymack had just spent the last twenty minutes ripping all of them brand new assholes. They were all tired, they were all angry, and they were all ready for this day to be fucking over, but it wasn’t over until the Coach had had his say, so here they were -- sitting in the locker room, getting chewed out again. 

Not that they didn’t deserve it. Aaron knew they did.

It had been a brutal fucking loss. The Foxes trashed by some half-cocked team from Alabama. Even with Andrew actively trying to block the goal, there was only so much he could do when the other team’s offense kept breaking through their defensive line to swarm the goal. Matt was off the court with an injury, which meant the only backliners they had were Aaron, Nicky, and Keith -- the freshman backliner who still couldn’t figure out how to fucking pass to a moving target. 

Aaron cared less about the loss than he did about the cause for it, and not for the same reasons as half the rest of the team. 

Nicky had been all thumbs and no energy tonight, but that hadn’t been a surprise -- not to Aaron or any of the rest of the monsters. Nicky had been off for a few days, his usual chatty, chipper demeanor whittled down to strained smiles and shrugs in a way that the rest of the team had never seen before. Well, most of the rest of the team. Aaron had seen this before. Andrew had too. Neil and Kevin hadn’t witnessed it directly, but by now the other two “monsters” knew Nicky well enough to know this other side of him existed even if they hadn’t seen it. 

So yeah, he’d gone into this game knowing it was going to suck -- knowing that they might lose. Maybe that had been their mistake. He, Andrew, Kevin, and Neil had been distracted -- torn between concern for Nicky and the need to cover for him. The freshmen had been a nightmare about it and what the fuck even was teamwork. At halftime, the commentators had called it one of the worst performances by the Foxes in three years. 

Yeah.

But at least it was fucking over, right?

“Now get showered up and get the fuck outta my sight. I don’t want to see a single one of you fuckers until tomorrow -- yeah, that’s right, we’re having Saturday fucking practice thanks to that sorry excuse of a game you pissed all over tonight.” Coach glared at all of them in turn. “By tomorrow I expect Nolan and Fisk to get their heads out of each other’s ass and Hemmick?” The big man’s gaze landed on Aaron’s cousin and he felt himself go stiff. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Andrew stand up from where he was leaning against the lockers. 

“Learn how to be a little less fucking useless. I don’t know what the fuck has been up with you the past few days but get it figure the fuck out. You hear me?”

The first pulse of genuine rage ignited in Aaron’s veins. His hands curled into fists and his vision narrowed. Nicky’s quiet, tightly muttered, “Yes Coach,” was partially drowned out by the dull roar in his ears. 

Anything he might have said or done was stymied, however, by Andrew, who slammed his fist against the lockers, drawing everyone’s attention away from Nicky and onto him. 

“Coach, I think we need to chat.” By whatever magic Andrew had over everyone that made everyone automatically take him more seriously than anyone else, he had Coach’s attention, just like that. The man snorted then jerked his head toward the door.

“Fine, but make it quick. I need to try and block out what just happened.”

Coach and Andrew left the room. For a minute, there was a tense, weighty silence, then someone whined and someone else bitched and normalcy returned -- well, normal for a really shitty fucking day anyway. The women split off to their changing room to shower and get ready, and several of the guys did the same. 

Nicky remained seated, staring blankly down at his hands, shoulders slumped in utter defeat. That anger curled in Aaron again -- not at Nicky and not at the fucking game, but at Coach and the team for being so fucking stupid, and at himself for not knowing what the fuck to do about any of it. Nicky’s depression was an open secret among their group. It was something they all knew of but never talked about. This was probably the worst episode he’d had in years and Aaron just felt... fucking powerless. 

When they’d noticed it, they’d closed ranks around Nicky as a group and shut out the rest of the team in a way they hadn’t done since the cousins’ freshman year. None of them were soft enough to take care of Nicky in the way he probably needed, but Andrew drove Nicky to Reddin Thursday morning and Aaron and Neil joined forces in helping Kevin hold his fucking tongue during practices when Nicky struggled to keep up with the rest of them. 

It was not gentle support, but it was all they had to offer.

It just... wasn’t fucking enough. 

“Jesus, Hemmick, are you fucking crying?” Aaron jerked out of his thoughts at the sound of Jack Nolan’s sharp, mocking voice. It was edged with a cruelty that went beyond the typical assholishness of the Foxes. 

“What, forgot how to fucking talk too? Wow, you really are useless aren’t you?” Jack continued when Nicky only flinched at his ridicule and didn’t rebuke him like he usually would.

“Hey, Jack, leave him the fuck alone. You didn’t do so great out there yourself tonight so why don’t you worry about yourself,” Matt barked from where he’d been sitting through Coach’s dress-down. He was wearing his jersey but since he hadn’t played tonight there was no need for him to have to peel gear off or shower. 

“Whatever.” Jack rolled his eyes like a petulant fucking teenager, but the look he shot Nicky was all cold predator. “Why don’t you do us all a favor and just go kill yourself?”

Even over the exclamation of Matt’s reprimand, Aaron still heard Nicky’s breath hitch. He remembered, vividly, the night two years ago when he and Nicky had been drinking and he’d asked him ‘How the fuck did make it through? We were fucking assholes, we are assholes, and you still stayed.’ He remembered not expecting the answer he got. He remembered Nicky looking down into his drink and saying, ‘I almost didn’t. Probably the only reason I didn’t try to off myself again was knowing that if I did, you two would go to my parents and I... I couldn’t let that happen. Didn’t care about me, but I could care about you. Caring about you guys kept me alive.’

He remembered the sick feeling in his stomach and the way that knowledge cut through his buzz, striking him sober with one fucking word: again.

Aaron did not make the decision to grab Jack, or if he did it was overwhelmed by the roar of the monster under his skin as it surged suddenly up from whatever dark place it had been lurking since that violent, bloody night last November. All he knew was that one moment he was standing there, and the next he had his hands on something that needed to shut the fuck up. 

He only vaguely registered the shouts around him as he dug his fingers into Jack’s shirt and whirled him around. Then the only thing that existed was the feeling of flesh and bone and the slick of blood against his knuckles as he drove his fists into every soft part of the body in front of him as hard as he fucking could. Jacks hands scrabbled ineffectually at Aaron’s shoulders, then his face, trying to hit him or grab his hair or push him off, but for all that Aaron was a small man he was a fucking backliner for a reason and he threw every single ounce of his muscle into shoving Jack into the lockers. 

A second later he was on him again, taking a fistful of his hair so he could slam his head into the lockers until the fucker’s knees buckled and he went down. 

All he could hear was the rumble of rage in his veins. There was no thought, no goal, no understanding -- not of anything but the raw, unfiltered hate pouring out of him as he followed Jack to the ground. Distantly, he knew there was shouting or screaming -- that there were words being thrown at him and hands desperately trying to haul him back. He felt the fingers curling around his biceps and tugging on his shoulders. But his wrath was far too powerful and each time someone got a grip he was able to wrench free and use that momentum to land another hit. 

At one point a solid arm wound around his waist and hauled him up and away. A sound like a feral animal ripped from his throat as Aaron thrashed wildly, trying to throw himself back onto Jack. The man had stopped moving at this point but there was a wet, raspy sound coming from him that still spoke of life and maybe Aaron hadn’t consciously decided to keep going until it stopped, but the drive was there all the same. 

The rest of the room was hazy around the edges, people were blurs of sound and color. The only thing in focus was the wheezing form of Jack fucking Nolan on the floor, and Aaron fought viciously to get back to him, jerking at the arms holding him back, kicking and trying to lash out with all his strength. 

Until something blocked his view. And it took a minute for Aaron to recognize what it was. To recognize who it was. 

“A-Aaron. Aaron. Stop. Please. It’s o-okay. It’s okay. I’m okay. S-stop...” 

The rest of the world snapped back into focus at the sound of Nicky’s gasped, broken words. Aaron stopped fighting so suddenly that he and everyone trying to hold him back stumbled. There were three of them, he realized -- Matt, Kevin, and Dan. Neil and Andrew were flanking Nicky, the three of them blocking his view of Jack’s prone, gasping form but not actually trying to stop him from killing him. 

Nicky was crying, his eyes wide and his hands trembling as he held them out in front of Aaron, pleading him to stop. 

Aaron took a few more heavy breaths and realized he’d been panting. He looked from Nicky to Andrew’s cool, appraising stare, then to Neil’s similar expression before finally glancing beyond them to the mess that might have once been Jack Nolan. When he dragged his gaze back to Nicky, all he said was, “He shouldn’t have opened his fucking mouth.”

Nicky made a strangled sound, something between a sob and a laugh. Then he did something he almost never did and launched forward, wrapping his arms around Aaron in a tight hug. In a reflex that Aaron didn’t even know he had, his arms snapped around his cousin and he hugged him back just as fiercely. 

As Nicky sobbed onto his shoulder, Aaron looked over his hunched form and met his brother’s gaze. There weren’t words that could translate the look they shared just then, but if he had to label it, it might have been something like understanding. 

#aftg #aftg fanfic #tw: violence #tw: depression #tw: mentions of suicidal thoughts #tw: triggering language #pov aaron minyard #aaron minyard #nicky hemmick #protective aaron minyard #asks #100 followers #anonymous #my writing

[bi-naesala]

A "romantic" bathroom confession

Fandom: Yakuza Rating: G Warnings: / Relationships: Han Joon-gi/Zhao Tianyou Characters: Zhao Tianyou, Han Joon-gi, Kim Yeonsu Additional Tags: Emotional Constipation, Love Confessions Summary:

Sure, he could ask him directly what’s going on, but he has the feeling that, by asking him, they’ll both have to uncover some parts of themselves that Zhao doesn’t think they’ll ever be able to show the other, not when they’ve lived so long without ever showing their cards to anyone. No, he’d better not ask. Who knows if he’d like the answer Han gives him anyway.

(Also on AO3)

It’s been a couple of days since when… well, Zhao doesn’t know exactly what happened, but Han has been acting weird: at first, he was quiet, or at least quieter than usual, then he’s begun doing some small things that can only perplex Zhao.

First things first, the pda. Well, to normal couple standards it isn’t much, but considering that we’re talking about Joon-gi Han, it is: he’s begun hovering over him during every moment of pause, going even as far as brushing their shoulders together or even hold his hand and doing all those romantic gestures that a one-week boyfriend would make in order to impress you, which isn’t something that Han really has to do: he’s already impressive on his own, without the need for any of this.

Not that Zhao doesn’t enjoy being pampered, don’t get him wrong, but this doesn’t mean that this sudden change of behavior doesn’t confuse him.

Is Han planning something? He can’t help but to wonder about that…

Sure, he could ask him directly what’s going on, but he has the feeling that, by asking him, they’ll both have to uncover some parts of themselves that Zhao doesn’t think they’ll ever be able to show the other, not when they’ve lived so long without ever showing their cards to anyone.

No, he’d better not ask. Who knows if he’d like the answer Han gives him anyway.

  When Zhao takes his first step outside Survive, he almost jumps when he notices Han, crouched down in front of a vase, the one usually Ichiban uses to in order to grow vegetables for the barkeeper. That’s not something he was expecting to see. Curious.

“Han-chan, what are you doing there?”

“Oh?” Han turns his head towards him, not having noticed him there at first. “Nothing much. I’m watching them grow.” Them being two plants of lillies, who everyone knows is his favorite.

“Are these the ones Kasuga-kun said he was trying to grow?” he asks then, crouching down beside Han.

“No,” the other replies, not moving his gaze away from the blossoming flowers. “These I planted myself.”

Zhao hums at those words, though his face betrays no emotion.

 What the hell is this?

Now, Zhao doesn’t want to make assumptions, but it’s pretty fucking obvious what Han wants to do with the flowers he’s going to harvest, c’mon!

Why is he doing all this? They’re already together, there’s no need for any of this typical couple bullshit!

 Oh well, if one day Han shows up with a bouquet for him, he’s not going to complain.

After all, thinking about it, there’s a place that needs a bit of… something. Yeah, a nice vase of flowers over the shelf at the entrance would look nice, thinking about it.

  Usually, when they want to have dinner, they’d go to Meng Wu and Zhao would cook something for them, which might seem cheap, but they don’t mind it. Besides, it feels more intimate like this, and it’s also good since they don’t really want to draw attention to themselves and in Meng Wu that’s not going to happen.

This time, however, things are different: Han has insisted upon taking Zhao to dinner and, after a moment of perplexity, Zhao has accepted, because he doesn’t mind change and he’s curious to see where Han’s taking him.

 “Wow…” is all Zhao is able to say once he realizes where Han is taking him, standing in front of the entrance of the place.

Of all things, he wasn’t expecting Le Nouveau Hama. It’s very different from the usual restaurants they go to - they never go anywhere this fancy, even with the others.

He turns towards Han. “You managed to book us a table here?”

“Impressed?” Han replies. He looks very pleased with himself, and for once Zhao can’t really blame him.

No, he can’t blame him at all.

 As soon as they enter, Zhao feels immediately gazes drawn towards them. Maybe they should’ve dressed more accordingly to the place they’ll be eating at, instead of wearing the same kind of clothes they’d wear on the adventure with the others, but heh, who cares.

At least the waiter that greets them does nothing to make them feel like they don’t belong here.

“Good evening gentlemen, did you have a reservation?” he asks them.

“Indeed we do,” Han replies, still looking quite happy with himself.

“Of course. Follow me.”

 Once they get to their table, they sit down and begin to skim through the menu. Ooooh, so many things Zhao would like to try, but the budget…

“Ah, I forgot to mention this to you, but I would like to pay for both of us today.”

Zhao almost reels back at those words, staring at the man sitting in front of him. “Really?”

Han nods. “Yes, I’ve been meaning to do something like this for a while…”

Again, Zhao wonders what Han’s playing at, being all nice and chivalrous like this. First the flowers - which now indeed sit on the shelf like Zhao had planned - and now this; he must have something in mind, mustn’t he?

Eh, what the hell. After all, it works for him.

“Alright. Sounds good to me.”

 Despite the fact that Han’s paying, Zhao still decides not to go too overboard with his order, because he’s not a fucking asshole.

Han doesn’t say anything about it, but Zhao is able to see a shadow of relief in his eyes, and he can’t help but to chuckle at that.

See, that’s what you get when you try to be romantic.

  Zhao has to admit it: the food here is divine.

The tartare is exquisite, and the lobster is too. He would love to have a chat with the chef responsible for these delicacies, and maybe even exchange recipes, but at the moment this isn’t what he’s thinking about.

They’ve both been quite talkative today, and he means both of them, when usually Zhao’s the one running his mouth while Han nods along. It’s like Han’s putting more effort than usual… but this is too much for Zhao.

 “Why are you doing this?”

Han looks at him confused. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” Zhao chastises him, then he gestures to all around him. “This. What the hell is this? You think we’re in some kind of romantic comedy where any of this is necessary?”

Han remains silent, prompting Zhao to continue.

“What is it that you’re after, Han-chan? I mean, there’s no need to get into my panties ‘cause you already do that, so what is it?”

Still silence from Han, at least until he abruptly gets up from his seat and begins to walk away.

“Excuse me.”

 Uhm…

“No, wait, Han-chan come back! I didn’t mean--”

Didn’t mean what, exactly, huh? To spit all that shit while Han was just trying to be nice?

It’s always like this with him: people try to get close, only for him to push them away. Old habits die hard, and Zhao has always had to keep himself and others around him in check; he was supposed to be the leader of the Liumang, and you can’t do that if you don’t learn how to shield yourself from potential threats, and sharing a strong bond with someone is the biggest threat of them all.

The problem with Han is that they have gotten incredibly close, so Zhao’s old instincts kick in, but does he want to push him away? Not really. He’s not the leader anymore, he’s nothing, actually. What would the harm be in trying to have something with someone he - even though it’s hard to admit it - cares about?

 Goddamn… he’s ruined everything with his damned own hands, hasn’t he?

No, maybe he can still save it, if only he could manage to get up from this fucking chair.

Where did Han go? Ah, the bathroom. At least he hasn’t left the building, which Zhao supposes is a good sign - or maybe just a not so bad sign.

There’s only one problem: if he follows him, if he manages to get him to hear him out… he’ll have to be honest, and for him there’s nothing scarier than having to be honest about what’s going on inside his head.

Isn’t the same for Han, though? That’s the reason why they get along so well, because they understand that sometimes you just not want to talk about that stuff and that’s fine, and yet he’s going all the way to do all these romantic gestures that have surely cost him a lot of effort, all for his sake.

… Maybe being opening up wouldn’t be so bad now, wouldn’t it?

 He finally manages to get up.

Fuck it. It’s about he and Had have an honest conversation anyway.

  When he gets to the bathroom, he finds Han in front of one of the sinks. He must’ve washed his face because it’s still wet, but he’s doing nothing to dry it, instead he keeps looking in the mirror on the wall, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Han-chan…”

Those words manage to snap Han out of whatever mood he was in, and he turns towards Zhao, looking slightly surprised to see him there. “Uhm, Zhao… You’re here too.”

“No, I’m just a figment of your imagination,” Zhao instinctively replies, before remembering that he’s supposed to be nice this time. He shakes his head. “Sorry, didn’t mean that…”

C’mon, Zhao. Take a nice, deep breath, and fucking talk.

 “Ok, look, Han-chan, I’ve… I’ve been unfair to you. You were doing all these nice things, and I’ve got on the defensive. The truth is that I like you, I like being with you and do crazy shit together and not just that. Even the normal stuff, the domestic shit… I really like that.”

Han looks shocked by what Zhao has just said. Heh, he’s just as shocked, to be quite honest.

“I wasn’t expecting this thing we had to become so important to me. Honestly I thought it would be a nice fling and nothing more, and I bet you thought that too, but we’re both fools and got trapped into our own feelings.”

That earns him a chuckle on Han’s part, and he can’t help but to do the same. Yeah, they are both huge idiots.

“When you started doin’ all this nice stuff I panicked. I knew that sooner or later I’d have to face my feelings, so I began lying to myself, pretending that I didn’t understand why you’d go all the way to do something like this, and for me of all people…”

He scratches his neck. “As you can definitely see, I’m not that good at this kind of stuff…”

“I can see that,” Han replies, a small smile on his face that becomes larger as he goes on. “Such a heartfelt confession deserves a better place than a public bathroom, don’t you think?”

This fucking asshole.

Despite the roasting - which he frankly deserves - Zhao can’t help but to laugh. “See? Just proven my own point.”

“I do appreciate it, though,” Han replies, still smiling, then he turns serious. “I came here to find the right words to say, but it seems that you’ve beaten me to the punch.”

Zhao crosses his arms to his chest, shifting his weight on his other leg. “Well? We’ve got one heartfelt bathroom confession, why not having another?”

Han chuckles, shaking his head. “Sure, why not?”

 “As you correctly guessed, I’m not the sort of guy to whom this kind of things comes easily, but I knew that it would be worth it in the end, but to tell the truth, I was just being a coward.”

Zhao opens his mouth to interject, but Han raises his hand, prompting him to wait for him to explain himself.

“I started doing this because I wanted to tell you how I felt, but was too scared to actually do it, figuring that you’d understand what I meant without me having to actually say the words. I too was afraid of what would happen if I spoke honestly. I didn’t want to feel that exposed…”

“And here we are now,” Zhao can’t help but to say.

Han nods. “And here we are now…”

He hesitates just for a moment before stepping towards Zhao.

“But I can’t hide anymore the fact that I like…” he stops, frowning. “No, not just like. I… I love you.”

Zhao’s first instinct is to ask him why, why would he love someone like him? But at this point they’re both way past that. Sometimes you just love someone without reason, even though admitting it can be very hard. He knows it.

“I… I love you too.”

 He wonders if Han feels as light as he does, having finally admitted it, but he’s not able to ask him because he’s kissing him and, frankly, he doesn’t want to pull away at all, not when Han’s lips taste so sweet.

Unfortunately it doesn’t last as long as both of them would’ve liked, but after all they’ve been missing from their table for who knows how long; someone might get worried and come check on them.

“How about we go back to our meal, and then finish this when we get back?” Zhao proposes.

“Sounds good to me,” Han replies, going to the door and opening it for Zhao. “After you.”

Before, Zhao would’ve gotten irritated at the gesture, but now he just chuckles as he walks out of the bathroom.

“Such a gentleman~”

  The rest of their dinner goes splendidly, now that they’ve both said their pieces.

If they had known that being honest with each other wouldn’t have had disastrous consequences, they might’ve done it earlier, but in the end, they did when they were ready, which is how these things should go, isn’t it?

 It’s still quite a shock that, of all places, they’ve decided to bare their souls inside a restroom, but oh well, so is life.

At least, it’ll make up for a great story to tell, that’s for sure.

