#{the keeper of the brain cell is tired}

[faetedforglory]

"th-this is what dad gets for saying th-those edibles weren't shit."

[nikibogwater]

I watched The Last Unicorn (1982) with very, very little prior knowledge of the film. And I wasn't planning to, but I ended up taking notes because wow. This movie. It's something.

The very little prior knowledge I had was as follows: it's an old animated film about a unicorn and I've occasionally heard people talk about it fondly. That's it, that's literally all I had going into this thing. It was not nearly enough to prepare me.

Ohhhh I love the scenery! Man, nothing hits quite like a traditional hand-drawn backgrou--OH MY WORD WHAT IS THAT WHY IS IT MOVING LIKE THAT STOP IT

Ohhh, this is a Rankin-Bass production? Well, that explains the animation.

Yeah that is not a unicorn, that's a llama with a table-knife glued to its head.

Ooh, the opening credits play over a lightly animated medieval tapestry! That's so coo--aaaaand they picked the most 80's sounding song I can imagine to go over it, okay.

Yo this butterfly is stoned out of his little buggy mind, maybe he should get some rehab.

Love that it's not immediately clear what the "red bull" actually is yet. Is it a literal bull? Is it a raging fire? Is it the inescapable march of industrial progress?? Gotta stay tuned to find out. (edit: it was literally just a bull and I need to stop reading symbolism into every little thing).

Ok ngl, the "Man's Road" sequence was actually fire, despite (or perhaps because of) the 80's cheese.

Angela Lansbury!!! Man, she just ate this role. Who'd've thought Mrs. Pots could sound so threatening?

I would die for Shmendrick.

Oh that is a very lore-accurate harpy right there. (⊙_⊙;)

Love how the witch's carnival arc touches on the idea of truth vs. wishful delusion. There's a beautiful irony in a movie about a literal unicorn talking about the importance of staying grounded in what is real and truly beautiful.

No, seriously, I would die for Shmendrick. Protect this precious man at all costs.

Can we pretty please stop calling the witch Mommy

"That's my immortality!" eyo this witch is actually a great villain. Really wish she could've stuck around for the whole movie.

Awww, the unicorn is taking care of Shmendrick! That's so sweet! God knows he needs it.

Shmendrick: Run! We'll find each other later! *immediately gets captured*

Have I mentioned that I would die for Shmendrick.

I feel like the entire bit with the outlaws had a lot of connecting shots cut out for time because I really couldn't follow any of what was happening.

Hehehe...That tree looks like a butt. I wonder if they did that on purpo--WHAT THE HELL

*nervously glancing over my shoulder to make sure my family doesn't see me watching this*

Unicorn to the rescue!! Thank heavens.

"That was true magic." Then please don't ever do true magic again.

"How dare you come to me now, when I am this?!" H-hey, nobody told me this movie was gonna go that hard...

Mom-friend acquired! Just in time, too. Unicorn looked like she was getting real tired of being the only one with two brain cells to rub together.

Our heroes: *bracing themselves for what may be the darkest, most dangerous part of their journey* Freakin' Gerry Beckley from "America:" 🎵MOON RISIN'! DISGUISIN'!! 🎵 Gotta love that tonal dissonance.

Oooh hey the animation on the Red Bull is actually kind of good!

Molly: DO SOME MAGIC! Shmendrick: I CAN'T! Molly: YES U CAN I BELIEVE IN U Shmendrick: *does some magic* Molly: NOOOOO WHAT HAVE U DONE Molly I love you, but make up your darn mind.

Love that being turned into a human being is like, the worst thing that could ever happen to the unicorn. Yeah, being human is a pretty awful experience.

Boy there is just empty static behind Prince Lir's eyes. Homeboy doesn't have a thought in his head and probably never will.

Lir: babe look I got u a severed dragon head pls love me

Oh yeah. Marry this one, Unicorn. He's a keeper.

Molly: Shmendrick will help! Unicorn: I hope for no help from him. He is no magician now, but the king's clown.

GURL SAY THAT AGAIN! U KEEP DISRESPECTING MY BOI SHMENDRICK AND U WILL GET THESE HANDS!

The pirate cat is now my second-favorite character. I've known him for all of 10 seconds, but I love him.

He doesn't actually purr. He just says, "Purr, purr." I love him even more now.

"No cat anywhere ever gave anyone a straight answer." Most accurate line ever put to film.

Unicorn, please marry Prince Lir, you well never find a purer source of Himbo Energy than him. Look at him, he's even singing badly for you, you gotta take this one.

"I mean you can't really be that ridiculous magician's niece--" BETRAYAL. OUTRAGE. SCANDAL. I DISOWN YOU, LIR, YOU FOUL SERPENT WHO SPEAKS NOTHING BUT FILTH. I HOPE THE UNICORN BREAKS YOUR STUPID LITTLE HEART

Dang. This guy voicing the skeleton is putting his entire heart and soul into that laugh.

Prince "I love whom I love" Lir will not be stopped even by the threat of potential bestiality. I'd say Husband Goals, but first of all, ew, and second, he insulted Shmendrick so he is dead to me.

"I wish to God I didn't care about anything but my magic, but I do!" Oh Shmendrick, honey... 🥺

Yooo, that transformation back into her unicorn form was actually sick. For a Rankin-Bass made-for-tv movie, this thing pulls off some surprisingly good animation every once in a while.

Yeah, kick his magical red butt, little unicorn! Go save your boyfriend and your family!!!

What is it with Christopher Lee and playing creepy old guys who get thrown off of towers at the end

Wait, no, I only sort of meant it when I said the unicorn should break Lir's heart, I didn't think they'd actually do it!

Molly ditched her outlaw husband to travel the world with Shmendrick and honestly, I'd do the same if I was in her place.

Oh wow. She chose to save her own kind and return to her forest even though she loved Lir. This is actually very bittersweet and--GOTDANGIT GERRY BECKLEY, NOT NOW!!!

Closing thoughts: This movie was an absolute trip and I'm probably going to think it was a fever dream I once had after some time has passed. It's also the only movie I can think of that I would actually want a remake/remaster of. The story was great, though it jumped around from place to place so quickly that it was sometimes hard to follow what was happening. I like the characters a lot (mostly Shmendrick tbh but they're all good), and I wish there had been more time to let them interact with each other. You can see the potential for chemistry between the different personalities, but it's stifled by moments of awkward voice acting and the strange, jittery character animation. With more time to breathe and better animation, this story would really be something amazing. I'm actually very interested in reading the original novel it was based on now, I'll have to see if I can get my hands on a copy. All in all, The Last Unicorn (1982) is a mind-boggling experience with surprisingly deep themes combined with what I can only assume is what you see when you're on acid. If you have any interest, I would highly recommend seeing this thing for yourself.

Yes. Even the Boob Tree. Please. I don't want to be the only one who is cursed to have that scene in my brain.

[creepypastasomethingsomething]

CreepyPasta Incorrect Quotes Pt. 7 (ft. some of my OC's)

Ghost (Y/N): Don't joke about murder. I was murdered once and it offends me.

---

Jeff: There's always that one weak bitch in the group who isn't down with murder.

Jeff: *glares at Liu*

Liu: Well, sorry I have at least some morals!

---

*Jane babysitting Sally*

Jane: Do you want something to drink?

Sally: Not really, but I could go for some appy slices right now.

Jane: With a little caramel to dip them in?

Sally: FUCKING OF COURSE I WANT CARAMEL MOM!

---

Justin: A mouse!

Bexley, pulling out a knife: Go back to where you came from or I'll stab you!

Mona, pulling out a frying pan: It'll make a nice meal.

(Y/N), giving the mouse cheese: You deserve a treat, little guy.

Quinn: It's Ratatouille!

Bryan: His name's Remi, dumbass.

Justin: I was going to say to just trap it and thrown it out the window... what the hell is wrong with you people?

---

Zalgo after getting made fun of by feral (Y/N): Clownery. Tomfoolery. Absolute fuckery. I am going to revoke your life privileges.

---

[For a little bit of context, in David Near's The Muorge Files, Danny is Toby's next door neighbor and friend]

Toby: My stomach growled really loud in French.

Toby: I would like to clarify, my stomach did not speak French. It growled during French class.

Lyra: Bonjour.

Danny: Le growl.

Lyra, now twirling a fake curly mustache: Hon hon hon, feed me a baguette.

---

Hobo Heart: Can I offer you a nice stick in in this trying time?

---

Bryan: I swear on Rebecca's fucking wings, I'm the only one here with a braincell.

Mona, Quinn, Grace, Maria, and Hunter, all bowing down: ALL HAIL THE KEEPER OF THE SACRED BRAINCELL!

---

Mary (Jane's wife): *yawns*

Jane: Yeah, being that pretty must be tiring.

Mary: Then you must be exhausted.

Liu: Will you two shut up? Some of us are lonely.

---

McDonalds worker: M'am/Sir, please calm down!

(Y/N): I asked for two large fries!

(Y/N): *dumps fries onto counter*

(Y/N): But all they did was give me a million fucking small ones!

---

Nurse Ann: If you could guess, how many brain cell do you have?

(Y/N): Dorito's Cool Ranch.

Nurse Ann:...

Nurse Ann: I'm just gonna assume zero for now.

(Y/N): I love that song.

---

Zane: *eats a cinnamon roll*

Darragh: Cannibalism.

Zane: *confused chewing noises*

[stardew-otter]

Stardew Valley Incorrect Quotes - Part 4

•─────✧─────•

Elliott: This work is amazing! You can clearly see all of the effort the author put into this fine piece. It evokes such great emotions that most can not even begin to comprehend, it's amazing! I strive to be able to write with such skill.

Sebastian: ...

Sebastian: Elliott is that Ao3-

─────────────────────

Harvey: I swear, sometimes I feel like the only one with a brain cell...

Farmer: ALL HAIL THE KEEPER OF THE BRAIN CELL!!

Harvey: Farmer please lay down you're losing blo-

Sam, Elliott, Shane, and Emily: ALL HAIL THE KEEPER OF THE BRAIN CELL!!!

─────────────────────

*Game Night in Stardew Valley*

Sam: I will put 'A' down to make 'A'.

Sebastian: I will add onto your 'A' to make 'AT'.

Abigail: I will add onto your 'AT' to make 'RAT'.

Maru: I will add onto your 'RAT' to make 'BIOSTRATAGRAPHIC'.

Sebastian: *flips the board*

─────────────────────

Maru: Hey, what do you call quantums of electromagnetic radiation that don’t get along?

Sebastian: What the fuck did you just say-

Maru: Foetons! *Laughs*

Sebastian: Wh-what?

Demetrius: HAAAHAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH- *dad laugh*

─────────────────────

Shane: *sniffling*

Shane: Calm down you tall bastard, I'm not sick. It's just allergies.

Harvey: Mmhm, alright... then tell me, have you been feeling more tired than normal recently?

Shane: I have depressions, what do you think?

─────────────────────

Emily: Do you have a self-care routine?

Haley: Saying "Keep going bitch" to myself in different accents.

─────────────────────

Sam: *pulls back shower curtain with flair*

Sebastian: AAAAAAAAAA-

Sam: I- stop screaming it's me bro - anyways did we run out of pizza?

─────────────────────

Leah: *running towards Elliott with open arms*

Elliott: *runs out of the way*

Leah: Hey, why'd you move?!

Elliott: I thought you were going to attack me-

Leah: I was going to hug you!

Elliott, touch starved: Why would you hug me?

Leah, shows affection through touch: WHY WOULD I ATTACK YOU!?

─────────────────────

Sebastian: If I stay in bed I'll be warm. If I get in the shower, I'll also be warm. But the distance between the bed and shower? No. That is not warm.

─────────────────────

Marnie: I’m proud to say I’ve come over my fear of ghosts!

Shane: That’s the spirit Marnie.

Marnie: *gasps* whErE???!!!??

─────────────────────

Farmer after dating everyone at once (without the polyamory mod): I dunno if I'm ready to process the ramifications of this bullshit.

─────────────────────

Penny: I love murder mysteries!

Farmer, trying to impress her: I've been a suspect in four murder cases and I've-

─────────────────────

Farmer: Come to dinner tonight. I can’t cook, but I’ll bring plenty of free wine.

Harvey/Leah: I'll marry you.

─────────────────────

Sam: Uhm, Mrs.Robin? Sebby is in the lake and I don't think they're waterproof.

Robin: What?

Abigail: I think he meant Sebastian is drowning.

Robin: WHAT?!

*Meanwhile at the lake*

Sebastian: *drowning*

Maru: YOBA, KEEP SWIMMING SEB!!!

Sebastian: I can't swim, dumbass— *sinks*

Demetrius: SEBASTIAN!

•─────✧─────•

Yee ^^;

Lowkey running out of ideas, that or I'm just tired lol

[retrogradedreaming]

65 + whatever you'd like to write for💞

i hope you don't mind that i predictably wrote for matchablossom <3

65. DOA by Armors, Olen

Thought I was a keeper Rippin' out my heartstrings Drownin' in denial

Screamin' for a kick-start Dead on arrival You hurt me bad just for fun

Usually, Kaoru could put it out of his mind. The steamed windows in the back of the sleek black car. Soft words whispered in his ear. Deceptively delicate hands brushing against his skin. Once, he’d thought each of those moments would last forever. It was only now, more than a year since Adam had left, that he didn’t.

And yet, on nights like these, when he couldn’t sleep and with Kojiro in Italy, probably in class or else drowning in homework, Kaoru couldn’t stop thinking about it. It didn’t happen as often as it used to, back when sleep slipped through his fingers like water, when he was lucky to harness a few droplets of coveted slumber. But when it did, his mind spiraled, replaying every night he could remember, prying his eyes open until he eventually gave up, picked up his tools, and went back to work on the project he’d started ages ago, just to give himself the company he now lacked.

These nights, Kaoru wondered whether it would always be like this. Maybe even Kojiro would forget him, and Kaoru would have to manufacture his own friends his whole life. Kojiro had only been gone a year, after all, and a few more abroad would make it easy for him to forget Kaoru.

Kaoru checked his phone—3:33am. He was tired, there was no denying that. But there were only two ways to take the edge off the memories, and since he couldn’t call Kojiro, he had to make do with keeping his hands busy. And yet, even that wasn’t working as well as he’d hoped.

Each rhythmic turn of the screwdriver made those old words repeat in his mind, one at a time, full stop after each.

It. Should. Have. Been. Roses.

But they hadn’t broken up over roses. Then again, he thought, he and Adam had never really been together. Not like that. It was always romance without being romantic. Or maybe it was the other way around. He didn’t know anymore.

Kaoru rubbed at his eyes, propped his cheek on one hand. He could practically feel his brain cells dying and collecting on the floor of his skull. And yet he still had enough to remember that he wasn’t enough, that he’d be lucky if anyone ever loved him the way he somehow always failed to love them.

He closed his eyes, and he couldn’t tell whether he meant to or if his eyelids simply fell without his permission. Or maybe it happened when he flinched, embarrassed at past moments he couldn’t undo that his brain insisted on showing him over and over. Whatever it was, they didn’t open again until his phone wrenched him out of a dream that he forgot as soon as he flickered back to consciousness.

He didn’t even open his eyes as he swiped at the screen, searching blindly for the button that would make the noise stop. He didn’t remember setting an alarm, and he was still getting his bearings when Kojiro spoke.

“G’morning, sleeping beauty.”

Kaoru shot up so fast his head spun. He’d fallen asleep at the low table in the center of his studio apartment, tools and parts scattered around him. Light streamed in through the window, telling him it was somewhere around midday, and Kojiro was just starting his day.

He propped up the phone on the nearly finished project sitting on the table in front of him, giving him a full view of Kojiro’s face. The tightness in Kaoru’s shoulders lessened, and it didn’t matter now that he’d spent most of the night remembering things that made his blood run cold as he wavered between fury and fear. It didn’t matter that, when he checked the clock, he’d slept through all his morning classes, and, despite Kojiro’s greeting, the day had already tipped into afternoon. It was Kojiro’s face that made him think that maybe, someday, some way, someone would love him the way he loved them.

[anna-pixie]

safe passge -> the witcher {part two}

I will be uploading this to AO3 soon... I’ve never posted on there before so I’m just figuring it out!

Read part one here

Summary: Geralt deals with having you and Jaskier annoying him on the road. You stop at an inn and make a new friend.

Pairings: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Warnings: None

“So… day three on the road. How is the princess coping?” 

“The princess will murder the bard with his own lute should he decide to keep calling her the princess.”

Jaskier raises his hands in defence and you shoot him a sickly sweet smile, revelling in how easily you can get to him. Your friendship with the bard has developed quickly over the three days you’ve been on the road, it seems as though the two of you are cut from the same cloth - personality wise that is. Geralt, bless his soul, thought he had it rough when he travelled only with Jaskier - now there are two of you. 

“It’s not very becoming of you to threaten a life, princess.” Geralt hums, commenting on the incessant insults thrown between you and Jaskier. 

You send the large man a glare out of the corner of your eye, fighting the smile that threatens to show as he meets your gaze with a smirk of his own. 

No. You have to remind yourself, you are not attracted to the Witcher. The large, scary Witcher who could kill you with his bare hands if he wanted to. Your mind flashes with the inappropriate thought of his large hands around your neck, your life in his hands while he looks at you with those hypnotic eyes. 

Your cheeks flush and your eyes dart around quickly, the horrifying thought that Geralt may be able to read minds as part of his Witcher-ness scares you. 

“Jaskier… psst.” You hiss, trying to subtly get the attention of the bard who is humming a tune to himself as he skips just behind Geralt. 

You’re in a small town surrounded by nothing but forest, making your way to the local inn from where you left the carriage at the edge of the dense greenery. 

