#at least we got a pretty wet Sallow

[kiwiplaetzchen]

The silent world quiets the mind

and one extra

[versias]

New Brother Just Dropped! Limited Time Cryptid Edition!

Bruce was very proud of his status as a good foster father. You could see it in how he perked up whenever someone asked about his kids, even those no longer living with him. They spent a good thirty minutes discussing how each kid was doing.

Anyone could tell that Jim Gordon’s request for him to foster a witness for a few weeks was taken with respect as a badge of honor.

Tim, of course, was aware that Batman was investigating the disappearance of two Doctors Fenton and subsequent appearance of unusual technology on the streets of Gotham. The fact that their youngest, Daniel, had been found wandering those streets, battered, bleeding, and silent as the grave, had a fairly large impact on Bruce’s willingness to take him in. While he might have done so anyway, the incentive of getting information from him was pretty enticing, too.

When Daniel was brought in to meet Bruce, Tim snapped a surreptitious pic on his phone and sent it to the family group chat.

TimBot: New Brother Just Dropped! Limited Time Cryptid Edition! Several people are typing…

The boy was sixteen and scrawny in a way that spoke of not getting enough to eat, consistently. His hair was black and his eyes were blue (a fact that everyone was surely going to point out when they got a good look). His hair was unhealthy, though, greasy and brittle and too long in the back. His bangs had clearly been cut on his own to keep his hair out of his eyes. Bags under his eyes and the sallow tint to his skin spoke of nights without sleep, anxiety without end. His clothes hung off him, too big by a size and a half.

He looked kind of like one of the wet kittens Damian had brought home one night—sad and pitiable. A bit pathetic, if one was being uncharitable.

His eyes flickered around the room, sizing up exits and occupants. He cringed away from the officer leading him gently by the shoulder. It looked like he wanted nothing more than to curl into himself and disappear.

He looked hunted.

He looked haunted.

He needed help. Tim was going to make sure he got it.

“Hello, Daniel,” Bruce greeted with a winning smile, the tender version of his innocent grin, number four.

The boy stiffened and blinked. A flinch, suppressed.

Something about the attention of being talked to? Was it Bruce’s superficial resemblance to his father, Dr. Jack Fenton? Or was it a reaction to the name? He could possibly address one of those, at least.

“Do you mind if I call you Danny?” Tim piped up. “I’m Tim, another of Bruce’s gaggle of kids. Obviously, short for Timothy but– Ugh, please don’t.”

Danie- Danny nodded, looking the slightest bit relieved. Bruce gave Tim a grateful glance for the assist.

Tim grinned at both of them.

He checked his phone.

Spoiler Alert!: what’s with this can’t be captured on film shit we adoptin vampires now??? Dancing Queen: 🧛❓❌ 🆕 👯✅ 💃🏻💕 Damian Wayne: He is not a new brother, Cain. We are taking him in to protect him and to gather whatever intel he is privy to. Cease this nonsense. Dancing Queen: 😠 😢 Duuuuuuke: lol denial. 10 bucks says he’s here to stay

[sloanesallow]

you live with ghosts

Sebastian and Sloane sneak off to have some fun, but they aren't really alone now, are they? 👻 ✨Sebastian Sallow x F!MC Tags: NSFW! MDNI! Sexual content, semi-public sex. 1.6k words [Read on Wattpad] - [Read on Ao3] - [Masterlist]

“I don’t see why we couldn’t stay in my room.”

Sebastian looks back at Sloane as he leads her down the corridor, the two sneaking in their disillusioned states until the coast is clear. Down in the dungeons, they don’t need to worry about any Prefects finding them and ruining their fun. 

“Too boring,” he says, shuffling a little faster towards their destination. 

“Is that what you think of my company?” 

It takes Sebastian a moment to realize she is teasing him. He laughs, shaking his head. “Of course not, sweetheart.” 

“I only want to have an exciting adventure with you,” he continues with a coy grin, one she sees right through. “And by adventure, I mean something involving little to no clothes.”

“You’re insatiable,” Sloane replies. “Insufferable. Incorrigible…”

“Are you finished?” 

She furrows her brows for a moment longer before sighing, playfully and gently tapping her palm to his cheek. “You’re lucky I love you.” 

Sebastian smiles like he’s just won the House Cup. “Yes, I am.” 

He opens the large wooden door at the end of the hall for her, gesturing for her to enter ahead of him. Sebastian knows the Death Day Ballroom is a place Sloane has discovered before, but they two have never visited the dark and quiet space together. But Ominis is quite fed up with the two christening every surface of the Undercroft and after a failed silencing charm in the dormitory…well, it was time to improvise. 

Sloane stares up at the enchanted ceiling, littered with glowing candles. The entire room is drenched in a blue hue, giving her an ethereal look. She surveys the room, still skeptical. 

“This room is usually filled with ghosts,” she explains. 

“Maybe they are sleeping,” he jokes with a shrug, ignoring her unamused expression. “If you’re really worried, we can always go to the Restricted Section instead.” 

“Oh no,” Sloane protests, waving her hand. “The last time we tried that, Peeves nearly saw…” she waves a hand over her body. “Everything.” 

Sebastian glances over at a nearby table and waggles his eyebrows. “Then shall we?” 

Sloane smiles, not bothering to resist his eagerness as he sweeps her into his embrace. His lips slot over hers, greedily licking into her mouth as he works to steal the breath from her. At the same time Sebastian walks her backwards, hands roaming across her body before landing on the swell of her hips. He pulls away when her back meets the hard surface, trailing a line of kisses to her neck and gently nibbling her earlobe. 

“Sebastian,” she sighs his name and it is a sound he will never get tired of hearing. 

“I want you, Sloane,” he whispers against her skin. “Now.” 

The soft blush on her cheeks is still one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. He kisses her again, languid as he cradles her face in his hands like the precious thing she is. Before she can hop up to sit on the edge of the table he turns her around, smirking at her startled gasp. “Bend over for me, sweetheart.” 

Sloane complies, resting her head on her arms. A pretty little smile adorns her face as she glances up at him over her shoulder but Sebastian knows from experience that she is not as bashful as she appears. At least, not anymore—not after he got his hands on her. He gathers up the skirt of her dress, folding it over her hips and the small of her back until the silky expanse of her thighs and perky bottom are exposed.  

“Good girl,” he murmurs, unable to resist the temptation of giving her rounded cheeks a little smack. He softly chuckles at the yelp that escapes her lips, sounding suspiciously like a moan. “Did you like that?”

Sloane doesn’t answer, but her body does. She widens her stance, arching her back in anticipation. Sebastian bites back a low groan, wetting his lips before hooking his fingers into the band of her underwear, peeling the fabric away until it pools around her ankles. He reaches down to undo the clasps of his trousers. He pushes them down along with his breeches, freeing his hardened length before stepping closer to her awaiting body. 

He smooths his hands over her bare skin, spreading her apart to expose the slick treasure between her legs. The sight is enough to make his cock twitch in anticipation, his hips rolling forward to press against her arousal. She softly moans and he doesn’t waste anymore time, sinking into her with one slow thrust. 

Sebastian wraps his hands around her hips and pulls her back, snapping his hips forward to fill her completely. “That’s it. Fuck,” he breathes, voice already ragged with desire. “You always take me so well.” 

Sloane whimpers, her face scrunched up in pleasure, a breathless almost-smile filling him with a sense of pride. He flicks his gaze down, fixated on the mesmerizing sight of his cock sliding in and out of her wet center. Sebastian finds a steady rhythm, already knowing he won’t last very long at this angle. She is so tight, so hot, and her muffled moans only make it harder to concentrate on ensuring she finds her end first. 

But Sloane has a way of driving him wild without even trying and he struggles to hold back the urge to just…fuck her into oblivion. If she ever said the word, he would. 

He tempts fate, lifting her hips a little higher to strike her deeper with each stroke. Sloane’s gasp dissolves into a whine of pure ecstasy, her fingers grasping at the linen spread beneath her body. “Seb—” she can’t quite get his name out. “Right there.” 

“I know,” he replies, biting his fingers into her flesh as he ruts against her backside, spurred on by her desperate sobs and barely coherent mumbling that indicated she was just as close as he was. 

Sebastian can feel her fluttering around him, her body tensing and thighs trembling as she crests over the edge and meets her climax head on. It’s a gorgeous sight and sound, one that sends him spiraling. 

“I—” he gasps, the coil in his gut tightening and threatening to snap. “I’m coming…” 

A chill runs through the room. 

“Well, well.”

Sebastian’s orgasm is abruptly interrupted by a disembodied voice that echoes through the room. He freezes, half inside Sloane as she fights to stop her own convulsions. They both snap their eyes open and up to where not one but several transparent figures are floating. 

Ghosts. 

More specifically, the ghosts of the Headless Hunt. 

“What do we have here?” 

Sebastian scrambles as he pulls away, yanking the dusty tablecloth from the nearby table to cover himself and Sloane. The ghostly apparitions shimmer in the dim light, a few members chuckling at the sight they’ve stumbled upon. Sir Nicolas places his severed head back on his neck and lets out a bellowing laugh. 

“Good on you, lad!” 

Of all the ways he thought they could potentially be caught, this is not one of them. He grumbles, reaching beneath the sheet to right his clothing the best he could, given his state. Sloane shifts as well, pushing her skirts down so she is no longer exposed. She is still trembling when she stands, balancing against Sebastian and hiding her face against his chest. 

“Do you mind?” he snaps, wrapping a protective arm around a mortified Sloane. 

“You’re the one in our ballroom,” Sir Nicolas counters in a mocking tone. The Headless Hunt ghosts continue to hover, circling around Sebastian and Sloane with their amused expressions. After several agonizing moments, they relent. 

“Alright, alright,” Sir Nicolas gestures to the other ghosts who gradually make their leave, but not before stealing one last glance at the young couple. “Off with you! Let these two lovebirds regain their composure.” 

It is only when they are gone that Sebastian releases a sigh of relief, unable to stop the bubble of laughter that escapes him. Sloane smacks him, but despite her wild blush, there is a tiny grin on her lips. 

“What?” he flashes a smirk, the kind he knows she loves even when he’s being insufferable. Even though he is somewhat suffering from going without release, he laughs. “You have to admit that was sort of hilarious.” 

Sloane rolls her eyes, unimpressed. But he knows she isn’t really mad—he’d know for certain if she was cross. He playfully nudges her, swooping in for a quick kiss before she can turn to walk away. Sebastian follows, the two leaving the ballroom before the ghosts can return to taunt them a second time. 

They barely make it to the end of the hall before Sloane grabs his arm and he lets out a surprised laugh as she yanks him into the nearby darkened alcove. Her hands frame his face as she pulls him into a heady kiss and he eagerly complies, humming his approval. He leads her, fingers squeezing her hips as he hoists her up onto a stack of old crates, tugging up the hem of her dress until the fabric bunches around her hips. 

“And here I thought I’d have to spend the rest of the evening pent up and frustrated,” Sebastian jokes, reaching down to join her hands as they work to open his trousers again. 

She shoves them down, pulling at the band of his underwear until his half-hard cock slips out. Her hand quickly wraps around him, thumb pressing against the sensitive head as she pumps him back to full arousal. Sebastian groans, snaking his hand between her thighs and chuckling when he realizes her panties must have been left behind. Sloane uses her free hand to tug him closer, tilting her head up to capture his lips. 

“Who is insatiable now?” Sebastian can’t help but tease her. 

Sloane breaks away, already breathless as she scolds him. “Shut up and fuck me.”

“Oh?” Sebastian wickedly grins, tugging her closer as he aligns himself against her waiting entrance. A second later he is sheathed inside to the hilt, leaning forward to swallow Sloane’s loud, broken moan. “As my lady commands.” 

[the-kcm-muggleborn]

Kind For You

Fandom: Hogwarts Legacy

O/C: Sebastian Sallow x Edwart Thompson x Ominis Gaunt ✨️platonic✨️ (My OC)

Warnings: None

Word count: 1k>

Chapter 2

Part 1

Edwart was waiting in front of Professor Fig's class taking a cat nap. As expected he didn't get much sleep after yesterday's events. He was exhausted but the sleep he experienced wasn't as satisfying as he had hoped.

Suddenly something had awoken him and unfortunately, it wasn't Professor Fig.

“What are you doing here?” a familiar tad too cheery voice with a hint of amusement woke him up.

“Sebastian…” Edwart spoke quietly, not opening his eyes “Why are you disturbing my peaceful sleep?”

Sebastian smirked at the delivery of that line.

“Oh. I’m sorry. Merlin knows the pretty boy needs his beauty sleep ” 

Edwart smiled a little bit and stretched his limbs while he opened his eyes

“I'm waiting for Professor Fig.” He explained while getting up. “He sent me an owl and now I'm just waiting”

Sebastian lifted an eyebrow and before he spoke Edwart interrupted him.

“No questions like that.” He put his hands on his face in a tired manner. “He just needed to talk to me but looks like he’s running late. I'll explain everything when I can. ”

Sebastian nodded.

“Anyway, what are you doing here?” Edwart continued. “Wouldn't you rather sleep at this hour?” 

Sebastian smiled mischievously.

“Well, I just came from the library. At this hour Madam Scribner doesn't pay as much attention to the surroundings. It’s easier to slip into the restricted section that way” he finished his sentence with a proud grin.

Edwart certainly didn't expect that. 

“Restricted section you say..? And? Found anything interesting there?” 

 “Well well look who finally got interested in the right topics” Sebastian’s grin reached his eyes. 

“I’m here-” Profesor Fig interrupted, looking out of breath. “I apologise for being late. Let's talk in my office, shall we?

“I’ll see you later Sebastian” Edwart quickly waved and followed Professor Fig.

“How are you? I heard about the troll attack!" Professor Fig asked with worry. "Are you sleeping any better?”

“Not really but thank you for your concern.” Edwart smiled lightly “Now what was so urgent Professor?”

“I found something…” Professor Fig started.

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

“Yes Profesor Fig indicated a certain urgency to you completing your defensive magic assignments.” Professor Hecat stated “ As such. You are to learn Incendio, the Fire-Making spell”

“Understood Professor” Edwart stated flatly.

“But before we get started. I’d like you to head to the clocktower and find a young Gryffindor named Lucan Brattleby, he’ll know what to do and I suppose you’ll understand soon enough too.” Professor Hecate said firmly “ When you’re finished come and see me. Then we shall begin working on Incendio.

“Yes Professor” Edwart answered with politeness and headed out.

“Seems that duelling club, Sebastian was on about isn’t as secret as he believes” Edwart thought with a smirk “At least now I don’t have to worry about getting into trouble for practising if a Professor is advising it.” 

While Edwart was walking towards said place he got jumped by a weird colourful loud ghost floating through the walls leaving a wet puddle after him. “The Hell?” Edwart thought “What in Lord’s name was that?” Finally, he reached his supposed destination and found an all too familiar Slytherin, leaning on a metal gate.

“Well, well… I see you changed your mind about the club?” Sebastian asked with a grin

“Hardly.” Edwart answered with a smirk “I’m looking for Gryffindor named Lucan?”

“Lucan Brattleby? Yeah, he runs this show. He’s just over there.” Sebastian pointed “Either way, glad you could make it.”

Edwart stepped away in the direction of a boy, Sebastian pointed to.

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

‘’So it wasn’t pure luck in the Defence Against The Dark Arts class.” Sebastian grinned “You’re quite a duelist!”

“Hmph.” Edwart breathed out tiredly “You’re not too bad yourself Sallow..”

Sebastian felt his smile spread at the look Edwart shot him. Finally, Sebastian saw some friendly competitive traits sticking out of the new fifth year. He could see Edwart was starting to warm up to Hogwarts' environment. 

“Anyway, as much as it was fun putting other students to the ground with you.” Edwart spoke playfully “I have to go. I have other things to attend to so I’ll see you later” 

“Sure, later.” Sebastian replied with a small smile

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

“Sebastian! There you are!” Edwart said a little out of breath. 

Sebastian turned around when he heard a familiar voice.

“There you are. Have you missed me that much in my brief absence? Sebastian almost sang with his voice

Edwart playfully rolled his eyes. “No, I need your help…”

Sebastian looked at him with slight surprise. Edwart asked him for help. Straight-forward? Interesting…

“I need to get inside the Restricted section. Earlier today you were bragging about going there. I assume it wasn't your first time..”

Sebastian didn't know if he was more astonished or intrigued by a request to sneak into the restricted section by nobody else than Edwart. A student that presents himself as a goody two shoes. But maybe Sebastian judged him far too soon…

“No” Sebastian finally spoke with a small grin “It wasn’t my first time and I will gladly be your guide through the dark restricted section and I'm guessing no questions would be answered if I asked?”

“Indeed, I apologise.” Edwart smiled thankfully. 

“Alright then. Meet me outside the Library tonight. And tell no one.” Sebastian lowered his voice.

“What will happen if we're caught in the Restricted section?” Edwart matched Sebastian's voice

“Detention no doubt.” Sebastian answered surely “But don't worry about that. We'll thread carefully just, avoid Peeves the poltergeist.” 

“Who?” Edwart asked 

Sebastian chuckled. “That very colourful ghost that always floats about very loudly. You've probably seen him by now.” 

“Ah. That. I saw him floating about and leaving a puddle of water after him.” Edwart answered with a slightly confused face. “Is he..? Always like that?”

“I’m afraid so. he’s a pain most of the time” Sebastian spoke with a half grimace, half smile.

“Ugh. I just remembered something. I have to go. I’ll see you tonight Sebastian”

 Just like that before Sebastian got a chance to answer. Edwart was gone. From what it looks like the new student was always on the run, always having a responsibility waiting for him. Sebastian didn't envy him for that.

- - - - - - - - - Author's notes- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Part 2>

MASTERLIST

Thank you so much for reading CHAPTER 2 of my fanficion. I hope you enjoyed it! We're getting into the Resrticted Section! Uh Oh! Wonder what will happen... ;}

English is not my first language, sorry keep that in mind:)

[my-brothers-corrupted]

Chapter Four - Part 7

Dapper wakes up beside Red disoriented and upset and decides to take him somewhere he barely remembers to help him come to terms with their situation.

Tws for hospitalization, bruising, manipulation, and imprisonment.

Part 7 - Aftermath

aether-mae asked: Ok ok hear me out Dok- what if you were to make a deal with Dark, for him to off a certain someone for you. That way he won’t hunt you anymore and you take the opportunity while he’s undertaking the deal to run away

Dok sits stroking Noodle, staring at the ceiling, lying across his bed. He has nothing else to do. Nothing to do but wait and think and wonder. His mouth parts. He looks young and casual in his boxers and t-shirt, his usual semblance of professionalism and normality having faded away with his stress and the torn white coat lying beside his bed.

“Oh, yes, that would work,” he mutters, a gleam coming back to his eyes. “If that Dark thing can kill Anti and we could turn them against him… I mean, Anti’s pretty fucking terrible, so it couldn’t be too hard to switch the side that Dark’s on, yeah? Unless they’re equally terrible… damn. But I think I’d ally with just about anyone at this point if they told me they could kill him. But who would even know how to do that?”

He sighs, shaking his head against his pillows, mussing his hair. He hasn’t eaten. He wants his siblings, all of them. All of the real ones. Safe and sound.

“Doesn’t someone have to know? Was there ever anyone? Did you ever know, back when you knew us, from before? Does Dapper remember anything? I have to find a way to make him stop hurting us…”

Anonymous asked: um. so hey dok! things are... stable for now. trick's alright, he's with anti, who did possess blue. red has a cut on his throat but trick said it wasn't lethal. dapper got hit pretty bad. they're both in the upstairs bathroom, um, sleeping/unconscious? they were just now coherent, though. anti is... not as angry as he could be, which is good at least! we're working on keeping everyone safe. i'm sure it's not been easy. how are you?

The door to the downstairs guest bedroom creaks open. Dok shoots up, staring at the entryway - and there, unharmed, is his twin.

“Trick,” breathes Dok, reaching out for him, and Trick has rarely looked as relieved to go crashing into his arms, halfway tackling him onto the bed.

“Is that all true?” asks Dok, muffled by the closeness. “Red’s not going to die? You’re okay? Dapper, what’s wrong with him? Where’s Blue?”

“Anti was still wearing Blue last I checked,” says Trick quietly. “I think I heard Red talking to Dap, but I’m not sure. He was pretty busted up, Dok. Are you alright?”

“No one touched me, Trick, I’m alright. It’s been days since someone’s laid a hand on me.”

“I was so scared Dark would send people into the house while we were all distracted, but I knew the cameras would tell me if someone tried to take you.”

“Thank you for going up there,” says Dok, wrapping him in his arms. “You’re my hero.”

Trick’s face flushes with pride, scooping Dok close to his body, though fear lingers in the whites of his eyes. He runs his fingers over the ravens on Dok’s chest without even having to look down at them, his other hand in Dok’s hair. Noodle jumps on top of his stomach and makes him yelp - and then laugh, accepting kisses on his nose from his kitten.

Anonymous asked: Yeah, you're both okay. Everyone's okay. You're all alive and okay.

“What are the chances?” murmurs Dok, and it makes Trick laugh. He wants to build him nests out of t-shirts and blankets and buy him fish and chips. He wants to give him coffee at Christmas and deliver babies with him. He wants to make him smile.

“Let’s go get some breakfast,” says Trick. “I bet you haven’t eaten.”

“Okay.”

Anonymous asked: Dok, still got your necklaces?

“And wouldn’t take them off for anything,” he says, pulling them out from beneath his shirt - three little black raven talismans, arranged one two three from his collarbone to the curve of his chest. Trick doesn’t react, heading upstairs without looking back.

“The animal one, the light weapon, and the one that protects my head and my heart,” says Dok gently, plucking at his ravens one by one. “From my friends.”

Anonymous asked: JJ, I know you're beat to hell right now but we're running out of time. Anti's done playing around. Red and Dok are basically out of his control and he sees that, if he starts cutting losses, he's going to kill them. He's gonna hold onto Blue for usefulness, and trick out of favoritism, but JJ, somehow you've fallen in the middle. This damn twin system is throwing everyone's judgment but I think you have a better glimpse of the whole picture. We don't want to cut losses but we need a plan.