#zhaohan #tianyou zhao #joon-gi han #yakuza #rgg #y7 #my fics #mine #last fic for the exchange

[fishmongeringstudies]

twenty one: i keep waking up in rooms i don't recognize and then realizing that i am still dreaming. my therapist says this is a symptom of a dislocated knee. i have not gone running since march. everyone that i know is lying to me

when i was a kid my parents used to take us to the same restaurant for brunch every sunday. it was on the first floor of a shopping mall which had big panes of glass stitched together for a ceiling and consequently let in far more natural light than your average building, but the restaurant itself was dark. moody. the walls were black and so was all the upholstery. the coffee mugs the waitresses served you coffee in were so dark you couldn't tell how full they were unless you looked extra hard at them, which i rarely did. in most memories of this place i'm seven or eight and i only drink two things: lemon tea and milk. so i'm sitting there with my frosted plastic cup of lemon tea, methodically stirring in my syrup with a skinny metal spoon because they make their lemon tea from scratch here which means no sugar and lots of tea, and my parents are drinking from their big adult mugs, and my sister's picking apart the roasted tomato on my dad's plate, and life, well. life is simple. good.

i can't remember when we stopped going there but i know that by the time i was nine and traipsing around in the hallways of the chinese primary school my parents had transferred me to, it had closed down and been replaced with some other restaurant whose name and shape i can't recall. well before i turned sixteen that entire wing of the first floor was demolished and replaced with the monstrosity that is singapore's flagship muji store. the muji's still there today. it's got a retail area and a few showrooms showcasing lifestyle choices for the upper-middle class citizen and a cafe with a dining area marked out by eclectic hanging decor that looks like a hundred little wastepaper baskets made from twine tied together to form a spotty mural of sorts. i'm fond of the cafe. their desserts are on the expensive side but they're thoughtfully made and look pretty in pictures, prettier in person.

your childhood years are one of those things that gets shinier the further away you stand from it, like how a bad experience becomes bittersweet by necessity if you give it long enough or you'll be stuck carrying that baggage with you forever. looking back, for example, on spring, i am inclined to see the educational takeaways instead of the moments in which my brain shut off and was replaced with a vat of screaming kittens. in this way we propel ourselves forward with the wisdom of the past, scrounged together from moments of pain and deep embarrassment. in this way we find ways to stay alive.

this summer i have wound up in upperclassmen housing by some unfortunate trick of fate. my apartment suite has five bedrooms but only four of them are occupied; i live in the room at the end of the hallway. my flatmates live in the next three. it has been five days since i moved in and i am convinced all of them think that they are living with a cryptid constructed in the scp containment breach format and unsure how to let them know that they are correct without making it personal. last night i woke up after a brief period of dreaming to use the bathroom; while washing my hands in the sink one of my flatmates walked past in the hallway behind me. 'hey, it's you,' she said. 'i feel like i haven't seen you forever. i mean. i've seen you, but i haven't seen seen you, you feel me?' asleep on my feet and ready to crash facefirst into bed, i nodded. 'yes.' she stood there for a few seconds as if expecting me to say more, but i had a vending machine for a brain at the moment and couldn't find it in me to press any more buttons. i certainly could've tried. but i was tired.

when i got on campus in february i resolved to sign up for therapy sessions with the school's mental health services since i was paying an ungodly amount for 'health insurance' (not a thing in singapore, really; not necessary in most places except america, really) anyway and i might as well make use of some small part of the astronomical sum that had been deposited in the pockets of some old white people i would likely never meet in my life. i got as far as filling out the form embedded in the school website and opening the automated email i received a few days later asking me to list my free times each week. i forgot about the rest. we are therefore entering the summer of my twentieth year without a goddamn clue what the inside of my head looks like apart from the fact that it must be pretty cool in there. it has to be cool. if it isn't cool what's the point of holding onto any of it anyway? we live for the spice of life. like garlic powder. cumin. oyster sauce.

this morning i went to target to look for sugar. the dining hall here doesn't do any of its vegetables justice but their desserts are to die for, and i've found myself suffering from a mild withdrawal since i started scrambling eggs and boiling about five hundred grams of cauliflower a day for the sheer therapeutic effect of it and because i don't really know any better. the target near campus is located in a shopping mall and surrounded by miles of parking space on both ends. while walking back across that stretch of empty parking space, i came across a smear of orange on the pavement. it was an orange. or it had been. the rind had been ground into the gravely surface of the road by a repetitive smoothing action so that it looked less like a bit of roadkill and more like it had been there all along. i can't stop thinking about that orange. who the fuck drops an orange in the middle of a road? why didn't they pick it up?

i have been cursed with an idea. it came to me last night before i fell asleep and it has been sitting on my shoulder since then like the devil in the popular angel-and-devil writing device which all nine year olds are taught by their teachers in chinese class, whispering to me about how great things will be if i can teach myself the fundamentals of sound design in three days. unfortunately it is when one decides to start a war that they are forced to confront their contacts list and the vast, untraceable geography of its contents. i cannot tell you if anything will result from this. but i hope that it will.

back when i still talked to her i mentioned the idea of doing puzzles to soothe the mind once and she took to it with so much genuine enthusiasm (she was always enthusiastic. too enthusiastic. enthusiasm was the problem, and the lack of willingness to curtail it the thing that eventually nailed the coffin shut) that i went to target the next weekend and bought a set of four puzzles depicting various scenes from old disney films. over the last two weeks i have done each puzzle three times, save for the last one, in which mickey and minnie mouse waltz down a red carpet and the people on the sidelines cheer for them with champagne moustaches and glittering beads for eyes. i cannot decide if this is meaningful. i cannot see the point of summer. but i am trying.

i don't remember the name of that sunday brunch restaurant. i don't remember the names of a lot of places our parents brought us when we were children, but my sister has been on a nostalgia trip since april and sends me screenshots of old pc games we used to play together from time to time. ernie's adventures in space. timmy's sea adventures. barbie island princess. i open each image and feel something inside of me physically ache in response. it appears that despite my best efforts, i will never be seven years old again.

i'm not a huge fan of lemon tea anymore. i prefer water. how it cleanses the palate like a vacuum cleaner sucking up all the dust and grime in a musty room. it's hard to distinguish between the inside and the outside of a thing when both are the color of a blood-red sunset but we try our best, you know? we draw lines on the sidewalk with chalk and we say 'here is my side of the universe and here is yours'. we act diplomatic when inside we are drunk and slurring our words all over the bartender's white vest. and then, because there is nothing else to do on this planet, we keep on living.

06.10.21

[staticscreenwriting]

The loneliest time of the year || Part two

Part 2 of 4

Summary: With a broken heart and the fear of having failed as a father, Frankie returns to his parents house for Christmas. What is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year feels quite lonely. Though when an old friend shows up unexpectedly with her young son in tow, Frankie’s Christmas seems to gain a little more happiness. Can they help each other fight the ghosts of their pasts and overcome their fears ?

A/N: This is part of my 12 days of Christmas / Advent special. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated.

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Four messed up pies

By the morning of December 9th a heavy blanket of snow rests upon the world like a tick coat of marshmallow fluff. 

A restlessness surges through Frankie as he turns from his left to his right to his back then repeats the process all over again. He kicks away the blankets then pulls them back. Sleep doesn’t come easy these days. In fact sleep hasn’t come easy in a while. It’s a price you have to pay for leading the life he leads, has led. For doing the job he did. You see things, bad things, and they stay with you. Not always but in the quiet moments they creep back into your mind and all you can do is stare and hope they fade again soon. Fill your brain with other things. Occupy your mind.

It’s moments like these that his fingers are twitching and his body is aching for release. For something to numb his mind. Help him forget. 

There aren’t a lot of things that Frankie is proud of. In fact he can count them on one hand. One of them is his ability to fly. He's a damn good pilot … most of the time. (He is when someone doesn’t force him to navigate an overloaded plane across the Andes). He’s proud of Rosie. Despite his flaws and shortcomings he managed to create something so utterly perfect, that’s something to be proud of. And the. There’s the little coin in the pocket of his jacket. The one he fumbles with whenever he’s anxious or stressed. It’s gold and smooth and it proudly displays a big number 10 in the middle of a triangle on the front of the coin.

10 months. That’s a proud achievement. 

It could be more. It should be more! He really tried but after coming home from Colombia, one man less than they went in, after his girlfriend broke up with him and took Rosie with her. After everything. He needed the psi to stop. Just for one goddamn minute. He felt immediate regret wash over him when he woke up the next morning. Called Pope. Entered a 12 step program.

10 months and he feels better. He likes himself more now. But in those 10 months the voices have gotten louder, the images clearer, his heart feels heavier. 

With sleep being so far out of reach, he kicks off the blanket and drags his body out of bed. The smell of coffee hits his nose as soon as he steps out of his room, it drifts from the kitchen all the way up the stairs. 

His parents are sitting by the kitchen counter, mom holding onto a big steaming mug of coffee while his dad is deeply invested in the morning. Paper, glasses perched low on his nose. This is home, it sends him straight back to his childhood. If only, he thinks, if only he could provide this sense of warmth and domesticity for his own child. 

A knock on the front door shakes him from his thoughts. As he swings it open, a sharp sting of cold winter air whips at him, nips at his nose, his ears and his bare feet.

“Frankie hey, oh sorry did I wake you?”

(Y/N) is once again bundled up in layers of cozy clothes, keeping her warm and sheltered from the harsh weather. She looks cute. Absolutely fucking adorable. But in that moment, he doesn’t really notice that. Doesn’t notice Leo standing behind her either. His entire attention rests on the steaming pie she holds in her hands. 

“You made a pie?”

“She made 4.” Leo speaks up, his voice dripping with irritation and annoyance. 

“Thanks for throwing me under the bus, dude!”

Frankie regards the exchange with a fond smile pulling at the corners of his lips. There’s something so distinctly familiar in the way she interacts with her son, so unapologetically her. The way she’s always been. But now grown up entirely. A mother. 

“Why did you make 4 pies?” He asks, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“Well I didn’t plan on making 4. The first one I mistook salt for sugar so you can imagine how it tasted. The second one I put way too much sugar in, might’ve been trying to compensate for my mistake with the first one but yeah that one did end up in the trash as well. The third … well I got pretty invested in an episode of unsolved mysteries and forgot it was in the oven so it turned out um — “

“Black. It was burned to a crisp.” Leo chimes up again, this time more amused than annoyed by his mother’s baking escapades.

“Yeah. It burned. But number 4 is looking pretty good.”

She looks up at Frankie with a smile so radiant it rivals the sun reflecting on the snowy ground. Pride shines in her eyes as she holds the pie towards him.

“Did you make me a pie?”

“Not exactly. It’s mostly for your folks. They agreed to watch this one while I got shopping for his Christmas presents.” (Y/N) explains, her tumb motioning towards the little boy over her shoulder. “This is a thank you to them for being literal angels. “

“Oh man you wouldn’t be saying that if you had to live with them growing up. I can’t tell you how many times dad unplugged my console while I was in the middle of a game.”

It’s a joke, of course it is. He really lucked out in the parents department and he’s not too proud or too shy to admit it. Maybe, he thinks, the good parent gene might’ve skipped a generation with him. His ex will surely agree with that statement. 

“Hey uh — you mind having some company while shopping ?”

“You wanna go shopping for toys?”

“I need to get some presents for my daughter.”

“Oh that’s right, you have a kid too. “

He doesn’t blame her for not remembering. He doesn’t strike people as the father type. And really, he hasn’t seen his little one in quite some time.doesn’t see her during the entire Christmas time. Is he really much of a father anyway?

“Sure yeah! I’d love some company.”

Maybe, Frankie thinks, this will help him drown out the voice. Those that tell him bad thoughts, whisper mean things. Maybe it will help him filter out the images. The blood. The suffering.

Frankie was never overly fond of the extreme commercialization of what should be a peaceful family holiday. But maybe this year he is,a little bit at least. Because those bright colors, the loud noises, the crowds, the ads assaulting you from every corner, that all will help drown out the dark. At least for a moment. 

“Alright lemme just get changed real quick.”

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Five days a week

“What the fuck is this?”

“It’s uh … it’s a … a game?”

“A game where you have to catch a piece of … poop.”

A wave of laughter tumbles from (Y/N)’s lips as Frankie holds up the brightly colored box, proudly displaying a drawing of a smiling turd. 

“It’s so dumb. And that says a lot coming from me, I can appreciate a good fart joke. But this is …. this is just dumb. “

“ It's what the kids these days want. I guess …”

“Would you buy this for Leo?”

“Absolutely not,” (Y/N) replies before taking the box from his hand and placing it back on the shelf between several more games of a similar kind. “But he wouldn’t like it anyway. Leo likes books and animals and fantasy movies. He’s so smart sometimes I wonder where he got it from.”

“You kidding me?” Frankie exclaims, “you’re so smart and if I remember correctly, you always carried around books when you were younger.”

(Y/N) just shrugs at his words though Frankie can’t make out a faint blush of red dusting her cheeks. “Leo is such an easy kid, always has been. Sometimes I wonder if that’s really the way he is or if he just tries to be that way because of me. Because he knows that I have to do all the parenting by myself and he feels he’s responsible for helping me along.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re doing good with him. Least you know what to get him for Christmas, what he cares about, what he’s interested in.”

His heart feels so heavy. His words seem to weigh down on his tongue like a stack of bricks. To admit your own failures to yourself is one thing, to admit them to someone else is quite another story.

“What do you mean ?”

“I — I have no idea what to get for Rosie. I don’t even know when I’ll see her next. She stays with her mom 5 days a week. I only get her on the weekends and even then her mom often finds a reason not to let her stay. Special occasions? I don’t get to spend those with her. Bet she doesn’t even recognize me anymore next time. She’s just a baby …”

This can’t be happening. He’s not going to start crying in the middle of a Toys R Us like a hyperactive toddler on a temper tantrum. Not in front of a beautiful girl who has been nothing but kind to him. This can’t be happening.

(Y/N)’s hand settles on his arm with a gentle touch. Almost as if she’s afraid he’ll break any minute now. And honestly, he might.

“Tell me about Rosie. I know she means the world to you and that’s all that matters Frankie. You’re trying. You’re trying so hard and I’m sure there’s lots about her that you know that no one else does. She’s your baby too. So tell me about her and we’ll figure out what to get her.”

And so they sit down on a swing set, one that’s definitely not meant for adults to sit on and have deep discussions, and Frankie starts talking. Once he starts it’s like a cork has been popped. It pours out of him, all of his pride and admiration and love for Rosie. All that has been brewing for so long now bubbles over. 

“... and she, she loves cuddling onto my chest and just listens to me. She doesn’t understand a word but she looks at me with her big beautiful eyes and it feels like I’m telling her all the biggest secrets of the universe the way she looks at me. Sometimes I sing and she — she falls asleep immediately.”

“That’s adorable.”

“Nah I think it's because my rendition of Eric Clapton is just real bad and boring.”

Their laughter is quiet, almost as if they are afraid of breaking the spell of this moment. Sometimes you find yourself at your most vulnerable during the big moments of your life and sometimes you do in the middle of a Toys R Us, sitting on a swingest that just barely holds your weight while a plastic giraffe looks over your shoulder and Kacey Musgrave’s rendition of “I’ll be home for Christmas” plays over the same overhead speakers that have been installed there in 1983.

“I just don’t want to disappoint her.”

 He’s already disappointing himself and that hurts bad enough.

“Frankie, let me be honest with you. She’s a baby, she’s not gonna care what you get for her. This is more about you than her. Whatever you get she’s gonna like it. Babies are easy to please, gets harder the older they get. We’ll find something cute for her but um … I think you should call her.”

“She’s a baby, she doesn’t have a phone yet.”

“ Really? I had Leo on a newborn data plan the second he popped out.”

Frankie raises his eyebrow in confusion.

“I was joking you dingus. Of course you’re gonna call her mom. There’s this thing, I don’t know if you’ve heard about it, it’s called FaceTime. You can actually see ther person on the other side. “ 

“ Very funny. I know what facetime is … “ 

“ Then call them. You said it yourself, the little one doesn’t understand a word of what you’re saying but that doesn’t matter. You’re there. You’re showing interest and taking initiative. It shows you care. And I think seeing her might be good for you too, even if it’s not in person.” 

“ You know, that sounds like a pretty good plan. “ 

“ Yeah? “ she asks him, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes, in her voice, in her entire being.

“ Yeah. “ 

“ Alright! Now let’s go find some presents for the little princess. May I suggest a cellphone? “ 

This time her laughter isn’t quite. It’s loud and radiant and the way her own joke amuses herself, is so goddamn endearing to Frankie. 

“ Ah shut up. “ he replies though his voice too is dipped in amusement as he throws his arm around her shoulders and they walk down the shiny linoleum floor, past dolls and teddy bears and Star Wars action figures.

And it feels right. Like the fit together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces slotting into place. 

And that feeling is damn scary.

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Six-hour flights.

The floor of (Y/N)’s living room is covered in wrapping paper. Reds and greens and silvers and golds hide what once was a nice dark cherry wood floor. There are bows and ribbons and gift tags in all shapes and sizes and colors. 

“ Looks like Santa’s workshop in here, “ Frankie exclaims as he drops down on the floor next to her. All the presents they’ve purchased, neatly lined up in front of them, ready to be wrapped. Though to be fair, Frankie is quite sure he’s not gonna do a lot of wrapping himself. Sometimes you gotta admit defeat. And he ain’t too proud to admit that he is a horrible, horrible wrapper. 

“ Yeah, I know I’m making a big fuss over things like this. Wrapping and the tree and stuff like that. I just — I don’t know it just makes me happy when I see that my actions put a smile on the faces of the people I love. “ 

“ Oh I wasn't judging. It’s sweet. “ 

For a while they stay in comfortable silence. Just them and the radio playing old Christmas songs. (Y/N)’s hands do quick work on the presents, Santa’s elves would be jealous. 

It’s the first time in a long time, that silence doesn’t make him feel uncomfortable. That it doesn’t open up the gates for the voices to grow louder and the bad images to consume his head. No, this silence feels comfortable. It’s soft and warm. It’s tinted in golds and reds. 

Maybe, he thinks, maybe seeking the company of someone who exudes joy and warmth does him good. Someone who knows him but not the bad. Never the bad. The faults, yes, the fears even, but not the blood that stains his hands or the vices he so desperately tries to fight.

“ What was the best Christmas present you ever got? “ (Y/N) speaks up as she glides a pair of scissors along the ribbon turning it into shiny curls. 

“ Millennium Falcon playset.” 

“ You and a million other little boys. “ 

“True. What can I say, I was easily pleased. What was yours ?”

(Y/N) thinks for a moment before a wistful smile settles on her face. 

“My bubblegum pink roller skates.”

“Oh, I remember those!”

And he did. Squeaky pink roller skates with 4 pastel blue wheels and glittery silver laces.

“I remember the following summer all you did was skate up and down the street.  “

“Yeeeah but that wasn’t entirely because of the skates.”

Frankie combs his hair from his face, he really needs to get it cut, and looks at her in confusion. “Huh?”

Another chuckle falls from (Y/N) ‘s lips. “I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

“ Notice what?”

“That I had the biggest crush on you.”

Frankie is grateful for the fact that he’s not taking a sip of his drink right then, it surely would’ve ended in a spit-take. He was a nerdy kid, a nerdy teenager too. Kinda shy, a little lost. He wasn’t usually the boy that girls fancied.

“Me? You had a crush on me? “

It doesn’t make sense, not really. She was the one that was fascinating and exciting. Though he didn’t think of her that way when they were kids, he knew she was beautiful even back then. He hadn’t been interested in her romantically because she was a few years younger but that didn’t meanie didn’t realize the magic she held.

“Yes, you. You were cool, Frankie. You were older and you knew stuff about cars and planes and you could name every Star Wars spaceship and you had a skateboard. “

“I was a horrible skater.”

“Sure but it wasn’t so much about the skating as it was about the aesthetic. You were cool and you still are cool”

Frankie shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly. She thought he was cool, still does. No one ever thought he was cool. He isn’t a smooth talker like Pope and even he himself can admit that look wise he isn’t even playing in the same league as Will and Benny. But if (Y/N) thinks he’s cool that must mean something. Right ?

“You were the one traveling all over the world with your dad and you thought I was cool?”

She sets down the scissors, let’s her hands rest on her lap. There’s a sense of nervousness exuding from her now. Like the words she wants to speak are resting on the tip of her tongue and yet they are so difficult to speak.

“Maybe that was part of it too. I never had a real home. Nothing stable at least. Except for my grandparents’ house. This was home and you were, you are, forever entwined with my idea of home. Sometimes I missed this place so much that I’d sit in my room and my little brain would think of all the fun adventures we could go on if only I was old enough to hop on a 6 hour flight by myself. I’d ask grandma about you every time I called and she always told me what trouble you got into.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yeah and that only made you more exciting in my eyes. Then she’d offer to let me speak to you but I was too chicken shit to do it. Thought you might look right through my facade and realize how into you I was.”

“I was so oblivious, I can assure you I wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Well … it’s too late now.”

“I guess so. Just — next time you fall in love with me let me know, alright.”

Her laugh rings through the room like bells, like songs, like whispers of a childhood magic long forgotten.

“That only sounds fair. It’s a deal.”

“Good, now …. would you mind wrapping my gifts for Rosie?”

“Nope, but in return would you come see Leo’s play with me next week? My dad can’t come and I think Leo would like to have some more people there that support him. And he seems to think you’re cool so …”

“Huh guess if you both think so it must be true.”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Of course I’ll come. “

She smiles and it sends a weird flicker through him. Like fire, like electricity. 

“ Now let me teach you how to curl the ribbon properly.”

#francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #frankie morales x you #francisco morales imagine #frankie morales imagines #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier imagines #catfish imagine #catfish x reader #catfish x you #jos2020xmasspecial

[much-obliged-timothy]

Dad Tim & Uncle Rhys Part 4

Self-indulgence part 4 is here! I’m always amazed when these get any notes at all, so thank you for that! Debating if I want to do a continuation of this part or not, so feel free to let me know if you want part 5 of this to be a continuation of part 4! And if you have no idea what this even is, you can read part one here

Rhys wondered what the hell he was doing as he approached Timothy Lawrence’s house.

Tim had called out of work sick about three days ago, his voice raspy and coughs constantly interrupting him as he tried to assure Rhys he’d work from home when he could manage it. Rhys, despite tending to rely on Tim’s quick turnaround time on assignments he was given, had told Tim to just check in every day until he was ready to return.

Tim had sounded progressively worse each day, and this morning he hadn’t even called. He’d sent a short, apologetic email to Rhys.

Rhys knew Tim had no friends on Promethea. That meant he was trying to look after himself and his son as his illness grew worse.

So pity had overtaken him, and Rhys had made some soup to bring over. He’d check on Tim, see if he needed anything, and then be on his way back to Atlas.

But as he approached the little house Tim lived in, his steps slowed. Was this appropriate? He worked closely with Tim, but they rarely saw each other outside of work, so was it really appropriate to just show up at his house?

But what if Tim needed medical attention? Phoenix was too young to be looking after Tim properly, so it was possible Tim’s condition had grown worse if he was unable to care for himself or get medicine. 

Rhys took a deep breath and walked the rest of the way to the door. Regardless of if Tim liked to tease him and piss him off on occasion, he was a good man and he was Rhys’ employee. Rhys would make sure he was okay and get him medicine or groceries if he needed them. 

Rhys knocked on the door, looking around. Blinds were drawn over all the windows, giving him no preview of the inside of the house. 

He was waiting for so long that he wondered if anyone would answer the door. But then it finally creaked open, Tim leaning heavily in the doorway.

Rhys stared. Tim always wore his mask at work, but he’d taken it off now, Jack’s scarred face on display.

Even more, though, was that it was clear how sick Tim was. His face was flushed with fever, a light sheen of sweat on his skin. He wore plaid pajama pants and an Atlas T-shirt Rhys had given him as a welcome gift, though it clung to him from the sweat. Tim had heavy bags under his eyes, his breathing labored. 

“Rhys,” he croaked.

“I brought...soup?” He held it up helplessly. “Shit, Timothy, you’re bad.”

“You can set that in the kitchen,” Tim said. “I’d take it myself, but I’d probably drop it.”

“Sit down. I’ll take it to the kitchen,” Rhys said.

He followed Tim inside, Tim dragging himself into the living room and over to the couch. It was made up with blankets and pillows, Phoenix sitting in front of it with a toy gun.

“Boss guy,” he said in surprise.

Tim collapsed on the couch, running a hand through Phoenix’s hair. “Go take him to the kitchen, please.”

Phoenix got up, setting his toy gun down and picking up his tattered Hyperion bear. He gestured for Rhys to follow him, leading him into the kitchen.