“Yes m’lady?”

“Geralt can’t… read minds… can he?”

Jaskier chuckles at your fear, his quizzical gaze pinning you for a moment before he cackles, “Oh! This is golden! Has someone been having some less than innocent thoughts about the big bad Witcher?”

“Shut up, Jaskier!” You squeal, slapping the bard harshly on his upper arm. He winces, sprinting back towards Geralt with cries that you’re attacking him. The white haired man turns his head to face you, his eyebrows raised exasperatedly. You respond with a pout, an innocent gaze his way through your lashes. You only receive a clenched jaw in response before he turns, hitting Jaskier on his arm in the same place you did. 

A chuckle escapes your lips as he wails in pain. Sure, your little slap probably stung a bit - but Geralt did not hold back. He will probably have a bruise there soon. The inn enters your vision, and your sore muscles practically cry out in relief. 

As you enter the establishment, you realise that you probably look quite the sight. First, the lilac adorned bard clutching his arm in pain, followed by the hulking Witcher, swords at the ready behind his back, and then you - in your pretty pink dress with your favourite necklace. 

Certainly a motley crew, you wonder what the patrons are assuming when they see you. Do they guess correctly? That your parents paid the Witcher and his bard to escort you to your new home? Or do they assume wrong? Perhaps they think you’ve been kidnapped, held against your will by the big, scary white wolf.

Geralt doesn’t seem phased by the stares, thudding over to a table in the far corner of the room, lowering himself onto the wooden bench with a groan. Jaskier orders the three of you a round of ale and meat with all the trimmings and a side of potatoes. 

“I’m not hungry.” You mumble as you observe the sloppy food the inn keeper throws before you, “I’ll save it, take it back for the carriage driver.”

“We’re not leaving here until you eat everything on that plate, princess.” Geralt doesn’t even look at you as he speaks, tearing a chunk of meat straight from the bone and chewing harshly. You cringe slightly at his brutish manners. 

“No, thank you.”

“I wasn’t asking, princess.” There’s a new edge to his voice now, a no nonsense tone that non-verbally tells you that you’d better start eating right now, or else. 

“Oh, don’t use your scary voice on her, Geralt. We all know you’re a big softie deep down.” The two men start to bicker amongst themselves and you snicker, reluctantly starting your meal. 

Being raised as a princess, you were expected to be prim and proper at all times. That meant having immensely smaller portions of food to your male counterparts, so having a large meal - the same as the two men - is foreign to you. 

You eat as much as you can, about half of the plate, before you start to feel full. Your eyes light up as you recall passing a beggar on your way to the inn. Deciding then that you’ll spare some of your own coin to buy the carriage driver his own meal, you ask the inn keeper if he can wrap up the remnants of your food in some cloth. 

“I hope you’re saving that for later.” Geralt comments once you’ve ordered another meal for the driver. 

You take a beat to reply, debating whether to tell him the truth, “Of course I am.” You lie, a sickly sweet smile gracing your lips. 

“Hmm.”

A while later, whilst Geralt and Jaskier are having a hushed conversation, you attempt to drink some of your ale. This is another first for you too, never having had a sip of any sort of alcoholic beverage before. 

Deciding that the best option is to go all in, you take a huge gulp of the brown liquid, regretting it instantly as you spit it all back onto the wooden table, choking and gasping as your throat burns.

You exchange an embarrassed, wide eyed look with Geralt and Jaskier, and there is a long moment of silence before they start to laugh. Yes, properly laughing. You’d expected it from Jaskier, but the deep peels of laughter that rumble from the Witcher take you by surprise. 

“Oh! That was just priceless!” Jaskier wails, and you can’t quite tell whether he is pretending to wipe the tear out of his eye or if he is actually crying. 

“Shut up.” You grumble, your face flush with embarrassment. Jaskier’s laughs fade in mere chuckles and Geralt just observes you quietly, a smile still tugging slightly on the corner of his mouth.

“Excuse the question, Geralt, but I don’t quite understand the carriage driver's insistence on sleeping in the carriage. Surely he can find a safe place to leave it for a night?” 

“Princess, his whole livelihood rests on that carriage. If it goes, he’s done for. Not worth the risk for a comfortable night, I’d assume.”

“Oh.” You hate how frequently you’re reminded of the fact that you’re utterly clueless about anything outside of your luxurious lifestyle. You’re pretty sure that this will change during your month on the road, you’ve already experienced so many things you had never even imagined, “May I be excused to deliver his meal to him? I’m sure he’d appreciate some warm food.” 

Geralt doesn’t answer, he just pins you with that annoying stare once more. Yes, annoying, that’s what you’re telling yourself. 

“Of course you can, Y/N, excuse Geralt’s lack of brain cells that stop him from keeping up with a simple conversation.”

The Witcher’s arm darts out and before you even see what has happened, Jaskier is once again gasping in pain. 

“You’re in no place to give such permission, bard,” He sends a side-eyed glare to the bard who grips his arm with a dark look in his eyes, “You’ve got an hour, princess, any longer than that and I’m coming to collect you. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” You grin, sending a thankful nod to the innkeeper who hands you the two parcels of wrapped food. 

With one final wave to an apprehensive looking Geralt, you make your way back through the town. Your eyes light up when you realise the beggar is still in the same place, you approach her carefully and your breath stills when you realise she is holding a small baby. 

“Hello there.” Your voice is soft as you approach her, and the woman smiles at you, although her eyes remain guarded. You notice she hugs the child tighter to her chest as you approach, and you can hardly blame her. It’s hard to know who to trust these days. 

“Evening, miss.” Her voice is tired, croaky and worn. She sounds exasperated, and it is probably something to do with your rather… glamorous… attire. It is not customary for people of higher standing to treat beggars well. You’d heard stories of the young lords in your kingdom teasing and taunting the poor beggars. 

“I picked up an extra portion of food in the inn,” You pause, wondering how to phrase this, “I was wondering if you’d like it?” Her eyes seem to light up when you show her the parcel of food, physical proof that you’re not playing a practical joke on her. 

You’re torn as you gaze at the baby, wanting to give the half portion that you saved for the driver to make sure it gets fed. Surely you can explain to Geralt why you didn’t end up going back to the driver? Plus, this baby definitely needs it more. 

“Oh, thank you miss.” The woman cries, her eyes literally tearing up as she inhales, taking in the fact that she is going to have a real meal tonight. She seems in disbelief when you hand her the other wrapped food parcel, telling her that it is for the baby, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, please take it.” You smile at her, beginning your walk back to the inn as she begins to cry. You stop, your mind screaming at you not to leave her there, and you turn back to the two with a resigned sigh, “Excuse me, ma’am, I’m staying at the local inn. Could I pay for you to spend the night there?”

The guarded expression returns to her eyes as she observes you, but she looks back down at the food in her hands and seems to realise that you’re not messing with her. She rises slowly, a pained expression on her face as she clutches the baby tightly to her breast. There is a limp in her step and you realise she has probably been sat in the same position for a while. 

She catches up and falls into step beside you, a silence falling over you as you think of what to say.

“What is your name?” You start simple, hoping you can ease her into conversation without scaring her away. 

By the time you reach the inn again, you’re laughing with the woman who you discovered is only two years your senior. Her name is Lettie, and she was kicked out of her home when she got pregnant out of wedlock. The father of the baby didn’t want anything to do with them, and left them to fend for themselves on the street. 

She has a lovely baby girl named Faith, who giggles away as you babble at her. Lettie giggles at the story of Jaskier almost throwing up over your anecdote about the scar on your leg, and you laugh along as you push open the door to the inn. Once again, you’re on the receiving end of judgemental glances from the patrons - but Lettie doesn’t seem phased as she follows you over to the table where Geralt and Jaskier are watching you with wide eyes. 

“When I let you out of my sight for an hour, I didn’t think you’d return with more people, princess.” Geralt grumbles, his harsh gaze fixed on Lettie and Faith, who both observe the Witcher curiously. 

“Princess?” Lettie questions, only just seeming to register the term Geralt used to address you. 

“Uh, yeah.” You blush, scratching the back of your neck, “I’m paying for her board for the night Geralt. I’ve plenty of coin to spare, why not use it for something good?” You ponder, gaining the attention of the innkeeper’s wife, requesting a large room with an adjoining bathroom, “I’d like a few jugs of hot water for a bath to be brought up, please.” You finish, smiling at Lettie whose eyes are teary once more. 

“Oh, Y/N, I don’t even know what to say. This is the most kindness I’ve been shown in a long, long time. It… it means so much to me, you don’t even realise.”

You place a hand on her thin arm and squeeze gently, “Please, it’s a pleasure. Would you like me to watch Faith while you have a bath? I can sit in the adjoining room with her, if you’re weary of leaving her with me.”

She seems to mull over your offer for a while, before finally deciding that she can trust you, taking the room key off you with a smile. 

“Please, take care of her. If she cries, she likes to suck on something - or maybe eat some food.” Lettie kisses her baby on the forehead and hands her over to you. 

Now, you’ve never held a baby before. However, extensive lessons in motherhood from your own mother have prepared you for this moment - you clutch Faith, gently cradling her head in your palm as you rock her slowly. The baby seems at ease with you right away, and Lettie heads towards her room with a relieved sigh. 

“Princess…” Geralt mumbles once more, and you finally look at the two men as you take a seat on the bench, still rocking Faith. 

“Oh, hiiiii there.” Jaskier coos, stumbling around the circumference of the table to sit beside you, fawning over the little baby in your arms. Her wide eyes land on Jaskier and she lets out a shriek of delight when he begins to play peek-a-boo with her. 

Faith reaches towards the bard, signalling that she wants him to hold her. You let out an aww and hand him the baby, finally meeting the gaze of Geralt who looks incredibly annoyed. 

“What are you playing at, princess? We can’t bring them with us.” His tone is firm, no nonsense as he refuses to let you break from his gaze. You sigh, scooting over towards him, trying to ignore the way your mind screams at you to get even closer. 

“I know that, Geralt. I was only going to give her some food and I saw her baby and… I couldn’t just leave them there. I’m going to part with them in the morning, after I give them some coin. I promise.” You look up at the Witcher through your eyelashes, your persuasive look has never failed before. 

He groans, finally removing his gaze from yours and clenching his jaw. 

“One night. We’ll be leaving early in the morning.”

You bite your lip to hide the victorious smile on your face.

*****

Tag list:

@over300books​

[myth-carver]

Brief thoughts on c3e1 and the new folks........

Overall: Eh, it was okay. CR has a winning formula with their style of actual play, they're almost always a joy to watch onscreen and that was no different last night, but I came away feeling more like I was watching a oneshot or another ep of ExU rather than the new Critical Role campaign proper. Not super into the new cast and very disappointed that literally half the table is reused people we've seen before -- I enjoyed ExU's cast but that was sold as a separate thing and seeing them here is jarring, especially absent the rest of the Crown Keepers. Between reused characters, all the new permanent changes to the format, not even being 100% certain who in this cast is going to stay or later go at this point... It just kinda feels weird :/ But I'm excited for the Marquet setting and it took me a really long time to warm up to the c2 cast too, and it's early days yet. So I'm willing to have my mind changed, and fortunately for me, I'm more a fan of the cast themselves than any particular characters they've played anyhow. Taking a wait and see approach overall.

Imogen: She seems sweet, I love her character design, I'm very partial to purple hair lmao. Other than that I don't find her that interesting so far but Laura is a good RPer so she'll probably be fun to watch. Maybe she'll be able to join Orym in stewarding the group's brain cell lol.

Laudna: Marisha's doing an accent??????? She sounds amazing and I love the performance. Laudna certainly has a lot of intriguing stuff going on, I enjoy a character with mysteries to dig into. She doesn't inspire me fannishly but I'll look forward to finding out what her deal is. I'm ngl I'm super disappointed that all three of our girls this time are really femme though.

Ashton: Kintsugi earth genasi is an absolutely inspired concept that I hope Taliesin patted himself on the back for a lot because he Earned It. That said, aggressive punk with anger/authority issues is a trope I find super super annoying and he's already rubbing me the wrong way constantly :/ I hate that I'm just not into the only human-adjacent nonbinary character on the main cast, it really sucks. It's also driving me crazy how much the colors of his costume intensely do not match his green and purple and gold body even slightly lmao, it's really unpleasant to look at.

FCG: This is now an FCG hate blog, lol not really but holy shit I hate this character so much, Mr. Riegel I'm literally already tired of your joke character after less than 1 episode idk how I'm going to endure a whole campaign of them. Liam why would you do this to us 😩 a lot of people seem to love them a lot so lmao I'm anticipating for me this is going to be a Caduceus situation where my resentment of the character increases due to never being able to get away from posts about him. I don't want any more robots on my fantasy show, if I wanted robots I'd go watch an actual play of a sci-fi tabletop game instead...

Orym: Best boy from ExU returns, which is cool since I super wanted to know more about him in ExU, but wow does it suck they decided to actively make ExU a worse show by not going into half the cast's backgrounds and leaving it literally an incomplete story to accommodate bringing these cast members into c3. If that was the whole purpose of ExU why not just announce that instead of being coy like this??? The way ExU ended left a really bad taste in my mouth and honestly dampened my interest in seeing more of these characters. That said though, my love for Orym at least somewhat remains and Liam is usually the cast member whose character taste matches my own the most, I look forward to seeing where he takes Orym in the future. Also, if our speculation about his OOC origins during ExU turn out correct, cool to have the first gay male character on the main cast.

Dorian: Other best boy from ExU and a surprise appearance by Robbie! All three of the ExU folks I thought meshed with the CR style amazingly and it's fun to get to see him again. Very curious what dirt FCG apparently seems to have on him. And I wonder when we finally get to learn his real name... 👀

Fearne: I overall don't like Ashley's RP, which I know is ironic because I love Yasha so much lmao. But I feel like Fearne is, of everyone Ashley's played on stream, the character that seems to most match with her personal style and comes most naturally to her, it's fun to see her RP with such confidence. She's really good at invoking the fey vibe, both the sweetness and comedy and the undertone of menace. That said, Fearne's general behavior hammers my secondhand embarrassment squick absolutely like crazy lmao and it's going to be rough to have to watch that for an extended period, I find her frequently almost painful to watch tbh. I'm excited that a fey in the main cast means we'll be seeing Feywild stuff though!!! Maybe even my eladrin warlock's old patron Lady Elmenore 👀

Bertrand: Sorry man I didn't care about you in the oneshots and I still don't lmao, too obnoxious for me. It heavily seems like he's here as a guest though -- I just hope this doesn't herald something weird like Travis finishing his appearance and then bowing out of the cast, please bring a second character when you're done being an NPC Travis don't go away :(

[pondering-and-wondering]

Rant because i’m mad

TW: N@zis and my anger

I’m fucking sick and tired of people in the Bruhl fandom simping for fucking N@zi’s and trying to disguise it like its okay. Daniel has about 50 film credits, several of which are not N@zi’s. It is so simple to not write about N@zi characters yet people insist. It’s disgusting. Choose other characters. Make an AU of Daniel himself. Being a N@zi is a critical aspect of these characters and it’s disgusting but certain stories should be told. Do you like Daniel in 2009? he has several other films from that same year. You like him beefy and blonde like in The Zoo Keeper’s wife? Do what several other people have done and use Dirk Bruhlee as a vessel because it was the same look. You think I'm overreacting? oh well, I don’t care. How about you try harder and use more than half a brain cell to try and decipher why not being able to help but drool over N@zis are bad, I'm not helping you.

[blushing-starker]

Insanity brings me truth and you

can you guess what Peter's doing to not be understood by the guards?

It's not easy, being crazy. There are expectations to run away from, a bar to limbo under, a specific number of people one has to betray and scar. The unknowable becomes knowable, so you have to skirt the edge of that Venn diagram very carefully. Or very recklessly. Either way, it's a complex thing except for when it's not. Jesus, how infuriating to think about. The point is, the paradox that crazies carry on their shoulders? It's a fucking hassle, a tricky one and Peter is tired of it.

He sighs, lets gravity bend him backward, legs slipping dangerously off the blanket he's hung as a hammock inside his cell. Act like a psycho and you're predictable, don't act like an ax wielding murderer and whoops! Predictable. It's the downside of being insane; you leave the weary capitalist consumer mask out in the world, probably set that shit on fire and make yourself sick with the fumes. But you just replace it with the one labelled 'danger to society' and get forced to play along with that. He did what he did to avoid the world and its predetermined fate, its standards.

Peter closes his eyes, thinks of the nauseating smell on his left. Rupert, the guard that dared graze him while he came back from the shower naked, has a broken nose thanks to Ned and his loyalty to him. The idiot barely cleans the open wound and the whole cell reeks of pus because of it. He does the math of how long it's been going on for and shudders in disgust. His bare calves slip a little more.

An inhale near the front of his cage. Slow, but controlled. Not the usual. Thank God for a circus family and heightened senses.

The doctor is paying attention to him.

"Doctor Stark. Gnittor gnihtemos llems ouy nac?" Rupert grumbles from his perch on the second floor, curses a hare brained psycho that's incomprehensible. Peter hums, pleased to know that after ten months, nine days, twelve hours, and...

Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on sinking deeper into nothing, into a yawning void. The blanket shakes and his thighs are starting to tremble. Blood is rushing to his head, veins most likely beginning to protrude. Irrelevant.

His favorite guard Stan wears a Swiss watch his wife got for him on their fortieth anniversary. It sings to him now, smooth and cool like a river. A skipping stone is thrown, tic, a fish heads towards the sound, toc. Above all the other stimuli in the room, the watch announces itself. Ten fifteen.