“Noooooo,” protests Dapper unhappily, shaking his head. “Nooo, don’t make me decide things, am tiredddd.”

He draws out his signs in long motions and flops down against the side of the tub, silver chain around his throat. At least he’s been able to get out of the bathtub and move around a little with only his neck chained - Red is not so lucky.

“Don’t shake your head so much, buddy,” he coughs, sallow and pale with the coming of the morning, his neck as white as the t-shirt strip wrapped around it. “You might still be concussed.”

“I want off my collar,” protests Dapper, struggling to get up to his feet, only to crash back down to the floor. “I should have been a good boy, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” whispers Red. “He’s been like this all night. Anti hurts him and it snaps him back into his sugar-sweet, obedient little brother mode. It’s not healthy. Dap, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Reddy, lemme go.”

“Just try to lie still.”

“I wanna go home, I wanna go away, I wanna go somewhere nice.”

Red shudders, both of them struggling to take care of each other while they deal with their own shit. Dapper is spacey and injured, wheezing when he breathes, and Red has been over-stimulated and uncomfortable for about nine hours straight. He ran himself a bath for the blood and Haldol and everything on the floor of the filthy tub, but he hates it when his clothes are wet almost as much as he hated sitting in his own blood. He wants to cry again but he’s too tired. He’s just got to stay strong and get through it, like he always does. Tomorrow, this will be over. Tomorrow, this will be over. Tomorrow, this will be over.

“Wanna go home,” repeats Dapper weakly.

Anonymous asked: i know, buddy. i'm sorry, dap, jamie, love, you didn't do anything wrong, you don't deserve this. but i don't think you'll be stuck like this for much longer, okay, bud? i don't think you'll be stuck right there for more than a few more hours, and i think in a week or so things will have been figured out. hold on, okay? you're doing great, and i know it's hard, but just hold on, buddy. we're doing our best to help you guys.

“I do not want to hold on.”

He is grumpy and tired, childish in his fear of Anti, because it’s always been the best way to protect himself.

“I want my bear and my friends and pasta and Jack. I don’t want to hold on. I don’t feel good. Red, come home with me. Can’t we?”

“We’re kind of stuck right now, bud.”

“Not stuck, never stuck. I wanna go. If I can think of something. Take you with me so you’re not so unhappy.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Dippin’ Dots. Want to look for Tylenol or something in the drawers?”

“Anti took everything out of the bathroom in case I try to overdose,” signs Dapper. “I can’t even die to escape him.”

“Hey, we don’t talk like that,” warns Red with a thrill of fear down his back. “Don’t have to die to escape anyone. We’re going to be okay.”

Dapper plays with his clock distantly, running it between his hands.

Red sighs and turns back to you. “Is my twin okay?” he asks. “Please? Can you see him? Is he awake?”

Anonymous asked: Anti if you're going to be wearing Blue, march him to a hospital. You're only making him worse.

Anti is running his hands over the flesh of Blue’s arms, standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom.

“You know,” he says, his voice a fine low rumble. “I’m almost getting used to having skin.”

He strokes his throat, his fingers drifting down his esophagus.

“With the sickness I get otherwise, it’s a lot more comfortable. And with Blue breaking down and always turned against me… I’m starting to wonder.”

He cups his face in his right hand, his left resting on his caved stomach. He listens to Blue’s heartbeat in his skull. Thump, thump, thump. Quiet and tired, but reassuring in its steadiness.

When he was small, he used to sit in the back of Jack’s head, only half-formed, and listen to the beating of his heart. The only rhythm he knew.

“I could maybe just wear him all the time,” he says. “And only leave when I needed to glitch. He scratches a little. Doesn’t fit quite so well as Dapper. But still, I could just… rest.”

He touches Blue’s image in the mirror.

“Change this body til it feels like my own.”

There’s a sly light in his eyes as he turns to you. You know that look by now. He’s trying to get a rise out of you, to wind you up, to piss you off - but he could be serious, too.

Blue shudders faintly, Anti’s eyes gleaming in his head.

Anonymous asked: You really think that'll impress Dark? Okay then.

Anti rumbles out a laugh. “Dark’s always impressed by me. Even when I thought they were a total creep they looked at me like I’m the prettiest little killer in the world, right down to the essence of me. Sometimes people tell you to go kill yourself with enough emphasis that you can tell they got it bad.”

It’s difficult to tell if he’s joking or not.

“But I’m glad you agree Blue’s unimpressive right now too.”

Blue’s body drops like a sack of flour as Anti steps out of him almost literally, backing away from his body and regarding him coolly, popping bubblegum in his mouth as he looks down at him.

“Got something on your face,” he says, nudging Blue with his foot as his eye begins to bleed.

“F - fucker!” gasps Blue, clawing at the hardwood and drawing in huge lungfuls of air. “What did you do to Red?”

“I’ll give your precious twin back to you when he’s learned his lesson. Get out of my sight, you little witch.”

pine-storm-season asked: Hey, Dok and Trick? Anti just unpossessed Blue, he's in Anti's bedroom and might appreciate help leaving the room and stuff.

Trick puts his cereal down right away, turning to head upstairs. Dok makes to follow and Trick shakes his head at him, warning him off. “You’re still not allowed up here.”

Dok can’t say he really minds staying away from his torture room. He waits for his siblings at the bottom of the stairs.

“Hey,” says Anti, pleased when Trick comes up to him.

“Hey, Green. Can I have him?”

Anti rolls his eyes. “If you want him, you can have him, but you don’t have to look after him if you don’t want to.”

“It’s okay, I just want to get him out of your hair,” says Trick nicely. Anti relaxes against his bed, watching Trick pull Blue to his feet. He isn’t looking well.

“Red, Red,” begs Blue.

“Maybe we can have Red and Dapper back too?”

“Don’t worry about them. A little later.”

Anonymous asked: (Dok, while you're alone, Anti hypnotized the ever-living FUCK out of Trick and told him that he has three days to get the necklaces off you or else he'll kill you. I'm really sorry to drop this on you so bluntly but it's really important you know. If you don't want Trick to know you know, you can probably play off your reaction to this news as reacting to Blue looking like shit, Trick's bringing him back now)

Dok’s mouth parts so softly you see his chapped top lip cling to the bottom for a second, revealing his slightly crooked front teeth. He doesn’t answer you - barely looks at you - for a good thirty second. A deep breath passes in and out of him without conscious thought and his eyebrows fall into a dismayed sort of terror.

“Oh, he - he said he’d kill me? Anti did?”

And how stupid it is - how utterly and painfully stupid - that after all the realization he went through, after all the growth, after all of his own hopes to kill his little brother - the thought of Anti killing him still burns like a betrayal.

He never loved him at all.

He spent so long being so good for him - gave his whole life up for Anti, loved him no matter what he did to himself and his siblings - and Anti would cut him open and leave him dead on the grass of the lawn just to punish Trick.

Dok has to go. He gets up and he leaves you there, racing away and back down the stairs.

Anonymous asked: well on one hand dok is totally entitled to that reaction on the other hand FUCK

“What reaction?” asks Trick, and then his twin isn’t at the bottom of the stairs.

“You told him!” he accuses instantly, whirling on you. “You - he shouldn’t have to know that! He shouldn’t have to think about it! Why would you - ugh! I was going to keep him safe, like I always do! He’s got enough going on right now, he - Blue?”

He catches Blue as he begins to slide off Trick’s shoulder, sinking towards the ground. Trick heaves him up in his arms, huffing with the weight of him, and, determined, he carries him to his and Red’s bedroom, setting him down on the bed.

“N-no, I’m okay,” stammers Blue, wiping at his forehead. “I’m okay, Dok.”

“It’s Trick, Blue.”

Blue pants, looking up at him. His foggy eyes are squinted nearly into slits, blinking fast.

“Can you see me?”

Blue closes his eyes and turns away, burying his face in his hands.

Anonymous asked: Can we set the cameras to transmit audio? If not, Trick, can you pass it on to Blue if he can't read these? It's gonna be alright, Blue. Right now, you're downstairs in Red and Trick's room. Trick is in the room with you, and Dok is I think also downstairs? But not in the room. Anti, Red, and Dapper are all upstairs. What's one thing we or someone else can do for you right now to help?

“I want Red!” snaps Blue, turning suddenly on Trick and shoving him away. “Get out! You’re just Anti’s little pet! Leave me alone! What can you or somebody do? Fucking nothing, that’s what! I’m just disgusting and sick, leave me the fuck alone!”

“Hey, Blue, calm down,” Trick snaps right back, real fear in his voice. “You’re panting way too hard, okay? Just try to breathe.”

“Then get out! Get out of my room! I don’t want you here! I don’t want anybody but Red and even he can’t save me so go away!”

Trick’s never really been snarled at by Blue, but he won’t let it get to him while everyone else in the house is in worse trouble than him. He decides his sibling isn’t joking about wanting to be left alone. Trick knows the feeling. He gives you a meaningful look, tilting you towards Blue. Keep an eye on him.

Trick leaves Blue alone. Blue tries to get up to draw the curtains closed for himself, but even this one little thing he can’t do for himself - he crashes to the floor, his legs giving out, and grits his teeth as the blurry image of his pale hands holds his shaking body off the floor.

Not even his hands. Not even his skin. Not even his body. Oh, fuck. His head swims. The world is falling away from him. He sits up, trembling, and falls back against the bed, gripping at his head. Gripping at the head. Not even his skull. Not even his fucking body.

“This isn’t me, this isn’t me, this isn’t me,” he whispers, his voice faltering back into despair. “Where did my body go, holy shit. This isn’t happening. This isn’t Blue.”

.

Trick finds Dok downstairs, hiding under the bed.

“Dok?”

He’s never seen him under there before.

“Dok, I’m here.”

He crawls down beneath his twin, reaching for him. Touching Dok does not make him look over or speak. He’s just still.

Trick’s heart sinks.

“One of your zone-outs, my brother?” he asks quietly.

Dok stares at nothing, breathing a little too slow, a little too deep. In. Out. In. Out.

“I’m here,” Trick repeats quietly, even though it never seems to be enough. “I’m here.”

Dok lies still. Lets him hold onto him.

He’s scared. No matter what he told himself, it all seemed to come down to this - in three days, he’ll most likely be dead. Yeah, he’s scared. His brain decided to give him a break. He’s far off in his head. Trick doesn’t think he feels anything at all when he’s like this. It’s a defense mechanism.

For a moment, Trick reaches up and touches Dok’s necklaces. The talismans burn his fingers dark red, but he doesn’t draw them away until he has to. He doesn’t think he can get them off with just his hands, but if he got a knife…

He sighs and leans against Dok’s shoulder, closing his eyes. Not right now. He can’t even think about it right now.

“I’m here,” he whispers. “I’m with you.”

They lie beneath the bed, in silence.

.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

“Dap,” begs Red, panting through his discomfort, trying to keep his calm. “You gotta stop rambling, little brother. You are okay. Okay? I’ll get you out of here.”

“No, I want to go home! Now, now, now!”

“Dap, we’re stuck! Come on, please take it easy!”

“No, we’re going now,” says Dapper, determined. He brushes at sweaty curls on his forehead and shivers, scrambling around the bathroom, his silver chain jingling. “We’re going away. Maybe we don’t have to come back. Where, I don’t know. I have to remember something. We can go home. I want to.”

His hand finds his little clock in the corner of the room. Red’s eyes widen.

“Now - hey, hold on a second, Dapper. I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

“Where do you want to go?” asks Dapper, barely seeming to hear him, staggering back towards him in the tub. “Who should we go see? I just have to remember… I just have to… we’ll go somewhere it doesn’t hurt so much. I’ll be good then. I promise. He won’t catch us. He can’t smell it, not in here. Where do you want to go, J-happy?”

pine-storm-season asked: I don't think that's a good idea, Dapper. He's already irritable and angry, and the chances of making it worse seem too high. I'm sorry, buddy, I think you have to stay here.

“I don’t want to, I want to go away, my whole body really really hurts.”

He crashes down besides Red and his big brother does his best to catch him as he falls, but this only makes Dapper gasp in pain as hands make contact with his bruised side. For a second, it seems to startle him out of his frantic determination. He collapses against the side of the tub, his head falling against Red’s. Red holds his shoulders and tries to make him breathe in time with him, rubbing his arm.

“It’s okay, Dap. It is. I promise. It will be.”

Dapper shakes his head, low, low, his eyes haunted.

“He really beat me. Like he used to back when I was never good.”

Red just holds onto him, shaking his head. He doesn’t know what to say anymore. He just knows - they have to go. They have to. He has to get his family away from Anti. He hopes Anti will forgive him someday, but he can’t worry about him now. Not when he’s treating them like this.

“I loved that big house in the forest,” signs Dapper quietly. “I only got to live there about a year.”

“Some day I’ll find a place where we can live and you can feel safe again. I promise.” He presses their foreheads gently together, minding the dark bruises across his little brother’s tired face.

“I want to go see Jack,” signs JJ gently, pressed against Red’s head. “I really want to talk to him. I think I need to talk to him. I miss him. He doesn’t remember me in reality. But I still remember him in my own timeline. I want to go see him.”

Maybe Red should protest more. But the truth is he’s filthy and hurt and in a lot of discomfort, something that translates directly into distress and pain for him.

And that one time when Dapper sent him back - when he saw them all again - when they were so healthy and clean and safe and Blue laid beside him and told him he was a good man -

Yes, Red wants that.

So he whispers:

“Are you sure you can make it? Even though you’re hurt?”

“Jackie,” signs Dapper, like it could be the sign for love or brother or family. “I’m sure.”

“And Anti won’t catch us?”

“Not if we’re quick. He didn’t catch me before.”

Dapper has eyes like suns faraway, big and bright. Red has had trouble saying no to him ever since he began to see the little recluse trapped in the attic as his baby brother again.

“Okay,” says Ro. “Let’s go home.”

He touches Dapper’s hand.

Anonymous asked: He, Dok, I doubt you'll be up to reading cameras right now, but however you're feeling is okay. You've done incredible work getting as free as you can from him, but not even magic can undo the effects of months of conditioning, abuse and hypnosis overnight. He's a master manipulator, you've done so well getting this far. Please don't beat yourself up for how you're reacting. Also Trick, this is a crazy stressful time for you guys, and you're doing your best, and we thank you sincerely for that.

“You know what?” says Trick, a little weakly. “We’ve gone through worse times together and come out okay, right, Dok?”

He’s managed to get Dok out from under the bed. They’re curled up on the couch in the basement, playing Lord of the Rings on the big TV. They don’t have internet, but they do have a DVD player.

“Look, Aragorn,” Trick prompts his brother, patting Dok’s arm. “You love this movie, right? When was the last time we saw it?”

Personally, Trick doesn’t really get the appeal, but he likes the monsters and the fighting scenes and things. Dok’s really into it, though, most of the time. But right now he’s just burrito-ed in all the blankets Trick gave him, staring down at the floor with a truly miserable expression on his face.

Trick hovers unhappily, patting his arm.

“It’s okay, buddy,” he says. “They’re right, don’t gotta blame yourself. It’s okay. You’re doing great.”

He curls up against him and keeps him company. Dok’s eyes don’t start to re-focus until they’re on their way to Mordor.

Anonymous asked: Yeah, you both are doing so well handling all this. Dok, however you're feeling is okay. We're going to do our absolute best to protect you guys, yeah? It's okay.

Dok lets out a small, tired sigh at Trick’s side.

“Hey,” whispers Trick. “Are you with me?”

Dok looks wearily over at him, meeting his eyes at last, but he doesn’t say anything.

Trick scoots forward and presses their heads together, lying against him. Dok glances over at you before lying back again. Faintly, his hand moves to rest across Trick’s.

They do not speak about the talismans. They do not speak about the death threat.

“Gimli is my favorite,” says Trick, after the dwarf says something funny, and Dok is grateful that he’s pretending to care.

“Can we watch all three?”

“We can watch all three.”

Dok will be asleep by the end of the first, but Trick doesn’t mind that either. He slides the second DVD in and goes back to his place at his side.

Anonymous asked: Hey Dap, Red, I'm all for you guys doing that, but are you completely sure you're going to be safe? If anything goes wrong, things could go even more south for you guys, and it's already really bad at the moment. Again, not trying to dissuade you, but please please make sure it's going to be safe. Or, as safe as anything in this family can be.

Ro comes to spitting and coughing.

He finds himself on his hands and feet - mid push-up, he thinks? He lets himself go down and then rises again, and, with a burst of pride, he feels taut muscles raise and lower him as though his weight were nothing to them. Another push-up. Another.

Jackie was strong, he realizes, and he blames the flash of jealousy on his old counter-part for being this fucking ridiculously fit, and then notices how strange it is to think of the person he used to be as someone else entirely.

He gets to his feet, glancing around.

Was this his room?

A lava lamp bubbles in the corner. His eyes get fixed on it, watching the colors rise and fall and float. His windows are open and cool air and birdsong float into the room. The walls are a nice light blue, the bed is a Queen with thick black blankets, and everything else - oh, fuck - it’s neat! It’s clean! Everything he owns is packed politely into drawers, a row of nice running shoes tucked in a perfect line in his closet, Spider-man decorations and pictures of his family arranged in clean lines on his dressers and drawers.

This is like Heaven.

For a long time, he sits in the middle of his floor, just breathing. Just watching. Just trying to remember.

A slow breath fades from his chest. He closes his eyes and he opens them again.

He remembers you and looks down, smiling.

“Safe, huh?” he mumbles, feeling the cool breeze through his hair. “What’s the fun in that?”

Anonymous asked: Oh alright, you made it safely!! Your room does look pretty cool, and damn wish I could do push ups like that. Way to flex, hero man. If you're able, would be be able to look for Dapper? You both weren't exactly doing super well when you left, and the magic might've taken a toll on him. (Hope this trip goes well for you!!)

“I’m not even flexing, this is just how I be,” purrs Ro, letting himself revel in the pride of it for a second, standing up and looking down at himself. He feels immortal like this. He looks into the mirror and his face is flushed with health - though he finds one deep scratch across his collarbone that surprises him, bandaged by neat hands, but stinging across his skin.

“Weird… wonder what that’s from? Oh, geez, yeah. Where is Dap?”

cest-mellow asked: it’s good to see you so healthy, red. but where is jameson? is there anyone else in the house with you?

“I better find him,” mumbles Ro, looking around like he expects JJ to crawl out from under the bed. “I don’t know if anyone else is here. I’m assuming this is the same house I was at last time he brought me back, the house in the woods he always talks about.”

He glances out the window. The trees are swaying in the wind.

“I don’t know how to get home without him, so he has to be around here somewhere. Right?”

“Hey, Jackie, are you coming?”

A voice with a familiar accent startles Ro out of his thoughts. He turns towards the door. “Uh… yeah, Dok, sorry, give me a second!”

“I know you’re just visiting, but I have a shift to be on time for, you know.”

“Right, sorry,” says Ro, a little startled. Did Dok just give him sass? Dok? “Oh, fuck, that’s not his real name. Uh… H, something German.”

cest-mellow asked: henrik! his name is henrik. where is he trying to take you? maybe jamie is there too? you should ask tho O_o

“Henrik! Right.”

“What?”

“No, I was just - uh - ”

Henrik pushes open the door to his room, leveling a look at him.

“Oh,” says Ro. “Hey.”

He’s got this clean white coat on and a dorky, cute blue turtleneck. His hair is very short at the sides, soft and dark on the top. He raises his eyebrows at Ro in a way that is both bemused and challenging. It’s not a look Ro is used to.

The Dok he knows is quiet and submissive, scampering back to his nest every time Red used to raise his voice at him, slathered in scarring and always trying and failing to keep his hands clean. But Henrik has this light in his eyes like nothing in the world has ever made him afraid, and his back is held so straight that for a moment Red thinks that he’s taller than him. Maybe he is taller than him, and Ro just never noticed before.

“Come on, dummkopf,” laughs Henrik, nudging his head towards Ro’s shoes. Ro doesn’t think Dok has ever insulted him out loud and to his face, even as a joke. “Let’s get going. Don’t you want to visit Jameson?”

Anonymous asked: Oh wow, guess this is happening, cool! What do you want to do while you're here, Red? (Is there anyway you could get information on Anti or any weaknesses? Or not, goodness knows you guys deserve to just have a nice time without worrying about him)

“One second, Henrik, I’ll be right there.”

“Oh, Henrik,” he says, and it takes Red a couple seconds to realize he’s being teased. “Today I’m Henrik, huh? Well, of course, Jackson, take all the time you need.”

There must be something else he’s supposed to call him, but Ro doesn’t remember what. Henrik grins at him like he’s waiting for him to say something back, but Red’s at a loss. Henrik blinks and steps back.

“Sorry,” says Ro. “Really, I’ll be right there.”

“Um, okay,” says Henrik. “I’ll just be on the porch.”

Henrik leaves and Red smacks himself in the head. “Two seconds in and already I’m acting weirder than usual. Okay, what do I want to do while I’m here? Geez, I gotta leave most of this up to Dap. Sounds like he had somebody he wanted to talk to. But, uh.”

He pauses, cocking his head.

“Well, if we have time, I would like to see Blue and Trick and… well. Blue and Trick. And just - yeah. Well. Probably don’t have time for anybody else, but I really liked last time seeing how healthy everybody looked. Kind of jarring. But right now especially, I really want to see that Blue’s okay.”

Anonymous asked: Ro, Dok's name is Henrik (von Schneeplestein)! If you run into Trick, he's Chase, you know Blue's name, and Dapper's with you, and oh if there's another guy you haven't seen before, he's Jack or Seán, I think JJ might be looking for him. Also, from what I can remember, yeah expect some sass from Henrik haha! These guys are probably going to pretty different to who they are now, but regardless of all that, you're still their brother. Best of luck!

“Holy shit,” gasps Red. “Holy shit!”

Schneeplestein, holy shit!

And it’s funny, first things first, just because that seems like such a ridiculous name on the surface, but Red isn’t even laughing, not for a second, because shit, that was his name, wasn’t it?

“Schneep,” he breathes, and it doesn’t matter how silly of a name it is, it’s a memory alive again on his tongue. “Holy shit… we were friends.”

