#I may have a mildly severe obsession with this man | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hongism · 2 years ago

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mists of celeste ➻ 49

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst ➻ word count: 19.7k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, talks of abuse & violence, minor violence, smut ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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act seven ➻ part one

What rots away at your insides in the days that follow is nothing pretty — a deep profound obsession that drives your hatred towards a particular man into the skin until it sits engraved there, with wounds oozing blood all the while.

“Have you seen Nightingale around?”

Soojin jerks her chin up at the sudden interruption of your voice cutting through whatever pretty silence she constructed for herself. You feel bad, though only mildly, for disturbing her without warning. It’s become somewhat common to find her in the mess hall these days, with Luca off to the side with the two resident Berserkers. Your stare lingers on Mingi for a few more seconds than necessary. The last conversation you shared with the man rings in your ears like it was mere minutes ago and not several days.

“Um, training room I think? That’s where he’s been hanging around at least.” Soojin passes you a little half-hearted smile. You don’t doubt that your discomfort and likely unabashed anger is on full display to her; however, she opts not to ask further about your reasons for asking, so you deign not to say anything other than a quiet ‘thank you’ and nod your head.

Mingi shifts where he’s kneeling close to the child. His gaze finds yours the second you turn to head out, stopping you in your tracks and forcing you to return the fierce eye contact for several seconds. You let it stagnate for too long, apparently, because the Berserker stands without warning and moves in your direction. You don’t consider your next move to be one of avoidance, though it must look like that to anyone else aside from you with how you retreat the way you came and head for the arched doorway leading out. Mingi persists still.

“Ghost.”

“Yes?” You only stop to turn when the two of you are far enough away from both Soojin and Jongho.

“I hope what I said to you the other night hasn’t been on your mind too much.”

“…Hardly.” Something else has been in its place — a messy conglomeration of anger, frustration, and other emotions you haven’t paused to address internally yet. You got to see the full picture Mingi had been painting for you that night days later in any case.

“That’s—” he inhales sharply and goes rigid for a moment, so still that you almost think someone has crept up behind you to interrupt the conversation but it’s still just the two of you near the edge of the room. A noise of realization slips from your lips. How hard is it to lie to a man who can feel every bit of the emotions radiating off you in waves?

“I understand what you meant now. I do.”

“I had wished to apologize and to… to let you know that what I said was untrue. I apologize for misleading you.” Mingi’s expression is surprisingly genuine in comparison to his words, though you know you won’t find whatever sincerity you seek in his tone regardless.

“I don’t believe that,” you start in a whisper, “and I doubt you do either.”

Mingi’s full lips twitch into what seems to be a fight against a smile.

“Ever so perceptive.”

“Were you ordered to apologize?”

“No.” Mingi smiles truly now. Without showing his teeth in any fashion, the gesture comes across as more terrifying than reassuring. “What I said to you was my personal opinion. I cannot be crucified for an opinion. I’m telling you that I was wrong because my opinion has changed. Although, perhaps there is nothing and no one more dangerous than a woman scorned.” You duck your chin as you laugh, trying to hide the noise behind your hand, though when you look back up at Mingi, he is chuckling too. “Yunho told me that once, you can blame him.”

“Noted. I’ll be sure to file a complaint. In the meantime—” Mingi raises his eyebrows at you as though echoing a silent question “—thank you for looking out for me. All is well between San and myself now.”

“But not you and the captain.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You get this certain look about you when you’re pissed at him in particular.” When Mingi grins at you next, you can’t keep your laughter in any longer. “I don’t know if it’s of any consolation to you, but if you do wish to speak with the captain, he has not been inviting any guests to the bridge these days aside from myself. So while there wouldn’t be total privacy, there would be some level of it at least with the lieutenant’s absence.”

“If I didn’t know better, Mingi, I might say you are trying to start a fight.” You keep your tone above the belt so to speak — kind enough to imply simple jokes if Mingi chooses to read it as such. The Berserker glances over his shoulder then over at you briefly.

“It might amuse me thoroughly to see you swing a few punches at him before having to intervene,” he says under his breath, and as surprise starts to hit and drag through your body, the man turns his back to you to walk back the way he came. Mingi at least seems to understand you on a fundamental level; in a regard to how you expunge your feelings with some form of confrontation, and perhaps you and the Berserker share overlap in such areas. He has been no stranger to confrontation himself in the past. The arena itself is the perfect example of such a thing, where he was driven by a simple desire to do something. Feel something, do something in return. Eye for an eye in a strange sense — you made me feel this way so I am doing this to you as a response to those feelings. He’s far from unintelligent by any means; if anything, Mingi is a lot smarter than all of the people you share the ship with.

Rather than complicating matters with seedy lies and interweaving half-truths to make things seem more honest than they are, Mingi allows for the perspective of “one plus one equals two, so why complicate it beyond that?”, and he pushes a compelling argument into your hands. The temptation of whacking your captain across the face is a delightful one. Even if there wasn’t an abundance of anger stirring in your gut because of his actions, you think he has fully warranted several punches just on account of his existence.

Simplifying things in such ways, however, is far from your forte.

And there is still the desire to address the sea of lies and half-truths Nightingale presented to you when you asked rather straightforward questions upon first meeting him. You could gain absolutely nothing from this confrontation or you could garner more ammunition to fire into Hongjoong when you inevitably seek out that fight.

Finding the man you’re after is indeed as simple as going to the training room, though the sight that awaits you beyond the door is not at all what you were anticipating. You’ve been in the room several times by now, becoming quite familiar with the layout of everything inside, and even though you have been slacking since you got back from Rathmos, you cannot imagine the room to have changed so much in such little time. Nightingale finds you, instead, frozen by the door with what can only be rampant confusion on your expression.

“Don’t give me that look, it’s only temporary. Need a firing range somewhere to keep sharp.” He motions behind him with his prosthetic arm, tilting his chin in a way that makes the choppy pink strands of hair atop his head flop around. “You’re welcome to use it as you see fit while it’s up though.”

With the explanation, the sight before your eyes makes much more sense. Haphazard targets that look to be crude metal cut-outs of vaguely human form now occupy the far end of the training room, where the (albeit very minimal) row of training dummies used to sit against the wall. Those have been moved as well, brought forward some to spread throughout what Nightingale has added.

“Is anyone aware of your interior decorating skills?” you ask as you push further into the room.

“Ha ha, no one mentioned that you’re the funny one around here. And yes, I was given permission to do as I please while I’m here. Thus—” the man waves a hand through the air in a rather dismissive fashion, tacking on a forced smile at the end of his response. Pressing your lips into a thin line, you return the gesture. “If you’re gonna just stand there, get over here and join me. Clearly you have some reason for being here.”

The bounty hunter extends a hand in your direction, fingers clasped around the barrel of a pistol, and he presents the grip to you without waiting for your agreement one way or another.

“I do want to ask you a few questions, yes.” He doesn’t let go of the weapon immediately, even after you try to take it from him. You still find it wildly unsettling to look at that fake eye so you dip your chin and clear your throat. He lets go seconds later without pushing the topic further, passing the metaphorical ball back into your side of the court for the next play to come. “Starting with an explanation of what your relationship towards Hongjoong truly is.” Part of you is nervous to ask such a thing because the man is full of so many unknowns, and in your mind’s eye, you could be traversing into very dangerous territory. Without knowing for certain that your safety is guaranteed in his hands, you’re left to eye the pistol that he takes into his hands and weighs carefully.

As though offering up a warning of your own, you take aim at one of the mangled metal targets and press your finger over the trigger, letting the gun fire its bullet forward. It hits as intended, and if the head had features attached to it, your bullet would have landed between its eyes. Nightingale huffs out a laugh through his nose.

“Now you know, huh?”

Again, you fire; this time at a different target though with the same intention. When your bullet lands again, you lower the pistol to your side and look over at the bounty hunter.

“Why did you lie?”

“Why are you believing every word out of San’s mouth?” he counters just as quickly, but it doesn’t catch you off-guard the way he clearly intends for it to. “He’s the one who talked to you, no? I doubt it was Seonghwa given how much he wants to avoid what Hongjoong and San both did back then, and it certainly wasn’t the man of the hour himself. So why are you hanging onto every word, taking every little thing San is telling you at face value?” Nightingale’s fake eye is oddly expressive for all the tech and hardware glowing through the sclera. “Did he not tell you how he manipulated me? What game did he play to do so, I truly wonder, Ghost? How did he tell you? Were you in bed? Were his hands on you, telling you foul and hideous words with his lips but touching you so gently with his fingertips?”

He succeeds now in pushing discomfort far into your veins. You lift the gun in your hand a second time if only to distract yourself from his words but he’s already accomplished his goal.

“He explained very gruesome details about it all,” you say through gritted teeth, “but it would be odd to lie about that.”

“But not impossible, no?”

You draw your lips together until your teeth start to ache from the pressure you’re putting against them.

“My eye was taken by your captain, Ghost, but my arm — my arm was taken by your captain’s dog.”

Your finger fumbles on the trigger at the shock revelation, and you don’t have the mind to correct your angle before the gun is firing off a shot into the wall adjacent to one of the targets. Nightingale lurches forward, artificial fingers pressing down hard on the barrel of the gun to lower it once more.

“Try not to go blowing holes in your captain’s ship unless you want the same done to you,” he offers. His hand stays attached to your gun, and now you can’t rip your gaze off the prosthetic. When your gaze flits up to his face, you take in the sight of his wry smile and that glowing eye. “Though I suspect San would sooner die than harm you. Suppose that’s where we differ.”

“Why do you still willingly work with Hongjoong? He takes your eye and your arm, but you still do favors for him?” If it were you, you would either swear to kill the man with your bare hands or put as much distance between you and him as possible.

“There’s more I need out of him yet, and he’s willing to make deals according to his needs. No one aboard this ship can compete with the services I offer.”

“What if he asks San to kill next time? Then what?” It seems bizarre that Hongjoong would allow a person whom he clearly considered an enemy at one point to lie so comfortably amongst his crew. That is, if Hongjoong’s claims about how desperately he wishes to protect his crew are true, and you think you can at least find credibility in that. If nothing else.

Nightingale flicks his bangs to the side as he jerks his chin upwards and grins in full at you.

“That’ll be the fun part.”

“Fun. You have a sick definition of fun!”

What you get in return is a half-hearted shrug that tells you the man does not truly care in the slightest.

“San pretends to be torn up about the things that happened between us,” he continues, and this at least doesn’t come as a surprise. “I think there is some sliver of the man that does feel guilty about it but maybe that’s hopeful thinking on my part. I’m not sure he’s capable of guilt at all.”

“He is. He is, he’s not—”

When your words falter, Nightingale looks towards you with raised brows and wide eyes, but the smile on his lips persists still. It makes your skin itch and burn with discomfort.

“He’s no monster. He’s capable of feeling things, and guilt is among those things.”

“He knows that the order to kill could come any day,” Nightingale speaks as though you didn’t interrupt in the slightest. “So he doesn’t let himself feel that bad. Pretending is easier anyway, no?”

In a stroke of what might be pure foolishness, you allow yourself to be vulnerable before this man here and now.

“How much of a hand does Hongjoong have in the things San does?”

“What do you think?” he asks in turn, and that grin finally drops.

“He’s admitted to me that he wishes to be Hongjoong’s weapon and nothing else,” you whisper.

“Do you feel safe with San?”

“I do. Doubtlessly.”

The corner of the hunter’s mouth twitches a bit at that. “I did too, at one point. Until San asked to take me to the brig one day. Even when I was fully in the mouth of a monster, I did not feel it. Not until he clamped his jaw down around me.”

“I run the risk of sounding delusional, but that’s different from the position I’m in now. I’m part of the crew. You said you aren’t and never were, so you were someone on the outside, someone with a rival crew, someone who posed a threat to this crew.” You gleaned that much from San’s distorted story and can only hope that it’s the truth. “I’m not like that nor am I in that position. My loyalty is already set in stone.”

“You’ve been taught well already,” Nightingale all but sneers back at you, but it devolves into a laugh seconds later. He doesn’t allow you the chance to ask what that means either. “Your loyalty is to San, but you have to realize by now that by dedicating yourself to him, you are dedicating yourself to Hongjoong too.”

“Truth, respect, and loyalty,” you throw out. “That’s what Hongjoong demands, but that doesn’t mean he should be allowed to get away with heinous things.” Nightingale hums.

“It’s easy to mistake leadership for coercion if you do not believe in the man leading you. Do not forget the company you’re keeping here, Ghost, or what marks have stained your ledger red with blood.”

“I would be first to admit that my morals aren’t all there.” Taking a deep breath, you do your best to put to words what it is that has been irking you so much about the man in command. “But doing these things to people he claims to care about — that’s not an issue of morality. He keeps telling me that every little thing he does is for our sake, that all his misdemeanors against me have been to protect his crew, so it seems like a contradiction to let him harm them just as much.”

For all your passion in saying that, Nightingale just shrugs.

“Could you at least tell me your real name?” Your ploy to fish for more information ends in disappointment.

“No. I won’t give it to you.”

“Why not?” The unfortunate side effect of pushing more feeling into your tone is that you end up sounding like little more than a petulant child who isn’t getting her way.

“I’m certain you can figure out why I’m not quick to trust others, especially those close to Hongjoong.”

“Hongjoong already knows these things about you though, I’m sure! What’s the harm in telling me now?”

“It’s about the concept of trust, and you don’t have mine.” As you scowl, Nightingale pulls the pistol fully from your hands. “I don’t have a crew now because of what your captain did to mine in the past. Every last one of them became fragments of debris in space. My trust is hard to come by and even harder to earn.” He waves his free hand towards the exit. “Now shoo so I can focus alone.”

There’s the distinct feeling sticking to your gut as you leave that you have upset the man in some way, whether on account of your questions or your answers to his own questions, but it’s also paired with the sick churn as you feel his eyes on you as you go. You wonder with which hand Hongjoong had taken his eye, and in what manner he went about doing so. Further, imagination takes over to wonder how San took his arm — what they talked about, what they did beforehand, how it all went down — and fills you with sick curiosity. You wish to know the ins and outs of how things turned out the way they did if only to know how to avoid the same fate for yourself later down the line.

That is not a privilege you get to have, however. Aware of that fact, you move on to other, much less pleasant business by your standards. It takes you to Minho’s door, and you barely get the chance to knock even once before it’s sliding open before your eyes to reveal the doctor on the other side.

“I was about to come get you myself. Here I thought you were being difficult again.”

“Justifiably, I’d say,” you mutter, stepping past him to get in the room. You certainly have no desire to do this presently, but Minho cornered you last night after dinner and all but demanded that you see him for another session.

“Hm, how has your day been so far?”

You hum as your head tilts from side to side in a nonverbal response to his question. He moves for that cursed table with the chessboard atop it immediately, but you choose to hang back and glance around the room as though anything will have changed since you were last here. And truly, nothing is inherently different about the décor of the room. What does catch your eye is a thing much more insignificant by all means — the bottle of pills sitting atop his bedside table. You have seen him with it before, seen him take pills from the very same bottle, and that alone should not be cause for concern.

“Ghost.”

Your gaze lingers in place even as your body twists to face the doctor. It’s the exact same bottle, and the pills must surely be the same inside as well, except when you saw him days ago, it was barely used. There had to be only a few taken out at that point. Now the bottle sits close to empty, with another identical container filled to the brim with more capsules right beside it on the table. Feasibly, there’s no way that he could have taken all those pills in such a short amount of time.

“Y/n, the sooner we talk, the sooner you can take your leave.” When you finally rip your gaze off the bottles and turn to Minho, it’s just to find that he’s looking back at you with such an intensely heated glare that you almost feel like a child being caught doing something wrong. “Come sit. We will not play today.”

“Um, have you been well too?” you inquire through the sudden tension hanging in the air. Minho offers nothing but a sigh, leaning back in his chair as you sit down across from him. “Or… I mean, your day, has your day been okay too?”

“It’s been fine, thank you.” The man smiles at last, and that gesture provides some relief for you. Not enough, it seems, because your gaze flicks back over to that nightstand and what sits atop it within seconds. “Are you distracted today, Ghost?”

“A bit.” It’s said through a whisper, and Minho’s stare makes you want to challenge him further but you decide against it. “What is it you wanted to talk about today?”

“You seem to suffer from PTSD,” he states almost out of nowhere. Something about both the suddenness and the bluntness in his tone makes you scoff. It’s akin to one of the very first things he said to you though, and the sense of familiarity with what he’s said makes you recall that now.

“Of course I do.”

“What do you mean by that?” He has that pad out once again, opened over his knee where he crosses his legs, and you see his pen move down to the tablet before you can even offer up a response.

“Looking at my history, wouldn’t it be a bit obvious for me to have PTSD?” Something about how methodical the man is in writing down words unbeknownst to you makes you violently insecure all of the sudden. You feel seen in an uncomfortable way, in a way you do not want to be seen, though he perpetuates the discomfort by shifting to look you in the eye.

“Only depending on who you are. There are those who wouldn’t, though they would fall under a different umbrella.”

“Something worse…?” you trail off without being able to finish the thought, mostly because you fear falling into that category yourself.

“Nothing worse. Nothing worse. We don’t use terms like that. While symptoms can have levels, the disorders themselves differ in severity. It is better to address them in tentative terms. Nothing is worse in this room. We are talking about you and you alone. No comparisons, no parallels, no odd faux psychology test meant to tell you whether you have the same mental disorder as some planetary celebrity.” Minho looks down at the screen below him, eyes scanning over the contents of whatever sits there, and you find yourself grossly curious about what he’s writing about you. “Yunho made heavy note of your trauma response and the symptoms you struggle with on a day-to-day basis. I’d like to hear it from your lips. Can you look back and pinpoint a particularly traumatic event in your life?”

In retrospect, there are plenty of moments you could bring to light now. Starting all the way from childhood and moving up until recently, for that matter, you find it difficult to count the memories of your childhood that you do not have. Even so, in the military, you have clear and distinct memories that jump out to you; however, the fog of not being able to distinguish the minute details of what’s accurate and what was fabricated by two men who suffered the same fate.

“I was a slave before joining the military. I imagine that would be a rather traumatic experience.”

“You imagine? That time has not been recovered in your memory yet, is that correct?”

“I have yet to remember it, yeah, but I’m sure that caused some extent of damage to my brain along the way.”

“If I may be so bold,” Minho starts, leaning forward in his seat and over his knees in a way that forces you to make eye contact with him, “I am of the belief that the most prominent event was the night you killed the King of Eros. Would it be alright if I asked you to recount what happened then?”

Your fingers clench and unclench against your thighs and releasing that grip feels close to an impossible feat. Minho notices the sudden increase in your breathing patterns, along with your frantic blinking as you entertain the mere idea of telling him such horrors.

“There are many ways in which I can offer you support, should you need it. Encouraging words, eye contact, I can even put a hand on your knee or hold your hand if need be — and you can allow yourself to be emotional here. This is a safe space.”

“Can you not speak down to me in such a way?” It’s an inaccurate judgment of his actions, and you are well aware of that fact. The words push their way out of you before you can stop them, even though you don’t believe them either — at least not fully. He is simply a man doing his job: the offer to assist you is part of the work asked of him.

“Why do you feel as though I am speaking down to you?”

You gnaw at the inside of your lip.

“Is it because of our last session?” Minho unfolds his legs and lays his tablet down atop the table between you two. “I will not bring that into conversation today, you need not worry about that.”

“It makes me nervous,” you admit through your teeth.

“Yes, I gathered as much. To put it bluntly and risk your ire further, you tend towards lashing out when you start to feel anxious. A completely normal, human reaction! Don’t get me wrong; nearly every person in the universe does so as well. I am genuinely trying to help you here, Ghost, but I can only do so if you let me in to some extent.” The doctor extends a hand across the gap between the two of you, palm up to the ceiling, and you blink between him and his hand several times before finding your voice again.

“That night, I waited until my team was asleep, pretending to be so myself, and when I thought the coast was clear, I got up and left our cabin. Jisung followed me out. I told him I would finish the job he started so that no one else would… fall victim to whatever it was he wanted. I asked him to take responsibility, to do it himself and stop me, but he didn’t. Instead, he told me that I could do it myself if I wanted to save Hyu—our team so badly. I went to the king’s quarters myself, alone, killing any and every guard I saw along the way. When I reached the king’s chambers, I slit his queen’s throat in her bed right beside him and then I waited. And waited.” Minho’s hand doesn’t waver where it remains above the chessboard. You hone your gaze in on his fingers rather than his face, solely because of the overwhelming sense of dread swarming your gut as you pour yourself out to this man. “And I waited until her blood soaked the sheets enough to wake him. Then when he finally woke, I climbed over her dead body and I reached into that man’s chest to break it open and squeeze the life of his heart. Once I had done that, I gathered what documents I could and what I thought was important at the time before going back to the cabin I shared with my team. Soojin took me to the bath and tried to get the blood off my skin and out of my clothes. Jisung stood above me and lied to them, claiming he told me not to do anything, that he had nothing to do with it, and that I ruined his plans. He put his hands around my throat and pushed me under the water with the intent to kill me.”

“Do you remember how you felt the exact moment you killed that man and his wife?”

“I felt powerful.” Perhaps such an admission makes you sick and deranged in the head but it does come from a place of honesty. “I felt afraid at the same time. I think I’ve only ever felt that once before, and it came long after that night.” You have a clearer memory of that instance — a day when everything that could go wrong happened to shatter around you all at once. San getting shot, Hongjoong pushing your hand through a door, saving Soojin and Luca, San almost dying, your hand going through a man’s chest and squeezing around his still beating heart.

“Power and fear have more in common than you might imagine,” Minho whispers as he finally pulls his hand back into his lap.

“All my time in the military, I was heralded as some sort of prodigy thanks to my skill with guns. Be it pistols or rifles or snipers, I understand them on a fundamental and mechanical level, to the point where I could tell you how far a bullet will travel before it begins to drop. I could tell you in numbers how much force is behind the recoil on a sniper or how a silencer affects the handling of a gun. I never felt powerful with that knowledge though. Not enough to feel fear in the same breath at least. But for the life of me…” your breath stutters momentarily, just enough to let you think over what you’re trying to get at, “I cannot explain how I can do such a horrific thing with apparent ease.”

“Does that make you afraid of hurting those closest to you? Those you care about, those who trust you, who put their faith in you and hope their survival is guaranteed in their hands?”

“No, I know I wouldn’t hurt them in any way.” You push force into your tone intentionally, with the hope to squash what it was he was implying you would do the last time you sat in this chair across from him. He does not give the reaction you hoped for, however — an acknowledgment of your forced honesty — and rather, you get a cat-like grin that pulls the corners of his lips upwards until it’s unsettling to look at.

“Do you fear yourself, Y/n?”

“Not in the sense that — I don’t fear that I will physically hurt the people close to me because I have a power I don’t fully understand. But sometimes I can’t shake the feeling of a heartbeat that is not mine on my fingertips, or I can’t unhear the sound of a thumping heart beating in my eardrums.”

“You fear becoming a slave to your own capabilities,” Minho concludes for you. Part of you is wildly grateful he took it upon himself to finish the thought because admitting it would only add to the weight bearing down on your shoulders now. “You fear becoming a monster.”

Pressing your lips into the thinnest line you can manage, all you can do is offer a series of meager little nods to confirm his suspicions.

“Y/n, tell me, when something you consider to be bad happens, do you hear and feel that heartbeat?”

“I imagine I do, but I’m certain I mistake it for my own from time to time.” Your fingers draw the fabric of your pants into your palms again, squeezing tight until you can feel your nails biting skin through the material. “Is there a word for that? Some diagnosis out of one of your long books and manuals?” You did not intend for so much sarcasm to push through your tone but it slips in nonetheless. Minho doesn’t so much as bat an eye at the attitude you send his way and instead pauses as though he is truly mulling over your senseless question.

“We in psychiatry ought to aim to help patients adjust to their current mental states. If the bad outweighs the good, then we determine treatments accordingly. If there are goods that cannot be had outside of that mental state, then we ask the patient to determine what’s best. Within reason, of course, we ought not to let anyone harm themselves with their own decisions, intentionally or otherwise. However, more often than not, the patient is the one best suited to figure out the right dosage of medications or treatments or therapies needed in order to maintain a good and healthy life. In my seat, from where I stand on this side of the dilemma, it is easy to preach to you, the patient, about how you should choose. How you lead your life, what medication you should take, to slap labels on you and tell you that definitively this — whatever the diagnosis we find is, I mean — is what is wrong in your head. Manual after manual, book after book, the list of articles grows day by day with new names for things that perhaps do not even need a name. Y/n, I will not place a name to whatever it is you are suffering with on any given day. Each individual case, patient, person should be treated separately, without a manual or an article or some doctor halfway across the universe telling me that there’s some title to slap on you. What you are is a human being who deserves the respect of being treated as such, not just another tick mark against the name of a disorder that may encompass your symptoms at a given point in time. Is that agreeable to you?”

This time the sigh you let out is one of pure relief, and the lingering discomfort you felt from being in this position with the doctor dwindles further.

“Refreshingly agreeable, yes.”

Minho dips his ear to his shoulder as he smiles less crudely than before. “Then, shall we dive deeper into that head of yours now?”

•─────⋅☾⭒☽⋅─────•

“I don’t want to go back after this.”

You look up from your bag to face the man who’s just spoken, and when you lay your sight on him, he’s sitting at the edge of one of the beds.

“Sorry?” you echo mostly out of confusion.

He lifts his chin and finds your gaze with wide brown eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you would resort to saying that he looks innocent of all wrongdoings in life.

“I don’t want to go back to Eros. Don’t want to report to some stuffy military official, don’t want Hyunwoo to give us a lecture about how we weren’t the perfect little soldiers, don’t want to keep doing things for people I don’t give a fuck about.”

Setting your bag aside, you move to sit on your own bed and face Jisung only after curling your fingers around the edge of the mattress to ground yourself. What version of Jisung will come out of this conversation is an absolute mystery to you as of yet.

“Aren’t you sick of it, Y/n?”

Despite the urge to shrug and wave off the question, you at least know better than to risk upsetting him this early.

“Defecting would be worse for us.”

“Us? So you feel the same?”

“I’m entertaining the idea for the sake of this conversation, Jisung,” you state in a rather flat tone. The mattress dips a bit further under your grip. “I’m content with the way things are. Who else is there for me to be loyal to? I’m well fed, taken care of, have protection—”

“All of that is only guaranteed if you give your loyalty and freedom in return.”

Your lips draw into a frown.

“Deserting is a good way to make sure freedom is never an option for you, Jisung. We have to stay until we’re twenty-one, those were the rules when we entered this line of work.”

“Letting fourteen-year-olds decide their own fates for the next seven years is bullshit too!”

“But it was a stipulation you knew upfront,” you counter. In a twist of irony, you’re the one losing patience here first. “I’m not saying that it’s ideal or fair, but risking the rest of your life because you’re tired now isn’t ideal either. We could wait, Ji… wait until we’re of age and can leave freely. I don’t want to be in the military forever either but I don’t want to lose the rest of my life because of a lack of judgment as a teenager.”

“You willingly lost the first fourteen years of your life because of the military too, Y/n!” Jisung gets to his feet now, in a flash of anger, and you glare his way with waning amusement. “You’re gonna give them more of those years too? Risk dying for them? Just to possibly guarantee some shred of faux freedom that they dangle in front of your nose?”

“Ji—”

“They make you stay on Eros after you leave, you know that right? You can’t even leave the system, let alone the fucking planet! That’s freedom to you? You don’t have to work for them anymore, sure, but you’re stuck under their noses so they can keep you pressed right under their thumbs for the rest of your life anyway.”

“Hyunwoo would throw you to those so-called rats for even entertaining the thought of treason! Do you think I want to see that happen? You’re one of us too, Ji, you are part of our team. Our team is our family. This is who we have. We agreed to stick together, we decided this for ourselves, and we committed to this together. I’m not doing all this shit because I love the man we have to call king, but I am doing it because it’s for the good of the people I care about. I had imagined you thought the same?”

“Those people would sell you out for a paycheck, Y/n. If I commit treason, then they’re throwing you in my court. We don’t have the golden ticket as they do — I’ve killed too many innocent people, and you’ve been a complicit player in my crimes for too long.”

You move to get up from your seat as well but Jisung crosses the short distance between the two beds before you have a chance to get balanced. It doesn’t keep you from being the one to make the first move, however, and you swing the back of your hand across his face without hesitation. Still, you knock yourself right back to where you were seconds before, pushing a wave of shock through your system in the same breath. Jisung remains frozen in place, no doubt out of disbelief.

“You want me to martyr myself for you so desperately that it’s made you beyond delusional. I’ve been loyal to you partly out of pity, you idiot, because without me, you would have been strung up in the streets by now. I know my place in our team and in our department. You play with your little toys, and I make the kill shots. Part of me believes that you only kill those innocent people in my name because you have somehow deluded yourself into thinking that I need to be protected. I protect you. I protect myself. And I will protect our family when the time comes. You decide now whether you’re included in that group of people or not.”

“And I will do whatever must be done to get us both out. You’re the coward. You’ve let them taint your mind and make you believe that leaving is a crime.” He drags his fingers across your cheek, pulling your chin up to look at him better, but all it does is earn him a glare. “You’ll see it one day, little lady. I promise you that much.”

The man before you has never taken responsibility for a thing in his life, though. Asking him to do so now would be an impossible feat at best. In fact, if you were in the business of making wagers, you would bet that Jisung would only admit fault at death’s doorstep.

•─────⋅☾⭒☽⋅─────•

“I can’t believe we’re losing so badly to a child,” you say under your breath even though said child is staring right at you from across the table. Jongho shakes his head almost imperceptibly as he looks over the cards in his hands before placing them face down on the metal with a shaky sigh.

“This is the fourteenth time in a row, and I’m not even trying to let him win against me.”

“Fourteenth?” You glance down at your own hand but the sight is dismal at best. There is much on the line, however, and it sits in the center of the table between the three of you now. The last handful of gourmet chocolates that Jongho had been stashing in his room all this time without even mentioning their existence to you. You’ll be damned if you lose out on some fucking chocolates to a child, even if he is a master at the art of poker. “My hand is terrible. I can’t even lie about it, it’s so fucking bad.”

“Be glad you can’t see mine because I don’t think either one of us is walking out of here with even a tin foil wrapper.”

Luca raps his knuckles against the metal table and drags your focus back over to him. He lays his own cards down on the table with a growing smile, gesturing to Jongho in a way you still don’t fully understand or know how to read yet.

“He said we can team up against him and split the chocolates if that gives us a better chance,” Jongho translates to you moments later.

“Oh my god, he’s gotta have a flush of some sort in that hand.”

“I’m not splitting the chocolates. They’re my chocolates!”

You sputter over air at the adamant defiance coming from the man and whip your head in his direction to stare him down. He’s insistent on not looking back at you, much like a child acting as though what he cannot see cannot hurt him. You’re of half a mind to whack him upside the head but you also don’t need to be giving Luca any bright ideas either.

“You’re about to lose all of them! Why not just settle for losing half!?”

“I have some pride, Y/n, there’s still pride left in me even after all this!”

“You’ve lost fourteen times in a row to someone who is less than half your age. There is no dignity or pride or anything left! This is about getting even just one chocolate!”

“I won’t do it. You can’t make me.”

“When he pulls out a straight flush—”

Luca grins from ear to ear as he turns his cards over, and one by one you watch your hopes of getting even a bite of the sweet treat sitting in the middle of the table dwindle into nothingness.

“—and look at that, it’s even worse. A royal flush! How’s that pride now, asswipe?” You reach over to pinch Jongho’s earlobe between your fingers, yanking him down a bit as you tug on the skin.

“In one piece because I didn’t split shit with you!” comes his equally immature retort. You’re only interrupted by Luca knocking on the table once again. Except when you both look up from whatever petulant fight it is you’re having, it’s to witness an almost pitiful scene of Luca placing a chocolate between the two of you. He makes a few gestures in sign language that you vaguely recognize but still wait for Jongho’s confirmation to come through. “…he said we can split the chocolate.”

“This is so embarrassing. Where did you learn how to play poker this well?”

Luca offers up a shrug and nothing else. He’s quick to take the bowl of remaining chocolates into his little hands, however, and hops up from the bench seconds later. Before completely turning away from the two of you he bows at the waist, smiling with both rows of teeth on full display.

“Thank you,” he says with one hand before using the same one to wave goodbye. “See you at dinner.”

You aren’t cruel enough to not return the kindness to him, but you do keep Jongho’s ear firmly pinched the whole time.

You release your grip on him at last once Luca is fully out of sight, letting him finally sit back on the bench more comfortably.

“It’s about time for his meeting with the good doctor,” Jongho explains as he rubs at the reddened skin you left behind. “They’ve been meeting every day since Minho got here I think.”

“When you said he steamrolled you in cards, I didn’t think you meant he was good.”

“Yeah, well,” Jongho sweeps the wrapped chocolate over to your side of the table, “I warned you.”

You scoff at nothing in particular as you do your best to delicately open the sweet, pressing down on it with your thumbs until it snaps down the middle.

“You shouldn’t have bet every bit of your good chocolate if you knew we would lose that spectacularly.” With a sigh, you pass over half of it to Jongho before popping the other into your mouth. “We can get more once we land though, right?”

“Yeah, but god knows what they sell down on Gorgon… I’ve never been myself.” The Berserker nudges you in the side with his elbow as he chews. “Have you?”

“Been to Gorgon? Can’t say that I have either. Nothing I’ve heard about the planet is particularly—” you wave a hand through the air to accentuate your point as your expression turns into a grimace “—pleasant, I suppose?”