Ten months, nine days, twelve hours and twenty minutes into a game, his tiny gnat still hasn't caught on. Not like the charming doctor. He sees him then, behind closed eyelids, as clearly as a sweet nightmare. Tall, taller than Peter, but less strong. Wide shoulders that morph into a slim waist and a delectable ass he aches to sink his teeth into. Shapely calves from running, curiously delicate looking ankles.

Down and back again. A full head of dark hair with a dusting of silver. Dangerously clever mouth, what his aunt would call a noble nose. Agreeable cheekbones. Piercing eyes that tear his walls down, rip apart the bricks and mortar until he's scrambling on the other side, desperately, clumsily attempting to reinforce them for the millionth time. Those eyes saw the trick, the mirror reflection on his second day here, Peter offhandedly talking in reverse with Ned when they passed the new doctor. A dark gaze had pinned him in place, a spider fixed in place with its own silk against the cold dissection table.

Ned had rambled on, Peter had met a worthy playmate and the doctor had seen all he needed in that eternally prolonged glance. That very afternoon, a psychiatrist signed on as his very own voyeur.

Doctor Stark seems to be as interested in cutting him open to peek inside as Peter is in taking a dagger and comparing their hearts. He does this a lot; wonders how fate and the absence of lucky fate led them here. On opposite sides of a prison when perhaps it should be the other way around. Or perhaps there should only be Peter and Doctor Stark.

He feels himself falling, plummeting ever downward into fantasies and hazy dreams. It's not until the good doctor sharply calls out his name that he realizes he's also plummeting towards the floor. Now, MJ had warned him; had specifically said that the hammock being ten feet off the concrete ground was a bad idea. Ned had said he'd be fine and Peter loves the guy, ok? He has to do everything he can so that his best friend wins a bet over his other best friend.

Peter slightly regrets that when he's forced to arch his body backward, flip right side up in order to hit the floor on his feet instead of his face. The impact chokes the air right out of him, shakes his bones, but he doesn't react. Cracks his neck and that's all. Most of the guards were kind, some shade of understanding. They weren't harmless, though. He knows what he looks like, knows how many hours these men are cooped up with the scum of the earth.

"To answer your question," Peter leaps onto the bars of his cell, slithers higher than any sane person would and somersaults off the vertical slits, sinks into his trustworthy hammock with its trustworthy knots (MJ and Ned had tied them, one each), "yes, I do. It's less potent this time."

He stills, frowns. "How? There haven't been any changes. External or internal." No need to act like the Mad Hatter when the conversation could be had normally. Quicker and more reliable with meanings. But the doctor pauses, enunciates his next words slowly.

"Ti koot uoy erom emit yadot." God, he loved hearing Doctor Stark talk that carefully and smoothly. It was as comforting as it was uncomfortable. (He and sex don't particularly get along. It's like a headache that comes and goes; with the right medicine it can dissipate and evolve into something soothing, pleasant. With the majority of medicine, it blossoms into pain and soreness, a dry throat clogged by a thick syrup that won't leave him be no matter how much water MJ and Ned encourage him to drink. Peter isn't yet completely certain which side of his scale the doctor falls on, but he's guessing it's likely the first.)

(The man seemed to live in the grey areas; fitting that with this, too, he'd reside in the in between.)

The reverse effect is in play and he grins, genuine and wide, when he catches it. "Monsters are visiting more frequently, taking up space in the light." His nightmares had intensified recently, and they're starting to accompany him even in moments Peter knows are real; shapes drifting by the corner of his eye. As a coping tactic, he rips parts of his nails off. Not entirely, just the corners. His mind could concoct lots of things, but in his dreams his hands are always pristine.

(He hasn't caught up with it, hasn't noticed that although his nightmares have a clearness to them, a bright intensity, Peter can't shift enough focus to realize his hands aren't his own. They never are. But he usually has more pressing bodies to deal with than the good doctor's.)

Another pause, this one being done by Tony Stark, doctor and healer of men, instead of Doctor Stark, curious keeper of deranged souls. "I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe this will help." Peter peers over the edge of the grey hammock, watches with interest as the doctor approaches his cell with a glass bottle of clear liquid sloshing inside. The other man stops an inch away from the bars, looks up at Peter.

There's a slow tension simmering between them, something as thick and addictive as honey. There's scientific curiosity, a desire to seek out and maybe comprehend the unknown lurking inside their mirror image, as other and as alike as oneself. But there is also a gleam of something he's afraid of acknowledging in Doctor Stark's eyes. A madness once tucked away steadily unraveling itself with each glance they share.

Peter returns the look, unblinking and thinking. " 'If you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.' " A lesson Nietzsche offered to those wise enough, sane enough to live blind.

The doctor raises an eyebrow, is otherwise still. Sometimes, if Peter considers their current predicament for too long, his grasp on his masks loosens, and the Spider begins to spin its deadly thread round and round its very own body. He sees a guard exchange money with a partner; the crazy quota has, he guesses, been filled for the week. And they had such a nice streak going on, too. Oh, well. This web is unavoidable anyways.

He pitches himself forward, is the one who controls the descent instead of gravity this time. Letting the air rush up to meet him, he inhales, tastes a distinct sharpness around him. Crouching, Peter takes it all in, every last detail. Looks, really looks, at the doctor and suspects.

As if he were none the wiser, he calmly heads to the front of the cell. Meets the doctor at the divide and wonders what it'll be. Wonders if he'll rise higher than ash and flame, an acrobat testing the fates by flying just seconds ahead of death. Doctor Stark hands him the bottle and he can see now, tiny pieces of lavender. A distraction for the guards. "That should keep the monsters in the dark. Use it before you got to sleep and tuck away your hair."

Like a schoolgirl with a crush, he self consciously brings a hand to his curls. They're getting a bit long, but the warden only allows haircuts once a month or two. "I don't have anything to use." Digging into his lab coat, the other man retrieves a single black stick.

Well, to everyone else it's a hair pin. Peter knows the truth though, can see it and smell it and very nearly touch it. As it is, he gently plucks the items out of elegant hands and refuses to look at them. Looking draws attention. Doctor Stark gazes at his face, eyes flickering in a rehearsed way around his own, but not into them. That's alright, he understands.

"The lack of movement around your face should also help." The question of why is out before he can reel it in and act as a sane, normal person. Christ, he could handle crazy, not rude. He would have to practice being in control so as not to slip up when the doctor is around. Said doctor cocks his head, doesn't have to do anything more for Peter to get the message: go on, ask the devil why he made the deal.

Peter B Parker does not back down when intrigued. "Why are you helping me sleep better?"

Why help me escape?

"It's my duty." Three words. Not the explicit declaration of affection typical, normal, dull people receive from an admirer or partner. Not a grand proclamation of wanting what the heart wants, or a sonnet regarding the connection between star crossed paramours. Simple, short, concise; enough to turn to religion, to sanctity and salvation if it means hearing it again. He'd do anything, including putting on a discarded mask from his past if it gets him what he desires. Peter would suffer through sanity for this man. He would if it means hearing what sounds silent to those around them.

You're my duty. Whatever happens tonight, Doctor Stark believes it's his duty to see it through. To see him through, in a way.

"Why would you accept?" Ah, silly doc thinking any of his principles have changed since the first time they met, since the first time he brought fire to life and gave death in return. Peter smiles, brings forth the prisoner that had not seen the light of day in almost a decade.

(His uncle often said Peter's greatest gift to the world was his smile, his true smile. His aunt said it was the final move needed to capture a king and make him his pawn.)

"Why, doc, you know I hate to be bored." Call him a psycho, a freak, a sick, pitiful creature. Call him anything and everything and maybe those words would ring true. But Peter will never allow himself to be bored, not when there's so much fun to be had. Especially with a doctor as crazy as he is. "This looks...promising."

" 'He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.' " The first part of Nietzsche's warning.

"Nietzsche didn't understand; those who fought monsters were already fated to become what they struggled to defeat. They believed salvation could be found by killing the monsters outside, but all they did was feed the ones inside."

Anthony Stark, the truest version, grins at him, all glinting eyes, sharp teeth and a crooked smile. Peter Parker, armed with a match, gasoline and soon to be glass shards, grins right back. In this instant, being crazy isn't such a hassle. After all, he has someone to share the crazy with now.

[teacupfulofstarshine]

living in the real world (ain’t it fun) CHAPTER 6

cw: anxiety attack, driving while tired (DO NOT DO THAT), brief panic, swearing

word count: 2619

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // read it on ao3!! 

“The first experiment we are running today is to determine exactly how far away from Thomas we can get before hitting an invisible wall or suffering adverse effects,” Logan says. Thomas, Roman, and Patton nod at him. Logan pulls up one of his blue mental screens and pokes at it. “Thomas, if you look in my backpack, you should find a tape measure which I brought from your home.” 

“I didn’t even know I owned a tape measure.”

“You own three,” Logan recites. “Two of them are sewing tape measures and the third, which I have brought for our purposes today, is a conventional construction tape measure.” Thomas pulls the clunky black base from the backpack at his feet and hums. 

“How did you know I owned this if I didn’t know I owned this?” 

“Just because you are not consciously aware of something does not mean that it is not known to you,” Logan says. “I am home to a great repository of information that has fallen below your conscious level of awareness. Name three differences between an animal cell and a plant cell.”

Thomas stares at him. “Uh . . .”

Logan sighs. “Plant cells are surrounded by both a cell membrane and cell wall, whereas animal cells only possess a cell membrane. Animal cells are generally round, irregular shapes, whereas plant cells are rigid and rectangular. Plant cells, in addition to mitochondria -”

“The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell,” Thomas and Roman recite, in perfect unison. Logan sighs, again, and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Plant cells also possess chloroplasts, which animal cells do not.” 

“Whoa,” Thomas says. “I really know all that?” 

“Falsehood. You knew it once and then forgot it. As the keeper of your memory archives, I retain this information and can call upon it at will, although I confess that I am . . . better in some situations than others.”

“Is that why I can never remember the answer in time for trivia games?” 

Logan blushes, and the screen in front of him glitches out with some sort of indecipherable error code. “I - well - that is to say - um -”

He adjusts his glasses. “ANYWAY! The experiment?” 

Thomas stifles his laughter. “Right, right, of course. My apologies, Logan. What do you want us to do?” 

Logan adjusts his tie, looking thoroughly disgruntled. “You are going to stand in one place and hold the base of the tape measure. The rest of us will take turns holding the end of the tape measure and walking as far as we can until we hit whatever invisible force is binding us to you. I will record the data, and then we will experiment.” 

Thomas nods. “Sounds reasonable.”

“I am your logic. Everything I say sounds reasonable.”

“Who goes first?” 

“Me!” Patton says, freckles beginning to shine yellow. “I wanna go first!” 

“The order does not matter in this experiment, so I will permit it if Roman is not opposed.”

“Go for it, Padre.” 

Patton eagerly grabs the end of the tape measure and bounces in place while Logan readies his screen. “Wouldn’t a pencil and paper work just as well?” Thomas asks. 

“For the purposes of recording data, yes. However, information that I enter into my screens is then encoded into your brain as short-term memories. When you sleep at night - which reminds me that we need to have a discussion about your frankly abysmal sleeping habits - I can enter the pertinent short-term memories and information from the day into your long-term memory.” 

“Oh.” 

“Patton, you may begin.” 

Patton gives a cheery wave and turns around, beginning to walk. Logan stops him at five feet. “Any changes?” 

“Nope! All good in the neighborhood!” 

Patton walks another five feet, and Logan stops him. “Anything?” 

“Nope!” Logan looks at Thomas. 

“What about you?” 

Thomas rubs his sternum. “There’s something . . . weird, in here. It’s kinda painful, but more so just . . . tight, you know?”

“Are you okay to keep going?” 

“I should be.” 

Logan calls to Patton, who walks another five feet. The tugging in Thomas’s chest is beginning to get more intense, burning slightly, and he can feel anxiety beginning to mount in the back of his mind. “Are you okay to keep going?” Logan asks again, voice gentler. “It is okay if you want to stop, Thomas.” 

“I think I’m okay.” Thomas smiles, but it feels thin and strained. Judging by Logan’s expression, it looks that way, too. Still, he signals Patton to keep going. 

Once he hits twenty feet, Thomas drops to one knee, clutching his chest. The tightburningtightburning tightburningwrongwrongWRONG feeling in his chest is starting to escalate. “Uh, Lo? I hit the weird invisible wall again,” Patton calls. 

“I feel not great,” Thomas says. He drops the tape measure and jerks a hand up in a strange, twisting gripping motion. Patton yelps as he suddenly sinks down, dropping through the earth. Panic spikes through Thomas so intensely that his vision almost whites out, but Patton quickly pops up in front of him. 

“Kiddo?” 

Patton drops to his knees and pulls Thomas into a tight hug. The feeling in his chest evaporates all at once, and Thomas inhales deeply as he shoves his face into Patton’s shoulder. “Hey, hey, breathe, okay?” The purple light of Patton’s freckles bleeds through Thomas’s eyelids as Patton rubs firm, soothing circles into his chest. “I’m here, Thomas. I’m right here. I didn’t go anywhere.” 

“What - what was that?” Thomas gasps. His voice sounds strangled and strange, even to him. 

Logan frowns, kneeling next to Thomas and Patton. “It . . . seems to have been a panic response. Patton is an integral part of who you are. The three of us are literally fragments of your soul. When you realized that Patton was distancing himself from you, you panicked. You needed him beside you right at that moment, and you were able to call him to you.” 

“Do you think I could do that with any of you? At any range?” 

Logan hums, looking at Patton. “I do not know. We could test it, if you are up to that, but I will not force you. Your health and safety is most important here.” He gently puts a hand on Thomas’s shoulder and squeezes it. Carefully, Thomas leans back from where he’s clinging to Patton. 

“Can . . . can you give me a minute?” 

Logan nods. “Of course. Do you want Roman or I to test the distance limits while Patton is with you to keep you grounded?” Thomas looks at Roman, who’s been setting up the picnic blanket a few feet away. 

“Roman, do you wanna go and test it now?” Thomas asks. Roman nods, drawing his sword. Panic spikes through Thomas’s chest, but Patton hugs him a little closer, and it ebbs away. 

“Fear not, Thomas! I will return unharmed!” 

“Just take the tape measure, Roman,” Logan sighs. 

*~*~*~*~*

Roman and Logan both make it twenty feet away before they hit the same invisible wall as Patton. Thomas doesn’t feel the sick, twisting, cramping, heart-rending fear that he had when Patton walked away from him, perhaps because Patton is right next to him. Thomas is no longer curled in his lap like a child, but he does hold Patton’s hand. 

“Twenty feet for both of us, as well,” Logan says, swiping across one of his schema. “It seems that is the hard limit for our distance from you.” 

“What’s next?” Thomas asks. 

“That gesture you did to . . . summon Patton to your side. Do you think you could replicate it?” 

Thomas lifts his hand in the same gesture, but nothing happens. “Huh.” 

“What were you thinking when you summoned Patton?” 

“I was . . . anxious. I was thinking about how much I needed him at my side immediately, about how much I needed him with me before something really, really bad happened. I wanted him next to me.” 

Logan hums. “I am going to walk approximately ten feet away from you. Once I am in position, I want you to make that summoning gesture and think about me appearing by your side. Do you think that you can handle that?” Thomas nods “Okay. I am going to walk away.” 

Thomas keeps his eyes locked on Logan’s form as he walks, turning and nodding at Thomas once he’s in position. Thomas inhales, jerking his hand up, thinking about how he wants Logan next to him. Logan drops through the ground like a ghost and pops up next to Thomas, looking slightly ruffled. “That was . . . an experience.” 

“Did it hurt you?” Patton fusses, reaching over to pat at Logan’s torso and arms. Logan shakes his head. 

“The sensation of sinking and rising was . . . strange, but I am uninjured.” Thomas smiles at him. 

“That’s good.” 

“Yes, well. Alright, Roman? It is your turn.” 

*~*~*~*~*

They perform a wide variety of tests before breaking for lunch. Thomas eagerly digs into one of Patton’s sandwiches. “This is perfect!” 

Patton grins, face shining yellow with joy. “I’m so glad, kiddo! And I made cookies for dessert!” 

“No processed sugars until after you’ve eaten a healthy lunch,” Logan says disapprovingly. Patton grins at him and wiggles a sandwich at him. “Wh - is that -”

“A jam sandwich!” Patton says. “With that Crofter’s stuff that you love so much. I know you can’t resist this, Lo!” 

“I have a name,” Logan says testily. He still takes the sandwich, tearing into it and making a soft, pleased humming noise and smiling broadly as he settles cross-legged on the picnic blanket. Patton hands Roman another jam sandwich, and he makes a joyful noise. 

Patton tries to eat a cookie, but Logan glares at him until he smiles guiltily and picks up a sandwich instead. “Can’t slip anything past you, can I?” 

“No, you cannot,” Logan says. His chest puffs up a little in pride as he takes another bite of his sandwich. Thomas smiles, softly, and takes another bite of his own sandwich. 

*~*~*~*~*

They learn many things during the course of the day and its experiments. Logan dutifully distills them into a numbered list.

1: Twenty feet is the maximum distance any of them can get from Thomas before hitting an invisible wall. They cannot go any farther than that. 

2: If a side is twenty feet away from Thomas and they both walk at the same time, they can move as long as both of them move in unison in the same direction. 

3: Thomas can summon any of his sides with a hand gesture as long as he is thinking about calling that side to him. If he isn’t thinking about calling them to him, the gesture is ineffective. 

4: The sides can refuse a summons if they try hard enough, but they all admit to feeling a painful tugging burn in their chest that gets stronger and more painful the longer they resist. 