He doesn’t remember the things they used to do or the way they used to get along, but with that name he knows that they did used to get along, that they did used to love each other in a way he’s long since forgotten, that Schneep was his brother long before Dok and Trick were bound at the hip, that that’s not just his tired, struggling little brother with the haunted eyes - that was Schneep, his Schneep, the doctor who always kicked his ass when he came home hurt, the man who would patch them up while grumbling in German the whole time, the arms he would come back to when he was in pain. That was his brother.

Ro has to sit down for a moment.

“Shit,” he whispers, biting on his nails. He lets his eyes slide shut for a second. “Schneep…”

Because it’s one thing to know that they used to know each other better and that their bodies used to be healthier. But to know that they used to be different people who loved each other, deeply, in different ways than they do now -

Fuck, it’s a lot to have stolen from them. It’s not fair.

It’s not fair that Schneep is dead.

He wants to see the others right now.

hollenka99 asked: Just a reminder for if you bump into them, Trick is Chase and Blue is Marvin. I'm guessing you used to call Henrik by a nickname. Try 'Hen' and see how he responds. After all, you're still shortening people's names now like Dapper being Dap etc. Can't hurt to try. Worse that will probably happen is that Henrik may tease you again.

“Okay, right,” mumbles Ro, getting to his feet. “Yeah, I’ll just… Chase. Right.”

And then he can’t bring himself to say the name Marvin out loud.

He tugs on sneakers - nice sneakers, red and white - and finds thin black gloves near the door, slipping them on despite a warm fall outside his window. He loves having gloves. Jackie is wearing a long, heavy red hoodie and long black and white sweatpants. He feels covered and comfy and - for the first time in a long time - handsome.

But somehow even that realization is painful, and he turns away from the mirror, swiping at a place on his forehead where a scar will one day exist.

He pushes out of his room, glancing down a short hallway towards a homey little living room with a couple worn-down couches. The house is quiet. He wanders through the kitchen and the laundry room, where faint voices waft in through an opened window. Pushing through the back door, he sees a pair of siblings working on a pretty little garden together, helping each other tear up weeds and chattering about nothing.

He’s never seen Blue and Trick spending time together alone.

“Hey,” he calls weakly.

Their heads turn up together, both smiling at him. Chase sticks his tongue out at him. Marvin winks. Ro hears a laugh bubble out of him, shaking his head in amazement.

pine-storm-season asked: Here you are, yeah! This is good, I think, to see them again like they are. You doing alright, Red?

“I feel weird,” he says, with a fluttering laugh. “But after being stuck in that fucking bathtub, I can’t be upset with anything. Hey, guys.”

“Hey, J-man.”

“The king, the legend!”

“Your shift at the hospital?”

“We’ll be there after lunch to give you a break.”

“He likes those Twix bars in the little shop out front if he gets upset.”

“I love a little shop.”

“Look how my mint is coming in!” Chase and Marvin both lean back to give him a view of bunches of herbs growing up from the ground. Ro shakes his head, laughing.

“Why don’t you just grow it with magic?” asks Ro.

“I’m still so tired from the fight,” says Marvin, grinning up at him and pushing long, dark hair from shining eyes. “But even if I wasn’t, it’s good for me to work the earth a little sometimes.”

Marvin buries his fingers in the soft damp earth, breathing in the deep richness of the smell like a worshipper breathes Easter incense. He closes blue eyes. The wind brushes across his soft hair. He smiles back at Ro and Chase follows their gazes.

“You have freckles,” says Ro faintly.

“When I get enough sun,” answers Chase warmly, touching his cheeks.

Anonymous asked: I think Schneep is a common nickname for him, maybe try that? This is probably going to be painful, seeing how much you guys have lost, and remembering things too, but hey, you can still reach something like this again. Healing is possible, and while you're not likely to be the same, you can still all make progress and learn to love each other like that again. While you're here, do your best to make the most of it!! Love you Jackie <3

“Hey.”

A hand descends on Ro’s shoulder and he turns to ice eyes behind thick glasses.

“Are you okay?” asks Schneep, frowning. “How’s the cut?”

Ro touches his chest uncertainly, feeling the faint burn of a clean wound. “Um. Okay.”

“Ready to go to the hospital?”

“Yeah, okay. Is Jack coming?”

Henrik blinks. “He’s still there from last night.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, let’s go.”

Anonymous asked: So... are you guys going to visit Jack at the hospital? Is he okay?

Ro doesn’t know how to start asking about it without alerting Henrik to the fact that something’s wrong. He trails after his little brother towards the door of the house, next to which hangs a great silver mirror.

Schneep takes his wrist without preamble, making Ro startle, but all his brother does is say “amo, vale,” and then -

Hold on a second.

Ro is too startled to protest when Henrik pulls him through the mirror after him.

Gone is the forest. Red closes his eyes in shock against a strange sensation, feeling the world give an odd lurch around him, and - well, it’s not unlike the time travel, but his body has moved instead of changed. Brick walls rise on both sides, birds chittering around the rooftops. It might have been a dirty alleyway, once, but so many flowers and weeds and grasses have grown up through the broken earth and brick and pavement that it makes a tiny pocket in the back of the alley, hidden from the world. Henrik pushes through a curtain of vines and Ro sees people and cars rushing down the streets around them, feels the burn of city electricity, hears the laughter and the noise and the life of lived-in places. He takes one last look back at an abandoned mirror sitting in a dirty rectangle of painted blue wood and moves after Henrik, counting his breaths to keep them steady.

“What did you say?” he asks shakily, hurrying after Henrik to catch his wrist. “Those words, like a spell?”

Henrik quirks his eyebrows at him. “Marvin’s password? That was all.”

“Henrik, how’s everyone doing?”

“I didn’t get any calls overnight, so I’m hoping that means good. No more breakdowns for JJ, I hope, and if Jack got caught staying past visiting hours and thrown out on his ass, well, he can take care of himself.”

nikkilbook asked: .... Jackie, ask how Jameson is doing.

“How is Jameson? How was his last breakdown?”

That light like sunflame in Henrik’s eyes gives its first flicker of the day, and he turns to give Ro a frog-frown look, his mouth tight.

“Look, I promise I won’t let them put him back in the psych ward. I’ll convince them to let us take him home first, once they know he’s going to be okay without the hospital. It’s not his fault. It’s just Anti in his head… soon, things will clear up, and he won’t be saying things like that anymore.”

“Things like what?”

Henrik rubs his arms together, shaking his head. “You know what! Like that there’s messages hidden in his prescriptions and all the doctors are secretly trying to kill him.”

Red’s head clears a little. “Oh. He’s psychotic?”

“No, I told you!” protests Henrik, his upset rising. “It’s just Anti, it has to be! He’ll clear up again!”

“You should put him on Haldol,” says Ro wisely. “If we’ve learned one thing from all this.”

Henrik gives him a despairing look, stopping in the middle of the path. “Bayard, he’s been through too much already. I don’t… I don’t want him to be any sicker than this. Don’t want him to have to deal with delusions. We just got him, can’t he have a break? I want him to not get hurt anymore.”

Red’s chest twists. Dok never did stop trying to look after him, either.

He looks smaller than Ro again, standing in the middle of the street, playing with a loose button on his sleeve.

“We’ll do everything we can, okay?” he says, stepping forward. He slides an arm around Schneep’s shoulders and finds that it feels easy, natural, normal. Henrik pushes gently back against him. “Even if he has got something going on in his brain, he’s still perfect. Can still be happy. You’ll see. I’ll make sure he gets the chance. I promise.”

And Henrik smiles again, small and correct, yes, correct, right, normal, natural, true. Schneep. Like nothing has ever hurt him. Pride in the cold ice of his eyes, in his clean skin, in his head lifted up.

Was Anti the one who taught them all to cower?

Anonymous asked: Oooh they don't know yet about Jamie's psychosis... Red, can you find a way to discreetly ask how long JJ has been with your brothers? Because it either has been not that much or they've all gotten lucky for a big stretch of time

“He’s been in here… what, how many days is it now?” asks Ro, dodging out of the way of harried nurses and - oh, Schneep just slammed his shoulder into the arm of that doctor with the clipboard.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, Kerchek!” he hollers, narrowing a glare at her.

“Hey, everybody look out, it’s Mr. Genius!” snarks back Kerchek, rolling her eyes.

“Still jealous about that botched piggyback, aren’t you?”

“I’ll show you a botched piggyback, Schneeplestein, you check your back.”

“Just stay away from my brother or else.”

“Holy shit,” laughs Ro. “Stop fighting with the other doctors! What the hell?”

“She deserve it,” huffs Henrik, tearing away. “Hey! You two stop snickering and get back to work!”

A pair of howling medical students all but crumple over their assignments, head bent low together.

“Yes, Doc,” they laugh.

Henrik just rolls his eyes and keeps walking.

“You cause a lot of trouble, Schneeps?”

“Please, everyone knows I run this hellhole. Clarissa, how is my patient?”

“Hi, Jackie. Hi, Schneep,” says a dark-haired nurse, glancing them both over fondly. “He’s doing okay. Just slept most of the night. You’ll have to go check if he’s been giving the morning staff as much trouble as you do.”

“Unlikely,” answers Henrik dryly, pulling Ro away again. The hospital is crowded and he dislikes the smell and feel of it, but everyone is smiling at them as they pass - or glaring at Henrik, who snipes right back. He’s a vicious little man and ever since he started working here, any passive-aggressiveness or false niceties died with a bang rather than a whimper. The hospital’s been better for it - and a lot more entertaining.

“It’s been what, a week and a half?” answers Schneep belatedly. “He was so shaken up to begin with. But a nice young man, isn’t he, once you get past the murder attempts?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around the thought of you being a competent professional,” answers Ro cheekily, and a moment later a clipboard slams into his stomach. He groans out a laugh, snatching Henrik by the turtleneck and dragging him under his arm, making him yelp in protest and squirm to get away. They half-chase each other down the hallway towards Jamie’s room, Henrik fending him off with his clipboard, and Ro can’t stop laughing.

Fuck, when Blue reads him poetry with love in the lines of it, this is what he means.

Anonymous asked: Dang, I almost forgot how much confidence Schneep used to have. It's nice in a way to remember that he wasn't as quiet as he is, or well... will be. Bask in this moment, red. Enjoy that long passed time where brotherhood still held any kind of meaning other than simple hierarchy.

Ro looks at his brother as he pushes open the door to a nice little hospital room with lots of light. He doesn’t think he wants to know what sort of things you have to do to a person like Schneep to turn him into the little brother in a tattered coat shaking beneath the bed.

And this is better, he thinks, fleeting and true. Not that he was a different person. He could love him for whoever he is if he only got the chance. But that’s what was better - the chance to be his friend, and not just his brother. Maybe Jackie got swallowed up, too, the same way that Schneep did. Eaten up by that one role, letting it define him.

I’m more than his protector, though. I’m more than his big brother. He’s more than someone I need to look after all the time.

“Hey.” Henrik’s voice, gone gentle, interrupts his thoughts. “How are you feeling, my dear?”

Letting his legs dangle over one side of the blue hospital bed, Jameson tears his eyes away from the sun through the window and meets their eyes.

He looks exactly the same.

Anonymous asked: How's Jamie doing? Is he alright?

JJ reaches out for Ro.

He moves over to him and wraps his arms carefully around him, pressing JJ’s head to his shoulder. “Did you come to not knowing where I was?”

JJ nods, gripping at his sweatshirt. He doesn’t know what would have happened if he and Ro weren’t together when the timer on his clock ran out. He doesn’t travel like this a lot, or not that he remembers.

“Fuck, you really don’t age, do you? Like, truly. You just don’t.”

“Not until it’s my time,” answer JJ’s hands, a needle taped to the back of the right one. “And I haven’t had much of a chance at being twenty-five yet, you see.”

“I never thought this would be possible, but you might be skinnier now than you are… well, now.” Red draws back to look at him, pushing stiff, overgrown hair from his eyes and touches the back of his head, examining him. “I thought you said there used to be a time when Anti was nicer to you.”

“That time hasn’t come yet,” answers JJ wearily. “When he gets me back the second time…”

He notices Henrik standing by the door, staring between the two of them with his eyebrows up, worried and excited and confused all at the same time.

“You seem better,” he breathes, bouncing on his feet just a little. “Are you, um… feeling safer today? You are hugging today? We are not the enemies?”

JJ smiles, reaching out his arms. Henrik sweeps forward, beaming, and hugs him to his chest, pouring reassurances into his ear.

It’s about halfway through that JJ realizes this might have been the first time in his life he ever hugged Henrik. In the original timeline, he doesn’t think that happened until weeks later, when he stopped baring his teeth at anybody who tried to come close. He holds tighter and closes his eyes.

“You’re shaking,” murmurs Henrik. “You need more for the pain?”

JJ sucks in a breath, feeling at his body bit-by-bit. He does hurt, terribly, somewhere beneath the dull relief of whatever drugs he’s on. He’s beat and fragile, one of his ankles wrapped in a cast and an awful haze of weakness making him feel more like a ghost than a man.

And he’s never been medicated for his psychosis in his life. He knew it from the moment he came back to this moment in time. He miscalculated. He can barely think straight, and he’s afraid, and he doesn’t want to leave this room or face anyone.

“Where’s Jack?” asks Henrik, pushing lovingly at his hair. “Didn’t he stay with you?”

“Went to get me a hot chocolate,” signs JJ. “I really wanted one.”

“Oh, good.”

“Can I stay with Jackie a little while, H-healing? I want to talk to him.”

“Alright,” says Henrik, despite a little disappointment in his face. “Well, I need to get started at work for the day. But I’ll go over what the nurses said and if you need anything at all, I’ll come right back. Okay?”

JJ nods. Henrik cups his bruised face, soothing his thumb over a cut by his ear, and then, with one more look at the pair of them, he sweeps away again.

“You’re going to have to talk to Jack for me,” signs JJ immediately.

“What? No way! I don’t even know who that is. Leave me out of it, Jay. Hey, come on… don’t look at me like that.”

Anonymous asked: Jamie, how about you explain Jack real quick, and then we can also help Jackie talk to him if we need to?

“No, I refuse to explain,” says JJ politely.

“Dapper!”

“What! You might remember as you see him… I’d prefer for you to remember what he meant to you than me have to explain…”

Ro sighs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“This is the person Anti hates so much,” he says. “The old master.”

JJ picks quietly at the hospital bedsheets, watching mice crawl up the sides as he hallucinates. “I guess. Well, yes, he is the person Anti hates.”

“The magician who created us.”

“Something like that.”

“How can somebody have that much power?”

“It happens once in a millenium, my brother. And he has a bit of an energy boost.” JJ glances over at you, raising an eyebrow. “But I don’t remember all the details. Nobody understands the full thing. Usually, we let Jack stay out of it. It’s not really his fault, and he has a completely different life that’s not anybody’s business. We fight our battles without him. But… now I need to know.”

“What do you need to know?”

JJ stares up at him. “I… Dok and Blue have been… I just… I need to know more about… Anti.”

“What, Dap?”

“I can’t say it.” JJ ducks his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Not while I can hear him whispering to me from the television…”

Ro glances at the TV on the wall. It’s off.

Anonymous asked: It's safe, bud. You can say.

“You should know by now,” says JJ begrudgingly, turning away from Ro. “You want to protect us, do it. I want my hot chocolate and to go back to bed.”

“Oh my goodness.”

“Blue has been sneaking around with Dok ever since Peru, Ro. Hasn’t he told you anything he’s been thinking?”

“No!” protests Ro, offended. “Well, I mean - he’s not sneaking around without me! We sneak around together! Geez!”

“Ro, we all know you haven’t picked a side yet. Blue doesn’t - ”

“Picked a side?” Ro scoffs, pacing at the foot of his bed. “What sort of side is there to pick? You’re talking about Anti. I want to get you away from him, I do, but that’s our brother, Dap, that’s our - ”

“You think I don’t know that!” JJ’s hands tear the air apart. “What, you think I’m naive to his love and his hatred, Ro? Look around you! Do you see Anti back home with you? Does he come to visit me in the hospital, bring me hot chocolate, garden with Marvin, play around like a kid with Schneep in the hallway? Ro, Anti can be your brother if you want him to be, but it’s a choice that we make. Or you, at least… I think I’m bound up in his blood forever.”

“You’re talking about hurtingAnti.” Ro holds onto his wrist, trying to make him look at him again. “You’re talking about hurting him, not just running.”

“He just chained us to a bathtub!”

Ro backs away, gnawing on the nail of his thumb. He shrugs, eyes flickering around.

Anonymous asked: I know he's your brother, Red. But can I ask you a question? If you just met him, and he started pushing people around like he does now, is he the kind of person you would want to be friends with?

“Mh, no, he scares me, but it’s not about friends, it’s about brothers.” He shifts on his feet, hugging his arms over his chest. “And Anti’s protected me before too, even if he’s hurt me to match. He gets lost in his temper… I want us to be away from him, and not to go back until he can stop hurting us. If he can. But I don’t want to hurt him…”

He knows the warmth of Anti’s body in a hug. He knows the warmth of his own blood on Anti’s hands. He shivers.

nikkilbook asked: Jackie, what does “brother” mean?

“Well,” says Ro. “Your blood, yeah? You gotta look out for your brothers. And they’re supposed to look after you. And if they don’t, well, I think you gotta go, at least to keep the others safe. But you don’t turn around on your family. He doesn’t… mean to hurt anybody. Just angry. Right? And hey!”

He whirls on JJ again, wagging a finger. “That’s Jack’s fault! Anti always says the old master made us like this.”

“Anti blames him for everything,” answers JJ bitterly, wiping at his face. “Just because Jack fucked up a couple times when he was younger. It’s not Jack’s fault Anti’s always mean and you know that. Or if it is Jack’s fault - honestly, I don’t remember - then Anti can never change, and it would be better to kill him than to let him keep living so ferociously miserable.”

Real emotion breaks Dapper’s face. He turns away, pulling his hair over his eyes.

He hates Anti. Often. Not always. And no matter what he tries to tell himself, he can’t deny that it hurts to see Anti in pain. Lately, he doesn’t even hold him at night. His condition rears thoughts in his head - traitor little brother. Selfish brat. Turning on him. Something touches his ankle and he gasps, jerking it back to his chest, but nothing’s there. Ro reaches out to soothe him, hand held out in front of him like a shield.

nikkilbook asked: I’m not sure Jack “made” you anything. He created you, but that doesn’t mean he micromanaged your every flaw and personality trait. You are you, you’ve always been you, you’ve never not been you. All he did was give you a way to exist physically in this world.

Maybe Anti’s angry a lot. Maybe that’s outside of his control. But hating is a choice. Turning affection into a weapon meant to hurt and to maim is a choice. And crucifying yourself on the hate of someone who would call himself brother has only ever been the role of one man, and you are not Him.

“Jackie,” signs JJ gently. “Jack doesn’t even remember us anymore because of what I did… so we know for a fact he doesn’t control any of us any longer, if he ever did. You are you. And I… I’m me, for better or for worse. And Anti is himself. The person he’s chosen to be. Ro… how long have we loved him, and he still does things like this?”

Ro tears a strip off his nail, eyes haunted. “You remember better than I do.”

“Well, it’s been a long time,” he sighs. “And all of us have done our best. But it’s not our fault, Ro. It’s not… it’s not my fault. I have loved him, I have… it’s not your fault if that’s not enough to change him… it’s not my fault.”

Ro tilts his head, pressing his lips together, but JJ doesn’t turn back to his gaze. He’s curled in on himself, petting his hands through his hair, face very tired, and very guilty.

Anonymous asked: It doesn't equal out like that, Red. You don't owe a n y loyalty to someone who hurts you, even if they also protect you. And what you said about his temper, and if he stops hurting you? Red, he's had the chance to stop, many times. If he hurt you once when he was angry, and then did his best to work on it and not hurt you again, that would be okayish. But he doesnt, Red. He has no excuse for cutting your throat just last night, or for any of the other things he's done. Nothing justifies that.

“Okay, fine,” snaps Ro, pulling at his hair. “I know that Anti sucks ass and I have for a long time, okay? But I’d be scared, Dap! I’d be scared! It’s always safer to stay away from him or just wait his temper out! That’s always been true… and I… he is my brother, even if he’s the fucking worst and I hate his guts half the time!”

Dapper sighs. “Alright, Red, just - ”

“If we try to hurt him he’ll kill us!” shrieks Red. “He’ll do things to us like he did to Blue at the river while I was running away! I got scared and he put Blue in the hospital and he still hasn’t recovered, Dap! I don’t think he ever will! Anti did that to him just because he hated him and wanted something he had. He can get inside our heads, he can control us. I wanted to attack him in Peru, but I had to protect Max.”

“Ro, I know.”

“And then he made me feel like I loved him again! Even when I know the truth, I still feel that way sometimes. I’m not strong enough, Dap, don’t you get that? I can’t keep him out of my head, can’t convince myself to do anything, can’t protect you from him! He does things like chain us to a bathroom and I can’t stop that, JJ, I can’t, I’m sorry. I’m not… I’m not enough! I’m not what anyone needs me to be! He’s going to keep hurting us… but he’ll hurt us less if I can just get you away for a while or keep shielding you the best way I know!”

“No, that’s not true!” cries JJ, slashing at the air. “Stop, Ro, J-Joy, listen to me. Watch. Watch. Ro, don’t you know why I’m in the hospital?”

Ro blinks, glancing around. “You’re hurt. Anti hurt you. He’s always hurt you. Your whole life.”

“But Anti’s not here.”

Ro brightens a little. “I found a way to get you away from him? You’re hidden?”

“No, Ro, better,” says Dapper, clutching at his aching ribs as he leans forward. “You and Blue beat him. Beat him into the earth and took this past version of me away from him. And that was the night you made Anti terrified of the weakness that would force him to scamper away from a fight like an animal.

We are not the ones hiding right now, Ro - he is.”