“No, but Vida in general is nothing pleasant.” Jongho frowns when he looks down at the table with cards strewn across the surface. You press your lips into a thin line. It isn’t all too difficult to realize why he’s saying such a thing — not when Auriga lies within the same system and several thousand kilometers away from where the ship is drifting onward to its target. Even at such a distance, it’s enough for discomfort: a concept you understand wholly because the mere thought of being in Aurum made you ill. Mingi, too, may understand this feeling on a fundamental level the way you do. It’s hard to forget the fallout that came from Wooyoung mentioning Kebos by word of mouth. “It’s uncomfortable but that goes without saying.” Jongho passes you a smile, one that comes as a result of sensing the pang going through your heart right at this moment.

“It brings back memories I’m sure,” you say under your breath. You reach a hand up over the table to lay it atop one of Jongho’s, pressing your fingers into the gaps between his fingers.

“Lots of unpleasant ones. But it’s funny to think that of all the people on this ship, all the criminals living side by side, the one who is probably wanted by the most amount of people there on Auriga is me. Every kind of person in my hometown probably remembers my title and remembers my name in some capacity. Captain has done a damn good job of avoiding Vida for so long. I know he wouldn’t bring us here without good reason, and I suppose that I can only be grateful that whatever he’s after isn’t on Auriga. Still. It’s tough being back here still.”

“How long has it been since you were last there?”

“Ten years. Actually probably eleven at this point.” Jongho exhales through his mouth. “I’ve been running from this for a decade, and it’s still not enough time to feel at peace with what happened. I thought that—”

It’s hard to look at his face, even the side profile that you’ve got an angle of, solely because of how deep his pain is etched into the features there.

“Everything is much louder here. It makes me think… I should’ve been gentler with Mingi when we were on Kebos, or even Seonghwa when we were on Dorado. Was it loud in Aurum?” His voice is barely audible by now. He turns his hand in your grip, shifting just enough for him to curl his fingers further around yours and cling to you in an act of desperation.

“Terribly so. Horrid, wretched, terrific loudness. It’s like deja vu but your body remembers the exact feelings of agony you felt when you were last there.”

“Yeah, I get it a lot more now that we’re so close to Auriga. And I know our reasons for being on Dorado were certainly not good ones — and nothing that happened there could even be considered close to decent — but at least there, I don’t know. Part of me felt happy to be back. I mean, I worked in some random dive bar there for two years after leaving Auriga, and that’s where I first heard of Hongjoong and his crew. That’s where Hongjoong found Seonghwa too. I was there the night Seonghwa approached Hongjoong and asked to join his crew, remember being in the back of the bar and watching it happen like it was yesterday. It felt like returning to the place where things started when I know in reality that place is home. I wonder if Seonghwa views the place solely as something tied to the worst parts of his past or the start of his future.”

“I think that one day… you can see Auriga as the place where your future started too.”

“What place is that for you?”

“In a cramped box in the cargo bay?” you offer, partly as a joke but also because you aren’t sure what else to choose. Jongho snorts.

“We would’ve started the same then.”

“When you joined — or I guess, snuck aboard rather — was it on Dorado?”

“Oh, yes, but probably not when you’re thinking. I didn’t try to follow them that time I saw them meet. And Hongjoong avoids going there unless absolutely necessary. We’ve been back maybe three times max in all my years of being here. It was several months later that they returned briefly for business to get a few more hands on the crew for an operation. Captain and Seonghwa came through the bar I worked at, and I overheard them talking about going to Aegos for a quick warehouse raid, so I smuggled myself into cargo and they brought me aboard. You’ve heard that fun bit though.”

“San was the one who found you too, right?”

You don’t get a response straight away; instead, Jongho inhales and puffs his cheeks full of air as he looks towards the ceiling.

“Yeah,” he says after the silence starts to drag, “yeah, but he was very different back then. I don’t think I mentioned that last time I told you about being a stowaway.”

“How so?”

“He knew I was there for a while, maybe three weeks? Rather than getting me out, he would come through the cargo bay and taunt me. For the first week, he would bring a gun down there and shoot into the boxes around me, threatening to kill me. He knew where I was but he would avoid shooting me because he — wanted to see me come out? I think that’s what it was. He wanted me to come out and beg for my life. He got in trouble for damaging the goods, but what’s even more strange is that when Hongjoong came down and confronted him about it, he had the chance to out me. Instead, he said he was bored and needed target practice. Week two, he would sneak into the cargo bay and at that point, I had gotten out of the box I crammed myself in and made myself a little cubby down there to stay hidden. San would come in silently and scratch at the walls of the boxes around my hiding place. Some days he would sit at the entrance and stare at me through the darkness without saying anything. It was fucking creepy as hell, but when he finally started trying to speak to me in week three, I realized that he just… didn’t know how to communicate well. I remember feeling almost nothing from him at the time like he had no emotional aura whatsoever, and that freaked me out more than anything. It was like dealing with someone who hadn’t had a normal human interaction in his life. He wanted to help me but he wanted to make sure that he could trust me first. So he would threaten me and try to scare me to see if I would snap.”

“He wanted to protect his crew…” you mutter, and Jongho shifts to nod several times.

“San was their first — Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s very first crewmember. As much as Seonghwa is so prominent in the decision-making and plans that Hongjoong makes, San is right there alongside both of them. He’s so much more crucial to so much of what we do as a crew than anyone likes to let on. San will deny it outright if you ask him, and Seonghwa will try to cover for him to keep scrutiny off San, but Hongjoong never fails to remind us that San has the same authority as Seonghwa does in many circumstances.”

“Were you the second then?”

“No, I was the fifth. But something happened one of those nights while I was down in the cargo bay, and the other three crewmates who were there at the time never showed up again. I’ve got no clue what happened to this day, and nine years have gone by without me even daring to ask. I do remember an awful smell wafting down the corridors, and I remember smelling it for a long time even after I officially joined the crew.”

“You never asked about it?” you inquire, but Jongho just throws up a shrug and shakes his head.

“I think the only reason Hongjoong didn’t kill me on the spot for being a fuckin’ stowaway is because something happened to those crewmates. I was never gonna push my luck asking about it.”

You hum, crossing your forearms on the table. Your thoughts are running wild with theories and questions about what could have happened that night Jongho speaks of as you rest your chin atop your arms.

“How did he find out you were there? Was it San?”

“I think he started to notice how often San was going down to the cargo bay, especially after those three disappeared. There was no one else for him to keep track of, and he had already warned San off going down there weeks prior, so it was pretty much inevitable that he would eventually come down at the wrong time. And he did. He saw San talking to what looked like a wall of boxes, and San scrambled to cover for me and say that it was nothing. By then, he’d agreed to help smuggle me off the ship at the next stop on Mensa. It was the day before landing that Hongjoong caught us, but it turns out he knew I was down there the entire time because San had told him I was there. Hongjoong didn’t give him any orders solely because he wanted to see how San would handle things himself. San almost killed me in a panic because he thought he did something wrong in Hongjoong’s eyes by sparing me, but Hongjoong said he never intended to hurt me. Even gave me credit for having the balls to sneak onto his ship, though he wasn’t very well known back then. I got an ultimatum similar to the one you got, I imagine. Carry my own, I could stay.”

“Yeah, that sounds quite familiar.”

“I didn’t want to stay though. Told him outright too.”

“Huh? What?” Jongho laughs as you reel on him. “You really did have balls back then. He throws a hissy fit and a half every time I so much as disagree with him.”

“Yeah, well, I wanted to get to Mensa. Since that’s where Hongjoong was headed, I told him I’d be off at the next stop. And you know what he did?”

“Something stupid?”

“Changed course to fly to Yuki hours later and said that because I decided to smuggle myself onto the ship, I wouldn’t get what I wanted right away. I would have to either wait for the next chance to get to Mensa or I would get off at the next stop and find a way there myself. Funnily enough, I ended up sticking around. Only thanks to San! He still holds that over me too.”

“Has Hongjoong ever gone to Mensa since?”

“Not even once,” Jongho answers the question without having to think twice, and it does leave you to wonder how often that eats away at the corners of his thoughts. “As much as I harbored a nasty grudge towards him at first for changing course, it changed as time went on and I became actually rather grateful he did. I wasn’t even close to ready to face what I was after on Mensa, and even now I don’t want to. Maybe after I’ve made peace with what happened on Auriga, I’ll be able and ready to go there.”

“I mean, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to set foot on Eros again. Bounty not included.” Jongho cracks a smile at that, leaning over to nudge you in the side with his elbow. Granted, Ghost of Eros doesn’t hold nearly as much vitriol as Traitor of Auriga, and you aren’t dense enough to ask what he did to earn such a title right now anyway. If anything, you hope he can find some ounce of comfort in the knowledge that he isn’t alone in feeling the way he does, and that not being ready to face such a massive part of his past is nothing to be ashamed of. “It sounds like things were a lot different back then.”

“They were. San has gotten softer over the years, Seonghwa has gotten a lot colder. From the start, his emotional aura was so hectic in ways I’d never experienced with Elitists. As time went on, he gradually mellowed it out and got it under control. I can’t tell if he simply learned how to play the part so well that it’s indistinguishable now or not.”

“Has Hongjoong been this way forever then?”

Jongho purses his lips. He’s quick to busy himself with the cards on the table, pulling them all into a pile to organize nicely, and it implies that you may be toeing an unspoken line here.

“Hongjoong is Hongjoong. That’s all there’s to say about it really. Everyone’s changed in some way over the years. Mingi and Seonghwa the most, I think. Wooyoung and Hongjoong the least.”

You wish you could know who Seonghwa was before Hongjoong in many ways, but that is simply asking for the impossible. With a sigh, you push yourself up and away from the bench to get to your feet.

“I gotta wash dinner dishes, so I’ll see you later?” Jongho hums without looking back at you, and you lean over to pinch the underside of his bicep in retaliation.

“Ow! Hey, would you quit abusing me?!”

“Would you quit ignoring me?!” You pinch harder just to prove your point, earning a firm whack across the thigh as Jongho swings an arm back at you to counter your childish attacks.

“Yes, I’ll see you later, woman! We fuckin’ live together, it’s not like you’re going off to war,” he grumbles. You let out a dramatic gasp, one far from needed but very much so worse egging Jongho on a wee bit further.

“I’ll start one with you if you’re not careful, you little shithead!”

He fully turns to smack you now but you’re almost just out of reach, leaving his hand to glance across your ass instead of your thigh this time, but you severely underestimated the amount of force behind his swing because it stings.

“If you get an earful from San tomorrow because you hit my ass too hard, I’m gonna have no sympathy!” you shout over your shoulder, and Jongho returns your quip with an audible gag.

You aren’t expecting anyone in the kitchen when you walk in, which is partly why you’re still laughing to yourself as you cross the threshold, so finding the silhouette of another person in there already when you arrive is nothing short of shocking. You cut your laughter short with an inhale as you take the figure in, a quiet apology falling from your lips before you can contain it.

“No need to apologize.” Seonghwa’s hair is neat today, parted down the middle and longer strands pushed to sit behind his ears, but those dark purple, almost bruise-like circles still remain under his eyes. “I slipped in earlier, I’m sorry for not making myself known — I didn’t want to interrupt your time with Jongho and the child.”

“Ah…” you exhale, unsure of what else to say to the man.

“I already took care of the dishes, so you’re off the hook for today. I came to prep breakfast for tomorrow.”

“You’re cooking in the morning?”

“Yes, with Wooyoung. He asked to help.”

Even with the easy out, you don’t move from your spot by the sink. Seonghwa doesn’t budge either, clearly waiting for you to make the next move or say anything that might dispel the awkwardness now hanging in the air. It hasn’t changed, you note, that tension lingering between you two. Talking through what happened, discussing his mother, fucking each other in the presence of your own lover — it resulted in a cold shoulder and the same icy air as before. So what good was it all for besides fulfilling some cheap desires of the flesh?

“I spoke with Nightingale a couple days back,” you blurt. Seonghwa pauses with his hand flat against the cutting board.

“What about?”

“He told me that Hongjoong took his eye. That San took his arm.”

Seonghwa’s eyes flash with thinly veiled anger, and through the exhaustion, you’re able to catch the glimpse of frustration on his features.

“Some would say that it was San who did both.”

“Some,” you echo, and that’s when Seonghwa catches himself in the midst of his rage and pulls his focus away from your face. “Hongjoong, then.”

Seonghwa scoffs, “Don’t overanalyze what I’m saying, princess. I’m shocked Yeon—Nightingale was willing to pass any blame onto our captain’s shoulders.”

“Am I knocking on a door I shouldn’t even be in front of, pretty boy?” you ask next. The man waits for the words to seep into his skin and settle there before deigning to respond.

“You’re making a home in a house that does not belong to you, though that is not entirely your fault. San has let you in. Now Nightingale has pulled up a chair for you at the table. I suppose all that’s left is for either Hongjoong or myself to open all the closet doors so that the skeletons can fall out.” He squeezes his eyes shut so tightly that it’s painful to even look at. When they snap open again, there is far more ferocity behind his gaze than before. “But yes, this is one of those things I would not wish for anyone to know. Yet if not for those things, how would he have become the Scourge of the Black Sea? Where would his Lieutenant of Death be?” Disgust on his tongue and in his words, you find yet another version of Seonghwa that you’ve not laid eyes on before.

One that despises the man he loves.

“Seonghwa…” A simple utterance of his name nearly breaks his shaky composure. His next smile is a pained one. “Please talk to me, please tell me what’s going on with you these days. Every day you seem worse than before…? Are you not sleeping well? If you truly can’t speak to Yunho, then at the very least I can. Or Minho can. Someone else can if you are in need of help, Seonghwa, you’re—”

“It’s all catching up to me.” His tone cuts through yours, and you’re almost grateful because you weren’t wholly sure where your train of thought was even headed. “All at once. I thought — that I was already past the limit, that I already broke enough. At no fault of yours, Y/n, there are things I had thought that I came to terms with that are now rushing back in ways I am not ready for. I am uncertain if I will ever be able to mend my relationship with Yunho, Nightingale being among us is bringing back wretched ghosts of the past, and Hongjoong is so sickly engrossed in a game that I can’t stomach watching him play any longer. It used to be that I thought Hongjoong was draining me of my life in a twisted way because he wanted me dead but now I—” when his breath catches in his throat, a tear rolls from the corner of his eye and down the slope of his cheek, “—I must truly be a fool. I must truly have lost my mind after all this time. Whether the man I see in the mirror is a monster of my own creation or the expectations I fought to meet to be my captain’s lieutenant, it does not matter. Because regardless, I can’t distinguish Seonghwa from the Lieutenant of Death anymore. I’ve played this role for so long that it’s consumed me. How am I supposed to come to terms with that?”

“Hwa…”

“Y/n, I do not need anything from you, I promise. I will not try to take more than what I’m given again. And I-I am so deeply sorry for pushing myself to accept San’s offer because it was — it was something I wanted so desperately, please do not take my words for anything else because I did want to be there. I was happy to even be considered for such a thing and yet I could not take my mind away from a past that is long gone.”

When your expression contorts, Seonghwa reaches a hand in your direction. You disrupt his path to your arm by laying a hand down on the counter and squeezing it into a fist.

“Whenever we speak, you say these sorts of things. That I’ve done nothing wrong but we can’t be close again. That you want me and it’s okay for us to want each other, but your want is only a result of chasing something from your past. You want to hold me at arm’s length so desperately but you agreed to fuck me? Knowing what happened the first time around? Did you only fuck me because it reminded you of Hongjoong?”

“Y/n, do—”

“Because you couldn’t keep his name out of your mouth when you were balls deep inside me, then had the audacity afterward to chastise me like I was a child for wanting to understand San better! You treated me no better than a warm hole to fuck, and I’m sorry but the adoration I felt from you that night did not feel directed at me in the slightest. I’m thrilled that I could be a fitting substitute for you, Seonghwa—” sarcasm drips from your tone like venom at that “—and I was never after anything more than pleasure but I cannot be faulted for feeling slighted when it was clear that I was a placeholder for someone else in your head. Perhaps the fool is me for hoping that being intimate again would do anything for us because whenever we try to talk through things, you put up a wall that’s impossible to climb and — and I’m still attached to you, I still care for you, part of me still loves you which is why it’s agonizing to watch you try to give your heart to a man who clearly does not have the same care in return!”

“You were never after anything more than sex but you hoped it would change things?” Seonghwa matches the fire in your tone with an anger of his own as he steps towards you. Brows drawing together quickly, you watch his face turn into a scowl before he continues speaking. “How fucking hypocritical. I could tell you everything but even that wouldn’t make the slightest difference in the long run. You’ve planted yourself so deeply in hating Hongjoong that the moment anyone shows an ounce of care towards him, you consider them to be stupid fucking idiots. I’ve dedicated my life to this man, Y/n! I don’t give a fuck if you don’t like him! He gave each person on this crew a safe space and a home when they had nothing and no one to turn to. Yes, I’ll admit it if you truly wish to hear the words from my lips — the whole time I fucked you with San, I was thinking about Hongjoong. I was thinking of when San and I had Hongjoong in the same position you were in years ago, but you sat there above me and looked down at me with a hatred in your eyes that you reserve for Hongjoong alone. So don’t pretend to be some sort of saint when you were doing the exact same thing as I was. Only one of us had good reason to do so, what’s your fucking excuse?”

You push away from the counter to try to escape the conversation, stumbling over your own feet. All it does for you is corner you further, pressed up against the metal as Seonghwa closes in on you. It’s a sick game of chase that you can’t get away from thanks to both his height advantage and the ease with which he clears the space between you.

“I would tell you everything of the things Hongjoong has asked his two hands to do in his place over the years, and you would be horrified by every bit of it I’m sure. But I will not give you reasons to justify your disdain for him. You do that well enough yourself.” Seonghwa’s voice drops to a whisper as he traps you between his body and the metal counter. His hands come down on either side of you right as you try to move to the side, and your hopes of escaping now are hopelessly foiled. “I hope you hate him even more now, Y/n, knowing what he had San do to Nightingale. I hope Nightingale lied so nicely about his part in things, about his hand in his own destruction, that you’re blinded by your hatred. I pray that you fall apart at our captain’s feet so gloriously that no one can pick up the pieces because then… then maybe you would understand me. Hate him to the point of obsession as you’ve clearly already pushed yourself to that point. Did it feel good imagining his dick inside you instead of mine? When your hatred turns to infatuation, I’ll be sure to tell you all the ways in which Hongjoong has orchestrated the destruction of your psyche since your arrival here.”

“If your aim is to become a monster, Seonghwa, then you are doing a fine job at it,” you hiss through gritted teeth.

“Isolating yourself in San’s corner of this crew is a foolish and dangerous mistake too.” The words bring a scoff from your lips instantly.

“Why? Because he’s on your level? He has as much power as you do? Or because he’s known of your being a Siren all this time? Because that’s another tally of things you lied to me about! You wonder how things could possibly fall apart between us when so much of what we built ourselves on was a lie, when I poured my heart out to you about how I truly felt about San, you stood there and said nothing of any of this!”

“And I told you that I still loved Hongjoong.”

“After lying to me about it the first time we discussed it!”

“I guess we have that in fucking common then, don’t we? Lying about wanting our captain? Was it between your friends’ deaths that you were first dreaming of wetting the captain’s dick?”

Seonghwa’s body lurches as he’s thrown away from you, and he brings a hand to cradle his jaw almost immediately. Your knuckles burn from the impact you’ve just caused — a firmly planted uppercut to his face in a blind rage that you barely process. His words sit heavy at the forefront of your brain all the while, as your chest heaves with adrenaline that won’t settle. The first angry thought to arise is one that almost makes it past your lips. Something petty and nothing kind in the slightest, a dig at him aiming to accuse him of jealousy, but you withhold it now.

“As much as I am angry with you, trust and believe that I am far more disgusted by myself, Seonghwa.” With a flick of your wrist, you shake out your aching fingers by your side. “To taunt me for it is a new low for you, however.”

“And I hate myself for many things, Y/n, but I would not have you hate me for those same reasons. That is why I do not wish to share those things with you.” He pulls his hand away from his face, brushing over one corner of his lips that now sits split and glistening with blood from your thrashing. “I do love you though, for whatever that’s worth. I’m sorry that’s… I’m sorry.”

Unspoken words, empty promises. You wish he would choose some level of honesty about why he’s feeling this type of way towards you now. Whether it comes from a place of bitterness or jealousy or that disdain for himself that he just mentioned to you. You don’t care which it is; having some fraction of truth from him would be better than what he’s presenting to you now.

You feel violent again. The crawling urge to hit something or ram your head into a wall — whichever will hurt you enough to push the thoughts right out of your brain.

“I’m sorry too,” you say instead, quiet and reserved in comparison to what you just did not too long ago. Seonghwa lets you pass without issue this time as he settles back against the closest solid surface and nurses his lip further. You wonder if he will add this to the list of reasons as to why he loathes himself so wholly and completely.

There’s one thought on your mind as you leave the mess hall, heading in a direction that is opposite to initial instinct. Perhaps a bit predictable in the route you’re now taking to reach the bridge, it doesn’t stop you from continuing on said path. Alongside that, you have the intent to put your lingering anger to use, along with the concern that if you go back to your room and see San there now, you might unintentionally sling your anger in his face without him doing anything to warrant it. You can only hope to find the man you’re after there, and the mere realization that you’re chasing him down with Seonghwa’s accusations burning hot at your heels only serves to deeper your rage to a point of no return.

Hongjoong is both right where you expect him to be and where you want him. Your steps are slow as you approach his makeshift throne at the center of the bridge.

“I know what you did to Nightingale.” There is no use in announcing yourself in any other way; the sooner you address this and hurl your disdain at the man, the sooner you can return to the pleasantness that is your room. But Hongjoong simply turns his head towards you and stares. “Everything Seonghwa said about you was the truth. You aren’t capable of any sort of remorse.”

When the man doesn’t respond, you let your gaze flit to the figure at his side. Tall form, lanky build, kind features, and a gentle expression of confusion on his face, but not an ally right now. This is not Seonghwa (though you aren’t even sure he would be an ally to you at this moment either); this is Mingi, and should you earn the ire of your captain here and now, it might reward you an early grave. If it were San by his side, you wonder how different things might be.

“I believe you are recalling what San did to Nightingale.”

“What you ordered him to do.”

Hongjoong’s lips twitch in amusement. He shifts in his chair and folds one leg over the other while regarding you with the same humiliating expression, one that tells you he finds your outburst more humorous than serious. If not for the Berserker by his side currently, you aren’t sure you would be able to keep yourself from stepping up there to deck the man in the throat.

“I told him to keep Nightingale occupied. How he chose to exercise that order was up to him.”

“You murdered the man’s entire crew before taking his arm and eye. After subjecting him to psychological torture for months!”

Hongjoong stands abruptly, bringing your thoughts to a stutter that reads in the way you step backward once.

“Tell me you were so disillusioned by my hand of kindness, Y/n. Tell me you truly believed I was a gracious man. Tell me you painted an image of me in your mind that was benevolent, so that I may bask in that glorious misconception while I pleasure myself by my own hand at night.” The words revolt you so much that your face contorts and nausea creeps into your gut. You can’t bring yourself to conceal the emotions either, and Hongjoong takes them into his palm instantly with glee. His lips twist into a sadistic grin that showcases a row of white teeth. It twists instantly into something horribly childlike: a pout that pulls the corners of his mouth down and makes his eyes turn doe-like. “You do this to yourself, resisting and playing games like this with me. Submit to me, Y/n, so that this may be easier for everyone involved. San told me he warned you, told me you now know that he has gone to great lengths to defend you from my ire, but what more can I forgive? I have demanded respect from you—” his arm shoots out to point one finger towards your face “—respect that you swore you would give! Yet here comes our righteous savior with her sword of mercy intent on murdering me atop this hill I stand on, for what?”

This is far from the first time Hongjoong has been angry with you. Yet this time his rage takes a different tone: a calm storm that sweeps up everything in its path without cease. His tone carries weight to it too, and a loudness that makes your ears ring. His hand remains stagnant and extended as he continues with his tirade.

“For what? So that you can save these people? Rescue them from me, Y/n, I beg of you, see what good you can do for them. When you return to me in two days' time with blood on your hands, I will share no sympathy.” His hand careens toward his own chest, stabbing hard at his torso, yet even that doesn’t seem to phase him. “You come before me to spurn my name, to excuse the choices your beloved lover made, but that man is my dog! Do you wish to know how I made that of him?”

You shake your head, indignant in your silence. He does not accept your refusal.

“I made him kneel, Y/n! And I will do the same to you if you refuse to treat me as your captain.” Hongjoong turns back towards his seat and flops down on it rather unceremoniously. You only dare to lift your chin and look at him once you see one of his legs fold over the other in your peripherals. “Should I treat you like a dog too, Y/n? You sure do seem to love barking.”

The grin he gives you is borderline maniacal, and even though there usually isn’t much of a difference in your heights, he uses his leverage even while seated over you now to his utmost advantage. Leaning over the empty space between your bodies, Hongjoong reaches a hand towards your face — a sweet illusion that diverts his true intention of dipping that same hand down to clasp around your throat before you can think to act. His smile drops into a scowl in the blink of an eye.

“I do wonder — if I put a collar and leash on you, would you finally behave as intended?”

You can hardly breathe with the grip he’s got on your neck, and he only squeezes tighter as he continues his tirade against you. For every inch of flack you have given this man about his title as the Scourge of the Black Seas, you find yourself wrestling with a deeply seeded terror in your gut now. That he might actually have had enough, that even being a Siren is not valuable enough, that he will kill you where you stand now.

By the grace of whatever outer being is watching over you, Hongjoong decides to spare you and throws himself back in his seat once more.

“If she will not do so willingly, make her kneel, Mingi.”

It seems harsh to think of the man who has extended a hand of comfort and kindness towards you so often doing such a heinous thing. Mingi seems to agree with that sentiment judging by the look of horror that sweeps over his face.

“Insurrection is intolerable amongst this crew — I have warned you time and time again. Do you think I would so easily allow another mutiny to happen right under my nose? I will snuff out whatever flame you are trying to light with this pathetic show, Y/n. Whatever seeds you tried to plant in San’s mind will not take root.”

Mingi takes a step down from his spot on the platform, and your heart plummets to your toes.

“Mingi…” you trail off as you stare at the man’s face, desperate for any sort of reprieve from him.

“Do as asked, Ghost. I do not wish to use force on you.” He shakes his head slightly, as though a warning to stop things where they are now, but you cannot accept that defeat so easily. It is simply not in your nature.

“If Seonghwa were here—”

“Seonghwa would whisper pretty words in your ear as he pushed your face into the ground with his boot, princess!” Hongjoong hisses through his teeth. Fitting how he did something so similar not long ago. “You think these men have more loyalty to you than to me? That giving them your body is enough to martyr yourself for their faith?” Mingi lays a hand against your back and shoves you forward as gently as he can manage. It still manages to send you stumbling solely because of how distracted you are by Hongjoong’s words. “You have humiliated yourself enough before me. Consider this not a punishment but merely an extension of that kindness you believe I have.” Mingi’s presence at your back urges you to take steps forward until you run out of space before those steps leading up to Hongjoong’s seat at the helm. It appears that the Berserker is trying to make this pass as quickly as possible, either for your sake or for his own, because a sharp force hits the back of your knees and effectively sends you to the floor in front of your captain.

It is still humiliating, despite what Hongjoong says, and your retaliation is swift. You lean forward to angle your body over the stairs and hurl the saliva that has gathered in your mouth at his shoes. You consider yourself lucky to not receive the sharp steel toe of that boot on your jaw in the moments that follow. What he does do is almost worse, however.

Sighing, Hongjoong props his elbow up on one of the armrests and lays his chin atop a closed fist. His pose exudes a nonchalance you know is merely a farce. Then he extends the shoe you just spat on towards your face and jerks his chin. The gesture seems not to be meant for you as it is Mingi who shoves you forward once more.

“I tire of playing these games with you, Y/n,” Hongjoong starts, pushing his boot into your cheek. The leather is warm on your skin in a way that disgusts you more than the feeling of having your spit wiped across your face. The wetness of your saliva lingers there and drags over your skin as the man wipes himself clean like that. You have never felt lower on the food chain than you do now, before this cruel and sadistic man who grins down at your agony with no sign of remorse. “How far one can go versus how far one should go… I do not see a difference between the two. Whatever I do, it is done for the sake of my crew. You have been given chance after chance to simply accept that. Was killing Hyunwoo not enough of an example? Or forcing you to let go of Jisung?”

Your hands tremble against your knees. He twists his unoccupied arm in a way that showcases the back of his hand to you. Rings adorn his fingers, but that isn’t anything out of the ordinary in your eyes. The gesture is nearly lost on you. Yet just as a retort is bubbling up inside your mouth, your gaze catches on a glint of one of the metal rings. One you recognize, one with a white gem inlaid at the center. It’s the same one that sat on his hand when he pushed your arm through a door.

“I can have you be treated the way Nightingale was when he refused my offer to join this crew and fall under my command. But for San’s sake, I wish to remind you that there are people other than yourself who will suffer on account of that decision. You are the one who came into the care of criminals and pirates, dear. You should have left your expectations in that seedy box of threads you were rotting away in.”

“You made me drop Jisung!” Your wail comes out strangled as the realization sinks beneath your skin and takes hold.

“I freed you of that leech of a man, and the sooner you see that the sooner you will be free of those unimportant figments of your past.” Hongjoong lunges forward all of a sudden, planting both his feet on the ground with a loud thud. When he bends at the waist, he leans between his legs to angle his face in a way that makes him look more insane. “I will dismantle you from the inside out if that is what it takes to demand your loyalty, but I suggest you not keep me waiting that long.”

“Do you even intend to stop at Kebos or was that another pretty lie meant to make me docile?” you spat out at the captain. He laughs in your face.

“What does it matter what my intentions are?”

“You’re — you’re a sick bastard.”

Hongjoong extends a hand to you, taking your cheek in his palm and dragging his thumb over the wet trail he just wiped onto it. His expression is almost fond for a moment, a sort of sympathy in his eyes as he takes in the fat tears welling up and threatening to spill over.

“Look at me.” Carefully, he twists your chin towards him. His thumb traces along the line of your jaw until it rests on the other side. It’s sick, how you find comfort in that subtle touch that holds nothing more than a faux mercy meant to appease you. He pulls you ever closer until you are forced to lay your hands on his seat, left with no choice but to grip the small fragment that he isn’t occupying between his spread legs. Your gaze flits down to the soft pink of his lips, the gentle curve to them now that they’re resting in a neutral expression, and how the tip of his tongue pokes out to wet them for only a second. “Listen to me.” You have no choice but to do as told. His fingers pinch inwards until they’re no longer resting against your jaw but now dipping into the flesh of your cheeks and gripping hard enough to make your mouth pucker. “Call me whatever pretty names you like. Curse me and spit on my feet if you so wish. Whatever hatred you harbor against me only pleases me further. You may hate me, Y/n, but you can not disrespect me. I have killed my own men for less. Siren or not, San’s lover or not — your timer ticks ever closer to zero so long as you continue with these charades. I will have you obey, and you will respect me all the while. Do I make myself clear?”

You swallow and nod roughly to the best of your ability, but it isn’t answer enough for your captain. He grips your face tighter.

“I will not hesitate to humiliate you further before the whole crew if I must, Y/n. We can make a spectacle out of it. I would quite enjoy it, in fact. Now, do you understand?”

Bile climbs up your throat.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?” The syllables come out enunciated, and his underlying anger makes spit fly through his teeth.

“Yes sir.”

“How quaint,” Hongjoong laughs as he pulls his hand up from your cheeks to your hair, digging hard into the roots and yanking you back from your perch. “I was only looking for you to acknowledge your captain by his title. But sir? Don’t be fucking presumptuous.” He thrusts his hand against you hard enough to throw you back, and you land at Mingi’s feet where he still stands a little ways behind you. A flare of panic arises in your gut as you process his presence and the knowledge that he is hearing every word from Hongjoong’s lips. “Take a long hard look at yourself, Y/n. A woman who was just on her knees before me. Pliant, obedient, with no control to call her own. Isn’t that where you belong, Y/n? My pretty weapon, my pretty Siren, my pretty treasure.” Treasure. It feels wrong to hear him say that of you. It is not a title meant for you, after all, not in the slightest. “Now escort her out and fetch Yunho for me. I wish to have him in my room.”

Mingi answers the call without hesitation. His fingers close around your upper arm, and he hoists you to your feet in the same movement, gripping you with enough force to bruise. Somehow, it feels as though he is saving you in some odd and twisted way. He pulls you from the bridge with a sort of haste that doesn’t leave you any chance to look back over your shoulder at your captain. You are thankful for it. He only slows his steps once the two of you are far away from that room, yet his hand doesn’t leave your arm, grip only lessening slightly.

“Ghost.” His tone remains soft despite how it cuts through the palpable tension. “I apologize for being present for all of that.” A laugh escapes, one that sounds awfully dry.

“What can you do? Say no to your captain?”

“I will not speak a word of it to anyone. Nor will I share any of the contents of what he said to you.”

Ah, yes. The bit about you being a Siren, most likely. Unless Mingi has also been made privy to the ins and outs of who is what here on the ship too.

“He means w—”

“You do not need to defend him to me, Mingi. I understand your bond with him and what he means to you. I only ask that you understand that it is vastly different for me.”

“Why do you stay? If you do not wish to be under his command?”

“I made a promise to someone dear to me that I would not leave.” Wooyoung, Seonghwa, San. But why are you here? Solely to help a man you despise achieve his goals?

“And that is enough to subject yourself to something you do not feel good doing?” For a moment, you believe the man to be mocking you before you catch his tone and find genuine confusion in it. He is merely asking a question — nothing more, nothing less.

“That’s love, Mingi. Love and devotion both.” The Berserker stays quiet for a few more moments.