There was a chair pushed up to the sink, and another pushed up under the microwave. Rhys looked at them curiously.

“I can’t reach,” Phoenix explained. “But I gotta make food for us ‘cause dad’s too sick to get up.”

“He seems really sick,” Rhys said, opening the fridge to put the soup in it.

“He is,” Phoenix said, fidgeting with his bear. “I dunno what to do. He got worse. Is he gonna die?”

“What?” Rhys said in surprise. “No. He just needs medicine and rest. Has he taken medicine?”

“Uh-huh,” Phoenix said. 

“Can you show me what he’s been taking?” Rhys said.

“Uh-huh,” he repeated, wandering from the kitchen. 

Rhys followed him. They passed Tim, who seemed too tired to pay them any mind. Phoenix took Rhys upstairs to a bathroom, pointing at a medicine cabinet.

“It’s in there,” he said.

Rhys opened the medicine cabinet and looked through the various medications Tim kept. They were all over the counter medicines, and Rhys took time to read the labels to see what could be taken together without hurting Tim.

He settled on a few medications, leaving the bathroom with Phoenix trailing behind him. They went downstairs to Tim, who reached out to ruffle Phoenix’s hair.

“‘M okay, pal,” he mumbled. “Just need to sleep a little more.” 

“Here, this should help with your fever,” Rhys said, shaking a pill into his hand and holding it out to Tim. 

Tim took it dry. Rhys realized the glass of water near him was nearly empty anyways.

“Tim, do you need a doctor?” Rhys said. “You look terrible.”

“No, no doctors,” Tim said. “I’m fine. Just gotta rest.”

“Dad, let boss guy help,” Phoenix said, clutching his bear tighter. “I don’t...I don’t want you to die!”

Tim reached out, drawing Phoenix close and trying to sit up so he could hug him. “Hey, I’m not dying. It’s just a fever, Phoenix. But you know I hate doctors.”

Rhys opened his mouth, then shut it. Of course. Tim was surgically altered. Who knew what he’d been through at the hands of Jack’s doctors to make him a perfect doppelganger?

Still, he looked bad right now. Rhys went back upstairs as Phoenix clung to Tim.

He searched around the bathroom until he found a thermometer. He cleaned it off and took it downstairs, holding it out to Tim.

“Take your temperature,” Rhys said. When Tim opened his mouth to refuse, Rhys shot a pointed glance to Phoenix.

Tim deflated a bit and took the thermometer. He placed it under his tongue until it beeped, glancing at it and wincing.

Rhys peeked at it and shot Tim a look. “If it goes any higher, you need to go to the emergency room, Tim. I’ll drag you there myself.”

“I can’t!” Tim protested, having to stop and cough into his arm. “I don’t have anyone to watch my son if I’m laid up in the hospital. And I don’t do well in hospitals, regardless.”

“Dad, stop!” Phoenix said, gripping Tim’s arm. “Stop, you’re sick. Let boss guy help. Please, I don’t want you to die.”

“I’m not going to die, Phoenix,” Tim said. “Hey, can you get me some more water, please? It’ll help me stop coughing.”

Phoenix hesitated, then nodded. He kissed Tim’s cheek and picked up the glass, heading into the kitchen.

“You’re scaring him,” Tim said.

“Me?” Rhys said in disbelief. “You’re the one half dead on the couch.”

“I’ll be okay,” Tim said, slumping back on the couch. “Please, Rhys, I can’t go to the hospital. I’m...I’m terrified of them. And I don’t have anyone to watch my son. I can’t send him back with his mother. We don’t want him back in the casino. But if I’m in the hospital, we won’t have a choice.”

“You can’t take care of him like this,” Rhys pointed out.

Tim pressed a hand to his head like he was in pain. “I know. But at least he’s not separated from me.”

“If it comes down to it, he can stay with me. But if your fever gets higher, you’re going to the hospital,” Rhys said. His eyes widened. “Oh, hell, I just committed myself to that, didn’t I? Dammit, Timothy, you’re a nightmare of an employee.” 

“You won’t need to act on it, because I’m not going to the hospital,” Tim said, looking miserable but stubborn.

Phoenix returned to the room, sitting on the couch by Tim and handing him the water. Tim took a few sips before setting it down.

“Thanks for the soup, Rhys,” Tim said. “You better head out. I’m going to sleep for a little.”

“Oh no,” Rhys said, putting his hands on his hips. “Phoenix, make sure he takes his temperature once an hour. If it goes up from this,” he showed the number on the thermometer, “then you call me and I’ll make sure we get him help.”

“That’s cheating. You can’t use my kid against me!” Tim said.

“I’m gonna tell boss guy if you get any sicker,” Phoenix said, his stubborn expression mirroring Tim’s. 

“God, I wish I never forgot a condom,” Tim groaned, pressing his knuckles to his eyes. “Freaking Jack. I swear he left me fertile just so I could be tormented in this moment. What an absolute dick.” 

“Timothy!” Rhys said, face heating up. He gestured to Phoenix. “Your kid is right there!”

Tim waved a dismissive hand. “He knows I love him, and he knows he’s a pain in the ass.” 

“You’ll make him get help?” Phoenix asked Rhys anxiously.

“If I have to drag him my- Well, probably not myself, because he scares me. But I’ll...make Zer0 drag him to the hospital?” Rhys said. “He’ll go there if he needs to, is my point.” 

“N-Not happ-” Tim fell into a coughing fit, hacking away so hard that Rhys was worried he’d cough up his damn lungs. Phoenix pushed the water into Tim’s hands, rubbing his back as Tim tried to drink a little to calm his fit. 

“Dad, please,” Phoenix said quietly, putting his arms around Tim. “Please let boss guy help.”

Tim looked at his frightened, worried son, and groaned. “Screw both of you. I’m going to sleep. Wake me in an hour to take my goddamn temperature.”

Phoenix looked relieved at his father’s reluctant agreement. Tim tugged a blanket over himself, shivering despite how badly he was sweating.

“Get him something to eat before you leave,” Tim muttered, closing his eyes. “Thanks, Rhys.”

Phoenix tucked Tim in before getting off the couch and going into the kitchen with Rhys. Rhys searched around for something to make for him that wasn’t a microwavable meal.

“You’ll really make sure dad is okay?” Phoenix said, hugging his bear tightly. 

“I...yea, I promise,” Rhys said with a sigh. “But you need to take his temperature every hour, okay? Uh...do you know how long that is? Shit, can you even read numbers?”

“I know how to tell time,” Phoenix said. “Kinda. But I know how long an hour is. And I can’t count that high, but I know three comes after two so I gotta call you if it’s one-zero-three, right?” 

“Right,” Rhys said, surprised. Kid was smarter than he’d given him credit for, that was for sure. “103 is a high-grade fever. He needs to get help if it gets that high.” 

He was at 102.7 right now, which was bad news. Rhys would prefer to get him help now, but he also didn’t want to stress Tim out in his current condition. He hoped the pill he’d given him lowered the fever a little. 

“You need to make sure he drinks a lot of water and juice, okay?” Rhys said. “He needs fluids. And don’t let him get off the couch if he doesn’t need to. He should be resting with a fever like that.” 

He felt bad. This was a lot to put on a kid, but with Phoenix’s distrust and paranoia, it would be hard to bring in help. Rhys couldn’t stay here; he had to get to work before his meeting in an hour and a half. 

“I have to go to work after you eat, but I’ll come back after,” he promised. “You can call me if his fever gets worse, though.”

“Thank you,” Phoenix said, and Rhys was horrified to see tears in his eyes as he hugged his bear. “Everyone always tried to hurt dad, but you don’t hurt him.”

Oh, god. “So, um, um...what do you want to eat! Food. Food is good. Can’t cry if you’re eating!”

Maybe he should see if Vaughn would come be a babysitter. Vaughn would probably be good with the kid. Rhys had no idea how to handle a child.

He got himself busy cooking a meal for Phoenix. Phoenix retrieved his toy gun while he waited, sitting quietly and taking practice shots at some cardboard targets he’d lined up for himself.

Rhys gave him the meal and did the dishes while he ate, deciding to at least help out a little since Tim was too sick to look after the house. Rhys ended up putting away some laundry that had been abandoned long enough in the dryer to go cold, cleaned up the kitchen, and even changed the sheets on Tim’s bed, which he clearly shared with Phoenix despite Phoenix having his own bedroom. 

He woke Tim just long enough to take his temperature, confirming there was no change before letting him pass back out. He got him a fresh glass of water and set medication near the couch, writing out instructions for what Tim should take and how often. He knew Phoenix couldn’t read, but Tim should be able to handle that part himself.

“I’ve got to go,” he said at last. Weird as it was to clean someone else’s house, he was glad he’d stopped by to check on Tim. Phoenix was too young to properly care for Tim or the house. They were going to need help until Tim was better.

“I can call if he gets sicker?” Phoenix said, taking his dad’s hand in his.

“I did say that,” Rhys said, sighing a little. “Yea, call me if he gets worse. And make sure you get some sleep too, okay? I know it’s just you and him, but it shouldn’t be your job to look after an adult when you’re just a little kid.”

“He needs me,” Phoenix said, that stubborn look back on his face. “Dad takes care of me. I gotta take care of him too.”

“Alright,” Rhys said, raising his hands. “Just get some sleep tonight, Phoenix. You don’t want to get sick, too.” 

“Thanks, boss guy,” Phoenix said, getting up to walk him to the door. 

Rhys hesitated, then reached out and ruffled his hair like he’d seen Tim do, although he was a lot more awkward about it. Phoenix winced a little at the sudden touch, but he didn’t freeze up like he did when he thought someone was going to hurt him.

He stared up at Rhys, with a surprisingly contemplative expression. Finally, he nodded to himself.

He held out a fist to Rhys. Rhys stared at it before awkwardly bumping his own fist to it.

“Thanks for being good to my dad,” he said.

“Oh,” Rhys said. “Uh, right. Of course. He’s, uh, he’s my employee after all. Even if you’re both pains in the ass, I’ll...I’ll look out for you.”

Tim had been a good, loyal employee. It was the least Rhys could do, especially knowing the situation Tim and Phoenix came from.

He left the house, waving to Phoenix before he shut the door. He heard the lock click before he walked away from the door.

Shit. Rhys really hoped Tim got better, because he didn’t think he could handle Phoenix’s separation anxiety and Tim’s fear of hospitals at the same time.

#borderlands #timothy lawrence #borderlands rhys #borderlands fic #borderlands au #dad tim & uncle rhys #My writing

[kenzieam]

Want to Waste - Chapter One

Rating: M

Warnings: Drama, angst, language, smut and bad language

Word Count: 1768

Tags: @jewels2876​​  @moonbeambucky​​  @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​​  @iammarylastar​​ @captstefanbrandt​​  @badassbaker​​  @pinknerdpanda​​  @oliviastan17​​ @mizzzpink​​​

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

Lev and Bucky don’t get along but always seemed to get tossed together when their respective fiance’s, Steve and Nat, have to work on another project together. The last straw comes when Steve and Nat have to bail on a long anticipated vacation and Lev and Bucky decide to go anyway. What could possibly happen between two wounded people in paradise?

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

“Oh, its only you.” Lev remarked, dropping into the booth.

“Yup,” Bucky drawled, leaning back insolently and resting his arm across the back.

“Nat late again?”

“You know it. Steve too?”

“You see him stuck to my ass?”

“Touché, Red.”

“Sorry.”

“Have a drink, maybe you’ll actually loosen up and sound sorry.”

Lev stuck her tongue out at him, rolling her eyes and he curled his lips in a wolf smile back.

The server appeared, having already brought Bucky his first drink a couple minutes ago.

“And for the lady?”

Lev considered something snarky, the guy was eying them like they were together or something equally outlandish. “Sea Breeze.”

“Ooh, doesn’t that, like, have sugar in it?” Bucky quipped, affecting a surprisingly accurate ‘Cali from the Valley’ accent as the server left.

“Thought I needed that.”

“Take more than sugar to sweeten your salty ass up.”

“Fuck off.”

“You fuck off.”

“Aaannnndddd I see they’re getting along just perfectly without us!” Nat announced, dropping in beside Bucky with a smirk.

Bucky forgot his glower across the table for a minute and leaned over, pressing a kiss to his girlfriend’s cheek. “Work?”

Nat gave him a side-eye. “Of course, baby.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Steve sing-songed, bouncing Lev slightly when he fell beside her. He pressed a loud kiss to Lev’s cheek while Bucky made a face at her, which she returned with a curled lip. “Patterson keeps dropping these new projects on us.”

Lev swallowed her irritation and forced a smile. “That’s alright, we only had to share the same table for a few minutes.”

“Yeah, Lev didn’t even have time to really unsheathe her claws.” Bucky added helpfully.

Nat and Steve traded a look before dropping it, this argument had gone so far past old it was almost new again.

“So? What did the old man unload this time?” Bucky asked, pulling his attention away from Lev and looking again at his girlfriend.

Nat shared a look with Steve. “Another realignment of assets.”

Bucky growled, sounding displeased. “Like what… that one a few months back? You didn’t get home any time before ten for like two weeks!”

Lev felt her heart sinking, the same displeasure Bucky was showing heating her skin. That was the trouble with dating someone high up in their profession, one Steve Rogers, compounded by the fact that they worked with your best friend, Nat Romanoff, and so you were always getting left with their asshat boytoy, James Barnes, Nat’s long-time plaything, whenever they got held up at their office.

“It won’t be like that.” Nat replied, flicking a glance at Steve, who replied by dropping his head to Lev’s and nuzzling into her hair, trying to tease out a smile.

Lev bit back a reluctant giggle, still feeling irritated. Bucky was right, Steve had been AWOL too, and always tired when he finally did come home. “Can’t you pass it on to someone else?”

“Not if you want that fancy wedding.” Steve murmured, his voice tender, lips tickling her ear, making her shiver.

Lev leaned back, pushing at Steve’s chest. “That’s not me, I told you I wanted small, you keep adding people to the list.”

“You too?” Bucky chuckled, glancing across the table before looking fondly at Nat. “Every time I think we have the guest list settled; this little minx thinks of five more people to add.”

Nat flicked him a mild glower before rolling her eyes at Steve.

“What are you all having?” Steve changed the subject, lifting the menu to peruse it.

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

Three Weeks Later

Lev raised a brow as Bucky approached, looking past him with an increasingly disbelieving scowl. “No, not this time.”

Bucky shrugged as he reached her side, drawing his compact aluminum wheeled suitcase to a stop beside him. “She said she’d meet us here directly from the office.” The overhead announcements continued above them, announcing incoming and outgoing flights in a brisk monotone.

“That’s what Steve said! Dammit, they better not be late, this is the first vacation we’ve had in forever.”

Bucky lifted his shoulder again. “They cancelled on us last time.” He reminded her.

“Yeah, with two days notice, not when we were standing right in the damn terminal!”

“Easy, Red.”

“Stop calling me that!”

Bucky smirked, looking past her and gesturing with his chin. “Go have a drink, calm down.”

Lev fixed him with a glare. “You talk like that’s all I do, throw fits and drink.”

For the briefest second, something besides a smirk hovered on his face. “Sorry, I just like teasing you. You’re cute when you get pissed, like a wet kitten.” At Lev’s surprised look he hurried on. “I mean, I have to entertain myself somehow, sometimes it seems like I spend more time with you waiting for my fiancé than I do with her.”

Lev looked away, too weary to continue the spat. It was true, it seemed like lately she and Bucky were always getting dumped together when their significant others had to bail, but that didn’t mean Lev was going to just accept it happening again.

“Not this time.” Lev growled, wondering vaguely if the sheer power of her thought vibes would be enough to hurry Steve along and get his ass here in time.

Glancing at her, Bucky strode past, his case trundling behind to sit near a large wall of windows, various jets visible on the tarmac beyond and, sighing, Lev turned to follow.

******************************************************************                               Lev glanced at her phone screen, knee bouncing agitatedly. She stopped in surprise when Bucky’s hand appeared and rested briefly on her leg, pulling away before she could slap it.

He glanced mildly at her and Lev swallowed her angry retort. It wasn’t Bucky she was pissed at anyway.

“Want a bottle of water or something?” He asked casually.

In answer, Lev’s cell began to ring, and Lev focused on it, holding her breath; then, as Bucky’s began to chime as well, she fought not to moan.

With a quick glance at each other, both answered their respective phones, a mix of frustration, anger, resignation and sadness growing on both their faces for anyone watching to plainly see.

“Whatever, Steve.” Lev mumbled, hitting the end button. She glanced over at Bucky, staring down at his phone, having already hung up with a similar goodbye.

“Nat?”

“Who else?”

“Gotta work?”

“Yep.”

“Dammit.” Lev snarled, taking several long, deep breaths to calm back down.

“Well,” Bucky declared, struggling to sound airy, “this was fun, see you around, Lev.” He stood, straightening his shirt and glancing back towards the terminal.

“Wait, you’re just leaving?” Lev asked, a kernel of an idea forming in her mind.

“Yeah,” Bucky answered, frowning down at her. “Nat’s not coming, the vacation’s off.” He spoke slowly, as if Lev was somehow mentally deficient. Anger tightened his jaw, he wasn’t letting on to the same degree as she was, but Bucky was just as disappointed and pissed off as Lev.

“No.” Lev replied, mind racing. “No.” She looked up into Bucky’s wary eyes. “I paid for a vacation, I took the time off work, I’m going on my goddamn vacation.”

Bucky’s frown deepened. “But Steve’s not coming.”

“So? I hardly see him anymore, anyway, how is this any different?” Lev began to speak faster, warming to the idea. “I’m going.” She announced simply, standing, Bucky’s startled gaze lifting to follow. “Steve can waste his ticket, but I’m not. I’ve been looking forward to laying on that beach for months.” She started to march towards the gate then turned to eye Bucky. “What about you?”

Bucky shook his head, confused. “What, go on this vacation with you instead?”

Lev shrugged airily, feeling strangely free. “No, not with me. It’s a big beach, we have separate hotel rooms; we don’t even have to see each other after we land, but are you going to let Nat wreck another trip for you?”

A shadow passed over his face and he looked out through the windows, watching the planes for few beats. “No.” He replied, almost curtly. “No, I’m not. Let’s fucking go.” His face was all hard determination when he looked back at Lev. “You’re right, not again.”

Lev faltered, suddenly rethinking her previous conviction. What was she saying? Go to a tropical resort with someone not Steve? As quickly as the hesitation hit, it melted away. She wasn’t going with Bucky, she was simply flying in the same plane, staying in the same hotel, beyond that they would be entirely separate. “Not again.” She replied firmly.

A surprisingly attractive grin flashed across his face, stunning Lev for a moment then he grabbed his phone, a trace of annoyance bleeding back into his eyes. “Gonna tell Nat.”

Lev grabbed her own phone, tapping Steve’s icon. “Yep.”

******************************************************************************              Lev relaxed back into her seat, grateful that she’d paid the extra for the upgrade. In the row in front of her, Bucky rummaged for something in his carry-on.

“What?” Steve asked, sounding supremely confused. “You’re going?”

“Yeah,” Lev grinned at the flippant tone in her voice. “It’s non-refundable, maybe you’re fine losing your money, but I’m not.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end and Lev could imagine the thoughts running through Steve’s head, all being rapidly dismissed for sounding too selfish or privileged. Finally, he replied. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am. I have Bucky for company anyway.” Lev blinked, where had that come from?

Steve huffed faintly.

“C’mon, Steve. You leave him with me all the time. Besides, we’re not going to do anything.”

“No, I know.” There was something in his voice, the beginnings of guilt. “Lev, I’m sorry.” He sounded genuinely remorseful. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

She’d heard that before. “I’ll call you when we land, okay?”

“Okay, and Lev? I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Bucky’s head appeared over the seat. “Do you have any gum?”

Lev smirked, pulling out a pack and tossing it his way.

Later she drowsed, lulled by the sound of the engines, the comfortable seat, the warmth of the sun through her window. She didn’t regret leaving, not yet anyway but she did genuinely miss Steve beside her.

A body thudded into the aisle seat, Steve’s seat, startling her. Bucky grinned merrily back at her bleary glower.

“C’mon, Red. Don’t be like that. It’s weird sitting by yourself, besides, my screen’s not working.” He reached up, flicking on the viewing screen in the headrest of the seat he was just moments ago sitting in.

Lev grumbled and rolled partially away, her eyelids growing heavy again.

#bucky barnes #au bucky barnes #bucky and lev #bucky and levi #au bucky #au bucky barnes fanfic #au bucky barnes fanfiction #au bucky drama #au bucky romance #bucky barnes angst #au bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction

[ask-hunterxhunter]

Have you ever wonder what each of the main four would be like as yandere? Sorry, I’m just soo curious.😋

Gon

No onethat has met Gon would ever think he can become a yandere… Him? A yandere?Impossible. He’s such a dear person and has a certain innocence that appears tohave remained even when he got older. Besides, he has morals. Certainly this alsoprevents him from developing this sort of sick obsession as well, right? And ifhe ever did, he would realize this issue and seek a way of healthy dealing withit, right?

 Wrong in all accounts.                    

 Regardlessof how you two met (if he approached you after a brief meeting and wanted tobecome your friend, you just crossed paths, so on) or for how long you’ve beenfriends, you feel you can trust him with all your heart. It’s not so different fromhow it tends to be with other people Gon has befriended. After all, he is akind man, he is gentle and sweet. Heck, even if you didn’t want to befriend himwhen you two met, he has that special way of getting in someone’s heart. In theend, you’re glad you’re friends!

 And becauseof this, chances are you won’t realize what is going on until it is too late.

 Gon’sfeelings for you will start innocently enough and even he might notnotice them at first. He just knows that he enjoys being with you! You’re niceand fun! Yes, of course, he likes you, I mean, you’re friends… So, it’s alsonatural that he starts to feel bad when you’re not there… It’s natural that heworries… He… He needs you. Of course he doesn’t like the way that personlooked at you, it was outright staring! There are many dangerous peoplein the world, he knows, he met quite a few. He is just being a good friend and lookingout for you! There is nothing wrong with that…

 He justdoesn’t want to fail with you like once failed with Kite.

 Gon’sbehaviour starts to change in response to his feelings increasing… It is slow,it is insidious, but a few signals start to pile up. The way he places his arm aroundyour shoulders. The way he stares at people who are a little too friendly withyou. It doesn’t get to the point of being suffocating, but there is somethingthat just feels wrong about his presence… And you don’t want to considerthis, even feeling ashamed of such impressions. For crying out loud, this is Gon!Your friend! You shouldn’t feel like this about him, ever!

 Actually,yes. Yes, you should.