5: Because Thomas is the source of Logan, Roman, and Patton (Logan names him “the Host”), he can directly control their actions if he gives them a direct command. 

(“Is that why you and Roman stopped talking when I yelled at you to shut up when you were fighting?” 

“Yes, I believe so.” 

“I’m so sorry, Logan, Roman. I - I didn’t mean to control you like that -”

“It’s alright, Thomathy! We know you didn’t mean to!” 

“It is not your fault, Thomas. You did not know. But now we do know, and we can work on this together.”) 

6: The sides do not know anything that Thomas doesn’t. They are, however, repositories of any knowledge he has accrued over the course of his life. Specifically: 

Logan can access knowledge and facts 

Roman can access ideas and daydreams 

Patton can access memories and emotional catalysts 

“That’s a lot,” Thomas says. Logan flips the schema around to show Thomas, but it just appears to be random shapes and squiggles. “I . . . can’t read that.”

“Of course you can’t,” Logan says. “This is a representation of your subconscious thought processes. You cannot comprehend it with your conscious mind.” 

“But you can understand it?” 

“I cannot ‘read’ it in the traditional sense that you would read a book, but I can understand it. I can connect it to the information that you have learned. Would you like me to send it to you for processing?” 

“Processing?"

“Patton and I are in charge of recalling your memories and knowledge, but your subconscious processes it. That is not us. I will give you this schema, and then it will integrate into your subconscious to be processed at a later date.” 

Thomas nods. “Okay, Logan. Do what you need to do.” 

Logan places a hand on either side of his schema and compresses it, inhaling slowly as he does so. The schema condenses and collapses into a little ball of dark blue light in Logan’s hands. Thomas doesn’t know when Logan closed his eyes, but when he opens them again they are solid blue and glowing. He steps forward, holding the schema tightly, and presses it against Thomas’s forehead. 

Thomas expects it to hurt, but in truth it doesn’t feel like anything at all. The schema dissolves into his forehead, and Logan shudders as it phases out of his hands. “Transfer initiated,” he says, voice flat and monotone. 

“Uh . . . Logan?” 

“He gets like this sometimes,” Patton says. “Give him a couple minutes. He doesn’t directly control the processing of information and memories, but he has to wait for the schema to phase out of his grip and into the subconscious. He’ll be alright.” 

Almost five minutes later, Logan stirs for the first time. “Transfer complete.” He blinks, and his eyes become normal again. He drops to his knees in the grass, and Thomas surges forward to catch him. 

“Whoa, Logan. You okay?” 

“Yes,” Logan murmurs, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I . . . have never done that in this manner before. It was draining, but . . . I will be alright.” 

Thomas carefully lays Logan down on his back on the picnic blanket. “Take a breather, Logan. Just rest here, okay?” 

Logan looks up at the darkening sky and laughs. “Look, everyone. Look.” 

Thomas looks up, into the warm late-spring-early-summer night, and watches as the stars begin to appear. “They’re beautiful.” He blinks, rubs his eyes, and frowns. “This . . . those aren’t stars, are they?” 

“Fireflies,” Logan says, sitting up slowly. One of them flutters down and lands on his nose, and Logan blinks, going cross-eyed to look at it. “Oh!” 

Patton laughs, face shining yellow, and the fireflies flock to him. “They must think I’m one of them! They’re really lightning bug-ging out, aren’t they?” Roman sprints around the field, catching fireflies in his hands and bringing them back to Thomas. 

It’s a pretty wonderful time. For the first time since the sides manifested, Thomas doesn’t feel the persistent anxiety digging its claws into his chest. 

*~*~*~*~*

Thomas knows he shouldn’t be driving. 

Patton, Roman, and Logan are slumped together in the back of the car. Patton is fighting to stay awake, but he’s not really succeeding; Roman is snoring against the window, and Logan is leaning into Patton’s shoulder, breathing evenly. Thomas is barely awake himself, but he wants to go home. 

The road is dark and winding, and all of the trees blur together as Thomas drives. He blinks once, twice, three times, lifts a hand off the wheel to rub his eyes. He hears Patton mumbling to himself as he starts to drift off, and Thomas grips the wheel tightly. 

“Stay awake,” he yawns. His head starts to lean forward, hands sliding off the wheel. His chin hits his chest, but before he can fall asleep properly, someone shrieks in his ear. 

“THOMAS SANDERS, WAKE THE FUCK UP AND GET YOUR EYES BACK ON THE FUCKING ROAD!” 

[bakubabes-tatakae]

The Demon’s Keeper (Part Four)

Author’s Note: If anyone wants to be added to the taglist for this feel free to let me know ! Happy to add anyone !

(Rin Okumura x Reader)

Summary: Rin Okumura is a hot headed demon who is hard to keep under control, only one person seems to be able to do it better than anyone, Y/N. For that, she’ll be known at the Demon’s Keeper, but what exactly does that entail for them?

AO3 Link

Part One, Part Two:*NSFW Ahead*, Part Three

Part Four:

Word Count:2836

I grabbed Rin’s hand and Shiro led us through the street. Coal Tars were filling the air, I had never seen anything like it before. Shiro exorcised them as we ran, trying to clear a path. “The road is unmarked for those without faith. The hand of faith will fling them from Jacob’s ladder.” More puffs of smoke as the Coal Tars disappeared. My brain couldn’t wrap around what was happening, but my body moved without me even thinking about it. I had to get Rin out of there. I wouldn’t let him be harmed. Shiro’s words the other day ran through my head... “Protect him in any way you can, keep his anger under control as best as you can. If anything ever happens that could bring out his powers I need you to follow everything I tell you to the letter and not falter.” I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. Come on Y/N, I need to focus. 

Shiro grabbed the door on the top of a roof and yanked it open, basically throwing Rin and I through it and slamming the door behind him. “You know, it’s not exactly easy to babysit at my age.”

Rin raised his fist. “Hey, who are you calling a baby.”

Shiro started running down the stairs. “Let’s get home as quick as we can.”

“Are you saying it’s not over?”

Shiro turned, a look of anger on his face. He wasn’t angry at us, angry at the demons who thought it was okay to try and harm his son. “I already told you, demons of all species will be coming after you.The sun will be down soon, that’s when the demons really become active.”

I grabbed Rin’s hand again and started dragging him behind Shiro as we ran through the building and back out onto the street. As we finally reached the gates of the monastery other monks were running toward us. They began to speak before we could even get a word in. “Welcome home!”

“How did it go?” Shiro slowed when we made it to the gate. 

“We purged all of the Coal Tars and I triple reinforced the spiritual barrier all around the monastery.”

We continued to walk toward the door, determination all across Shiro’s face. “Double it again. It surely won’t hold until morning. We are being attacked by a kinsmen of Astaroth.. I want the sewers doused with triple density holy water. Not a single one must be allowed to infiltrate.” 

“Yes sir,” He ran off, getting started on his orders as we entered the main room.

Loud bangs were being heard outside and Rin and I whipped around to look behind us. I grabbed Rin’s arm and buried my face. “Shiro, what was that?”

“Demon’s are trying to get in, the barrier is stopping them.” He was moving the organ across the floor and showed a hidden stairwell.He turned to us. “Come with me.”

We followed without hesitation and we approached a locked cabinet. Shiro unlocked it and held up a sheathed sword for us to see. “This is the Kouma sword, also known as Kurikara, the name of an ancient and legendary demon slaying sword. Many years ago I transferred your demonic powers to this sword and sealed the scabbard.”

Rin tensed in my arms. “Wait… my… powers?”

“This sword is more important than your life. It must never fall into anyone’s hands. Keep it by your side, even when you sleep. Remember, this must never be drawn. Once drawn your demonic powers will be awakened and then you can never go back to being human.”

Rin looked angry. “Hold on, if I’m supposed to be some kind of demon, then don’t tell me he’s one.” We both knew he was referring to Yukio.”

“Even though you and Yukio are fraternal twins, Yukio was underdeveloped and frail and proved too weak to sustain the power. You alone inherited these powers.” Shiro looked over at me. “You remember all that we talked about the other night?”

I nodded and tightened my grip on Rin’s arm. “Yes sir.”

Rin’s glance shot over to me as more loud bangs could be heard outside. He was clearly agitated that I was in the loop at all. “Did everybody know about this? That I’m not really a human being?” He started to shout. “That I’m the spawn of the devil! Why the hell did you keep quiet about something this important the whole time?!”

Shiro was getting angry with Rin. “I’ll raise you as long as you remain human. In order to keep you alive, you of demonic origin, it’s the one condition that had to be met.”

“Condition?” Rin and I spoke at once. 

“I needed to raise you as a human being. That’s why I chose to say nothing about the secret of you and your brother’s birth.” A crash was heard, it had such force that the entire monastery was shaking. “Come on!” Shiro handed Rin the sword and led us back up the stairs. 

When we got back up the stairs we noticed that the entrance had been completely demolished. The young boy Shiro had just exorcised was back, clearly posessed again. His horns were back and he looked even more disfigured than he did the first time. He had two ghouls in tow. “I’ve come for you my little prince. Let us return home to Gehenna.” He reached and grabbed onto Rin’s leg, his arm extending across the entire room. Rin hit the ground as he tugged him and the monks closest to the boy threw holy water on him, causing him to lose his grip.

Rin sat on the floor and I knelt down next to him. “Rin, are you okay?” 

Shiro grabbed us both by the shirt and threw us upright and into the wall. “Come morning the demons will taper off, you guys have got to leave now and hide yourselves where the demon won’t find you. Do you hear me Y/N?”

“Hide? Where are we going to hide Shiro?” I was panicked. 

Shiro held his cell phone out and stuck it in my hand. “There’s only one number saved in this. He’s a good friend, call him as soon as you two leave the monastery. I’m certain he’ll be willing to take you in and protect you.”

Rin tried to interject. “Hey-” He was cut off when Shiro gave him a huge shove and he tumbled down the stairs.

He looked at me and pointed down the stairs. “Keep him safe Y/N.”

I ran down the stairs to grab Rin and Shiro shut the door behind us. Rin broke free of my grasp and headed for the stairs, yelling to Shiro. “We’re not done talking yet.”

I grabbed his arm and tugged on it. “Rin, we have to go. We can’t stay here. We have to make it to the road and call this number.”

Rin fought and fought. “I’m not leaving!” He climbed back up the stairs and started banging on the door. “Let me out old man!” As he continued to hit the door over and over it finally came free. Rin ran through the opening and grabbed a pitch fork and threw it as hard as he could toward the possessed boy, his form was now gigantic. What had happened while we were stuck down there? He looked over at Shiro as the boy went flying backwards. “Like I said, we ain’t done talking yet you old fart.”

The demon spoke. “Young prince, what on earth,” 

The demon was cut off as Shiro spoke and slammed his foot into his chest. “Lord in heaven hang a millstone around his neck so that he may never again rise from the depths in hell, inhabited by Leviathan.”

It pleaded. “Stop!”

“Unable to see and unable to hear, imprisoned by eternal darkness.” It screamed and black smoke came pouring out of its mouth again, turning the boy back into his normal self. Shiro looked at the monks around him. “Bring the car around.” He looked down at the boy. “Someone brand this youngster with the mark of tetramorph and don’t forget to purify him.”

“Yes father.”

I interjected, they were clearly all hurt. “Wait a second, shouldn’t you take care of your own wounds first?”

“No,” Shiro turned to us. “Right now our first and only priority is to get you guys safe and into hiding. Don’t ever forget Rin, that the demons are coming after.”

Rin’s eyes turned to small slits as his anger started to get the best of him. “Is that right? So what you’re saying is that life would be a lot better if I was history?”

“No Rin!”

“Fine, I’ll be happy to bounce, you’d feel a lot better if I did anyway.” Rin grabbed my hand and started to lead me toward the door. 

Shiro ran after us. “Rin!”He grabbed Rin’s shoulder.

Rin turned and slapped his hand away. “Let go. You’re the one that wants to kick me out of here. You don’t have to tell me that I’m the screwed up son…. Actually, we’re not even related, so I’m the screwed up stranger, right?”

I grabbed his arm and tugged on him. “Stop it Rin!”

“Come on, why won’t he admit it!?” He looked from me to Shiro. “You’re just sick and tired of pretending to be my family. Or is it against your religion to say something like that? Or wait, is it that you want one last time to play the perfect dad!” As the next words left Rin’s mouth I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Give me a break. You’re not my father. You’re nobody to me. Don’t ever let me see you acting like my father again.”

Shiro went to open his mouth, but I stepped in front of him. “RIN, ENOUGH!” Shiro reached around me and planted a slap across Rin’s face. Rin didn’t speak after the slap, he just stood and stared at the two of us. I could feel tears running down my face, this wasn’t how today was supposed to go. I leaned forward and put my hands on Rin’s chest and buried my face in it. I could feel all my emotions welling up inside and tried so hard not to let them out. 

Shiro spoke. “It will be morning soon. Hurry, go get your things.”

Rin put his hand on the back of my head and held me to him. “Yea, okay.” He put his arm around my waist and started to lead me to our bedroom. What had just happened?

From behind us we heard a tumble, we turned to see the monks all running toward Shiro. Shiro was on his knees, clutching his chest. They started to yell for him. “Father Fujimoto!”

“Stay away!” He was shaking. “Don’t come another step closer to me.” The lights on the wall around us started to burst, glass shattering everywhere. 

It was dark now. Rin’s grip on my waist tightened as he pulled me toward him, the Kurikara sword held tightly in his other hand. “What’s going on?”

A demonic laugh came from Shiro as his body shook. “At long last, I’ve claimed this body as my own.”

Rin approached Shiro. “Old man?”

Shiro looked up at the two of us, he smiled, his teeth were sharp as daggers and we watched his ears turn long and pointed. “Finally, we meet, my long lost son!” Blue flames erupted around Shiro’s body as he stood up straight, laughing maniacally. Rin took his hand off my waist to shield his face from the heat. 

“What the hell’s wrong with you old man?”

The monks were in the corner, hiding behind a wall, trying to plan an attack. “He’s been possessed. Satan has entered him and taken over his body.”

Shiro looked at us. His voice had a demonic tone to it. “It’s exactly as he says. I am Satan. I am the ruler of Gehenna and your true father, but you can call me poppa if you want.” He laughed again. 

“Father Fujimoto!”

They all started to run at him. “SHUT UP!” Blue flames erupted on their bodies as well and they were lifted off the ground, tossed aside like they were nothing but garbage. “Don’t you dare spoil our touching reunion. I’m afraid time is running out for me.” Rin and I were glued in place, neither of us able to move. “My power is too much for Assiah and so, whatever I possess is doomed not to last long.” Blood was starting to run down Shiro’s face. “Including this old man’s body and just like your mother, my son.”

A black ooze was beginning to form in a huge opening on the floor in front of us. Ooze was starting to rise from the floor. Rin started to push me backwards, tripping over his own feet, sending me flying into the wall behind us and him hitting the floor. “What the hell is that?”

“Gehenna gate. The magical door linking Assiah and Gehenna, now then, let’s be off.” He walked toward Rin. 

Rin started to crawl backwards toward me, still clutching the sword. “No, stay away!” As he screamed blue flames, exactly matching the ones around Shiro’s body, engulfed him, just like they had in the alley.

Satan laughed more. “What was that supposed to be? Did you just piss your pants or something? Pathetic.” He approached him again. “Just get your demonic powers back already.” He grabbed Rin by the sweatshirt and lifted him. 

I started to crawl forward. “RIN!”

With one flick of his wrist the demon possessing Shiro sent me flying backwards again and then started to drag Rin across the floor. I clutched my side as I hit the ground and Rin fought against his grip. “Y/N!” He reached out toward me. “I’m not a demon. I’m a human.”

“The dark blood of the ruler of Gehenna runs thick in your veins, yet your body exists here in Assiah.” He picked him up and tossed him into the ooze. “You’re extraordinary, you know?”

The ooze started to form around Rin and the blue flames subsided. Rin’s screams crushed me. It was hopeless. How had Shiro expected me to do anything when I had no idea what was happening?

“Today’s the day or your rebirth my son.” The demon held his arms up. 

Rin pleaded with us for help. “Somebody! Help me!” I had never seen him scream so loud or look so terrified. 

“Happy birthday my beloved son!” Suddenly Shiro grabbed his necklace and plunged it into his heart. The next time he spoke his voice was normal, though the flames still engulfed him. “No, that boy is my son and I’m taking him back.” The two fought each other for possession of Shiro’s body. “Curses, what do you think you’re doing? Damn you exorcist.” Shiro’s body collapsed in front of us. “So, you mean to sacrifice your own life for him? You astound me you wretched priest. However, it’s already too late.” Shiro’s body was slowly sinking into the ooze. “Gehenna gate has taken ahold of you and it will never let you go.”

Rin was in completely panic mode. He rushed through the ooze and over to Shiro. “Old man!” He pushed and pushed. “Hang on old man! Don’t give up! DAMN!” They both started to sink in.”

My panic rose more as Rin and Shiro vanished under the black ooze. My adrenaline pulsed through my body and I stood up, running as fast as I could toward them. Suddenly, Rin’s hand came back up through the ooze and grabbed the Kurikara sword. I tried to stop him. “Rin! No! Remember what Shiro told you, if you draw that sword you’ll-” I was too late. Rin pulled the sword out of the sheath and a blue light shown before flames engulfed Rin’s body. His ears turned pointed and a tail grew behind him. He raised the sword above his head and screamed as he flung it back down, hitting the ooze, causing it to disappear. Shiro’s lifeless body laid in front of us. Rin put the sword back in the sheath and dropped to his knees. I could see the tears falling down his face. 