“…I see. Thank you for telling me.”

You let him guide you the rest of the way through the corridors, pausing as he does when he stops you both in front of a door that is not your own. His hand falls away from your arm as soon as he knocks, however, and the two of you nearly look normal standing outside waiting for Yunho to come greet you. The healer looks tired like you’d just woken him from slumber when you came calling for him. You opt to be the one to break the news to him.

“Captain wants to see you in his quarters.”

“He wishes to — what for?”

“He wishes to have you in his room, Healer,” Mingi clarifies for you, leaving you to roughly swallow around nothing and avert your eyes from the man’s face. “Promptly.”

“Ha… of course he does.” You hear the conflict in Yunho’s voice and glance up quickly to catch the tail end of his grimace. He nudges his way past you without bothering to even collect shoes from his room.

“Don’t listen to him,” you say through your teeth, as though it’ll have any impact. Yunho pauses.

“You of all people should know that that is quite impossible to do, Y/n. Would you deny San?”

Love, as it turns out, is the cruelest master of all.

“As strange as it may seem to you, I have been waiting for him to ask after me desperately,” Yunho continues, though his tone holds more shame than anything positive. “Maybe if only to prove that he still wants me in some capacity. Please do not tell me to leave him alone. Do not judge me or spurn me for going to him. You would do the same if you were in my shoes. If he needs me, then I wish to be there for him. Not because he is my captain but because… well, I’m sure you know why.”

She wields a knife so sharp that one slight cut would have you bleeding out across the floor in mere seconds.

Yunho steps away without another word and leaves you at Mingi’s side in the hallway.

Love and devotion both.

“Today… Ghost, today you made a very patient man angry.”

“That is what you consider a patient man?”

“Ask yourself what your defiance is really for, and why you find it necessary at all.”

“For the sake of the people I do care about, Mingi. I don't have to accept shitty leadership and the hand of a cruel and manipulative man when I know they’re suffering too.”

Mingi draws his lips into a delicate frown. He shakes his head.

“They are all happy under Hongjoong’s leadership, Ghost. What he does beyond being our captain… I cannot account for that, or for what suffering he has put Lieutenant and Healer through behind closed doors that do not involve him acting as Captain. But whenever he wears that mantle, everyone is content. It may seem egregious to you, I understand, but I am sorry to say that of everyone, you are the only one to be suffering.” Mingi buries his hands in his pockets and eyes you without saying anything for several seconds. You shift under his gaze, arms coming up to hug yourself. “What are you trying to save them from, Ghost? The suffering you’re inflicting on yourself? You saw what you did to Spectre that night you were arguing in the hallway — that was you, not Captain.”

“I know that. I know where his loyalties lie, it’s not that—”

“Then why are you trying to fight it?”

“I can’t just — j-just leave?” Your voice turns choked midway through the sentence, leaving you to fight the sudden tightness in your throat and chest.

“You could though. That love and devotion you speak of… I understand that I do not feel it in the same manner that you do, but if you are genuinely so miserable here under Captain’s command, would those people you love and who love you in return truly want you to remain in a place that makes you feel that way? Would they not wish for you to go find your happiness elsewhere? Even if it came at the cost of losing you, does love not beg for sacrifice?”

“I am too selfish for that, Mingi,” you whisper. Mingi pulls a hand free of his pockets and reaches out to lay it on your bicep, over the place where he gripped you so harshly earlier. His touch is gentle now, and he drags his thumb across the abused skin like he hopes to heal the damage he caused.

“I do not wish for you to leave either, Ghost. Our crew has changed in many ways since you arrived, and your fight to allow me my sense of freedom did not go unnoticed by me. I trust our captain with every fiber of my being, as does everyone here on this ship, and perhaps we have grown too complacent in allowing some of his more cruel acts of justice. That does not equate to us being miserable and suffering under his hand though. People make mistakes. Captain does feel guilt, and he does feel remorse over his actions. It’s just that he does not let you see that. Please do not judge him too harshly for the things that he does. Please understand that he is trying to protect the crew, his people, and his family all at once. The more you resist, the more you try to do what you did with Spectre that night, the more agony and strain you are placing on all of us. You do not have to agree with us, but please at least respect that this is our happiness.”

You offer up a series of rather pathetic nods but deep down you do understand every word he is saying. You cannot find the line between truth and a distortion of it for the sake of Hongjoong’s manipulation, but you decide (albeit questionably) to take Mingi’s words at face value. If he is lying to you now, or if it is all just a product of Hongjoong’s convoluted tactics, you will have to deal with those consequences later on down the line. Mingi squeezes your arm gently.

“I hope you are able to find your happiness too, Y/n.” In the back of your mind, you think perhaps Mingi is too kind, and he leaves you at the doorstep to your room without saying anything further.

It catches up to you the moment you lay your hand against the touchpad outside your door. Limiting the series of very unfortunate events to a simple… it is both generous and inaccurate on many levels.

San is where you expect him to be upon opening the door: propped up against the pillows with the lamp on and a tablet in his lap. You can’t see exactly what he’s doing but you do hear some residual noise coming from the speakers. He glances up to pass you a smile. Neither of you says a word. You wonder what emotion paints your features. You wonder what is going through San’s mind as he sees you. You wonder whether there will be a day when you wake up in the same bed as he and his loyalty will outweigh his feelings for you.

You wonder a lot of things it seems, and none of them are pleasant.

You take the fast track to the bathroom without bothering to wait around for San to speak. It’s as you’re splashing your face with freezing water and trying to rub away the lingering residue of both saliva and Hongjoong’s boot that he makes an appearance in the doorway.

“Is everything okay, love?”

Heaving a deep breath, you brace your hands on the counter and look up from the sink to find him in the reflection of the mirror. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest and dressed for bed as usual. Your gaze catches on yourself in the glass. Bloodshot eyes and tears rushing to join the water you splashed over yourself. The lie on your lips dies as you see yourself.

“I cannot bear to be humiliated by the captain any longer.”

When your lip wobbles, he shushes you and moves to join you by the sink. You don’t move as he twists the handle until the water stops or when he grabs for a towel. There aren’t any words exchanged while he pulls the towel over your face and sops up the mess you’ve made, but frankly, you aren’t sure what else you could say to drive your point home. San seems to be biting his words though, and it only takes one look at him to know that he has a great deal he wishes to say. He waits until he’s dried everything in sight that’s been touched by water to turn to you, setting the towel aside in favor of taking your face into his hands.

“I warned you so kindly, Y/n. Please do not do something that both of us may regret. Isn’t it easier to just do as asked?” His thumb glides over your cheek where he cradles you so gently.

“It’s pretty clear that I have a bad track record of doing that.”

San lets out the air from his lung and leans back to look to the ceiling.

“Back when you first joined us, back when we were in Echidna, you asked to be treated this way. You asked to be a weapon for Hongjoong. If that is not what you want any longer, then you only have to tell him as much. You have never asked to be anything different, have you?”

“There’s not one position on this crew that would see me getting treated fairly!”

He remains silent as he brings a hand down to clasp over yours and leads you out of the bathroom. You let him do as much without complaint mostly because you’re fighting to keep your breath from spiraling out of control and into hysteria.

“Come on, star, let’s lay down, yeah?”

It almost feels like any other night the way you crawl into bed with his hand resting at the small of your back before he slips in under the covers right behind you. He pulls the covers up over your body as you turn over to face him. The fight you’re trying so desperately to win slips through your fingers the second he pulls you into his chest and wraps a warm hand around the back of your head where your scalp is still stinging from the abuse Hongjoong put on it earlier. The tears come more freely then, and as your body shakes in San’s hold, you cry into the fabric of his shirt without relent. The comfort he offers is enough on its own, and you curse yourself for craving something more, something physical in place of kind and reassuring words.

“Please just try, my darling,” he whispers against your hair.

“I’m terrified of waking up one day to you asking to take me to the brig,” you choke out through sobs. Even though it’s muffled by his shirt, San still hears every bit of your words. You can tell that much by the way his grip tightens on you.

“I promise that won’t happen. I will fight that with all my might if I have to, I will not allow that to happen.” You can’t seem to find reassurance in the words at all though, and a burning pain sears its way through your chest as you choke on your cries.

“Why did you tell me that story? Why would you do that, why would you say that, why, San?”

“I wished for it to be — I didn’t want you to find out through someone else. I needed you to hear it from my lips before anyone else’s.”

“Why did you have to do that? Why, when he’s not even staying with us forever? You could have kept it a secret, you could have not told me, and I would never have known. Why did you have to m-make me—” a sob interrupts the thought, and you feel lips on your forehead, “—why did you have to make me doubt your feelings and intentions?”

“I’m sorry.” His breath is hot. When you try to lift your chin, he refuses to let you see his face. “I’m so sorry.”

His hands glide down from your head to your hips, and it’s with a gentle sort of coaxing that he maneuvers you onto your back. You cling to him desperately, leg pulling up to hook around his body so that he cannot even think to leave you now. The gesture urges him between your legs as you succumb to the desperation you’re feeling for something more. The tears fall more readily like this. You sling an arm up over your face to both shield yourself from view and to sop up the liquid with your sleeve.

“Star…”

“Please tell me you love me, even if it’s a lie.”

“I do love you,” he cries as he pushes hair from your eyes. “Are you sure you want me to…?”

“Please, San, I need you — I want t-to feel you.” Your hands can’t find a place to rest, jumping from his arms to his collar to clasp around the back of his neck like you’ve done so many times before by now. You know how San loves and how that love manifests; at least, you imagined that you knew all this time and now you’re faced with a crushing reality that that might not be the case, yet here he kneels, ever so desperate to prove his adoration to you now in the way he knows best. It makes you feel less torn about wanting him even while your heart is wrecked with emotion.

“I’m sorry, star,” San murmurs into your skin. He leaves a path of wet kisses along your arm, and when his cheek brushes along your skin, you feel a moisture there that is surely not from his lips. It pains your heart tremendously to have him crying above you like this, but deeper than that, there is some sick and twisted part of you that finds joy in the fact that he is feeling the pain you’re experiencing now, that he is tasting the bitter medicine of what he wrought on you. Perhaps you do understand Wooyoung better than you thought, perhaps you can feel the way Seonghwa ripped his own heart out to become a monster for the man he cherishes, why Yunho still chooses to walk into the lion’s den with his head held high — what kind of love hopes for suffering?

San moves down your body with kisses and tears both left in his wake. He whispers words into each bit of skin he can reach, tugging at your neckline to lay his tongue on your heated body before letting it snap back up into place.

I’m sorry.

I love you.

My darling, my star, my divine.

When he slips under the covers and takes your underwear to your ankles with him, his trembling fingers inch your legs apart to make space for himself there. He lays his tongue against you there too, at your most sensitive spot, and moans join the chorus of cries that won’t cease. Your body quivers at the stimulation like a chill passing through your whole system before he settles into a steady rhythm with his lips pressed into your sex and his tongue seeking something deeper. You feel his words again in his movements.

If he’s truly pretending, then you hope he acts the part for the rest of your life.

San pushes a finger against your walls alongside his tongue, and a second follows so quickly that you don’t have a chance to catch your breath. Desperate, you reach your unoccupied hand down through the sheets to find the top of his head. Your fingers tangle in his dark locks, and he moans into your cunt like a man possessed.

A moment of clarity pushes its way through the haze of arousal. San cannot be faulted for his loyalty, even if it pains you. You do not wish for him to suffer, not even for a second — if you did, then why would you have gone to such great lengths to keep him from doing exactly that time and time again? The man you truly wish to see suffer, the one you want to see in agony with his chest torn open, is none other than Hongjoong. At the end of the day, he is the cause of the cracks between you and San, the rift that grows too large to ignore now, and you wish to see him pay for it in full. A crueler thought enters your mind, but it cannot take a firmer root with San’s tongue pressing your further open to allow his fingers to curl deeper inside you.

Your nails bite at his scalp in ways that must sting and burn, but when you close your eyes, it’s Hongjoong’s face you see behind your lids and between your legs rather than your lover’s — a curling hatred that serves to deepen the pit already formed in your stomach. It disgusts you in many ways, makes you want to crawl out of your skin and scream, because as much as you despise him and everything he stands for, there will always be some part of you longing to satiate the curiosity for good.

Hongjoong was above you earlier, boot pressed into your cheek as you sat on your knees before him with no relief in sight. How much would it take to reverse the roles and have him in such a humiliating and debasing position? Beyond that, if he made good on his promise, what would that look like for you? And how deep are you willing to submerge yourself just to find out?

Isn’t that where you belong, Y/n? My pretty weapon—

He hums against you, and your thighs tremble around his head. Your fingers flex and curl in his hair like a heartbeat. It’s rampant, a speedy ba-dum ba-dum that matches the one beating in your chest right now. You wish to know how his sounds too.

—my pretty Siren—

His tongue leaves you, fingers remaining firm in their place along your walls as he rolls the pads over your sweet spot. You do not need to see his face to know that he is smiling; the curve of his lips is pressed to your clit.

“My treasure,” comes a breathy exhale from the man under you.

—my pretty treasure.

It’s enough to make you come undone, back curling up from the bed as an orgasm rocks you from head to toe. Disgust joins the euphoria just as quick, before you’ve even come down from your high, and the realization it brings with it makes you want to vomit so badly that you gag around nothing. San is quick to move with concern for your well-being no doubt, and it allows you the chance to roll onto your side until the spasms pass and you can breathe easily again. You don’t move from the fetal position you’ve taken, nor does San try to make you. He simply adjusts himself to lay at your back and molds his body around yours with an arm draped over your waist and fingers wrapped loosely around one of your wrists.

It’s as you’re falling asleep that you feel the soft pressure of lips against your head, and the words that follow make the lump in your throat swell to a point where you fear you might choke around it.

“I promise you that my love has never been and will never be a lie, Y/n.”

It leaves more questions unanswered than the opposite.

His love alone isn’t everything, and there is no confirmation that nothing he has done has been done with bad intentions. Or on account of external forces or voices telling him to do things outside of his control. You can only wonder which parts aren’t included under that umbrella and ask yourself if it’s worth ignoring for the sake of what happiness you have.

Mingi’s words ring loud in your ears.

Ask yourself what your defiance is really for, and why you find it necessary at all.

You think, as the room begins to fade into black and sleep settles in, that your will to fight is nothing more than a dull flame about to be snuffed out for good.

•─────⋅☾⭒☽⋅─────•

“Now, we will be here for quite some time regardless of how long the mission takes. This is vacation time, free time, time to rest and relax off the ship before we head back out into the thick of things.” Hongjoong speaks from in front of the airlock, dressed in his more formal captain’s attire down to his steel-toed boots. “We’re offloading cargo as usual, and we’ll be staying in the city across the gorge for our entire stay, but you all are more than welcome to pick up goods as you see fit. It would be quite hard to run us totally dry of funds. As for the mission, I’ll be taking a few of you with me, and it may require us to spread our time dedicated to the mission across several days. We won’t begin until two days from now, however, and you all will still have ample time to relax like everyone else. Mingi, of course, I would like you to join me.”

The Berserker in question passes his captain a nod from where he stands at Hongjoong’s side.

“Jongho, you as well, I wouldn’t dream of doing this without you. And Yunho, you. You’ll be my right hand for this mission.”

Seonghwa is staring at the back of Yunho’s head so intensely that you think Yunho’s head would catch fire if possible.

The airlock rolls to the side, and for the first time in weeks, you see and feel the fresh air. Hongjoong moves to the side and motions to the door, lips still pulled tight into a smile that leaves you thoroughly unsettled. Seonghwa is the first to step out of the ship, with Nightingale close behind him, and everyone else is quick to follow. You remain rooted to the spot not by choice but on account of San’s hold on your hand as he stays put until the other crew members have made their way out onto the planet. You take it as an act of politeness until your gaze shifts to settle on both Mingi and Hongjoong, who have not moved from their spots either.

“And you, Y/n,” Hongjoong calls out through his ever-present smile.

You jerk your head in San’s direction in the hopes that you will see some sort of shock present on his features. Instead, you receive a squeeze around your hand and a nod that seems to be encouraging you.

“You will be my left hand for this mission. Let’s see how tight I need to keep your collar, shall we?”

You do not reward him with a retort today. San guides you out of the airlock and into the new air, both your gazes stuck to the scenery around you the second you step out.

The gorge ahead is beautiful beyond belief, and in the distance, you catch sight of your destination across the chasm. It’s a city built into the side of the cliffs with buildings of reds and gold that stick out starkly against the endless green around it. Green water pours from the sides of the rock in many places, filling the air with the noise of rain, and it cascades down into the lake of green far below where The Horizon is now docked. Your transport is not far from the station though it is surrounded by the hustle and bustle of workers and visitors alike who have docked just like you have.

Hongjoong’s voice rises once again from behind you, loud and clear to address the whole crew.

“And remember… gas masks stay on at night.”

────────────

a/n: i sat and stared at this for like 17 minutes trying to figure out what in the world to say after this doozy of a chapter! first, hi. hello. how are you. welcome to act seven. it’s pretty unreal to be at this point honestly.. i’m so excited though i hope you guys are just as excited!! let me know your thoughts feelings and etcetc the one question i have for you all: was san calling her ‘my treasure’ something fully intentional or just happenstance?

but also just from me to you.. i want to say thank you to everyone who still reads and sticks around and is willing to be patient with me as i write. that means so much to me, i’m so so thankful, and there aren’t words for how thankful i am that people are willing to still read my story!! so thank you!!

next up on the docket is actually an interim :3 a hongjoong centered one :3 i know i said i was done with them but... brain worms win this time!

also! survey/questionnaire is still open here (of course not a requirement but it would be immensely helpful to me!)

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

#mists of celeste #moc: spoilers #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez series #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yeosang x reader #wooyoung x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #jongho x reader #yunho x reader #ateez fanfic #caly.writes

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 years ago

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I thought Rook's personality is what caused him having not much appeal and on top of that his haircut was just ugly... Idk, if he wasn't so worshipful towards Vil (and anything beautiful for that matter) and so freaking stalk-ish/creepy maybe he would have more appeal and we could look past his haircut... At least this is why I don't like Rook 🥲

[Referencing this post!]

In the original post, I was strictly talking about Rook’s looks contributing to why people don’t like him. Of course his personality is also a large part of why he isn’t super well liked, but again, I purposefully only discussed his looks in that context. His appearance is the first thing fans will see, and it contributes to their perception of him as a “silly” character before he even opens his mouth.

I think having a character that is “obsessed” with another one is… very risky for any writer. There are very real pitfalls associated with these kinds of characters, such as the audience finding them annoying, or the characters being perceived as solely defined by their overattachment to another person. I believe these are big reasons as to why Rook and Sebek are not that popular; there are many that claim that their devotion to Vil and Malleus (respectively) is irritating to read, and that they have nothing else to their personalities other than worshipping the ground their dorm leaders walk on 💦 It's this type of aversion that doesn't make people want to see beyond what Rook and Sebek initially present themselves as (ie hardcore "fanboys"), sometimes even assuming the worst of them due to this limited perception. For example, it's a commonly held sentiment in the fandom that "Vil and Malleus are annoyed by/hate Rook and Sebek" when the lore doesn't really indicate that this is true. At best, Vil and Malleus may be mildly annoyed by things they do or correct their manners when they act out in public--however, this is not equivalent to hate.

Another thing that sometimes gets mentioned (and was brought up in the ask as well) is that Rook has an obsession with "all things beautiful", which... is both true and not true. Rook is fixated on beauty, yes--but he doesn't find interest ONLY in beautiful things. Rather, he is able to see everything as beautiful, even tough situations or things traditionally considered ugly or negative. This is a strength of his that often gets overlooked, either because he isn't taken seriously ("haha funny French man") or because the immediate trait people notice isn't this but instead his habit of stalking. Rook definitely has his own unsavory characteristics (and there are times when his devotion is waaay too much), so I understand why he's considered so off-putting. I was in that camp myself for the first several months playing TWST! However, I do urge you to try and see his positive points as well! You don't have to necessarily like him, but I think it's really important to see both the bad and the good in characters.

#Rook Hunt #Vil Schoenheit #Sebek Zigvolt #Malleus Draconia #tw // stalking #notes from the writing raven

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thebreakfastgenie · 2 years ago

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I think it’s something about the way he delivers the line, like the concern. It’s a delivery that says they he wasn’t just doing something superficially naughty like breaking an arbitrary rule, but something he’s real worried about other people finding out about that he thinks is Wrong. That’s why I think it’s very easy to interpret as referencing gay exploration but it could still easily be about any number of things and possibly was — but knowing there were other times rhe authors thought about going there, it could have been deliberate.

Anon, my buddy, my pal, my friend, you provided me with no context whatsoever. I think you're talking about Frank saying "Fred, do you think the principal saw us?" while on painkillers?

I mostly agree with your conclusion, but not your route of getting there. Breaking an "arbitrary" rule is something Frank thinks is wrong. Frank is characterized again and again as a snitch. He even says he once didn't snitch on his best friend for smoking and then later snitched on himself for not snitching. (This is, by the way, tied to his abusive childhood; "I think that's why I became a snitch. So I could talk to somebody," is one of the saddest lines I've ever heard and it makes me mad because it's so brilliant.) So average teenage naughtiness, like smoking or graffiti or just cutting class, is basically a mortal sin in Frank's mind. It's a pretty major part of his character that he takes rules very seriously and finds even playful naughtiness outrageous. In fact, I think that could be part of the joke. Frank also isn’t afraid of people finding out, he’s afraid of an authority figure (the principal) finding out. He’s loopy and regressing to being a kid who’s afraid of being caught and getting in trouble and of people seeing him get in trouble. Which also fits with his obsession with having an image as a perfect rule-following citizen coming from a strict, abusive father. He might just be terrified because if the principal catches him breaking a rule—even an arbitrary one—he’ll tell his father and Frank will get beaten.

I don’t think that scene plays as Frank accidentally alluding to some deep secret. He doesn’t seem terrified so much as childlike and a little pathetic. I think the main joke is just that Frank said something nonsensical and mildly embarrassing while out of sorts. There are a lot of jokes like that, both in MASH and elsewhere. It’s also worth noting this isn’t the only time we see a character age regress on the show; Hawkeye does it in Hawk’s Nightmare and I think the affect is similar. However, I do think there may be some deliberate ambiguity.

In The Chosen People, we get a scene that belongs in the one-sided phone call hall of fame, when Frank is talking to someone from civilian affairs. Frank then says something that could be interpreted as signaling that he’s interested in this man. Larry Linville does a great job of delivering it innocently, so if Frank is trying to imply anything he’s doing it subconsciously. But the other man is evidently interested and Frank is horrified. So there is one ambiguously gay Frank joke, and the original ending for George would have revealed Frank had once been attracted to another man. So it wouldn’t be unprecedented for the writers to deliberately make you wonder just what Frank and Fred were getting up to. There are plenty of alternatives that are equally plausible, but that’s one of them.

I will add that when I first watched that episode, my initial reaction was that it was gay, though that was immediately followed by doubting that was what they meant and wondering if it was a case of something that just appears that way with a modern perspective (several seasons later I thought the Swede storyline was going in a gay direction even though it wasn’t). This doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but my gaydar has a higher specificity than most of fandom and things don’t usually ping it, so I thought it was worth noting.

So to recap, I agree with you that it’s very easy to interpret that way and that was possibly intentional, but disagree with the rationale that Frank wouldn’t react the same way to something minor.

#mashposting #sorry to answer late I was in New York having the time of my life

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whetstonefires · 1 year ago

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#???? #most of the extras are about how teen wangxian was obsessed w each other lmao

this was such an extreme statement i had to go read all the extras i hadn't read yet in case they really were about that.

the extras i have cover:

1) couple in a row about post-canon life; wwx attends a fantastically shitty Lan party (nothing like a LAN party) etc

2) incense burner shared dreams; cottagecore fantasy and rape fantasy

3) deeply underrated villain interlude where the Tingshan He are sacrificed to Xue Yang's experiments to the last child by a Jin Guangyao who's very cheerful about doing this on spurious grounds for political reasons; Jin Guangshan says shitty things about jgy's mom. Song Zichen and Xiao Xingchen show up. Jin Guangyao explains why contrary to popular wisdom it's better to pick a fight with a crook than a gentleman because the lower classes can be murdered with impunity.

4) Incense burner 2. We start out with a cute flashback about how lwj started keeping the bunnies; teen wangxian data commences but only regards lwj. mildly uncomfortable porn. we are somewhat puzzlingly informed several times that wwx had a fairly fat ass in his original body, apparently as setup for dubcon spanking fetish segment.

5) Wei Wuxian comes home via window. Marital sex including mild exhibitionism re: sex noises, usual consent play, cockwarming, a bath. Discussion of lwj's critique style; companionate homework-marking segment, sleepy cuddles.

6) Qin household fierce corpse case; still postcanon period. Wei Wuxian's habit of cold-reading people and basing his decisions on his surmises and being correct plays a starring role here, as does his tendency to play teacher and his tendency to tell outrageous lies, especially to liars. Lan Wangji and Lan Sizhui turn out to be acutely conscious of wwx's status of 'son of a servant' as something used against him. Lan Wangji is mistaken for a virgin. Sizhui's having picked up some Jiang moves is detected by sound alone and disparaged as bad for his cultivation; for some reason him learning Wen moves from Wen Ning is fine though.

7) Bai residence case, still post-canon

8) Finally teen Wei Wuxian! He is, in fact, reminded of Lan Zhan by eating watermelon. Jiang Cheng thinks this is weird; he does not suggest it is habitual. Wei Wuxian promises he could drive Lan Wangji insane in a month if they shared a room and boasts he could beat him in a fight. -Jiang Yanli asks who he's talking about; evidently Wei Wuxian hasn't mentioned Lan Wangji to her until now. Jiang Cheng points out Lan Wangji doesn't think they're friends and Wei Wuxian says if that's so, he'll annoy him until he changes his mind. Agrees when asked that Lan Wangji is good-looking. Jiang Yanli tells him to use himself as a yardstick and he says Lan Wangji is a tiiiiiiny bit better-looking than him. - Statement that Wei Wuxian would never go back to Cloud Recesses to visit Lan Wangji. Further argument about whether Lan Wangji would even want to visit him in Yunmeng. - Then Madam Yu catches them slacking, they get yelled at for being shirtless in front of Jiang Yanli. Wei Wuxian is briefly whipped as the assumed ringleader of shirking and toplessness but then Jiang Yanli performs a distraction tactic with watermelon and the boys abscond. Jiang Yanli is pinched and yelled at for eating too much. - Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian engage in an intense water fight with shidi audience until Wei Wuxian gets hungry and proposes scrumping lotus pods since they can't go home without being beaten. We're told about their habit of stealing for fun around Yunmeng knowing Jiang Fengmian will make it good. Wei Wuxian mumbles about treating someone to lotus pods while stealing them; this may be Lan Wangji. - There is a lotus pod stealing water ghoul, a shy dead child, whom Wei Wuxian catches bare-handed but it turns out the old man they like to steal pods from who beats them if they're caught is keeping it around on purpose, as company and a sort of undead boat engine. Wei Wuxian gets beaten some more; his shidi besides Jiang Cheng heap praise on him as explanation for why he's the one who gets hit all the time instead of anybody else until Jiang Cheng threatens to sink the boat. - Some young women come by on another boat, turn out to have left the watermelon from earlier as a gift; Wei Wuxian starts a wave of throwing the stolen lotus seeds into their boat as a thank-you gift and dispenses related flirting advice. Jiang Cheng seethes.

- Wei Wuxian brings Lan Wangji up a second time, reflecting on how as previously mentioned he turned down the invitation and stating someday he'll drag him there and get him involved in petty theft, mwahahaha. Jiang Cheng, sulkily eating lotus seeds, is condemned to Forever Alone. - Meanwhile, in the Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji is making conversation with Lan Xichen about lotus pods while they do handstands. Rabbits visit. A servant provides chilled watermelon pieces on a jade plate. The edibility of fried watermelon rind is raised. - The next day Lan Wangji goes into town and has the belated realization that his avoidance of other people is reciprocated. Girls peek at him and giggle. He is looking for lotus pods. He helps an old lady who gave him directions, walks a couple of miles, stares at dirty toddlers, gets rained on, encounters a man who has been trampled by an ox surrounded by worried neighbors and lifts a fallen shed four men were struggling with, one-handed, and stands there holding it up. - There's a ghost inside. It's mostly harmless and he only has the tools for violence with him so he leaves it alone, glaring it into not stealing heat from any of the people taking shelter. - He reaches the lotus lake hours late, when it's long closed, sopping wet and bedraggled, and gets laughed at for believing having the stems on changes the flavor of the lotus seeds. The lady in charge of the lake, who is not the owner, takes pity on him. - Lan Wangji obtained the pods with the stems, was happy, presumably ate some, and left the rest as an informal (due to lack of a tablet) but clearly intended offering for his mother. Lan Xichen, who apparently goes to the gentian house to practice his music, does not steal one, but he thinks about it.

glitch recurred when i continued, will try again in reblog

drives me crazy when the mdzs fandom still doesn’t understand wwx is just as obsessed with lwj as lwj was with him. dare i say moreso. how am i STILL coming across fics/meta where wwx is dating people after having met lwj. any attempted relationship would end after 2 hours cause he’s incapable of going 15 minutes without talking or thinking about lwj. even if he actually tried going on a date it would be like. he’d sit down sigh and his date would ask what he was thinking about and he’d say i invited lan zhan here last week but he rejected me :(((((( and i was so sincere :((((( and then they order food he’d start smiling to himself and they’d be like what’s up and he’d be like “ahahaha i’m imagining trying to get lan zhan to eat this dish!!” they walk around outside and he grabs a cute little trinket from a market stall and the date is like oh :)) and wwx would be like this is so silly and cute i’m gonna hide it in lan zhan’s bag and see his reaction. pre meeting lwj maybe there is a slim chance but after he sees that :| face it’s over for anyone else

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animeyanderelover · 3 years ago

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May I ask Happy death day for Kaneki, Haise, Ayato, Karma, reaper(?? Well human Koro sensei) and Juuzou?

We’re going back to that concept, huh? For your information, there was once a request for Happy Death Day where only the Yandere and the darling can remember what happened. This plays either in an established relationship or after the kidnapping.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, paranoia, manipulation, controlling behavior, kidnapping, death of the s/o, suicidal thoughts, sadism, mutilation of corpses

Happy Death Day

Ken Kaneki

🔲He literally just dies the moment you died because this boy turns positively suicidal and homicidal after he sees his darling dead, should anyone be near him there is the severe danger of Kaneki attacking them and killing them since he stops using his head. He’s always been ever so paranoid about your safety since your life is basically the reason for him to exist. Now it’s been taken from him, you’ve been taken from him. His life, his heart, his feelings are shattered, cease to exist as a pain worse than Jason’s torture overcomes him and a chilling scream spills from his lips. He screams and cries his sorrow and agony out until he feels like his throat is bleeding but even that can’t stop him from continuing to scream. He wants to keep your corpse, not to devour it but to keep you in this house, to continue his life as if you’re still there.

🔲Instead of having to commit suicide or turning completely delusional and thinking that you’re still there, he awakes with a terrified scream. Shaking, covered in sweat and tears and in your and his home. The poor boy is completely disoriented at first, not able to recognize his own house. Anger, madness and the wish to die blinding his senses…until his eyes land on you. And then he has another full-on meltdown. He bursts out in tears, starts to sob loudly and instantly latches himself on you, blabbering and crying apologies and shaking in utter fear. He doesn’t even want his darling to leave the bed. More like he can’t because the moment they seem to want to get away from his grip he suffers from a cardiac arrest and slams them back into bed. It’s impossible to reason with him and it takes hours for him to think clearly and realize that his darling needs to eat and go to toilet.

🔲So the worst thing is telling him that in fact this might have happened since you’ve had a dream about dying as well which is unavoidable the more he starts freaking out when events from what he thought to be only a dream start repeating. Even without telling him he would have already seen it as real with his paranoia, your little story only makes it worse though. He’s the whole day over the edge and even the slightest sound has him going over in a violent attack mode. He can’t let you die over and over again, even if there are no words to describe how euphoric he is about at least you being still alive and him knowing what is about to happen. If you were murdered that person is screwed because Kaneki will be beyond murderous. He won’t even feel any pain if his limbs would be ripped away from his body, he just wants to stab and hurt that person until they’re long dead and he’s mutilated the corpse beyond recognition.

🔲His previous respect for privacy in moments where he felt more peaceful vanish completely and he is left with a wound in his heart that can’t be healed even after years. He follows you anywhere, even to the toilet or when you wish to shower. Kaneki completely stops functioning without you in his sight, loses all his shit and lashes completely out. Grows paranoid to the point where he crushes and kills even the smallest insects that hurt you mildly and you can only watch and protest as he completely takes over your life. Nothing is allowed anymore and in the worst nights where he dreams about your death, you’re left with a broken pile of a man who cries gibberish and screams and shrieks in anxiety and terror if you don’t touch him or calm him down somehow.

Ayato Kirishima

🌌Rage, utter and complete rage takes over his entire mind and body to the point where all of his surroundings turn blurry and only your dead body remains clear in his vision. He hears a ringing in his ears as he can almost imagine hearing his heart breaking and bleeding inside of his chest. He stands still a few moments longer. Then he explodes instantly, his Kagune and his fists and legs destroying everything and everyone close to him. It’s like watching a wild animal going mad as he doesn’t even seem to notice in his frenzy what exactly he damages as his knuckles turn bloody before the skin regenerates instantly. The only thing spared from his lunatic wrath is darling’s body. It’s only after he has destroyed his entire surroundings and shouted at a corpse that everything hits him and he releases a scream of utter anger and heartbreak, accompanied by a few stray tears.