 His feelingsbecome so intense that he can’t be unaware of them forever (not that itwould’ve been of much help anyway). He may just see you laughing with someoneelse… And then he thinks how you could get involved with someone someday. How youcan leave him someday. And the mere thought is more than he can bear.

 And theidea of losing you in one way leads to another. Regardless of what happened afterwards,Gon never forgot when he failed to help Kite. And it was one of those things aperson may never fully get over. No matter in what way, the idea of losing youincites more than mere fear in him. He… He can’t take it… No. No. NO!You can’t leave him, you just can’t!

 Speakingof Kite, if you get hurt, this will likely be also the moment when he goes overthe edge (if he hasn’t already).

 If you’realready together, that’s when things go overboard. If he hasn’t realized hisfeelings yet, that’s the moment when it hits him: This must be love, right? Thedesire to be with you all times, to protect you from all harm and to be theonly one to see your smile… Isn’t this what people call love? The moment thethought crosses his mind, he realizes that this is what he is feeling. And you…You must love him as well, right? You’ve spent so many good times together, surelyyou love him. And if you don’t, you can. Someday.

 How Gondecides to deal with this depends on how things are between the two of you atthe moment. He may just go ahead and confess, or he may jump straight to the next“solution” (extreme likely to happen if you got injured somehow, which, in theworld of Hunter is easy to happen). Even your reaction to his confession is, inthe end, unimportant. You accepting Gon and starting to date him, no matter evenwhen, won’t soothe his obsession or make things easier. The only thing itwill do will be giving you a window to his actual mental state. The uncertaintyyou felt before was your instinct reacting and if you date Gon, his obsessionwill slowly become more obvious until it finally reaches a crucial point.

 He won’t everbe violent, but there will always be something in the sweetness of his voice.In how “protective” he acts… He doesn’t outright forbid you from seeing yourold friends, but he seems to prefer to be there when you meet them… He neverseems to ask for more than you’re willing to do/give, he is never abusive, but…There is still something that makes you unsure. Things being said underneaththe spoken words and done underneath the acts. It’s almost imperceptible and whileit can last, eventually, you can’t fool yourself by saying this is normal.Or that you’re completely comfortable in this relationship.

 And by thistime, it is too late.

 It has always been too late, ever since Gon fell in love with you.

 His senseof protection regarding those he cares about is very high and, while this tendsto be a great thing in a friend, it is another matter when obsession is addedto the mix. Because he wants to keep you safe… And with him. It’s a dangerousworld, after all.

 So, if hehas to throw you in a cage to keep you safe, well, so be it.

 Well, ofcourse it won’t be a cage. That would be too cruel! He has a nice little house,all prepared, just for you. Why he is doing this? Silly, because he loves you.And you don’t have to cry, he will take good care of you, he promises! He cangive you anything you want, so you won’t ever wish for anything! Food, clothes.He’ll even give you books and games, so you won’t be bored when he is not athome! See, he can make you happy! And keep you safe! All you have to do is staywith him.

 Everygood quality can become a negative if twisted enough and this is the case withGon. Everything about him becomes a nightmare: His innocence blinds himto how what he is doing is messed up. His protectiveness becomes a cage beyondthe house he put you in. His sweetness is poisonous.

 And oneof the worst things of all? Gon won’t ever realize that he’s become a monster.

 Killua

WhileKillua is a tsundere and might prefer to have a certain degree of control overhis emotions, it doesn’t mean they are lacking in intensity. But still, (andhis training to be a “perfect assassin” might come in play here as well), hewill be able to keep his feelings hidden for a while, even though he will becomeaware of them very early on. And while there is nothing wrong with an intenselove, it is a serious problem when it crosses the line.

 He willprobably already know you for a while before a deeper interest is born (maybehe met you while travelling with Gon, maybe you crossed paths somewhere andbecame friends, etc). Whether or not he will confess right away will depend on certaincircumstances: It might happen if you’re travelling together (or at least seeingeach other often), if his emotions take a longer time to become more disturbing,so on. You might even notice it (or at least in some level) soon if you’re perceptiveenough. The way he blushes, the way he compliments you and tries to act as ifit’s nothing…

 His love is likely to start pure and perhaps might even remain genuine as hedescents into yandere-ism (which can be a rare occurrence when dealing with yanderes),but this doesn’t imply control over the darker impulses… Oh, he may tryat first, remind himself of his own family and how those thoughts are not healthy…

 Thingswill seem normal for a while, regardless if you become a couple or not. It’sfun to be with him, he is a nice guy… But meanwhile, Killua’s natural feelings ofcare and protectiveness are slowly gaining more obsessive undertones. Heworries about you being hurt. About Illumi finding out about you (whateverhappens then, he doubts it would be good). About his parents using you… And whilenormally Killua would indeed worry about such things, the problem hereis, again, his state of mind.

 The problemhere is the darkness consuming his heart.

 Thoughtsof (over) protectiveness return, along with others that are quite dark. As hisfeelings cross the lines towards obsession, his mind somehow follows. Many ofthose impulses will soon appear to be fairly logical and, as unpleasant as theycan be, a necessary evil in order to keep you safe. And with him.

 Becausein the end, that’s all that matters to Killua. And while a part of him mightrealize how unhealthy this is, he won’t be able to fight it, even if he tries.

 Once hereaches a certain point, nothing else matters. Whether you’re in a relationshipor not (with him or not), whether you notice the small signals ofobsession in his behaviour (like with Gon, you might feel bad for thinking heis becoming unsettling or even be hesitant to draw a line), there is little tobe done. In the end, if you don’t find some excuse to go away for a long, longtime (and if this might not work since Killua would have no issue with followingyou – once he falls in love, he falls hard), you’re all but already caged.

 He willfind a way to keep you with him. If he has to threaten your family, so be it.If he has to destroy your previous life, so be it. If he has to place a goddamncollar around your neck, so be it. On this point, let it be noted that Killuawon’t need a house to keep you in, preferring to… “Persuade” you to travel withhim and Alluka. It will be easy to “convince” you with some veiled threats towardsyour family or anyone you care about. It’s not something he likes to do, but ifit means keeping you with him… Once you realize you two are meant for eachother, it will be alright.

 If you’re hoping this means you’ll have a chance of escaping someday, you’re mistaken. Thereis a reason why Killua was picked to be the Zolcyk heir instead of Illumi and,in certain areas, he is as good as his brother. He has means of keeping youwith him, without needing to resort to a physical chain (though he won’t beagainst it, should you prove it necessary). Even when you think you have a chance,he will be there. His reactions may vary from treating your attempt like agame, as if you’re just some adorable little kitty, to being upset or evenangered. He loves you. He is just doing what is best for you.

You maycry. You may beg. You may point out how he’s hurting you and how this can’t becalled “love” anymore… But by this time, Killua will believe that you’re justnervous and doesn’t know any better. It isn’t just a matter of keeping yousafe: He knows everything about you, what you like, what you hate. He understandsyou better than anyone else, you are perfect for each other and he won’t letanyone hurt you.

 He justwishes you would understand this…

 But you will.You will have time… And he will do whatever he can in order to keep you safefrom anyone, including yourself. Even if you cry now, there will come a daywhen you’ll understand and realize how much he loves you. And that you actuallylove him as well. He knows you do.

 Those arethings Killua will be telling himself a lot. Even in the chance a part of himstill recognizes he is being cruel to you, he won’t be able to stop himself anymore,his feelings far too strong for him to fight against.

 It seemsthat he is more of a Zoldyck that he ever wished to be…

 Kurapika

Among the“main four”, Kurapika is easily one of the best when it comes down to keep hisfeelings hidden, for the most part. As such, if you don’t spend a long timewith him or aren’t incredibly perceptive, you might not notice when he startsto fall in love with you. Sadly, this also means you might have trouble seeinghim becoming a yandere towards you, while with some other characters, there mightbe at least some subtle signs…

 BecauseKurapika takes time allowing people to get close to him, the development of hisinterest and eventual change into yandere might take a while and you might not evenknow that he is in love with you when he takes some drastic action tokeep you with him. Even being already together will do little to prevent hislove from crossing a line (the most it will do will buy you a little extratime), but once it does, you’re in serious trouble.

 One ofthe “main roots” of this development (if we can use such terms) is in his desire to protect you and his trauma of losing his clan. He knows you can takecare of yourself, but the fear of seeing you hurt is still present (like withmost yanderes, seeing you seriously hurt might be what sets him off) and while,in any other scenario, he would find a way to deal with it healthily, this isn’tthe case here.

 In hismind, he needs to keep you safe, no matter what. He can’t bear to lose someonehe cares about again, let alone someone he loves.

 Asmentioned, you might not even know he was even in love with you until he callsyou over and confesses… Or better saying it, reveals how obsessed he is. And ifyou’re dating him already, what you’ll see when he “decides to take better careof you” is how twisted he can be. In a way or another, there is nothing you cando at this point. You just need to look in his eyes to know it… Even if you trybegging or fighting, Kurapika will merely look upset for a moment before makingsure you understand you won’t be leaving, you can’t change hismind and, most important, you can’t win against him.

 Please, don’tcry. It’s for your own good. He loves you, he won’t do anything to hurtyou! He is just doing this so no one will harm you, try to understand.

 Due tohis work, he might prefer to find a way to keep you with him rather thanleaving you in a house somewhere (and he has quite a few means to make sure youwon’t leave, trust me), to the point others will easily assume you’re eitherpartners or a real couple, working together. Those comments often make thecorners of Kurapika’s lips twitch in an almost smile (this pleases his greatly,because, in a way, he thinks this is not that much of a stretch. Why, in a way,it’s actually true, isn’t it?) while you always feel like you could puke as youwant to scream how he is keeping you against his will.

 Not that thiswould help. You could say that to the Zodiac, to Cheadle, hell, even to Leorio,Gon and Killua and still, somehow, Kurapika would find a way to twistthe situation and nothing would be done. And although he sincerely believes heloves you and is doing what is best, this doesn’t mean he won’t find a way topunish you if you test his patience too much. If you keep this up, he may haveto come up with a more drastic way to ensure you behave.

 Remember,this isn’t the Kurapika you know: This is someone lost to obsession.

 When you’re“working”, Kurapika keeps his “professional” stance, but you always notice hissmall glances, the way he brushes his hand against yours at times… He may evenkiss your cheek at times. To bystanders, those small gestures always seem caringand gentle. To you, they feel like being brushed with needles. They are remindersthat you’re his and for you to not try anything funny (even Kurapika’s intentionsare not like that… Well… Not completely).

Thingsdon’t get better when you’re alone.

 Whilemany yanderes cross the line way into sexual abuse, it’s hard to say if itwould be the case with Kurapika (well, any of the main four) or at what levelof obsession, he would need to be for that to happen (if it did, Kurapika would completelybelieve this is love, that he is merely showing you how much he loves you and helpingyou to settle in your new life together). However, even if he doesn’t everreach that point, it doesn’t mean things are that much better or that he leavesyou alone: He insists you sleep in the same bed as him, he frequently holds youclose… And those displays of affection are absolutely sickening for how wrongthey feel.

 You can begand cry as much as you want, it won’t change anything. It breaks his heart, butKurapika rationalizes how this is for your own good. Oh, dear, he knows this isnot ideal, but once he gets rid of the Spiders (and anyone who might be athreat to your relationship), everything will be better, he promises. Like Killua,Kurapika might retain enough sanity to be aware of how his actions are hurting you,but at the same time, he will be at that point when he can’t fight against it…Or merely doesn’t care anymore, telling himself this is just for now and,eventually, you’ll come to accept him and love him back.

 He willkeep you safe, no matter what.

 Leorio

When youthink of Leorio, the Leorio everyone knows, that kind man who cares so much forhis friends, whom you can trust to always help them and think about the man hebecomes when he turns into a yandere, it’s like comparing two people whosedifferences are frightening and whose similarities make the time you have tospend together all the more painful.

 It doesn’teven matter how you crossed paths, if he fell in love as soon as he met you or aftera while, if you two are in a relationship or not, though with the former, youmay have a few indications… Not that they will make much of a difference. First,because they will be very subtle. Leorio is not the type who’ll go into ajealous fit over nothing or be controlling. Second, because he’ll do his bestto apologize if he realizes he upset you or was irrational. Of course, norelationship is perfect, but in any case, you won’t have any reason to think youmight be dating/friends with a dangerous person.

 If onlyyou knew…

 And whileit’s obvious he’ll act soon if you’re not with him, don’t think that already beingin a relationship with him will prevent this, either.

 As Leorio’sfeelings increase in intensity (and not in a good way), he starts to struggleto control certain impulses, at least at first, before his mind starts torationalize them, to the point they feel completely natural. He can’t help but toworry about you, especially if you’re involved in a dangerous job or when he hasto leave you due to his work. Even if he knows you can take care of yourself (makeno mistake, he is aware of your strength), he can’t help it. No more than hecan help how much he wants to be with you always…

 And if you’renot together, the idea of you being with someone else starts to burn him… Yes,he thought it was alright, that as long as you’re happy, that’s all thatmatters, but… It’s not so. It’s not okay. His entire being seems to be on firewhen he thinks about it and he closes his fists so hard that his nails cut hispalms.

 Well,that’s how love it, right? He loves you and when you love someone, you want tobe with them and make sure they are happy. It’s only natural… And you’re such agreat person, so many cruel things could happen to you… But you don’t have toworry. You don’t have to ever be sad. He can take care of you! He loves you somuch, surely he can make you happy!

 And, asmentioned, even if you’re already in a relationship with him, it won’t matter inthe end. Feelings of this nature are not going to be hidden for long, not withLeorio. But by the time you’re forced to face them, it will be too late.

Don’tbother protesting: Leorio will make sure you understand you’re his. As much ashe wants your acceptance, it’s something that he knows he will have with time.

 Leoriomight be contrary to threatening your loved ones, but it doesn’t mean he won’tdo so, should he consider it necessary (after all, the pain of those we careabout is always efficient to ensure “cooperation”)… Of course, he actually has other resources available you wouldn’t expect before resorting to this. And hewill make sure you have no loopholes, no opportunities, no chances of ever leavinghim, so even when you’re out in public, you’re still under his control.

 Not thathe would ever allow you to go anywhere without him.

 As caringas Leorio can be, crying won’t help you. It will break his heart to see yourtears, no doubt, but he considers them a necessary evil. They’ll only make himhold you close, whispering sickening words of comfort and of how much he lovesyou. Arguing that this isn’t love will only make him twist your words. He doeslove you and someday you’ll understand this. Trying to fight back willupset him and also be of little result. Leorio might not seem the most powerfulman around, but you’ll be surprised if you try to use force (and depending onhow he uses against you as a means to control you, you might decide it’s notworth the risk).

 Escaping?Impossible.

 Perhaps,one of the worst things, is how Leorio somehow keeps being his usual selfenough for you to remember who he is (or you thought he was), what you likedabout him and the good times you had together. The way he acts as if this is anormal relationship doesn’t help it.

 But atthe same time, you can’t fool yourself. You don’t need to push much to see thatglint in his eyes, hinting to what he believes to be love (and might be, butcertainly not the healthy kind) and every time he holds you close, as gentle ashe is, you feel as if you’re being hurt. Even if you cry that he is abusingyou, Leorio will just ask how he’s abusing you. Come now, dear, has he ever hurtyou or forced himself upon you? All he is doing is to make sure you’re safe.

 As soonas you accept your new life, you’ll see how happy you can be! After all, you’lllearn to love him in time.

 It’s notlike you have much of a choice, now, is there?

#hxh headcanon #headcanon #hunter x hunter #main four #yandere #gon #kurapika #killua #leorio #god what have I done with those angels? #Not sorry actually #hxh

[my-brothers-corrupted]

Book Four - Part 9

Dapper wakes up somewhere new, feeling unwell, while Trick struggles alone in his room. Red, Blue, and Dok come home to help.

Tws for imprisonment, major illness, psychosis, sedation, and verbal and physical aggression from Anti.

Part 9 - The Locked Room

Anonymous asked: Sorry for saying you were a joke... it's just that your source material didn't really paint you in a nuanced or multidimensional way, and that's mostly what we're all basing our understanding on... You're a bit of a prick tho

Your camera comes back to life in unfamiliar hands as afternoon light spills across black hair and turns it to gold. Silver turns you gently in his palms, curious and bright-eyed, the panic of the night before gone from his face. Closer up, you can see some of the ways in which he is not Mark - a pair of small scars across his chin, a habit of picking at his lips that leaves them raw and red, a gauge in one ear.

As for your camera, the tiny symbol of an eye that usually resides in the corner, either opened or unopened, has been replaced by a small, presumptuous G.

“Hi,” says Shep, sat on his bed and looking at you. He hears footsteps down the hallway outside his room and furtively tucks you against his side, waiting for the steps to pass before he draws you out again.

“Hi,” he repeats, beginning to smile. “This is cool. I actually have a way to talk to you. Yeah, no, it’s okay. My source material is a joke, that’s why I said it even before you did. But - a prick?”

He pauses, glancing away.

“A prick,” he repeats in a mumble. “I think that’s new… I like that, let me just…”

He hops out of bed and takes a journal from one of his dressers, and then opens it up to reveal a long list of descriptors, some more inane than others, all printed in scrappy handwriting down the lines of his notebook. There are general adjectives in some places - “strong,” “bold,” “foolish,” “cute,” “conniving,” “selfish,” “clever,” “sweet” - but other places have full phrases or apparently random words - “you fucking annoyance,” “loves kids,” “buddy,” “your own kind of superhero,” “my soldier,” “a joke Mark forgot about,” “martial arts nerd,” “eats all the fucking candy in the house” - and it goes on for pages and pages.

On the first open line, he pulls out a pen and writes “a bit of a prick.”

Anonymous asked: damn, shepard. what happened to you lot?

Shep puts down his pen and turns to you, grinning. “Ah, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that. It’s been a long… eight years? And you haven’t exactly kept up to date with me. Which isn’t your fault. I guess. Not really.”

He side-eyes you, flipping his pen between his fingers.

“Anyway, this is my first year back in Dark’s houses for a while. I was living in the city for a few years after Dark kicked me out because I kept, uh. Bringing criminals back to the house for interrogations. They said I brought too much attention to us, so they had Google throw me out. Guess I deserved it… it turned out to be mostly okay. I had my own apartment for a while. My own pet rat. I was teaching martial arts and making rent. Then I kind of got into some trouble trying to be a fucking hero again… and I got lonely. Stressed all the time. Can’t keep a girlfriend. Rat died. Kind of a breaking point for me. So I came back here. Because of course I did. Because I always do. Because I don’t have any purpose without somebody else fucking giving it to me.”

He sighs bitterly, scratching at the web of cuts on his leg from Anti’s vines last night. Some of them are fairly deep, but he’s just stuck a mess of Band-Aids over the top and went to sleep with a towel beneath his legs just in case.

Anonymous asked: are you happy with this, shep? i'm trying to figure out how much we can trust you.

“You can trust me entirely, we’re just not on the same side,” answers Shep frankly, raising his eyebrows at you. “What’s not to trust? I belong to Dark. That’s true. There you go. Make of it what you will. And as for being happy, it doesn’t bother me. I’ve done much nastier things for Dark and enjoyed them much more. Parts of my life are still hard on me, but I’ve done what Dark tells me for the better part of eight years, ever since I pulled my head out of my ass and realized Mark was never going to come back and make me a real hero. So now I make my own choices. Sometimes I make ones he probably wouldn’t make for me. Sometimes I make ones almost no one else would be able to make. And that’s freedom. That adrenaline… that knowing that you are changing someone else’s life, that you matter, even in the worst fucking way possible… that’s freedom.”

Anonymous asked: are you doing ok, shep? seems like your life's been a bit of a mess.

“Yeah,” laughs Shep. “Honestly, things are fine now. I’m just never getting out of this house, you know? I don’t know. Ippy moved out two years ago. Yan’s in prison and nobody wants to bust her out after what she did. Dark has Google throw out or kill anybody who annoys them. Wil travels half the year, Eric works at the aquarium, Host’s published, even the twins have jobs, haha. And Bim…”

Silver scratches bitterly at his legs, maybe trying to draw a little blood now, bored of the scabs.

“Ran off about four months ago,” he mutters. “I miss him. Asshole. Didn’t tell me where he was going. Doesn’t answer his phone. Could have taken me with him. There was nobody quite that chaotic. I don’t know, maybe Dark just killed him to stop him from making our faces too public like he always wanted to, the little showman. But no, it’s okay. I’m like Google, you know? I’m just always going to be stuck in this fucking house. But I like it pretty well. Dark keeps me busy. And I like when the others come visit. I’m pretty much friends with everybody. Maybe I’ll get another rat soon.”

He flashes you a sudden look of alarm, his hands drawing away from his legs.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m… first time I get to talk to you in years and I don’t have anything worth saying, I just - I can tell you stories! Maybe. Uh. I’m not good at telling stories. Ask Host. I should have taken video then so I could have something to show you. You’re going to forget again and then all of this will be for nothing and no one will even see me differently. Eight years! Fuck. Do you want to go talk to somebody else? I bet you do. Well, sorry I’m not good enough for you, okay? Guess I never was. Whatever.”

He shoves the camera onto the bed, picking tersely at his mouth.

The door swings suddenly open. A figure in a long coat leans against the doorway, crossing his arms.

“I can hear you being a little bitch all the way from my room,” drawls Host.

“Oh, fuck off!”

Host laughs and leaves him again. He’s not interested in chatting.

“This story isn’t about us,” he calls back at Shep. “Don’t damage the narrative integrity with your need for their attention. Let them see their baby brother. He’s not well.”

Anonymous asked: hey, shep, don't you start saying you're not good enough for us. no matter what mark says or did to you, made you a joke or whatnot, that doesn't mean you can't become something different. and i have no doubt that one day, people will know you, and people will love you. maybe you'll have your own story. you just... can't rely on mark to write it for you. sometimes you have to do things like that for yourself. and for what it's worth, i think you're pretty cool. you're different. for example, what's up with that book you just wrote in?

Shep grins weakly, acknowledging the foolishness of his own outburst.

“I try to get rid of the thoughts of him,” he says. “You should hear Dark snarl about the stories Mark told about them… but I’m just jealous. It’s stupid. And you guys - you never - ”

He shrugs and lets out a huff, the irritation fading again. He knows it’s all useless and unfair, but it never stops eating at him. What could have been. But he tries to cheer up for you.

“These are just things I am or might be,” he says, hefting the book. “Things other people have called me. I try to figure out which ones are true. And which ones I want to be. I’m not good at that part so much, though. Sometimes I decide I want to be, like, nice, but then next thing I know I’m shouting at somebody for looking at me wrong, ha. I’m glad the others put up with me. I mean, some of them are dicks. But we kind of make a team together.”