I ran over to him and dropped onto my knees in front of him. Before I could grab hold of him he dropped the Kurikara sword and collapsed into my arms, burying himself into me. “Dad...” 

A familiar voice spoke behind us. “Rin?” As I turned I saw who it was, Yukio. Yukio took off at a run when he saw Shiro and dropped next to him. 

Rin let all his emotions go and shook uncontrollably, tears soaking the front of my shirt. I held him tight. “I’m right here baby.” He wrapped his arms around my waist to hold me closer. “I’ll never let you go Rin.”

Taglist 💕 @thebookwormfairy @psycho-emi 

Part Five, Part Six

Updated: 5/13/2020

[im-justso-bored]

Week 6 of Clown Theories and Analysis

S03E06: End of Game

So this one is a bit late, I guess I was a bit underwhelmed by this episode but I’m finally getting around to typing this out. I’ve noticed that for each episode this season, I’ve appreciated it much more the second time I watched it. I think it’s because I have certain expectations of the episode and the episodes end up being completely different from what I thought but idk if it’s in a good way or not so I have readjust my expectations and I usually enjoy it more the second time around. 

Also I wanna say that while I am just as disappointed as everyone else that Eve isn’t getting the screen time she deserves, it does make sense that they would be splitting up the time for each character differently this season. With everyone being separated (Eve no longer working for Carolyn, and V no longer working for Konstantin), there are a lot more storylines to keep up with. And in the promos leading up to this season we see a lot of all four of them, not just Eve and Villanelle. Carolyn is to Eve what Konstantin is to Villanelle, they’re just as much affected by everything as Eve and V. That being said, I do want to see Eve on screen more and I think that season 4 will more Eve and Villanelle centric, hopefully with more emphasis on Eve (kind of like season 1). Especially because depending on how these last two episodes play out, it’s looking likely we won’t be seeing Konstantin at all next season and possibly even Carolyn. KE does have a history of really focuses and building up characters before killing them off (i.e. Bill and Kenny). 

Piss off forever - So I still don’t understand how Niko survived a pitchfork to the neck. I take back my RIP from my episode 4 review. 

I’m really glad that he’s still done with Eve though. Dude doesn’t even care to find out who tried to kill him, he just wants Eve as far away from him as possible and I’m here for it. Whatever it takes for no more Niko. He was still wearing his wedding ring in this scene which confused me but I think this is the last we’ll be seeing of Niko (I hope). Otherwise the whole pitchfork scene would have been for nothing because it clearly didn’t make Eve think it was V. And I guess the goal for the writers wasn’t to kill Niko either so they must be just giving Niko and Eve the only other way out of their doomed marriage which is for Eve to really see the position she’s putting Niko in by still being connected to him. 

To Villanelle, the Keeper - You never really see V care much about who she works for or why is tasked to do what she does.

For a long time, she did what she was told until Eve brought it to her attention and she stole the recording of Frank and learned about the Twelve. And then you see in episode 7 of season 1, V is asking Konstantin for the names of the Twelve. I think Eve asking about who she works for and listening to the recording of Frank opened up a can of worms for V. After this, she’s in this constant struggle within herself to either be powerful or to be free. For a long time, she’s always been stuck in the middle and given the illusion of power and freedom but she never really has either. I think V’s interest in being a Keeper this season has a lot to do with that. You see her talk about freedom a couple of times.

“Run. You’re free.”

“You’re free now. You can be whoever you want.”

Each time, she received the response of “I don’t want to be free.” You can tell she’s really confused at how someone would willingly give up their freedom. She doesn’t have that luxury, she has the illusion of freedom but she’s never truly free. So seeing others give up their freedom is something that perplexes her. I think V sees gaining power the only way she can truly have freedom which is why being a Keeper is so important to her. And despite the shit she went through in episode 5, she seemed genuinely happy to receive the news that her request was successful. Until she realizes that nothing has really changed and she’s still being given orders and not the other way around. The title of “Keeper” is nothing more than an illusion of power and freedom.

She knows she can’t touch him - I’m all here for Eve not believing for one second that V tried to kill Niko.

I’m a little confused on how Eve figured out it was Dasha who tried to kill Niko based off a couple of photos, an online profile, and one conversation with Carolyn. But I guess they do have to move the plot along so I’m just going to say it’s because Eve is a badass investigator even though we all know her and Villanelle share one brain cell. 

Does it really matter who? - I love how Carolyn constantly calls Eve out on her obsession for Villanelle. Because Carolyn is kind of right, if it was the Twelve, why does it really matter? It was important for Eve to know because it means that it wasn’t V. Not to say that Carolyn is completely right though, with a death so personal, of course she would want to know exactly who killed him just like Carolyn would want to know exactly who killed Kenny. But as we all know, it’s more than that for Eve and Carolyn sees right through her as always. 

Also how is that Carolyn always has ties to sketchy Russian people? Konstantin and now Dasha. 

I send for you - I think I speak for us all when I say that I’m tired of seeing V cry or with tears in her eyes, let her be happy pleaaseee. Villanelle is desperately trying to hold on to the few people she has left. After the letdown of finally being promoted to Keeper, the only thing she has left now are Konstantin and Eve, both of whom she shot. These are her last ties to holding on to her humanity and sanity, which parallels nicely with Eve and the red string of fate. You see Konstantin choose Irina over Villanelle in this episode just as you see Niko choose his freedom over Eve. Which leaves Villanelle with Dasha who she doesn’t fully trust and Eve with Carolyn who she also doesn’t fully trust. 

Are you working for them, Paul? - Just a quick note about this scene. This brought up a question a lot of us have been asking since season 1. Is Carolyn working for the Twelve? Was she ever working for the Twelve? It seemed less likely after Kenny’s death but sometimes I still wonder and this scene definitely brought my attention back to that. 

He asked if I was his father - So I’m not even going to touch the whole “Geraldine kissed Konstantin” thing because as of right now, everything about Geraldine confuses me and she has not added anything to the plot so far. Although I do want to know why she lied about Konstantin visiting. It’s definitely not over something as small as a kiss.

Carolyn was such a badass in this scene. She’s definitely become more careless and a bit more unhinged like Eve and Villanelle. As I said before, both Konstantin and Carolyn are just as affected by all of the events that have built up since season 1 and we’re seeing huge contrasts from them then and now. This is definitely building to something big for the last two episodes. I wonder if the idea of Konstantin being Kenny’s father will have any significance later on. Also I want to know how Kenny came to that conclusion and if that’s part of what got him killed. Carolyn’s shock at finding out what Kenny asked Konstantin about makes me wonder if there is something else she’s hiding and wondering if Kenny found out. Not about being Konstantin’s son but something bigger like Carolyn possibly working for the Twelve or formerly working for the Twelve?  

Trying to get my step count up - So yeah, Konstantin is fucked.

She is perfect killing machine - Eve had such top energy here and I love it. Eve definitely surprised Dasha here, maybe even scared her a little. Eve managed to figure her out in a matter of days and then track her down. Dasha definitely underestimated the connection that both Eve and Villanelle share and it’s apparent in this conversation. It’s also very clear that Eve knows V better than Dasha does despite Dasha spending more time with her lately. Dasha sees Villanelle as a “killing machine” but Eve knows that she’s much more than that even after all the shit that V put Eve through. Dasha continues to dig her own grave by underestimating Eve and putting Villanelle on a pedestal, which I think she realizes more in the last scene of this episode. 

This is bullshit - So this scene reminded me of a scene from Dexter where after killing his brother, it really put him off his game and Dexter struggled with his next couple of kills after that. Same with Villanelle and killing her family, this is the only time that we actually see V really falter during one of her kills. 

I don’t want to do this anymore - I’m making it illegal to make Villanelle cry, I can’t take it anymore 😭 What a heartbreaking scene but also what an amazing scene and the parallel to 1x05 is just fantastic. I’m a sucker for good parallels and the ones in this show are just *chef’s kiss*.

Killing her mother definitely broke something inside of Villanelle. I guess you could say that it broke Villanelle and what’s taking place is Oksana. After her promotion not being what she wanted and Konstantin choosing Irina over her, she lost the only way to either of the two things she really wanted, power and freedom. Now she’s stuck doing the same thing she always has (reminds me of what she said during the AA meeting “I’m just so bored.”) but now she’s a different person and that’s not enough anymore. Maybe it was a little more bearable when she didn’t feel anything but now that she feels more, I can imagine that it’s much more suffocating. From the beginning (season 1), she constantly mentions wanting to be normal and do normal things and the only way she can do that is if she’s on top with no one controlling her (power) or if she’s free. But she has neither and both are slipping further out of her reach. 

Also this ^ isn’t allowed. The crying nor her still being so attractive while falling apart. Like how is that possible????

Irina - So like Irina killing her mom’s bf came out of no where but also at the same time, it didn’t? I think it’s definitely in character for Irina to do something like that. But like...eventually. Definitely not so soon. But I guess it can make sense seeing as V and Irina are constantly battling for Konstantin’s attention and maybe Irina thought that this would get his attention if she were a killer like V. 

Thanks to Irina’s little joy ride, Konstantin is now forced to stay in London longer which makes him a target and if Konstantin does die within the next two episodes, I think it’s going to have a huge impact on Irina and she might even blame herself since he had to stay in London because of her. Or this will cause Irina to become more unhinged and for her behavior to escalate. 

OVERALL - This episode was decent, it was one of the weaker episodes for me this season. It gave me a lot to think about but it definitely lacked the excitement and tension that I’ve grown to expect from Killing Eve. Also I’m not a big fan of what they’re doing to the location title cards. I guess they’re trying to be funny or maybe match the same chaotic energy that the characters are giving off. Idk but I don’t really like it. 

I think the last two episodes are definitely going to be a lot more fast paced (or at least I hope) as the season is wrapped up. I’m really nervous for the next week and a half, also I’m sad that this season is coming to an end already! I’m glad we have at least one more season after this to look forward to.

[genuflectx]

4th Dimensional Being/OC - CH3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 

Full Length: 19,543 Chapter Length:  2,218

Main Themes: Other dimensions, tentacles, confinement, nsfw Other Warnings: politics,  "godly" behaviors, vomit, feeling of loss of autonomy, comparison to a toy

(all images in aesthetic board are labeled for reuse with modification or are mine)

The next chapter gets nasty...

The 4DB Chapter 3: The Virus

They were all chattering like cicadas, a loud distant drone in the back of her head. Chris missed her phone. She missed Vincent. She even missed Mildred's occasional snarky comment. Instead she was here, the beginnings of a headache blooming, listening to the test subjects debate the pros and cons of their situation. Chris absently and quietly picked at her food.

John was grumpy. He complained that he shouldn't even be here. “Whatever this thing is it's keeping me from my job,” but he secretly thought that perhaps he'd be revered for his 'sacrifice,' assuming he was allowed to even talk about it after it ended.

“What do you do again?” Asked Cole at Chris’s side smartly.

John became red in the face but kept his composure. “Very funny.”

Aaron, nearly slumped over the cold metal table, shrugged and snorted. “Why's a ~mystical being~ need any of us anywho? A security guard, an energy-guy, a mayor, a fucking clerk for God's sake,” he gestured towards Chris.

“Well I know why he'd want me!” Boasted Nathan. “Must of saw me on the field and thought wow, I need him in my soon-to-be-cult!” His laugh was so loud. John sneered when he elbowed him.

The conversation just felt so shallow. Chris should have opted to sit with her roommate Morgan, but she had looked out of it ever since she'd first spoken with Gabriel the day before.

“So uh, what did it say to you guys?” Cole changed the subject suddenly.

Chris looked up, glancing around. Some of the men looked rather uncomfortable.

“Fucker wanted me to describe war to him,” Nathan answered quickly, his expression confused but vaguely amused. “Apparently they've had no wars. Not one. I think he's a liar, what a load of shit.”

John shrugged, leaning back a bit. “I was asked about my job. It was very tame.”

“Hey Chris, what did it ask you?” Cole nudged her from her thoughts.

The security guard chuckled. “How to send a letter?”

She ignored him. God, some of these guys were obnoxious. “It asked me about our government and how it treated me,” she shrugged, looking back at her food.

“I wonder what the eggheads will do with those recordings,” Nathan interjected. “Not like they can hear the bastard. It'll just be a bunch of government losers ranting about their jobs. Oh, and then me having to explain every damn World War like I was a school teacher. Whatever that thing is... it knows nothing about us.”

At least Chris could agree with that.

The experiments continued. The scientists began to fill out; the building became more abuzz with life than it had at the start. Suddenly the subjects felt surrounded. There was always some straight-laced woman or expressionless man beside them. Tailor, Sparrow, Rock, Dove, they all came with some codename. And, even in the reports of which the subjects could not access, Chris and her comrades were coded as well. Like they were trying to hide who they were, what they were doing, to keep their discoveries a secret from the rest of the world.

Regardless, a week had gone by and the only thing they'd discovered was that the 4DB was communicating directly inside of the subjects' heads. They tried to figure out a way to at least record the brain readings of the subjects' during sessions, and indeed found ample evidence that the auditory system was being stimulated. It was telepathy. Unfortunately they were having difficulty figuring out how to translate the brain's signals into actual words. They would have to stick with word of mouth.

“Have you learned anything about us?” Chris asked, walking around the pink square casually.

“Much. You are each individuals, like us. However, you are perhaps more individually inclined than I estimated,” they admitted curiously.

“I hope that helps you re-consider exterminating us. Cause... ya know, I sorta wanna live.”

Gabriel paused. “All things want to live. Even a virus wants to live.”

She scrunched her brows, angry. “We are not a virus, Gabriel. Grow up.”

“...No, I suppose you are not.” Gabriel went quiet for a while.

Chris calmed a bit and finished her circle. She leaned against the wall. “I wish I could go back home. I miss my friends. The people here- they're... I don't know. Not my sort. I'm tired.”

That was almost enough to make Gabriel feel some guilt, but if they had not plucked Chris from her home they'd have plucked someone else. “I do see the way you look.”

She rose a brow, confused. “Huh? What's that supposed to mean?”

“The way you look. When they speak.”

For a moment she was beside herself, believing they were saying some sort of gibberish. But then it clicked. Her brows shot up and her head went light. “You watch us when we're not in the chamber?”

“Of course I do. I am not confined to one spot,” they shook their heads.

She paled. Then she reddened. “Nooo no no, do you...” her voice got quiet. “...see us when we... pee? And shower?”

Apparently that was funny because they laughed strangely. “Yes. Now I see you are embarrassed. Do not be embarrassed, for I can see any part of you at any time if I wished. I can see all your organs. Like now, your heart has sped up.”

Chris placed her hand to her heart as if she could hide it. It was sort of cute. “Y-yeah? Well can you see I'm going to vomit?”

They looked to the right, down the vague rivers of time. “Maybe. A long, long time from now.”

She sighed, sort of sick. “Well Gabriel, nice knowin' ya. I'm out for the day.” Chris absconded from the chamber five minutes early. The scientists were not pleased.

As days ticked on Chris could see how the results of these studies were wearing away at the morale of the scientists. Some were exhausted, some were disappointed, some were scared and angry. They grew impatient with the 4DB. It still only spoke to them to issue commands. Then, one day, when a particularly irritable scientist got cocky, the 4DB actually laughed and shoved them. Right in front of their colleagues. None of the subjects saw it, but of course they heard about it through the grape vine.

The scientists wanted to stop sending the subjects into the chamber to test the limits of the 4DBs relationship with the lab. However, too many feared some retaliation so such a test never came to fruition. Instead, they spitefully released one lesser subject's contracts and then started increasing the amount of time the remaining subjects would spend with the scientists. Gale began to meet with Chris once a day, though in a much more comfortable room than the one they'd first conversed in.

“How have you settled in?” Gale asked, leaning comfortably in her chair and crossing her long legs. “A week and a half far from home... you must miss your friends.”

At this point she was almost too nervous to voice her true feelings. “Yeah, it feels more like a month,” she answered instead, uncomfortable.

Gale nodded and drummed her fingers on the table between them, observing Chris. She changed the subject masterfully. “You know, your recordings are the most interesting.”

That made Chris perk up, a bit of adrenaline pushing into her veins. “What do you mean?”

The other smirked, entertained. “You're the only subject so far who sounds almost friendly with the 4DB. And don't think we didn't notice you named it, too.”

Chris didn't want to admit that hearing that made her feeling sort of... special. “I didn't know you listened to the recordings,” her cheeks tinted.

“Of course! And transcribe as well,” Gale explained. “You call it Gabriel. Like before it made its presence known to us, like Gabriel's Children. The other subjects... well. Gabriel seems to get something from them that we just don't.”

Chris glanced down at her hand fidgeting in her lap, embarrassed.

“But wow, does it talk to you. Maybe it's your time in retail. You just have a way with small talk,” she began to laugh. “So Chris, I have a proposal for you.”

She lifted her eyes. “Um... y-yeah?”

Gale leaned forward, face friendly and tone pleasant, but Chris could feel the strange aura emanating from her piercing eyes. “Get closer to it. Make it friendly. It obviously favors you and we need that. We are more then well aware- based off your recordings and reports- that the fate of the world, no, maybe the whole solar system, depends on Gabriel's opinion-”

“Well there are more than one 4DB,” you interrupted.

She looked only slightly aggravated at the interruption, then continued. “-And Gabriel's opinion might just fall on its opinion of you. Try to get it to talk to us more naturally. Not just commands. It's not working with us like we'd like. And in return? You'll get cell phone access again,” she winked. “Have some time to chat with those friends you miss so much.”

Chris agreed. That wouldn't be so hard. All she had to do was keep doing what she was doing. The world would learn more, she would get her cell phone back, and maybe with some luck Gabriel wouldn't vote to destroy the Earth.