🌌Awakes much like Kaneki completely distorted as the feelings of resonating rage and the confusion of where he is only infuriate him further. With plenty of willpower and desire to go off a second time and hurt someone in his fury, he’s that close to going on a rampage once again before you finally make your presence known, skittish what you should do and how he’ll react. When his head snaps at you, his eyes are still clouded with fury and the wish to hurt which has you flinching back and apologizing instantly. Instead of mean words, he just freezes completely, eyes widened and a dumbstruck and disbelieving expression on his face as some choked noises come from his throat. In the next moment he just grabs you, shakes you and seems to frantically search for injuries which he can’t find. When he pulls back, he stares at you for a while longer with too many emotions to recognize before he just silently leaves.

🌌His interactions with you for the following hours are strange to say the least. He keeps coming back to you only to stare at you with furrowed brows, grab you by your arms once again to scan you as if trying to spot something he can’t find. His remarks are gruff and mean, have lost their sharper edge as he appears to be almost nervous and hesitant, afraid to say something wrong. He grows visibly more guarded and paranoid the longer the day continues and so do you yet you refuse to tell him, expecting to be mocked and not taken seriously. It isn’t until the hour of death is close that Ayato completely snaps, unable to ignore and play down the uncanny sameness this whole day had to what he doesn’t believe to be a mere dream anymore. Ayato…he won’t admit that he dreamed of this since it’s ridiculous in his opinion. Not unless you admit it first which earns you a alarmed and shocked long glance.

🌌Ayato doesn’t want to talk about this, not even after he’s teared apart viciously the killer who killed you once before. Something inside of him has just been deeply unsettled by this paranormal phenomena. He’s never been someone to be superstitious yet there is no logical explanation for this. Even you had the same dream and remember vividly the pain and the terror of dying. Maybe that is why he freaks out a little bit whenever he dreams about darling’s death again which isn’t unusual after having seen them dying already once. It affects his behavior around you as well. Still a rude and arrogant ghoul, he seems to obviously pay more attention to you now and hesitates when he’s about to truly spit out cruel words. He fears for yet another death of yours from which both of you won’t wake up from, leaving his last words to you as those of the degrading kind. He…doesn’t want to be the indifferent and mean guy in your mind all the time.

Juuzou Suzuya

🔪Juuzou has never been one to exactly grasp his emotions well yet when he is aware of his own feelings, he connects deeply. His connection with his s/o was the deepest bond he’s had so far and with them gone, he has basically just lost half of his heart and soul. The realization doesn’t hit him instantly, his body and brain ceases to function the moment he sees their corpse. The world completely breaks away under his feet and as slowly everything hits him, a searing pain starts to pound in his body and tears force their way in his eyes. A guttural scream, capturing all of his pain and confusion as he kneels down next to you. Just like that he grows quiet, as if this screams cleansed him of all his energy as he just sits there silently. This pain is a unfamiliar one for him, this hole in his heart is new for him and before he knows it, a broken laughter spills past his lips as he grows overwhelmed with grief and rising anger.

🔪I don’t cannon him as someone who is a good sleeper so it’s a sort of raw experience to wake up from his slumber, though he definitely wishes he wouldn’t have slept at all because of this dream. Before Suzuya can do anything though, he has to get a grip on his own emotions as they’re still swirling around inside of his chest. Especially when he sees darling, he goes into another state of shock and a slower process of proceeding informations. The first thing he does is pinching himself, hard. To the point where his darling worries that he’ll actually tear his skin off. The next thing he does is slowly, as if in trance, walking over to s/o. Only to pinch them as well. Not nearly as hard as he did himself, just enough to feel their warm flesh and skin and observe their very lively reaction right before he throws himself on them, another series of broken laughs escaping his lips.

🔪The problem with Suzuya is that he is such a honest person. The dream is still stuck in his mind so it is very likely that he’ll tell you about his strange experience shortly after having seen you alive again. That is going to lead to some sort of reaction out of you since it is disturbing to be reminded of your own dream, especially since Juuzou apparently had the same dream and one look at the calendar tells you which day is today. Even if you try to brush it off or attempt to hide it, if Juuzou notices your strange reaction, he will start pestering you. The boy is a persistent guy so you either cave in or Suzuya himself comes to draw conclusions himself as more and more things starts to repeat themselves and the feeling that he’s already witnessed this day kick in. Whilst he can be quite childish, Juuzou isn’t dumb and since only he seems to recall this day, you have little choice but to turn to him.

🔪He has fun torturing and killing the person who murdered you, it doesn’t exactly matter if it was a human or ghoul in this case. They’ve killed you once and they’ll die ten times themselves for it. It’s a really twisted game he plays with them, a creepy grin on his face. If that person is a ghoul it’s even worse since he’ll inflect a lot of damage that is nearly lethal but not enough to kill them yet so that the regeneration abilities can do their job. Eventually he just kills that person off, gets rid of the body and leaves, feeling happier and better. On the outside he seems to keep the hyperactive and childish personality, he’s actually matured from the experience though and takes some things more serious now. There is a darker and duller glimmer in his eyes when his thoughts wander back to that day and he grows uncannily quiet.

Haise Sasaki

🔳His ears start ringing painfully and his breath starts shaking at first before he goes into full hyperventilation, tears already blurring his vision and cascading down his face as he starts feeling sick and about to throw up his lunch. The world grows smaller and smaller until it just shatters, crushing his heart with it as his world was his darling, his beloved. Memories of you flood his mind as a indescribable agony starts spreading inside of his chest, cutting his breaths shorter and shorter until he is choking and causing his whole body to shake violently. A voice deep inside of him is fuming, yelling, traumatizing him even further as a searing pain shots through his head and leads him to cover his ears in terror. Everything just hurts in that moment as Haise sobs and begs for it to stop, wobbling around on his legs before he’s forced down on his knees.

🔳Tears are still streaming down his face when he wakes up, disconnected from his surroundings and reality as his head is still filled with the fuzzy and dizzy pain. He needs to take a few deep breaths to slowly gain consciousness again, to start to use his head again. The first thing he does is checking on you instantly, heart rate spiking up in fear again as he vividly recalls images of your dead body. Incredibly relieved to the point where Sasaki feels his knees weakening again when he sees that you’re still with him, alive and healthy. He’s speechless, staring at you with wet eyes before he pulls you into a strong hug and starts chanting how much he loves you. Haise makes it a point to not worry you about that stupid dream, decides to not leave you out of his sight either. He’s surely going to feel better once he’s witnessed you fully alive for a whole day to leave that dream behind him.

🔳Unfortunately that does not happen as he comes to realize which date it is and as he recalls events happening exactly as they were in his dreams, leading to him dropping something out of shock as he feels cold terror washing over his every limb. Maybe he is paranoid, maybe not but how many coincidences can there really be? What about you then? Are you aware that you’re going to die today? That is the question Haise asks himself and he observes you throughout the day intently, noticing that you seem far more skittish and anxious than normally. That only seems to grow and increase the more hours pass by and your anxiety is transferred directly to Sasaki who only turns more paranoid himself until he eventually can’t hold it in anymore and has a talk with you. You know something, don’t you? Did you have the same terrible nightmare as him?

🔳Once you’ve told him, it’s over. He’ll most likely place you under security somehow, is on the borderline of begging his team to lend him a helping hand and watch over you and is against leaving you at all. He stays, constantly glances out of the window and has a small heart attack whenever he sees someone watching your house. He wants his darling to survive this day, their safety comes always first. That doesn’t mean that he can leave darling’s murder all alone and free either, he’ll start an investigation of his own and even if it is painful and traumatizing, you have to tell him as much as you can remember about your killer. Sasaki won’t react in the same hysterical way that Kaneki does, even if he wants at least two people he trusts around you in the future. He’s able to slowly relax after some time has passed and nothing else has happened though.

Akabane Karma

🔴Karma is usually a relaxed guy who loves to tease his darling a lot, that never changed the fact that they were a light of his life, someone who meant a lot to him. He keeps a blank face, completely void of the mischief look in his eyes. Something is hurting him inside his chest, something that takes over more and more the longer he gazes at his darling's corpse and together with the pain comes a rage, thirst for revenge that boils his blood. He doesn't cry, not now. Instead he starts laughing out loudly, a crazed and whimpering fit cackles expressing all of his emotions at once. The more the pain sinks in, the more the laughter turns to broken sobs though until the first tear drops down his face. Soon after the first one follows another one and another one until he breaks down crying, devastated giggles still escaping his throat in between.

🔴He's bewildered, almost insecure once he opens his eyes, panting heavily and having broken out in cold sweat. Tired, irritated and still fuming with the wish to hurt someone to hopefully feel a bit more alive again now that part of his joy and life has been taken from him, he gets more emotional than one might imagine when he lays his eyes on you. He almost gets dizzy since he is so relieved, hesitates to show it openly though since he concludes for now that he was just having a bad dream. It would be sort of embarrassing to act all panicked and paranoid now only because of a nightmare, right? Really, he almost acts all casual when he greets you the next morning with his usual teasing greeting and the chaste kiss pressed against your lips. If it wouldn't be for the only subtle way he seems more on edge and is only a bit more clingy.

🔴Karma is a very smart person though so he already starts being suspicious when he realizes that today is the day in his dream. A coincidence or two can happen, your own behavior is quite...weird as well though and that has him drawing new conclusions. It's most likely not even an hour later that he starts bugging you about it and he will get his answers. If the normal question won't do it, Karma will simply use fear and manipulation to force you to concede that something is wrong. He can become quite terrifying the longer you don't answer, he has the best value behind his motives now and you should know that too. It's your life that's most likely on the stake here and he's not risking it. Once you've admitted to having had the same dream, he locks you inside his room and refuses to let you leave. He has to go on a little hunt in the meantime.

🔴If you want to get to know his truly sadistic side, watch him killing the killer because Karma has zero mercy. He's always been ready to be violent and cruel when it comes to defending those close to him and this is taken to a new level because that scumbag was just about to murder his little s/o. The body isn't even cognizable by the end of Karma's torture yet he feels very lighthearted by the view, mocking them even long after their death with sadistic remarks. He's in a better mood when he returns back home and his darling knows what he did already without seeing his smirk. Feels like if he would have just been able to monitor you better the first time in the dream, he would have been able to safe you and so he starts taking more control over your life. It's for your own good, he tells you. It's better if you stay locked in his house and don't go anywhere without him watching you.

Koro

⚫The one time he decided to do his job as an assassin and not stalk his darling and the worst had to happen. It's not like The Reaper didn't play with the thought that his presence could bring you in troubles if someone who knows him finds out. Such emotions are a first for him, he's never quite experienced such a stinging and burning pain like this one even if this plays after the whole experiment thing and losing Aguri. He imagines that this must be the feeling when someone is being shot right into the heart as he confirms over and over again if your heart has really stopped beating, clinging on a pointless hope. The wetness flowing out of his eyes is close to startling him when he touches his wet cheeks and stares at the tears on his fingers for a while before he bursts completely out in tears and silently cries. Especially if he's gotten his power but can still contain his human form he will suffer a small breakdown and end up destroying everything in his nearest surroundings.

⚫He’s probably the calmest of all when he bats his eyelashes open, heart still beating in horror and a single tear escaping his eyes. Koro is someone who needs to think fast and analyze quickly though so after a few moments, he remembers what just happened. Now, he isn’t one to believe in superstitious stuff but that dream was the borderline of frightening and unnerving since it was way too detailed and felt way too real. He can still feel your cold skin under his fingertips, can still smell the scent of blood and still feel the wrath throbbing inside of his temples. Little time is wasted after he’s completely recalled everything that has happened before he decides to do something he wanted to do for a while now but held back so far. That is kidnapping you. His paranoia has taken over, you’ll be safer with him instead of living defenseless.

⚫️Koro feels the final relief wash over him when he sees you just fine, erasing his last worries that you really died. He’s not completely without a plan, he doesn’t go blindly into actions though there might have been a factor that made him hurry up a bit. It isn’t only his paranoia, it’s also the fact that today is the day he felt like he already witnessed once in something he believes to be a dream and it doesn’t do wonders to his patience. He still manages to take you away in a more professional manner and it’ll go especially fast if he has his superhuman strength and speed already. He’s as polite and nice with that practiced and friendly smile of his as possible whilst attempting to explain himself. His feelings, long period of stalking and he even is honest enough to talk about the dream which elicites this shocked reaction out of s/o. He sees this as well and in the next moment he finds out the unpleasant truth.

⚫️To the murderer, you’re screwed either way. Koro is the best assassin known to mankind and it’s either him killing the person whilst still being a full human or him killing them after he’s been the labor rat for a while and gaining amazing powers thanks to it. In this scenario they’re even more screwed because nothing beats him at this rate anymore. He’s fairly cruel himself, he lets the victim feel the true horror of their mistake they have yet to do before he just kills them swiftly and cleanly without much of a mess. The body will either be left behind or he’ll dispose of it before Koro returns to his freshly kidnapped darling. They’re safe now is what he tells them when he returns. He’ll keep them from now on always safe, nothing like this should happen again. You’ll get used to it after a while, you just need to acclimatize and deal with the overbearing assassin.

#yandere tokyo ghoul #yandere kaneki #yandere ken kaneki #yandere ayato #yandere ayato kirishima #yandere juuzou #yandere juuzou suzuya #yandere haise #yandere haise sasaki #yandere ansatsu kyoushitsu #yandere assassination classroom #yandere karma #yandere akabane karma #yandere koro #yandere korosensei #yandere reaper

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five-rivers · 4 years ago

Text

Adoption (part 2)

A gift for @a-flower-lover! This wound up being more along the lines of vignettes... Little snapshots into Danny’s life after being adopted by Clockwork. I hope that’s ok! (PART 1)

Mr. Lancer had met Charles Worth before, albeit briefly. The man had fostered a number of Casper High students and with that responsibility came parent-teacher conferences. He had struck Mr. Lancer as being steady and reliable, if, perhaps, impersonal, despite his predilection for clocks and ominous announcements. A decent foster parent, if not... ideal.

Mr. Worth just didn't seem to connect with his fosters, although he certainly didn't neglect them. Then, too, were the persistent rumors that his home was haunted.

Alright. So, Mr. Lancer didn't think Charles Worth was really a children person. Oh, he was a good person! It took one to do well as a foster parent, but... yeah.

Which was why the scene in front of him surprised him so much. Not the who of it, but the what.

The who was Daniel Fenton and Charles Worth waiting outside the office. The what was smiling and having a conversation. True, Mr. Fenton's smile looked like it was pasted on over several layers of anxiety, but it was genuine.

"Mr. Worth, Mr. Fenton?" he said, tamping down his surprise. "Come on in."

"Hi," said Mr. Fenton, his voice hoarse.

Mr. Worth smiled and nodded, pushing him up with his cane.

But Mr. Fenton must have noticed the curious look Mr. Lancer was giving him. "I knew Cl- Uh. Mr. Worth before this." He winced and smiled widely to cover it up. "So, uh, make up work? Since I missed the past week?"

"Yes, well, circumstances being what they are," aka his parents trying to murder him in public, in broad daylight (and didn't that give Mr. Lancer a chill?), "your teachers have put together a few packets for you to look over this weekend. They should get you more or less up to speed with where your classes are. I'm also willing to stay after school, to help you with anything you've missed in my classes."

Jazz knocked on the door of the Worth house. She had been made aware, via various supernatural (she did not particularly appreciate writing suddenly appearing on her fogged-up bathroom mirror) and mundane (Danny did have her phone number) means, that the man known as Charles Worth was actually the ghost known as Clockwork.

How this had occurred was not entirely clear to her. She assumed ghost powers, specifically time travel, were involved somehow.

But, to be honest, that didn't really matter to her. It was secondary, less than.

What was important here was that she hadn't been legally allowed to see her little brother in over a month. To keep her parents from contacting him. To keep her from letting her parents near him. Because they were legally barred from seeing him.

Because they had tried to kill him.

Jazz planned on never seeing her parents again, as soon as she got all of her and Danny's things from their house.

But now that prohibition had been lifted, because Clockwork had forced through what had to be the speediest adoption in the history of adoptions, and Danny was now legally his son. In the eyes of both humans and ghosts. Which was... Well. Danny seemed to be excited about it, anyway. He'd looked up to Clockwork for a while, from what he told Jazz.

Internally, Jazz had more than a bit of trepidation. She didn't know what adoption meant to ghosts, didn't have any context for it. And ghosts, even the good ones, even Danny, tended to be... obsessive. Extreme. She wasn't sure how that would translate when it came to interpersonal relationships.

The door creaked open, ever so slowly, the squeak it made grating on her eardrums. At first, it appeared to have opened on its own, then a hand gripped the edge of the door, and Clockwork, in human guise, leaned out from behind it.

Jazz raised an eyebrow.

Clockwork raised one right back. "This house is haunted, you know," he said.

Okay, never mind. The only thing she had to worry about was the fact that her brother and his mentor both had terrible senses of humor.

"Hi, Jazz!"

Being used to having a half-ghost brother, Jazz only yelped a little bit at his unexpected appearance behind her. Then she sighed and ruffled his hair. He hugged her and then bounced over the lintel into the house.

"Come on! I want to show you my room! It's so cool!" His voice became fainter as he went farther into the house, until his last exclamation was an eerie whisper.

Jazz looked at Clockwork as she stepped inside. "Is he doing that on purpose?"

Clockwork smiled blandly. "I am very fond of the acoustics in this house."

She looked at her surroundings with a skeptical eye. "It seems... dark in here."

"We are ghosts," said Clockwork. "Daniel is very excited to show you his room, by the way."

"He's human, too, don't forget," said Jazz.

"I won't."

The house was creepy.

Really creepy.

This was coming from someone who had spent most of her life living under the same roof as two ghost-obsessed mad scientists.

But Danny seemed to enjoy it, and he was the one living here. It wasn't like there was anything wrong with the house. Or anything in the house. It was just... off.

Danny was half-ghost, however, so maybe this was something he needed. Perhaps not all of his peppiness could be attributed to being the heck away from his murderous former parents.

Even so. Jazz had a duty, both as a big sister and an aspiring psychologist.

"I already read it," said Clockwork, setting a cup of tea down in front of her.

"What?"

"The book you were about to give me. I've already read it. And a number of others. I am not the kind of person who goes into things unprepared."

Danny rolled into the kitchen on the ceiling. This was easy to ignore. After her life, an Exorcist reference made by her over-excited younger brother, was, well. Underwhelming.

(Okay, she was a little distracted, but only by his glee.)

"Well," she said. "That's good."

"I know this house is out of the way," said Clockwork, craning his neck to look up at his coworker, "but you are rather conspicuous."

"Hm. Am I?" asked Pandora, craning her neck down to look at her comparatively tiny colleague.

"Yes. At that size, humans with average eyesight will be able to see you from town."

Pandora looked out over the trees. "Interesting," she said, mildly. "Do you think the ghost hunters will come?"

"You've spoken to Daniel."

"Yes. He stopped by earlier today, on his way to visit Mattingly. Although, I suppose you knew that already."

"Indeed I did. May I ask, is it your intention to lure the ghost hunters here, fight them, defeat them, and then leave them just close enough to here to constitute a breach of their terms of bail and the restraining order against them?"

"I am not terribly well-versed in human law," said Pandora, "but, why, yes. That is exactly what I'm doing. Best to get it done while Daniel is visiting friends, isn't it?"

"Yes. If you had done this while he was here, I would be significantly more annoyed." Clockwork smiled the sanguine smile of a parental figure who would commit murder if their child was upset.

Pandora returned a matching grin, one that promised retribution against persons who had harmed said child in the past. "Please, Clockwork. You know me better than that. I wouldn't subject him to being in the presence of those fools."

"Good," said Clockwork, eyes glinting.

"Hey, Clockwork? Do you know why there were police cars driving down the- Oh. Hello?" He stopped at the sight of an unfamiliar woman sitting at the dinning room table, next to Clockwork. He blinked and tilted his head to the side. "Wait. Pandora?"

"Perceptive," said the superficially human olive-skinned woman. "You seemed so happy when you stopped by, earlier. I thought I would come check in on you."

"You didn't have to," said Danny, beaming.

"Pandora has been trying to convince me to set her up as one of my relatives," said Clockwork, rolling his eyes. "Would you care for a cup of tea, Daniel?"

"Umm," said Danny, dubiously. "I'll try one, I guess. Does that mean you'll be my aunt?"

Pandora smiled. "Why, yes, it does."

Clockwork groaned theatrically.

"Ah," said Mr. Lancer, at the next parent-teacher conference. "Are you Mr. Worth's wife?"

"No," said Pandora, grinning. "I'm his sister."

Mr. Lancer looked back and forth between the two very different-looking entities. "I... see."

"We're adopted," said Clockwork.

"Oh! Alright then. Now, about Daniel..."

It was a bit strange to see Danny with so much energy, Sam reflected. Strange, but good.

It just went to show how drained he had become over time, how much the constant ghost attacks and worry, all the lies and stress and impossible expectations had worn away at him over time. She hadn't seen her friend this happy since freshman year. If that.

On the other hand...

"Dude," said Tucker. "Your house is spooky. And this is coming from someone who's been inside a literal mad science lab."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Mad science labs are campy, not spooky. Besides, you knew coming in that this house was haunted." He draped himself over the back of the couch, rolling until he was 'sitting' upside-down. "Anyway, what kind of movie do you want to watch? We've got a bunch, because Clockwork apparently collects media from doomed timelines."

"He's got a hobby?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, three," said Danny. "Gardening- you should talk to him about that, by the way, I think he'd like it- baking, and alternate timeline movies. And some books, too, I think. He's got a huge library back in Long Now. I've read like. Two books from it."

Clockwork's voice floated in from the other room. "You've read significantly more than that, Daniel."

"I guess," said Danny, doubtfully. He flopped off the couch, picked himself up, and started prodding at a shelf of movies. "This is from a timeline where the Earth got beaned by a massive asteroid. It's, like, a romcom, but it was made when everyone knew the asteroid was coming. This one is, uh, this is actually a dramatization of real events, apparently, but their timeline split from ours in like the fifties, so the events are pretty wild." He waved the DVD at them. "It's surreal?"

"How'd they die?" asked Tucker.

"Wacky superscience. No, really. Irradiated the entire planet."

"How do you know?" asked Sam.

"Oh, Clockwork puts notes on the boxes. He thinks it's interesting. And there does seem to be some correlation between how cursed the movies are and how bad the timeline was. Which maybe shouldn't surprise me? I mean, if they were bad timelines..." He shrugged. "Oh, this is a CGI Lion King. I can tell you: very cursed. Absolutely soulless. And this is from a timeline where copyright laws weren't changed, so Mickey Mouse and a bunch of other stuff was in the public domain."

"Isn't that a good timeline?" joked Sam.

"You'd think so," agreed Danny. "But apartheid in South Africa apparently never stopped, and they got a nuclear bomb, and, well... World War Three."

"Is that like, a domino effect, or...?"

"I'm not sure... Anyway. Uh. Genre?" He clapped his hands together.

Tucker leaned forward. "I want the wildest version of the Matrix you have."

"Ooh, good choice. There are, like, six with Will Smith. I haven't watched them all yet, but I think the one where they've got another sequel and Zion is also a- Wait, I shouldn't spoil it."

"After that, can you see if there's a non-crappy version of Dracula?" asked Sam.

"Sure. I haven't seen one yet, but I will look."

"I have popcorn," said Clockwork, entering the room, "and various baked goods. No dairy."

"You're the best."

Clockwork selected a thick blanket from the chest, then teleported himself to the living room to drape it over the three teenagers passed out on the couch. Overall, he found pretending to be human oddly enjoyable, but it could be trying at times. Tedious. All the finicky little motions humans had to go through to do the simplest of things added up over the day.

So, Clockwork tended to ease off of them when no one was watching. It made life easier.

Heh. Life.

(He would say that Daniel's puns were rubbing off on him, but in truth Clockwork's sense of humor had been like that for, well. Eons.)

He put the kitchen in order with an absent wave of his hand, and double-checked the stove out of habit. It wasn't nearly as good as his actual oven, back in Long Now, but it was serviceable.

One of Daniel's friends mumbled in their sleep, and Clockwork looked in on them. Still peaceful. It was good for Daniel to have them here. Beneficial for both his human and ghost halves.

He hummed to himself and patted Daniel's head as he thought about their plans for the weekend. He had arranged for some truly aggravating evangelical missionaries to darken their doorstep. It would do Daniel good to inspire a touch of terror. In an entirely controlled and risk-free way, of course. No matter how unpleasant the people coming were, Clockwork had no intention of harming them, or suggesting anything of the sort.

But, well. They were ghosts. Being feared was soothing.

(Clockwork knew this wasn't what Jasmine meant when she suggested Clockwork engage in family bonding activities with Daniel. But what she didn't know...)

"I think my teeth are getting sharper," said Danny, pulling a face at the mirror. "Is that normal?" The last was shouted, to get Clockwork's attention. Intellectually, Danny knew he didn't need to do that, but a lifetime of habit was hard to shake.

"It is difficult to say what is normal for someone like you, but many ghosts do have fangs," said Clockwork. "Including myself."

"Hm," said Danny. "This isn't, like, a ghost puberty thing, is it? Because I already used up most of my evil puberty jokes."

"Oh, only most?" Clockwork slid behind him and started rubbing the tension out of his shoulders.

Danny shrugged. "Eh, give or take. But, seriously."

"No, it isn't a ghost puberty thing."

"Oh, good. Because dealing with one puberty is more than enough."

Clockwork was silent. Danny looked up and met troubled eyes in the mirror.

"Clockwork?"

"Daniel," started Clockwork, before giving Danny an uneasy smile. "Speaking of puberty..."

Danny blanched. "No."

"What?"

"No. Nope. Not doing the talk today, no sir. I got that at school."

"Daniel, as strange as Casper High may be at times, I highly doubt they taught you anything about immortality."

"What."

"It's why ghosts put so much forethought into relationships like this," explained Clockwork, careful not to look directly at Daniel's hiding place. "They might last forever. I certainly hope this one does."

"But I don't want to be a teenager forever!" wailed Danny. He had mastered the art of making his voice sound like it was coming from a completely different direction than it actually was.

Clockwork was older than human civilization and had been worshiped as a god by several civilizations. He did not wince at the heartbreak in his child's voice.

"Your shapeshifting abilities should come in after a few years," said Clockwork. "You'll be able to pass as older."

Daniel answered with a moan.

"I must confess, I'm not sure why you are so upset about this. I can see that you are, but could you explain why for me?"

"I don't knoooooowww..."

"I don't want everyone to die and leave me alone," admitted Danny, hunched over a carton of ice cream. "I don't want to see my- my people die." He sniffled.

"We don't have to stay in Amity Park if you don't want to," said Clockwork.

Danny shook his head. "No! That's worse," he said, hating how his voice tilted into a whine. "That's- I can't abandon them! I can't- can't miss their time. I just..." He let out a huff of air. "It's hard."

Clockwork wrapped an arm around Daniel's shoulders. "It may not help much," he said, "but people in Amity Park have a much higher chance of becoming ghosts. It's the ectoplasm in the air."

"Promise?" asked Danny.

"Promise. Although, who, exactly, becomes a ghost is outside of my control. All I can tell you is that the people here have a better chance."

Danny leaned against Clockwork. "Thanks," he mumbled. "Clockwork?"

"Yes?"

"You don't think I'm a freak, do you?"

"Of course not."

Mr. Lancer squinted down at Daniel Fenton's latest assignment with a mix of appreciation, disbelief, and shame. This was easily the best work he had ever received from Daniel. In fact, it rivaled papers he had received from Jasmine.

It made him wonder- How long had Daniel been suffering? What had Daniel been suffering? He was no expert when it came to abuse, but all teachers had some training, and he knew that abusers tended to escalate, starting with something relatively innocuous and ending with a travesty. For things to progress to attempted murder... What had it started as? When had it begun?

(Could Mr. Lancer have stopped it?)

(That question would haunt him more than any ghost.)

Well, there was a silver lining to this, Mr. Lancer supposed. He had rarely seen two people who got along as well as Daniel and Charles Worth. It was good, he thought, for the man to have someone in his life on a more permanent basis, rather than the revolving door of temporary foster children.

How rapidly the adoption went through was a little odd, but... Mr. Lancer shrugged. Undoubtedly, Mr. Worth had taken the time over his years as a foster parent to familiarize himself with the system, and with Daniel's former parents unfit to be anywhere near children...

He shrugged again and stamped Daniel's paper with an A+.

#danny phantom #gift #prize #winner #fic #phanfiction

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ctrsara · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 5: Premonitions

Peter’s phone was ringing. Why? What time was it?

He fumbled for it, and his eyes could finally focus enough to see who it was. “FRIDAY?” Her “number” was in his phone because Tony wanted Peter to be able to reach her in an emergency if he didn’t answer, and she also used the connection to send him random duck memes, because she knew he was obsessed with those.

“Peter, I’m very sorry, were you sleeping?”

“Well, it’s--” He squinted at the upper corner of his Starkphone, then rubbed at his eyes. “Three AM, so yeah.”

“I wondered…” she sounded hesitant. “I don’t have permission to ask you, but I haven’t been forbidden from calling you, as I have been from contacting Ms. Potts or Colonel Rhodes.” The AI sounded mildly put out, which meant she was really upset, if he could ascribe emotions to her, which he did more often the longer he interacted with her. She sounded a little flustered.

“Boss has not been sleeping well. He’s been having nightmares often this week, and is coming down from a panic attack right now. I believe he would benefit from trusted company. Would it be possible for you to come? Your schedule doesn’t have anything on it tomorrow morning.”

“You stalking me?” he huffed in amusement. “Yeah, yeah. Of course, FRI,” Peter said, scrambling up out of his bed. He checked what he was wearing. A Stark Industries t-shirt and nondescript flannel pajamas pants. As good as anything. He grabbed his suit from where he’d carelessly thrown it the night before. Thankfully it was a slow night, and he’d come home before eleven to get some sleep. May was working though, and he wouldn’t have wanted to wake her for a ride anyway

Keep reading on AO3

FRIDAY let him in his bedroom window at the Tower, and he changed quickly out of the spider suit.

“Where is he, FRI?”

“Boss is brewing coffee in the kitchen,” she said, not hiding her disapproval.

Eschewing shoes, Peter padded down the hall towards the penthouse kitchen. He paused in the doorway to observe his mentor. Tony’s hair was free of its usual careful styling, his shoulders were slumped, and the hand he was using to fill his coffee mug was shaking slightly.

“Mr. Stark, you really think that’s a good idea?” Peter asked skeptically.

Tony swore, jumping several inches in the air, and nearly dropping probably-scalding coffee all over himself.

“Jeez, Pete! Where’d you come from?” Then a glare at the ceiling. “FRIDAY?!”

FRIDAY was silent. Somehow her silence was rebellious.

Tony grabbed a towel off a drawer handle, wiping up at least half a cup’s worth from where it had landed on the granite countertop. He turned to Peter then, a pleasant expression pasted on his face.

“To what do I owe the very (another glare at the ceiling) unexpected pleasure, kid?”

Peter tilted his head, his eyes softening. He’d known Tony for a couple years now, and had rarely seen him this discomfited.

“Yeah, FRIDAY called me. And I’d… appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell her she can’t, like she did with Pepper and Rhodey,” he added, a little sullenly, crossing his arms worriedly. He didn’t like the thought of Tony placing himself out of help’s reach.

Tony sighed, leaning back against the counter. The frustration had fled, and he just motioned Peter towards him, lifting his free arm in invitation. Peter quickly took the opening, wrapping both arms around the man he’d grown close to, and trying to impart a little comfort. He wondered what the nightmares were about.

His hugs were generally quick, ending with a tousle to Peter’s hair, or a congratulatory pat, but this time Tony held on a little longer, Peter felt him take a deep breath against his head before he released him.

“No matter what she said, I’m fine , Pete, and you should go home and go back to sleep. Or… sleep in your room here, if you don’t want to swing back. I’d rather you did that, actually,” Tony said, his brow crinkling at the thought of Peter going back out. “Does May know you’re here?”

“She’s working. I texted her.”

“Oh, okay.” Tony took a sip of his coffee and started to walk towards the living room. Peter stopped him with a hand on his arm, then kept eye contact while he held the other hand out for the coffee mug. Tony glared at him, but Peter didn’t blink, and Tony finally handed Peter the mug, blowing out all his breath in annoyed exasperation before stalking towards the living room empty-handed.

Peter exhaled in a sigh of relief. He hadn’t known if that was going to work. He quickly poured the coffee down the sink, and followed Tony out of the kitchen.

“I’m not sleeping more,” Tony said firmly, arms crossed a bit like a stubborn toddler.

“You think I’d try to tell you what to do?” Peter asked innocently, recognizing the irony of how he’d just taken the man’s coffee away. “But you can at least rest, and caffeine will just send you down to your workshop or something,” he argued cheerfully.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Would you let me work in the lab if I had slept as much as you have lately?”

“You really are a snitch, FRIDAY, and we’re going to have words,” Tony groused. FRIDAY was still silent. “But you’re right,” he said, slouching into the sectional in defeat.

Peter sat down carefully next to him. “Can we watch something? You can just rest your eyes maybe? I’m gonna stay here. I might sleep some more too.”

Tony didn’t respond, but nodded tiredly.

“Hey, FRI? Got any mildly-interesting, but not too-interesting movies for us?” Peter asked, snagging a blanket and pulling it over to spread across them. Tony was done arguing, but looked mildly offended at Peter trying to tuck it over the top of him.

After a moment, six movies flashed up on the large TV screen.

“ Love, Actually ? Beethoven ? Star Trek V ?” What algorithm are we using here?” Peter asked rhetorically. “ Finding Dory , Dante’s Peak … oh, that’s like a disaster movie? I haven’t seen that one.”