“I’m not what I was then,” he adds after a moment. “So maybe I broke away a little. But at the same time, I’m not sure the story I’ve told is the one that I wanted. Or the one that I want.”

Anonymous asked: it's okay, shep, we don't mind hearing you talk. could we go see dapper, though? i'm a little worried about him.

Shep lets out a sigh, breathing out some of his anxiety. “Yeah. Sure. Is that actually his goddamn name? We’ve got some pretty nutty names around here, but not ‘Dapper.’ I guess it’s kind of cute.”

He gets to his feet and scoops you up, wandering down the stairs. The house is quiet but for the whirling of a fan overhead and the buzzing of a show somebody left playing on the TV. Out in the yard, you catch a glimpse of a few of them playing badminton, dropping the birdie most of the time and then racing each other to pick it up and bring it back to their side. Wilford’s booming voice drifts into the house as though from much farther away than it is. Around their feet, barking joyfully, is a dog almost as enormous as Anti’s wolf-like form, wagging its tail furiously and racing to the birdie along with its owners.

“Actually,” says Shep, pausing outside the only door with extra locks. “I’m not sure Ippy will want me inside. Let’s see if he’s in here.”

He pushes the door gently open. Edward only glances up for a second before turning back to his notes. It’s a makeshift clinic room, barely even the size of the bedrooms, and it’s cramped with a desk and a bed and some examination equipment and dressers with supplies in them. Dapper’s on the bed, tucked up tight, asleep.

“What’s that?” asks Ippy.

“Uh, a camera.”

“Is it now?” he answers dryly.

“There’s an audience or something.”

“Is there someone who can tell me what’s going on with my patient?”

“Well. I guess. I think.”

Ippy reaches out, beckoning for the camera. Shep hands it over and Ippy drops you on the bed, still scrawling in his little notebook. “I’d like medical history, please, allergies, recent injuries, notable behaviors, sleeping habits, blood type, next of kin, etc. Start talking.”

Shep chuckles at his bluntness and pulls up a chair beside him, grinning at his friend as he works.

“What are you looking at?” mutters Ippy, and he reaches out to shove playfully at Shep’s head. “Called me in on my day off for this, huh. Fuckers. You’re lucky he’s actually sick or I’d be peeved.”

Anonymous asked: you can always change. seriously, shep, it's never too late to become someone different. and i'm sorry that none of us did anything. it's difficult, when mark made so many videos and gave so many more characters attention and left others with nothing. you did not deserve that, and i'm genuinely so sorry. does mark still even make videos? we haven't heard anything about him in a long time.

“You’re talking to them about this?” asks Ippy.

Shep shrugs, settling down in his chair.

“It’s very simple, Shepherd. Mark doesn’t have much control of his power and even if he did you were still early enough that you would have been created.”

“I know, Ip.”

“Telling a story about you would only limit your freedom and subject us to more publicity, which is dangerous.”

“I know, Ippy.”

“The audience can’t do anything for us without videos and them dwelling on the thought of us does not make you any more of a - ”

“I know, Edward!” snaps Shep. “Okay?”

Ippy rolls his eyes and turns back to Dapper.

“Mark makes videos sometimes, but he focuses on bigger productions,” adds Shep with a sigh. “I think he mostly wrapped up ego stuff, but you never know with him. We don’t talk. And ever since he got that bigger deal as a real producer - ”

“Can we not talk about Mark?” asks Ippy. “I don’t like hearing about him. He’s fine, I guess, but I just prefer to live a Mark-less life at this point, thanks. A life unmarked by Mark, as it were.”

“You really are peeved today.”

“I just have boundaries, Shep, maybe you should learn some.”

.

Dok wakes to the buzzing of the lights in the bathroom.

He shifts uncomfortably, feeling his back protest, but the cold plastic of a hospital chair is much better than waking up in that room back in the house, aching on the unfinished floor, dreaming of spiders crawling over his skin. He shudders and sits up, pulling his - oh. This is Red’s hoodie, wrapped around him. He sighs and glances at his brother splayed over the side of Blue’s bed, dead asleep.

The bathroom is silent but for those burning lights. He waits a long time, but nothing moves.

“Blue?” he calls wearily, getting to his feet. He knocks his fist gently against the door. “Okay? Want the nurse or something?”

Blue doesn’t answer.

“Hey, Blue, no silences,” he begs with a sigh, rubbing at his head. “Too many nights finding Trick hurting himself in the bathroom. Come on.”

Blue mumbles something. Dok grimaces and pushes open the door.

He’s okay, which he’s grateful for, though he’s almost too tired to be relieved. He steps forward and takes Blue carefully by the wrists. He was just standing there staring at them. Too intently. Too blankly.

“What’s going on?” asks Dok.

Blue turns to look at him and his eyes are fogged and all but blind. Dok touches his cheek to ground him, sighing in his brother’s stead.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t have to be sorry. Tell me what’s up.”

“I don’t… know. Just… looking at myself. So weird.”

“What’s weird?”

Blue reaches out and touches his own reflection on the surface of the mirror.

“Not me,” he mumbles. “More and more often, it’s not me. Not real. It makes me feel really… I don’t… I don’t like it.”

Dok shifts on his feet and pulls his sibling’s fingers away. “That’s called dissociation,” he says. “I get it too sometimes when Anti uses me. It can’t be easy having been possessed so often lately.”

Blue shakes his head numbly, managing to fix his eyes on him for a moment. “Dissociation,” he repeats.

“Let’s ground. Tell me three things about your body.”

“What?”

“Look. In the mirror. Tell me three things about yourself. Anything. Obvious things. It’s okay.”

Blue stares into the mirror, blinking. His mouth parts. But he doesn’t say anything. After a moment, there are tears welling in his eyes.

“Blue,” breathes Dok.

“Sorry,” repeats Blue frailly, turning away from the sight of himself, covering his face with his hands. He doesn’t want to see himself. He doesn’t want Dok to look at him. He doesn’t want anyone to look at him ever again.

“What’s going on?”

“I just want Anti’s fucking head, alright?” snaps Blue. “I just want to murder him. And then I’ll feel like myself again, and I’ll get my magic back, and then my body back, and we can have a chance to be okay again. And until then I just have to deal with this. Until I rip his goddamn throat out. Like I promised him I would. When my hands are covered in his blood, then I’ll feel better.”

Dok looks at him, taken a little aback. His hands curl together nervously on his stomach. He stares down at the floor.

Blue sighs bitterly through his teeth, shaking his head. “I know you don’t like talking about blood. Sorry.”

Dok shrugs. “Is fine.”

“Dok, I just can’t take much more, you know that, I know you feel the same way… surely you get this same bloodlust, don’t you, my darling? He’s been torturing you. Don’t you want to torture him back?”

Dok’s stomach turns. He takes a step back, shaking his head.

“I would not like to ever torture anybody ever again,” he says quietly. “I have had my fair share, thank you.”

They stand side-by-side in the bathroom, frowning together, cold.

“What if it doesn’t make it better?” asks Dok.

“What?”

“What if killing Anti doesn’t make it feel better?”

“Killing Anti will solve most every problem of mine I can think of,” answers Blue soundly, straightening up.

“Oh, goodness,” grumbles Dok, rolling his eyes. “I’m not even going to start with you.”

“Better not, you sassy little monkey man.”

“Monkey man? I am monkey man? How dare you say this.”

“Yeah. You’re bananas.”

“Blue, I will end you.”

But he’s laughing now and that’s what matters. Dok snorts and rolls his eyes, trying to let himself laugh a little too. He leaves the bathroom and flops down on his chair, gazing at Blue as he limps back into his bed and sits down. They look at each other for a long moment, trying to make each other smile with their own tired grins.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” whispers Blue. “I wish I could keep all of you safe.”

“Don’t have to be sorry,” Dok says again, letting his eyes slip shut. “I know you’re trying so hard. It’s not your fault at all.”

“I’ll kill Anti for you,” Blue swears, his eyes shining through the haze that seems to lie over them most days. “Then we can be okay again.”

“And what if we can’t?” asks Dok, barely even registering the words before he feels them leave his mouth. “What if we can’t kill him, Blue? What happens then?”

Blue stares out at the smog of the sky, wishing he could see the stars.

“Then I think he’ll kill us instead,” he answers simply. “And then, either way… it’ll be over.”

Dok nods slowly, not opening his eyes. Blue reaches out. They hold each other’s hands in the low light.

.

Anonymous asked: Hey there Ippy, we don't know much about Jameson medically, besides that he has schizophrenia and takes the medicine Haloperidol/Haldol, and he's allergic to rowan (as though he might be a chageling?). He's not a regular human either, he's basically Jacksepticeye's version of you guys.

“Ohhh,” says Ippy, standing slightly outside his clinic, arms crossed over his chest and eyes wide. “Schizophrenia. I’m relieved, actually. Because if this was fever delirium… we would have a problem.”

Google leaps out of the room, synthetic blood dripping down his neck, and slams the door hard behind him, panting. From within the room, hissing.

“Kid’s fucking nuts,” Gigi snarls.

“Kid’s fucking delusional,” answers Ippy sharply. “And that’s not his fault. This is on you for kidnapping somebody with a psychotic disorder.”

“He would have died there anyway,” sneers Gigi, stalking past Ippy. He has a red shirt now instead of blue. “That little monster wasn’t going to get him any help for that infection. And if you don’t do something fast, he’ll die here instead. He’s exhausting himself. Sedate him again.”

“No. Too much sedating. We have to calm him down. I’ll give him his Haldol intravenously so he can’t throw it up with this fever. You just have to steal some for me.”

“I only take orders from the Darkness,” answers Google.

Ippy sighs and shakes his head, turning stonily back to the door of his clinic. “If this doesn’t change, I’m sending him back to his brothers.”

“That place has no family. And Dark will speak with him before he’s let go. You get him well enough that he can have a discussion, then he’s free to go.”

Anonymous asked: JJ, honey, are you doing alright? I know you must be absolutely terrified right now, but at the very least you're getting medical treatment and they plan to give you back to Anti after you have a discussion with the Darkness. I know it'll be absolutely terrifying, but I think it's the only way to get home. Ippy is going to give you Haldol, if you'll let him? You'll feel much clearer if you do, then maybe you can make plans on what to do next.

JJ has not struggled this much with his symptoms since he and Red were homeless in Columbia and he knows it.

But he can’t make it stop.

“Tell my big brothers to come get me if they have to kill everyone in this house to do it!” his hands scream, and that is the last coherent thought you get out of him.

He moves! He has to move. He doesn’t just pace, he darts around the room, he races. His hands strike strike strike every surface. He pauses only for a moment to be sick over the waste basket, leaving him pale and dizzy, but even then his body is consumed by wracking spasms and shakes. He spins in a circle. He can’t stop looking at the lights no matter how hard he tries. His eyes are up, up, up. Fluttering, rolled back. Watching the light. Fixed on the light. If he looks away bad things will happen. The cameras told him so. Didn’t they? Someone did and he knows it must be true. He has to look at the light or the Darkness will get him.

“I’m already here,” whispers Dark’s voice in JJ’s head. He spasms and jolts back with terror, rubbing at his arms and shaking himself like he’s trying to act out a seizure, but despite his frantic motion and his fear, his face is numbed to any emotion, blank as it was when Red would struggle to understand him in Columbia. Dapper starts to sign wildly, but the words don’t make sense together to anyone but him.

“Skin. I was in. Blood up tree branch he made me go there and I didn’t want to! Can’t Red come? Miss candy and bedsheets, where? The radio, turn down. Does my blood come up? Does my blood rise?”

Ippy peeks his head inside the room. Dapper turns and sends a lamp flying towards him, smashing it against the wall, and Ippy ducks away again. Dapper grins joylessly, with his teeth, his eyes rolled towards the lights on the ceiling. He holds up his wrists and his hands dangle as though on string. Then he crumples to the ground, dazed and panting, scratching at the fever in his face.

“Jackie,” he begs. “Chase.”

Anonymous asked: dapper, jamie, my dear. you're okay, yeah? we would tell you if we thought you were in danger. and now i'm telling you to try to be calm, okay? we'll tell you if we think you're in danger. i promise.

For just a moment, he manages to drag his flickering eyes over to you. There’s a red light on the camera. That counts, right? Does it? His hands search the floors for his bear. Trick packed his things. Didn’t he? But what if it was a trick? Isn’t that why he named him that? Also guns and grey shirts.

He rubs at his aching, pounding head, and swats at a tactile hallucination on his legs. Just a snake, though, and those you don’t have to worry about. It’s dogs and cats that will tear their teeth into you.

He registers the promise vaguely, but his paranoia is so high he could be home safe and sound and still feel that Dark was slowly killing him. He casts his eyes over your message, counting the y’s. Nine. Does that mean something? He knows it means something. The universe is trying to talk to him. God is trying to talk to him. He just needs to listen.

Anonymous asked: ippy's gonna get you your haldol, okay? he's kind. he won't hurt you. do you think you can agree to that, dap? that way, if you are in danger, it'll be clearer, and if it's a hallucination that'll be clearer too.

He would like his Haldol. He would. That’s one of the only mercies Anti usually grants him. He registers that someone is coming into the room and you said it was okay. He rocks his head back and forth, trying to think, feeling drool clinging to his lips. Where is he?

Ippy tries again. Creeping, patient, quiet.

“Are you feeling up to talking?” he asks quietly, when he manages to get into the room without being assaulted. Dapper learned from Anti and when he does not have a blade he makes use of his teeth and his mean white fingernails.

Dapper rocks his head, still trembling from the catatonia, burning with fever.

“I don’t know where to fucking start,” Ippy mumbles, kneeling down beside him. “You’re going to puke up your medication. Google might get you some of the liquid stuff, might not. Depends how generous he thinks he’s being. And what Dark tells him…”

Dapper shudders, baring his teeth.

“Please turn down the radio,” he says, clawing at his ears between signs, but it just looks like more frantic movement to Ippy. “So many people talking all at once.”

“Can I give you something for the fever?” asks Ippy, getting up to get him some water and medicine. “Yeah? Try to keep you hydrated? I need to look at your wrist.”

Dapper clutches his arm to his chest, squirming. “Anti? You’re playing games with me? Can I come out, please? Been good.”

scunneredzombie asked: Jay, they're going to give you some of your medicine. You have a really bad fever right now, it's most likely making the psychosis much much worse. We're here to help and so is Ippy. You will be okay. Breathe, Dapper, just breathe. You will get through this. Remind yourself of things you know are real, things that are unchanging and true no matter what. Cling to those for now. That's what I do during my psychotic episodes.

What’s real? What’s unchanging? What’s true?

Dapper squints his eyes up at the light on the ceiling and tries to think. His hand is still searching for his things. Ippy passes his backpack towards him and Dapper finds his bear, dragging his gaze down to it. Red and Blue and Dok got it for him for Christmas this year. He’s had it for months, even in Columbia. The fur is alpaca. It doesn’t feel quite like any other texture. Cloudy and thick at the same time. Warm. It still smells, faintly, of their home in Peru.

He tries to breathe.

“Okay, I’m going to try to give you some medicine here,” Edward warns him carefully, moving closer. “It’s good for you. Just to bring the fever down a little. I’ll look at your wrist again here in a minute.”

JJ scoots away, shaking his head, but it only makes him dizzy. A hundred voices speak to him. Edward’s is rich and deep and all too familiar. He concentrates on the faint beep of the camera, a sound he’s grown used to over months and months of what would otherwise be total loneliness.

He hopes Trick is okay at home. He’s sorry he left him alone.

Anonymous asked: yeah, you're doing well, dap. just gotta hang on a little longer, okay? and ippy will help you, dap. you don't have to trust him, but you trust us, don't you? and we trust him. it's okay, dap. you're gonna be okay.

Ippy takes his chin in his hand and angles him towards him.

Nope.

Anchors fall away and Dapper feels something inside himself snap. This has always been the rule. This has always been the rule, the rule he has learned since his creation: no one touches him but Anti and his brothers.

No one.

And the punishments he’s seen Anti inflict on those who broke that rule -

Dapper does not often wish for a voicebox that works. But right now, all he wants to do is fucking scream.

His teeth flash and bite down hard on Ippy’s hand, making Dark’s look-alike yelp in alarm. Dapper slams their heads together and grabs him by the throat, burning with fury, burning with fear, burning alive on a pyre he did not set, and then Google is there, and he has him by the hair, and he shoves a needle deep into the neck of Anti’s most savage attack dog.

Dapper quails, gripping frantically at Gigi’s hand. He chokes and looks up into deep brown eyes. There is no red glow.

He slides to the ground, asleep. Google lets him go.

“Alright?” asks Google quietly.

Ippy swears under his breath and puts his hand to his forehead, teeth marks indented in the skin. “I’m fine, goddammit.”

“Keep him asleep til he’s better,” says Gigi. “I will not tell you again.”

Edward shakes his head slowly, biting his lip, but he doesn’t protest.

Jamie sleeps. The fever is burning in his flesh.

Anonymous asked: Trick is right, Anti. You keep asking, multiple times now, "why did this all fall apart?" And the answer is because you constantly excuse your cruelty, excuse your abuse and all the pain you cause, by blaming Jack and saying you "can't control yourself". You, sir, are just as capable as anyone else in the world of controlling your temper and controlling your aggression. You need to stop making excuses. They will leave over and over and over if you do not change.

“Leave over and over,” mutters Anti under his breath, his eyes angry, aglow in the morning light through the great window in the master bedroom.

Trick is still asleep, though he shifts now, his hair mussed around his eyes. The roots have turned brown. The bright green is beginning to fade to yellow.

Anti wraps his arms around his waist, tugging him close. Trick rolls over with a yawn, trying to rise, but Anti’s grip holds him in place. Trick cracks open an eye and finds himself pressed against him.

“Anti, hey, wake up,” he mumbles, rubbing at his sleepy eyes. “Lemme go. I want a shower and some coffee.”

Anti is already awake, but Trick can’t see that, and he doesn’t move. Trick pauses. He starts trying to squirm out of Anti’s arms without moving enough to wake him if he is sleeping, but he doesn’t have much luck. Anti tightens his arms around him as he tries to escape.

“Anti?”

Anti glares out the window, ignoring his wriggling. Eventually, blinking in surprise, Trick just stays in place.

Leave over and over. Anti grips his ribs until his fingernails put cuts in Trick’s shirt. Leave. Ha. He isn’t going anywhere.

Anonymous asked: are you alright then, anti?

Anti gets out of bed after a half hour has passed. Trick is hot and uncomfortable, needing to stretch and change out of his sweaty sleeping clothes and use the bathroom. But he’s stopped struggling by the time Anti releases him.

The glitch gets to his feet and picks out an appearance for the day in the mirror, settling on the younger man he wore when Dapper was created, ruffling teal hair in the mirror. Trick sits up and gives him a smile. Anti doesn’t answer your question, but the way he looks at Trick - he focuses on the bruises someone left in his wrist as they pulled him along. Something simmers in Anti’s eyes. He turns towards the door.

“Where are you going?” asks Trick, hurrying out of bed. “Hey - Anti? Come on, have breakfast with me or something. Don’t leave me, dude.”

“I have to go get your little brother,” answers Anti. “Just stay here, Trick.”

“Anti, I - ”

He glitches away.

Trick stares at the door, mouth slightly parted.

Anonymous asked: You gonna do something that will stop Dark from kicking your ass a second time?

“Where in the narrative did Dark kick my ass?” snaps Anti, stalking into the forest. “Last I checked I was tearing them and their fucking soldiers a new one when Bubblegum McGee scoops my kiddo off the ground and disappears like the deranged little thief he is. And then all of them went sprinting for the hills. No. When I find Dark, I’m burning down everything they love and tearing apart that mangled excuse for a spine of theirs. Then we’ll see if they remember me.”

Anonymous asked: Trick? You want to talk for a bit?

“Yeah, uh, yeah,” says Trick, trying to recover quickly, nodding his head and straightening up. “Yes, please. House is super quiet without anybody else! Last time I was this alone was when Blue was in hospital and I’d come back to the house and try not to worry about everybody else too much. But I do have Noodle! He’s always got my back. I’m just going to get changed and then we’ll go make some breakfast and check on kitty cat, yeah? Doesn’t have to be a sucky day just cause things are trying to go bad. I can stay positive.”

Anonymous asked: Alright, we'll just have a bit of a "you" day. Decompress a bit. It's good to check in on yourself and have a little time off. (Give noodle some pets please!)

“Yes,” laughs Trick. He worries at his hands, yes, kneading his fingers into his palms, and you can see the edge of a breakdown somewhere in the back of his eyes, but he has survived a lot and he wants to prove to himself that he can be okay even without Dok sometimes. Maybe even to be okay when Dok isn’t, so he can look after him better. So he can look after all of them better.

Next time they’re scared enough to run away, he wants to be someone they can trust.

“Decompress - play some games, probably - chill with my cat - cook a ton - swim, maybe… yeah!” Trick pulls his shirt over his head and turns toward the door, grabbing the handle. “I’ll - ”

It’s locked.

Trick stops. Tries it again. Stares. Glances at you. Tries again.

It’s still locked.

He stands in front of the door. His hand rests on the door handle.

Outside, a mewl.

Anonymous asked: can the window open, trick?

“The… window?” he asks. “Yeah… yeah, it can. But I’m on the second story.”

He moves to the window and lets it swing open. The fresh air and the scent of the forest are refreshing, but the red brick of the patio is still several meters down.

Anonymous asked: where's noodle?

Claws pick at the carpet outside Anti’s bedroom. Trick hurries back to the door and kneels down, crouching to try and see his cat through the crack beneath it.

“Mrow,” complains Noodle loudly, scraping at the carpet with his claws out. “Meehhhh.”

“Daddy’s here, kitty cat, I’m right here.” Trick reaches for him as though he could pull him beneath the door. Noodle attacks one of his fingers, chewing on the end, but Trick doesn’t even mind. “Are you hungry? I’m sorry I didn’t let you out last night. Things were crazy, baby. But I’m coming, boyo, I’ll… I’ll, uh…”

What is he supposed to do?

Anonymous asked: do you think anti will be mad if you leave the room?

“I don’t know. It was probably an accident.”

Noodle yowls on the other side of the door. Trick stares at his kitten’s paws, his eyebrows drawn back in worry. You see him look down at his feet.

He knows it wasn’t an accident. And he wouldn’t have locked it if he was okay with Trick leaving.

Anonymous asked: Okay unless we know a for our window downstairs is unlocked, I wouldn't use the window, don't want you getting locked out of the house entirely. You think you might be able to find a key or break the lock if you need to?

“It’s… maybe I could? I don’t want to get in trouble. But there’s no keyhole on this side. I’d have to really bust the door up. And then he’d be so angry.”