Anonymous asked: Red, Ro, Jackie, you're strong. And I'm sorry you've been forced to be for so long. But you can get through all of this. You can win. We've been with you for a long time, haven't we? We know you. And we believe you can do this. We're with you, bud, we'll help you. It won't always be the way it is, because you all can fight, and you can win. He wouldn't beat you all down into dust if he didn't think you could be powerful enough to fight back and win.

Ro sits down at the edge of JJ’s bed.

His little brother’s fingers tug gently on his sleeve, waiting for him.

“I love you,” he says, though the words are ashy in his mouth.

JJ nods, stroking at his wrist. He presses an “I love you” into the mattress as he scoots closer.

“I love all of you. I want to keep you safe. I’ve never been able to do that. And I… still don’t think I could hurt Anti.”

“I know I couldn’t,” JJ agrees. “But I need to find out. For Blue and Dok. Cause, Jackie, I think maybe… when it comes down to keeping all of us safe, or staying Anti’s brother - I think maybe, on that day, we’re going to have to hurt Anti.”

“Kill him?” asks Ro weakly.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I could watch that. But if he comes at us again and tries to hurt us like he did today, wouldn’t you rather that we had a way to stop him?”

Ro bites down on his lip.

“If he tried to hurt Blue like he hurt us today, wouldn’t you rather that you had a way to protect him?”

Oh, yes.

Instead of running away.

He would like to stand tall again.

nikkilbook asked: There is no “enough,” Jackie. There’s only you, and that’s all your brothers—your friends—have ever needed. Not the you that Anti has twisted you into thinking you’ve become, but the you that���s real. The you that says “I love you” by telling the truth. That’s who you are. And sometimes, the truth does mean fear. Because Anti is frightening. You deserve the right to be afraid. But fear does not mean cowardice, and it does not mean shame. You are not shameful for being afraid of him. Remember yourself, Astrifer. You’re the boy who loves by telling the truth.

Red - Ro - Jackie - hell, but he can never make one of them fit quite right. He thinks there used to be a truth to him, somewhere, before all the lines went blurry and his hands spilled so much blood in the name of someone who’s always hated him anyway.

JJ touches his palm.

The contact of skin makes Jackie shudder, but he’ll allow it, just for a moment. Beneath JJ’s touch, with a smell like the earth after rain, Jackie’s clean white hands rise with Red’s scars, revealing his present again.

“Anti always mocked you for being a terrible liar,” signs Dapper. “Because when you knew what was true, Jackie - that was when he was afraid of you.”

“What’s true, JJ?” he asks numbly.

JJ puts his head against his shoulder.

“Big brother, you’ve always known.”

Anonymous asked: Yeah, it's gonna be hard, I know. But we believe in you all, and we'll be right here with you to help.

“Okay,” says Jackie softly, an arm around Dapper’s waist, and he knows what it is to be holding him - natural, right, truthful.

“If you want me to, I’ll go talk to Jack.”

Dapper closes his eyes.

He thinks a part of him wanted Jackie to refuse. To refuse to allow Dapper to betray their false brother. But he said yes, and Dapper has.

“Okay.”

He hides in Jackie’s shoulder and tries to ignore everything else in the world but the feeling of his warmth beside him.

Anonymous asked: Where is Jack?

“Getting me hot choccy.”

“Holy shit. Don’t shorten it to hot choccy.”

“What? You don’t want hot choccy too?”

“That’s - hahaha. The worst possible spelling.”

“It’s the best way!”

“Don’t you have a sign for chocolate?”

“Maybe I like saying hot choccy! What!”

“Jay, haha, I - ”

The door pushes open.

Jackie’s on his feet in a second, adrenaline pumping, fists clenched, body taut.

He knows that face. He knows that energy in the air. It makes all his nerves light up like firecrackers.

Anti stares back at him, holding a little cafe cup in both hands.

No…

No, he was wrong. Not Anti.

He just looks like him.

Down to the second and third tattoo.

Down to the way his fingers move.

Down to the way his eyes gleam in the light.

“Hey, man,” comes his tired voice, coughing a little. He steps past Jackie and hands JJ his hot chocolate, setting a coffee down on the table beside him. “You just got here?”

“Yeah,” says Ro quietly. “Yeah, I did.”

“Mmh.”

Jack adjusts the white cap on his head and lays his head down at JJ’s side without another word, letting half-circled eyes slide shut.

Ro doesn’t move.

The air feels like a storm is coming, faraway lightning playing with the ends of his fingers. The air feels like the birds have flown away and the frogs are hiding.

Anonymous asked: Red, you alright?

“Um, yeah,” murmurs Ro, scratching at the back of his head. “Yeah, fine.”

But he’s nervous watching this person lying beside his little brother like nothing is wrong. Like they’ve known each other their whole lives. And Jack isn’t talking either, which means - worse still - Ro might have to start the conversation.

In all honesty, he just wants to take JJ and go back to the house, to have a few minutes of peace before they’re returned to that goddamn bathtub. He glances at his little brother, whose face has gone dead, his affect flat and his body tired. JJ lifts up his little pocketwatch, where only a sliver of gold, counting mercilessly down, continues to disappear.

Anonymous asked: What are you supposed to talk to Jack about, again?

“Anti,” mumbles Ro.

“Hm?” asks Jack, like a cat uncurling.

“Nothing,” replies Ro, backing off a little.

Anti. His master. How to hurt Anti. Anti, who hates Jack more than anything. Ro shouldn’t be doing this. But he told JJ he would. So they would have a way to protect themselves and each other if Anti becomes violent with them again before they can find a way to escape. Ro can’t watch his brothers get hurt anymore. He doesn’t want to be a bystander in their pain. He doesn’t want to be a coward.

He glances down at his outfit, clutching his hands into fists. A thick hood at his back, strong running sneakers, gloves on his fingers.

He wants to be a hero again.

Anonymous asked: Ro, there is a way to help Blue recover. When we were with Dok and the magicians, a magic book told a story of a girl who had her magic stolen and had the same ailments as Blue does now. The girl recovered and got her magic back when the thief was killed and had blood stolen from him and given back to the girl. There's a way to fix it, but something tells me you won't like this very much.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up, no way!” cries Ro in sudden alarm, making Jack sit up on the bed, blinking. “Nobody said killed, okay, what? What the fuck? Is that what JJ meant when he said Dok and Blue were trying to figure out how to hurt Anti? They’re going to - oh, fuck no! I’m not a part of that, okay?”

Terror and panic and guilt burst like a water balloon in his chest and overwhelm Ro with a sudden ferocity, making his eyes water.

“I’m gone, I’m out. This is fucked up. I know he’s cruel but I would never want to killhim. What’s wrong with Dok and Blue?”

“JB,” calls Jack. “What - what is going on?”

Ro locks eyes with him and gets no comfort from the face so much like his own. He turns and races out the door, needing to cry.

“JB!”

Anonymous asked: hey, red, it's okay. deep breaths, love. i know you don't want to kill him, and that's okay. no one says you have to. it might have to happen eventually, but right now we're just figuring out ways to protect them, okay? no one says you have to kill him, it's okay. we're just protecting your other brothers, that's all we plan to do.

“Might have to?” wheezes Ro, sweeping past a crowd of medical staff to race towards the stairwell. “Might have to happen… holy fuck… I didn’t… I’m not… but then, he’s the one who made me a killer, isn’t he?”

He shoves through the door into the stairwell, racing away, logical thought flown from his head. “But then, I do have to protect them, don’t I? I do, I do. I - ”

“Is this because I couldn’t do it?” cries Jack’s voice behind him, the door clicking open again. “Jackie, I tried, I - he was screaming for me! What was I supposed to do? He’s gone, isn’t he? Isn’t that what matters? I’m sorry.”

Ro stops dead, panting. Jack’s footsteps race down the stairs towards him.

Anonymous asked: red, do you think it's safe to tell jack what's happening? you don't have to, it just might help.

Ro lets out a shaky breath, turning to face Jack.

“Can we talk about this? Are you okay?” asks Jack, pushing a strand of long hair from his eyes and tucking it beneath his cap again.

His mouth is curled with guilt, his voice small and sad.

Ro stares at him, trying to make his heart stop pounding. He doesn’t know why he feels afraid of him - though it’s not uncommon for him to feel confused about what it is that he’s feeling or where it’s coming from. Jack, for his part, makes him feel like lightning is about to come down over his head.

“JB, you’re kind of scaring me,” he admits uncertainly, stepping forward to put a hand on Ro’s shoulder. “Are you - ?”

Ro jerks away from his touch, staring at him.

Jack’s eyebrows raise, a flash of something more sinister than confusion entering blue eyes.

No, wait…

One blue, one green.

Jack takes a step back, green eye swirling. “Is it you?” he asks, voice hardening. “Or is it… no, I would know if it were you. JB, what’s going on?”

Ro swallows. You have a good point - he’s going to have to tell Jack something, unless he’s about to become a much better actor than he’s been the whole rest of his life very suddenly.

“It is… it is Jackie,” he says.

“What’s going on?” asks Jack, the light fading from his right eye, leaving it blue again. “Is it just the hospital? Do you want me to walk you home? Where are your headphones?”

Anonymous asked: Do you think you could ask him what Anti's weaknesses are? That might be a place to start, Red.

“What were you taking about?” asks Ro quietly, taking another step away from him. “Just now, when you said you couldn’t do it. When you apologized.”

Jack’s shoulders slump. He waits for a moment to see if Ro will follow up or move again, but when he doesn’t, he lets out a deep, tired sigh and sinks back against the railing of the stairs.

There’s no walls on the outside of the stairwell. White light streams in as the colors of cars and people and the soft dappled green flickers of a few well-loved trees move around them in a silent dance.

“Look, I… I know you would rather I killed him,” says Jack, pushing round glasses up on his nose. “I’m sorry. If you’re mad, I just… didn’t have the guts for it, JB.”

Ro nods, eyes flickering. “How… how did he get weak enough that you could have killed him? What were you going to do?”

Uncertainty in blue eyes.

Jack stands up again.

“Jackie,” he says. “What year is it?”

Anonymous asked: uhhhh my guess is 2017? i don't know if i'm right though?

Ro bites down on his lip. “It’s 2017, Jack.”

Jack blinks at him.

Then he laughs, burying his face in his hands.

“Oh, my buddy,” he says. “Not even close.”

“Come on,” protests Ro, embarrassment making his cheeks flush.

Jack reaches up to shove his shoulder, making Ro start.

“Just tell me next time he sends you back! What’s up, man, you seem spooked as fuckkkk.”

He draws the word out and grins, his posture loose and relaxed again, bumping shoulders with Ro as he comes to stand next to him.

nikkilbook asked: He created you all, Jackie. He knows what JJ can do.

“Guess that’s true,” grumbles Ro, a little off-put.

“Thought you could get away with it,” teases Jack. “I shoulda smelled it even without you acting all weird. Why’d you hide that from me, Mr. Boyman?”

“You’re making fun of me.”

Jack’s joy falls out of his face. “Oh, um. Sorry. No, I was just playing. I’m sorry, I’ll stop. I didn’t… sorry. Um. What’s up?”

Anonymous asked: Can Jack hear (see?) us? What even are we rn?

I’ve said since the beginning that the camera system requires a suspension of disbelief at times when it’s not convenient. I describe the audience as a camera even when it doesn’t always quite make sense. For now, we’ll assume you’re a little camera clipped to Jackie’s hoodie or in his hoodie pocket, but he can still get your messages. Jack can’t see or hear you and doesn’t know you’re there.

Anonymous asked: He wasn't mocking you Ro. Anti may have used your name to belittle and hurt you, but Jack uses it to love you.

Ro flushes and ducks his head, rocking on his heels, uncomfortable. He isn’t the person Jack expects him to be, and he’s awkward on top of that, and he wants to go home.

“What’s wrong?” asks Jack, flustered.

“I just need to ask you some stuff,” mumbles Ro. “I don’t want to pretend we’re friends.”

Jack’s face falls. He doesn’t move for a second, his eyes flickering. He wraps his arms around himself in a hug, sets his mouth, and nods. “Okay… Fine. What’s up?”

Anonymous asked: It might take too long to explain everything, so maybe try saying you're worried about the others, and that it'd help to know Anti's weaknesses just in case you need to use them?

“I need to know about Anti’s weaknesses,” says Ro.

Jack looks up at him, blinking. “You just kicked his ass a week and a half ago in this year. How far in the future are you?”

“Don’t ask questions, please,” he answers quietly.

Jack rubs at his chest and adjusts his cap again. “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong. I can help, right? Where am I in the future?”

“Not around, okay? I’m kind of… stuck. With him. I need to get out.”

“Well, it was you and Marv and JJ the other day,” says Jack. “I made sure there’s enough between the three of you to hurt him. Are Marv and JJ with you?”

“Kind of? But, come on, what did we even do to him? I don’t remember the fight well - hit my head.”

“Oh, okay.”

“You were apologizing,” says Ro. “What did you mean? When you said I’d rather he was dead?”

Jack shakes his head quickly, clasping his hands together. “JB, seriously, if that’s why you’re mad, I’m sorry, man. I’m really sorry. I can’t stop thinking about it… if I had just got my phone out and filmed it… but I let him live. He was there writhing beneath your hands, calling for me! What was I supposed to do? I know he took JJ but he’s still… he’s still…”

Jack shakes his head again, turning away. He pulls his cap lower over his eyes and hugs himself.

“You and Marv just beat him up as you would normally, I guess? Marv’s fire and you fighting him and JJ there to make sure it all went alright. And then you… you had him pinned down… you were both bleeding but Marvin had him trapped in his vines and he was too hurt to glitch away. He doesn’t have weaknesses, per say - I just made sure the five of you would be enough to defeat him if you could ever pin him down. And you did. I’m glad. I’m sorry I couldn’t finish him off.”

Anonymous asked: I don't know if telling Jack straight up that you're from a time where you're with Anti is a good idea, but perhaps getting to the point fast would be. How much time do you and JJ have left here?

“Oh, shit,” hisses Ro. “You’re right, I should have stayed with JJ. He has the clock.”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Jack quietly. “Here.”

He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and hands Jackie a clock just like JJ’s, with the little sliver of gold still counting down.

“How’d you get this? What the hell?”

“It’s not really a clock,” shrugs Jack. “Just a piece of his power. Our power. He and I can pull it out whenever we need it. But I can’t use it unless he’s nearby.”

“Why?”

Jack grins wryly. “Hey, I handed that power over when I made him. No use to me anyway. But when he’s close enough…”

“You can tap in.”

“Right.”

“Same with Blue?”

“What?”

“Er, Marvin?”

“Yeah, same with Marvin. And Anti, too.”

nikkilbook asked: All five? Are we talking power of friendship here, or do Schneep and Chase have specific contributions? And does it have to be you that films it, or is it just cameras in general? Would it have to be posted on the channel?

“Anybody could hurt Anti,” says Jack. “It’s just not often that people do because he can teleport and shapeshift. And he’s vicious. And smarter than most of his enemies, though of course he acts like a fucking idiot.”

“Yeah,” says Ro. “I’ve seen him hurt before, Jack, but he never dies. I don’t understand why.”

Jack lowers his eyes, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Anonymous asked: Maybe ask him that if one of you couldn't do it, if he thinks it would still be possible to beat him again? Because Marvin doesn't have his magic right now, so he can't use it against Anti.

“Would we be able to beat him?” asks Ro. “If we couldn’t fight him like we can now?”

“You might be able to beat him,” mumbles Jack. “Anyone could beat him, even strangers to us, but only the five of you… well. Best chance is always getting the drop on him. Otherwise you gotta muster up enough strength and power to kick his ass, and that’s a lot harder.”

Anonymous asked: Okay, that went well. You could probably tell him that in your time you need to fight him, and so his weaknesses would be good to know?

“What do I need to know, Jack?” asks Ro, beginning to get frustrated. “Don’t cut corners or bullshit me. My family’s in trouble.”

Jack steps into his space, unafraid, eyebrows drawn back in worry. “Okay, deep breaths, okay? There’s nothing special to hurting Anti. You said you’ve seen people do it before.”

“Yeah,” says Ro. “In Singapore, there was a magician who fried him with electricity for about fifteen minutes and then set the house on fire, and he still didn’t die. I’ve seen a whole pack of magicians come after him. JJ says he’s seen Anti take all sorts of blows that should be mortal. He always comes out alive.”

Jack’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t question. He grips at Ro’s hoodie as he thinks.

“Listen, JB. I’m a creator, yeah. But creation doesn’t happen alone. There’s ways to focus power. Ways to make things happen. Like how Marvin can only grow plants if there’s already seeds or bits of them deep in the ground or nearby. There’s limits. There’s ways things have to be done.”

“Be direct,” Ro demands.

“You came to be not just because of my power, but because I shared you with other people,” says Jack earnestly, squeezing at the fabric of his jacket. “When I created most of you, you were pretty clearly human, so you can die like humans do, because that’s what people expect you to do. But Anti…”

“Isn’t human.”

“And that’s obvious about him from the start.”

“So he doesn’t die like a human.”

“No.”

“What does he die like?” Ro asks. “What is he then? A demon? A fairy? If you tell me then I’ll know how to kill him.”

“Right,” says Jack softly. “But that’s the thing. I… didn’t have a clear idea in mind when I created him. And I never told the audience jackshit about what he is.”

Ro stares at him, thinking.

“So…”

Jack clears his throat and closes his eyes. “Anti is confined only by the story that we tell. That means two things - you can’t kill him without telling the story, without building up to it, showing it, making it believable. And, two…”

Jack’s eyes open. His mouth is tight and trembling. He looks up at Jackie.

“It has to be one of the other characters in the story who kills him.”

Ro’s stomach drops.

“It has to be one of the five of you.”

Anonymous asked: why doesn't he die?

Ro clutches at Jack’s shoulders.

Tight.

He can’t help it. His brain is spinning. There’s nothing but a feeling he can’t name driving through his head, pounding against his skull, painful.

“You’re saying that Anti is immortal unless one of us kills him? One of his own brothers?”

Jack squirms a little beneath Ro’s tight grip, trying to back away, looking up at him in alarm. “Yeah. JB - ”

“And it has to be in front of a fucking audience? Like a public execution? No.”

“I made you real, but you’re characters at heart,” says Jack, panting a little as Ro squeezes tighter. “Since Anti’s not human, you have to tell the story.”

pine-storm-season asked: Would we count?

“How?” asks Ro weakly. “How can an audience be there?”

“Most of your story happened on my channel, over video.”

“On your channel?”

“Right,” says Jack, like it’s obvious.

“I… okay. So on video? Who has to see it?”

“Well, I don’t know exactly. The point would be… the point would be that the people who care about you, about these characters, about the people that you are - they would have to believe that something had changed.”

“They would have to believe that Anti had died.”

“Yes.”

“They’d have to see Anti die. See his corpse. See - ”

“Jackie, get off!” cries Jack, shoving at his arms as Ro’s grip begins to bruise, but Ro can barely breathe. He feels himself shove Jack back against the railing of the stairs. “Jackie, it’s okay, ow, you don’t have to squeeze me like that! It’s going to be okay, alright? Tell me where I can find you in the future! I’ll remember and I’ll come get you!”

Anonymous asked: Mmmh, is there really a point to avoiding telling Jack you don't remember him? I get that you didn't want to attract too much attention on yourself but at this point he's aware you're not from now and that there's something wrong. It's probably worth a shot, no?

“I don’t even know who you are!” cries Ro, trying to make himself let go of Jack, though he only seems to feel his fingers squeezing tighter. He can feel his heart racing, fast, fast, and he sees his vision going red. “If you think that Anti should die, why don’t you put his fucking costume on and film it yourself?”

“I was going to film it when you beat him!” shouts Jack. “You had him beat, had him hurt, and I had JJ back again, where he belongs! But he’s my creation too, Jackie! He was screaming for me to save him! How was I supposed to film that? Post that? He’s my boy too! I just wanted him to stop hurting JJ! He’s gone now, why can’t we just let him go!”

“He’ll come back!” screams Ro, shaking him, hard. “He’ll come back and spend the rest of his life hurting us!”

“Tell me where you are,” chokes Jack. “JB, I’ll come get you.”

“You left us the fuck alone!”

He lets go of Jack and staggers back, letting his creator crash back against the wall, panting.

“You’re not coming, Jack. You don’t even know me anymore. You never told the story in this timeline. It’s just the people who actually cared about us who remember.”

Jack stares up at him, shaking his head. “Jackie,” he croaks. “Jackie.”

And Red wonders if it’s the same way he said his name when Max came to his door, asking him where he was, and all Jack could do was stare at him and repeat their names like memories from dreams that were never real.

nikkilbook asked: He already tortures and abuses you in front of an audience. We’re the audience, Jackie. We’ve always been the audience. He rigged the cameras this way so he could make us watch, because he thought it was funny. Let us help you. Let us make a real difference.

“No, no, no,” chants Red. “No, no, no. This is awful. I don’t care if he’s terrible sometimes. He’s my little brother. I can’t… we can’t… not like that. Is that what Blue and Dok have been planning? I can’t, I…”

He needs to go home. Needs to see Anti. Needs to get back to JJ. He races towards his little brother, rushing up the stairs, his heart throbbing so hard it hurts in his chest.

“Let’s go,” pants Red, pushing back into JJ’s room. “Let’s go right now.”

JJ looks up from his hot chocolate, wiping at his tired eyes. “The timer’s almost up. Did you find out - ”

“Don’t talk about it, Dapper!” shouts Red, slamming his hand down on the table beside his bed.

nikkilbook asked: Remember yourself, Astrifer. Even if Ro-Red-Jackie don’t feel like they can fit, you can build a new identity, starting now. You can do this, Hero.

Ro covers his face with his hands, trying to breathe.

He needs to calm down. He can’t do this again. He can’t let his emotions control him so much. Make him so despairing, make him so angry. Make him so afraid. Surely Jackie never felt like this. That’s why he was a hero and Ro isn’t.

No, no.

Even saying that is letting the self-hatred win. He has to be stronger than it.

He slumps back into the hard plastic of the hospital chair at JJ’s side. Pulls the hood up over his head and hides in it, eyes closed, hugging his body the same way Jack did.