But then, during the next session in the chamber with the pink square, she found a tense heaviness in the air like standing underwater.

“I heard your conversation,” Gabriel said immediately, emotionless.

Shocked and anxious, Chris tried to play it off as nothing. “That was just... it was just-”

Gabriel cut her off. “Quiet. You miss your human friends.”

She was uncertain if she was allowed to reply or not, stunned. Instead she just nodded stiffly and crossed her arms.

“And if I comply by being more 'cooperative' with your knowledge keepers they will allow you to speak with these friends,” they went on. After a pause they added: “I am indifferent to your plight.”

When Gabriel said nothing else Chris took it as her cue to respond. She was quiet, as if trying not to be picked up by the small microphone clipped to her shirt. “I... nothing would change. All we have to do is talk. Just like before. That's all they really want.”

“We shall see,” Gabriel said plainly.

The problem was that their plan began to work, despite Gabriel being aware of it. Though they didn't necessarily speak directly to the scientists they did grow warmer to Chris. Chris had a way about her that just made Gabriel so... interested in her. She didn't make cutting remarks (as if that would have hurt anyways), she didn't refuse to answer their questions, and she didn't make light of the atrocities of her country. She just talked. Like speaking with Gabriel was the most natural thing in the world. They didn't quite mind the nick-name anymore either, if they were honest. They hated that they were warm with Chris.

Gale was 'happy' the two of them were still getting along. Chris didn't tell her Gabriel knew about the plan, but they obviously suspected it. Everyday the scientist looked a little more intense. Gale continued to drill it into Chris's head to get Gabriel speaking with the scientists. Was it more cooperative today? No. How about now? No. Gale held back her irritation. At the end of each daily session she was led to her room feeling uncomfortable and alone. Chris still hadn't gotten her cell phone back. Her friends probably thought she was dead.

“Has it really been three weeks since this whole thing started?” Chris sighed, sitting on the cold floor. She fiddled with the rim of her shirt's neck, knowing full well that would cause sound disturbance in the recording. She'd get a mouthful about that.

Gabriel, who was sitting comfortably beyond the barrier, twirled their tentacles around one another absently. “For you.”

Chris nodded. She was quiet a moment. “Then how long is three weeks in your dimension?”

“For you it is sixty seconds to a minute, sixty minutes to an hour, twenty-four hours to a day, seven days to a week. For me it is... time functions differently,” they tried to explain. “I've only met you a few 'days' ago.”

That was hard for her to wrap her head around. “And are you really learning by doing this? Keeping us here in a box? Just talking?”

“Yes,” they replied simply.

They really were. They not only listened to word-of-mouth, they saw into the deep wrinkles of the subjects' brains, saw their bodily chemistry rise and fall. They watched for reactions to key words, how the subjects interacted with one another and their human 'captors.'

Chris shrugged, pursing her lips. She didn't seem to believe them. “Ooookay. Ya know this could go a lot faster if you also spoke to the scientists.” Of course they both knew what Chris was trying to do.

“So eager to hear your judgment.”

She shrugged again, somehow feeling rather fond of Gabriel in that moment. “Nah... just to hear my friends' voices again.”

Soon, Gabriel automatically thought, surprising themself.

Chapters 4, 5, and the epilogue will remain Patron-only content! However, eventually the full story will be edited more and added to Gumroad as an e-book as well. So if you’d like to get to the nsfw or read the rest, check out NSFWGenuflect on Patreon or wait for the Gumroad release :}

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary - Chapter 21

Warnings: profanity but that’s about it

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @valkyrie-of-the-light

They meet in a coffee house two clocks from their hotel; arriving separately, hoping not to draw attention to themselves. There was no way of telling of how far word had spread. If the news that a solider for hire had travelled out into the general community or if the people responsible very keeping it on the downlow in fear of escalating tension. There was already longstanding angst between the IRA and everyday folk; their acts of brutality and domestic terrorism were decades old and while silent, still had the propensity to flair up at a moments notice.

 Tyler is already on his second extra large black coffee when Yaz arrives; the younger man casually slipping into the bench across from him, iPad in one hand, his own SAT in the other.

“That shit will kill you,” Yaz remarks, wrinkling his nose at how incredibly strong the brew smells; the colour as dark as fresh black ink.

“Too late. I’m already dead inside.” Tyler retorts, and removes his sunglasses and places them on the tabletop, followed by his personal cellphone.

Esme had sent him videos that the kids had made for him: Tanner bragging about how many popsicles he ate in one sitting, TJ showing off his black eye and swollen nose, and Mille proud as shit that she’d been the one who had inflicted the damage. She had no shame; she wasn’t sorry and refused to apologize and declared she would do it again in a heartbeat if he so as much breathed on her the wrong way. And then the baby; with his very first haircut, freshly erupted teeth, and a handful of words that seemingly cropped up over night.

The loneliness is intense. Those beautiful little faces and those cute, soft voices telling him how much they missed him. How much they loved him and couldn’t wait for him to come home.

He rubs his hands over his face.  He’d managed to trim the beard. Had taken the clippers to his hair. Followed by a long, cold shower that did little to calm his nerves and worry but had successfully managed to aggravate every bit of arthritis that existed in his body.

“You look like shit,” Yaz comments, and then peers into his mug. “Black, huh?”

“Yeah. Like my soul.”

Yaz smirks, then orders a caramel latte from the waitress that drops two menus onto the tabletop. His eyes following her as she walks away; eyebrows arched as he admires the way her hips sway from side to side and the way her skirt just seems to hug each and every curve.  “You look like shit,” he says, as he turns back to Tyler. “Get any sleep?”

“Not really. You?”

He shakes his head, and pushes one of the vinyl bound menus across the table. “Eat something for fuck sakes, can’t have you wasting away on and perishing from starvation in the middle of a job. Nik would beat my ass. And your wife would kill me.”

“You realize I could break you in half with my bare hands, yeah?” Tyler smirks, as he flips open his menu.

“I do. And do you realize I’ve actually had nightmares where that’s happened? Where I’ve pissed you off and you’ve just gone medieval on my ass? I’m not ashamed to admit that you scare the ever loving shit out of me. I’m glad we’re friends, man. I’m just saying. Because I really do not want you to kill me with a  garden rake.”

“That’s played out. I’d use something more creative. Like a tire iron. Or a pitchfork.”

“Nothing surprises me about you anymore.  So after we talked, I couldn’t turn my brain off. It was like it was in overdrive. Firing on all cylinders. I can’t wrap my head around this. I can’t figure out how they made us that quick. We didn’t go through any airports, we didn’t have to check through customs, there was no flight manifesto. At least not one with our real names. How?”

“They had us made before we even got off the plane. Probably before we even left Colorado. There’s someone inside. A mole. There has to be. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Maybe McCann? Maybe he is in on this. Maybe this is some big game.”

“I think it’s someone on the team.  He even told me when we first met that he’d paid to get my information from someone and that’s how he tracked me down all the way in Guatemala.”

“How fucked up is that? That he actually showed up there and followed you? Like a goddamn stalker.”

“How fucked up is it that that’s not even the most messed up thing in all of this?” Tyler counters, and casts a glance towards his cell phone as it vibrates against the table. Taking the opportunity to check on the notification as the waitress returns with Yaz’ drink, and her phone number. The latter she boldly tucks into the breast pocket of his shirt before flashing a dazzling smile before taking their orders as if nothing even happened.

“Well shit…” Yaz’s eyes once more follow her backside as she heads to the kitchen with their requests. “…and she’s’ cute too!”

“And legal,” Tyler smirks, as he types out a quick reply to his wife’s text message.

“Fuck you,” Yaz mutters. “That was a complete mistake. I didn’t realize she was that young. You could have been my wingman. Had you not gone into the bathroom to get laid. And thanks for that, by the way. I had to piss in an alley out behind that bar.”

“Take it as a badge of honour to know your godson was conceived while you were taking a leak outside and taking one for the team.”

“You two conceive your kids in the most fucked up places, I swear. Is anything normal with you guys? Or did you just figure, ‘hey, we started this shit out during some craziness, let’s keep the trend going’?”

“Excuse me for not being vanilla like you. Which is why I have a very satisfied wife at home and why you have callouses on your palms and carpal tunnel.”

“Sometimes I really hate you, you know that? Think I should call her?”

“Why wouldn’t you? She’s cute. She’s obviously into you. She was brave enough to give you her number. Maybe she’s brave at other things.”

Yaz smirks. “I like the way you think. Maybe I don’t hate you after all. This never happens, you know. When we go somewhere together. You’re the one that is usually getting all the phone numbers. Which you don’t even use, by the way.”

“Why would I? I’m married. Happily.”

“At least pass them on to your boy. What is wrong with me? How long have I had to struggle as your sidekick? How long have I had to witness women tripping over themselves to get your attention? You and the blue eyes and all the muscles.”

Tyler grins. “I’m flattered, Yaz. I never knew you had a crush on me. If I swung that way, I’d probably give you a chance. I’d probably split you in half though. I don’t think you could handle all this.”

“You’re a very disturbed individual, did you know that? There’s something seriously wrong with you. You’re not my type anyway You’re too...pretty.”

Tyler snorts. “I’m pretty? You have some pretty messed up definition of pretty, then. The tattoos, the scars. How’s that pretty?”

“The eyes. The hair. The smile. The big arms.”

“Alright, alright. I’m getting a complex here. Quit flirting with me and let’s get down to business. What did you find out?”

“Quite a bit actually,” he powers up the iPad and leans it against the napkin holder and condiment dispenser at the edge of the table, so they can both see it. “It wasn’t that hard to find. And I’m honestly surprised none of us thought of doing it before. Looking into the wife. There’s some good stuff. First…” he taps on the screen and brings up a side by side picture of Heather McCann; one from her earlier years (either high school or college, Tyler can’t say for sure) and a current photo, before she’d been taken.

“She’s from New Zealand. Which we already knew. Born in Christchurch. May 29th, 1979. Her mother was heavy into the activism scene; protesting shit like pollution in the oceans, nuclear arms, animal cruelty, women’s rights. So on and so forth. A couple arrests under her belt. Nothing serious. Creating a public nuisance, assault on a police officer, vandalism. Nothing too scandalous.  The father however, had quite the extensive criminal record.”

“He’s dead?”

“Killed. Ten years ago. While on vacation on the Bahamas. It was a hit. No doubt about. One to the back of his head.”

Tyler sips his coffee. “Execution style.”

“Exactly. Now, I couldn’t figure out what the hell he could have been involved in that led to that. So I did some more digging. His name was Alphonse Buckman, and this criminal record of his, there is some pretty serious shit. Racketeering,  four counts of assault with a deadly weapon, money laundry, trafficking…”

“Another Amir Asif.”

“New Zealand’s own. And there’s more. Much more.  We’re talking uttering death threats, threatening a public official, conspiracy to commit murder, accessory to murder. It just goes on and fucking on.”

“How was he even out on the street? With a list like that? He should have been doing at least fifty years if you add all of that up.”

“Money, Tyler. Money. This isn’t just some normal guy. He was the head of very prominent crime family in New Zealand.”

He frowns. “Didn’t McCann say that he met his wife while trying to extract someone from a crime family down there?”

“He wasn’t just extracting someone from any crime family. He was extracting them from this crime family.”

“Jesus fuck,” Tyler runs his hands over his face, rakes a hand through his hair, holding it away from his forehead.

“It gets better. So much better. Or worse. I’m not sure which. Remember what McCann told you? About his wife being a shop keeper?”

Tyler nods.

“That’s bullshit. Her grandmother was the shop keeper. Grandmother on the mother’s side. Remember that part, okay? Heather wasn’t just some innocent caught up in all of this. Just some random off the street. She’s the daughter of an international criminal mastermind. We’re talking a guy that was even wanted by Interpol and still managed to get off. Heather was the extract.”

“Wait…wait…you lost me. What?”

“Heather was who McCann was hired to extract. He was hired by the father. Because the mother had taken off with Heather to get her away from him. He wasn’t there to get someone away from a bad guy. He was working for the bad guy. A bad guy with extensive ties, to, you guessed it, the IRA.”

“This is fucked,” Tyler concludes. “This is quite possibly the most fucked up thing I’ve heard in a long time. That I’ve been mixed up in.”

“It was his very first job. As a mercenary. He left the IRA to become a soldier of fortune. And they took that as a huge slight. Because of all that he knows about them. And because he’s no doubt had to go after some of their members. He’s a traitor to them. But…”

‘Nothing good every comes after ‘but’, Yaz. Nothing.”

“He hasn’t just pissed off the IRA. He’s pissed off everyone associated with the ex father in law. Because he took money from them to do jobs that he never followed through with. We’re talking big money, Tyler. Like millions of dollars. Huge cash. So he’s got the IRA after him and everyone that still has ties and loyalty to his father in law. They both want him.”

“So there’s a huge pissing content going on between the IRA and these other guys.”

“Exactly. This is messed up. And I have seen some messed up shit. One word. Dhaka.”

“Still doesn’t explain the weird feeling I get from the wife,” he gives the waitress a polite smile as she returns with their food and cutlery.

“This is where it gets really interesting,” Yaz says, as he digs into his food, then shoots the waitress a thumbs up from across the coffee house.  He swipes left on the tablet, bringing up school pictures of the McMann children. “This is Emma and Nicholas McMann. Michael and Heather McMann’s two children. Born here in Belfast. Not that that means anything, really, but just bare with me here.  So McMann came home on the twelveth and found his place tossed. Completely trashed. And his wife and the kids missing and a letter, claiming to be from the IRA, saying they were responsible and that they’d be in touch. But he never called the police. He never once reported that his kids or his wife, had been taken.”

“Because he knew that the cops would find out about his own illegal shit.”

“Precisely. He spends a few days trying to take them down. Stirring up some real shit here in Belfast with the IRA, who in turn, turns around and says they have no idea what he’s even talking about. They say it wasn’t them. That they had nothing to do with it and if they wanted him  dead that badly, they would just do it. They wouldn’t do that to kids.”

“So they say. We’ve seen a lot of screwed up shit involving kids, Yaz.”

“I agree. Or normally I would. But I’m starting to think it isn’t the IRA. They’re a proud bunch. When they’re involved in something, they admit it. They adamantly refuse to take any responsibility for this. Which leads us back…”

“To the father in law,” Tyler concludes.

“Which in turn, leads us back to her,” he brings another picture of Heather McCann on the screen. “Guess who runs the books for dear old dead daddy’s people back home. Guess who is the only child of said dead mobster and the executor of his estate and his power of attorney.”

Tyler sighs. “I need something stronger than coffee for this.”

“She’s the ring leader. Supposedly. I can’t really prove that. Not yet. You know,  some of this shit would be a lot easier to dig up it we had an actual experienced intel person. Someone with real hands on experience. That has done all of this before. And really awesomely, I might add.”

“Forget it, Yaz. Don’t even say it. There’s no way I’m agreeing to that and you know it.”

“Esme has tons of contacts,” he reasons. “All over the world. She’s dealt with this kind of thing. Organized crime. In New York City and Philadelphia. I’ve seen her file, Tyler. From the people in North America.”

“You ran a background check on my wife? Just now or…”

“Back when Nik was going to hire her. We had to check things out. Check references. Things like that. You haven’t seen her file but I have. And it’s not just impressive. It is super fucking impressive. The circles that she’s infiltrated, the people she’s got to trust her, the mercenaries that she’s helped get people out of some horrible shit. She doesn’t just know things that regular people know. She knows things that could get a lot of people killed. And if we had her here…”

“Yaz, I said forget it. I am not getting her involved. We have four kids at home. That need their mother.”

“They need their father too. But here you are.”

“I’m not taking their mother away from them. I’m not doing it. So drop it.”

“Tyler, both the IRA and this family know we’re here. They know our names. Our faces. They know we came here and they are pissed. I am not going to be able to get all the information out of them that we need. Esme could come in here and get everything we need and then leave just as fast as she  got here. Look what she was able to do in Dhaka. How successful that part of it was. Now tell me why this is a bad idea.”

“Because she isn’t just some random intel person, Yaz. She’s my wife. The mother of my kids. That’s why. This is insane. Even thinking about dragging her into this. Wasn’t Dhaka enough? Wasn’t that enough bullshit for her to go through? You want me to just bring her into this?”

“It would work. You know it would. You’re just too scared to admit it. Bringing Esme in would save us a whole lot of time.”

“And possibly get her killed.”

“She could have been killed in Dhaka. But she wasn’t. Because you were there to protect her. Just like you would be here.”

“Jesus…” Tyler drags his hand down his face. “…I can’t believe I am listening to this.”

“But you’re considering it. Aren’t you.”

He reluctantly nods.

“It’s the best idea I have. And it’s the only one that will work. And you know that. That’s why you don’t want to admit it. Look, I know it probably scares the shit out of you. Her getting back into this, but we need her Tyler. I know it. You know it.”

“This is insane,” he drops his fork on his now empty plate with a clatter and leans back in booth, hands clasped behind his head.

“What’s the worst she can say? No?”

“How about ‘you’re fucking insane and I want a divorce’.”

“That won’t happen and you know it. Give it some thought. We don’t have a lot of time to play with here. McCann is going to start to wonder why we’re stalling, He’s already getting impatient. Give it a couple hours. Think it over.”

Tyler nods in agreement. “Back to the wife. Explain to me how she’s involved.”

“Like I said, I think she’s the one running the show for dear old dead dad. All signs point to her. I can’t prove it. At least not yet. I think she’s exacting revenge on her husband.”

“For what?”

“Apparently he’s got quite the wandering eye. And a wandering dick.”