Trick steps back from the door, chewing on his nails. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. “Okay. I wish he hadn’t done this, but he did. I’m safe in here. I have a bathroom with water and all the stuff I packed into a bag in case I got kidnapped is here. Dapper was keeping food in the drawers. I’m okay. But my poor cat…”

Anonymous asked: for now, at least, you can make sure noodle has food, right? is the food only in there? maybe you can grab a little something and push it under the door

“That’s a good idea. Okay, let me look.”

He goes back to the bottom drawer and pulls it open to reveal Dapper’s stash. He recoils a little, scrunching up his nose - he hadn’t realized how bad it smelled in the panic of last night, but now he notices.

“This is kind of nasty… we’ve only been here a couple weeks. Why would he keep - ugh, cheese!” Trick chucks the hot string cheese towards the trash, making a gagging motion. “He has to know this would go bad right away, right? Why even take it? Look, my cookies from last week. Hard as rocks cause he didn’t even ask me to wrap them. There’s lint on them. He just shoved them in his pockets. Fuck’s sake… oh!”

Here’s some stuff that should still be edible. Crackers still in their packs. A couple apples. Tupperware with brownies. One pack of raisins, one pack of dried cranberries. And a little pack of Dapper’s favorite - jerky. Most of it is gone, but there are a few good chunks still at the bottom.

“At least I can give him something, then,” says Trick, taking a breath.

Anonymous asked: Anti keeps his favorite trophy locked up in a case when not in use

Trick looks at you, eyes wide, and then away, trying to make himself scowl. He crouches down beside the door and pushes dried meat towards his cat. Noodle seems to accept the offering. He goes quiet and Trick hears him chewing. It’ll take him a while to get through that.

Trick sits back on his heels and stares at the door.

“Always wanted to be Anti’s favorite trophy,” he mumbles, something frightened and tired passing across his face. “Or thought I did, I guess.”

Anonymous asked: you have a choice, then, trick. do you want our help in leaving the room, to go to noodle? or will you stay here and wait for anti to come back and let you out?

Trick sighs and slumps down against the door, rubbing at his face. He stares out the window and thinks.

“You know… I think I’ll try to stay here for a while,” he says, giving you a smile that looks more like a grimace. “It’s not bad. We’ve definitely stayed in much worse places! I have lots of room and a clean bathroom and everything I need. Maybe I’ll take a bath. Yeah… it’s okay.”

He glances around the room. How long has he been in here? Two hours? Oh, twenty minutes. He bites his lip and sighs. He puts his head between his knees and rubs at the back of his neck.

“Always kind of knew it couldn’t really be fun for anybody to be locked in a room all day. But I thought maybe, with Dapper’s nerves, it was better for him just to stay up there with Anti. And when I imagined it, I guess I made everything nice. Him getting to eat his own food, sleep whenever he wants, just working on his art all the time. Doing whatever he wanted, you know? I usually imagined Anti actually… being here, though. Yeah. I guess that I thought that when he loved me, I’d be able to feel it.”

Trick pauses, looking up. Looking out at the sun.

“That’s always the thing with me, though,” he says. “Even when I know for a fact people love me - it doesn’t always feel that way. And I thought - well, Anti, he just… with his power, it’s like he can make me feel that way. Or maybe it’s just him. But those days when I would just spend all my time praying to impress him… and then he would brush his hand across my hair or smile at me… it would be my favorite part of the week. Like I finally got it all right. Like I’m finally worthwhile.”

He puts his head down again, looking at the carpet, his fringe falling into his eyes. It occurs to him that he doesn’t really like bright green. Or dying yellow.

“I love him,” he says, a little hollowly. “But I think maybe Dok was always right. Nobody else can magically fix me. I need to stop expecting Anti to put everything right in my head. That’s not fair to either of us. I should have been happier just being with Dok. Cause Anti gave me these bursts of joy, yeah, and he’s trying to be better to me these days - but Dok has been the earth beneath my feet for months now.”

He stares at the food in the drawer, rotting. He tugs uselessly on the door handle. He stares around the silent, empty room, and the silence stares back, and says nothing.

“I shouldn’t have been jealous of my little brother,” says Trick, heart sinking. “I should have been making sure he had ground to stand on too.”

Anonymous asked: yeah, i get that, trick. and i think anti does love you, as much as he can love someone anyway. although, trick, you don't have to answer this now, and if you don't want to talk about this right now i'll stop, but trick? if given a choice between dok and anti, who would you choose?

“Oh, hey,” protests Trick, a little weakly. “That’s family both, we don’t talk like that. Hey, it’s okay to love people in different ways, and I know you don’t like Anti. But the truth is that just because I’m closer to Dok, I would never ‘choose him’ over any of the others. We all gotta just love each other in the way we need. I want to do what’s best for all of them. If… if Dok and Red and Blue need some space from Anti, well… maybe they should have some. But even if I lived with some of them instead of the others, it’s not because I’m trying to pick someone as my favorite. We just all need different things at different times. Whoever needs me most is who I ‘choose.’ Whoever I can help. And I hope it’s always… all of them, you know? When you’re a family, helping one person is good for everyone.”

Anonymous asked: It's easy to fall into a "grass is greener" mentality but abuse is abuse no matter if you're crouched by a window with a gun, locked away in an attic, or running through the streets with stolen drugs. I don't blame you for wanting a higher standing with Anti but he's not going to give you what you want, to no failing of your own.

“Ha! Okay, fair… maybe being in the basement and being in the attic both kind of suck. But I’ve always had Dok. Having someone there with you is what makes it not sucky. Look, this house is fucking awesome! But there’s no one here with me right now. And that does kind of suck, even worse than when Dok and I were sleeping in the same pile of cheap blankets beside a window in a broken down cabin during a Norwegian fall. We had a good time in Norway, didn’t we? Before everything went wrong? Do you remember… we got fish in a restaurant in town, ha… and I got my crinkle paper…”

Trick pulls it out of the pocket of his basketball shorts and presses his fingers to the crinkly baby paper, familiar and fond. He smiles while his eyes grieve.

Anonymous asked: Those sound like fair conclusions, Trick. It sounds like you've been thinking a lot about yourself and how you've interacted with your family in the past. That's really good; well done. For what it's worth, I am really sorry you got left here alone. You don't deserve that. Are you sure you don't want help leaving, or looking for something else to do?

“Aww, you guys are like my therapists now,” laughs Trick, genuinely pleased. “That’s sweet, thanks. No, um… I’ll stay here a while, I guess. Think Dap would mind me looking through his sketchbooks? Maybe I’ll draw a little myself. Or… write, maybe. Yeah. Maybe I’ll write a little.”

Anonymous asked: trick, that's admirable. and i do mean that. you have a lot of loyalty. but trick, it's not just that they need some space from anti. anti has hurt them, time and time again. family doesn't hurt each other like that, trick. anti has gone too far, many, many times.

“I am loyal,” he agrees quickly, because that’s something he’s always known and one of the few things he’s almost always liked about himself. “Yes. Mh.”

He pulls his eyes away from the rest of the message uncertainly, fiddling with his hands as he sits down on Anti’s bed and pulls Dapper’s latest sketchbook off the bedside drawer. He’s grinning for a minute. They’re mostly pictures of animals. Some people scattered in there - dancers and babies and old people in love. Dapper’s good and he’s gotten even better since the last time Trick checked in on his art, which was… how long ago?

But there are other things in the pages too.

Faces that almost hurt from how familiar and yet unrecognizable they are. Images Trick recognizes from Dapper’s hallucinations, painful and threatening. One baby that is not like the rest in a way Trick can’t express. And… himself?

Himself burning?

Trick takes a moment to realize what this is. The night he got the burn that now laces from his palm to the back of his hand. He hadn’t realized Dapper remembered, or was even there, watching, as it happened.

In the image, a dark figure shoves him towards the fire. His shirt sleeve is already ablaze, his hand consumed, and yet - despite the fire, despite the pain, his eyes are like those of a monk in Mass, wide, adoring, tear-filled - and those eyes are fixed on the creature pulling him into the flame.

Trick shoves the sketchbook away from him, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” he croaks, turning his face away from you. “Later. Okay? Later, I promise, just… not right now.”

It is the second time he has pushed your concerns aside in as many nights. There are messages waiting for him that he’s avoiding. But he still isn’t ready to hear it.

Anonymous asked: okay. that's okay, trick. do you wanna talk about something else, then? i can tell you a funny thing one of my birds did, if you'd like.

“Ha. Birds, wow, that’s awesome. Yeah, sure! Tell me.”

Anonymous asked: alright! so, my sister has an obvious favorite, and the bird knows it, and likes to hang out on people's shoulders and stuff. and today, she flew up onto my arm, and then stared at me face very curiously, and so i started talking to her, and she immediately tried to eat my teeth. very smart bird, who apparently does not quite get what is or is not food. she's very funny.

Trick snorts and covers his mouth with his hand. “Oh, no! I do not like the sensation I am imagining. A beak picking at my teeth, haha. Geez. Sounds like a funny bird. Noodle likes to try to eat toes when we move at night.”

Anonymous asked: oh, yeah, my friend's cats are kinda like that too. for a while, when they were kittens, we had to be careful because they would try to attack our feet. is noodle chaotic like that?

“Half the time he is nuts-o crazy boy, and then half the time he pretends he’s a perfect angel and he just wants all of Daddy’s attention and all of Uncle’s attention and everybody’s attention one hundred percent of the time. And he looks up at you and cries until you scratch him.”

Anonymous asked: oooo, do you write, trick?

“Well, I thought since I’m sure jabbering your guys’ ears off, I could write some shit down. Dok had me do that for a while once. It was right after… well, there’s blurry spots in my memory. It was right after I started being his twin. I was pretty low. I was, um. Self-harming a lot. Losing a lot of my memories. So he recommended I write stuff down. Whatever I was feeling. And he said even he wouldn’t read it, he promised. We were in this kind of warehouse place at the time, and there was nowhere to sleep. Not a lot of privacy except my pieces of paper. They’re gone now. But I think they kept me focused on something, at the time.”

He holds Dapper’s pencil in his hand, taking a loose sheet of paper. But his eyes get fixed on the stretched out sketchbook on the floor once again. He looks away from the image of himself with a grimace.

That night - that look on his face - that wasn’t what he remembers. Not exactly.

Want to know a secret? he writes.

He has scrawling, beautiful, messy handwriting.

I was pissed at you that night. You left me and Dok to freeze. I don’t even think I started that fire because I was trying to keep Dok warm.

He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut. Bites on his lip. Puts his pencil back down.

I wanted to make you angry. I wanted there to be a confrontation. I was angry at you. But I didn’t know how to tell you because you didn’t care about me back then and that was what burned, more than this goddamn scar on my hand. I wanted to hurt you for hurting me. But all you did was hurt me worse. You act like you want things to be good between us now but we’ve never even talked about

He stops and sighs and scowls before crumpling the paper up, scratching at his scalp.

“Forget it,” he mumbles. “Not that. Just…”

Noodle mewls at the door, beginning to get bored with his jerky. Trick smiles softly and chuckles, turning away.

When you were a kitten your body was like a slinky and I could feel every one of your bones. Hot little spine rubbing against my wide palms. Big fuzzy leaf ears. When you were a kitten you made a weight beneath my throat and when I breathed I would feel the tiny thump of your heart. You are the memory of someone I lost.

And Trick is stopped again, closing his eyes again, turning away again.

“Maybe I’ll just go get a hot bath. Relax a while. I’m okay. Poor kitty cat. Don’t be lonely, okay, baby boy? I’ll be back in a while.”

Anonymous asked: Keep your head high and your standards higher, Trick.

“My standards for this rich guy’s bath are high as fuck right now,” he says, slinging a towel over his shoulder. “Motherfucker got bath bombs and everything. This better be some Spirited Away experience or I’m out. Minus the evil lady, though. Just the big steamy bath and the nostalgia, please. Hey, keep an eye on my kitty for me, yeah? You’re still in the cameras all over the house? I’ll be out in a little while. Maybe a long while. Thanks, guys. Uh. For real.”

Anonymous asked: I'm sure noodle is going to be okay, Trick. If you're worried about him just stay near the door and he should be fine óvò You might want to try to slip him something to eat tho, I have no idea when was the last time anyone could've fed that kitty

Trick slips him one more piece of jerky and lets him chew on his finger for a moment before he slips into the bathroom. Noodle has his snack happily outside the door, and then, deprived of Trick’s presence, he goes exploring.

Trick has made toys for him out of anything he could find. He plays with string and a ball that makes a jangling sound. He zips around the house for a while. He searches for Trick and Dok, or anybody to give him some attention.

Usually they’re down in the basement. Usually they all stay down in the basement, Noodle himself shut in most of the day to avoid Anti, though he’s perfectly content to stay down there with everything he needs. But today, he gets to explore. The door was opened while Dark’s soldiers searched the house and he’s free to roam. It’s a little exciting.

He’s okay. For now, he’s okay. Trick has fed him and there’s a little water still in his bowl by the door. He’s okay.

But Trick was too hot in his bed for a reason. And he’s right - the windows do open.

Noodle gets tired of the basement. Noodle gets tired of his toys. Noodle wants to see Trick and the others.

He explores. The fresh breeze and the smell of the trees - the movement of the grass and the warmth of the sun - the song of the birds, the scurrying of mice, the cool water of the pool - they call to him.

He has not been outside since he was too small for anything but milk. Not until today.

He slips out through the window of Red and Blue’s room, and he explores.

Anonymous asked: hey, shep? dapper's brother has a golden cat, who we just saw leave, but he's away from the cameras at the moment so we can't tell him about it yet. could you and the others keep an eye out for the cat? his name is noodle, although i don't know if he knows it or not.

Shep hears the beeping in his pocket and pulls the camera out immediately.

“Shep! Come on, throw it in!”

“Just a second!”

His eyes scan your message and brighten, a hint of gold from the sun lighting up the brown curve of his irises. He feigns disinterest for a moment, pausing to kick a soccer ball back towards someone on the lawn. You can hear a dog barking and voices chatting. The sun is overhead. It’s a beautiful day.

“Would that make you happy?” asks Shep. “If I found the cat for you?”

He looks up at the forest.

Outside of the sunlight, Darkness reigns in more ways than one. The trees are thick and tall and heavy, shrouding the earth in a loving chill. Animals scamper across the dirt and lean plants curl up from the ground and latch onto the broad backs of trees, clinging to damp red wood. And for miles - for miles - it stretches on before him.

“Okay, then,” he says. “I will.”

Anonymous asked: it would help. thank you, shep. anti doesn't like animals, so i wouldn't recommend bringing the cat back to the house they're in, but you can bring it here and we'll tell the brother about it.

“I’ll start looking right now,” he says. “It’s a big forest. But I can do it.”

Anonymous asked: sleeby jj...Soff sleeby bean.. get well soon

His eyes slide open to your familiar light.

He stares at you for a second, his eyes heavy with shadowed circles.

Then he registers the message and manages to roll his eyes for the first time in days, huffing out a bit of a sigh.

“Not a bean.”

It’s only as he signs it that he realizes he’s no longer restrained.

He sits up slowly, pressing his palm to his forehead and grimacing. He doesn’t feel well at all. His stomach swims with nausea and he can feel his blood chugging sluggishly through his veins. But it’s better than the last few days.

He glances around the room, blinking slowly. He’s alone and there’s light streaming in through the barred window.

Alright. He’s had his nap. Time to start trying to escape.

Anonymous asked: Jj, think about this first. Anti is already coming for you, and if you try to escape you'll be in miles and miles of unknown forest, with no haldol, no medication for your fever, and no way to be sure you can get home. At least maybe wait until you've gotten over the infection and until you can steal some haldol to have with you? Just trying to analyze the situation fully before action is taken.

“I am not going to sit quietly while the monster who has haunted my nightmares - well, one of them - keeps me prisoner. I only do that for Anti. Come on, don’t be boring! Help me get out, yeah?”

He struggles to his feet, but as soon as he’s found a moment of balance he loses it again, tumbling into the wall and holding himself there on shaking arms and legs. He swallows thickly and turns towards the windows, yanking on the bars with his good hand. The other one is swaddled so thickly in bandages he can barely feel it, but at least his fingers stick out to let him speak most words.

That being said, he has about four good yanks on those bars before his head is swimming. He slumps against the wall, clinging to the metal. His whole body aches.

“Maybe you have a point,” he admits sullenly, rubbing at his face.

Anonymous asked: Haha, sorry Jay, not trying to be boring! I just want to make sure you've got a second voice to help think clearly. Look around you maybe? See any spare haldol or fever medication you can swipe and save up for when you do the grand escape?

“Thank you,” says JJ, grinning slowly, though nothing quite makes it to his eyes. “Okay, let me look. I think I must have something in me now because my psychosis is a lot less intense right now.”

He glances around the room. He isn’t hallucinating and his thinking is much clearer, but his expressions are still dulled, his face is twitching, and he isn’t sure what’s true and what’s not. He needs rest and a lot less stress.

He checks the drawers, but everything’s locked up.

nikkilbook asked: JJ, remind me again why Dark frightens you so much? I’m sorry, but I can’t remember clearly. He doesn’t remember any of you either. He showed up that first time because he didn’t know why Anti was trespassing in his territory.

Dapper looks over at you.

He turns away for a second, chewing on his nail. Shrugs. Sits down on the bed.

“Not a fun time,” he signs eventually.

scunneredzombie asked: Rest up, if you can, JJ! I'm almost completely certain you'll be safe here. Darkness won't hurt you because they want you healthy enough to talk to them. You need rest and to let your haldol take effect.

“Dark can do a lot worse things than hurting anybody,” he answers. “It’s the talking to them that’s more likely to fuck me up than anything. And I never want to see them again. Tell them to leave me alone! Where’s my big brothers? Are they coming to get me yet?”

Anonymous asked: How are you feeling, JJ? Still burning up?

“I actually feel quite cold.” He hugs his arms around his sunken chest, staring around the room. His lips are chapped to blood and his face is the color of bleach. He doesn’t look well.

“This is miserable,” he admits, his signs soft. “I remember when I was created I always had energy and felt strong and healthy most of the time, even when I got hurt. I bounced back. The last few months, I’m just… every day I’m sicker. My bones break and I catch every cold and infection. Keep have psychotic episodes. Don’t sleep well.”

He realizes he’s just complaining and makes himself stop, digging his nails into his palms. Won’t help anything. He needs to get out.

He creeps to the door and takes the handle in his hand.

“Going somewhere?”

He turns, spitting, back to his bed, the hair on the back of his neck standing up like an angry cat’s as he snatches a pen off the nearest counter for self-defense.

Wilford nods patiently, following his movements as he swings his legs on the side of the little clinic bed. “Very good, very good.”

“You stay away from me.”

“Oh, my dear, forgive me, I don’t understand a word of that. Shall I get you paper?”

Dapper steps away from him, watching him with glittering eyes. After a moment, he nods.

Wilford pulls a pad of paper out from behind his back as though it had been there all along and sets it on the bed beside himself, smiling.

“What are you so frightened of, young man? Come on, then, calm down.”

Anonymous asked: Are you wearing your dress-shoes? The heel might be good for smashing the locks off the drawers! Though you'd have to be uh... as quiet as smashing can be haha.

JJ looks down at his bare feet. He scowls. Just like the day he was created.

But Wilford has boots on. “Give me those,” he demands.

Wilford doesn’t speak sign language, but he gets the gesture. “Sure,” he says, tugging a boot off and tossing it to him.

Dapper slams a desk drawer handle remorselessly. A loud clang signals the death of the handle as it flies to the ground. Dapper yanks the drawer open.

“Ippy says you’re all sorts of unhealthy,” says Wilford cheerfully, still kicking his legs, halfway bootless now. “Do you feel better today? He said you have so little Vitamin D he could probably break your bones with a pillowcase. You need some sun, dear boy!”

Dapper searches through the drawer, but there’s nothing but cotton swabs, gloves, tongue depressors and everything boring. He raises the boot and smashes another dresser handle, a little breathless.

scunneredzombie asked: Anti is trying to find you right now, I'm pretty sure. I understand not wanting to see them, they're frankly a terrifying jedi-powers 3D glasses fender-bender in you all's life. You'll be home soon, JJ. But you need rest right now, you could end up hurting yourself if you're in a bad mindset or not with the proper medication. I know being careful is no fun, but right now it seems like the best option. I know this sounds fucked, but trust Anti to find you. Like he'd give you up that easily, ha,,

“You don’t want to see Dark?” asks Wilford, finally sounding genuinely wounded. “Oh…”

“You stop,” signs JJ fiercely, whirling on him. “You’re lucky you’re out of your mind or I’d call you a creep for staying around that horrible - that horrible - thing. Whatever. Leave me alone. You’re a killer just like them.”

“I think your camera’s right. You ought to sit. You don’t look very well.”

Dapper glares, panting a little. He glances around the room again, a sense of despair shuddering its way over him. Always locked in his room. Always locked in his room. Always locked in his room. He grips at his hair, breathing through his teeth.

“Hey,” says Wilford. “It’s okay. Can you hear me at all? Do I need to be writing things down too? My handwriting is very good. Would you like some water?”

He clears his dry throat, his eyes flickering over to Wilford. Actually, he would. He’s parched.

Wilford nods and gets up. He disappears for a second and returns with a glass of water. JJ takes it from him with shaking hands, sinking down onto the bed.

Anonymous asked: Hey Wilford, you're not... planning on hurting JJ, are you? You don't seems like you have any intention of it but knowing you we can never be too wary >_>

“Excuse me!” Wilford waggles his finger indignantly, making a noise like pshaw! again and again. “I have never hurt a living soul in my life. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’m a pacifist, actually. Excepting that door-to-door salesman who would NOT stop coming by…”

Dapper hisses out a breath, pressing at his forehead, feeling faint again. He scoops up Wilford’s pad of paper and sets Ippy’s pen to it. “You really have no idea what’s going on, do you?” he scrawls out in a bitter, looping cursive.

“Do you?” spits back Wilford just as quick, a little fire flashing through his eyes.

Dapper sinks in on himself, exhaling. “No,” he writes. “Not ever.”

Wilford eases again, grinning his nonchalant, slightly dazed grin.

“Why’d you come in here?” writes Dapper.

“To see you,” answers Wilford eagerly, clapping his hands together. “Finally, a new ego with a real aesthetic!”

“I’m not a new ego, Wil. Look, I don’t look like you.”

“No, you’re not like me - well, like him,” insists Wilford, undaunted. “You’re one of the boys that runs around with him sometimes. He can create things too, that’s alright. You can still stay here.”

Dapper softens a little, quirking his eyebrows. “You’ve met Jack?”

“Seen him! They made a lot of videos together for a while, do you remember? Every day!”