Okay. He’s okay. He just needs to calm down. He just got a little spooked. He’s okay. If Blue were here, he’d rock him and tell him he loves him and that it’s alright to be scared. If Max were here, he’d sit with him and talk to him until the terror passed and tell him he’s not going anywhere, even if he does get too angry and too loud and too aggressive sometimes.

And JJ sits with him, and doesn’t go anywhere either.

“Shit,” whispers Ro, beginning to uncurl from his ball when five minutes have passed. “I’m sorry for yelling at you… shit. I shouldn’t have grabbed him like that either. I don’t know why I… I’m sorry.”

JJ nods quietly, staring at him.

nikkilbook asked: Out of... curiosity, what would happen if we were able to help JJ get on meds and other supports from the very beginning? Would that do anything to prevent or weaken the psychotic episode that made Jack forget them?

“No, sorry,” says JJ softly, giving you a fleeting smile. “This is the timeline where Jack did create us and does know who we are. Nothing we do here will change the present. But thank you for thinking of me.”

Anonymous asked: You know the truth Ro. Anti is not, and never has been, your brother. You know the truth of brotherhood, and you've been there every time he's broken it.

It’s a truth that both of them are still struggling to grasp. It cuts Ro deep. He’s made Anti his whole life - his protection, his leadership, his service. But he’s known for a long time that his little brother does not love him. He’s told him things like that to his face, but Red still stays, because he wants to believe something different. The thought that all of this time and this life and this love that he’s given to Anti was for nothing is almost worse than if he had been trying to escape this whole time.

I gave myself over to this monster. I loved him. I never should have. We have to get away from him or I will never stop finding excuses for him.

For JJ’s part, what you’re saying is the truth of not just the last year, but of his whole existence. There was never anything but Anti. JJ tried for years to love him, and it was never enough. A part of him - fuck, more than a part of him - wishes desperately that he could still change his brother. Beneath his anger and his hurt, he just wishes that he had ever been enough to make Anti love him back. Maybe he did, time to time, but it never lasts.

Anonymous asked: Red, I know, bud. I know it's a really fucking hard thing to think about. I wouldn't want to kill any of my little siblings either. But killing Anti could save the life of Dok, or Trick, or Blue, or Jamie, it might be that for one of them to live Anti has to die. I'm sorry, Red, I know this is incredibly hard. And it doesn't have to happen now, okay? No one says you have to go back to your time and kill him immediately. But you might have to later, Red, love, and I'm sorry you do.

“Even if I don’t kill him,” whispers Red, whispers Ro, whispers Jackie. “We still have to go. Like I promised you. I’ll get you away from him. Okay?”

“Okay,” answers JJ despondently. “Okay.”

“I really shouldn’t have grabbed Jack. He asked me to stop and I didn’t even listen. If someone did that to me I’d lose it. I’ve got to go tell him I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have much time.”

nikkilbook asked: You are not to blame for choosing to love him. Either of you. He is wrong for choosing to hurt you with it.

“You know what? You’re fucking right. Especially because he’s a goddamn hypnotist. I just… I don’t understand why he would go to all this trouble of making us feel this way for him if he didn’t really want to love us back. We could be a real family… why not just kill us? I - ”

He catches sight of Jack, still sitting in the stairway, right where Red left him.

His face is covered by his hands. His glasses are abandoned on the ground beside him. He doesn’t move.

Red steps down towards him, mouth opening, but no words come out.

He stands above Jack for a long minute. His creator never moves.

Ro sits down beside him and touches his arm.

Jack lets his head fall against Jackie’s shoulder, face still hidden, crying quietly into his hands. And it’s only now that Ro sees just how tired he is - it’s in the curve of his shoulders, the bow of his legs, the subtle shaking of his fingers.

“Have you… been staying up with JJ at the hospital?” asks Ro softly.

“Don’t want to let Anti get him again,” whispers Jack. “Don’t want him to get any of you again. But now I know I can’t protect you. It’s my fault. I should have killed him when he was crying for me. It’s my fault.”

Anonymous asked: Jack? I don't know if you can see this, if so Red maybe tell him, but Jack, it's not your fault for being kind enough to spare him. I'm sorry that he took that and used it against the others, but Jack, you are not to blame for letting him go. You couldn't know what was going to happen. You're not to blame.

“Hey,” says Jackie, taking his hand in his own, drawing it away from his face. Jack looks up at him with Anti’s eyes. It makes Ro’s heart hurt.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” says Jack, eyes red, voice rasping. “I should never have let this happen.”

And Red wants to tell him a million things, everything you’ve told him to say and more. Things like “it’s not your fault” and “it’s not wrong that you loved him, that you didn’t want to kill him, I feel the same way” and “I know I wasn’t very nice, but I hope you know that I have wondered about you for the longest time and that, even though it hurt, I think meeting you just this once fixed something inside of me - ”

But it’s too late.

Time’s up.

“Jack,” says Red, and then he’s gone.

Anonymous asked: Did any time pass at all? Are we back to the bathtub?

You are back in the bathtub.

Ro struggles for a second, spasming against the ropes that bind him before he realizes his situation and surroundings and forces himself to quiet again, shaking with the pain of his aching muscles and the discomfort of being bound and wet.

That’s when he becomes aware of the screaming.

“Hey, wake up!” Anti shrieks, shaking Dapper’s shoulders. “My little brother, my little brother!”

Time has passed.

Dapper is unconscious, bleeding from his nose - he has been for several minutes.

“What’s wrong with you?” Anti tears the collar off his throat and cradles him against his chest. “He was fine! I was watching, he was fine! Dapper! Jamie!”

“Anti,” begins Red shakily.

“Shut up!” screams Anti. “This is your fucking fault for stealing his medicine! Get the fuck out of my sight! Carver, Monochroma!”

Red yelps as the rope around his body combusts into a short burst of flame, singeing his legs and his blue hoodie.

Anonymous asked: Red? Dap? You guys okay?

Red is shaken and hurting, but no worse than he has been the rest of the night. He still desperately, desperately wants to get out, get a shower, put on clean clothes, and just sleep, but now his little brother is weak.

Dapper has gone frigid pale, but then he’s always so white. This nosebleed is worse than most of his casual ones. It’s like a vessel has popped in his nose, sending streams of red dribbling down his mustache and beard and all the way down to his shirt. Ro thinks he sees him twitch for a moment, his eyes flickering, and he wonders if it’s safer for Dapper to be unconscious as long as his eyes are silver anyway. He recovered alright last time, didn’t he? But he’s still so black and blue from the night before, still wheezing and trapped in Anti’s arms…

“I said get out!” shouts Anti, throwing a shampoo bottle hard at Ro’s head. Ro startles and leaps out of the tub, retreating to the doorway of the bathroom.

Anonymous asked: red, can you go? i don't trust anti at all, but he sounds actually worried for dapper and so i think you should leave him be, i don't think dapper will get hurt worse.

“Okay, okay,” he pants, backing out of the room. “Just… keep an eye on him for me.”

Dripping water, he races away and down the stairs, casting one glance back at that room at the top of the hall. The door slams shut and locks.

Anonymous asked: anti, is he okay?

“Well, I don’t know, I don’t know what went wrong!” he cries, sweeping Dapper into his arms and rising like he weighs nothing. “It’s not catatonia, it’s not a concussion, he’s breathing alright… shit, Dap, what were you doing? Oh, fuck’s sake, this is cracked, and not in the good way.”

He’s gripping at Dapper’s side, feeling the shifting of his ribs.

“Goddamn, goddamn… I barely threw him around! He’ll have to rest. I’ll tape it. It will hurt for a long time, but he’s still breathing well enough. Nothing punctured. Come here, my doll, lie down…”

Anonymous asked: do you think this might be his body shutting down from getting hurt, or something?

“It’s because he time-traveled,” mumbles Red from the bottom of the stairs, looking up at locked door. “Going back a day or so - he can do that maybe a half-dozen times without it knocking him out. But going back so far… it’s like in Colombia, when he passed out afterwards. It takes a lot out of him.”

Ro sighs and rubs at his face, stepping into the hallway, looking around. Everything is so quiet. Where are the others?

“Think I’m going to get a shower,” he mumbles. “I’m gross and exhausted.”

Anonymous asked: Anti, do you know how to help him?

Anti grits his teeth in frustration and turns away from you, setting Dapper down in their bed. He sinks into the mattress and the pillows as Anti pulls the blankets over him and strokes his knuckle down the side of his face, his own expression twisting with fear and anger and exhaustion all at once.

“Why do you keep causing me so much trouble?” he growls, though his voice breaks halfway through. He grabs Dapper’s unmoving face between his fingers, trembling with the urge to squeeze until he leaves bruises. He forces himself to let go instead, sinking down onto his knees beside him. “You used to be so good for me. We never fought. I never had to discipline you. Why did this fall apart…”

He growls again and strikes his own face like he’s waking himself up, letting a shiver run up his spine and then, with a soft sigh that ruffles the bedsheets, letting his head sink onto the bed beside his brother, and closing his eyes.

Dapper’s eyes flicker, showing blue and silver. Anti is lying beside him, touching his hand. It hurts Dapper’s heart.

Anonymous asked: Red, you doing alright?

“Um, no, everything sucks and I’m probably going to lose it later and just… I just need a break. From all this. Hey, at least Blue’s not in bed. Worried about him sleeping so much. Don’t tell him I’m upset. I’m just getting a shower, okay? See you guys later. And… thanks for the help.”

He leaves you on his bed and heads into the bathroom, stripping off his clothes for the hamper as he goes.

Anonymous asked: Is Dap still out?

Anti’s eyes slide open as Dapper’s fingers curl around his own.

They look at each other. Dapper’s eyes, barely open, are tired and silent. He’s joyless lately. He’s numb.

“Where’d my little boy go?” mumbles Anti, pressing his forehead against their joined hands.

Dapper closes his eyes again. The wind is brushing against the screen over their window. The trees sway outside. A clock is ticking.

“Look,” says Anti. “I… I didn’t think about how Dark would scare you. Alright? I should have. I just wanted to see them again. I didn’t do it on purpose to make you upset. I didn’t realize you were still upset about them. I could have asked.”

Dapper blinks, opening his eyes to look at him.

“Dap. I’m sorry.”

Dapper’s mouth parts. He glances away, awake now. Anti doesn’t look up from their hands.

“When I said I wanted us to be friends again,” he mumbles, quiet and begrudging. “I meant it.”

Dapper touches his side, his bruised face darkening with unhappiness and hurt - and something deeper, too.

Anonymous asked: Are you more hurt than before, dap, or is it just still hurting?

“I’m more tired than before,” he admits, drawing his hand gently away from Anti’s. “That’s all.”

“Maybe you just needed a second out,” sighs Anti. “But I couldn’t wake you up. Just rest. You’re such a fucking… I just… just… just rest.”

Dapper nods, not sure what to say.

“I didn’t mean for you to get really hurt. I was just mad. Don’t do that again.”

Anonymous asked: Anti, you're calm now? Not gonna hurt anyone at the moment?

“Why don’t you fuck off,” sneers Anti, turning to you, but Dapper takes his hand and pulls his attention back.

“Yeah, we’re done,” mutters Anti, nuzzling back into his hand. “Quiet time, whatever. We’re going to stay up here and watch the trees so Dark doesn’t try to pull shit tonight. Tonight or tomorrow, I expect. We’re just resting.”

Anonymous asked: Don't fall for his same old excuse Jamie. "I was just angry" doesn't cut it this time. Don't forgive him this time, he could have killed you and Ro.

“Look, you shouldn’t have taken that medicine.”

“I just didn’t want to be - ”

“You have to listen to me, Dap! I wasn’t going to let anything actually happen to you.”

Dapper sighs, shaking his head. Anti squirms, frustrated, and gets to his feet. He touches Dapper’s beard and strokes his fingers through the short hairs. Carver looks up at him, his body aching.

“It’s been hard sleeping without you,” says Anti.

Dapper purses his mouth, but he nods. It’s been hard for him too.

Anonymous asked: He used love as a tool of manipulation. The main reason he bothered with love, with the brother and twin hierarchy, was to ensure you never left him and went back to Jack, was to ensure you never stood up for your true family, to solidify the deaths of your sense of self.

Manipulation. Tools. Weaponry. Love.

The slow death of self.

Red stands in the shower and thinks about it, head bowed, the water running down his skin.

But for Dapper - for JJ, for Carver, for Monochroma - there never was any self before Anti. There was never anyone to go back to.

“You have to be nicer to me if you want to be friends,” he protests weakly. “You can’t keep hurting me.”

“I… I’m sorry about the cracked rib too,” says Anti. “Okay? Fuck. I shouldn’t have fucked around with your medication in the first place. It was stupid. I’m sorry. But you can’t just disobey me either. You’re rebellious by nature because we’re cut from the same cloth, Dap. You and me - we’re the same. But at the same time, I’m big brother, and I’m the one who has to be in charge. Sometimes you make things so hard from me… I’ve been trying to make amends and it’s like you threw it back in my face. We’re supposed to be brothers. You know I don’t have anyone without you… not really.”

Dapper’s eyes water. He turns away, closing his eyes.

Anti sighs, a slight whimper in the noise. He puts a hand on Dapper’s side to be mindful of his ribs, and then he crawls into the bed beside him, and - carefully, carefully - wraps himself around his baby brother.

“Why you’re crying?” he whispers, stroking his hair. “It’s okay now. I’m sorry. I am. I’m right here.”

But Dapper doesn’t know why he’s crying. It’s not even because of the pain of every part of his body being coated in bruising. He doesn’t know.

“You have to stop hurting me, Anti, I don’t understand, I try to be good… I love you, I do, I…”

Anti listens to him. Pressed against his body. Rocking him gently against the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

He holds him for a long time.

“You’re tired. Sleep. We’ll rest. I’ll watch. Go to sleep.”

Anti lays his body down against the bed, pushing the pillows beneath him and tucking him in. He strokes Dapper’s beard, staring at him.

“I love you,” he whispers, his eyes closing, like it’s not a truth he can admit while looking him in the face.

Dapper closes his eyes too, hot with tears. The pressure on the bed beside him could just as well be Jack, watching over him in the hospital, but it isn’t.

It never is.

He’s so tired.

“I love you too,” he signs, and JJ lets his head rest against his brother’s.

Anonymous asked: Trick, Blue, Dok, are you three still alright?

You can find Trick and Dok dozing on the couch downstairs. Trick’s been talking to him and trying to ground him for a few hours now, and he’s exhausted from the emotional toil - but he still figures he’s doing better than his twin, who is only just now coming back from his panic.

At least Dok looks cozy and content now. Trick’s wrapped him up in blankets and made him a cup of the coffee he gave him for Christmas. Dok is so enamored with the smell he hasn’t even bothered to drink any yet. He sits breathing in the smell and holding the warm mug in his hands, his knees drawn up to his chest and his eyes sleeping. Trick lies down on the couch beside him. They haven’t seen Blue in a while when Trick hears his footsteps coming down the stairs.

Anonymous asked: Blue? Dok? Where are you guys? Is everything okay?

“Trick,” says Blue softly, padding towards him.

“Hmmmm,” hums Trick, lounging beside his brother. He lets his eyes slide open and finds himself very suddenly wide awake.

“Blue? Why do you have…?”

He trails off, staring up at him.

Blue holds the big kitchen knife limply in his left hand.

“I was thinking about cutting myself,” he says.

His voice is very dull. His face is numb. He barely looks at Trick. Like he’s seeing right through him.

“But then I thought I should tell somebody.”

“Oh,” says Trick. “Good… good job. Telling. Yeah. Can I have that?”

Blue lets him take the knife from him. Trick is stammering too much to speak. Dok takes a long drink of his coffee and lets out a deep, contented sigh, his eyes glazed.

“Dok looks better,” says Blue, turning to head back up the stairs.

“Come here, bud, come here,” gasps Trick, finding his voice. “Hang out with us a while, yeah, love?”

“Okay, Tricky.”

“Okay.”

Anonymous asked: Blue, you ok?

Blue squints at the camera.

“They asked if you’re okay,” Trick manages.

Blue looks at him like he doesn’t understand the question. Trick reaches out and grips his hand tightly, drawing him down to sit with them.

“What’s, uh. Are you… What’s going on?” asks Trick shakily.

“Not much,” answers Blue. “How ‘bout you?”

“We’re… we’re… Blue, what’s going on?”

“Not much, Trick.”

Trick scrapes at his hair, gritting his teeth in his mouth. “Blue, why were you going to cut yourself? Please help me understand?”

Blue stares down at the silver gleam of the blade in his brother’s hand.

“I was just in the bathroom and I thought maybe it would help. But then I thought, I have to tell someone, because that’s not right.”

“I’m glad you told me.”

“Well, yeah, you’re my darling,” says Blue. At last, Trick hears a little emotion in his voice: fondness. But still no fear or distress. He’s just… numb.

“I just wanted to check,” says Blue.

“Check what?”

“That the blood… that the blood is mine,” answers Blue bizarrely, touching Trick’s cheek. “Oh, dear… I’m feeling a little faint. I’m really far away from you. I don’t know where I am.”

“Roll your pants up a little and let me check you didn’t hurt yourself.”

Blue obeys, unperturbed. His thighs and stomach and arms are all untouched. Trick grips at his shoulder, massaging his muscles, and Blue relaxes a little.

“You like to be touched when you’re like this, right?” asks Trick, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Blue nods, eyes flickering. Trick pushes towards him and wraps him arms tightly, tightly around him, kissing his cheek and pressing their bodies close together. He can feel his own chest shaking. He doesn’t want to get triggered, but he won’t leave Blue alone.

Anonymous asked: Blue, if you're interested to know, Anti just kicked out Red of the bathroom he chained him in. It's, uh, it's good news yeah?

Blue sighs through his nose, humming a little.

“Better a bathroom than flesh to keep us. Still stuck, though. Still stuck. I’m in the walls of this house. Or nowhere at all.”

You hear Trick swear quietly against him, but he just holds him tighter, rubbing circles into his shoulder with his thumb.

.

“Hey,” somebody whispers, but Dok is really too tired to care who.

“Mpf,” he replies, letting his head lull over to the other side of the couch. This has the chain reaction of stirring Blue from his sleep, but he too only flops back onto the arm of the couch.

The hand that reaches down to brush Dok’s shoulder is warm. He hears a tired little laugh. “Come on, Schneep, wake up.”

“Mmffff…. I’m up, I’m up. Trick?”

“It’s Roser.”

“Where’s Trick?”

“I waited til he went upstairs to cook you guys some dinner. I need to talk to you.”

Dok tries to rouse himself at last, shoving his glasses back up his nose and turning to look at Red. “What’s going on?”

There are eyes crossed out on your cameras. Ro has turned Anti’s sight away. They don’t have long before he notices.

“Dok,” says Red, looking him in the eyes. “Have you really been planning to kill Anti?”

Adrenaline pours into Dok’s blood and he chokes, sitting up quickly on the couch, drawing his knees to his chest. He’s going to flip out. He’s going to scream. He’s going to cry again.

“Red, Red,” he gasps, hiding his face from him. “Don’t punish me.”

“Fuck, Dok, no, no, I won’t, I swear, I just… I just need to know. Schneep, don’t cry…”

“He said he’s going to kill me,” sobs Henrik. “In a couple days. He said he’s done with me, he’ll murder me. I’m scared, I don’t want to die.”

“Okay,” says Red quietly, and it’s shocking enough that he doesn’t freak out himself that it makes Henrik almost stop, looking up at him in surprise, sniffling. Red touches the back of his head. “Okay, come on, then. I want you to go get your shoes on.”

“What?”

“Blue’s not well,” answers Red, drawing away from him. Dok sees a backpack stuffed full on his back, his shoes already on his feet, Blue’s cane in his hand. “And you’re in trouble. Come on. We’re going to the hospital.”

[oncetheearl]

.Primary Colors

Grell Sutcliff

warnings: none, it's mildly fluffy prose

a/n: Written for @saturnberry. I hope you had a nice Valentine's Day. Because there were so many mentions of Grell in your posts I knew right off that's who I wanted to write for, though admittingly I feel like I don't have a good enough hold on Grell's personality (hence why I avoided a ship with another canon character.) This is technically Grell x Reader as it uses instances of second person; however, the gender of the reader is left open ended.

In a world where everyone is designated a color—an indicator of who they were to become as they grew older—you were born an unremarkable cluster of blues, not bright enough to add to the sky, too morbid for the painters to use.

It was as though everywhere you went, people outshone you. In school the other children were wondrous blends, and your shade felt understated, a waste of anyone's attention. Even the other blues were brighter than you: one girl you likened to the ocean, a sapphire crystal—so warm a shade it leaked into the atmosphere. In class you sat beside a yellow, a cheery snaggletooth boy with sincere eyes behind coke frames, a penchant for silly games, and a willingness to try anything. You knew the rainbow, a brown—tough as nails. She hardly flinched at an encounter with broken glass. A dark grey who only spoke to you once. Even a pink, who laughed with the purples. It came from his uncle, he told you one morning, picking dandelions from the field beside the schoolhouse.

You on the other hand, sat beneath a tree with roots ripped and picked weeds out the Earth, never at home enough in your own shade to cajole with the others. It'd all be different when you grew up, you considered. Adults weren't like this; they'd treat you better, teach you there was never anything wrong with your color—because surely, it couldn't have mattered in the real world.

Yet, when you grew, your sense of loss grew with you. 

The world was organized by color files in a dusty cabinet, by designation and molds that weren't intended for expansion. Bosses had those they preferred. Oranges made good leaders, they said, and greens could be consultants if they wanted. Trichromatics were sought after inclusions. But blues were in abundance, and therefore mere grunts, worker ants; those that populated the factories of London's lower regions.

Needless to say, you did not need to ask in order to know what designation the casualties were; some accident in a factory you heard. But you always waited for your carriage here and chose to do so regardless, even though the air agitated.

As you watched the road ahead, out came someone, bemoaning their line of work (an investigator, you wondered? who else would be in there?), glasses askew, near knocking you forward into the pavement before the fact you should move presented itself to you.