“So set all this up…use her children as bait…because her husband can’t keep it in his pants? Seems a little extreme, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think it’s just that. I think she knows he had something to do with her father’s death. And she’s pissed because he’s screwed over all kinds of other people by not doing the jobs he was hired to do. Just pocketing the money. Which in turn, puts targets on her and her kids’ back.”

“So she stages all of this to make it look like she’s not involved but uses her kids for leverage?”

“Like you said, we’ve seen screwed up things involving kids. And this wouldn’t be the worst. Unfortunately.”

“This changes everything. You know that, yeah?”

“You need to be the one to get the kids out, Tyler.  They have to be your priority. You’re responsibility. They’re the only innocent ones in all of this. It has to be you.”

“And if I can only get one?”

“One is better than none.”

He gives a derisive snort, then waves the waitress over and orders another coffee.

“Let McCann go for the wife. Let them kill each other. Who gives a shit at this point. The bad wiping out the bad. But you have to get those kids. They have to be your extracts.”

He sighs heavily, then nods.

“Now call your wife,” Yaz slides Tyler’s cell phone towards him. “Tell her we need her help. Tell her what’s going on. Let her be the one to decide if she wants to get involved or not.”

“If she asks me for a divorce and I get kicked out of my house, I’m coming to sleep on your couch, mate,” he’s only half joking, then palms his cell phone and slips out of the booth.

“Good luck,” Yaz calls after him as he heads for the exit.

****

She answers on the third ring; sounding exhausted, yet still excited to hear from him.

“I thought you wouldn’t call until much later your time,” she says.  “It’s only eight am there. It thought for sure you’d be busy. Tracking people down, kicking some ass. All that kind of stuff.”

“We’ve hit a bit of a roadblock,” Tyler admits, as he slips his sunglasses on and leans against the red brick of the coffee house.  Seeking peace and quiet from the hustle and bustle of the main street by tucking into the neighbouring alley.  From here he can keep an eye on the road; observe those coming down the sidewalk from each direction, leaving different store fronts. The alley leads to a dead end, nothing but dumpsters and back exits. “And maybe I just wanted to call because I wanted to hear your voice. Maybe I miss you.”

“Maybe?” she challenges, and he grins.

“I miss you,” he admits. “A lot. A hell of a lot.”

“I miss you too. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he assures her. “Did I wake you up? What is it? Like eleven there?”

“I’m sitting outside. On the swing. It rained for the better part of the afternoon and it so beautiful out now. There’s a really nice breeze coming in off the mountains. I wish you were here. I miss this part of our night. Sitting out here together. How many times have we actually fallen asleep on this swing?”

“Too many to count,” he says, a smile of reminiscence curving his lips. “The kids were good?”

“Mille finally chilled out. She was much better after I told her to record that video for you. It calmed her right down. She cried a little. At bedtime. Because you weren’t there to tuck her in and read her stories. Maybe you can record yourself reading her one and send it to her. She’d love that. If you find time.”

“I’ll find all the time in the world for her, you know that. How’s the boys?”

“Hanging in there. TJ has his ups and down. Tanner is still being the calm and consoling one. And Declan is Declan. He’s such a little ham. He’s so funny. He’s quite the character already. But what a temper! I’ve never seen anyone pitch a fit like he can! And so strong! I wonder where he gets that from.”

“The being strong or the having a bad temper?”

“Both,” she laughs. “I’m glad you liked the videos. We had so much fun making them. And can you believe the baby has four words now? He’s so smart Tyler. Crazy smart.”

“Like his mom.”

“And he is so close to walking already. You said he would be the one that would walk the earliest. Because of his insanely strong legs. I hope you don’t miss it. I’d really want you to be here when it happens. You missed it with both Millie and the twins. I’d like you to get the chance to see it this time.”

He swallows down the lump of emotion that’s wedged in his throat. “I’d like to see it too. I hope I’m back in time.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks.  “You don’t sound like yourself. There’s something in your voice. I don’t know what it is. But it’s something.”

“I need your help,” he just spits it out. No chill whatsoever. Just straight to the point. “Actually, we need your help. Yaz and I.”

“Okay…” he can hear the squeak of the swing as she stands up. “…with?”

“We’ve been made. Both of us. We were made before we even got off the plane.”

“Shit,” she mutters. “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. I got a visitor in the middle of the night. From whoever is behind all of this. Telling me that I stuck my nose in business I don’t belong in and that I needed to watch my back. They know my name. Where I live. They have pictures. Of all of us.”

“Which is why Nik decided out of nowhere to stay here along with two of her guys. Tyler…”

“I asked her not to tell you. I didn’t want to get you all worked up if it just turned out to be idle threats. They’re just trying to scare me. So I’ll abandon things here.”

“But you’re not. Abandoning things.”

“I’ve got a job to do.”

“The job is obviously fucked. Tyler, you need to come home. Right now. Get on the next plane and get home. Please.”

“I can’t. I need to get those kids. I don’t give a shit about the wife. But I can’t leave those kids. And I know you understand that. Would you want someone leaving our kids?”

“Of course not.. But…”

“Esme, we need your help. I need your help. I can’t get them without you.”

“Tyler, I’m not a mercenary. I wouldn’t know the first thing about extracting someone. And that’s not something I can just learn on the fly.”

“I don’t need help with that. I can do all that stuff. I need your help with intel.”

“You have Yaz there,” she points out.

“Yaz doesn’t know the things you do. He hasn’t done the things you have. I know you’ve been in this before. I know about New York. And Philly.”

She sighs. “How?”

“Yaz told me. He saw it in your file. When Nik did background on you before she gave you the job. I don’t care that you kept that from me. There’s things I’ve done on the job that you don’t know about either. This isn’t about keeping secrets or protecting each other and keeping info away from one another. This is about me needing your help to rescue those kids.”

“I have to admit, there is a perverse satisfaction in hearing you admit you actually need my help something,” she chides, and he can’t help but grin.

“Babe, I wouldn’t call you about this if I had anyone else,” he continues. “You’re the best at this. I know it. You know it. You’ve helped bring down better and bigger. I won’t go too much into it right now. It’s better if I tell you everything in person.”

“Whoa…whoa…in person? Tyler, I have four kids here. They’re already without their father. Now you want me to leave them without their mother too?”

“Look, it’s not what I want. I know it’s not what you want. And the thought of taking you away from them kills me as much as it kills you. But I need you. McCann’s kids need you.”

“Tyler…” another heavy sigh.

“Esme…please…I really need you to do this.”

“Who do I get to watch the kids? I can’t just pull a babysitter out of my ass.”

“Ask Ovi if Chloe would do it.”

“She works.”

“She owns her own business and has her own employees. I’m sure she can trust them to run shit while she takes time off.  Or call your mom.”

“Oh right,” she laughs. “That will go over well.”

“I’ll call her then.”

“That would just be even worse! What would you say? ‘I need you to watch your grandkids so your daughter can come to Ireland and help me kick some ass’?”

“Something like that. Babe, this is serious. These people know who we are. We aren’t going to get anything out of them.”

“And you think I’ll be able to?” she inquires.

“I know you’ll be able to,” Tyler confidently replies.

“You are something else,” she mumbles, and then falls into a long, almost painful silence.

“Esme?”

“I’m here. I’m cursing you out, but I’m here. Are your ears ringing? Because they should be. Jesus, Tyler. You honestly can not be serious about this.”

“I am. Dead serious. You’re the best at this type of thing. And we need the best. Especially with the kind of people we’re going against.”

“Which you’ll tell me all about when I get there,” she concludes.  “I need a few hours. At least. I would need to call my mom and have Ovi get a hold of Chloe. This isn’t going to be an instant thing. I have to book a flight and…”

“Ask Nik. She’ll arrange one for you. She’s got great connections.”

“Fine,” she huffs. “I’ve got to and get shit together. I’ll call you. As soon as everything is ironed out and I know when I’ll be there. This is insane, Tyler. You’re insane.”

“Maybe. But you love me.”

“Only one days that end in Y. I’ll call you. Soon.”

“I love you,” he tells her. “And thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And I love you too. I’ll see you in a little while.”

“I’ll see you when I see you,” he says.

“Yes,” he can hear the smile in her voice. “You will.”

[saedii-gilwraeth-simp]

TDC Hogwarts HC

Because your Hogwarts house says a lot about you.

We’ll start with our queens

Katharine would be either a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff and would be a confusing person to sort, but I think in the end she would be a Ravenclaw

It is canon that she likes to hide out in the library and that she did actually work her ass off to be a good poisoner and throughout the series she constantly tries to solve her problems with careful consideration.

Is a solid quidditch commentator but split between three different loyalties which is a segway into...

Mirabella is a Hufflepuff and a half. Not even a question.

She is a keeper (haha you see what I did there) on the quidditch team and she can be a little competitive but she mostly just tries to win for all her friends on her team. 

She works so hard to protect the people she loves and will claw the eyes out of anyone who fucks with her squad, which is quintessential honey badger Hufflepuff.

Arsinoe, the queen of half a brain cell, is quite obviously a Gryffindor.

She is so brave but can be so stupid sometimes. 100% plays quidditch, is a beater because she likes hitting things which is honestly fair.

Somehow succeeded in seducing a Ravenclaw. One of her top achievements (get it?), if she does say so herself.

And providing the second half of the brain cell, is fellow Gryffindor Jules Milone

Also a beater, because dream team, has taken more than one hit to the leg which has caused some damage but “who needs both legs to fly amiright?”

In an even more amazing feat, succeeding in seducing a Slytherin, which as a Gryffindor, comes with significant bragging rights because we love some house rivalry.

Emilia is a Slytherin. Is like a fantale, hard on the outside, soft on the inside (bad analogy considering I have ripped teeth out with fantales but oh well)

Is a chaser and has knocked many a keeper nearly off their brooms with the force with which she throws.

Makes out with her girlfriend in shady parts of dungeons and wherever it will gross out Arsinoe because she has to keep some of the rivalry alive

Billy was also a Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw toss up, but also ended up being a Ravenclaw.

Is honestly so tired all the time bc he has to use his intellect to deal with thing 1 and thing 2 shenanigans and has yet to learn to stop asking how they ended up in said shenanigans.

Rides a broom but doesn’t play quidditch, it’s more of a catharsis thing which works so well for some reason (fun fact; the reason is actually locker room makeout sessions with Gryff girlfriend) 

Pietyr is unquestionably a Slytherin

Arrons are like Blacks. Generations upon generations of Slytherins. Plays as a seeker on the quidditch team.

Proudest achievement is using the pickup line “can I slyther-in to your chamber of secrets?” on Kat and it working. A messy bitch who lives for drama and we are all 100% into it.

Joseph is the Filch of this headcanon. Squib bitch.

Elizabeth is a Hufflepuff while Bree Westwood is a Gryffindor

Mathilde is a Ravenclaw (the Luna Lovegood if you would)

Luke Gillespie (who needs more love in my opinion) is a Hufflepuff

Some random thoughts:

I know the marauders were four people but consider this, I don’t care bc Arsinoe, Jules, Kat, Mira and Emilia make a marauders map that is so detailed cause they’re from all different houses.

Emilia is good at defence against the dark arts, Jules is good at defence, herbology and care of magical creatures, Mira is good at charms and transfiguration, Kat is a jack of all trades, master of none, Billy and Luke love care of magical creatures but both adopt random muggle chickens that got on the grounds somehow. Arsinoe and Pietyr have been battling it out for six years for 1st in Potions (right now, Arsinoe is winning)

Billy fell in love with Arsinoe because he caught her sneaking around the restricted section at midnight, wearing glasses she normally charms away. They immediately got into a hushed argument about not being allowed to be there. They also immediately got detention for being out past curfew like idiots.

Emilia fell in love with Jules because Jules was willing to argue with her about what the  best broom was in the middle of diagon alley. She sill hadn’t given up by the first game of the season. They graduate and she still hasn’t given up lol.

Pietyr fell in love with Kat bc she could answer every single question a professor asks, but she does it so quietly that he can only tell bc he sits next to her. It’s cute, according to him.

Arsinoe and Jules currently have bragging rights because Gryffindor took home the quidditch cup this year. Pietyr and Emilia are joining together to scheme how to take it back but have to be weary to do it fairly or Mira will have their heads.

[beerecordings]

A Shadow Overcast

Part 19 of My Brother’s Keeper (Part 1 l Previous l Next)

This chapter is dedicated to a dear fren. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. hap birth my dear <333

ALSO @starlightxnightmare I have been waiting for MONTHS to tell you this but you noticed this discrepancy like FIVE CHAPTERS AGO OR SOMETHING LOL i saw your tags and i was like DAMN I’M TRANSPARENT. you asked the exact question that Chase asks in this chapter. love you you genius. enjoy.

My taglist is a separate post. You can ask to be added or removed. I am trying to make sure if it is up to date so seriously please tell me if you want to be taken off! and actually if you wouldn’t mind I would love to hear that you still want to be on the list if you are right now. I don’t know that everyone is still reading anymore and I don’t want to be bugging you!

Anyway. Chapter.

Marvin’s house is full of nightmares, and the magician himself is not there to enchant his brothers to safer sleep. Together, the four of them are shadowed and haunted, fighting and falling, losing grips to cling to with every day that passes.

Jameson Jackson has always dreamed vividly.

He is not the only one.

Blood and the silver gleam of a knife become chemicals at the nape of the brain stem, and Henrik dreams.

He's been taken out of his little prison cell. His handcuffs were removed, the blood was wiped from his cheeks, and careful hands made swaddling of white bandages around his torn flesh and tired ribs. The bone of his left wrist protrudes from his skin, broken in a single motion by Anti's hands not two days before, but it, like everything else in the world, has ceased to hurt him.

Warm is the darkness, gone the cold light.

“Isn't this easier?” asks Anti, not angry, or cold, or even condescending. His voice has the same tone as the night sky, when the stars have escaped from the light and stand singing in the shadow of infinity. “Don't you want to stay with me?”

Henrik is entranced.

Henrik is lost, is found, is lying, exhausted, on Anti's chest, his bruised eyes closed and his mouth, blue as heliotrope, still and silent. He manages a slow nod. Tears leave dark wet patches on Anti's soft black shirt. The demon strokes his hair.

“Yeah, this is better,” Anti hums, burrowing closer to him under the covers of the bed and letting his chin rest on top of Henrik's head.

The doctor's flayed hands reach out to wrap around him, clutching at his sides, at his back, at his thin sharp spine, at his warmth. He is dazed, exhausted, collapsing, in love; he is consumed and adoring, and yes, Anti is right – this is better, this is easier, so much better, so much easier! The warmth is becoming heat and he is shaking, panting, weeping, ill, and for a second something bright and painful explodes through his awareness and he whimpers, but Anti is here to soothe it away with the same hands that have tortured him, tortured him, tortured him –

He wakes up.

Tears cling to his dark eyelashes. The moon has slid in beneath the blinds of his window, coating his blue blankets in recycled sunlight. There's something very warm wrapped around his waist.

Check that. Someone.

Jameson shivers in his sleep, clinging tight to Henrik's shirt and breathing low and slow against his shoulder. For a second, Henrik is repulsed so strongly that he gags, but his disgust is not directed at his little brother.

So fucking pathetic, his brain tells itself. So fucking pathetic. Still craving Anti?

He'd been in recovery, before Anti took him again. He'd been doing alright. He'd forgotten it was possible to hate himself this much – to hate himself so much it makes his chest burn and his heart stutter and his fingers curl up with a desperation that he can't even express in words.

He's sobbing, sobbing like his heart is broken, but he'll be damned if he wakes up his little brother, his little brother who trusts him and only him, his little brother who comes to him weeping and curls up in his arms like he isn't afraid or disgusted by him, who loves him in the simplest and most pure way, a way he doesn't deserve; no, he won't wake Jameson up. He won't wake Jameson up. He'll get up and have something to calm him down, and then he'll come back to bed before the cold wakes jumpy JJ up.

Inch by inch, wiping furiously at the tears in his eyes, Henrik slips out of his bed and limps to his drawer, pulling out his medicine.

“Two tablets before sleep,” prescribes the bottle helpfully. “Do not take more than six tablets in twenty-four hours.”

Henrik pours two pills into his hand and pops them both in his mouth together, swallowing them dry and pausing to breathe afterwards. He turns, for a moment, to glance at his friend. The moon colors an old cut at the bottom of Jameson's throat white and makes his dark bruises, still stagnant after a week of recovery, seem to glow through the cold night light.

How am I supposed to convince the little one that Anti is dangerous when I can't even convince myself? How am I supposed to keep him with me when Anti has that kind of power to offer and I have nothing? How long will he be here with me before Anti steals us both away again? If only he had never been taken. If only I had never been taken. If only I had never been created. God, God! Do I have to live through this shame again?

Death feels close and tastes like a sleeping tablet.

He takes a third pill.

Crawling back into bed, Jameson shifts and curls, digging his chin into his shoulder, and Henrik, breathing in the sweet coconut smell his little brother has adopted, goes back to sleep.

Marvin's house is the only place in the world he and his family are safe. It is no longer a comforting thought. He is tired.

Henrik von Schneeplestein has long been haunted.

He is not the only one.

“Where are you?” whispers Jackie, clutching at the torn remnants of a red cape. “Where are you? Please come home.”

The wind whips loud around him, striking blows against his flesh and tearing at his hair. He grits his teeth against the cutting air and steps forward, forward, farther along the beam of the crane.

Brighton is beautiful 100 meters in the air.

“Where are you?” he screams. “Where, where, where? Don't tell me you're gone, I can't take it! Please, please, come home!”

His boots slip against the metal of the beam, but he gasps and sways and steadies again, inching closer, closer to the edge.