JJ laughs, shaking his head. “You’re thinking of Ethan.”

“No, who? Noooo. The brown-haired one. Loud? Bouncy?”

“They’re both - ” JJ cuts himself off, laughing into his hands. “Never mind.”

“I don’t have my glasses on.”

“Apparently.”

Anonymous asked: Hey JJ, did you and Wil knew each other before the whole timeline mess?

“No, not really,” JJ signs to you gently. “I’ve never really had anyone outside of Anti.”

“Are you mute?” asks Wilford politely. “What’s wrong with your voice?”

“I’ve never been able to talk,” he writes out. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t be able to stay for long.”

“Oh,” says Wilford, face falling. “Oh, I thought that was why you came.”

“You took me from my house. Do you remember?”

“No… you’re thinking of one of the others, I think?”

Dapper lets out a sigh and smiles. “Never mind. Just - ”

It’s then that Edward enters the room.

Dapper stiffens, rubbing his shoulders and staring down at the floor. Ippy looks relieved, stepping carefully into the room, as though approaching an animal caught in a fence.

“Hi,” he breathes. “Feeling any better?”

JJ looks away, uncomfortable.

Anonymous asked: Hey Dap? I just wanted to let you know that it's ok to be experiencing symptoms right now. You're under so, so much stress, your body must be having hell and two pence. It's ok if you feel apathy, have a hard time with facial expression, hallucinating. You will be okay. You will get out soon, and you will have time to de-stress, you will see your brothers again soon. Know even through the fear, everything will be okay. You were made for happy endings.

“Do you have symptoms like these often?” asks Ippy.

Dapper plays with the edge of his paper, unsmiling.

“Your, uh… friends? Said you had a psychotic disorder. When was the last time you saw a clinician about that? Seems like you’ve been on Haldol a pretty long time.”

Dapper draws circles on his pad, not looking up.

Ippy sits down in one of those backless chairs that doctors roll around their offices in. “Are you aware that you have a Vitamin D deficiency? Serious enough to be impacting your bone strength?”

Dapper glances at Wilford but doesn’t answer.

“Broken rib… infected wrist… some pretty serious scarring…”

Dapper leans down to write something. Ippy waits patiently. Dapper turns the paper around and he’s written “stop talking to me” across the whole page. Ippy rolls his chair away and lets out a grumble beneath his breath, getting up to -

“Hey! Who broke my drawers!”

Wilford and JJ exchange glances.

“Probably the dog,” answers Wilford wisely, and it almost, almost makes JJ smile.

It’s okay. He’s okay. It’s okay for him to be psychotic. He’s just got to get through it, like he always does. It’s okay to struggle.

Anonymous asked: Hey now! Let the doctor take care of you, bud. You deserve some proper medical attention, you deserve some healing after everything you've been through.

“That’s not my doctor,” signs JJ bitterly, glaring Ippy down as best he can, though he mostly ends up looking like he’s squinting. “Give me back to my brother.”

“Five questions,” asks Ippy. “Yeah? Then I’ll give you some space.”

“One question.” He holds up a finger.

Ippy holds up three.

Dapper turns his head away. Tries to glare again. Nods. Fine.

“When was the last time you saw a psychiatrist?”

He’s never seen a psychiatrist. That’s why they mostly just call it a psychotic disorder. Schneep says it’s probably schizophrenia, but he’s a surgeon. Until Anti stole Dok, he would just tell Dapper that Jack fucked his head up as bad as his voice.

“I don’t have a psychiatrist,” says Dapper. “The Haldol is fine. It manages most everything.”

“Most of the positive symptoms, I bet,” says Ippy. “And even if antipsychotics are helpful, they still need to be adjusted sometimes, and you should probably be seeing a therapist for behavioral therapy.”

“What’s positive about psychosis?” asks Wilford. “Is that like the fun kind of psychosis? A little LSD, anybody?”

“Wilford,” sighs Ippy. “Positive means something added. So things like hallucinations, delusions, hyperactivity, disordered thinking - those are positive symptoms. Most antipsychotics work best for those. But there are negative symptoms too - depressed mood. Flattened expressions. Lack of enjoyment or pleasure. Feelings of hopelessness.”

Dapper stares at the floor. After a moment, he writes “question two” pointedly.

“Why do you look like Mark’s friend?”

“It’s exactly what you think it is. Don’t waste either of our time.”

“Dark says Jack doesn’t have videos with you or any of the others.”

“Is that a question?”

“No, grumbles Ippy, rubbing at his forehead. “Forget it. Who gave you all your scars?”

Dapper’s eyes flicker. He glances away. “Self-harm,” he writes.

“Liar,” answers Ippy evenly. “They go all the way to your back.”

Dapper hisses, tucking his pad up against his chest for a second. He lets out a breath of air, shaking his head.

Anonymous asked: His ribs are broken because his "big brother" nearly beat him to death then left him sitting in filth for hours until he passed out. He's deficient in vitamin D because he spends his entire life locked inside one room and that same brother almost never lets him out. He's scarred from year of torture and abuse. Let's just say he doesn't have the easiest home life.

Ippy sits back, setting his clipboard aside.

Dapper closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to think. He doesn’t feel well.

“Please just leave me alone,” he writes. “There. You got your answer. My brother did all of it. Go away.”

Ippy gets up. He takes Dapper’s bear off the bedside table and hands it carefully over to him. Dapper swallows and accepts it, pulling the familiar warmth and texture and smell to his chest. It’s grounding.

“Want to come sit in the sun for a while?” asks Ippy.

Dapper looks up at him, eyes wide. Ippy waits.

Dapper sighs and shakes his head, curling up against the wall. Even if he wanted to accept anybody’s niceness right now, he’s too tired.

“Okay,” says Ippy. “You don’t have to. But you should know - now that you’re awake and talking - ”

“No,” Dapper is already writing, the pen shaking in his grip.

“They just want to talk. That’s all. They won’t - ”

“Tell Dark to stay away from me,” writes Dapper frantically, tears budding in his eyes. He underlines it. Again and again.

Tell

Dark

To

Stay

Away

Ippy gets to his feet wearily. He unlocks one of his drawers and sets a Haldol and a Vitamin D tablet out on the dresser beside Dapper.

“Get a little sleep,” he says. “You’ll feel better.”

“I want Dok,” writes Dapper. “Please.”

Ippy is already shutting the door behind him.

nikkilbook asked: Edward, do you have any contacts in the city that work with homeless shelters or other kinds of emergency housing? I think that’s where three of his brothers are.

Edward’s eyebrows raise. “Oh? Sure, there’s some shelters. I usually refer them to LAAG. Sets you up in a hotel for a month or two if you’re out of somewhere to stay. Mostly for moms with kids, though. There’s some men’s and women’s shelters in town. Lot of homeless people out here, unfortunately. Hey, Gigi.”

“What?”

“What’s the closest homeless shelter?”

“Are they finally kicking you out of that pigsty you call an apartment? The closest homeless shelter is Missionaries of Charity Relief Services, 23.6 miles away. There is an adjoining soup kitchen.”

“There you go.”

nikkilbook asked: Could you send someone (non/less threatening, if possible?) to ask after them, see if they’d be willing to come and help you with JJ? Though one of them, Marvin, is hurt really bad as well because of some messed up dark magic crap that Anti thought was a good idea. Schneep, the doctor that JJ keeps referring to, is doing his best, but he’s technically a surgeon with holes in his memory.

“Excuse me,” Google cuts you both off, stepping forward. “You have to run decisions like that past Dark.”

“Then ask Dark,” answers Ippy mildly. “I’m sure they’d love to worm their way into somebody else’s heart. They wanted that other kid that was there, right? Bet they’d be happy with you if you brought the other three back to them.”

“You think you’re very clever.”

“But I got you thinking about it, didn’t I?”

Google glares at him.

Then his composure breaks, just the smallest bit, and you see a smile on the edges of his mouth. Ippy laughs and trails past him towards the kitchen. “Come on, you goddamn sycophant. It’s curry night. You can help me make it.”

“I’m not your maid,” says Gigi stubbornly.

But he follows right after him into the kitchen.

Anonymous asked: Does seeing outsiders reaction help you realize it JJ? How horrible Anti really is to you? You're dying, Dapper. You might be dead if you hadn't gotten medical treatment. You have all the scars because of his actions. All of your pain was caused by him. You have a psychotic disorder and he's never /once/ taken you to a psychiatrist. If he was your brother, if he loved you beyond being his pet, he would have at least taken you to therapy. Can you see the damage he's done, Dap?

“Save the realization tactics for my brothers, my friend,” JJ signs quietly. “I’ve always known exactly what Anti is. I used to stay because I was scared of what he’d do to me if I tried to get away. Now I just know there’s no escaping. Not for me.”

And that is when the light from the sun flickers and dies.

Dapper closes his eyes. He knows. Right away, without pausing.

“Dark,” you see his mouth move.

“Feeling… hopeless?” asks a voice that echoes. “I can help with that.”

“No,” says Dapper. “No, you can’t.”

And he gets to his shaking feet.

Anonymous asked: They made a deal JJ. This is the last time. If you don't allow yourself to escape, allow yourself freedom and family, true family, love... Then I fear you'll be stuck with him forever. Let yourself escape. Let Jameson Jackson live. Let your soul breathe again.

JJ holds the camera close to his chest, sinking down beside his bed as his legs give out on him. It makes Dark tower over him. He closes his eyes.

Family, true family - what he wouldn’t give for them to be here right now. And it’s odd to him because most often, when he wishes for family, he wishes Anti were here to protect him.

Today, he doesn’t wish for Anti at all. Even if Anti would protect him from Dark, it doesn’t matter. He wants… fuck, he just wants Red and Blue and Dok and even Trick, because every one of them, he has begun to realize, would take care of him if they ever had the chance to. Blue would be shouting at Dark to back off, Red would already be on the attack, Dok would be making him feel better, and Trick, he thinks, would just be wrapped around him, holding him, just like he did when Gigi and Shep came to take him away.

Maybe he wasn’t stuck up in the attic or in the backroom or in Anti’s bed because everyone else hated him or didn’t want him around. Maybe it was always just Anti’s barriers.

“How interesting the pair of you are,” Dark says, looking down at JJ with your viewpoint in his hands. “To know him intimately… to speak with him. Even when I talk to you, it’s always me on the one side of the camera, and you never able to answer… Mark sees to that. How interesting, though, to be the ones to tell him he’s loved.”

Dapper takes the writing pad in his trembling hands. “What do you want?” he writes.

Dark leans down, too close to him. “I told you. Let’s talk. I want to know everything about that monster you live with - and just how I can get rid of him.”

Dapper creeps along the wall away from Dark, shaking his head minutely. He and Anti have their struggles, but he doesn’t sell his brother out, and especially not to Dark.

“Come on, little one. What are you so scared of? My soldiers have all seen the markings all up and down you. Wouldn’t you rather let me extract a little vengeance for you?”

“Not little,” writes Dapper. “What do you want with Anti? Why kill him?”

Dark cocks their head coolly, eyes flashing red and blue.

“If you don’t remember him, there’s no reason to be angry.”

Dark doesn’t answer. Dark never answers if they don’t have to. They don’t give up information, period.

“I hope you know I hate your guts,” says JJ.

And then Dark’s hand is on his throat.

JJ wheezes in alarm, grabbing Dark’s arm as the room seems to flood with a darkness so thick it seems to shove at his bones like a fist or a car collision. He kicks his legs desperately and, for a moment, manages a shrill whistle of alarm - and then Dark makes him still.

The calm is like an infusion of something, settling into his lungs and chest and softening his violent terror into a whimpering fear. Dark drags him back to his bed and throws him onto the mattress. And Dapper, shaking and petrified with a weepy, muted alarm, curls his body into a roly-poly and hugs his bear to his chest, staring up at Dark with huge, watering eyes, because the times when he acts childish and too cute to hurt have never been anything more than a fear response.

“There you go,” says Dark, sitting down in the chair beside the bed and leaning back, their eyes closing for a moment from the strain it puts on their spine. Anti’s attack has left them physically shaken and weak, the pain haunting them through waking and dreams. For that, they will have revenge - and for the way that the thought of Anti has haunted them for more than a week now. “Be good now and tell me how you know me.”

“My brother brought me to you some years back to reset me even better than he can alone,” writes Dapper shakily. “He manipulates thoughts and he can possess people. You manipulate souls and emotions. I woke up a different person. Since then I feel like I have a different personality every day. You and Anti took who I was from me.”

Dark shakes their head faintly, squinting for a moment. They glance at Dapper, at his eyes, at his chest. They don’t say anything.

“Please don’t hurt me anymore,” writes Dapper.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” says Dark gently, and they try to make it feel, in Dapper’s heart, that this is true, but all he does is close his eyes and hide.

Anonymous asked: hey, jamie, dapper, my dear. i know you've been hurt by dark before, and i'm not saying you have to forgive them, or trust them, or anything. but can you try to trust us, when we tell you that you are safe? i wouldn't say that lightly, dap. but right now, you are safe. deep breaths. we're here to help you.

“There, that’s right,” agrees Dark quietly. “Don’t be scared.”

Dapper shudders under another wave of their power. Affection and faith well up in his chest, and this feeling, at least, has an anchor of truth in his head, a foundation it can stand on. Yes, he remembers the days when you have kept him company, the days when you have warned him of danger or convinced Anti to leave him alone. He remembers Trick and Dok taking him for fish and chips, presents you picked out for him, and the beeping of the camera on so many of the nights in the past seven months where he would have been completely alone without you.

He sucks in a deep breath, closing his eyes.

“If I met you and your brother,” says Dark. “Why don’t I remember?”

“You are a creature manipulated by the stories your creator tells,” writes Dapper slowly.

“Mark did this?”

“No. Another storyteller. My creator gave me his power of manipulating stories. Last year I changed things without meaning to. There are inconsistencies now - people who remember things that never happened in this timeline, and people who have forgotten things that happened to them in another life. And then there are things like you, somewhere in the middle - torn between memory and loss.”

Dark’s eyes narrow, smoke curling off their shoulders.

“I know you don’t remember Anti,” writes Dapper. “But at the same time, you do.”

“Enough,” says Dark. “Quiet. Let me think.”

Deep black eyes pierce into JJ like a scalpel. He stares up at the light, trying to breathe.

“The truth is you know nothing of what’s happening around you,” Dark murmurs.“You’re delusional and ill. You remember things that haven’t happened because you have a disorder.”

“No,” signs JJ, shaking his head. “No.”

He does have delusions sometimes, very intense ones. But he won’t let Dark tell him that he doesn’t know his own power - the piece of himself that Jack gave him.

“Look at you.” Dark shakes their head, eyes glittering, and smoke curls around them like creeping cats wandering through the air. “The moment you’re away from him, you crash, is that it?”

Dapper closes his eyes, turned up to the lights.

Dark hums and gets to their feet, drawing out wine and glasses as though from the shadows themselves. They pour two cups of rich, black wine and press a cool cup into his hands. Dapper’s fingers wrap around the glass slowly, his eyes blank.

“Why did you become psychotic the moment you were away from him?”

His gaze flickers up to Dark’s. He doesn’t answer.

“Of course,” mutters Dark, backing away and sitting down in their chair. “You live with a mind manipulator. I bet he makes the voices quiet, doesn’t he?”

Dapper’s mouth parts, a gleam of something hard appearing for moment in his eyes before shifting away again, leaving him tired and only vaguely annoyed.

“Admit it,” says Dark. “You rely on him. Don’t you? You wouldn’t last on your own, not without him. The medication manages some of it and he manages the rest. When he’s away, you can barely survive. You need him – desperately.”

You can hear Dapper breathing now. His eyes are fixed on the light above. He holds his wine too tightly in his fingers.

“And he tells you so,” adds Dark slowly, staring at Dapper’s face. They tilt back their wine and they drink. “Doesn’t he? Constantly, I would guess. You and him both know that you need him – and he loves it.”

Dapper doesn’t have anything to say to them. He wants to be far away. He hates them.

“It must be difficult to be both – ”

“Don’t even fucking start with me, jackass, as if you know anything about what it’s like to be mute and psychotic and abused by the person I love most in the world, as if you’re not the one who fucking triggered my schizophrenia, as if you know anything about my life or what I’ve done to – ”

“Calm down,” says Dark gently, and Dapper feels a rush of unnatural calm flood over him. For a second of raw terror, he is completely aware that he’s being forced to feel something he doesn’t really feel, and then, the next moment, he is slumped back in his chair, letting out a low sigh of relief.

“I can’t understand sign language, so you’ll have to write for me,” says Dark. “We can have a calm conversation if you stay level-headed instead of getting so out of control. I’ll forgive you because of your fever.”

Dapper reaches dazedly for the writing pad, trying to keep his thoughts straight. This is happening again. He’s losing himself again.

“You talk about my brother controlling me and then shove your way into my chest yourself,” he manages, his handwriting scrawling and small. “Just tell me what you want from me or let me go home.”

Dark drinks from their glass again, never breaking eye contact.“What do you think I want?”

“I think,” Dapper scrawls. “That you don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on.”

It is Dark’s turn for their eyes to gain a hardness. Something glitters in black irises.

“And you hate that, don’t you, Darkness? More than anything. More than anything.”

Dark does not answer.

“You want to know how to kill Anti because you remember him,” writes Dapper. “The fragments of the memory of him haunts you because you hate not knowing and you hate being confused, and the thought that I somehow changed your story is second in bitterness only to the knowledge that Mark has already told it for you. Of course you don’t want to admit you don’t remember. It means someone else changed you without your permission. Your greatest fear.”

“Watch your words,” warns Dark.

“Anti hated you at first. We would agree that you were a creep, a control freak, an asshole. But you were insistent. How pretty he was, you would say, and how you had finally found someone who matched you in ferocity. After a while, it started to flatter him. He decided he was some sort of exception to you. You would be terrible to everyone else but good to him. He loved that. The thought of being special to someone. His abandonment issues made him look past everything horrible about you.”

“You’re making this up.”

“You taught him to dance,” writes Dapper, his words coming faster and faster beneath his scrawling hands. “Do you remember? Your hands on his waist as he finally trusted you enough to put his head on your shoulder. You would bring him flowers, roses he pretended he didn’t want and then put in a vase by his bed, purring to me about how wrapped around his finger you were. You would go hunting together and let him have the kill because you loved to see him lose his mind with the power and the fun of it all. His sadism was wild any time he was with you. He would come home and hurt me on accident - mostly - because he was so violent and worked up he couldn’t control his energy and his excitement. Do you remember?”

Dark’s eyes are raised to JJ’s now, staring at him, their mouth faintly parted.

“Have you been dreaming, Dark?” asks Dapper. “Killing him won’t make it stop. Speak with him. I don’t think the two of you know what love is, but you loved the time you spent together.”

“You’re sentimental as well as delusional,” answers Dark, tilting back their wine.

“I would listen to me if I were you,” writes Dapper. “Because at this point, Dark, there are outcomes - you cool his fury, or he will kill you.”

Red and blue in Dark’s eyes. Bone through their rotting fingers.

“My brother has taken on power he should never have stolen,” says Dapper. “You can’t beat him with Blue’s power combined with his own. Calm Anti down, Dark - or he will burn down everything you love.”

Dark blinks, revealing, if only for a moment, an unsettled look on their face.

Outside the window, the others are laughing and talking. Dark catches a glance of Wilford’s bubblegum hair and the movement of the enormous dog you spotted earlier. Host’s voice murmurs down to them through the ceiling and someone is cooking in the kitchen, making the house fragrant with garlic and spices.

“Please leave me alone now,” says Dapper.

“One last thing. Is it true that you can time travel?”

“Yes,” Dapper answers. “I know you can feel the power in my chest.”

“I could take it,” says Dark. “If I wanted to. Your power is a part of your soul and that, my darling, is my specialty.”

Dapper flips a page on his pad and writes across the full page:

“It would burn you alive.”

A flicker of a small on Dark’s coy mouth.

“Yes,” they say. “I suppose it would. I’m not as stupid as your brother.”

“Whatever you say,” writes Dapper dryly.

Dark gets to their feet, draining the last of their wine.

“Can I go?” writes Dapper desperately.

“Hm? Oh, no. We’re not finished, doll. Hey.”

Dark reaches out to cluck his chin, but Dapper jerks back, terrified. Dark laughs and takes their hand back, leaving Dapper with a sudden and painfully intense feeling of exhaustion. He crumples against the bed, his eyes flickering shut.

“Get some sleep,” murmurs Dark, turning their back and beginning to disappear back into the shadows. “Hostages are no good to me dead.”

Dapper fades into darkness.

.

Blue wakes up to a hand on his shoulder. “Mh? What is it?”

He hears his twin chuckle softly above him. “You make cat noises when you’re waking up.”

“Mmmhhhh,” protests Blue sleepily, cuddling down deeper into his blankets.

“You can go back to sleep,” Red whispers. “I just wanted you to know I’m heading back to the house for a couple days. Stay here with Dok and I’ll - ”

Blue is awake. He almost flinches out of the sheets, sitting up fast and grabbing Red’s sleeve. “Wait, no. I’m coming with.”

“No, Blue, you need to stay here and rest.”

“I’m feeling much better,” replies Blue, his tone brooking no argument. “And I am NOT going to be miles and miles away while you go back to an Anti who’s no doubt furious. I need to see the others too. I have to make sure they’re okay. That’s my job.”

“I’m coming too,” answers a quiet voice from the doorway - Dok slipping into the room with three cups of hospital coffee.

“Guys, no,” protests Red. “Please. I’d rather you be here. Dok, Anti threatened to kill you.”

Dok shrugs, placing coffee down on the bedside table. He plucks at his necklaces. “We might need these,” he says, picking at each raven talisman in turn. “And I… I need to see Trick.”

“We’re both going, Red,” Blue insists, touching his arm and squeezing reassuringly. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’re here.”

Red smiles weakly at the both of them. “Just… promise me you won’t try anything stupid, okay?”

“Promise,” says Blue.

“I never do,” answers Dok dryly.

The twins laugh quietly at his answer. It does not, however, hide the fear that trembles in Dok’s fingertips and rattles the insides of his chest.

He can do this. He can. He has to.

immabethehero asked: Good luck dudes!

“Thanks,” says Ro, looking up at the house. “Yeah, thanks, we appreciate it.”

Blue and Dok are behind him. He can hear them whispering to each other, but he doesn’t want to interfere. Blue is wrapped around Dok like a vice, rubbing his back as he tries to reassure him, and Dok clings to his necklaces and his sibling and hides.

“Is, um.” Ro stares at the windows and door. “Is Anti really angry? Is he in there right now? I don’t really know what to expect…”

Anonymous asked: uh, trick? i believe noodle has decided to go exploring. outside. i'm going to tell the others, so they can look for noodle too, but i thought you should know.