The speed in which you felt your chest constrict was maddeningly slow (surely an instant, but forever in your head based on the lump in your throat.) Away you had looked, heart an unruly child turning pans into drums. You prayed that no one could hear it sputtering beneath your coat, that the stranger in red couldn't sense your nerves. The stranger was definitely a red, just as their clothes would have said. You could tell by the mannerisms, those teeth, the flop of hair into the vision. The annoyance that the rain kept pouring and pouring as though the sky had a rip.

But then that stranger gave you a look, and said something, and for a brief moment you forgot to add air to your lungs, the necessity of breathing.

You can't recall what you were told... cliche of love at first sight, and all. It could have been mundane complaints about how the sky was drenching you both, or questioning of why you seemed incapable of looking upward, or where White Chapel was—but you know it had to have been something sweet like 'what's someone gorgeous doing out here looking so glum' or 'what a pretty coat, where can I get one?'

(If not, why were you so flustered, then?)

You would later put a name to this stranger, but for now it did not matter. Grell had been complaining about the storm, eyes upward, expression turned near startled when you extended a hand and professed lunch on the Eastside, my treat, too willing to say please.

Oh, God. What possessed you to, you wonder? You were not spontaneous, or the type to offer lunch to a stranger in the dark. Reds and blues did not go together—because neither understood the other. Though it wasn't such a mystery why, the rain reminds. Red was your favorite color. That jigsaw smile, the collision of a million things into one, twisted upward, and you knew, no longer had to wonder: you liked red, even if it belonged to another.

And Grell brought out the red in you. Made you so always willing to run, to say I'm hungry, let's have dinner. Promise we'll have candles or flowers or a band that plays Saint-Saëns in fantasia.

I'll make it loud and bold, I'll make it red—because you wear it so.

How about the pier? The symphony? A massage—I'll do the planning.

Your hair is quite long, can I comb through it with only the tips of my fingers?

One day you had stopped to ponder, why is it I love red, I wonder?

Why not orange, or blue, or the shade of wet feathers? Why something so loud and abrasive and untamed. Untethered. Why stand out when it's comfortable in the rafters? Why did you feel more red than you were? But maybe those feelings didn't matter.

Your grandmother was a blue, and so was your father. Your mother had developed it one noon as a girl, came down with it like fever. It ran in your blood, slept in your grandfather's genepool, was inherited in your skin, lived in the liversplotches on your cousin's lips. You were a blue, and that was not worth denying.

You liked your books, the ones with the spines wrinkled. You drunk tea in evenings without sound. Your dwelling had seen better. Your wall clock swing was musicality; oh how boring, you'd imagine Grell would think.

Your shade of blue was mute, tired. A housecat slithered under a creaking armoire. An old weeping oak. A desire to rest before time ran out. But for all the inherent blueness of you, Grell never complained: and that confused you. Not even where you lived; an old building on a simple street with cramped beige walls and floors unnaturally even. At least if they were lopsided you'd feel more unique.

(Luckily, Grell had only insulted your abode once, when a long strand of red had gotten caught in the spinning wheel next to your bed and yanked from the scalp. It was in jest—you hoped—though Grell had been incensed and seemed alarmingly serious about cutting the thing apart...)

Fixing makeup in the mirror, spraying you with scents, Grell spoke where you preferred to listen; 'try this' 'no this smells much better' 'a maiden must always be adorned in fanciful arrangements' 'roses are my favorite, you know?'

Oh, did you ever. And so was bright weather, pretty corsets, lace feathers, heels that made the calves go on forever. Every utterance, complaint, and silly trait was inscribed in a tongue known to no one in the valley of your heart. You were a blue after all, and blues were dutiful lovers. Had memories like harp strings taunt; sharp. And how could you ever forget anything about Grell when there was always more to learn.

But you wanted to share that brightness. You'd walk and consider, could I make red if I mixed others? If I took his orange, my blue, that woman's green, maybe a splash of pink for authenticity... would I have a said shade like yours, a color that says 'look at me, I'm worth beholding'?

Maybe the rafters aren't so pretty. Maybe I'd like them all to look at me even if there's no smiling. Be seen. Red stops everyone, always has them looking. But you cannot make red from anything other. You are born red. You are born yourself. You would never have that shade, ever.

Sometimes you both spoke of what it would be like to be reborn, who either of you imagined would be the other.

Grell would be a supernova; grand, the death of something and the birth of another, a force you can't stop. A contradiction, a paradox; the brute with the love of flowers. Grell was red to the core. Wore it as though it was summer. Red was fond. Red was sticking up for your lover. Red was passion, and great things, and goosebumps from too much laughter. A person who in death, found that bold was always inside them. The poet's encouragement to be yourself. Something strange: spring in the snow, a funeral full of smiles. Red and worthwhile.

Grell hoped you'd still be you, to your wonder, because no one knew Grell better. You smiled when you were told, and that's because you're blue, hun. No one would understand those little details, loves, see so well beneath the water. Only a blue would. Could. A blue keeps the order while maintaining the spontaneity of a boat ride at the shore.

It was because you were blue. Because you were you. And blue is a nice color, Grell told you. Imagine how boring it'd be if we were all red or violet or green.

'I'd be bored'

You laughed, because maybe there was a point. Maybe blue wasn't such a bad color to be, because balance is pretty, a necessary evil. Grell had a flair for losing boots in the gutter, sneaking out to join the ball, and you liked picking up Cinderella's lost shoes. You've got a lover who loves a kiss on the hand, and you, a romantic from reading at all hours. Together you'd make blends and yellows and greens and purples; the shade of sallows, the sandy crunch of the desert, capture the sunrise's caricature.

I love your red, you tell. And Grell thinks your blue is quite special. Because it's red and blue together that unlocks the rainbow.

[ablogcalledrevenge]

Never Really Over

(a Gabriel O’Malley x Reader Insert Multichapter Fic, Rated M)

Chapter 3

The phone by your bed rings at 2:47 in the morning and you jolt awake out of a pleasant, if bizarre dream with your heart hammering inside your chest. Rolling over, you grab the receiver and focus on breathing.

“Hello, what?” You mumble, your cat’s eyes glowing yellow in the darkness from the foot of your bed. Getting a call this late at night, or perhaps this early in the morning, was never a good thing.

“Hey, I need your car. Can I borrow it?” The other voice says and there’s a pause where you try to figure out what the fuck is going on. 

“My car? Why do you need my- who is this? Gabe? No, you can not have my fucking car! It is 3 in the morning and I have work tomorrow. Go away!” You yell into the receiver. But before you can hang up the phone, he sighs.

“C’mon baby please. I’m doing this job and I gotta get this body outta the way. Please (Y/N), I’ll pay for the gas and everything.” He pleads into the phone. You rub at your temple and frown. 

“You are not putting a fucking body in my brand new Cadillac! Go ask Tony or David or somebody. This is your job, not mine. Zayde wouldn’t want me to get involved anyway.” You shoot back, wondering why you haven’t hung up on him.

“Tony’s busy and David’s car is in the shop. Besides, don’t you think I know that! I tried a bunch of other people before I called you. I promise I won’t get your car dirty, I won’t ask you to do anything but drive. C’mon baby I need your help please.” His voice has taken on a peculiar quality and your face floods with heat when you finally place it. He’s using his sex voice! He’s using his fucking sex voice to make you leave your house at 3 in the morning to drive him somewhere with a dead body. It was an underhanded move, he knew what that deep whisper did to you, and you clench your thighs together.

“Fine, fine! I’ll help you. But you can’t tell anyone and if you get so much as a scuff mark on my Cadillac, you’ll be joining that body.” You decide and Gabe cheers into the phone. He gives you the address and you figure you’ll be there in 15 minutes, although if you hit traffic you wouldn’t be surprised. But before you finally say goodbye, you lower your pitch as well to mimic his.

“Oh and Gabe? I’m not your baby.” The half groan, half laugh he responds with is worth the trouble.

The ride to the house where Gabe had prepared the body is pretty short, so you don’t feel too guilty about spending a good few minutes changing into a cute nightgown and brushing your hair. Gabe knows what you look like, but a little mascara never hurt anyone. Plus if you got arrested at least you’d look pretty for your mugshot.

You quietly pull up in your ‘76 Coupe DeVille, the street lamps bouncing off the red paint. Gabriel is waiting outside with a duffel, hiding in a shadow before hauling the large garbage bag over to your trunk. You join him at the rear of your car, helping him lift up the body and place it on the tarp inside. He slams the trunk closed and turns to you, long and lean.

“If that bag leaks, I’ll kill you.” You repeat, pointing your finger at him. He leans forward and playfully bites it. Scowling, you pull away and get back in the driver’s seat, glancing around the quiet neighborhood. 

“So where are we going? The river again?” You ask, adjusting your mirrors before getting on the road. Gabriel’s eyes travel up your bare leg to the hem of your nightgown but you ignore the leer.

“Santa Monica.” He finally says when you hit a red light. You’re glad the car has stopped, because you turn to gape at him.

“Santa Monica? Santa Monica! Are you out of your mind? That’s like a 45 minute drive from here! I’m not taking you to fucking Santa Monica. What’s wrong with the river?” You ask incredulously, getting on the highway regardless. He smirks but wisely doesn’t comment.

“The tide’s going out tonight, it’s perfect to dump the body. It’ll be out in the middle of the Pacific by the time anyone knows he’s gone. Besides, last time I used the river, I got sick.” He points out, turning on the radio. Dolly Parton sings about someone smiling that smile and there go all her defenses. You give the radio a glare because that’s a low blow.

“Yeah, I remember.” You murmur absently, merging into another lane. You remember everything and at least Gabriel has the kindness to look abashed. You ride in silence for the rest of the journey.

You make good time to the pier, everything dark and quiet above you as you walk under the wooden beams. The Ferris Wheel sits unmoving, all the bright lights are off and the only sounds around you are the waves lapping against the dirty sand. You take a deep breath in, always having loved the scent of the beach. Gabriel grabs the body from the trunk and you take some plastic bags out as well.

“Here, put these around your shoes so they don’t get wet. You’re not getting back into my car smelling all briney.” You explain, watching him drag the garbage bag down under the pier. 

“It’s fine, I brought a change of clothes. I’m gonna have to go in deep to make sure it doesn’t get stuck on the sand when the tide goes out. But hold this for me, will you?” He replies, whipping off his t-shirt and throwing it to you. Catching it with a smile, you sit on the hood of your car and watch Gabe disappear into the darkness.

You know that the body has been drained and chopped up to make it smaller, that there are weights in the bag to keep it underwater. By midmorning, that body will be in the middle of the ocean, halfway down among the fish. You didn’t know who the stiff was, but if Gabe had to deal with him, he probably deserved it.

Gabriel returns 10 minutes later, soaking wet and beautiful. The moonlight shines on his pale skin and the small ridges of muscle and bone are mesmerizing. He’s never been a wide sort of guy but there’s something so attractive about his body, in the subtleness of strength and the delicacy of his gait. He looks fucking good and you cross your arms for something to do. 

Grabbing his duffel from the backseat, he takes out a towel and wipes himself down. His gold cross shimmers in the early morning light and the car jostles as he joins you on the hood. The yellow light of dawn usually turns people’s faces sallow but Gabriel glows in his success. You turn your head and watch the waves instead. You should probably leave now before the surfers and dog walkers head over. You have to be at the bank in the morning but you’re tempted to call out. You haven’t done that in a long time and considering your uncle was the bank manager, it would probably be okay.

“All done. Give me a second and I’ll change my pants. Then we can go.” He says quietly, shaking out any remaining sand from the towel. He scratches at the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Thanks for helping me with this. You didn’t have to and I appreciate it. Thanks (Y/N).” Gabe adds, letting his hand rest next to yours, pinky fingers touching. You flush at the thanks and nod, content to watch the sunrise with someone you know.

Ten minutes later you’re fucking in the back seat of your Cadillac and you’d be pissed if you weren’t so satisfied. You almost kick a hole through the car roof, you forgot how good it could be. 

Once your breathing regulates and Gabe lights up a cigarette for each of you, do you actually say something other than expletives and his name.

“What was Claire like?” You ask, immediately hating yourself for bringing it up. Gabe was probably still mourning her and you didn’t want to know. Except you really did.

Taking a long drag of his cigarette, he looks over at you with a sad smile before turning his eyes back to the middle distance. You focus on the condensation left on the windows.

“She was great, she really was. She was tough; you know she was married to that guy for fucking years letting him hit her and curse her out. Never complained, never said a word against him. She stuck it out, she was resilient.” Gabe says and you can’t help but feel a little bad. No one deserved to be in an abusive marriage. In that way, you did feel for her.

“She was nice too, if you had a problem, she’d help you; no questions asked. She was one of those people that helped; a doer. That’s the resilience. She did what she had to do to stay alive. She was probably too nice for the shit she got mixed up in, but she wanted to be able to take care of herself. I could respect that.” He’s lost to his memories now and you bite your lip to keep from crying at your folly. You shouldn’t have asked.

“You know I showed her how to handle the bodies? She didn’t seem squeamish about any of that stuff, she wanted to learn everything about the business. It wasn’t darkness, not like you have, but it was a pragmatism. If she was going to be in charge, she didn’t want to be taken advantage of again.” The mention of you causes an intake of breath that he either doesn’t hear or pretends he doesn’t. You’re not sure if it’s a compliment or not. You’re also aware of the similarities between you and Claire and it makes you uncomfortable. At least if she had been your total opposite you could make peace with the fact that you would never be like her. But you two were so alike, which made your failure to measure up even more obvious.

“The sex wasn’t bad either”, he adds like one more nail in the coffin, “Yeah, she was really great.” And you’re underground with her, your bodies rotting with the worms. Gabriel O’Malley has killed you both. It’s amazing how he does it so effortlessly. Your thoughts drift to the body sinking down beneath the floam; how peaceful it must be to just lie back and let the sea take you.

You don’t cry, you just smoke your cigarette down to the filter and toss it out the window. He does the same. The sun rises higher in the sky and paints his skin golden.

“I’m sorry Gabe, I really am. I know you loved her, loved her a lot.” You finally choke out. You’re ready to go home now.

“I’m not finished (Y/N).” Gabe says, turning in the backseat to face you. He takes your hands and the tears start falling.

“Please I don’t want to hear anymore, I’m sorry I asked, I’m sorry I brought it up. You love her and you never loved me and it’s obvious now and I feel like an idiot and I just want to go home. I want you to leave me alone. Please leave me alone.” You cry, pulling your hands away but he keeps grabbing them and pulling them back. What the fuck does he want with you?

“I will if you let me explain something, something important!” He demands, his hands resting on your upper arms and shaking you once. You stop outright crying and nod.

“Claire was all those things. She was tough and hardworking and smart and so kind. But she was also a person with good and bad parts. Stuff that I needed to discover and accept about her. The thing is, I wasn’t treating her like a person, I was treating her like an ideal. I was comparing her, the real her, against the image I had created in my head. An image no real person could ever compete with. To be perfectly fucking frank, Claire was really boring.” Gabe confesses, looking tired. Your brain short circuits and you blink several times.

“Listen, I could’ve dated her and married her and had kids with her and I probably would’ve had a nice life. She would’ve been a great mom and a great wife and we would’ve been happy in the grand scheme of things. But she was just… outside of the business, we had nothing in common! We didn’t like the same music or movies, we didn’t like doing the same thing, we had nothing to talk about. The sex was good because that’s all we were doing, it passed the time. Although let me tell you, I forgot how repressed these Catholic girls are sometimes. It was a trial and a half to get her to let me fuck her from behind. It gutted me when she died, partially because it was my fault. Cathy wanted me to spare this kid, but he wasn’t a kid. He came back with a buddy and Claire got one but she didn’t know enough about this world to be prepared for the second guy. I should’ve told her, I should’ve protected her, but I didn’t. Turns out I was wrong about her, wrong about a lot of things. I realized while I was out there that the Claire I thought I wanted didn’t exist, she never existed, and it was wrong of me to compare her to the Claire I had, and to you. So yeah, I cared about her. I cared so much about her, I wanted her to be happy. But I didn’t love her, I couldn’t love her. Not the way she deserved, not in any real way.” 

There is silence in the car again, the sound of gulls starting to rise with the sun. Your tears have stopped and your breathing has too. You look at him, really look at him, and it’s like a bad picture trying to come through. His edges have gone blurry and the sound of your accelerating heartbeat is becoming the only thing you can hear. Your hands are shaking but you don’t know whether it’s from the comedown or your anger or something else entirely.

“Do you mean to tell me that this whole time I have been comparing myself to a person who does not exist? That I have been letting you compare me to a woman who is so perfect, she couldn’t even measure up to herself? You left me for something that was never going to work out? Is that what you’re telling me?” You confirm, your voice tight and deliberately slow. Gabe nods and swallows.

“Let’s get into the front seat and go home, huh?” You say after you watch him squirm for a moment. You pull your underwear back on and climb over the front seat while Gabe gets out and walks around to the passenger side door. You think very briefly about killing him, there’s a gun in your purse, but you decide against it. He was working for the Godfather now and you didn’t want to take away one of his guys.

Gabe pulls on the handle of the passenger side door but it doesn’t budge. You try and tame your hair in the rearview mirror, ignoring the sound of the door handle being pulled. 

“Unlock the door, let me in.” He says, the sun almost completely out on the beach. You give him a once over and start the car.

“Find your own way home asshole.” You say, before pulling out of the spot with a squeal and driving off. The last thing you do as you leave him in Santa Monica is snake your hand out through the open window, middle finger tall and straight.

Chapter Four Coming Soon....

Tagging: @babbushka​, @theold-ultraviolence​, @stylelovechild​, @niniita-ah

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters!

[ambiencespectrum]

Rococo Kids

Fandom: Homestuck. Pairing: Dave Strider <> Rose Lalonde. Words: 5,060. Additional Tags: One Shot, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Hurt/Comfort. Cuddling & Snuggling. Trigger Warnings: temporary character death, suicide attempt, past child abuse.

AO3 version.

A/N: i haven’t written for these two in ages, let alone ever actually posted on tumblr for them. guess it’s time to try it.

He finds her floating there, suspended and pale. The full-length lavender dress she’s wearing is drifting like smoke around her form, loose as the pale hair haloing her head. The black of her lips stand out stark against her ivory skin, smudged on the left side like a bleeding ink stain.

Like this, Dave unwillingly thinks of how some people would describe his sister as unearthly and beautiful. Mostly, he just thinks this is sad.

“Dammnit, Rose,” He mutters, and lets his sneaker skim the surface of the pool. The one Rose has drowned herself in. “We talked about this shit.”

She remains as still and lifeless as she has for the past five minutes- exactly that, as Dave has that thought- and he sighs. Sometimes Rose has the sense to let resurrection do its thing and get back up on her own, and sometimes it’s like this.

Rose floats along the aqua green bottom of her pool, encased in water that is clearer than glass. The only disturbance of the surface comes from Dave’s brief toeing of it, adding to that impression.

Dave kinda really hates looking at her like this, even if he gets it. Kanaya is away with Karkat and won't be back for at least another few days; special moirail retreat from the public eye. Like Rose clearly has, Dave has also been getting away with things while his partner is absent. He only came by to see Rose because... he's not sure. Maybe because he wanted her to talk him out of stuff, or maybe because he somehow sensed he needed to talk her out of stuff.

Looks like he's too late to, fuck.

He captchalogues his sneakers, socks, and hoodie, and lets himself fall out of the air above the water. The pool is practically frigid as he splashes into it, and Dave is even less impressed with how his night is going. He swims downwards in long strokes, descending towards his sister. His aviators stay on his face probably from sheer force of will.

Rose is limp and colder than ice as he grabs her; the dress’s long folds tangling them both as Dave kicks around for a moment, remembers he can just fly them out, and does so. Pulling her out of the water takes away the effect of weightlessness, and Rose nearly drags him off balance as her stupidly heavy dress acts like deadweight.

Not that Rose isn’t literal deadweight, hanging in his arms like giant stiff porcelain doll. It’s only a little less disturbing than it could be, since this isn’t the first time.

Dave’s hair sticks to his sunglasses as he flies them to the edge, water dripping everywhere from them both. He sets his sister down gently on the tiles, sitting back a few feet and waiting for the rebound to start.

Only a Just or Heroic death can kill a god. Rose dunking herself in the nearest waterbody, for whatever reason it is tonight, hardly counts.

Rose jerks a few minutes later- two and twenty-six seconds, she’s resisting only a little now- and gaudy multicolor light covers her body. It’s blinding, and then fades to reveal that life has colored Rose’s cheeks again. Of course, Rose also starts choking on the residual water in her throat.

Dave rolls Rose on her side as she coughs violently, rubbing her bare back as she spits chlorine filled water onto the pool deck. The backless dress remains wet despite the resurrection because God Tier shit only extends to their game clothes. This is probably a lovely number Kanaya made for her wife, and while Dave knows shit all about fabrics, he thinks his sister has ruined it thoroughly.

Rose shivers and keeps taking gasping breaths, recovering from being dead for- Dave checks the history around Rose, and finds she’s been down for five hours and twelve minutes.

And she didn’t even text him before she did it. That hurts in a weird, uncomfortable way, and Dave doesn’t appreciate the feeling.

He’s mad at her, because they promised each other, but he’s also got no leg to stand on right now.

So Dave doesn’t point out that Rose broke their promise. He just slides an arm under her side as she settles from the coughing fit and helps her to sit up. Her dress sticks to her everywhere, revealing quite clearly Rose Lalonde, co-queen of a kingdom, goddess of insight and luck and light, saw fit to discard her bra tonight and wear a dress that goes sheer when wet.

Dave knows more than he’d like to know about Rose’s body, considering the years between them, and the years they spent on the meteor, so only the faint impression of old earth’s oh shit boobsattitude lingers. This is nothing compared to other shit they got up to as young and depressed teenagers. He just brushes the lank white hair out of Rose’s face and focuses on her strikingly purple eyes.

“You’re lucky some poor chess guy didn’t find you,” Dave informs Rose. “Would’ve given them trauma induced nightmares for the rest of their life, finding their god queen biting the big one in her own pool.”

“Which is why we got rid of the staff months ago, you know that,” She informs him right back, twice as hoarse in voice. She’s haughty in tone, but that’s just her default state. It would be more worrisome if she were to apologize.