He can't fly.

His body is so fucking shattered, he's so fucking weak, and his little brother will not be there to catch him, will not douse him in blue light and grab his hand, laughing as they rise together, twins and friends and brothers, hallowed by the moon while Jackie fills up with his own homemade sunshine, a hero, a star –

“Focus!” shouts Marvin, and Jackie lets out a scream as he finds his brother all too suddenly before him, his long hair blown wildly about by the wind. He hovers above him like a specter, glorious and beautiful and angrier than Jackie's ever seen him, teeth gritted. “Focus, Astrifer!”

“On what?” he demands, bewildered and terrified, retreating away from this ghost in the air before him, but Marvin follows without hesitation, setting his feet down on the beam of the crane and reaching out a white hand.

“I love you!” he cries. “But I need you to stop crying out! I need you to watch over them!”

“What are you talking about?” gasps Jackie. The wind drags tears from his eyes. “Where are you, please, tell me you're alive, come home, I can't bear this – ”

“Bear it,” says Marvin.

A dream of Marvin, anyway. Jackie's Marvin was never so cold.

“Bear it, protect them. There is all of time and no time at all.”

His hand points back towards the body of the crane. Panting like his heart will give out, Jackie turns his eyes away from Marvin and back towards the darkness.

“S-Seán?” he stammers, catching sight of a silhouette in the darkness.

And there, holding his creator over the edge of a crane tall enough to build skyscrapers, sits Jameson Jackson, staring back at him, one eye blue and one eyes black.

“Enemy or brother?” cries Marvin, over the howling of the wind, terrible and oppressive and endless, a constant, constant, constant enemy cutting close on every side.

“I don't know!” shouts Jackie. “I'm scared!”

“Choose,” answers Marvin. “It is Anti who taught you fear and you must be courageous again, or what you have left will not be yours for much longer.”

Jackie screams, falling to his knees, clinging to the beam beneath his feet. Somewhere far away, he thinks he can hear Chase and Henrik crying out in answer, but in the darkness he can catch no glimpse of them.

“Go back to them,” says Marvin, stepping away.

“Wait,” cries Jackie. “Wait, please.”

“Please, stop begging for me.”

“Why can't I go with you?” he howls. “Why won't you come home?”

Marvin calls an answer, but Jackie is no longer listening. He staggers back to his feet and turns away from Seán and Jameson, moving towards the end of the beam again, trembling and elated, terrified and desperate.

“I want to go with you,” he shouts, and he sees Marvin's mouth move in the shape of his name, and then he has reached the end of the crane and his foot reaches out over nothingness and still he is stepping towards him.

The fire alarm erupts into shrieking and Jackie comes awake screaming and covered in tears, shaking with fever and bleeding from the mouth. Falling, he had bitten his tongue hard enough for the blood to come.

He scrambles out of bed, covering his ears against the crying of the fire alarm, and groans as his chest and back light up with fire. Pausing, he tumbles against the bulletin boards on his wall, strings and pushpins holding together theories and clues, only to find himself staring at his missing persons board, not yet up to date, where Marvin and Jameson's screenshot faces smile back at him from the days when they were both healthy and whole and his.

And he is just the coward who could not save them, coated in a hundred scars and deserving of every one of them, crying so hard he cannot breathe, while his brothers are fighting fire in the next room over.

“You're drunk.”

“Shhh,” pleads Chase, as if Jameson's signing were a shout. “Shhh, I'm not, I'm not, don't say that – ”

“I can tell from the way you move.” Jameson ducks away from his soothing hands, vaguely irritated. “And you would never burn the sausage sober.”

The fire alarm has shut up, but only because they took the batteries out. The whole room is full of smoke. The sausage is very burned. Chase is drunk.

“Cut me some slack, Jamie, I've been having bad dreams and I just needed a break from them. Lately I feel like – ”

“Are you drunk?”

Chase startles to see Henrik appeared halfway down the staircase, glaring across the room.

“N-no,” he answers, grinning flimsily. “Just, uh. Fucked up the sausage. Sorry for setting off the alarm.”

“Jamie,” says Henrik, frowning at him. “Is he drunk?”

Jameson glances between the two of them, considering. Survival is a game and even small decisions like this should be carefully weighed out.

He doesn't want to stress Schneep out, he decides. It's upsetting for the whole house, himself included.

“Don't think so,” he tells Henrik, relaxing against the kitchen counter and grinning. “Just a klutz.”

Henrik stares down at them for a long moment.

“I'm going back to bed,” he grumbles, retreating back up the stairs.

“Thanks, Jay,”  sighs Chase, only feeling a little guilty. Better than getting caught, right?

“Why do you get drunk?”

“Shit, I don't know, cause I'm a fucking moron?” He sighs deep and rubs at his face, opening the door to air out some of the smoke he's created. “It helps me sleep, I guess. Been having bad dreams. And I just – I don't know, kind of anxious lately. You and Schneep are back but... no one else.”

Jameson blinks. Maybe he's just talking about Jack being asleep, but some part of him understands that that's not who he means.

A sixth brother.

Anti only ever spoke about him when he was in what Jameson considered a gentle mood. While the mask might be discussed over a good beating or a pool of blood, the cat was a bedtime horror story, a being whispered of when Anti's arms were around his stomach, his warnings more genuine than his affection.

“Why do they call him a magician?” asked Jameson once, his mouth trembling. “What can he do?”

“Everything,” Anti answered in a whisper. “I don't know the full extent of it.”

“I don't know” was no common phrase in their house.

“I don't know enough to be sure. And so you must assume, my little heart, that the answer is 'everything.'”

Anti leaned in close and kissed his cheek, and when he drew away, there was no one in the world who would have said the softness in his gaze was false.

“Be careful,” murmured Anti, touching his cheek. “If he ever finds a way past me, he will kill you, Dapper. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Anti.”

He buried his face in his brother's shoulder, stroking the hair at the back of his neck, trying to offer comfort.

“I understand.”

“Good boy.”

“C-H?” he asks now, turning up his gaze, still not sure what to name his brother. “I want to ask you something.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Where's the cat?”

Down the hall, there is an empty room that still smells of incense and flowers.

“Oh!” Chase grins, turning to him with bright eyes. “You saw him wandering around, huh?”

So he is here! Jameson has been wondering all week where he lives, why he isn't with the others, what happened to him. He sits up straight in his seat, calculating quickly about the danger he might be in. Chase wouldn't let him get hurt, right? Anti warned him about Jackie, too, but Chase and Henrik have kept him safe so far.

“You want to meet him?”

“Is he... friendly?”

“Yeah, super friendly! That one is, anyway. Come on, let's go try to find him.”

“What – outside?”

“Yeah, he spends most of his time outside.”

Jameson's eyes widen. “You'll come outside with me?”

Chase laughs. “I swear you're like a dog when it comes to going on walks. You're a wild man, Jays. Yeah, let's go outside! Fresh air'll probably do my dumb ass some good.”

Jameson's face splits in a wide grin. For a second, he is little different from the man in the video last Halloween, bright and delighted, energetic and expressive, and it makes Chase laugh aloud, instantly cheered. Bolstered by his delight, Jameson jumps down from the kitchen stool and darts to the back door, yanking it open, finding it unlocked, and leaping into the snow.

“Dude!” Chase protests, but he's only laughing harder. “Shoes, you complete pantaloon! Shit, and a coat – can you wait two goddamn seconds?”

Jameson grins and steps down from a wood porch as Chase runs off to get him something to wear. Beneath the slushy spring-touched snow he can feel soft dead grass, and the air cuts like something cleaner and more beautiful than even the blade of a fresh knife across his skin and through his downy hair. Breathing in deep, he propels himself forward and leaps, cartwheeling across the white landscape, picking up snow and tossing it in the air, freed as Anti used to free him.

Days when he was allowed outside were his favorite days. They lived far from civilization – the closest highway was some miles away, not that he knew which direction – and what had once been farmland had become mires of old wheat fields and copses of heavy peaceful trees. The cold rarely stopped him, but then again there were days where he had feared it, like the day the door to the house had accidentally locked and he was stuck outside for hours, weeping as he froze, knocking and pounding for Anti to come save him, his fingers turning white, and then red, and then purple...

He still loved going outside, though. He just never thought anybody would want to come with him. He's not really worth spending time around.

“Here you go,” Chase says, coming up beside him and taking his hands in his own, shoving a pair of soft mittens over his fingers. Jameson blinks up at him, warmed.

“And the coat,” Chase adds, helping him stick his arms into it. Jameson pulls it tight around him and drags the fabric up to his nose, shivering and sighing contentedly into the warmth.

“Here, put my boots on too. We'll have to get you some clothes of your own soon! Maybe next week we can go, if Schneep's feeling safe about it.”

“New clothes for me?”

“Yeah, of course. And anything else you need. I think we could start making that spare room your room, you know? We'll get some decorations or books or something.”

Jameson stares up at him, tugging the second boot onto his foot.

“Everything okay?” asks Chase, frowning. He's wrapped up in a coat and a beanie, wet snow soaking into his sneakers.

Jameson swallows hard, a tsunami of guilt and shame, love and gratitude, uncertainty and caution welling up in his throat.

He wants to keep you, says something in the back of his head. He doesn't plan to throw you out at all. And you're just planning to leave.

Well, answers a darker, angrier part of him, the part of him that wants to tell Chase to fuck off and to run away into the forest and finds his way back to – to what? What's waiting for him? Anti told me the same, that he meant to keep me. That's why we're here. People lie, Jameson.

Chase slings an arm around him and JJ jumps. “Sorry,” Chase chuckles. “I'll warn you next time. Is this okay?”

Jameson reaches up to touch the hand set on his shoulder, turning his head to look into Chase's eyes. The weight of Chase's arm is the best kind of heaviness. He isn't afraid to touch him at all, and only a week ago Jameson had him at gunpoint, glaring down at him with hatred in his eyes.

He always loved Anti, but he would never have called him “good.” Even in his earliest days, he was cognizant of the reality that there was a great cruelty in his brother, and he saw very little goodness in Anti, in the house, in the world around him.

He thinks Chase is probably what goodness looks like.

“Yes,” he knocks. “It's okay.”

For a second, Chase smiles at him so soft that Jameson thinks he's probably what happiness looks like too.

“Sweet!” he says, squeezing his shoulder. “Let's go find that cat, man!”

Chase shoots Henrik a text to tell him they'll be out for a while and they set off into the forest, Jameson still hugged under his brother's arm. Chase can tell he's enjoying himself from the brightness of his eyes and the energy of his step as he wanders beside him, his gaze following the swift brown birds through the sky and the dripping of water from the the dark branches of the trees.

And Athanasius doesn't make himself hard to find. They've only been walking for about twenty minutes when he appears.

“Meow!” he greets them, sprinting up to Chase's side, pressing his head up against his calves, yowling noisily. He's a loud-mouthed cat and always has been. Chase always loved that. He laughs and scoops the little grey cat into his arms, scratching enthusiastically at his ears.

“Hey there, good boy,” he grins, pushing their foreheads together. “How you living, buddy? Ate the last of my fish yesterday, you know. I'll get you more, don't worry.”

He turns around with the cat in his arms, expecting a smile or maybe some tentative attempts to pet him from his little brother, but Jameson just looks confused.

Bewildered, really.

“Um, you good?” he asks, laughing uncertainly.

Jameson stares at Athanasius. “That's... the cat?”

“Yeah?” frowns Chase, double-checking the sign for cat in his head. “Oh! Maybe you were expecting Queenie, huh? You've seen her around, have you? This is Athanasius. Don't ask me why Marvin named him that. He told me once, but it was something about immortality and magic and names he found funny – anyway, this is the cat.”

Jameson bursts into laughter.

“What?” stammers Chase, taking his turn at complete confusion. “What's so funny? Jameson?”

“Holy shit,” says Jameson. He never takes the time to sign curse words, but this – holy fuck. “Anti used to tell me all these stories about how dangerous he is and what a threat and a monster and then you tell me we're going to meet him and you turn around holding – ”

He doubles in on himself, his chest shaking hard. Chase can't help but join him in laughter, setting Athanasius down. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The cat,” Jameson repeats, as if it's obvious, and very funny to boot. “The cat – what was that name you just said? I didn't know his name, the three of you don't talk about him. The magician.”

Chase stills, staring. Athanasius sits down beside him, his head tilted up at Jameson. In the trees, the birds have fallen into respectful silence.

Like a vigil.

“Marvin?” whispers Chase.

His voice breaks down the middle of the word. Jameson stops laughing.

“Yes,” he says softly. “That name. Are you okay?”

“I,” says Chase.

Marvin. Marvin. Marvin.

“I'm fine,” he whispers.

Anti used to tell him stories.

Used to tell him he was dangerous.

Used to call him a threat.

“Anti warned you about him?”

Chase can taste his heart in his mouth. It is difficult to breathe. A euphoria is beginning in his chest.

“Anti warned you about Marvin?”

Jameson stares at him. Looks down at his hands.

Knocks “yes,” gently.

“Yes, he warned me.”

Chase wonders that the whole forest does not sing. His heart does.

“Alive!” he screams, so loudly even Athanasius goes scrambling away from him, and then he takes off at a sprint back the way they came, towards Jackie and Henrik and the house their brother gave him, their Marvin, the cat, the magician. “Alive, alive, alive!”

He's been wondering so long.

“Jackie!” he cries, bursting into the house through the back door, panting hard. Is he really so out of shape? Fuck it, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters but this. He darts down the hallway, showing up in Jackie's open doorway looking like a wild thing, bright-eyed with tears.

He’s been wondering where his big brother is for so, so long.

“What the hell?” demands Jackie weakly, trying to sit up straight in his chair. “Chase, chill.”

He couldn't go back to sleep after the fire alarm. He's just been sitting here, thinking.

Are you really gone? reads a sticky note on one of his bulletin boards, stuck next to a polaroid of Marvin's face, smiling as he holds up a shut-eyed silver kitten, healthy and safe, happy, unharmed...

“Jackie.” Chase draws his attention back. “Jackie, Marvin's alive.”

He feels so many things at once he feels nothing at all.

“Chase,” he whispers, turning away again.

“I mean it! Jameson said so!”

“Jameson – no, he didn't. Or if he did... Look – just – come on, man, don't do this to me, I'm exhausted.”

“He told me Anti warned him about Marvin. That he told him he was dangerous. He wanted to meet him! Look, Jackie, I know how long we've searched. I know how long you tried to find him. And I know it doesn't look good, with all that blood that was on the floor where he was – and his broken mask – and the hand Anti cut off – and I know it's weird that Jameson and Schneep have never seen Marvin in captivity with them, like it seems like Anti would have kept them all together or at least nearby, but – ”

Jackie buries his face in his hands, trying to breathe. He can't handle this right now. He can't handle this ever.

“But Jameson said so and why would he lie?”

“I can think of a lot of reasons, actually,” gripes out Jackie. “Upsetting us, for one. Or Anti told him to. What if he's trying to lead us out of the house? Bet he'll tell you a location next. 'You can find Marvin here!' And then we all get caught by Anti.”

“You don't mean that.”

“Pretty sure I do. Let's not do this now, Chase.”

“Jackie, listen!” Chase moves to his side, gripping the back of his chair and spinning him around so that they stand side by side, but his brother still fails to meet his eyes. “Jameson asked me where he was. He doesn't think Marvin's dead. Don't you think Anti would have told him if he had killed Marv? Why would Anti warn him about him if he was gone? I bet he would be crowing it from the rooftops if he had managed to kill our Marvin. He would have told Jameson.”

“Chase,” says Jackie, just quietly, his nails digging into the end of his arm rests. “Jameson also didn't know that Jack was in a coma. I heard Henrik explaining it to him two days ago.”

“He knew Jack was in hospital. And asleep. I think that counts.”

“Didn't know my name or Marvin's, never once used the word coma – and there's a sign for it, one he knows, I checked – doesn't even know that Anti's had two attempts on Jack's life. Or that I've been fucking crippled since the day Anti beat me. How's that for something Anti should have been crowing from the rooftops?”

Chase pauses and licks his lips, rocking back on his heels. “Okay, fine,” he concedes. “That's weird, but it still doesn't make sense for Anti to not have told... well, yeah, I would think he would have told him that Jack was in a coma and Marvin was dead, but...”

Jackie runs his hands over his face. “Anti didn't tell the little man much, okay? It doesn't mean anything. I'm sorry, I wish it did – trust me, I fucking wish it meant anything. But it just... doesn't.”

There's a lump somewhere low in Chase's throat. “Why are you so determined to say it isn't true? Don't you want Marvin to be alive? You've given up on him.”

Jackie's on his feet so fast Chase nearly tumbles backwards, but his brother grabs him by the collar of his shirt and yanks him close, so Chase can't miss the fury in his eyes. The lights are brighter than they were a moment ago. For a second, Chase stares right back at Jackie, his mouth drawn in a snarl, but then his will breaks and tears spark in his blue eyes.

Jackie softens, regret replacing rage. He lets Chase go and sinks back down, slowly, into his chair. He curls in on himself, his chest aching and his heart beating too fast. He looks old. He looks small. The lights have gone dark again and everything is still.

“Chaser,” Jackie croaks. “Will you please go get Henrik? Anti told me something and I think it's time you both heard.”

“What?”

“Please go get Henrik.”

“Where's Marvin?”

“Go get Henrik. Go get Henrik.”

Chase obeys. Henrik comes. And Jackie, in a voice as small as a star-speck and as shaky as a knife-wound, tells them what Anti said.

Jameson has heard screaming many times – screams of anger, of pain, of fury, of fear. Screams of grief, as he finds out that day, are the most horrible of them all.