“Noodle?”

You find Trick kneeling by the door, scratching at the carpet and trying to catch his cat’s attention. Yesterday, he waited patiently for Noodle to come back. Today, four days after Dapper was taken, Trick has only seen Noodle twice, and the light in his eyes has become desperate and frantic.

“Baby!” he hollers, sticking the last piece of jerky under the door. “Come here, sweetie! Daddy’s upstairs. Where are you? No, no, no, he can’t have gone outside. Noodle, come here! He’s never been outside in his life. He’s always been with me. Noodle!”

He wipes at hot tears on his face, back shaking from how long he’s been crouched there. Anti has let him out of the room a couple times, but he’s been with him the whole time, so all he’s done is make himself dinner a couple times or watch a movie with Anti.

He wants things to go back to normal.

“Noodle! Please come here! You’re scaring me!”

Anonymous asked: Dok, what if you feigned that you were "taking off" your necklaces, but quickly clasped the animal one around Anti, then got him weak as you could and used the light? Or perhaps told him the only way to stop their power was for him to wear them, then put the animal one around his neck? Do you think a plan like that would work?

“Yeah, if I can manage that I would like to do this,” says Dok frailly, gripping Blue’s hand so hard it’s beginning to bruise. “Might not be able to trick him, but could maybe act fast and hurt him.”

“Remind me what all of these do,” murmurs Blue, touching his brother’s collarbone.

“This one is light, this one is transformation, and this one keeps Anti out of my head,” Dok whispers. “They said I should give the light one to a warrior.”

Blue glances at Red, pacing his way towards the house. He wants to be the first one inside, to bear the brunt of Anti’s fury. Blue pulls Dok after him, trying to think.

Anonymous asked: Trick has been alone for such a long time, and Anti has been locking him all alone in one room most of the days, he really needs you Dok, needs you to help him fight. As for Anti, he's been in and out of the place, we're not sure what he's doing.

“Anti locked Trick in his room?” asks Red.

“Let’s go,” says Dok, pulling away from Blue and hurrying towards the house.

“Dok! You don’t know if Anti’s in there!”

“He’s already seen us on the cameras from this close,” answers Dok, yanking open the door to the house and moving inside. “If he wants to come after us, he will. There’s nothing we can do about that. Right now, I just want to see Trick. Where is he?”

He runs down into the basement where they’ve been staying, but Trick isn’t there - and neither is Noodle. Dok returns to the ground floor, where Blue and Red are looking through their own room. Blue shuts the window that’s been open for days, making the room hot and airy.

“Where’s kitty?” asks Blue.

“I’m sure he’s just with Trick,” answers Dok. “Right?”

Anonymous asked: Trick is locked up in Anti's bedroom, and Noodle is missing, he escaped outside. Trick's been alone with no one but Anti for this whole time.

Blue and Red exchange wide-eyed looks, Red already pacing towards the door to look around for the cat. Dok races upstairs, feeling more awake than he has in weeks.

“Trick!” he knocks rapidly on the door and shuffling sounds greet him from the other side.

“Anti?”

“Trick, it’s me,” Dok calls.

“Dok!”

The way he calls his name is almost a sob. Dok scrambles with the lock on the door, turning the stiff lock to the right. Trick shoves the door open and meets his eyes.

“Are you okay?” croaks Dok.

“Fine,” whispers Trick, though his hair is limp and dry and his eyes hollowed out. “Are you?”

“Yes. I’m okay. Listen, Trick, I just - ”

Trick crashes into him and hugs him to his chest. They fall back against the wall, pinned together, skulls pressed together and arms wrapped around each other’s ribs.

“You don’t have to explain,” says Trick. “I should have protected you better, so you didn’t have to run away. I’ll be better for you, Dok. I’ll take better care of you.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I should have been someone you could trust.”

“Trick…”

They wrap tighter around each other, rocking each other’s bodies against the wall, safe in each other’s grips.

Anonymous asked: He's here.

Blue is hugging Trick and Dok to himself, babbling at them about how he loves them, about how he missed him, about how happy he is to see him. Trick is relieved to feel less alone for the first time in days. He tells Blue he looks better and that he loves him too.

It’s Red who sees Anti.

He’s leaning against the banister at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at him with cold blue eyes.

Red swallows. Anti doesn’t say anything.

He signs “come here.”

And then he walks away.

Red feels a shudder down his whole body. He glances back at his brothers, celebrating the mini-reunion together, talking about everything that’s happened.

He doesn’t see Dapper. Anti must have him with him.

Red needs to see him.

He swallows once again, clearing his throat this time. He won’t be afraid. He can’t let himself get lost in Anti’s lies again. He sees what he is more clearly than he has in years and now - now he has to protect his brothers from the monsters in the middle of them.

He moves down the stairs after Anti.

Anonymous asked: Uh guys, look out, the big-bad wolf is here

“Big bad wolf…”

Anti turns back to Ro for a moment in the middle of the hall, his eyes burning red.

“That’s me, then, right, Jackie?”

Ro’s blood seems to frost over in his veins. He stops short in the hallway, mouth parted.

Anti narrows his eyes and turns away, leading Ro further down the hall. Red can barely bring himself to follow, but his nerves are tempered by his confusion.

Anti has never called him Jackie before.

“Where’s Dap?” he asks quietly, stepping after Anti.

Anti doesn’t answer. He steps into the office room where you once found Dapper drinking and waits.

Red steps in after him, chewing on his lip.

Anti closes the door behind him and sits down at the desk, propping his feet on the table. He glares at Ro, flipping a knife in his hands.

“You got a deathwish or something,” says Anti.

“No,” Ro manages. “No.”

“Tell me why you went,” Anti snaps.

“You were threatening Dok. Blue was sick. I got scared.”

Anti stares at him, eyes burning with flame.

Anonymous asked: Anti Blue was dying and you were threatening Dok. Don't punish Red for being their protector, that's literally what you make him be. Thanks to his action, neither of them are dead. You have him to thank for the time away you got to think about your temper.

Anti takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second. “Was that all it was?”

“Yes,” says Ro quietly. “I just didn’t want them to get hurt. Anti, you can’t threaten to murder Dok and expect me to - ”

“I can do what I want,” snaps Anti. “What’s your name?”

“What?”

“What’s your fucking name?”

Ro licks his mouth anxiously, glancing around for a second. He wishes Blue were here.

“It’s Red, Anti.”

Anti sighs, shaking his head at him. His posture relaxes slightly, letting his head thump back against the office chair.

Anonymous asked: Dapper isn't with him because Dark's soldiers stole him away. It seems like Anti can't find him.

“What?” asks Ro, incredulous. “Wait, you mean you actually let that monster get their hands on him?”

“You weren’t here!” shouts Anti, glitching to his feet and making Red stumble back. “You were the one I chose to protect them, Red, but you ran away without him or Trick like they meant nothing to you!”

“I thought you would keep them safe!” cries Red.

“I would have been able to if you had been here and I had known about Dark!” Anti snarls back, slamming his hand into the office table, a slight tremor in his palms. “But you and them both turned your backs on me! I can’t trust anyone but myself!”

“You were going to hurt Dok!”

Anti’s palm connects with Red’s face, sending him staggering back. He feels blood rush to the handprint on his cheek and he grips at his face weakly, looking up at Anti with watery eyes.

“You would have been useless if you were here anyway,” growls Anti. “You’re terrified of Dark. Fucking coward boy. And to think, Jack called you a hero.”

Hurt and fury light up in Ro’s chest. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut, straightening his back again and clutching his hands into fists.

“I found Dark today,” says Anti coldly, turning away. “We can get Dapper back. If you help me, maybe I won’t fucking slaughter you for running away like the little bitch you are.”

“I’m not a little bitch,” says Red. “You… you’ve never liked me.”

“Correct,” answers Anti.

Anonymous asked: Jackie's throwing caution to the wind, you're willing to throw everyone's lives to the wind. Even moreso now that this is the last run-through, right?

“If you turn on me like that again,” says Anti. “I’ll kill you like I promised you I would.”

“You expect my loyalty,” says Ro. “But you don’t even like me. You threaten us and hurt us. How do you expect me to stay?”

“You’ll stay because if you don’t I’ll end all five of you,” snarls Anti, Jack’s teeth in his mouth giving way to those of a dog. “What, you think you did a good job, running away from me? Think you saved them from anything? I know you were staying in Ashley Valley Hospital Room 412.”

Ro’s blood is cold.

“I know the fake names you used, I know the food pantry where Dok was getting you food everyday, I know what Blue’s doctors said, I know, I know, I know. You can’t get away from me, Red. You never will. All the more because you’re a spineless, needy moron who can’t think of anything but a man who doesn’t love him anymore and whatever bullshit your mind fixates on on any given day. You’re broken, Red. Same way Jack made Chase and JJ broken. Even when you were Jackie, you were still pathetic.”

“Wonder why Marvin and I were able to beat you to hell, then,” says Ro.

It’s a mistake as soon as he’s said it. It’s a mistake. It was a bad choice. He shouldn’t have said it.

But he doesn’t regret it.

Anti takes a step back towards him, his eyes narrowed like a cat’s.

Jackie takes a step towards him too, fists clenched.

“When I said that you made me forget important things in the past,” he says. “I meant that you made me forget people I loved and the places I come from. But there are other things you made me forget too, Anti. You’re not as untouchable as you’ve always told me you were. And you know what else?”

Anti’s eyes are pupil-less, iris-less, white.

“I think you’re still afraid of me,” he says. “I think that every time you flinch back from a bird at the window, you are flinching away from the memory of just how bad I hurt you the first time you stole my baby brother.”

Anonymous asked: Stand strong, Jackieboy man. You've got a war to fight.

Stand strong. He straightens his back. The others need him.

“Come on, then,” he snaps, taking another step forward. Anti takes a step back. “I can see it in you. That you want to hurt me. It’s a look I’ve gotten used to. That you want to see me begging so you feel less scared.”

“You shut your mouth, Jackie,” says Anti.

“No,” spits Ro, clenching his fists. “No, I won’t. I’m tired of you silencing me. I’m not stupid and I’m not a coward.”

Anti strikes him, harder than the first time. Red backs off, grabbing his face with a gasp. Tears water in his eyes. He straightens up again, seething.

“You’re the fucking coward, Anti,” he croaks out, something snapping in his chest. His little brother really has always hated him, no matter how hard he tried to love him. “I won’t let you tell me differently anymore.”

Anonymous asked: Hey younger brothers, you miiight want to go to the office with Red and Anti, something tells me it's about to go downhill from here, and you'd be stronger together, protecting each other.

Blue blinks and looks around, realizing only now that his twin is gone.

“Oh, shit,” he breathes.

He turns and races down the stairs, tearing towards the office.

Anonymous asked: You are not pathetic, Jackie. You are a hero, through-and-through. You've spent your every waking moment protecting them from abuse in any way you were able. "Broken" is just Anti being an ableist, abusive asshat. You are stronger than him. You always have been, no matter what he tries to convince you of. Break free of him, Jackieboy Man.

“Yeah, you know what, they’re right,” Jackie continues, lifting his chin up and glaring at Anti as bruises form on his face. “You know what I think, Anti? I think you’re so desperate to believe that our creator - that Jack - ”

“Don’t say that name!” screams Anti, slapping him again.

Red laughs. “I think you’re so desperate to believe that Jack was in the wrong that you tell yourself he did something wrong to us just because of things like me being autistic. And that’s pretty fucked up, Anti. There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with Dap and Trick. Honestly? I think Jack was probably an okay guy, and you’re the one who’s always been the villain.”

“Stop it!” screams Anti, driving his fist into Red’s chest. Red steps back, but doesn’t falter. “Stop it, stop it!”

“You like to act like you’re in control and you can’t even control your temper and your fucking daddy issues!”

“Red!” shouts Anti, his eyes flashing. “Stop it! You’re just like Jack, you’re just like Dark, everybody turns on me eventually! You were always just Jack’s little soldier, his failsafe! You think I made you a guard dog? Jack used you for years to get what he wanted.”

“Jack was trying to protect us from you!”

“You don’t even remember!” Anti grabs Red by the throat and slams him into the wall, crashing his head into wood. “Who have you been talking to? You - ”

“Hey, stop, stop!” cries Blue, appearing to grab Anti’s hands, trying to tear him off his twin. Anti kicks his cane away from him and sends him crashing to the ground.

“I ought to put both of you right back in the hospital!”

“Anti, don’t hurt him!” shrieks Blue. “Dapper’s not here! You can’t fix this if it all goes wrong!”

Anti’s grip tightens for a moment on Red’s throat. Ro chokes, gripping at his fingers.

Anti drops him to the ground.

“You’re right,” he spits, turning to grab Blue by the hair, dragging him back up to a sitting position. “So I’ll deal with you two once I have my boy back.”

#chapter four

[lunetheaveragefan]

one day...

Hey! It’s time for chapter 6! This chapter also deals with some heavy things as well, so be mindful of that (as always, more details in the warnings). Anyway, that’s all, so enjoy the chapter!

A Sander Sides high school AU

Pairing: Prinxiety and some background Logicality

Summary: Virgil is used to being alone. He only has one friend, Logan. But when Logan makes a new friend, things begin to change as two more join their group. Roman, a boisterous theater kid, seems determined to destroy Virgil’s lonely, average life. How much will Virgil’s life change?

Warnings: mentions/descriptions of homophobia, bullying, suicide (hanging), suicide attempt (overdose), and self harm; mentions of Remus and Janus; swearing

Word Count: 1933 words

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CHAPTER SIX

Roman bites his lip and looks around. After standing awkwardly in the middle of the cafeteria for too long for his liking, he finally spots Virgil, Roman, and Patton sitting at a table in the back corner of the room. Relieved, he makes his way towards them. 

Virgil sees him coming towards the three of them, and, to Roman’s surprise, gives him a small smile. Patton must see this, because he turns around and spots Roman as well. He’s more openly enthusiastic and waves, a big grin lighting up his face.

Sliding into the open seat next to Virgil, Roman says, “It’s weird to be eating this early. I’m not used to it.” Patton chuckles. 

Virgil, always one to get to the point, asks, “So. Why’d you stand up for me?” Roman bites his lip and thinks, Dammit. I was hoping he forgot. He didn’t want to tell them. No one, even Patton, knew why he’d suddenly become so averse to bullying after being one for years. Everyone most likely thought he had a change of heart somewhere along the line. And he had, in a way. But there was more to the story.

There is always more to the story.

“Well, uh, you see…” Roman stammers, trying to get himself together. He took a deep breath before continuing, “Well, back in middle school, right after I came out, my dad was such an asshole about it. He didn’t want to accept or respect that I was gay. He said -- and did -- a lot of things. I realized sometime in July that he was being a bully, and what he was doing wasn’t so different from what I had done. And I don’t want to stand around watching someone get beat up the way I was by him, you know? I don’t want to sit around, knowing I could do something, and then have to live with that regret for the rest of my life.” It’s only a half truth, and a shitty one at best, but Roman’s too scared to talk about what really happened. 

He doesn’t want to relive the worst, most terrifying days of his life. Really, who would?

Patton, who’d already heard about what had happened the summer before freshman year a million times, still starts tearing up. What a sap, Roman thinks, but it’s a loving remark. He knows that he wouldn’t be near as happy, nearly as accepting of himself as he is now without Patton. 

There’s not much of a reaction from Logan; just a small head nod and a slightly reassuring smile. But it’s more than Roman was expecting from the serious boy, so it throws him off. What throws him off more, however, is Virgil’s face. 

It’s very skeptical, eyebrow raised, eyes drilling into Roman’s, almost as if he’s trying to see the lie just by the force of willpower. To Roman, it seems like he might be pretty close. No matter how much he wants to break eye contact with Virgil, he can’t. There’s something about it that draws him in, that’s electrical. 

To Roman’s relief, Virgil looks away first, but only to roll his eyes. 

“Oh come on, Roman,” Virgil scoffs. “I can smell a half-truth or lie or whatever the hell that was from a mile away. Now, that all may be true, but there’s more to the story. So cut the bullshit and start again. Besides, I’ve already heard that whole story. That’s not your big secret. Enlighten me, why don’t you? What would be so bad that the great Roman Princeford would have to hide it?” Resting his chin on his palm, Virgil smirks, an obvious challenge. He wants to see if I’ll break. Give in. And honestly, I don’t know if telling or closing off would be letting him win. 

“Hey, now, Virgil,” Patton says, always the peacemaker. “Let’s be nicer—”

“No, no, it’s fine, Patton,” Roman interrupts. “He’s right. I-I can’t keep avoiding this.”

Dread settles in Roman’s stomach as he steels himself to tell the story. Ignoring Patton’s concerned, “Kiddo…” he begins.

“Well, I guess the right place to start is with saying this: I have a twin brother. Remus.” Breathe. “He’s-He’s special, I guess. His mind is...twisted. Dark. He likes things that aren’t really...well, good or happy. And I never minded. He was still my brother, demented as he may be. 

“My parents, though...they thought something was wrong with him.” Breathe, Roman. You can do this. “They sent him to therapist after therapist, psychologist after psychologist. Gave him pill after pill, but nothing ever worked. He kept on being the same crazy Remus. So they just...gave up. On him and his future and their...their love for him, I suppose.

“But I never did. I tried to be there for him. I went to every performance he was in, I went to movies and football games with him. But it was harder as I grew up because suddenly, my parents decided that since Remus was a let down, a...a failure-” Come on! Don’t cry. It’s fine. You’re fine. Safe. “-that meant I had to make up for it. If they couldn’t have two normal sons, then one of them better be, had to be, pretty goddamn exceptional. 

“So we grew apart. Remus found a boyfriend, Janus, who could take him to movies and football games and go see his performances. And I kept on being the glory child for my parents. And everyone else, it seemed. I didn’t know that he was getting bullied until...until it was almost too late.”

The images rise in his mind: The hospital room, sterile and white, and the boy lying still under the sheet. The rope, tied with a near perfect circle at the end, hidden in the back of his closet. The blood pooling, staining the carpet red, gushing from the slashes on his arms. The way he looked when he woke up, the disappointment clear on his face. 

Remus, cold, pulse so slow Roman was sure he was dead, and the bottle of pills on the nightstand. 

Roman forces the sobs back down his throat. 

“Remus attempted suicide, and I didn’t even know he was hurting. He survived, of course, but just seeing him in the hospital, after...it hurt. A whole fucking lot. And so I swore to myself that I would do whatever I could to prevent that from happening to anyone. No one should have to look down at someone they care about, love, and hope with all they have that they survive. Knowing that someone tried to...to kill themself? That they genuinely thought it was the best option? It’s the worst feeling in the world. And I don’t want that for anyone.” Roman swipes at his eyes, only to find a single, hot tear creeping down his cheek. Quickly, hoping no one noticed, he wipes it away. 

Blinking until he feels back in control of his emotions, Roman looks around. Patton, of course, is a sort of wounded puppy, concern in his eyes, and a hand over his heart. Logan has been sombered by the story, more sadness than Roman expected showing on his face. But curiously, Logan’s eyes aren’t on Roman; they’re on Virgil. And when he looks over, Roman sees why. 

Virgil has tears streaming down his face. A hand is over his mouth, shaking slightly. His other hand clutches his wrist, so hard, the skin around his fingers is turning white. The two sit there for a moment, staring at each other. Abruptly, Virgil throws his arms around Roman and hugs him tightly. 

“I’m-I’m so sorry,” Virgil says in between sobs. After the shock has passed, Roman wraps his arms around the other boy. The hugs lasts long enough for the butterflies in Roman’s stomach to become full-fledged birds of prey. 

Finally, when Virgil pulls away, Roman offers him a small smile. To his surprise, Virgil returns it. Roman isn’t sure if he should ask Virgil about his reaction to the explanation or not, but Patton saves him from overthinking it.

“So the musical is coming up…” Patton prompts, clearly trying to change the subject. Thank God for Patton, Roman thinks. I don’t want to think about all that anymore. 

“Yeah!” Roman replies, pasting a smile on his face. “You guys are all coming, right?” 

Patton, looking scandalized, says, “Of course we are!” before correcting himself by saying, “Well, I am at least.”

“Personally, I’ve never understood the whole theatre thing,” Logan adds, “but I suppose, as your friend, I should come support you, so I will be there.” Patton smiles widely at that, causing a small chuckle from Roman. Patton’s always bugging me about confessing my feelings, yet here he is, keeping his crush to himself. 

“And Virgil?” Roman asks, trying not to get his hopes up. He’s probably not going to want to come. Hanging out with me at school and studying is one thing, but this would be a clear admission of friendship, something he most definitely does not see me as. Why would he—

“Of course I’m coming,” Virgil says, wiping away his tears. “You’d have to be pretty stupid to thing I would miss it.” He gives Roman a gentle, friendly punch in the arm, and despite the lingering sadness from his earlier confession, Roman beams. 

Trying to hide his overwhelming happiness, Roman simply states, “Cool.” 

The rest of lunch, the four make conversation about meaningless things: upcoming tests, funny memories, disastrous family get-togethers, and the like. When they get up to dump their trays, Roman leans over to Virgil and whispers, “I apologize for making you cry. I didn’t think it would affect anyone that much.”

Virgil replies, “Oh, it’s okay. It just hit a little too close to home, that’s all. I’m fine now.” The smile Virgil gives him does reassure him. And for once, Roman doesn’t spend all his time thinking about what Virgil could possibly mean by the story ‘hitting a little too close to home,’ mostly because all Roman can think about is the feeling of Virgil’s arms wrapped around him and his small, yet no less meaningful, smiles. 

It’s this he’s thinking about after school when the musical director says, quiet loudly, “Roman!”

Blinking repeatedly to dispel the distracting thoughts, he peaks around the curtain and asks, “Yes, Mr. Halter?” 

“That was your entrance.” Roman winces.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” He hurries out to his spot on the stage, fixing his costume.

Mr. Halter sighs and says, “Roman, that’s the 5th time you’ve missed an entrance just today. What is going on? The play is on Friday. We don’t have time for messing around or distractions.” His face is filled with disappointment, but also concern. Roman figures it’s because he never messes up this much, especially when the performances are so close.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more focused. Just have a lot on my mind.” Roman flashes a winning smile, and Mr. Halter looks relieved.

“Good. Now, let’s start with Ana’s line right before Roman’s entrance.” Roman and the rest of the cast and crew nod and get in their respective places. Back behind the curtains once again, Roman thinks, Goddammit, Virgil. You just keep on messing up my life. The thought, however harsh it seems, is filled with something awfully close to love. 

But Roman knows he can’t keep dwelling on that almost-love, or at least not right now. So he shoves all thoughts of Virgil from his mind and steps into his character and out onto the stage.

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