Peter suddenly felt Tony’s arm grabbing at him under the blanket. “NO. No…uh, no ashes , please.”

Peter turned to look carefully at his mentor, whose eyes looked haunted.

“O-kay,” he said softly. “Hey, FRI, these aren’t doing it for us. How about something light? Maybe… Ratatouille?”

He expected Tony to protest, but the older man was still silent. The film started playing, though not too loudly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Peter asked, slouching next to Tony and pushing their shoulders together.

“Not… really.”

“If I had nightmares bad enough to keep me up a few nights in a row, would you want me to talk about them?”

“If you would, yes, but I’m the adult, Pete. This isn’t your job.”

“It’s not a job. I just want to help, and sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

Tony sighed in exasperation, and sat up taller, lifting his arm up to pull Peter securely into his side. Peter went without protest, relieved that Tony was letting him offer some comfort.

“Same dream the last few nights. Just… losing people. They just disappear, and I can’t do anything about it.” Then more quietly. “I have so many resources, and can do so much, and I still fixate on not being able to save people.”

Impressed that Tony had even told him that much, Peter leaned more heavily into him, and watched Remy talk about quality ingredients. He was quiet for a few minutes, hoping Tony would elaborate.

“Just a hunch, but was I one of the ones that disappeared?”

Tony was silent. His arm gripped Peter more firmly in reply though.

Deciding it was worth the risk of feeling rejected if he was overstepping, Peter scooted in a little closer, leaning his head fully against Tony’s shoulder and snuggling into his side a little.

Tony froze for just a moment, but then he sighed and relaxed his head against Peter’s, his arm hugging him in close. “Just a dream, Pete. Nothing to worry about. Maybe I should try to avoid eating pizza at eleven at night.”

“It definitely wouldn’t hurt,” Peter said, huffing out a laugh. “You could try getting to sleep earlier, too.”

“Pepper will be back tomorrow,” Tony said. “That always helps.”

“You guys have a lot going on this week?”

“Not too bad. A board meeting Thursday, and we’re a little behind in R&D. You?”

“Mmm. Field trip to the MOMA on Monday, and I think the Manfredis are planning a car show on Friday.”

Tony’s drowsy voice sharpened. “I thought I told you to stay away from them. But what does a car show have to do with you?”

“I wanna look at the cars , of course. It’s one of their few above-board events every year, according to my source.”

“You’re too young to have sources,” Tony grumbled. He had relaxed again though, and his head was leaning heavily against Peter’s as they watched the small gray rat on the screen start to make friends with the wannabe chef.

“If you hadn’t gotten me into old cars, I probably wouldn’t be interested anyway, so it’s basically on you,” Peter verbally poked his mentor.

“Hmm. What does your aunt think of that sass?” he asked, not hiding his amusement very well. Peter was pretty sure his eyes were closed.

“She thinks I’m adorable. And she says I’ve gotten twice as bad since I started hanging out with you.”

“Fair point.” Tony’s breathing was evening out and his heart rate was slowing. Peter decided against answering back, waiting to see if Tony might fall asleep, despite his protests.

A few minutes later, Peter was confident Tony was out. Thankfully he’d shifted more of his head to the back of the couch and wasn’t leaning so heavily on Peter’s head anymore.

“Time is it, FRIDAY?” he asked quietly. His phone was somewhere on the kitchen counter.

“It’s 3:57 AM, Peter,” FRIDAY responded, very quietly. She knew Peter’s enhanced senses would hear her just fine.

“I’m gonna try to sleep, too. If anyone tries to reach either of us, will you mute our phones unless it’s an emergency, but if they’re family, just let them know we’re sleeping?”

“Of course.”

Peter sighed and curled his legs up to get more comfortable.

“Peter?”

“Yeah, FRI?” he said, yawning.

“Thank you.”

“He doesn’t need to try to do everything by himself. So thanks for calling.”

“Agreed.”

“Night, FRI. Uh, morning, I guess.”

“Goodnight, Peter.”

200 Park Avenue (5+1)

Peter hasn't seen Mr. Stark, or been able to go out as Spiderman since he turned down his invitation to join the Avengers a few weeks ago. He ends up at Stark Tower rather randomly, finding an unlikely hero in Mr. Starks, AI, then keeps returning for different reasons.

The first chapter is a short I did for Comfortember 2022 that I've just kept thinking about. I'm building on that story and creating a 5+1 to explore the new dynamic (post Homecoming) in another way.

5 Times Peter Visited Stark Tower and 1 Time He Stayed

#irondad and spiderson #tony stark and peter parker #nightmares #hurt/comfort #peter parker being awesome #tony stark accepting help #friday is amazing

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stealingpotatoes · 4 years ago

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I am OBSESSED with your Desmond lives AU!! I want Shaun and Rebecca to be able to give Desmond all the hugs, I want Desmond to be able to choose to be an Assassin, to be able to help save the world again. Also, I am very curious about how you would resurrect Desmond, because I’ve had similar thoughts on such an AU, but I currently stick it near the end of Valhalla with the stuff that happens there. If you ever feel like expanding on it, I'd be super excited to see more!!!

first of all, AH THANK YOU!!! Yes those are ALL points that are very important to the Des Lives AU! Second of all, thank you so much for this ask in general!!! I was hoping someone would send an ask like this so I’d get an excuse to talk abt the AU more lmao XD!! I made this AU back in March last year, so there’s no Valhalla stuff in it, and it’s set right after/ during the Odyssey DLCs.

The long story short for my Desmond Rez (rezmond, if you will) is “shroud of eden, abstergo, and some Isu bullshit”. The long story long, however, is uh- you know what? I’m going to use this opportunity to explain the vague story I worked out last year -- but dw, I WILL get to the full ressurection explanation I thought through. However... I’m gonna have to tell the story in smaller parts because I’m lazy and can’t be bothered to write the whole thing out right now. So rez comes later and not in this post.

also uh-- before we start: I’m going to apologise for like… everything about the way I wrote this. It’s sort-of half fic, half that-way-your-friends-colloquially-tell-stories-that-you-can’t-keep-up-with. Mainly the latter. If you can make sense of this babbling, well done.

Anyways, without further ado, welcome to:

POTES TRIES TO EXPLAIN HER DESMOND (SORTA) LIVES AU: PART ONE

On the 21st of December 2012, Desmond Miles dies.

It’s not for nothing -- his sacrifice saves the entire world from a solar flare -- but he is dead. big ripz. The Assassins, his family, do not manage to recover his body. Abstergo gets it first. The Assassins hold a funeral as best they can. They mourn (all in their own ways), they keep fighting (for his memory), and they try to move on (they can’t).

On the 21st of December 2012, Desmond Miles died -- so when he shows up in a city in October 2018, almost 6 years later, it’s a bit of a shock for everyone. What’s even more of a shock is the fact he’s glowing like an Isu and has some abilities he DEFINITELY didn’t have when he died.

So Desmond wakes up in the middle of some city in he doesn’t know where (yeah ok i just never really worked out where the secret lab would be), with 1. no idea of how he got there and 2. no idea why his arms are glowing like that. He doesn’t get much time to think about it because then there’re a load of Abstergo goons with guns surrounding him. Des may have no idea what’s happening, but he knows one thing: when u see an Abstergo, it’s on sight. So he’s fighting them -- which is admittedly not fun or easy when you’re in the middle of a road and only have your fists as weapons. It’s not going well and then someone definitely manages to shoot Desmond which is very bad -- but then Des feels some very weird (but not unfamiliar) feeling and when he looks up from the bullet wound, every one of the Abstergos are on the floor???? He doesn’t think to check if they’re dead, just legs it out of there lmao.

Elsewhere, in an Assassin safehouse in an undisclosed location (can you tell I just didn’t think about the geography of anything), Mr Shaun Hastings is chilling on a balcony after a mission well done. Good for him. Then Rebecca Crane (queen ilu) yells “Shaun?” from inside.

“Rebecca?”

“Come inside. Now.”

Shaun immediately does so because he assumes it’s important or they’re under threat. “What happened? Have we been compromised?”

Rebecca doesn’t answer.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Shaun says, mostly joking and with a little smirk -- though Becs looks spooked.

“Desmond’s alive.”

Shaun’s not smirking anymore. “What?”

“Desmond’s... he’s alive.”

“What are you talking about? Are you high?” he’s totally about to look at her eyes to see if they’re all dilated and druggy.

“No Shaun, I mean it!” Becs harshly shoves her tablet into his hands.

Shaun doesn’t really know what he’s expecting to see when he looks down at the screen. What he’s not really expecting to see is Desmond Miles, who’s been dead for six years, fighting a load of Abstergo people -- while lined in Isu markings (also he’s not wearing a shirt forgot got to mention). ??? But wtf??!?! Desmond’s dead. That’s...

“It’s security camera footage from [the city]... About two hours ago.” Rebecca then swipes through more footage with shaky hands and explains that Des very violently burst out of an Abstergo facility in the city with glowing eyes and light leaking out of him (almost like an Apple of Eden). Then the glowing eyes and shining lights shuts off abruptly and Des is standing in the middle of the road looking very confused at his precursor-ass arms and chest. But Shaun is barely listening to what she’s saying and barely even looking at the screen.

“Where did you get this?” Shaun asks with a hollow voice, not looking up.

“The Initiates.” (bc who else)

Shaun looks at it again, then at Rebecca, and he’s mildly aware of the fact he’s slightly tearing up; “That’s fake. That can’t be him. He’s dead, Becs. We both saw the…” They both saw the autopsy footage the ac4 researcher got from Abstergo -- or at least, tried to watch it; they shut it off as soon as Shaun ran to the bathroom to throw up and Rebecca quickly joined him. They spent the rest of that night crying and drinking way too much.

“He died.” Shaun concludes firmly.

And so Becs is all like “yeah but what if he didn’t?? We need to find him. We need to investigate this.” There’s a determination in her eyes and Shaun knows he’s not going to be able to convince her to drop this -- not that he would. Desmond might be alive, and there is no way they’re going to leave him again.

They’re both standing there in pure shock and confusion, not saying anything.

Rebecca’s comm device lights up and starts buzzing, snapping them out of their general ????-ness. Becs goes to her desk to grab it, glances at the caller id and then shows it to Shaun. It’s William Miles.

The two of them share a Look. They know what he’s calling about -- what else would it be? There’s a stilted moment of neither of them doing anything before Rebecca finally accepts the call. “William?”

“How quickly can you and Shaun get to [city]?” William sounds shaken -- probably the same way Rebecca and Shaun are -- which is a very weird way to hear the Mentor of the Brotherhood sound. He’s seen the footage, hasn’t he?

“In a few hours,” Rebecca replies.

“Good. You need to get there as soon as possible.”

Everyone’s silent for a few moments.

“Is this about Desmond?” Rebecca asks. Dumb question.

There’s a pause. “You’ll be briefed on the ground.” And then he hangs up before Shaun or Rebecca can yell at him.

This is all moving very fast. Shaun and Rebecca share another look. Guess they’re going to [city]. ???

Fast forward several hours and Rebecca and Shaun are in The City [might just have to make the city london bc it’s the one city i actually know well -- however for plot reasons we’ll see later, a swiss city might be better… moving on!]. They get to an assassin base and meet up with Galina Voronina and 2 local assassins. Idk if you’ve read the comics, but to sum things up quickly, Galina and her team were investigating and then ended Project Phoenix -- so Galina now really wants to find out if the whole Desmond thing has anything to do with that.

Galina also wants to help Shaun and Rebecca get their friend back. They’re her friends, but equally she just lost one of her teammates to Abstergo (while ending Phoenix like 2 months ago, in the comics) and is uh- idk how to say it but she wants to help Shaun & Becs who have a chance to get their lost teammate back.

What follows is cool gang-gang trying to track down any trace of Desmond. You’d think it wouldn’t be hard to find a person who literally glows, but Desmond’s had centuries of Assassin training and knows how to hide lol.. which is making the Assassins’ job harder lol.

What’s making it even harder is the Assassins know they have to be quick because they know Abstergo is gonna be looking for Desmond too -- and they have way more resources and stuff. That being said, they’re also currently dealing with the fact one of their building and a decent amount of their guards just got absolutely mullered by weird-glowing-desmond.

The third issue with their entire thing is that they have no idea what they’re going to find when they find Desmond -- or if he even is Desmond. Is he going to be the man they knew but with weird powers? an Abstergo isu-clone? evil? they don’t know, and so they know they’ve got to be wary with him.

The Assassin gang spend some time (a couple of days at the very most) trying to track Desmond down. Rebecca is using all the tech she can get her hacker mitts on to find a trace of him and equally throw Abstergo off Des’ trail.

Soon enough, they get a solid lead -- don’t ask for the specifics, i don’t know them. But they get a lead, and it winds them up in an abandoned apartment building or also abandoned building site or something (a building in the city where there aren’t any people, basically).

Galina scans the place with Eagle Vision and she’s like “There is something very strange about this place.” (someone?) But she doesn’t see a person-shape anywhere. The 5 of them are hopeful but somewhat on edge.

They go about searching for any sign of Desmond. Galina��s pretty sure her Eagle Vision is just… Messing Up A Lot lol. Like something’s trying to heck with it. So she’s not quite sure it’s working correctly when a load of red figures appear somewhere below them.

She becomes a lot more sure when the red figures come into sight and START SHOOTING AT THEM! IT’S ABSTERGO!! CRAP! they found them!!

The assassins get down and a really cool fight scene w them vs the Abstergos in the building/ building site starts playing out. Woo Shaun and Rebecca electro-hidden-blade moments!! The fight splits the squad up and Shaun and Rebecca are away from Galina & the others -- but they dispatch the Abstergo guards near them.

They’re about to radio in that they’re all okay/ check if Galina & co are also good when they hear a slightly-too-loud footstep. They whip around to see an Abstergo guard aiming right at them, too far for either of them to get him before he shoots them. crap crap crap.

They would have been shot -- if someone hadn’t come up behind the Abstergo guard and snapped his neck (ouch).

The Abstergo drops to the ground, revealing the person who saved them and… Shaun and Rebecca stare in shock.

They’re both looking at Desmond Miles.

Desmond Miles, who is very much alive (and wearing a hoodie that is 100% stolen). And… with a load of glowing yellow lines on his face. But it’s Desmond -- it’s Desmond for sure. Holy shit.

Desmond doesn’t seem so shocked, only relieved to see them. Then his expression turns into serious confusion;

“What the fuck is happening?”

///

ok sorry leaving it there for now! hope you enjoyed what is here will continue soon

#desmond (sorta) lives au #desmond miles #rebecca crane #shaun hastings #galina voronina #william miles #Assassin's Creed #THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK i saw it this morning and have spent the day wanting to write this down but being in lessons /:#i know it's a complete mess however you'll have to excuse me i got excited #you opened a can of worms darling anon #I know I just used it as an excuse to Go Off but uh... sorry lol #asscreed #potes wrotes #sort of #thanks for the ask!#the night that the sun came up

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apparentlyaswarmofbees · 4 years ago

Note

please do make a list of Korean Isekai you’ve read, I’ve been wanting to get into them more 👀

And the word has been spoken

I was going to use images for each but tumblr only allows 10 or them 😑. Imma list all isekais/re incarnation webtoons that I personally recomend, a note though that last night I actually opened just a few more tabs with new ones to read so I may give this list an update later lol.

Long list bellow!

Doctor Elise

Not exactly my best recomendation seeing I kind of dropped reading it but I still go back from time to time. Main character is currently on her 3rd re incarnation and set on being a surgeon and making use of all her knowledge on earth. It's actually really interesting! Reason I dropped is more related to the romance, but that is simply out of my own personal preference and I don't consider it bad at all.

The Justice of Villanous Woman

Also dropped but it was actually because I missed too many updates and now I need to re read it jajdjxkwhdjskaj, it's not a WOW story but it's good, specially since the main character is pretending to act like a villainess (two faced on purpose) against the ACTUAL villainess who was just pretending to be nice. It was a really good twist.

La Dolche Vita di Adelaide

This one is actually completed! And it's really good too!! The female lead is very assertive and the male lead is one or those that can be pretty shy lol. It's a really nice read.

Reminiscence Adonis

Badass female lead that I would gladly let step on me. It's really good but I also dropped due to missing too many updates lololol. The main character and the male lead basically flirt with each other all the time later in the story it's ridiculous l o l o l o l.

The Abandoned Empress

Though I dropped due to it not being my cup of tea it may just be yours since although not my preference I can't deny the story is actually good. Female lead was done so much wrong to her in the past and is trying to change her destiny even against God.

Survive as The Hero's Wife

One of my favorites big time!!! Female lead is amazing and male lead is so. damn. cute I can't even. Also ART????? It's so damn pretty. Female lead re incarnated inside a novel, she makes a REALLY good use of all her knowledge.

They Say I Was Born a King's Daughter

Not gonna lie this is just one I read to pass the time. Entertaining enough though the story itself is, ???????. It takes a while to get used to the art style. Though I only find it mildly interesting, it can be really good to someone else. And I really cannot say that this one is in any way bad because it absolutely isn't. Prepare for frustration directly related to strong mysoginy though.

The Reason Why Raeliana Ended Up At The Duke's Mansion

Another one I dropped because I missed too many updates jshbdcjshejcksjenfoskjfjoa but it's really good and the main character basically takes to shit. Her main goal is scape death.

Miss Not-So Sidekick

This one is a very comedy centered one , I dropped due to the fact because updates are pretty damn slow I ended up loosing the track of the thing, what I am doing now is waiting for it to basically end so I can read it all in one sit. It's actually pretty good and the art style is very unique!

Suddenly Became a Princess One Day

ALL TIME FAVORITE OH MY GOD WITH EVERY UPDATE I LOSE ANOTHER YEAR OF MY LIFE SPAM. Just, just give it a go. The art is BEAUTIFUL, the characters extremelly well made, and the main character is just fucking great I love her.

I Was Born As The Demon Lord's Daughter

Another one I dropped due to slow updates that caused me to lose track;; But it's actually good! And the autor did the thing many don't do in these stories: have the main character actually be someone and give her a story that actually becomes reason of many of her actions and feelings in her current life. Also soft good Dad uvu.

The Emperor's Companion

This one was too frustrating so I ended up dropping but I can't deny it's good so I will recomend it. To wake up in a body of someone who was supposed to have a lot of responsability but has been in a coma basically all her life which resulted in her underlings going ape shit under corruption and now that she's awake she gotta fix it.

The Villainess Reverses The Hourglass

ANOTHER ALL TIME FAVORITE AND THE ART IS SO GOOD TOO. The main character is NOT pretending to be a villainess, she is straight up made of wrath and spite and is set on ruining those who ruined her first in her previous life.

The Duchess With an Empty Soul

So. Damn. Interesting!!!! The way the main character is portrayed wasn't something I have seen many do, and she's a badass!! Male lead is a good man uwu. Also it's one of those with 'marry me but don't expect love'.

A Stepmother's Marchen

One 👏 More 👏 Favorite 👏 the art is BEAUTIFUL, the characters are WELL MADE, and I just LOVE the interactions between them, be it from interactions I want to punch one of them in the face to interactions where I just am in love. Also OLD PEOPLE ARE DRAWN SO BEAUTIFULLY. The art in this one is just BEAUTIFUL and I really can't even-

Beware of The Brothers!

Same creator as Suddenly Became a Princess One Day, only this one is actually deal with a lot more, serious (?), subjects in which one(just a single one) of them was the reason I dropped. But in fact, said subject is currently being really well fucking written, so although not my cup of tea, it definetelly deserves a chance.

Beware of The Villainess!

I KNOW many of you know this one and I KNOW all of you also love the female lead, the blue werewolf, the *cough* lesbian *cough* heroine and the maid. I love them too. It's a REALLY good one and it also is one of my all time favorites. Be ready to want to kill some guys though lol.

Lucia

Just- just read it. It's GOOD. And recent updates just started going deeper. Please. It's good, I promise-

The Evil Lady Will Change

It's also pretty damn good and also has the thing with 'marry me but don't expect love'. Both female and male lead are actually pretty good guys but their reputation was twisted so now they are seen as villanious like in public eye.

Priscilla's Marriage Request

Powerful female lead that is set on avoiding the outcomes of her previous life. But of course, once one manages to change the course of the previous story a new one starts, and in that new one she won't have her previous knowledge for it. Also she has a crush on the male lead ever since her previous life l o l.

This is an Obvious Fraudulent Marriage

Female lead is quite oblivious and the male lead only becomes better with time. The female lead may throw a few tauntruns but they're never annoying. I really like this one.

I Became The Villain's Mother

Also dropped because of slow updates, to be reborn as the mother in a family of villains and trying to give them the love they lacked. Both father and son and little shits.

The Villain's Saviour

Though the fact that the female lead cries way too much is a bit annoying, the story is so damn interesting. Male lead is basically a literal psychopath. The drama is off the charts too, specially since this one also makes use of Soulmate Marks.

Beatrice

One more on the list of dropped because of slow updates so now I am waiting for it to basically end so I can read it all in one sit. The fact she is insekaid is only shown at chapter 4 nsksjxksnekxjasfo, it's a good one though.

IRIS - Lady With a Smarthphone

Although I wish they would have actually focused more on the fact that she has a phone and put it to more use, it's actually a really interesting story in which the female lead is aiming to destroy everything related to all the pain she faced in her past life, and she is being very through with it.

The Youngest Princess

Badass female lead re incarnated in the same world so it's not isekai but it's very much re incarnation. Family interactions are great in this one lolololol, female lead is really good as a character. I have re read this one quite a few times though it's still very much only on the beggining of the whole thing.

The Duchess' 50 Tea Recipes

Came for the isekai, stayed for the female lead's obsession with tea to the point you could make memes about it. Poor male lead losing his position to TEA. It's in all honestly one of my all time favorites and though it is very focused on tea, it's very entertaining as it deals with other subjects too. It's so amazing how some problems were actually solved with tea. Very recomended.

Chitra

When you are reborn in a world that of all game functions it has decided to be GATCHA. It's really damn good though and the art is hella great, extra plus for comedy material lololololol.

The Villainess Lives Twice

Female lead is very particular, she isn't nice but she isn't necessarily evil, her actions are pretty manipulative due to it being all she has ever known and she uses herself as a mere tool to have others achieve their goals, automatically achieving her own goals. I just find the way she works really interesting as she goes against those who ruined her in the past.

A Capable Maid

Not really isekai nor re incarnation but I felt the need to put it here due to the fact that not only it is great but also due to the fact that the female lead had visions of several times in history that has helped her in many tasks.

A Returner's Magic Should Be Special

Now I'm not sure if it's korean but I love it so it's here. This time we have a male main character, it's really damn good and I read it all first in one sit. Main character went back in time before apocalypse right after he just destroyed the cause of said apocalypse in the future. Now he is aiming to avoid the apocalyspe alltogether and make sure his loved ones stay alive and well this time around.

The Pet of The Villainess

This one is so damn interesting, seriously. It destroyed so many too often used tropes in these kinds of webtoons and its PERFECT. I seriously recomend it just from the fact it takes a completelly different approach to many now "cliches" in these kind of webtoons.

Please Throw Me Away

Another interesting one, male lead is a huge puppy in love with a distrustfull cat female lead. Her family is shit and I would pay to have them destroyed. Have I said the male lead is a huge fucking puppy.

Actually, I Was The Real One

When you are accused of being fake and sentenced to death only to be told by the fake herself that you were actually the real one all this time. Main characters has no socializing habilities and it's cute lol, she is doing her best. This time she is making sure to try to avoid the same ending, and searching to know why she was brought back in time.

I Became The Hero's Mom

This girl took stanning to the next level and decided that no, since now I have the chance I will make sure my favorite character grows up as a happy child being loved and smiling instead of suffering. Male lead is the dad and he is so fucking great.

A Young Lady is a Royal Chef

This one is pretty centered in food as the title says, it's pretty new so the story hasn't gotten a chance to fully develop just yet but it's still interesting enough to keep me hooked.

When The Villainess Loves

B O I, I DIDN'T EXPECT TO LOVE IT BUT I DID AND HAVE RE READ IT MANY TIMES AND I NEED MORE UPDATES AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Anyways this can actually manage to hurt your feelings with "fake angst" and I give kudos to that lolololol. The male characters are killing me seriously, they're too cute, then too hot, then too cute, THEN TOO HOT, BUT THEN S O C U T E-

I've Become The Villanious Empress of a Novel

Also one fairly new to the point the story hasn't fully developed yet, I really like it solely for the fact the female lead is now on the road to fix the bullshit around her. She's also a badass I would gladly let step on me.

Shadow Queen

A big FUCK YEAH to this one because the main character deserves it. After dying to a very thought out plan and even having her son killed, she is now planning on turning the tables and ruining the ones making the plan from inside. She is amazing and I love her pls read.

The Lady and The Beast

Honestly this one is both comedy gold and angsty at the same time the mix of feelings makes me go jshejdhsowjebfoshexiwnnfso, it's so hella great though, it's also basically new but it has developed it's story quite a bit.

This Girl is a Little Wild

And to finish this list on a gold but sad key, this one is also one of my all time favorite, the female and male lead are adorable and ridiculous together and I love them, the main character is so likeable and the plot has so many puzzles but, rumor says the original creator has dropped this, thought it is sad I hope said creator is okay, even incompleted it's still a really damn good read.

#korean isekai masterlist #made while half asleep sorry for typos currently fixing akdjxaiwnfaidnxioa

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sometimesiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

Hooked on a Feeling

The Witcher: Modern Academia AU

Essi/Eskel

A/N: Inspired by this lovely art piece and my general ongoing obsession with Lit Prof Eskel, I bring you this—whatever this is. It came about largely because I want to explore Essi more thoroughly through different pairings, various different planes of existence, etc. The best way for me to think about and develop a character is to put them in with other characters and see what happens. This may or may not become a series, this also might stay where it is. I chose a modern AU because I wanted a challenge. I believe characters change with context, and this has been an interesting time spent with Eskel in this context as well. I’m not sure how I feel about him in this universe (aside from the love and affection I will likely always feel for that man); more specifically, I’m not sure I’ve done him justice, but I suppose I’ll let you decide for yourself. Feedback is usually helpful and always welcome. Cheers, friends!

Warnings: bit o’ smut, age gap, academic power structures, dialogue-heavy

MASTERLIST

Enjoy!

Strong hands held her steady, warm and luxurious through the cotton-poly-spandex of her skirt as it bunched around the tops of her thighs. A breathless roll of her hips left a spot blooming slippery dark on the red cotton of his boxer briefs, and a hungry moan escaped his throat as he explored the tender flesh and tendons of her neck. Papers crumpled under foot, previously housed on top of the desk, but now relegated to excess carpeting. Roget’s Thesaurus, Crabb’s English Synonyms, Shakespeare’s Lexicon, and other reference materials splayed open helplessly on the office floor as he toed off his shoes and sloughed off his pants.

She clutched him to her, feeling the shift and flex of his torso beneath her hands as she pressed her right cheek to his. She was overwhelmed with the urge to be closer, to know better, dig deeper into the possibilities of what they could mean to each other. But she could also feel the hesitation lingering between his fingers and her skin like a mirage over hot pavement, and the desire to ease and reassure took over. “You’re holding back,” she whispered, pausing their fervor. “Is this not what you wanted?”

Her hot breath against his ear sent a rushing tingle down his spine that made him falter, ever-so-briefly, before he regained his composure. He was breathing heavy against her, hair a mess, glasses askew, every muscle in his body quivering as he stood; caught between following the raw satisfaction of impulse, and listening to the unwelcome logic echoing loudly in his head that this was a bad idea. “No, no, believe me, this is very much what I want. I just—I need to make sure tha-ha-ha-haaaaa,” no one, not even him, got to know the end of that sentence as her palm dragged along the bulge in his briefs.

She blinked at him with certainty, pale cheeks blushing from her own boldness. But she wanted him to know that he was wanted: his mind, his body, his whatever-else-he-chose-to-give-her. Slender fingers nimbly worked the pearly buttons on his dress shirt. “You need to make sure that I don’t feel coerced by the difference in our ages or your institutional status.” She ran her hands over the crisp white cotton of his undershirt and smirked, “or your strength.”

Gods the way she talked sometimes, like her fucking soul belonged somewhere else, the way she just spoke words and meant them like it was the easiest thing in the world to be straightforward. It felt… safe. He could drift in the current of her transparency and never question whether she was holding something back or saying something merely for the sake of placating his insecurity. This woman had no subtext. It was liberating and, if he was perfectly honest, acutely arousing.

“Yes, of course I want to make sure,” he ran a hand through her hair, smelling sea salt and verbena. “And I want to make sure that you…”

She took his face in her hands and washed his honey-hazel eyes in her startling sea-glass-blue, “I want you.”

__________

Not even a third of the way through the semester, and Essi had already given up on the idea of making coffee and having a “pleasant wakeup” at home before class. It took no less time to roll out of bed and walk all the way to the cafeteria, but at least there was always a blueberry danish for her trouble, and the walk ensured she wouldn’t be tempted back into the warm bundle of blankets on her bed. She blinked heavily and shivered a little, her eyes still bleary from not-enough-sleep. She gripped her contigo travel mug and tried to remember the first two chapters of Gadamer that she’d half-read the night before (earlier that morning) as her eyes drifted closed.

...can I get for you?

Good morning… Miss?

The man in front of her gave a wry smile to the cashier, “Almost seems a shame to wake her up.” He gingerly reached out and nudged Essi’s elbow. She startled and her eyes—her two spectacularly blue eyes—blinked open. “Sorry,” the man said with an endeared smile, “You, uh… you alright?”

Essi blinked herself alert as a piece of strawberry blonde hair escaped a silver clip at the back of her head. She brushed the loose piece back behind her ear. “Yes. Sorry, just… uh, house blend in this, please. Double-double. And a blueberry danish.” She paid the cashier and stepped to the side to wait for her order. The man in front of her, she assumed, was also waiting on his. He leaned to the side, still facing forward.

“Long night?” he asked, clearly still mildly amused by the situation.

She conducted a surreptitious survey of her chatty companion, “You could say that. Philosophy reading got away from me this week.” A keycard was clipped to his breast pocket: Dept. English, E. L. Varga, Ph.D. The lack of photo indicated it was at least a year old if not more—photo IDs had only just become mandatory with the rapid growth of the campus and certain programs. She reckoned he was maybe 37-ish, from the way his hazel eye crinkled a little at the corner and the few bright silver streaks in his dark auburn hair. He looked… distinguished, but without the stiffness of someone whose entire adult life had been fully committed to academia. Post-doc? Assistant Professor?

“Full day ahead?” Essi couldn’t help but think the world of radio was missing a key contributor, his voice was so striking—deep and rich, but without being flashy, an unassuming timbre that came from somewhere deep within and carried a vulnerability with it.

“Oh, a little. Philosophy seminar followed by Contemporary Poetry this afternoon.”

“Two on a Friday. That’s a bit unkind.”

“I like them both and the professors are very engaging, it’s just, well…”

“Abrupt end to the week.”

“Yes exactly…” This unexpected morning companion was an excellent conversationalist. So much so that Essi hardly noticed she’d only seen the left half of him the entire time they’d been standing in line. She didn’t have much time to ponder on it, though, as her travel mug appeared at the same time as Dr. Varga’s order (a coffee and a cream cheese bagel). She glanced at the time and hastily lidded her thermos, hoping to get a bit more reading done before class began.

“Oh look, we have the same one!” she said, pointing to the turquoise blue, double-walled, spill-proof (as if) container as she tightened the seal on her own. “Funny coincidence.”

“Or maybe,” he offered suspensefully, tucking his bagel into his shoulder bag and lidding his own, “it’s not.”

Essi offered a sleepy chuckle, “Divine intervention in the form of coffee?”

“You’re the philosopher,” he smiled warmly, and moved to face her fully but stopped himself, instead opting to stare at his hand where it rested on the lid of his thermos. His left eye caught Essi’s inquisitive head tilt as he cleared his throat, “Have a good day.” He pursed his lips in a halfhearted smile and turned away. No doubt he has places to be, she concluded. But a small part of her couldn’t get over his sudden shift. He’d gone from being so open, so warm and charming to being—well, distant.

Essi’s musings about the mysterious E. L. Varga, Ph.D. were quickly dissolved by her professor’s introduction to Hermeneutics followed by a lively discussion about the nature and qualities of knowing. At the halfway point, the class dispersed for a ten minute break as they all stretched their legs and went to the bathroom. Essi gambled that her coffee would have cooled down to a drinkable temperature, and took a sip. What the—?

“Oh, damnit!”

“Hm? What’s the matter?” Julian asked, through a mouthful of pita and hummus.

“This isn’t mine,” she said, half-befuddled, half amused.

“How do you know they didn’t just get the order wrong? You’re telling me you took a stranger's coffee thermos which just happens to be identical to your own?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what happened,” Essi stated with certainty, staring into the middle distance. “I should find him after class and give it back.”

“Well, unless you can see through walls now, you’ll need to track down his office. Which,” Julian took another sizeable bite of pita, “I doubt you’ll be able to do without knowing his name, so I say just leave it and—“

“E. L. Varga, Ph. D., English department.”

Julian stared at his cousin, “You’re a little scary sometimes, you know that?”

________

Essi combed the halls of the English department after her seminar. Several times, she thought about going to the admin office to ask (it was the logical thing to do), but she felt suddenly shy about looking for him. Perhaps Julian was right, perhaps this was more trouble than it was worth. Her head was spinning with questions about whether she was imposing or perhaps impinging on his boundaries, disrespecting his privacy. Perhaps she should just leave the thermos with the Admin office and trust that it would get to him. She could just buy a new one for herself, no problem there. But then a part of her wanted to see him again, make a good impression. He intrigued her, and the small taste of conversation he’d given her that morning made her want to talk with him more about anything at all, no matter how trivial.