Dave pulls his soaked t-shirt away from his chest, grimacing as it peels off his skin. Rose doesn’t even bother with her own clothes, just drawing her legs to herself and wrapping her arms around them. They sit in their joint puddle of unhappy feelings for a while, letting the chill creep into their bones until it’s more unbearable than the silence.

“You look like shit,” Dave comments eventually. Rose is back to full health, no longer corpse colored, but she still looks like something… drowned. Yeah.

“In the sanctity of my own home, I would think I am permitted to be less than stunning,” Rose replies derisively. “The double standards for gender roles were left behind three universes ago, Dave. A woman is allowed to look like shit rather than the epitome of beauty whenever she pleases.”

Dave tilts his head down, lips a thin line. “Wear a wet dress and ditch the undergarments if you want, but I’m pretty sure suicide is still illegal, Rose.”

Rose sniffs. “We’re gods, Dave. We can’t die unless we meet the qualifications of a nonsensical and interpretive set of rules.”

“You’re heart wasn’t beating for over five fucking hours,” Dave says, somewhat harshly. Rose goes quiet. “I’m not trained in any kind of medical expertise, but shit, Rose. That’s pretty dead.”

His hands twitch in his lap and Dave curls them into fists to avoid shaking. It gets easier but it doesn’t, handling someone being dead. Handling Rose being dead. Dave’s eyes sting dryly and he resists the urge to rub them. He’s too tired for this shit.

Rose runs a hand through her hair, dragging it backwards into a messy slick. It leaves her face exposed and reveals her long lashes, which stand out under the light from above them as she blinks once, twice. She shuts her eyes, sighing.

“I have no excuse,” She says softly, after a long beat. Dave grunts.

“What was it this time?” He asks.

“Kanaya is turning forty- ah, no. Nineteen sweeps. She’ll be nineteen sweeps this year,” Rose says, and looks so tired as she does. “I scarcely look eleven.”

Dave does a few calculations in his head- Rose tries hard to use Alternian chronology for Kanaya, but Dave is a little stuck on human earth calendars, given his powers and all- and comes up with forty and some months for Kanaya, and twenty-five for Rose.

“Midlife crisis, then,” Dave summarizes. Rose titters tightly.

“If only it were that.”

He shrugs. “Not like we’re in different boats here.”

Rose slides a violet iris to him, and reaches across the short space between them. With her thin little fingers, Rose slides his sunglasses off. Only she and Karkat are allowed to do that, and it’s only because of that fact he lets her.

Rose hooks his glasses on his shirt collar, lifting her hand back up to delicately trace the black circles under his eyes.

“And you deal with it in such a comparably stellar manner,” She responds finally, cupping his cheek and examining the sallowness Dave knows is in his cheeks. “How long has it been?”

Dave doesn’t answer.

“Dave.” Rose’s eyes glint. “How long.”

He relents. “One hundred and fifty-two hours, thirty-nine minutes, four seconds and counting.” Gods can go longer than the average schmuck before hallucinating, and even longer before they die.

Rose frowns at him, and her eyes show how much the number hurts her. She rubs his cheek with her thumb, biting her smudged black lips. “You didn’t tell me you stopped sleeping again.”

“You didn’t tell me you were looking to literally drown your sorrows, either,” Dave shoots back, and dislikes it when Rose’s hand drops from his face. He misses its presence, even if he’s a knot of frustration and hurt right now.

“Communication, for all our lengthy conversations, was never our strong point, was it?” Rose observes softly. She curls around herself again, looking at anything other than Dave.

“Nah,” Dave says, dropping his eyes to his soaking jeans. “Kind of a shitty irony.”

Rose doesn’t respond, and they sit like the emotionally stunted, uncommunicable assholes they are in the puddle of misery they made themselves. They’re supposed to support each other, look after one another and make sure they don’t do stupid self-destructive shit like this. Some moirails they are.

“We’re fucking awful at this,” Dave mutters, tired in a lot of ways he’d rather not be.

“An apt assessment,” Rose agrees. He hears the nearly hidden regret in her words, because even now they’re cagey about how they feel when they’re upset. Especially when they’re caught in a downward spiral of self-loathing.

Actions are a little easier, though. Like reaching out and pulling on the hem of Rose’s dress, silently asking. Her hand slips around Dave’s almost immediately, their fingers sliding together and holding tight.

A moment later, and Dave and Rose are winding around each other in a wet, desperate hug. He puts his face in her damp shoulder, smelling pool and his sister’s skin. Against his ear he feels her pulse, hears the air going in and out of her throat, and hugs her tighter to press the sensations into himself.

She’s alive, she’s alive and neither of them can die. Neither of them can die and as much as that terrifies them sometimes, it’s a god damn blessing here and now.

They can’t die, but without Rose Dave knows he’d find a way. She’s told him she’d do the same if it were reversed.

Rose’s sharp nails dig into his back as she holds onto him, a shuddery breath moving through her thin body and coming out hoarse. Dave’s eyes aren’t just stinging from lack of sleep anymore, and they’re considerably wetter as Rose makes a quiet little sound by his ear. Something close to a cry, but too short and dainty to be.

Sometimes she sobs for hours, sometimes he does. Tonight they just hold onto each other and blink tears away until they can breathe right again. It’s not so bad they breakdown completely, or maybe it’s so bad they’ve relapsed too far into old habits to do so. Dave can’t tell.

He doesn’t really care.

They’re both shivering, chilled by the air and by the mass of self-inflicted feelings inside themselves. It’s a lot less cold with Rose halfway into his lap and keeping her arms locked around his shoulders.

Dave rubs one hand up and down her back, feeling the bumps of her spine and ribs. He feels her hands find one scar he’s got on the back of his neck, a particularly nasty one from a strife when he tried turning his back on Bro to run away- her fingers run along it, icy to the touch, and different enough from the agony of steel and hot blood that Dave barely thinks on the memory longer than a second.

“I told you why I fell off the wagon, Dave,” Rose says in a hushed voice, leaving the scar be and moving to tangle her fingers in his wet hair. “Tell me why you did.”

Dave shrugs, keeping his world dark as he hides in his sister’s neck. “Nothing really. Dumb shit.” She waits, massaging his scalp, and Dave continues after he wrangles his own feelings into submission again. “It’s his birthday next month.”

Rose hums; the sound warm and full in Dave’s ear. She doesn’t ask who the person is, because she knows. “And?”

“And I made a dumb mistake by getting lost in my head,” Dave continues. He can usually handle the weird hang up he has on Bro’s birthday- they never even did much for it, it makes no sense- but he fucked up this year. “Ended up wandering around the city, headphones on and everything- and I just, forgot to pay attention to where I was headed. There’s too many parks in trolltopia, you know? I can’t tell them all apart even when I’m on the ball, and fuck if I know west from east when I’m full on dissociating.”

Rose keeps massaging his scalp, patient.

“Strife hobbyist group,” Dave finally explains, voice dropping low despite his attempts to keep it level. “There were swords involved. I wasn’t even all that near, Jesus, but I just- got stuck, and it’s fucking stupid but I couldn’t move until they stopped strifing and noticed their local godly ruler was having a stroll right by their weekend sparring field.” He swallows around the lump in his throat. They might look young but he’s a grown man. He hates being unable to handle this, even now. “Should’ve just walked away instead of staring into space like a braindead tool.”

“And I should have confided in you that I was being drawn back into a spiral of fear and self-loathing again,” Rose comforts. She presses her lips to his neck, sighing through her nose. It’s warmer than either of them are. “We both made some bad judgements as of late.”

Dave draws back, partly reluctant to. Rose watches him through her lashes, and like always, it feels like she’s seeing way deeper than most people ever will into him. Dave kinda wonders why it feels like that, when really, there’s not that much depth to him at all.

People (Rose, Karkat) tell him otherwise. He still doesn’t quite believe them.

Dave looks over his sister, who is pale as ever and resembles strongly a white cat dunked in water. Almost too thin everywhere she isn’t gently curvy, and built out of somewhat vicious tendencies, meticulously kept aloofness, and an impulsive streak ten miles long.

She’s beautiful, even if she’s as much a mess as Dave is.

Because they’re alone and it feels right, he leans close again and presses his lips to her forehead; then tilting his chin down and putting their heads together. Her eyes are close enough they blur into whites and purples, and Dave counts the nearly invisible freckles under them.

“I think we need to actually read one of those handbooks Karkat gave us,” Dave says wryly. His partner used to unsubtly leave moirallegiance handbooks out everywhere when he and Rose first started figuring this out. Dave never actually read one, since he’d thought it can’t be that different from just being friends/estranged siblings, right?

“I already have,” Rose says, because of course she has. “I can’t say I’ve been all that good about following the advisory tips, unfortunately.”

“I live with the guy who’s favorite hobby is dissecting romcom relationship dynamics. Loudly. I thought I could get by with just osmosis.”

“Perhaps relationship counselling?” She suggest.

Dave makes a please no noise, grimacing deeply. Rose huffs. “I take that as a no.” She pauses, and then says softly, “Dave, I’m sorry.”

“Oh shit, a sincere and straightforward apology from Rose Lalonde? I think the world’s ending again,” Dave doesn’t flinch when Rose draws away from him to give a flat stare, but he does feel a little bad for interrupting. “Sorry, go on.”

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “I attempt to apologize like a civil, non-complex afflicted individual, and you mock me for it. My therapist will be in tears of frustration at my lost progress.”

“The day you actually set foot in a real therapist’s office will be the day you give up overanalyzing every Freudian slip our friends make. And you have so much fun with John’s dickups. I mean slipups.”

Rose smiles faintly. “No you don’t.”

“Nah, definitely do not,” Dave smiles back. “But seriously, say what you need to. I, uh, I’ll keep things mature until you’re done.”

Rose’s shoulders rise, and then fall. She still looks tired, if less suicidal. “I’m sorry, Dave. We both may have been keeping our rough patches from one another, but I am the one who took the most direct action of self-destruction.”

Dave quirks an eyebrow. “It’s not like I wouldn’t have dropped in a few more days.”

“There’s a difference between keeping yourself awake until sheer exhaustion knocks you out, and holding yourself underwater until you drown.”

“Not much. Exhaustion kills you when it gets to a point.”

“A watery asphyxiation by my own hand is still more severe than that.”

“So’s drugging yourself with enough energy shots to give your heart an arrhythmia.”

Rose purses her lips. “Let’s agree to disagree. Competitive comparisons of mental health failings helps no one. Anyway,” She says before Dave can butt in. “I offer you my apology for what I did, whether you accept it or not.”

Dave doesn’t hesitate in his response. “Course I do, Lalonde. But you gotta listen to mine, too, if you’re going to get all pale like that.” He smirks at her. Rose gives him an exasperated look. “I’m sorry, too. We literally had an in writing accord that when we get bad, we fucking talk to each other about it. I spent way too long an afternoon on that thing with you to ignore its existence now. We both broke it, not just you. So… I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven,” Rose replies, taking his hands into hers as he reaches for them. His are a little bigger, now that puberty is long done, and they’ve got scars in a hundred different spots hers don’t. But they’re still close enough in resemblance he sees their relation.

It’s a comfort, to know that however badly they fuck themselves up, lie and keep secrets from each other- genetics ensures they’ve got a connection that won’t break by any means.

Maybe they can’t die, and will have to watch the people they love age in ways they won’t- Jane and Dave together can rewind their ages, regenerate youth, but it’s just not the same as being a God Tier- but at least through all that, they’ll have each other no matter how long time stretches on.

Dave feels he’s still riding the unfortunate bump of fresh trauma from earlier, the way his thoughts keep getting mushy with his consent. It’s not something that really bothers him in the moment, wrapping himself back around Rose and sinking into the mutual apology and acceptance. Alone on the pool deck together, they sit and just mend themselves in the presence of their twin, not talking for a length of time.

  “Kanaya will be so disappointed,” Rose mourns, once they try to stand again. Her dress still sticks to her in places, and otherwise hangs heavy everywhere else. “I think this was a birthday gift.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” Dave snorts. “You can’t just toss yourself in the drink and be done with it. Nah, you need to be a twelve out of ten and ready for the president’s cocktail party before you’re fit to drink your poison.”

“Last I checked, we have no presidents to speak of anymore.”

“Eh, old world government tiers still work if it’s in the presence of in-the-know individuals.”

“Hispter.”

“Cauldron calling the kettle black. Don’t think your Sappho collection ever got forgotten.”

Rose sniffs. “Classic lesbian literature is quite different from an outdated patriarchy based power system, thank you.”

“Fair, but you’re a hipster in your own ways, Rose.”

She doesn’t respond beyond a dismissive hum. They’ve had this conversation nine times already and it’s gone in loops for hours if they let it. Best to wait until they’re dry to start it up properly.

Rose leaves the ground, stepping into thin air and flying out across the pool towards the exit. Dave follows slowly, and watches as her dress trails against the water. The ripples they leave disturb the mirror perfect surface a third time since he found her.

Dave hooks an arm around Rose’s waist, and she returns the gesture. He banishes the memory of her lifeless body under that rippling surface, even though he knows it’ll come back to haunt him at least a few times before this can be processed completely.

Because carapaciens have only one mode when it comes to their gods- undying adoration is the least extravagant way to say it- the veritable mansion Rose and Kanaya ended up in is barely not a castle. The swimming pool on the middle level isn’t even the most lavish thing.

They pass by the bigger rooms, headed for the one they always use when it’s been a Night for them. It’s on the eastern side, where the sun will rise tomorrow and shine through the curtains to burn their sleep deprived retinas out of their skulls and force them into the land of the living. A full-proof plan that usually works if one of them doesn’t shut the curtains and pull the other back under the thick comforter.

There’s an ensuite bathroom attached to the wide bedroom, big enough that it makes the tiny closet washroom in Dave’s old Houston apartment look even smaller than it had been. The whole set up might just be larger than that old place; thick carpets and actual drapes and furniture that’s fit for royalty. Dave drops onto the first loveseat he passes, dampening the rich purple fabric with his soaked clothes.

Rose bends briefly near him, turning her back and gesturing vaguely at the straps holding her dress up. Dave obliges her and unhooks the clips. As she stands and walks away, he decaptchalogues his phone to start mindlessly scrolling social media while she takes first shower. He doesn’t even glance over as she drops her dress at the door, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.

When Rose emerges again, wrapped in a wide and thick towel, she looks better all around. Dave stands and takes his turn, dropping a kiss to her temple as they pass each other and then dropping his itchy, half dried clothes on top of Rose’s. He shuts the door as she starts getting changed in the bedroom, and walks right into the still running shower. It’s hot enough it burns a little, chasing the chill out of his system.

Dave shuts it off when he no longer feels the itch of dried chlorine on his skin. There are still plenty of big warm towels for him on the rack, and he wraps one around his waist. Another smaller one goes around his head, just for the hell of it.

Rose is on the bed already when he walks out; dressed in a baggy old t-shirt proclaiming Foxy Grandpa she probably alchemized years ago, and soft pajama pants. Her hair is still a mess, and her black lipstick has been wiped clean. She’s brought out her laptop and is probably scrolling through whatever her video library has to offer.

Rose slides her eyes from the screen to Dave’s face, and she gives a faint smile. He decaptchalogues his own pajamas into his arms, smiling back at her before he starts changing. They’ve been around the Harley-Englishs way too long to be bothered by nudity, let alone each other’s. The tenth time Dave wandered into Jade’s personal garden and she was sans shirt under the hot sun, he’d gotten over it. Mostly.

It’s different with Rose, versus Jade who is twice their size in a lot of ways and not his sister. It’s mostly like glancing at a reflection of himself, really. Just with slightly different parts and heights.

Dave slides onto the cloudlike mattress once his undershirt and shorts are on, scooting to the middle of the bed where Rose is. With a mountain of pillows propping them up, they settle into the position they want to have tonight.

Dave opts to put his head on her chest, listening to the steady tempo of her heart for definitely trauma related reasons. Rose’s cheek rests on the top of his skull, arm under his neck and holding him close. Their legs end up tangling together as they rest their hipbones against one another; sharing residual warmth of their showers. Rose sets the laptop to the side Dave isn’t on, screen angled so they can both see as she presses play.

Her hand paps his cheek only once, and he returns the favor. It’s mostly just a formal recognition thing for them, rather than the soppy calm-down switch like it is for trolls. Cuddling like octopi works just fine on its own for their informal piling.

“Can’t believe troll Jaden Smith got an anime before I did,” Dave mumbles as the pastel opening credits begin. It’s considered a classic now days, and Dave feels weirdly old since he remembers when it first came out. “Still haven’t gotten one either, damn. I need to get on that shit.”

“What genre will you be classifying it as?” Rose asks, tangling her fingers in his hair for the umpteenth time.

“Maybe sci-fi or something, but I’m also still leaning towards maid café.”

“And the story?”

“Underground government revolution, duh.”

“Excellent choice, brother dear. Keeping to what our family knows best, are we?”

“Roxy and Dirk are too good a material source to waste.”

“As is our alternate selves’s history as resistors.”

“Obviously.”

They run through the first half of the episode before Dave starts to really wind down. He’s gone days without sleep, out of some kind of fear/self-punishment reasoning, and he’s beyond absolutely exhausted despite his pretending to be otherwise. Rose’s nails are gentle against his scalp and her body warmly pressed to his, so Dave’s mind is relaxing out of its sleep resistant anxiety without his prompt. Even if he has nightmares- and inevitably he will- Dave will wake up right next to his sister and moirail. He’s safe.

If he wakes up thrashing, fighting against spectres of his past or trying to rescue his drowning sister, Rose will just hold his face and make him focus on her, on the present. She’s the god of clarity in a manner of speaking; she’s the only one who can snap him out of an attack besides Karkat. And not just because of her powers.

If and when Dave will wake up, surfacing from a nightmare that sends his heart beating painfully fast in his chest and leaves him breathless, she’ll be right there to talk him down, kiss his temples and cheeks and keep holding him until the shakes fade. And if and when Rose wakes up like that, stifling cries about what she’s lost and may yet lose, shivering from images of things that’ve been in her head and the way her wife’s eyes gain wrinkles as years past- Dave will take a turn holding her close until she breathes evenly again, regaining sense of where she is and who she’s with. He’ll look her in the eye and make her look back, cupping her cheek gently and pressing his lips to her forehead, and they’ll tangle themselves up until everything passes and its morning again.

They’re not picture perfect moirails, but they’re there for each other as much as they can be. It works majority of the time, and they make up for it later when they falter. And that’s good enough.

Dave sinks into the heavy exhaustion inside him, not quite as afraid any longer while he’s wrapped around Rose. She cuddles him as close as he does her, and Dave drifts off to the sound of her breathing.

When morning- afternoon, nearly- rolls around, they’ve only woken each other once in the night, and Dave feels considerably less like he’s dying slowly. Rose, in turn, seems considerably less like she really did die the night prior.

Before they haul themselves upright again, to check in with their friends and partners and put real food into their stomachs, they lie around in the enormous and soft bed. Talking quietly and touching intimately, just enjoying the calmness that comes from being together and around no one else. They’ve become better practiced over the years, opening up around their friends and loved ones- but it’s still hard, and sometimes they can only manage it with each other.

It’s good, just lying together and talking in circles. It’s what they should do more often, so weeks and nights they’ve been having don’t happen.

When they do sit up from the covers and pillows, Dave watches his sister pull open fully the heavy drapes, pushing outwards the panes and letting the afternoon sun inside. It illuminates the pale white of her everything, and makes her shine gold.

Standing in the open sunlight, lavender eyed and glowing bright, Dave finds again he will always strongly prefer her like this. Sleep rumpled and sunlit as the open window blows her short hair, rather than elegantly dressed and still like an empty shell against the bottom of a pool.

That preference is an easily guessed one, seeing as the smile Rose turns on him says she knows exactly what he’s thinking of her at the moment.

“We’ll talk next time,” She promises him, and that’s enough for Dave.

[sinkat-arts]

Title: Nothing More, Nothing Less Fandom: DDaDDS (Dream Daddy) Pairing: Robert/Dadsona(Seth) Rating: M (ish??) Notes: @sallyamongpoison​ wrote this cuteness for our dadsona, Seth, and Mat for the prompt “You can have me any way you’d like, baby.” Of course, I wondered how that would play out with Robert. Sooooo.... have a lil bit of hurt/comfort.  Warnings: alcohol, pushy drunken attempt to initiate sex, depression

The doorbell buzzed. And buzzed. And buzzed in rapid succession several more times before Seth managed to pull on his pajama bottoms, grab his phone out of pure habit, and stumble into the kitchen. Bleary-eyed, he squinted for a long, hard moment at the clock on the microwave, wondering why in the world it was blinking 5:40PM at him. It was clearly not 5:40PM. The sun was typically... a little more up at 5:40PM. He sighed and rolled his eyes in disgust – it was blinking the wrong time at him because he’d neglected resetting it after the last storm rolled through and knocked the power out. Damn, he was really falling down on the job now that Amanda was gone. 

That thought twinged a little - it’d been a few months now, and it wasn’t any easier to remember that her room was empty and he was on his own for the first time in... well, forever. No time to reflect on that right now, though. The damn doorbell was still going off, and if he didn’t know for a fact that Amanda was 100 miles away and snuggled safely into bed, he’d be more concerned and less annoyed.

Well, wait a minute. She was 100 miles away, right? He’d just texted with her, what, around 11:00 that night? Still, something could have happened. Oh lord, what if something had happened? What if it was so bad, she had to make the two hour drive home in the middle of the night? Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Much more awake now, Seth pulled his phone out of his pocket, saw that the message indicator was blinking – she’d sent him messages after he went to sleep, surely - and made a panicked dash to the door. He was fully convinced - it had to be Amanda. She’d had to leave so suddenly that she forgot her key. She was in trouble, clearly. His Manda Panda was out in the cold, ringing the doorbell to her own home, and Seth had been lollygagging about, berating himself for not resetting a clock on a microwave. For shame.

Quick steps took him to the door where he unlocked the it and turned the deadbolt. Just a few seconds, a twist of the knob, and Amanda could come inside and be safe and warm. Seth pulled the door open, face tense, and prepared to receive his daughter. Except…

Well, that wasn’t his daughter. Her name died on his lips as his face went slack and his head tilted to the side quizzically. It took a bit, shifting gears, when sleep was interrupted far too soon and your mind was full of cobwebs and adrenaline, but it finally clicked.