She wasn’t infatuated. Rather he’d made an impression, and something about him—the way he carried himself, presented his thoughts, his general affect—drew her to him in a way she couldn’t explain. Suddenly he mattered, and she was trawling the seemingly-endless network of almost-identical hallways in the hopes of returning what was his, and retrieving what was hers. She finally found the right office, impossibly small, and tucked away at the far end of a cul-de-sac. She knocked quietly.

“Come in?”

E. L. Varga, Ph.D. had his back to the door, ankles crossed on a corner of his desk with a stack of papers in his lap. “Just.. one second,” he finished underlining a scrawled turquoise notation in the margin and spun around to face the door, setting his papers down as he turned. “Yes, what can I do for—” he froze, coming face-to-face with dazzling blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair pulled up in a silver clip. “Ah.”

Essi tried hard to avoid the look of shock that rippled across her face and made her big blue eyes even bigger. Three jagged scars trailed angrily from the corner of his eye and past his mouth, coming to a final stop on the side of his chin. He cleared his throat and gave the same wry smile he’d parted with earlier that morning, adjusting his rectangular, wire-rimmed glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

“I imagine you’ve come for this,” he said, placing Essi’s thermos on the edge of the table.

“I—yes, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention and, well,” she fished his out from her bag, “here.” She handed it to him and he accepted with a lighthearted raise of his eyebrows. She paused for a moment, meeting his eyes intensely. There was a sadness behind them that made her want to stay, made her want to ask questions, find out the source of his pain and eradicate it. Instead she smiled a little more stiffly than she meant to and lingered in the doorway.

E. L. Varga scratched at the lines in his cheek, “Was there, uh… something else?”

Essi shook her head pleasantly, “No. I suppose I’ll go now.”

Another pause, “Alright. Well. Enjoy your weeke—.”

“Why do you mark in blue?��

“I beg your pardon?” Dr. Varga blinked, nonplused.

“When I came in, before you turned around, I saw you leaving a comment on someone’s paper. I assume you were marking?” (he nodded), “You use turquoise. Most professors use red.”

He huffed a small laugh, spinning his marking pen in its cap, “I prefer to use a colour that’s a little less foreboding. It’s still bright and easy to notice, but it doesn’t mean instant panic for those students who, like me, have a Pavlovian panic response to red ink. That and red is my favourite colour, so the last thing I want is to associate it with constructive criticism and a never-ending trail of ‘see me’s.”

“That’s very generous of you. Most professors don’t think about it that hard.”

“The extent to which many professors don’t think is shocking, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I’m glad for your students. They have a thoughtful instructor.”

Dr. Varga smiled warmly and removed his glasses, “Thank you. Was there something else?”

“You hid from me this morning,” Essi answered calmly, not knowing how else to bring up something like that—clumsily had been the only other option.

He answered slowly, “Yes. I did.”

“You didn’t need to do that.”

There was a pause as Dr. Varga tried to wrap his head around what exactly was happening. Part of him was feeling exposed and a little too noticed for his own comfort. Another part of him, however, found this straightforwardness refreshing. Most people pretended to ignore the massive scars on the side of his face—which he always thought was a bit ridiculous and usually led to more awkwardness than if they just stared like he knew they wanted to. It wasn’t that she was staring, either, or asking unwelcome questions, but she wasn’t avoiding acknowledging the obvious. He liked that, he decided, even if it did make him feel a bit raw.

“It depends how you define ‘need’, doesn’t it?”

His averted glance was all Essi needed to realize it wasn’t her he had been trying to spare somehow; rather, he was trying to spare himself from her unpredictable reaction at 8:30 in the morning. A wave of sadness crested inside her at the thought of this warm and charismatic man having to strategically orient his face because he didn’t want a pleasant conversation suddenly filled with maneuvering and overcompensation. He’d just wanted a normal moment of small-talk to start his morning.

“I’m sorry,” Essi said. “Navigating others’ reactions must be exhausting. You deserve better.”

E. L. Varga shrugged and steered the subject to something a little less eat-pray-love. “Unexpected things surprise us. Like you, finding my secret gremlin office for the sake of two identical thermoses we could just as easily have dumped out and used as our own.”

“But I would have known it wasn’t mine,” Essi answered with an overly-earnest, wide-eyed expression.

He leaned back in his chair, hands folded contemplatively in his lap, ”Would that bother you?”

“Some of the colour has worn off the bottom rim on yours, probably from swirling it on your desk while you think. Whereas mine has a shallow dent in the side from when I dropped it last semester on my way to the library. Yours got the way it did because of you, just like mine did because of me. They both have stories connected to them. I can’t walk around carrying my coffee in someone else’s story. It wouldn’t feel right.”

Dr. Varga tilted his head, considering this shrewd young woman with seemingly no filter and unnecessary depth. It was a coffee thermos, for Christ’s sake. But she was genuine, poetic, and her eyes were the most alluring shade of blue he’d ever seen.

“Well,” he tapped his pen, “thank you for bringing it back to me safe and sound. Yours should still be drinkable if you unscrew the top. I only took one sip, but in case you’re afraid of cooties…”

“Same with yours, I’ll probably just rinse mine or…” she trailed off, realizing that saying ‘leave it’ would sound a bit strange. “So, Dr. E. L. Varga. Was it a coincidence after all?” Essi asked, a small enigmatic smile pulling at her lips.

“Eskel,” He said. “My name is Eskel.”

“Essi Daven. Until next time.”

With a little nod, she closed the door behind her, leaving Eskel to release the half-breath he’d been holding.

_______

The weekend passed all-too quickly. Essi and Julian played a double set at the campus bar—a standing invitation they never missed no matter how busy their schedules were. They both had double lectures on Friday, and nothing quite staved off the risk of burnout like good music and an enthusiastic audience. The rest of the weekend was spent more-or-less curled up in the livingroom with stacks of notebooks, JStor printouts, and dog-eared anthologies as they got to work on their readings for the coming week.

It was Wednesday by the time Essi made it back to the campus cafe, this time a good 45 minutes early and significantly better-rested than she’d been the previous Friday. Still, it didn’t stop her from nearly jumping out of her shoes when…

“Awake this morning, I see.”

She turned abruptly at the familiar voice to find Dr. Eskel L. Varga standing behind her, smiling welcomingly. She grasped the outside of his arm while she caught her breath, “Well, if I wasn’t awake before, I am now. Good morning!”

A rich chuckle came from the professor’s throat as he offered her elbow a brief touch of reassurance. “You know, most people do that after they’ve turned around.”

“You know, I’m not sure how to respond to that,” she answered lightly.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to. It was just—”

“That’s alright, I know what it was,” Essi blinked warmly up at him and Eskel got the distinct feeling she was checking him somehow, the way her eyes hovered and flickered between his own. Satisfied, she turned to the cashier and placed her usual order, stepping aside to wait with Eskel for his bagel.

“We’ll have to keep a close eye on the twins today,” he said, tucking his wallet into his pocket.

“I think any amount of attention from either of us will be enough to prevent another mishap. But, then again, it’s a shame we won’t have an excuse to distract ourselves with an early afternoon mystery.” Essi thanked the young man behind the counter as she accepted her thermos and blueberry danish.

“Hm, I imagine you’ll be glad not to have to find my office again, though. Cheers,” Eskel held up his own travel mug before taking a sip and lidding it. “I should be off. Busy day today. Good to see you, Essi.”

“I can walk with you if you like.”

Eskel slowed and turned tentatively back to her, “Sure, alright. If it won’t make you late.”

“No, no, I have time. My class doesn’t start until 9:30. That is, if you want company. You might… prefer to walk alone?”

Eskel smiled again, the friendly distanced smile of someone who wanted to avoid any and all misunderstandings. You see, there was something about Essi that set this post-doctorate professor on edge—not because she made him uncomfortable. On the contrary: she made him feel surprisingly comfortable. Comfortable in a way he was not accustomed to feeling around someone he’d only just met, and briefly at that. But even the brief few minutes they’d spent in each others’ company had been enough for Eskel to feel strangely drawn to her. There was an inherent intimacy in the way she interacted with him—with everyone, he assumed; the way her large blue eyes blinked slowly and inquisitively at him, the way they penetrated without piercing and lingered on his without darting away. It only served to enhance the subtle, self-possessed sensuality she exuded, and it made Eskel slightly-less-than-comfortable (insofar as he found it unavoidably appealing).

“I don’t mind a bit of company from time to time,” he offered, having opted for ‘Intriguing Conversation with Interesting Potential Future Student’ as his intention for this and all future encounters. They walked for about a minute in silence, neither quite knowing where to begin. Without the crutch of mistaken coffee-identity, the realm of conversational possibilities seemed a bit daunting. Eskel decided to ease the tension, “So, Essi. You know that I teach in the English department and where my office is. What’s your major? Or are you just doing general studies?”

“Well, I did do general studies my first year of undergrad,” a small piece of Eskel’s uneasiness eased. So she’s a grad student… “Now, I’m finishing off the first half of my Poetry MFA.”

Essi watched as his face immediately opened, eyes lighting up like a kid at DisneyLand, “Really? What’s your focus?” It was unbearably endearing.

“Affect and Poetic Performance. I’m examining the relationship between lyric and melody through the lens of Affect Theory.”

“Affect Theory…”

“It’s a way of talking about our ineffable responses to different environments. It’s all well and good to say, ‘well this or that has a certain vibe,’ or ‘something about that person feels off,’ when we’re speaking colloquially, but how do we talk about it in a broader, more objective way for the purposes of research? It’s a kind of philosophy of sensing if you think about it.”

Essi’s entire demeanor had changed on the turn of a dime. She was effusive, incisive, and talking a mile a minute, her gestures captivatingly eccentric as she spoke—Eskel thought it looked like her thoughts were physical things she was trying to pull out of her so she could arrange them properly. He wanted to see more of this side of her. Not just because he was amused and impressed, but because he was genuinely fascinated by where all this discussion of affect was going.

“And so affect itself is…”

“Affect is the thing that happens before emotion; a gut feeling or an intuition. It’s all those feelings we don’t have words for yet still sense acutely and precisely.” Her footsteps were becoming shorter, as though they were trying to keep pace with her thoughts, and her cheeks were starting to flush a pretty shade of pink beneath her light layer of foundation (or powder or whatever it was that made her shimmer slightly).

“This all sounds very elusive, Essi.”

“Exactly! It is! It’s incredibly elusive! And yet, what is it about a certain song that we can all agree sounds ‘melancholy’? How do we, as artists—poets, actors, sculptors, writers, musicians, gallerists, interior decorators—curate affect in a way that’s consistent and predictable?”

“Hm…” Eskel had forgotten about being charmed by his companion and was now fully invested in the inquiry at hand. He felt confident that he’d pieced it together so far. “So: how do lyrics and melody work together to form a cohesive, wide-reaching atmosphere...”

“—And how does the singer or musician facilitate that? Precisely.”

“It sounds like you’re digging into some interesting corners. Are you enjoying it?”

“I’m finding it invigorating,” the pink of her cheeks only served to intensify the blue of her irises as they flashed brightly up at him.

“I’m happy to hear that. It isn’t always the case,” Eskel stopped, having reached the top of the hallway leading to his office. “I should get to work, but. Thank you for the company. You’re thinking about a lot of interesting things.”

“A roundabout way of saying I’m interesting, perhaps.” There was no flirtation in her voice, no slyness on her face, but Eskel felt his face grow warm all the same. He couldn’t decide what was worse: that she wasn’t flirting but stating the obvious; or that her stating the obvious had the same effect as flirting.

“Yes, well. Duty calls,” he gave Essi a polite wave and turned towards his office.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

He stopped. “Sure” he replied stiffly, privately bracing himself for the inevitable question. Fine. Alright. It’s natural to be curious.

“What’s the L stand for?”

Eskel turned back to face her, eyebrows furrowed in utter confusion. “Sorry?”

“Eskel L. Varga. What’s the L for?”

“Oh! Sorry I thought…” he scratched gently at his right cheek and Essi’s heart sank. How many callous people had imposed their curiosity on him? A spark of protective anger shot up inside her as she watched his hand and she had an overwhelming urge to reach for him. “It’s, uh, it’s for Llewlyn.”

She swallowed heavily, restraining her hand as it twitched by her side, wanting to touch, to ease, to unburden. “You thought I was going to ask about something else that’s none of my business.”

Eskel rocked on his heels, examining the various dings and dents in the linoleum tiling, “Yes.”

“That’s none of my business.”

“Thank you,” he looked up, his free hand now in his pocket. “Most people don’t… I should go.”

“Have a good week, Eskel.”

“You, too.”

To say that Eskel retreated behind his office door would be a bit of an overstatement. But in the quiet solitude of his own private space, he had a moment to collect himself, to temper the intense vulnerability pressing on his chest. But there was another feeling, too, that felt more… elastic. A buoyancy driven by stimulating conversation and pleasant company; he was impressed, incredibly impressed; and despite his better judgement there was a part of him that hoped he would see her again on Friday morning.

Essi made her way to class with an indelible smile on her face as she struggled to convince herself that it was a professor’s job to listen to eager students and find their research topics interesting. Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was happening. She didn’t know what, just yet, but it was something. Only time would tell.

______

@morethangeraskier @the-space-between-heartbeats @just-a-sad-donut @oxenfurt-archives @thirstyforred @titaniafire @belalugosisdead @lonelygayz @awkward-turtles-world @iloveyouyen @criminaly-supernatural@friendlybelladonna @enkelikauneus @sulkyshengshou

#Essi x Eskel #Essi Daven #Modern AU #Witcher AU #rarepair #Essi/Eskel #Profskel #The witcher #Eskel

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jamespotterthefirst · 4 years ago

Text

Adrenaline Rush

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1,400 Warning: None Premise: Another stolen kiss. Set after the Kenmore Heist of Chapter 9

______________

“Great work today, team,” Baz said with a grin and a mock salute. “Enjoy your night.”

The last words he accentuated by shooting Ethan a significant look. Thankfully, Lilac missed it entirely, too preoccupied with switching seats to the front now that Baz was being dropped off.

Once alone, they drove in a silence that started off comfortable as Lilac fiddled with the radio. When she couldn’t find a station that pleased her, she switched the audio mode to play CD. The monotonous narration of the latest historical audio book he had been listening to filled the car, which prompted her to scrunch his nose at him.

Ethan chuckled as she turned it off, feeling his shoulders relax. In the silence, he finally thought back on the excitement of the day. There was a part of him that felt reckless in agreeing to her plan in the first place. There was another part, a more insistent one, that thoroughly liked it.

His mind swiveled to thoughts of their kiss, more proof that his carefully constructed conviction was crumbling. The memory of her lips on his, her body relaxing into his without hesitation despite the surprise, made him suddenly aware of how close their bodies were in the confined space of the car.

He could feel her eyes on him and unsurprisingly his body flared with heat. She was thinking about their kiss, too. He knew her well enough to know that with certainty.

The tension thickened until she could no longer take the silence. He also knew she would attempt to dispel it with characteristic humor.

“So,” she started, the smirk evident in her voice. “The great Ethan Ramsey kissing in supply closets, huh?”

“Here we go.” He suppressed a grin of his own, gratified he was correct about her.

Lilac laughed and he could see her hands raise in a gesture of defeat. “I’m impressed,” she confessed. “Besides we all did it.”

Ethan recalled the first weeks of her intern year, when rumors of her and Bryce Lahela were all the nurses talked about. At the time, he felt mildly annoyed that one of his interns ran around stirring up gossip and speculation, even if it made him a hypocrite. Now, he could begrudgingly admit that chagrin might have been something else entirely.

“Jealous, Ramsey?” The question was playful and terribly accurate.

Ethan focused on driving, allowing a grin to break through and shaking his head slowly, concealing nothing.

He didn't care. He was done hiding from her.

“You must’ve been so popular,” she teased. “I almost wish I had been there.”

“Hardly,” he said. “I was obsessively focused and not exactly the friendliest or warmest. I mostly kept to myself. That’s hardly attractive.”

Lilac made a sound between a scoff and a laugh. “You are so clueless about the effect you have on people,” she declared.

He chanced a glimpse at her when it was safe to look away from the road. At the same time, Lilac glanced up at him, their eyes locking together like magnets. Her smile was too deliberately coy and if Ethan was being honest, it had the intended effect. He felt his pulse accelerate, a palpable energy sizzling between them. Perhaps Ethan wasn't that clueless because he could've sworn that the way she looked back at him, wide eyes dark with something left unsaid, she was flirting with him.

Eyes back on the road, he decided to play along.

“Jealous, Allende?”

She let out a breathy sort of laugh, one that could ensnare a man forever. “Honestly? Yes.”

He coughed on his reply. Her delighted laugh filled the car, almost musical in the sound of the traffic that whizzed past them.

“I'm messing with you,” she admitted, unaware of how true the words were. “I'm sure young Ethan Ramsey was a hit. Those poor interns never stood a chance.” She shrugged, before adding, “Besides, my mother always says, 'Lo que no fue en tu año no te hace daño.'”

Ethan understood the words and meaning well enough, even if he struggled to formulate a precise translation. It seemed Lilac struggled too for she gave up with a sheepish smile that was entirely too endearing.

“Wise woman, your mother,” Ethan commented in response.

The red glare of break lights interrupted any response she may have offered. Ethan stepped on the break.

“Dammit. I forgot there was construction on Congress Street,” he said, mindful of keeping his eyes ahead. Blindly, he reached for his phone and handed it to her. “Do you mind checking if there's other side streets open we can take?”

Lilac opened her mouth, perhaps to argue she could just look it up in hers. However, something on his screen caught her eye.

“No lock code?” she asked with something close to jest. Ethan was certain she was cataloging this in her mental arsenal of jokes about his age.

“There's nothing in there I'm worried about anyone seeing,” he replied, glancing at the rear view mirror.

Except he was wrong.

As he said the words, he remembered the picture set as his home screen. It was a photo of the Biscayne Bay in Miami at dusk, taken by him from the balcony of their hotel room in the minutes before they kissed for the first time.

He was certain she recognized it because she stared at the screen in silence. When he glanced at her, he could see all traces of humor had vanished from her face, eyes examining the picture with recognition.

“This is from Miami,” she said in an oddly small voice. Those eyes he loved so much were fixed on the screen, as though she could not drink in the sight enough. “When we…”

Lilac did not need to finish the sentence to ignite the memories. That night would be seared into his mind forever, not only because it was commemorated on a screen he glanced at every day, but because it was the first time he dared to hope she would want him just as badly as he wanted her.

Lilac emitted a soft sigh, so quiet he almost did not catch it.

She was thinking about that night too.

With a stab of guilt, he realized she must also be inevitably remembering how he’d push her away. He had been so convinced then he knew exactly what was best for her that he never bothered to give her a choice. Ethan had decided for both of them with ruthless and unmoving conviction.

Yet, she was there, right by his side. She had forgiven him when all he did was punish her for his own mistakes. His chest felt tighter with a powerful, all-consuming emotion – one he was too cowardly to admit.

“Ethan?”

But her words broke off into a startled little cry as Ethan abruptly maneuvered into a different lane. The move inspired the shrill honking of several car horns and even one rude gesture from a driver passing them by.

“What are you–”

Ethan safely parked the car on the side of the road and turned to face her. Wide eyes looked at him with a mixture of confusion and concern.

Fueled by the sudden onslaught of emotion and the adrenaline of the day, Ethan caught her face in his hands, leaned in, and kissed her. His fervent lips moved against hers almost as if in anguish, desperately holding her to him as though she might disappear. Although initially surprised, she did not hesitate to respond just as fiercely, her lips submitting to his desperation, her hands resting at the planes of his chest. Her sweet, lush need for him made his heart skip, inspiring his tongue to part her delicate mouth.

When they pulled apart to catch breath, his hands helplessly held on to her, relishing in her warmth. Lilac studied him curiously, a radiant smile illuminating her already lovely face. In the gold glow of the Boston streetlights, she looked ethereal to Ethan.

“What?” he asked breathlessly when she continued to wordlessly stare at him in wonder.

“You've been... loose lately.”

Ethan raised his eyebrows and she huffed a quiet laugh at that.

“I meant, you’re loosening up.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Ethan asked, nipping at her bottom lip when he couldn’t resist the sight of it.

“I like it,” she admitted, sounding deliciously dazed from the small, sweeping kisses he brushed against her lips. “It makes you seem...happier.”

It was not a strong enough word for what she made him feel.

________

Author’s Note: Roughly translated, that Spanish saying means something like “if it didn’t happen during your time, it doesn’t hurt you”. I am obsessed with Ethan knowing/understanding Spanish (among other languages).

Very pointless drabble, I know. But today is a very sad day for my family and I just needed to write to get my mind off things.

If you made it this far, thank you, as always.

My love and gratitude to every single one of you

_______

#Open Heart #Ethan Ramsey #Ethan x MC #ethan ramsey x mc #my writing

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my-brothers-corrupted · 3 years ago

Text

Book Four - Part 10

Anti brings the others to help him get Dapper back from Dark, leading to an all-out battle with a half-dozen different sides.

Tws for imprisonment, physical fighting, and fire.

Part 10 - the Houses in the Woods

Anonymous asked: Trick? Dok? You going down too?

“Come on,” says Trick, taking his hand.

“Can’t they handle it?” asks Dok nervously.

“Bud, come on, I’m not going to let him hurt anybody.”

Dok looks at him as they head down the stairs together. He doesn’t know when Trick made it his responsibility to stop Anti from hurting them, but, proud as he is that Trick is stepping up, he doesn’t think he likes it.

Anonymous asked: Dok, we need your necklaces Trick we need you to be behind your true family. We're nearing the climax, and the heroes will either win or lose against the beast among them.

Trick and Dok exchange glances as they reach the door. Trick’s eyes flicker to the necklaces on Dok’s throat. Dok squeezes his hand, frowning. After all they’ve been through together, Trick can feel the rift in the air between them like a physical force.

We’re not on the same side, he realizes a little numbly.

Dok pulls away from him to check on Red, crouching down beneath Anti timidly and taking Red’s head into his hands, examining the goose bump forming on the back of his skull. Trick goes to Anti, clutching his hands and pulling him back from Red.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says. “Can’t be hitting him.”

Anti’s eyes seem to burn, and not just from Blue’s stolen fire. He clutches Trick to his chest and glares around at his siblings, bitter and violent.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes to get ready to go,” he spits at Blue and Red. “We’ll go get Dapper back. If you fail me, maybe I don’t have any use for the two of you little traitors anymore.”

“What am I going to do?” asks Blue, bewildered. “I can barely walk most of the time.”

“Dark’s whole territory is hidden in a mirror dimension, just like that stupid convent where the magicians kept Dok. You have to open the mirror so we can get in.”

“But - I don’t know how,” protests Blue, blinking.

“Well, you better find a way to jog your fucking memory, hadn’t you?” snaps Anti. “Otherwise maybe I’ll have to worm into that head of yours and dig the recollection out.”

Blue and Red exchange looks, alarmed. Anti stalks past them, pulling Trick with him as he goes.

“Whoa, Anti, hold on, I want to talk to - ”

“Dok can have you back when he has those necklaces off his goddamn throat,” spits Anti, yanking him down the hallway.

“But that’s my - ”

“You want to start causing me problems too, Trick?” shouts Anti, whirling on him.

Trick’s lip trembles. He lets Anti lead him back towards their room.

Anonymous asked: You can have your true name soon, Ro. It'll all be okay soon. Hold on for us, Jackie. Losing a small battle doesn't mean you're losing this war.

Red pulls Blue to his feet and they stand together, turning to see Dok padding listlessly after his twin. Blue moves to go after him, but Red pulls him back.

“Do you remember anything about mirror dimensions?” asks Red.

“No,” answers Blue. “No, it’s totally random, out of nowhere. How would I know anything about that?”

“He seems to think you would.”

“Well, if I did, he took the memories from me.”

Red sighs. “Maybe it’s a muscle memory thing? Those are different than memories of actual events or memories of everyday facts. Maybe once we get to the mirror it’ll be an everyday fact thing.”

Blue shakes his head, biting down hard on the nail of his thumb. “He’s going to possess me again if I don’t remember,” he whispers.

“You’ll remember,” Red insists, but even as he says it it doesn’t feel true. If Anti doesn’t know and Blue doesn’t remember, who would?

Anonymous asked: Do you remember the early days Trick? Where you and Dok desperately tried to save the Henrik and Chase within you, having to watch Anti tear the two of you apart day after day. The snake in the rabbit's den. Don't let him steal your heart from your family. Trick, you need to find the Chase within you that you and your twin fought so hard to save in the early days. You need to be their guard, their hero, before Anti kills them or worse.

Trick’s face scrunches up with distress. He pulls on Anti’s hand, looking back at Dok, staring miserably after him from the back of the hallway.

“Let me go with you and the others,” pleads Trick.

“What? No. You could get hurt.”

“So could they!”

“I don’t care about that,” spits Anti, pulling him to his chest. “You’ll stay in your room.”

“I want to be there if something happens to you,” Trick insists, gripping his hands. “I’ll stay back and I’ll cover you with my gun. Anti, you’re upset, you’re getting into a fight, you don’t even trust the others right now. Let me go with you. As a guard. That’s all.”

Anti softens a little, gazing at him. He pushes Trick gently towards the stairs. “I’ll… think about it. Go get dressed. We’ll see.”

Trick obeys, moving to get his gun and some better clothes.

Things are complicated in his head right now, but you’re right about one thing: he needs to be their guard.

scunneredzombie asked: Red, do you remember at all the password that Henrik used when you were sent back in time last time? Or Dok, do you remember anything you were told by the magicians?

Dok frowns, turning back to the others. “I remember… Nina would speak to the mirror? And it would let her step through it. I remember that when you’re in the mirror, it’s like a loop no matter how far you walk.”

Red nods slowly, glancing between the pair of them. “Right. When Dapper and I went back to the - I mean, I remember something. I think we lived in a mirror like that too, one Blue made for us to be safe in. I remember we had to speak to it too to get out. Like a password. ‘Amo, vale.’“

Blue laughs weakly. “That means ‘I love you, goodbye.’ Or almost, anyway.”

“But when Nina left the mirror, she said something in Spanish,” says Dok. “Not ‘te amo’ or anything like that, I don’t think. If it is like a password, I bet it’s unique to every mirror.”

“So how do we figure out the password?”

Anonymous asked: Hey Shep, no idea if you have a camera right now, but you know anything about mirror dimesons by any chance? Just random curiosity!

“Well, I don’t know anything about them, exactly, except that Dark and Wil made one for the houses,” answers Shep.

He’s walking around the forest, still looking for Noodle. Determined.

“It’s cool, I guess. Kind of weird. You can really get stuck in a place like that. And we’re supposed to be really careful with it, because if we break the mirror, you can sever the connection to the real world and lose whatever’s inside.”

Anonymous asked: Is there anything funny Wilford says every time he goes into the mirror? He's always really funny, I'd love to hear more of him! Or something Dark says? I'm really curious about you guys.

“Come on, guys,” laughs Shep. “I know you have to say something to get in there. It’s my home too. I’ll give you a hint… Dark’s told you their password before. Did you think that the only thing it would give you access to was a website? They always wanted you to come and find them. Find the truth, they said.”

Shep steps up onto a log, balancing on one foot. “Oh, yeah. And it’s also a son of a bitch to have to read that out every time I want to go home!”

Anonymous asked: Geez, I'm getting whiplash from your overwhelming favoritism, Anti. Don't want your favorite boy to get hurt? So you'll probably lock him in the room again, all alone and miserable? What will happen to him if you don't come back from Dark's place, uh? If you lose, you're just going to let him pathetically wither away, is that it?

Anti shrugs, glancing at Trick as he walks away. “If I can’t have him, he may as well die.”

Anonymous asked: Lmao sorry Shep, not trying to treat you like you're dumb, we're just used to dealing with a very manipulative demon. I am genuinely curious about you all, and thanks so much for hunting for Noodle, you epic hero man. Big hearts your way!

“I didn’t take any offense, no worries,” answers Shep mildly. “And yeah! Ask me anything anytime. I like talking to you… for a long time I figured nobody was interested and maybe that’s why I got thrown aside. Yes, I’ll look for the cat, and then you’ll have something to remember me by this time!”

Anonymous asked: Jackie, Marvin, this might be a long shot, but when you get to the mirror, try reading out this: Lh3EeEeR9z59YWcUB2b7ViHJ8ALQ637

“What sort of a fucking password?” Blue demands.

“Dok, will you memorize this for us?” asks Red.

Dok turns and reads it over. “Okay, got it.”

“That Dark thing really is cruel if it’s making everybody read that out to get in there,” grins Blue.

Anonymous asked: Oh my god, the heist code is the mirror code? It's so convoluted though! How are you guys not getting locked out with that?

“Wilford never remembers a letter of it,” laughs Shep. “But he can transport in and out anyway. And the twins, they usually come in and out with someone there to help anyway, because they’re developmentally delayed. All the rest of us, we write it in our phones or memorize it. It’s actually only the first eight letters that are the code, so it’s not so bad.

It’s just how Dark does things. They’re obsessive over all of Mark’s projects… they hate him, but they fixate on his videos and stories. When Mark found out they actually gave out the password to our home, he only laughed, though. Dark just wants direct contact with the audience, and Mark will never give it to them, but they try at every turn.”

Shep pauses, glancing at you, the camera tucked into his pocket as he searches for Noodle.

“I don’t care that you know, but just don’t tell Dark you heard anything from me.”

Anonymous asked: Remember guys, it's a tool of gaslighting when your abuser tries to convince you that you're a "traitor" the second you stand up to the abuse. Don't let his manipulation sway your thoughts. You are not traitors. You are escaping an abuser who has pummeled you into dirt for years, years of pain and torture. It is not traitorous to stand up for yourself.

“And he can’t mock me for being autistic like that,” grumbles Red, pushing at his hair. “I struggle with myself enough already.”

“He can’t just take Trick away from me,” agrees Dok, his eyebrows drawn unhappily together. “He’s just being a control freak, punishing me for trying to stay away after he said he would kill me!”

“The only reason Dapper is gone in the first place is because Anti was bargaining with our lives for his and Dark’s entertainment,” adds Blue. “We can’t let this keep happening. He doesn’t really care about anyone but himself. Even his favorites are getting hurt and now Trick is being locked up like Dap. We have to find a way to get all of us away and finish Anti the fuck off.”

Red flinches, still not comfortable with the idea of killing Anti, but Blue and Dok just meet each other’s gazes, steadfast.

Anonymous asked: Jackie, why are you uncomfortable with it, if I can ask? He just confirmed he never loved you, he's threatening to kill all of you, saying Trick is better dead than free, he let Dapper get stolen and taken away from safety and his medicine. He's going to be the death of all of you unless you get to him first. It's looking like it's the only way to save them. Be their warrior, protect them now when they need it most.

Ro turns away from you, a flash of anger in his face. He doesn’t answer.

“Roser,” says Blue.

Red waves him off, stepping out of the room and walking back down the hallway.

Anonymous asked: Also, guys, be very very careful, you can't break the mirror while JJ is in there, or apparently you risk losing everything and everyone inside.

“Oh, fuck, okay,” says Blue, nodding his head. “Yeah, we’ll be real careful. Thanks, guys… I don’t know how this would have worked out without you. I think we’ll go pretty soon. Are we… ready for that? Last words before a big fight?”

He looks at Dok, who looks back, not able to give him a smile. He touches Dok’s head and pulls him to his shoulder, knocking their heads together.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” he says.

“You don’t know,” answers Dok frailly.

“I’m going to find a way to get you away from him.”

“We’re still not all on the same page,” murmurs Dok, closing his eyes. “That’s what the magicians told me, again and again. That we have to all be fighting him. And we’re just not, Blue. Trick still loves him. Dapper doesn’t even seem to remember what it’s like to hope for something better. Are the three of us enough to do this?”

Blue sighs, rubbing his shoulder. “We’re just going to see how this turns out, honey.”

Anonymous asked: Trick, sometimes when life is scary, you’ll want to go back to where you understood it. But you can’t go back, whether you want to or not. Understanding will come, but you have to fight tooth and nail for it. Fight through the haze and claim your mind for yourself again.

Trick sits on his bed, staring at Anti as he moves around their room.

Anti plays with his appearance in the mirror for a few minutes, looking pensive, but then you see frustration and pain on his face, and he just transforms back to his usual self - green hair, black tee, ripped jeans. He glitches again and again as he moves, out of control and looking tired and pale, rummaging through the drawers in case there are any weapons he wants to hand out before they go.

“Anti,” says Trick quietly.

“What?” asks Anti.

“You would never really kill one of the others, would you? That’s just your temper.”

Anti plays with a whip, turned away from him. “Sure,” he says flatly.

Trick sighs, rubbing at his head. He gets to his feet and moves to Anti’s side, trying to get his attention. Anti dives back into the drawers. Trick grabs his arm and pulls him back.

“Hey,” he says. “Talk to me. What is going on with you lately?”

Anti sulks, shaking his head, but he doesn’t yank away from Trick’s grip. He plays quietly with the holster on Trick’s waist, tapping at the gun.

“Just angry,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, I’d be angry too if someone I was into started acting like they don’t know who I am, but that doesn’t mean you get to take it out on us.”

“Well, they ran away!” shouts Anti.

Trick grabs his face between his hands and kneels down beside him, drawing his gaze.

“I love you,” he says. “But the reason they ran away is because the way you’re treating them isn’t right.”

Anti wilts a little, glaring at the floor.

“We’ll figure it out afterwards,” he growls, getting to his feet.

Trick sighs. “Go easy on them for my sake if nothing else.”

“Yeah, sure,” mutters Anti. “Whatever.“

Trick squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to feel like this - like you’re understanding Anti better than he himself is these days. He doesn’t want you to be more true than his brother.

But he also doesn’t want to believe that he’s not thinking for himself anymore. This is what he really feels, isn’t it? This is worth putting up with? This is family?

“Are you sure about this?” he asks.

“About what?”

“Going after Dark? Shouldn’t we maybe, like, talk to them before starting an actual fight?”

“They made the choice they made,” says Anti quietly. “And they took Dap. No more talking unless they’re groveling beneath my heel.”

Anonymous asked: You might not all be on the same page, and hell, maybe a couple of you are in different chapters entirely, but you're all in the same story. The others will have to go at their own pace as best they can to reach a good ending for all of you, okay? It won't be easy and it won't be perfect but the most we can do is try.

“And that’s what we’ve wanted all along, right?” murmurs Blue, touching Dok’s hair. “A chance to try. To get away. To protect each other.”

Dok nods, trying to smile.

“Today,” says Blue softly, reaching down to touch a necklace on Dok’s throat. “I think we might get a chance to use some of these.”

“Okay,” says Dok, nodding again. “Okay. It’s going to be okay.”

He’s scared to be tortured again. He doesn’t know if he could survive that. But Blue is here, gripping his hand, and he knows that at the very least the two of them have each other.

It’s going to have to be enough for now.

Anonymous asked: Anti can and would kill them. He /has/ killed them. He used to kill Red and force Dapper to turn back as punishment. He stabbed Dok in the lungs for trying to protect Dapper. As long as he has time travel, he'll kill them without a second thought just to punish the others.

Trick sits back on the bed and shudders.

“We can’t keep living like this,” you hear him whisper, as Anti busies himself around the room.

Anti steps back towards him. “Ready to go?”

Trick sits up, looking pale.

“Yes, Anti,” he says.

Anonymous asked: Trick, sad to say you'll be living like this for as long as you belong to Anti. Anti will never change, and he will never stop hurting you to make himself feel stronger, locking you in rooms to feel like he owns you, killing and torturing your brothers as punishment. He cannot, and will not ever control his temper. You're going to be stuck here until he's gone. You will not escape abuse unless you leave the abuser.

Anti steps close to Trick on the bed and takes the camera from him, turning with a sudden force to throw it against the wall, smashing it into pieces. Trick flinches and Anti laughs, touching his cheek and leaning down to kiss the side of his face and knock their foreheads together.

“Come on, then,” he says, stroking his hand down green hair as you watch from the camera in the corner of the ceiling. “Let’s go. I need to know I have at least you on my side.”

Trick looks up at him, eyes wide. For a moment, his eyes flicker over to you.

He takes Anti’s hand and they move down the stairs.

The farther they wander, the darker the trees.

“Is this Dark’s doing?” whispers Red. “Or did they just pick the blackest, deadest part of the forest they could find?”

“It’s Dark’s doing,” hisses Anti. “Now shush.”

The trees stare down at them, sunless monoliths looming like gods over their heads. Birds flitter about like rodents through gutters, but not one of them sings, and the buzzing of insects appears only for a moment before a bigger creature comes to snap grasshoppers and flies up like deviled eggs eaten in one mouthful.

“Are we close?” asks Dok, stepping over the ashy graveyard of what was once a great redwood. “Blue is tired.”

“Why are you here again?” snaps Anti.

“Dapper’s sick, Anti,” Trick reminds him. “Dok needs to look after him.”

“I’m sick of the lot of you,” answers Anti, which makes Red snort despite himself, trying not to laugh. Anti raises an amused eyebrow at him.

“Come on,” he sighs. “Here’s the shed.”

Inside a shed in the forest - which Anti has mostly smashed open in the hopes of ticking off Dark - there is a mirror taller than they are standing against the back corner. Anti pushes his way inside and spiders scutter away from the dim light. Dok leaps back, nearly running back the way they came, and stands back from the shed, watching his feet.

“It’s okay, man,” calls Trick, helpfully squashing spiders beneath his heel. “I got it.”

“Go on then,” says Anti, shoving Blue’s shoulder. “Top magician. Jack’s special boy. Didn’t do you much good in the end.”

“Step off, Anti,” Blue spits back, stalking towards the mirror. “You’re just lucky the cameras helped us with this.”

Anti leans against the wall, picking at spiders while Blue and Dok and Red try Dark’s password. After the first eight letters, the mirror changes. There is no longer a reflection of Blue, tired and pale, in the glass - instead, it looks out like a window onto a trio of houses in a grassy field.

Red and Blue exchange glances. Anti and Red exchange glances. Dok sees a spider by his foot and yelps.

Red puts his hand to the mirror, curious. Slowly, his fingers pass through the glass like water. He draws back again, eyebrows raised, and turns to look at Blue.

Blue is gone.

Anti straightens up in his skin, cracking his neck. “Ready?” he asks.

Red gapes, shaking his head.

Anti punches his shoulder and grabs his sleeve. “Come on, so,” he says.

“Go in there? Get Dapper?”

“I should never have reset you. You and I used to go sneak into shit and take what we wanted together. I hate that the violence is gone from you. You were more fun before I gave you Blue. Don’t know when I managed to ruin you so badly.”

Something about his tone makes Red flush, his heart aching. He looks away, mouth taut, and sucks in a breath. Looking up again, he finds Anti looking back at him through his twin’s captive eyes.

“Fine, then,” says Red, straightening. He turns his body towards the mirror and grips his hands into fists. “I will get him, then.”

Anti passes him a fighting staff. Red blinks and takes it into his hand, remembering the weight and feel of it from a time he no longer recalls.

“After you,” says Anti, pulling a knife from Blue’s jacket.

Red moves through the mirror and into Dark’s home.

“Be good,” calls Anti, clucking Trick’s chin once before following after their older brother. “I’ll be back very soon.”

And then Trick and Dok are alone in the twilight forest.

Anonymous asked: Don't let your loyalty become slavery, Trickshot. Know when to let go, know when you're being held back instead of driven forward, know when their desires drown out your own. Never compromise on self-respect.

“All these messages are for you,” mumbles Henrik, sitting down on a rock in the earth and looking the camera over in his hands.

“They’ve been talking to me a lot lately,” Trick answers just as quietly, but he won’t look back at his twin. He waits at the door of the shed. In his hands, Dok’s gun.

“But you don’t listen,” Dok guesses.

Trick doesn’t answer.

“You’re letting Anti treat you like his toy,” says Henrik, turning away from him. “Won’t see the truths they tell you.”

“Dok, let’s not start, not now, c’mon. Been days since I seen you. I thought… maybe Dark had you.”

Anonymous asked: If you don't confront it and talk through it with us now, then when will you, Trick?

“Mhh,” groans Trick, looking away. “We’re busy…”

“You don’t want to ever face it,” says Henrik. “But one day, it will be in front of you, and you will already be too late to act.”

“I won’t fail to protect you again, Dok.”

“You cannot see the things that hurt me. You are blind to them. They will hurt me again. You will watch.”

“I mean it,” says Trick, loud. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. For real.”

Anonymous asked: Be strong Trick, and more importantly be /you/. Be the man who would do anything for his family, the person who lets his twin massage him when he's been guarding for hours on end, the person who whispered secret names across the room to your brother. You need to protect your family, your real family. You have a choice coming up, man. Your brothers, or your abuser.

Henrik watches his brother for a long time. Eventually, Trick glances back at him, eyes uncertain.

Henrik smiles.

Trick relaxes a little and comes to his side, sitting down with him. After a moment, he puts his head on Dok’s shoulder and fixes his eyes on the shed.

Watching. Waiting. Guard dog.

Dok massages his back so he won’t get stiff. Trick smiles. They sit in the wind of the trees together.

“We are making decisions these days, aren’t we, mein zwilling?”

“Not between you and Anti, though,” murmurs Trick. “Not making decisions like that.”

Henrik sighs, his hand around his arm. The distance between them has never gaped quite like this.

“It’s sunset,” says Trick. “Are you going to say the Shema?”

Henrik blinks. “I haven’t said my blessings in a long time.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you still said them in your head. After you stopped saying them with me.”

Henrik shrugs.

“You don’t anymore?”

“I feel far away from the Lord,” he says, very softly, staring down at the earth beneath his feet. “And lately I am not the sort of man who is strong enough to keep my eyes on Him while the valley of the shadow of death is around me. I am dry bones in the desert. The blessings begin to feel pointless. I can’t even keep track of my own holidays. Candles on Hanukah… it’s nothing. Or very little. I can barely remember the inside of a synagogue. I feel far away from my community. I feel far away from everything.”

Trick shuffles, frowning at him. “You didn’t tell me you were feeling like that.”

“No. I guess not.”

“You usually talk to me.”

“You’re not a Jew, my friend.”

“But you tell me things like that. You used to. We would say the blessings together.”

“I feel far away from you too,” whispers Henrik.

Anonymous asked: In abuse there's always a 'honeymoon phase' where the abuser apologizes and makes promises to change. But the tension builds, some false law is disobeyed, and another abusive incident happens. Fish and chips, a warm kitten, treats and gifts and Hanukkah candles are all false apologies for behavior that will never change. One reason it's so hard to leave is because you always want to believe they can change. But all the self-improvement in the world won't fix the way they hurt you in the past.

Trick bites down on his lip, his hands soothing along his gun. He looks between you and Dok. “It’s not a honeymoon phase… Dok-Dok, I’ll talk to Anti about you going to services - ”

“Don’t,” says Henrik dryly. “Don’t, I don’t want you to. They’re right. He doesn’t care.”

Trick shakes his head, putting his chin in his hand as he looks up at his brother on the stone beside him. He doesn’t know if he should say he’s sorry or get angry at him or reassure him or what. He never seems to know lately. Feels cold in the air between them. He hates that. All he’s thought about for days is the things that Dok would do to cheer him up if they were stuck in that bedroom together, and now he can’t even comfort him.

He closes his eyes. For long minutes, they wait.

“I’ll say it for you, then,” says Trick.

Dok looks up. “What?”

“The blessing,” Trick says, mouth set. “If you don’t feel like you can have faith right now, I will.”

Dok’s lips twitch. He shakes his head at Trick, trying not to grin. “You don’t know it without me.”

“I do!”

“No way.”

“Shema, Yisrael,” begins Trick. “Uh.”

Dok laughs. Trick laughs too, but he’s determined. He keeps going.

“We’ve said it together often enough. Shema, Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu. Adonai echad…. wa-hafta… w… v'ahav'ta eit Adonai Elohekha m'odekha…”

Dok looks at him, beginning to smile.

He doesn’t pronounce all of it right. He might skip a word or two, and, as always, he stammers. But he fumbles through the Hebrew with his mouth full of love for him.

And as he goes he begins to hear Henrik whispering the English alongside him.

“And you shall bind them as a sign on your hands… and between your eyes… and you shall write them on the doorposts of your home and on your gates.”

They are looking at each other. Trick grins. There is sunset light in his eyes.

Henrik puts his arm around him again and they sit side-by-side.

Anonymous asked: I know you can feel the divide between you and Henrik, even as anti-blinded as you are, Trick. You know you'll have to make the choice between them eventually. It isn't a betrayal to escape your abuser. It isn't traitorous to hate the person who's hurt you. The choice will ultimately be yours, but you have to realize and wake up to the distance between you before you can even come to that. Anti won't change, Trick. How many times has he promised to be better, only to hit you the very next day?

“He has hurt you,” says Trick, his voice very low. “Hasn’t he?”

Henrik presses his head against his shoulder, hiding just a little. “And you too.”

“No… not on purpose.”

“If you have to start by believing that he hurts me, then yes,” says Henrik. “Yes, he has, and he will not stop.”

Trick sighs. “Well. Then… I think you should go.”

Henrik sits up straight, staring at him. “What?”

“I think you should go. Like you want to. You’re an adult, Dok. We all are. We should get to choose. Right?”

Henrik touches his hair. Henrik beams.

“Yeah… yes, of course. But not without - ”

“No,” Trick cuts him off. “Not now, bud. Okay? Let’s just… chill for a bit. It’s going to be okay. And if Anti hurts you again, I’ll stop him.”

“That’s not your job,” says Henrik, as though wounded.

Trick squeezes his hand. “Are the others okay?” he asks you.

Anonymous asked: Red, how goes it? Find anything yet? Dapper is in a clinic room with barred windows last time we saw him

“Stay back here,” Red warns Anti, pushing him back into the trees. “You might use him like he’s at a hundred percent, but Blue’s sick. Be gentle with his body.”

“Get the boy back for me and I won’t have to use him rough,” says Anti, stepping back into the shadows.

“Okay,” sighs Red. “Anything I should be worried about?”

“Everyone in there is either an imbecile, a powerhouse, or both,” answers Anti. “Have fun.”

Red turns towards the house, clutching his fists together. Okay. He’s got this.

Red stalks around the house, swift and quiet, darting through the grass and staying out of the sight of windows. There are three houses. On one of them, he can see Dark and Wilford on the porch, talking and playing with an enormous dog. There’s a movie playing in another, and Red can see a man inside driving a toy car around the carpet. The third house is still until a little brown cat slips out of it and darts away. Red will check out all three in turn if he has to.

Anonymous asked: Hey Shep! You should tell us about you guys' houses. Where is everything, and why does everyone live in separate places?

“That’s it, I’m coming home,” laughs Shep, turning back towards the houses. To be fair to him, he’s been out in the heat for hours and he’s a sweaty mess. “Uh, well, Dark lives in their house ‘alone’… we all know Wil sneaks in there half the time and Google spends most of his days guarding the place like a loyal little puppy. He takes so much pride in being Dark’s weapon, he’s nuts. Won’t listen to anyone else, though.

“We come and go with the other houses. They’re damn empty these days. But Host and Google and Wil and I have our house, and sometimes Ippy comes back to stay for a while. Eric and the twins are all that’s left in the other house. Sometimes Illinois, but he’s in Mexico right now. I miss Bing, shit. I miss a lot of them.”

Anonymous asked: Dapper, you awake? Back in the early days of us talking to you, you said you would only be free if all of your brothers were as well. Well, Dapper, we're doing our best for you, because we care for all of you so much. Jackie, Henrik, and Marvin are on the side of freedom so far. We will keep you safe, and we will protect you any way we can. Wish us luck, Jameson.

Dapper is drawing on the walls.

It’s been his favorite pastime for a long time, ever since he realized Anti wouldn’t punish him for making the house his canvas. His biggest piece was in a defunct pen manufacturer in Sweden, where they stayed for about two weeks, during which time he covered an entire industrial wall in an image of the very ugly aliens from A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

Today he draws Anti in cheap pencil lead along the wall of Ippy’s clinic, coursing the point along the curve of Anti’s curving smile. He looks happy in the picture. His hands are empty and open.

Dapper turns at the sound of the beeping and smiles at you, though you see a glassy film over his fevered eyes and a tremble in his artist’s fingers. His face softens as he reads.

“I care for you too,” he tells you heartfully, touching his chest. “All of you, thank you - for being here, for keeping me company, for all of it. And you know I’d always wish you luck, my dears.”

Anonymous asked: Hey uh, dapper? Are you feeling alright? You look a little bit... off

“I am not really recovering from this whole sickness thing that is happening,” he answers unhappily, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m tired and hot and my head aches. I can’t keep any food down, including most of my medicine. And Dark was right… Anti helps with my psychosis.”

Anonymous asked: Jackie, methinks you should avoid the house with Dark on the porch unless you can't find Dapper in the other two. Google is guarding, and Silver Shepheard is on his way back. Try to avoid a fight and be sneaky if you can.

“Kinda want to poke the bear, though,” admits Red, narrowing his eyes at Dark. “They have to pay for this, the fucking cock-jockey.”

His own insult gives him a burst of confidence as he slides past Dark’s house. A black and brown cat watch him disdainfully, waving their tails at him.

“I’ll check the other two first. Thanks, guys. I just need to find a way to get in and get him out… or get him out from outside.”

Anonymous asked: Anti helps superficially, but you know what would help more, JJ? Seeing a psychiatrist to get a mood stabilizer to assist your Haldol, seeing a behavioral therapist to help deal with symptoms, and being free from a constantly traumatizing environment. You need stability and the help of doctors. Things are probably extra bad right now due to being a hostage in a strange environment. You're not hopeless without Anti, millions of people like you & I cope and live good lives w/o mind demon's 'help'.

Dapper shrinks in on himself a little, playing with his hands. He stares at Anti’s eyes on the wall.

“I remember… getting better while we were all at home, without him,” he signs quietly. “Even the paranoia - and the paranoia is always the worst - even that was better. And whenever I started talking to my hallucinations, the others would have me go stand in the laundry room, and then after a while I could take ten minutes in the laundry room and come out and the hallucinations would be so much easier to deal with. Just from having that organization in my life. And I took a couple medications and nobody got mad at me if I was delusional or disorganized or acting really weird. And I had a therapist who signed. And I went to church and the priest would give me confession and I didn’t feel like I was going to hell. And nothing ever hurt me.”

He looks down at his hands.

“It was easier.”

The admission seems to have taken a lot out of him. He slips back down onto the bed, sighing.

scunneredzombie asked: Dapper, is there a window or door near you? Red is here to get you, but he needs a way to get you out!

“Yes, there’s a door, but it’s locked, and a big window, but it’s barred.” He frowns at you and makes prayer hands. “Tell him come bust me out. I sure can’t fit through those bars unless someone wants to shrink me and put me in their pocket. Like a little hedgehog…”

He begins sketching a hedgehog by Anti’s foot.

scunneredzombie asked: Rojo, be on the lookout for large, barred windows, probably the second of the houses?

Ro creeps around the first house, narrowing his gaze at Dark, his hands still aching for a fight. For now, though, he’ll have to focus on getting Dap to safety.

He moves around the second house, slipping down beside a cracked window to listen inside. There’s a television playing a loud cartoon. Lifting his head a little, he can see the man with the toy car driving it around the carpet and talking to himself. There is a whole crate of toy cars. On the couch, a second man sorts patiently through them, occasionally holding a little figurine up to the light or racing it along the arm of the couch, making vrooming and beeping noises. Red sits back a little, rubbing his palms together as he thinks. He wants to wreck some havoc, but not in front of a pair of twins who aren’t causing any harm and don’t look like they’d be able to comprehend someone trying to hurt them. They’re all clean and content-looking, playing with their cars. Red sighs. Having innocents around makes things harder.

It always does, he thinks to himself, and he feels more than recalls a memory from two weeks ago - Anti taking him and Dapper to kill the man who owns the house they’re staying in now. His stomach churns and he digs his nails into his palms. He still remembers the blood-craze in Dapper’s eyes as Anti helped him bury a knife in the man’s chest - and then, moments later, the hopelessness.

“Come on, Red, come on,” he mutters to himself, creeping around the back of the house.

He doesn’t see any barred windows. He glances into the clearing between the three houses as he waits for his chance to dart over to the third house.

Dark is on the porch of the first house with another one of his soldiers, someone with a voice so loud and booming Ro can hear it from here. His hand is on Dark’s waist as he chatters at them. Ro remembers the weight of Max’s hand on his waist… the smell of him…

“Goddamn,” he hisses, slapping himself. Lately he can’t focus on anything. He’s just… sad. He pinches his arms until he gets some clarity back, gnawing on his lips.

“Dapper Dapper Dapper,” he chants to himself, and it’s this thought that carries him over to the third house, where, at last, he spots a little barred window in a window well to the basement.

Anonymous asked: Jackie, we believe in you! Hero of the day, the hero of all time!

Ro gives a shaky little laugh, but you’ve put a grin on his mouth. He darts over to the window, feeling sneaky and maybe even a little bit competent, which is nice. Maybe he’s even acting a little like Jackie would act. The thought gives him a strange, nervous satisfaction.

“Dap,” he whispers, tapping his knuckle cautiously against the window. He can get his hands through the bars, but not much further.

Something shifts in the room. He squints his eyes through the dim light of the basement room and sees a nervous pair of big blue eyes looking back at him.

“It’s me, dude,” he whisper-hisses, glancing around.

Dapper’s eyes water with relief. He pushes the window open, leaving only the bars between them. At this angle, Red can only just brush his hand against his shoulder, reaching down into the window well, and he can hardly see his hands.

“Are you okay? Shit, I was worried, Carve. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

Dapper grips his hand and squeezes in forgiveness.

“How do I get you out?”

There’s those big puppy dog eyes. They’re familiar, sure, reassuring and maybe even cute, but not problem-solving. Red squeezes his hand back and tries to think.

“I’ll have to come inside… or get the bars off. Unless you can shrink? Have any Borrower friends in there that could help? Maybe some mice and birds, Cinderella-style?”

Dapper pinches Ro’s hand and he laughs despite his rising heart rate, more and more anxious the longer he crouches here.

Anonymous asked: Dapper was right Anti, you're such a fucking creep. Dying his hair green and roleplaying like he's Jack but still forcing him to love you unconditionally. Touching him like you love him when he's just an object to you. You don't deserve any of the love any of them have given you. You're disgusting.

“He belongs to me,” answers Anti coldly, leaning back against a tree as he keeps an eye on the houses, waiting to see if Red will fuck up or bring Dapper back to him quietly. “I can do what I want with him. Jack never gave me anything but lemons - fine, I’ll make lemonade. Besides, let’s not pretend Chase would be anything at all without me. He’d just be childless and drinking himself to death in the backroom of their house like he was before I kidnapped him. This whole crusade the lot of you have, trying to set them free… pointless. You won’t make them any happier. He’d be miserable with a taste of freedom. You know, if Jack wanted his little protagonist to actually be able to save the day, maybe he shouldn’t have made him so helpless. Huh, like fucking Chase Brody could have ever done anything about me… well, he’s mine now, so there’s your story, Jack. There’s your fucking story.”

Anonymous asked: Hey Anti, this is important. Dapper /needs/ to see a proper psychiatrist, just once or twice, so that he can get a mood stabilizer and other medicines to assist his antipsychotic. You can't neglect him like this, he's schizophrenic/psychotic, treatment and constant medication updates are the only way to truly help him be better. Constant mind manipulation only makes things worse for him if he's away from you even for a short time.

Anti’s eyes flicker over to you and then away again. He’s playing with fire on the ends of Blue’s fingers, eyes flickering from the white light of it.

“Mh,” he shrugs, uncertain. “I don’t think I want him talking to anybody outside of the house. If he needs a mood stabilizer, talk to Dok and have him talk to me. It’s like American health care! You gotta get a referral. Besides, if being away from me makes things worse, then I’ll just have to be better about making sure he isn’t away from me again. Not even for a short amount of time.”

He drops a flame to the earth and then stomps it out with his foot, his gaze watching as though infatuated as even a moment of fire singes a whole patch of earth and sets leaves to blazing. He bets he could burn down this whole forest if he wanted to… maybe set all of California ablaze. Again.

“Letting Dark take Dapper was my fault,” he tells you quietly. “I overestimated how much they cared about me. Let them fool me. It was stupid. It won’t happen again. Not with anyone. Dapper and Trick… they’re reliable. No one else. Almost makes you wonder… if anyone else is even worth trucking with… mh.”

Anonymous asked: Without Blue, you'll have no one to possess: Dapper might snap and Trick can't handle it. Killing Dok would be the worst possible thing you could do if you still want Trick on your side. And like it or not, Red is your watchdog and the others protector. If you kill any of them, the others will turn.

Anti glances at you, his stance softening a little. He shrugs.

“I guess you’re right,” he says. “Just lately feels like more trouble than they’re worth. I think Jack made five to make sure it was too much for me. Maybe it’s just time I started admitting that. Trick and Dap would be cute twins. I could make Trick forget, and I think Dapper would only be sad for a while, cause it’s not like it changes much for him.”

He pauses, digging his heel into the ash of the forest floor.

“No… you’re right, though. I think. Yeah, I can still use them. They all take care of each other - yucky, but necessary.”

Anonymous asked: Anti what will you do if Dapper breaks? And I don't mean just emotionally or mentally because obviously you only see that as minor maintenance. What happens if he can't use his time travel again? Will his loyalty still matter or is it just his power that you use him for? Is he only worth as much as his usefulness to you?

Anti plays with the bark of a tree, picking at it until new growth sprouts from the side of the trunk. He peels it off again and grumbles to himself for a moment.

“I’d still want him around,” says Anti. “I guess. I mean, he’s - like… he’s the only one who… I don’t know. He’s comforting. Fine. But I don’t know if that’s because of the power or because he’s always been mine. I’ve hated not having him with me these last few days. It’s like the whole world is wrong. And when he was in Columbia, I felt like I was going to implode. Like I was going to die. And I was sick at the time, with Blue’s power eating me up. I wondered if maybe I would die before I could ever find him, and not even know if he was okay.”

He plucks apart a leaf from the offshoot he created, tearing it into pieces, which drift towards the forest floor.

“I wasn’t sure if he’d grieve,” he adds. “If he’d grieve if I died.”

Anonymous asked: They don't belong to you, Anti. You don't own them, they're adults that are fully capable of making their own decisions. They have the right to leave you whenever they want, because you abuse them and refuse to learn to control your temper. You're immature and treat them like toys, but they are autonomous human beings that deserve to make their own decisions. Why don't you test it, if you think they love you so much. Just let them go and see if they crawl back like you say they wil. I doubt it.

Anti grits his teeth. The truth is that Red was willing to leave him the moment someone else showed him that he could have a life outside of Anti, and the thought devours him. Blue was only ever here for his siblings.

“Look, I don’t pretend to not be a monster,” he snarls. “Fine, some of them don’t love me. No matter how much I use the hypnosis… it’s not real. But guess what? I don’t care. They still have to belong to me. They’re not getting away from me. Not with air in their lungs.”

Anonymous asked: Dok isn't a psychiatrist, Anti. It's two completely different fields of medicine. JJ needs to see specifically a psychiatrist. Hell, I don't care if you go to the appointment with him, but you need to let him see someone to get his medicine adjusted. Think about it this way, how much use is he to you if you're constantly having to mess with his brain and ward back his psychosis, when you can easily get the same effect with just a few trips to a psychiatrist and a less stressful environment?

“Dok’s supposed to be Jack’s genius. If he can’t handle Dapper’s issues, nobody can. Dapper has always done fine, with only a couple exceptions. Actually, I think the paranoia sometimes makes him sharper, more alert, and the hallucinations keep him scared and confused. He won’t leave me when I make him feel both sane and terrified, when he thinks he’s too much for anyone else to handle. As long as he doesn’t snap completely, his illness is a benefit to me.”

Anonymous asked: Anti, I think you're so insistent that they would never be happy with freedom because you can't stand the thought, the truth, that every single one of them would be better off without you.

“How about you all stop trying to piss me off before I decide maybe you aren’t all worth dealing with either?” snaps Anti, pointing at you in accusation. “Fuckers. All you do is plot against me lately. It’s barely even fun. Maybe I’ll torture the lot of them just to see you whining and begging again.”

Red squeezes Dapper’s hand one more time before sneaking around the back of the house, where a glass-paned door looks into the kitchen.

He could try and get in here. He could try and get the bars off Dapper’s window somehow. Or he could ask for help.

It’s as he’s thinking that he notices movement -a figure entering through the front door, their gait thudding and their shoulders set like a statue’s. Red catches a gleam of light through their glasses. Gigi moves like a bear, his every footstep heavy and determined. Ro narrows his eyes.

“Well, then,” he mumbles, tucking you deeper into his pocket. “Do I tangle with that or try something else?”

Anonymous asked: I would try something else instead of trying to tango with Gigi. He's a robot, so he wouldn't go down like a regular human, and the commotion caused by that fight would draw too much attention.

“Oh, boy,” says Ro, drawing back from the door. “A robot, okay. Well…”

He could maybe climb the house. He sees an open window. If he listens, he can even hear a deep, sonorous voice speaking from inside it, as though narrating.

“Mh,” he says. “Could maybe get up there. I can see places to put my feet already. Or maybe… Dok’s necklace? For Dapper?”

Anonymous asked: The voice from the window is a blind man who sees All. Probably not a good idea to try sneaking by him. And... as for the necklaces, if you use it for Dapper, then you won't have it for Anti. Make sure you've exhausted all other options before that, Jackie.

“Okay,” murmurs Jackie. “Well, I think we’re looking at either man-who-sees-all or robo boy. If I have to fuck with one of them, who do I go for?”

Anonymous asked: Dapper's mental health got better when he had both mood stabilizer and other medicines to help with his other symptoms. You need him /healthy/, him being paranoid and hallucinating isn't good for him. You switch so fast between caring about him and tossing aside his issues. Anti, it would take a very simple set of changes in yourself & your personality for them to stop running and conspiring. You can change. You're not incapable of it. Start small, let him see a psychiatrist. Small things first.

“I’ll think about it, alright?” Anti says, turning his head away. “I got bigger fish to fry right now.”

Anonymous asked: Hey, Trick & Dok? Do you think it would ever be possible to get Anti to let Dapper see a psychiatrist and get medicated properly? I know you don't remember, but before Anti took you all away from your home, Dapper was getting better. He wasn't stuck being constantly psychotic and afraid, he was healing. He needs therapy and proper medications. I don't think Anti would ever give him that, he has too much fun abusing him, but... could you try?

“I’ll help convince him,” promises Trick right away, nodding. “If he needs that, then he should have it. You can get his medication fixed, right, Dok?”

“No,” says Dok, exasperated. “I’ve never really known what the hell to do with him.”

“Oh. Well - ”

Something snaps in the forest. Trick is on his feet, gun pointed.

Silence. A flicker of movement. Dok and Trick are taut as the bow of a violin.

Anonymous asked: Shep? Is that you?

You can see Shep on the other side of the trees, frozen as stiff as the twins. His gaze flickers nervously over to you and then back to the twins, his fists clutched. He doesn’t even have his knuckles with him. He didn’t actually think someone would be here. No one’s ever come to their house before. He pulls out his phone, backing away from the trees.

“Who’s there?” shouts a voice. He stills, staring at Trick through the trees.

Red should sneak into Host’s room.

Dec. 12 2020

3 notes

Red should go in through the backdoor with Gigi.

Dec. 12 2020

1 note

Red should try something else.

Dec. 12 2020

2 notes

Anonymous asked: Trick don't shoot. It's someone who lives in Dark's house, but he's unarmed. Just be careful and try to come up with an explanation for why you're there?

Trick lets his gun falter, glancing over at Dok.

“He already knows who you are, right?” signs Dok. “Will he try to kidnap you again? Kidnap us?”

Trick grits his teeth and steps closer to Dok, blocking him from Shep’s view.

“You leave us alone!” he shouts. “You come any closer and I’ll shoot!”

Shep backs away again, nervous. He opens Gigi’s name in his contacts.

Anonymous asked: I dont know if there's anything else you could try, Red. But if there is, def look at it. Otherwise, between Gigi and Host, I think at least Host could possibly be reasoned to/ spoken with? Gigi is a no-go. Hes 100% loyal to Dark, and an android, so he'd be HELLA hard to fight. And also he'd alert Dark. Host, im not quite sure exactly where his loyalties lay, but im sure he's hella powerful. So use your words before you try and fight him.

Ro presses himself against the side of the door and hoists his body up. This isn’t like the house where he and the others are staying, lined in decorative brick to give him footholds. Instead, windows make his only path up. While his hands find a grip on the tops of the windows, he suspends the rest of his body with his side against one jutting windowframe and his feet pressing against another, and slowly leaps and drags himself up the side of the house, his worn sneakers threatening more than once to make his foot slip and his body fall. The black and brown cats are watching him from the ground, blinking up at him as he goes.

But he won’t. Today, he’s Jackie, and he doesn’t think Jackie would fall, so neither will he.

“On another day,” comes that chasm-deep voice from the open window on the second floor, “he might have been fine. The Host is not always looking. Today, he is.”

Ro pauses, hiding against the side of Host’s window, one foot on the side of its sill.

“Is he going to turn back?” asks Host in a murmur. Craning his neck, Ro can see the man bent over braille paper and a recorder “Or will he still try to sneak past him? In a trance this deep, it’s possible Host won’t be able to do anything about it anyway. He does not like to interfere with other people’s stories.”

Anonymous asked: Shep, wait, please don't call anyone who would hurt them. Theyre only here because they're following orders.

“What do you want?” calls Shep, a faint shake in his voice.

“How about the little brother you stole?” spits back Trick. “No, stay back! Stay back there, I swear to God.”

“You need to get out of here before I call Gigi,” says Shep. “Or worse, Dark.”

“No, don’t,” protests Trick. “Please, we just want Dapper. Nobody has to get hurt. We’ve had enough, okay?”

Anonymous asked: Just let Jackieboy Man's story play out, please, Host-we-love-the-most. He deserves to be the hero again after all he's been through.

Directly addressed, Host comes out of his narration a little, brushing scattered hairs out of his face. He runs his fingers over his papers, jerking back a little.

“Fuck, what a mess,” he mumbles. “Too many players in this game. How long have I been writing?”

Ro’s foot slips for a second and he catches himself quickly, thudding against the side of the house. He winces hard, closing his eyes in panic.

Host chuckles inside the house.

“Come in, then,” he says. “I’m not meant to interfere, you know…”

“Who are you?” cries Ro, heart pounding.

“Ignore me,” answers Host. “I’m just the storyteller. You are the action-taker.”

Ro rolls his eyes, biting down hard on his lip. “You’re really not going to snitch if I come in your room right now?”

“No.”

Ro pauses. Scratches at his beard. Glances at the trees, where a pair of squirrels are judging him from a few feet away.

He slips into Host’s room.

Anonymous asked: Trick, should you just take Dok back to the house? Shep can and will call help if you don't leave. I don't want you guys to have to get in unnecessary fights. I'm pretty sure Jackie and Anti can handle it from here, yeah?

“If we go back we’ll be in so much trouble,” breathes Trick, frightened just at the thought of it. “He told me to guard the way, so I can’t let anyone in or out.”

“Why do you have to do what he tells you?” asks Shep.

“Why do you have to do what they tell you?” answers Dok bitterly, standing up beside his brother. “At least Trick doesn’t notice when he’s being used as a pawn. You know you’re that monster’s little soldier and you still do horrible things just because they tell you to. Pathetic. You stole our sick, speechless little brother just because Dark and Anti decided our lives were board game pieces to be played with. You just let yourself be used, no mind control needed.”

“Hey!” snaps Shep. “You better watch your tongue, little man! I make my own goddamn choices. Your brother is the one who would have killed Gigi if he were human just because Dark wouldn’t kiss him.”

“Dark and Anti are not creatures to be trucked with,” says Dok quietly. “But we have yet to find a way to escape our monster. Turn back. We’re smaller than you, but we are far from helpless with or without a firearm.”

“Look,” answers Shep, biting down harsher words. “Nobody wants a big fight here, right? Seems like Dark and, uh. Anti? Seems like they had a misunderstanding themselves. Maybe we can work this out.”

Dok and Trick exchange glances.

Anonymous asked: Trick, if Shep were to promise to not snitch on you being out here to Dark, then would you let him through? And Shep, would you uphold that promise? Both of you have lost things, you're even in bad deeds. Gigi was destroyed and Dark's back was injured, and Dapper was stolen. No one else needs to get hurt if you try compromising with each other, right?

“I won’t tell Dark for now,” says Shep evenly, hands raised in surrender. “But I don’t think you understand. Dark is an essence and those houses belong to them. They’re always creeping around. If your other brothers are in there, the chances that Dark hasn’t spotted them yet - slim to none.”

Trick and Dok frown at each other, worried. Dok shuffles a foot closer to him.

“I’ll let you through the mirror,” says Trick. “If you let us come with you. I have a bad feeling about what comes next… I think maybe it’s better if we can try to work together. You’re right. No one else needs to get hurt today.”

Anonymous asked: Hey Henrik, answer when the time is appropriate, but advice about Dapper from a training pharmacist, I would try prescribing him Depakote or a common antidepressant to work alongside his Haldol if Anti will let you! I know it must be very hard to have to be a psychiatrist when it wasn't your field of study :(

“Oh, thank you, yes,” answers Dok, his shoulders loosening a little. “Yes, well. He wasn’t on anything when I first… remember. And he didn’t do very well. He would smoke to ease his paranoia, but then he would be paranoid about getting cancer every time he’d cough, so it did him little good. He’d stopped trying to fight his own delusions. Anti was most of his treatment plan, but he acts so dreamy and lost when he’s in his head. Honestly I just kept trying medications til they worked, which probably wasn’t very good for him either. But at least I was allowed to see him and Trick then, coming upstairs to check on him everyday. We were in Sweden at the time, I think. Or Denmark? Before Norway. I was not even sure if we were brothers. He doesn’t speak so much when he’s really ill. He was just my little patient in the attic. He was the one who called me Doktor first.”

He rubs his hands together, glancing up. Shep and Trick talk quietly by the mirror, faces tense and hands always waiting for the other to throw the first blow. Dok sighs, though a faint laugh falls from his mouth with it.

“Oh. I would like to see all of them well for once in my life.”

Red steps uncertainly towards the Host.

“Shy?” asks the deep voice, and it seems to echo through his head. It reminds him too much of Anti and Dark. He slinks back against the wall, cowed despite himself.

“Hmm,” hums Host. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

“Who did you think I was?” asks Red quietly.

“I write a lot of stories,” says Host, brushing his fingers across pages and pages of snow-white braille. “I see a lot of stories. It takes only a side glance. A moment of contact. Stories for everyone I meet. Stories for the people who meet the people I meet. Not all true. Not all real. But possible… possible. Alternatives to the reality we survive in now. I saw, once, a story from a young man Mark shares business with. I thought, for a moment, that you were the protector in that story. The strong man… the hero. Not the protagonist, true. But almost as important. The courage to his tired hands. Defender.”

Ro plays with his hands, his eyes flickering around for a way to slip past Host without coming close to him.

“But you are alternate too,” says Host. “You’re not Jackie. Not quite.”

It makes his blood hot, but only for a moment. For the most part, he feels shame. His head drops. He turns away from an unseeing gaze.

“Guess not,” he answers. “But I still have to try to be… that.”

“Jackie?”

“Yes. Jackie.”

“Well, stop,” answers Host dryly, turning away. “Stupid boy.”

“Hey! What is your problem?”

“Stop living in a story you don’t even fucking remember,” spits Host, already striking his typewriter hard enough to fill the room with click-clacking once again. “Pathetic. You’re wasting a perfectly good character arc on trying to be someone you’re not. You have your own part to play. Jackie couldn’t save his family, Ro. Not for lack of trying, but he did fail, in the end, and that’s why he’s dead and you’re not. If you want to give him life again, it’s time to stop wallowing in your doubt and your fear and your shame in yourself and start being Ro like a real hero would. You better start acting like a hero – today, Roser. Too long the five of you have been stuck in the same painful narrative. Take up arms. Stop trying to remember and be.”

Host turns to him again, and Ro has never seen so much expression in a blindfolded face.

“Or lose more than even Jackie did.”

A cat slips in through the door, mewling, and comes weaving her way through Host’s legs, pinning Ro with a yellow gaze. He steps back nervously, staring at the cracked door. His throat bobs in a swallow. He grips his fists, straightening up at Host.

“What if he’s not enough?” he asks quietly.

“Who?” says Host.

“Me,” he answers.

“Of course he’s not enough,” spits Host, shaking his head. “How dull would it be for a character to be enough all on his own.”

Ro opens his mouth to reply, but Host beats it to him.

“Google!” he calls, turning towards the door.

“Fucking snitch!” cries Ro, terrified.

“There’s a closet across the hall. Run inside. You can sneak past him when he comes in to check on me. This is the only help I will give you. Go.”

He’s too frantic to argue. In a flash, he’s leaping out of the door of Host’s room and shoving himself into a closet full of cleaning supplies on the other side of the hall.

“Host?”

Those thudding footsteps move up the stairs. A fist pounds a knock against Host’s door. “Are you stuck in a vision? If you haven’t left your room since I checked on you this morning, you’ve been static for four hours and twenty-three minutes, including our usual breakfast hours and…”

Ro darts out of the closet on near-silent feet, racing down the stairs with his heart pounding. He throws himself against the wall for a second, thinking someone’s coming in the front door, but it’s just the second cat he saw, a big black cat like a shadow against the wall, letting out a hiss at the sight of him. He races down the second set of stairs and through the little hallway that frames Dapper’s door.

“Dapper!” he calls. “It’s me, I’m here.”

Faint whistling from the other side of the door. Red shoves his shoulder against it, tearing at the handle. It will not open.

“Fuck this,” he mumbles, and a moment later he finds himself ducking into a bathroom nearby, tearing the lid off the toilet tank, and slamming the porcelain into the handle of the door until both shatter and give. The door slides open.

“Dapper…”

There’s his little brother, curled up all lonely on the bed. In the light, Ro can see him clearly at last, and the relief of finding him comes charged with a painful nausea for how ill he looks. It’s worse than a hollowness, because Jamie has always been skinny. It’s worse than fatigue, because Dapper has always been tired. It’s worse than shadow, because his youngest brother has long felt alone. Now, he looks chewed up and spat out, cut open and removed from himself, faint and white and exhausted. He does not rise to hold Red. He can barely raise a hand to greet him.

“Bud, no,” says Ro, because his first thought, in that moment, is that Jameson is going to die.

He moves forward to scoop him up for a moment, pressing him to his chest. He can feel the heat on him before he’s even touched him. Sweat beads against Red’s fingers where he cards his hand through Dapper’s mussed brown hair, gone limp and tired, no longer curling at the fringe.

“Can you walk?” asks Ro, drawing back to hold his shoulders in his hands.

“Not sure,” answers Dapper, touching his wrist. “I feel really quite unwell, Red.”

“They haven’t taken care of you.”

“No, they tried,” protests Dapper. “They’ve given me medicine for my fever and things like that. Kept my wrist clean. I’m much better off than I was a few days ago.”

“Fuck… you could have died if that’s true.”

“I think maybe I would have if I stayed with Anti,” says Dapper, lying his head down on his brother’s shoulder and letting his eyes slip shut.

Red hugs him, grateful for the thudding of his heartbeat. As much as he knows they need to go, he needs even more to feel his chest moving with air, if only for a moment.

“You really are just not having a fun life, are you, Dippin’ Dots?” he says, the weight of it sitting on his chest.

“There are parts of it that are nice,” replies his brother, his hand resting on Ro’s shoulder.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” says Ro. “Like I promised.”

“Okay, Reddy. I’m really quite tired.”

“Okay. Okay. Here we go.”

He raises him into his arms, pressing him close against his body. He’s always tried to stay strong no matter how little he had to eat – not always successfully or healthily – but as the months have gone on he’s been finding his old strength. After wasting away in Norway, he built up corded muscle in Peru with long, difficult hikes up the mountain every day, bringing water and medicine and Christmas presents to his family, and in the past few weeks, with both Max and Anti, he has had good food and plenty of time for the exercise his body has craved. Host was right: now is the time to be strong.

He’s stepping out of the clinic room when he sees the big black cat again, darting away from him now, its fluffy back turned to him.

“Hey,” he laughs. “Did you follow me down here?”

And then, at the top of the stairs – black shoes and dress pants. The thud of a cane against the wood of the floor.

Ro back away, mouth taut, and he watches as that black cat, so dark that the light does not shine gold on its fur, dissolves away into the crowd of shadows that swarm like a cloak around Dark’s dead, rotting body.

“Spy cat,” Ro says. “Pretty sure that’s cheating.”

“I could see you the moment you stepped foot into my territory,” answers Dark, in a voice like a wind through cold water. “Your soul is so frantic it burns just to look at it. Even the ocean of silver power from the little one does not wash your color away.”

“Oh, what color?” asks Ro, curious.

“Not red,” comes the dry reply.

Dark takes a step down the stairs. Their body seems to jolt for a second, and then they must sit down, pain tightening their features.

“Heard my other little brother fucked you up pretty good,” says Ro, taking another step back towards the clinic. “Still not fully recovered, huh? I think I’d be a douchebag if I made fun of you for having a broken spine, but I’d like to offer a generalized ‘fuck you’ if that’s alright. You can’t even get down these stairs to get me, can you?”

Dark vanishes back into smoke and bursts into being at the bottom of the stairs, bone shifting in their broken face. Red yelps and puts Dapper on his feet, turning to wrap his body around him.

“Your little monster will pay for his over-powered tantrum,” says Dark.

“You stay the hell away from us!”

“I’ve never seen anyone as simultaneously intriguing and annoying as he is. But no matter. Soon, I’ll snuff his bright lights out and tear up both the natural and the stolen powers inside his chest, and then he will stop haunting me.”

“You take one more step towards me and I’ll call for him!” shouts Red, extending his fighting staff and whirling on Dark. “And this time he’ll fuck up more than just your back!”

“Call for him, then,” sneer a dozen echoing voices at once, and as Dark’s power begins to fill Red with terror and revulsion and confusion and grief, he puts his hands over his ears, opens his mouth, and screams for Anti.

And in the woods, Anti hears.

Anonymous asked: Anti, don't be brash and let your temper control you. Fight with the wit even Jack knew you had.

Wit – wit, yes, well, this at least keeps his gait steady as he moves Blue’s body through the trees, eyes fixed on the house where he can see his oldest gripping his camera. What you say is true, as he was always Jack’s little killer, clever and powerful, manipulative and built with an instinct for fighting more commonly found in a marten who plans to make a porcupine twice its size into dinner. He was patient, in the beginning, and sensational when the time came for him to cut that porcupine open, and it was his wit, yes, that lead him to capture all five of the brothers Jack created, one after the other, remorselessly.

And yes, even Jack knew he had it.

He remembers the sound of his voice the first time he made his eyes bleed. He wiped the sleeve of a black hood across his stained cheek and met his own gaze in the mirror, and he saw Anti more clearly than he ever had before.

“This one’s wild. Already smart enough to try and get through to the audience. Like it knows…”

His fingers touched his reflection in the glass.

“Hey. I see you. I’m here.”

His fond mouth smiled.

“Don’t be scared.”

Anti remembers.

Does Dark not?

Does Jack not?

It hurts to bear the thought of it, the thought that they really and truly forgot him. He hates it. He hates that you mentioned it. That Dapper keeps saying it. That he doesn’t know what’s happening anymore and he feels alone.

That he sometimes wishes he were still just a notion curled, warm, in the back of Jack’s head, listening to him chatter and breathe.

No. No use for nostalgia now. What he wants are the people he can still have – his Trick, his Dapper, his brothers.

He’s done a lot of bad things to them. Cruel, unbearable things, without reason. But if you give him credit for one thing, let it be this –

Oh, Anti taught his boys to be fang-toothed.

“Where’s my little soldiers at, so?” he sings to himself. “Dok, Trick.”

You see the twins perk up and look over as Anti sends his own message through the cameras now.

“Go find your big brother, Trickshot, and start fucking laying waste. And you, Deutsch – get my little Carver, now. And if anyone tries to put their hands on him – teach them why I use you for torture.”

Steel makes their fond mouths harden. They glance at Shep, and then away.

“If that is what it takes,” says Dok.

“Then consider it done,” Trick finishes.

And he touches his reflection in the clear glass of the mirror, and moves.

Anonymous asked: Alright so we're just going in guns blazing. Dok, Trick, you have any idea of where to go?

“Well, I am guessing it is this house which is all shadowy and dramatic,” says Dok, lifting his chin at the third house, where Dark’s power has cast everything in late-night lighting.

“Hey, you’ll regret it if you go rushing in there at Dark,” warns Shep, shoving himself forward. Trick steps up to him before he can reach Dok, raising his head in warning.

“I have left my little brother to rot too many times in his life,” shouts Dok, moving towards the house even as Wilford steps out of Dark’s house to see what’s going on, smoking languidly as darkness curls around his feet. “He asked me to fight for him! So I will.”

“If you’re coming, then come,” says Trick. “But don’t try and stop us getting Dapper.”

“Fine! Just try not to piss Dark off anymore, for all our sakes!”

Anonymous asked: Hey Silver, I think you should probably go with Trick and Doc. If things get crazy (and they probably will, lbr), it'd be good to have someone reasonable around. I know you can't go against Dark, but I also don't think you want to see anyone get hurt. This is admittedly a big step up from asking you to look for a lost cat, but can you do it for us?

Shep stares at the wash of shadow growing over the corners of his home. He runs after Dok and Trick, expression torn, and when Anti glitches into existence in the doorway of his house, you see him fall back in alarm, eyes wide.

“What’s going on?” he hears Gigi shout from somewhere inside. A sudden thrill of fear pours adrenaline into Shep’s blood, remembering all too clearly the way Anti shattered the android last time they met.

But Anti glitches away before Gigi can reach him. Google snarls, slamming his fist against the door and stepping out to look around. Trick and Dok have already hidden, tucked against the side of one of the other houses. They’ll sneak around the back and get in through the door there, hoping to find Dapper. Shep stares around in a mild panic - but eventually, you see him set his mouth and glance at you. He follows after Dok and Trick.

Host trails out onto the porch after Google, lighting a cigarette with a cold grin.

“This,” he says, “is going to be good.”

ari-trash asked: So you're just going to watch the chaos unfold, Host? You're just going to stand back and let it all happen? Well... at the very least I hope it'll be entertaining enough for you

“Been boring as shit lately,” mutters Host, smoke wafting from his mouth as he breathes out. “I been waiting for Dark to bring me home some fucking chaos. Whole reason I stick around. Nobody gets in to as much bullshit as this family. Google, do you remember when Bim hired an assassin to kill you?”

“Host!” shouts Gigi. “Who’s in the house!”

“I’m blind, Inspector Gadget, figure it out for yourself.”

“Dammit, Host!”

Anonymous asked: Ro, you're gonna be okay. Just keep with Dapper okay? Help is coming

“We’re okay, we’re okay, we’re okay,” chants Red like the words are stuck in his mouth, over and over again. He backs away, wrapped around Dapper, hiding his face in his chest. Dark steps towards them with the thud, thud of their cane, eyes white as spoiled milk. “Help is coming, help is coming, help is - ”

“Hey!” shouts Anti.

Dark stops.

Anti stands at the top of the stairs, haloed in his own venomous, glitching light in the midst of Dark’s shadow. Green and red and cold blue light. He is beautiful and hollow. He is a grave waiting to be filled.

“Stop,” he says quietly. “Back off.”

Ro sees Dark’s mouth curve like a planet.

“Hi, handsome,” they taunt softly, inclining their head, gaze still boring into Ro.

Anti does not taunt back. His shoulders are drawn back, his head low. Blue’s eyes are like the broken edges of a piece of shattered glass.

“Done playing,” says Anti. “Get away from them.”

“I just want to talk,” they answer, extending grey hands like a crucifixion.

“Liar,” says Anti.

Dark turns to him.

“What do you want?” asks Anti, revealing just a moment of weakness.

Dark meets his gaze like a predator circling.

“I don’t know anymore,” they tell him. “For you to stop bothering me?”

“Liar,” replies Anti, very quietly. “Liar.”

Dark grits their teeth.

“I would like you to stop being the ghost that follows me everywhere I go.”

Dapper shivers in Red’s grip, his legs giving out slightly. Dark and Anti glance at him as he crumples and Anti reaches for him for a moment, gaze breaking.

“Back off,” says Anti, stepping down the stairs. “That’s mine. Enough. Enough games. Done playing. Why don’t you come pick on someone a little less mortal, you fucking slug?”

Dark extinguishes all light in the room. Red shouts, scooping Dapper right off the ground. In the shadow, only Anti is visible, Blue’s face lit with his myriad of spasming colors.

“Fine then,” comes Dark’s voice, and you hear their echo give a hissing laugh. “As you wish.”

“Red,” says Anti. “Get him out of here.”

And then he is under attack.

Anonymous asked: Trick, Dok, how bad is it looking out there? I think you guys have a chance but you'll have to hurry, maybe ask Shep which house had Dapper. He's still following behind, yeah?

Shep sighs, reaching out to take Trick’s sleeve, pulling him towards his home. “Come on,” he says, hissing to keep his voice low. “We’ll go round through the back door and get your brother. You can take him while Dark and Anti keep each other busy.”

“Into the darkness?” asks Dok.

“Dude, it’s pitch in there,” agrees Trick, eyes wide. “We won’t be able to see.”

“Can’t you call for each other?”

Dok and Trick cross their arms over their chest, glaring.

“Oh, that’s right… uh, well, he can whistle or something, right?”

“We don’t have much other choice,” sighs Dok, letting his arms fall. “He’s probably scared in there. Maybe even having an episode. He could snap.”

“I bet Red’s found him and they’re keeping each other safe. But we need to get them both out - Dark has a pretty strong effect on the both of them.”

Dok bites down on his lip, reaching tentatively for the handle of the back door to Shep’s house, behind which, nothing but darkness awaits. He hears a slam and the telltale buzz of Anti’s power, so loud it almost feels like it’s making his whole head vibrate. Dark shouts and Anti snarls back at him, indecipherable from the other side of the house.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s go.”

You plunge into shadow together.

Anonymous asked: Duck and run Red, get yourself and Dap out of there

“Come on, bud, let’s go.”

In the darkness, Dapper is almost completely unable to communicate with him. He feels him trying to sign, but they don’t have time to stumble through it, much as he hates to ignore him. He throws Dapper’s arm over his shoulder and moves towards the back door. Black as it is, Ro does not stumble for a moment. He saw the hallway once and that’s all he needs, same way he can take one look at a building before leaping up the side of it like a pine marten or a slightly over-sized squirrel.

There’s only a second where he pauses.

Dapper’s fever-heat warms his shoulder. He can hear his little brother panting in the darkness. Behind them, Anti shouts and snarls, locked in battle, and Red - oh, he can’t place it, much as he wants to, but a part of him knows he’s been here before. Not here, in this house, but… here.

“We were… trying to get away?” he hears himself mutter. “And you were sick… I needed to get you… home. To England.”

Dapper turns his head towards him in the shadows, mouth parted.

“But I couldn’t get away from Anti. Jackie couldn’t get you away from Anti. And then… Red stopped trying.”

And in the darkness, in the pitch black, Ro feels his little brother move his hands against his chest.

“He did not stop trying,” JJ tells him. “He just… needed to forget for a little while. Because he was in pain. He never stopped trying.”

Ro feels something sharp and tight in his chest.

“Here now,” signs Jameson, touching his heart. “You. Here now. Don’t be sorry. No more being sorry.”

No more being sorry.

“Come on,” murmurs Red, pulling him through the darkness again. “I gotta get you out of here.”

No more being sorry. It’s a waste of time. He needed to forget for a little while, but not anymore. Time to be what they need him to be. Doesn’t matter if that’s Jackie or Ro or Red or a little bit of all of them.

He won’t fail again.

Anonymous asked: Red, take Dapper towards the back door, if you remember where it is. Trick and Dok are trying to find you. Escape while Dark is distracted.

Red crashes into Shep headfirst and you hear them both yelp, drawing back from each other, but then Trick is hissing Ro’s name and reaching out blindly for his brother. Ro recoils when his fingers find his face and Trick knows it’s him, letting out a weak laugh. Ro grins at the sound of it, relaxing, and moves towards him.

“I’ve never been so glad to see you,” whispers Trick. Ro grabs his wrist with a grateful squeeze and feels how good it is to be on Trick’s side like they were always meant to be.

“We gotta go,” he says. “Come on, back towards the door.”

“Dark and Anti are going to hurt each other,” protests Shep. “Are we just… not doing anything about that?”

“Let’s just get out of here first,” hisses Dok, pulling them all back towards the door, and moments later, they stumble out into the light with sighs of relief.

aether-mae asked: Maybe you boys should stay out of anti and darks squabble. Let them brawl it out in the dark like the heartbroken lovesick monsters they are

“I think they’re right,” agrees Dok, already taking Dapper’s face in his hands to look him over. “Oh, my poor buddy.”

Dapper smiles wearily at him.

“Let’s get you home, yes?”

“We are far away from home,” signs Dapper, slumping against his shoulder. “But I would like to go back to bed.”

“I’m getting him out of here. Come, we should all go. Better to be far from this.”

Ro glances at Trick, and then at Shep, eyes narrowed. He can’t read Shep’s face at all - it’s never been a talent of his - but Dok and Trick must have let him come along for a reason.

“I just want everyone to be okay,” grumbles Shep, looking away from Red’s intense gaze. “Anti and Dark fighting like this - it’s stupid. And other people are going to get hurt if this keeps up.”

“Then we should run,” insists Ro. “Right?”

“You might be able to get your family clear, but I have friends in all of these houses,” says Shep quietly.

Ro nods, biting down on his lip. He pauses for a moment to meet Trick’s gaze, and if Shep’s expression is a mystery to him, Ro thinks he recognizes the determination in his brother’s face.

“We’ll stay to make sure Dark and Anti don’t hurt anyone,” he says. “They’re both out of control and we’ve let them play games with us for too long.”

“I’ll stay too,” agrees Trick. “Anti asked me to help Ro. But, Dok - here.”

Trick holds out the handgun. Dok blinks, shaking his head. “It’s yours. You might need it.”

Trick shakes his head back at him. “You have to protect Dap. If someone comes after you, he’s too sick to fight back. Take it and keep him safe.”

Dok takes the gun from him, mouth tight with worry. Trick touches his shoulder and then draws back from him, moving to Ro’s side.

“I need to get the twins before they get scared,” says Shep, glancing back at the second house, where a pair of matching faces are staring out at the growing shadow. “I’ll meet up with you back here and we can figure out what to do once they’re safe, okay?”

Red and Trick nod, stood side-by-side.

“Wait,” says Dok. “If I’m taking the gun, then - ”

He unhooks one of his necklaces and wraps it around Red’s neck. His brother startles, eyes wide.

“Dok, this is your - ”

“Break it and re-tie it if you need it,” says Dok quietly. “It will light up the darkness. It’s a weapon too. If you don’t need it, you can give it back to me. Just… take it, okay? I’ll feel better.”

“Why me?” asks Ro. “Use it to keep Dap safe. Or give it to Trick since I’m the stronger fighter.”

But Dok shakes his head.

“It was always for you,” he says. “Take it.”

The raven rests against Ro’s heart.

Anonymous asked: Keep your peepers people-d, lads.

“Bye,” says Trick quietly, meeting Dok’s gaze.

“I love you,” answers Dok.

“I love you too.”

And for a second, Trick just hates it - the memory it evokes in him, the memory of parting with Dok on the shores of a river in South America, the memory of losing him to the magicians and not knowing if he was dead or alive.

“Hey,” laughs Dok warmly, touching his cheek. “I’ll see you in an hour, yes?”

“Yes,” agrees Trick weakly. “Okay. I love you.”

“We already did that.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“I love you too.”

Dok and Dapper move back towards the shed, hand-in-hand, leaving Ro and Trick alone behind the house.

But only for a moment.

“How touching,” sneers a deep, dangerously steady voice. “That you really believe you can leave this place alive after daring to enter.”

Ro turns slowly, standing in front of Trick.

Gigi glares back at him, hands clenched into fists at his side. A terrible glow rises in his deep brown eyes.

“Is that what we were keeping our eyes open for?” asks Trick.

Red extends his fighting staff.

“That would be it, Trickster.”

Inside the house, Anti refuses to tolerate being blinded.

Fire lights up around him in a circle. He burns in the center of it, eyes glowing dangerously with the light of Blue’s flame.

“You can barely even fucking control that,” says Dark quietly. “It isn’t yours. What a fucking parasite you are.”

Anti leaps forward like a snake and strikes at Dark hard, only for his enemy to vanish into smoke. He makes no witty rejoinder and does not taunt Dark anymore. Dark tries to appear from the darkness to grab him, but Anti is lining the floor of the house in flame, illuminating the shadow. Dark flicks his hand and the fire douses. Anti shouts and redoubles his efforts: his fury overcomes Dark’s power and fire grows in the room once more.

“These floors were nice before you got here.”

“I’ll do the same thing to your rotting flesh!” shouts Anti, lashing out again.

Dark blocks his blade with the stern line of a wooden cane, letting Anti score a gash into the side of it and kicking at Anti’s legs, but Anti is swift and vicious and he leaps back with a snarl on his mouth. The speed with which they fight is alarming, so fast that at some points you can’t tell whose strike is slashing forward. Dark vanishes and reappears constantly, and Anti, though solid in Blue’s form, is so coated in glitching and so quick-paced he almost looks to be transporting himself. Dark is stronger, but their back hurts them, and any blow to their spine or chest could down them. Anti is the more savage of the two, but he is bound to Blue’s skin right now, choosing the comfort of incarnation over the freedom of his natural form.

“You look like a demon coated in fire like that,” hisses Dark, circling him for a moment.

Yes, Anti looks like a demon today.

“But you smell like a fairy. And you fight like a human.”

“I’m worse than all three,” whispers back Anti.

“What, then?”

“Nothing,” says Anti. “But that was always what intrigued you, wasn’t it?”

“Stop acting like you’re something irresistible,” snarls Dark.

“You used to tell me I was,” answers Anti, and for a second, you hear something like melancholy through the anger in his voice. A moment later, it’s gone. He lunges forward again and Dark blocks his knife with the cane before striking him hard in the face, sending blood pouring from Blue’s nose. Flowers burst up between the floorboards where the red blood falls.

“Control your fucking power before you tear the house down!” shouts Dark.

“No,” says Anti. “If you want me to stop, kill me.”

“Little monster, it will be my pleasure.”

But it is now that Dark hears Gigi shouting outside, and not just at Trick and Ro. A glance to the window shows them flame growing around the house as well as inside. The fire begins to lick at the trees. Gigi and Trick are hollering at each other, both blaming the other’s master for the damage.

“I’ll burn this whole fucking forest down,” howls Anti. “You think you can act like you forget me?”

Dark vanishes and reappears behind him, shoving him towards the door, and as Anti staggers they gift him a second blow to the face, sending him crashing to the floor. Dark reaches down and puts their hands around Anti’s waist, gripping him too tight as they haul him bodily out the door and over the porch, sending him crashing down onto the stairs that lead up to the porch. Anti lets out a short gasp, touching the back of Blue’s skull, where blood buds up to stain his fingers like ink. He blows out a breath and leaps back to his feet, trying to buy himself time by duplicating – creating false doubles of himself that look real, until Dark is surrounded by a circling trio of Marvins with hatred burning like stars in their eyes.

But Dark doesn’t press their advantage. Their face is flickering again, revealing short glimpses of that same emotion that Anti couldn’t accept when they were in the woods together: confusion, raw and genuine. Their hands are still held out in front of them, remembering Anti’s waist between their palms.

“Get out of my head,” they warn.

“You get out of my heart!” shrieks Anti.

“I’m not manipulating you,” growls Dark, raising their hands slightly – perhaps the beginning of a gesture asking for a pause.

“Well, neither am I. I got enough going on possessing this body for me to be messing around in anybody else’s head,” answers Anti bitingly, setting his three pairs of identical feet.

“Come on,” sighs Dark. “Do you really expect a soul-sight like me to be tricked by your glitches?”

“Which one’s me then?” shouts Anti, stepping forward, all three pairs of himself moving close, into Dark’s space. “And you know I’m not lying if you’ve still got any sight at all! You know that and you’re still – fucking – acting like this!”

A tree behind the house bursts into flame and you hear shouts and the scattering of squirrels.

But Dark doesn’t flinch.

Anti pants in front of them. After a second, his right hand, duplicated three times, reaches out and grabs Dark’s shirt – the shoulder, the back, and the lapel of their fine black suit.

Dark sets their hands on Anti’s waist.

Squeezes.

Hard.

Feels his solidity beneath their fingers.

Anti closes his eyes, a flicker of pain in his face, but, if only for a moment, you see some of the panic drain away from his white face. The double and triple flicker out of existence.

Anti breathes.

He looks up at Dark and he pulls in air, Blue’s heart racing. Ash in his mouth and hands on his waist.

“Asshole,” he chokes, striking Dark’s chest with a faltering fist. “You liar. You do remember me.”

Dark’s gaze breaks, eyes sliding closed. They squeeze his waist again. Loosen. Squeeze. Loosen. Breathe.

“I think… I do.”

“Why’d you pretend?” cries Anti. “Is it true what you said – my soul doesn’t look the same anymore? Can you see Blue’s power instead of mine?”

“I didn’t remember you,” mumbles Dark. “I still… it’s like if I had been a character in a play, and so were you, and then suddenly here you are, telling me to remember the lines we read. But the part of you I remember – you don’t look like yourself at all. You’re not the character. You’re someone else. Someone I know even less.”

Anti grips their wrist, shaking his head. “Don’t say that.”

“You can’t admit it to yourself,” Dark murmurs, withdrawing slightly. Around them, the heat and smoke is only rising. “That I don’t remember all of it. I can see the fear it puts in you.”

“What am I supposed to believe? Who could have done something like this? Not my Dapper. That’s a lie. Not him. The others have already – have already done what they’ve done. But not him and not Trick. Those are mine. You – you were mine, Dark, fuck you!”

He shoves Dark back and grabs their jacket, pulling them close.

“Tell me you remember me! And you were pretending! And you know me and now you’ll start acting like yourself again! Tell me that, now!”

But Dark is pulling away from him, shaking their head.

“Dark! Tell me that and mean it, goddammit!”

“You are a piece of something now far away from me,” says Dark. “But right now, all you are is a threat, and I will play games no longer.”

“Pangur Dubh!” screams Anti, voice breaking. “It’s me!”

“Wilford,” says Dark.

Anti hears the cock of a gun.

He throws Blue’s body back, falling back onto the porch again just in time for the bullet to miss him. Dark vanishes back into shadow and Anti turns his eyes to Wilford, who isn’t even reloading – just looking at him with a sort of strange pity in his eyes.

Anti –

Oh, fuck.

Shit, he –

He’s had enough.

He’s had enough. He’s had it. Humiliation washes over him so hot and loud it almost makes him dizzy, and Blue’s fragile little body aches against his trapped form even as it protects him from the side effects of stealing Marvin’s power, and he’s tired, and he’s scared, and he wants to go home.

But only for a moment.

Because, for a long, long, long time, he has learned one very dangerous skill:

Turn all of that into rage, and let it swallow you whole.

“Anti, you’re going to burn the whole fucking forest down! Dapper can’t reverse right now!”

“There are still people nearby! Dapper and Dok and others who haven’t hurt us!”

“Make him stop, please, please! Dark, do something, Wil, shoot him, make him stop!”

“Dark, you have to stop this. Where did you go?”

Trick and Red and Shep and Gigi’s voices are lost in the pounding of the blood in Anti’s head. Even Host is retreating now, stepping away from the porch and out onto the grass as the fire spreads, the amusement disappearing from his mouth. Anti chokes on his anger, eyes watering with the force of it, and blood gushes from his throat so fast he’s faint. At this point, he doesn’t think he could control the fire if he wanted to. He remembers Blue’s burst of power at the top of the mountain, sending plant life exploding through the rocks and sand.

Now I’m the one who’s out of control, he realizes faintly.

And a voice in his head answers, pleads, begs:

Anti. Give it back to me and I will make it stop.

Marvin, he answers. I wasn’t lying. I don’t know how.

All six of us and all of these people here are going to DIE, Anti.

Anti feels heat on his face. Ash on his white hands. Smoke in the air. Smoke like flame in the air. And he breathes. He breathes.

So be it.

#chapter four

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