“Took you long enough,” the man outside his door complained. “I was about convinced you’d gone to Musclehead’s for the night.”

“Robert?” Seth asked, eyebrows raising.

“In the flesh,” he grinned, but there was something off about it. There was something off about this whole thing. Outside of the fact that it was the dead of the night – no, that was pretty in character for the man, if Seth was being honest with himself – Robert looked… like he’d been drinking too much and sleeping too little. Smelled like it, too. His eyes were dull and bloodshot, his cheeks were sallow, his hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in several days, and his grin was… a little unhinged.

Fuck. All signs pointed to some kind of relapse.

For a moment, Seth considered calling Val, but then Robert was pushing his way inside, bringing the cold of winter with him. Shivering, Seth closed the door and turned… only to find himself pinned, back smashed against his own front door, breath crushed right out of him as insistent hands gripped at his hips and hungry lips crashed into his. Robert.. he smelled like sweat and whiskey and tasted like cigarettes.

How many times since Amanda’s graduation party had Seth dreamed of Robert resolving his issues? Coming to him with arms open, smiling and saying he was finally ready for them? Fuck, he’d smiled and hugged Robert - supportive, always supportive - when the man had asked to cool things down for his mental health... but that night, despite how proud he really was of Robert, Seth cried a little for it. And had cried for it since. He respected the decision, would support the man however he could, but truly, it had broken his heart a little to back off... and it left him lonely, so lonely, once Amanda had gone off to school.

So the temptation was there to just go with it. Later, if things got weird, he could claim being half asleep as an excuse, maybe. That could work. Or maybe this meant Robert wanted to try for romance while he worked on himself. That wasn’t too farfetched was it?

Yes. Yes, it fucking was, and Seth damn well knew it.

“Whoa, whoa,” Seth gasped, trying to escape from the onslaught… but there really was nowhere for him to go. Back’s against the wall, he thought and then corrected himself, no, the door. Back’s against the door.  “S-slow down, cowboy.” 

“You want it slow, huh?” Robert murmured, and Seth winced at how deeply slurred his words were. “That’s ok.” Robert pressed harder, rolled his hips and groaned. “You can have me any way you’d like, baby.”

What… what was that? That didn’t sound like Robert. And this… this wasn’t like Robert, either. Even that first night in town, when Seth had gotten a little too tipsy at the bar and followed Robert home, the man had asked permission. It was gruff and crude, but it was still asking for consent. And then he’d dropped it when Seth had declined the offer… no grousing, no pushing. But this… this was nothing like that.

Robert ducked his head, angling for more of those clumsy, wet kisses, but Seth… he couldn’t let this go on. No matter how much his heart had yearned for something like this, it had also wanted it to be right when it happened. This was… the farthest thing from right. It felt pretty fucking left to Seth, so he raised a hand and placed a single finger over Robert’s lips.

“You stopping me?” he asked around Seth’s finger. If it hadn’t been such a bizarre and potentially terrible situation, the effect would have been funny. As it was, it just made Seth’s heart ache.

“You’re drunk, Robert.”

“And? Do you want me or not?”

Well, that was a question he couldn’t answer truthfully, at least not without an explanation a mile long.

“No.”

That did it. Robert’s bloodshot eyes opened wide and there was something like heartbreak written on his face before the familiar old haughty, impotent anger took over. That… that was an expression Seth hadn’t seen since Robert had decided to go to therapy, to clean up and fix things with his daughter. It was the old Robert. The self-destructive asshole who may have been hiding a vulnerable and wounded heart, but was an asshole nonetheless.

“You don’t... So, what? Someone else? Craig? You’re really fucking Craig, then?” Robert accused, jealousy fueled by whiskey. Eyes narrowed, he took several steps back. “Brawn over brains, huh? That fucking empty-headed jock do it for you... bro? I bet he moans that in your ear, huh? Oh, bro, that’s so good, bro.”

A spike of anger shot through Seth’s chest. Craig was one of his oldest friends, and despite his penchant for bro-ing it up, he was hardly empty-headed. The man was raising three daughters and running a successful company all on his own. He was a good man with problems all his own. What had Robert been doing that made him so superior? In what productive way had he contributed? What gave him the right to judge... anyone?

But this wasn’t about Craig. Not really. Seth took a deep breath, closing his eyes on the exhale, and willed that anger to die down. It was defensive and small, and while he had every intention of dressing Robert down for being cruel to his friend later, doing so right now would harm far, far more than it helped.

“I am not,” Seth answered in a level tone, eyes opening to meet Robert’s. They were shining. There were… were those tears? Robert’s face was still screwed up with anger, but his eyes… that was pain. “Craig is my friend. You know that,” he explained, voice going softer as he took a slow step towards Robert and reached up to squeeze Robert’s shoulder. “We go way back, but it’s not like that.”

An odd mix of emotions washed over the other man’s face. Seth thought one of them might have been relief, but it resolved itself back into stubborn anger as Robert shrugged Seth’s hand off his shoulder.

“So, what? Doesn’t matter to me. It’s just a fuck, after all,” His voice was lower, touched with petulance and under that… sadness. “Doesn’t mean anything. But if you don’t want me...”

Another deep breath. It really was too fucking late – or early – for this. But when did the big stuff ever wait until you were well-rested and ready to face a challenge? Never, that’s when.

“I don’t want you… like this, Robert,” Seth explained, then raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “This… these aren’t the terms you set for yourself, and you know it. This... this is where you were three months ago.” Seth shook his head and then ventured to place his hand on Robert’s shoulder again as he lowered his head to catch the man’s eyes, heartbreaking for the hopelessness he saw there. “What happened? You seemed… things seemed better?”

For a moment, Seth thought he’d be shrugged away again, that Robert would dig his heels in and keep arguing… or worse, leave to go continue destroying himself alone elsewhere. Seth held his gaze, even though it hurt, and after a tense few moments, Robert softened. Thank god, Robert softened.

“Nothing ever gets better,” he mumbled and lowered his head, “Doesn’t matter what I do. I can’t… I can’t fix the past. Val says she forgives me, but... I’m… I’m a shitty, selfish person. Broken. A permanent fuck up. There’s no point in trying any more.”

“Yes, there is…” Seth started, but Robert cut him off.

“No, there fucking isn’t. The therapy isn’t working. It’s… it’s too much. I can’t do it. And I’m…” His voice caught in his throat, his jaw worked as he fought to contain whatever emotion was threatening to force its way out - a fight he ultimately lost. The tears that had made his eyes bright and flashing earlier spilled over dark lashes and his voice came out in a raspy, slurred whimper. “I’m so… lonely.”

Those words, spoken in that small, lost voice, struck Seth square in the chest, visceral, like he’d been punched, hard and fast. This man… the man before him… he’d shouldered so much. He felt so much. He held on to the burden of his past and punished himself for each and every time he’d fallen short. He’d been his own judge, jury and executioner. And it hurt. A burning ache in the chest, a strangled feeling in Seth’s throat. Heartbreaking to know that this whole time… this whole time, Robert hadn’t been better… he’d just gotten better at hiding his depression. And he’d been… alone. Lonely, as Seth had been, only worse because Robert had demons to fight… and they apparently weren’t ready to give up yet.

“Oh, my darling,” Seth breathed, closing the gap between them and collecting Robert into his arms without a second thought for what it would mean or how things might change. “I’ve got you. You’re alright. You’ll be alright.”

Robert cried as Seth held him, sobs that shook his whole body... and Seth wept, too, silent, hot tears of his own trailing down his cheeks. They stood like that for… well, it was hard to tell. Time stopped at a certain point, got weird sometime between midnight and the crack of dawn. All he knew was that he’d stand there, one arm wrapped tightly around Robert as his other hand stroked through his hair, for as long as he was needed.

There wasn’t much more talking, not for a while. Robert was too drained and too drunk, and Seth was too exhausted to form coherent thoughts. When Robert cried himself out, he tried to pull back, embarrassed… but Seth held him firmly, wiped his tears away, and kissed his rough cheek.

“I should go…” Robert finally said, though it was clear that he was barely holding himself together. If Seth hadn’t been holding him up, he suspected Robert would have crumbled to the floor long ago.

“No,” Seth answered, “You won’t be alone tonight.”

Too gone to protest, Robert let Seth lead him up the stairs. He was pliant as Seth peeled him out of his clothes. Obedient as he was herded into the bathroom for a quick shower. Dry and warm in bed, he curled into Seth’s chest without complaint, pressing in close like he was desperate for this kind of touch. Tenderness. Something soft and gentle. Seth supposed he probably was.

“I fucked up,” he finally said, his voice pulling Seth back from the sleep he’d nearly fallen into.

“You did,” Seth agreed.

A heavy, sad sigh from Robert was his response.

“You fucked up,” Seth went on, one hand rubbing a slow path up and down Robert’s back, “But who hasn’t? You’re healing, man. It’s… it’s a set back, not the end of the road.”

“Feels bigger than that…”

“Right now it does, yeah,” Seth murmured, then tilted his head to press a kiss into hair that was still damp from the shower. “Might still feel bad tomorrow or a week from now. That’s ok. The important thing is… don’t beat yourself up for it. Pick up from here and go, Robert. Don’t… don’t stop, please.” Seth’s voice cracked, either from emotion or exhaustion. Likely both. They fell into quiet again, and Seth’s eyes slid closed, lulled by the slow up and down rhythm of Robert’s breathing.

“Thank you,” came Robert’s voice, and Seth’s eyes fluttered open at the sound.

“Didn’t do anything…” Seth murmured, eyes already closing again.

“You… you still want me,” Robert answered, “That’s enough.”

Seth hummed in response, a sleepy smile crossing his face. “You said I could have you any way I want, remember?”

He was rewarded with a chuckle in response. A good sound. A very, very damn good sound.  Wonderful even, enough to get Seth’s eyes burning with the good kind of tears.

“I did say that…”

“Then I’d like you as you are, please,” Seth answered, a little thickly, “A good man just trying to be better.”

“Oh come on, I’m an asshole,” Robert returned quickly, an attempt at a contrary joke... but his voice was just as thick.

Seth grinned and let out a chuckle. “Then I lay here, corrected. A good man who is also kind of an asshole, but is trying to be better. That’s how I want you. As you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“That’s not a lot. You deserve more than…”

“Those are my terms,” Seth answered, cutting Robert off before he could cut himself down.

“Alright, then.”

“Alright.”

Sleep took them both not long after, and for the next several hours, everything was warm and perfect in their cocoon of blankets. They slept soundly now, both knowing there was hard work ahead. The next morning would be full of coffee and ibuprofen and tentative affection. The next evening would be full of careful conversation, feeling each other out and deciding how they fit together moving forward. Trying to, anyway, and… and if the end result was that Robert still needed a friend more than a lover, Seth would understand. He knew he’d be there for Robert, however he could help. Whatever was in his power to do, he’d do. Even if sometimes it hurt a little, it would be worth it to see the man really smile. To see him healing. To see him find happiness.To see him be... himself. Robert - healthy and secure.

Seth would accept nothing more and nothing less than that, after all.

[brothersemberfell]

Irreplaceable V

A writing collaboration with @sparklepriest and I. More art inside!

What was hours became a day and a half. A shadow of golden stubble peppered his maw, marred by the scowl his sharp lips seemed frozen in. He stood watching the avatar of his unbridled emotions engorge itself on the flash-burnt skeletons of the trees, finding mild comfort in listening to the wood whine and snap in the suffocating heat. Red circled his pretty stare, raw from the sorrow that had bled from his eyes. His white undershirt ragged and hair slicked with stress, Felo’thore was something wildly disheveled. His tantrum had subsided enough to feel hunger in his stomach again and the astromancer found an charred rock to perch on.

Elbows on his knobby knees, Felo’thore clawed through his hair, swallowing his throat dry as he considered. Would Adrianal have to suffer every time the man came home to the Dawnmeadow Canyon if they remained together? Felo’thore’s lip quivered, his sallow eyes shifting to the  wrinkled skin of his forearm. He couldn’t bear to know that their being together would be something so torturous. The mage knew nothing of a mother so brutal- Not even his father in all his sourness was that cold and bitter. Felo’thore’s chest tightened, plucking the sun-embroidered ring from his finger and inspecting the circlet wistfully. Love was not a question… so why did he suddenly feel so conflicted about his promise?

“...Lowbreed,” Felo’thore rasped to himself, dropping his ears. “She’s right...that’s all I am. All I ever will be. Ceremony wasn’t even good enough...I’m not….good enough.”

The catch of footsteps behind him and the cry of his name from a familiar voice were met with one of his ears twisting backward, shoving the ring back on his finger and turning sharply in alarm. Felo’thore rose to his feet, something utterly appalling across his sour face. He first gave Eldriana an injured glance before his expression grew further displeased as it settled on Thordemar. There was something oddly mechanical about him.

“There you are!” barked Thordemar, pressing his lips thin looking his ragged twin up and down. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” The warrior’s eyebrow lofted at the violent inferno still devouring the trees behind them, considering his brother’s mood. His mechanical arm swung out only to stay the woman beside him with caution.

Eldriana was fixated on Felo'thore only to be stopped by the mechanical arm as it gently bumped her in the chest. Looking down, she realized what Thordemar meant by the action, and took a tiny step back, just out of the way. "Are you okay?" It was the only thing she could ask at the moment, allowing Thordemar to do most of the talking with his brother for the time being. People had never been her strong suit, but she was concerned about her friend, as disheveled and worried as he appeared to be while watching the entirety of the Firelands go up in flames yet again.

Felo’thore’s knuckles paled at his sides, the mage glowering at his brother like an unwanted trespasser in his ‘room.’ “Get…..out,” he snipped.

Thordemar stomped his boot hard enough to split the earth at his feet. “No! You’re gonna tell me what in the fuck happened with Adrianal- and then your ass is coming back with me!”

Their rogue friend took another step back, uncertain if she wanted to be that close to them if they truly were to tussle.

Felo’thore retorted, his icy eyes locked on his sibling, slamming his own heel in a loud clap on the rock. “I said get out!!!”

Thordemar let a long snort roll through his nose and thinking ahead, the man strafed several paces away from Eldriana before he hollered back. "Knock it off Felo! You can't throw your tantrum here forever!!"

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” bellowed the mage in a hoarse wheeze, making something terrifying of his narrow face, an animal Eldriana would have never seen wild in his eyes. The mage sucked a harsh breath and screamed from the depths of his lungs, leading a menacing column of crimson flame that completely and utterly engulfed the warrior for several seconds.

Eldriana inhaled sharply. Alarm was in every feature; she did not want to draw her daggers on the man, but she certainly did take a few -- no, a -lot- of steps backwards from the inferno that suddenly enveloped Thordemar. The warrior had opened his verdant eyes, blinking a few times, his armor only blacked by the backdraft’s kick up of dust from the charred ground around him. He stood otherwise, completely unaffected, glancing over to Edlriana with a deadpanned look. He  lifted up a single one of his metallic fingers. “Wait for it.”

"Uh--?!" It wasn't the most eloquent of noises, but it was all she could manage as Thordemar looked at her, decidedly -not- burnt to a crisp.

One, two, three more times the blaze lit viciously around the warrior, the air snarling in a burst of superheat. There, the brawny Emberfell man still stood. Maybe a few platinum hairs blown from his messy ponytail, but no less unaffected by the blaze. Thordemar crossed his arms muttering to Eldriana with another loud sigh. “He knows he can’t burn me, some shit about his subconscious or something.”

Felo’thore’s chest rose and fell harshly as he doubled over with his fists clenched and his mouth near frothing in frustration.Thordemar kicked a rock with his boot, twisting his nicked ear sideways. “Are you done yet?!”

“NOOOO!!” roared the mage, vomiting more flame from his throat. Eldriana could not resist giving a small, small sigh. Very small, and only because his tantrum reminded her so much of her -own- tantrums when she could put her mind to it.

Heaving another loud sigh, the warrior gave his false shoulder a loose roll and a rotated his metallic wrist with a sharp turn. At once, the runic lines weaving the appendage lit with white noise before Thordemar peeled heel across the marred ground, cocking back his fist. Felo’thore did not have a second’s worth of reaction time before his twin dropped a heavy blow to the ground feet in front of him, the pulse radiating from the spellbreaker’s arm jamming the ley currents around them and choking the flames almost instantaneously. Weak with sorrow and the pain of hunger, Felo’thore toppled backward, only for Thordemar to leap up and pin the mage’s throat down on the rock.

"Holy -shit-!" Eldriana jumped as the flames were ripped from the air. She took a tentative step forward, mostly to ensure that both men were at least alive after that rather unceremonious magic chokehold and tackle.

“ENOUGH!” boomed Thordemar, pressing his lanky twin’s arms down with his knees. Felo’thore yelped weakly and thrashed under the weight of his brother, growling and squirming. “You listen, you fucking flaky asshole! You’re done throwing a tantrum in your self-made flaming bitch castle here!” snapped Thordemar, growing red in the face with disgust.

“Piss….off,” hissed Felo’thore through his teeth.

“What kind of honor do you show OUR family by realizing you don’t like something and just fucking...leaving?! How could you?! How could you shit on what our mother taught like that! Don’t you love him?!” The warrior howled in the mage’s pale face, shoving down the other man’s shoulder briskly.

Felo’thore’s sunken silver eyes began to wet again, stinging the redness under his lids from the hours he had already spent crying. He refused to look at his brother, his gaze falling on Eldriana instead with a weak breath. His lips pressed into a thin scowl of a line. He was absolutely sick of having his magic stripped from him and the added ignorance of his brother’s grousing was enough salt for the gaping emotional wound driving his insanity.

Eldriana looked completely terrified -- for once appearing small and confused as she watched the two of them argue. She recovered somewhat, however, stepping forward again. "I -think- he means, he was worried about you," she said finally, voice as gentle as the sharp woman could make it. "And so am I. Maybe we can all talk with slightly -less- fire on the people, and slightly less uh--......suplexing?"

Thordemar’s eyes narrowed, considering Eldriana’s words, loosening his hold on the mage’s throat. It was questionable if Felo’thore was actually listening through his livid facade. He had one priority in mind as a brother pinned down by the other would. “Get….off…..of me!”

The runes of silver ink decorating the mage’s chest suddenly erupted in a blinding flash and feathers blossomed in a wave across his cheeks, pushing into his hairline and creeping down his neck. A steep arch in his lip, Felo’thore leered up at Thordemar as the golden plumage plummeted down his collarbone and swelled under his shirt. Thordemar was too taken by surprise to really react past a startled look, the aggressive expanse of the starlit silhouette rudely shoving the warrior in a kickback off the rock.

Thordemar picked himself up, brushing the sooty dirt off his backside only to cant his lip to the side, lifting his eyes all the way up to meet the glowering look of the twelve foot tall blonde owlbeast of his brother’s likeness. “...Well, fuck. I...forgot about that.”

With a piercing screech, Felo’thore barreled his much larger frame forward with every ounce of energy he had left. The warrior jolted quickly and like the many talbuk the man had broken, grasped firmly onto the prow of antlers and dug his heels into the silty volcanic soil under him. Veins rippled under the strength of his true arm and his prosthetic hummed loyally with bearing the force. The feathered astromancer had size in his favor, pushing his elven brother backward several feet, but it simply wasn’t enough. Thordemar had locked Felo’thore’s charge in a stalemate, the warrior’s heavy boots and the astromancer’s talons grinding to a halt while both of them trembled in countering force. Felo’thore snorted through his beak, both brothers locking eyes intensely.

Eldriana yelped, now a rather large owlbeast in her way to the man who had just been flung off the rock. Was this...common? Did they always beat the crap out of one another? Is that what siblings did? She had to at least try to get Felo'thore to listen. Although Thordemar had certainly been walloped by larger foes, she really didn't want to see Felo'thore this angry for so long.

"Felo'thore," she said finally, "I -- know you only come here when you need time to yourself, hm? I know you wouldn't just leave Adrianal because of something trivial. I know whatever happened, you did what you thought you had to. We just...want to help. Please? Don't be angry at us -- well, you can be angry, I guess, but preferably not...um. Like, four times my size."

Her voice traveled to his long ears, the rosy flesh that pinned back tightly over Felo’thore’s large feathered head. Like a wave cascading down his body, rows of golden feathers lifted on end, fluffing up and flattening once again. He was listening as he held steadfast with his antlers in the warrior’s grip, the frightening look on his round, moony face softening. For the several seconds he held the panting moonkin by the rack, Thordemar found himself considering the pale blue irises of his twin’s gaze staring back at him. They were large, but they were Felo’thore’s eyes, true and wide. In the moment he had stopped his rash criticism, Thordemar discovered pain behind anger’s facade.

With a grunt,Thordemar twisted Felo’thore’s head a sharp sideways using his antlers like a driving wheel. The blonde owlbeast’s knees buckled and with an explosion of light and feathers, the transformation broke, the willowy mage falling lethargically forward into Thordemar’s arms. Sucking in a breath, the warrior all but dragged his leggy brother over to a nearby rock, sat him down and plopped himself next to him.

“If that’s not what happened, then tell us what really happened,” the warrior leaned his arms up on his knees, in full realization that his abrasive approach was only met with backlash. “Help us understand.”

Eldriana  moved closer, sitting on Felo'thore's other side. "That's why we're here, hm?"

Felo’thore draped his hands over his thighs, slouched against the rock with a narrow, hollow look in his eyes. He was exhausted, starving, and completely out of his mind. But with his brother finally putting aside his aggression to listen and Eldriana there offering her support, he mustered strength from somewhere to talk, plucking a leftover feather from his hairline.

“She beat him. Cut him down. Spat at him with doubt,” bleated Felo’thore in the weak crackle of his throat. “I watched it all only to be restrained and stripped of my power. I watched...and I couldn’t do anything. I was afraid...that my being there would cause her to harm him more…” he swallowed dryly, wrapping his long arms around his stomach, curling his knees toward his chest. . “I love him...too much to put him through more pain.”

Eldriana did not often feel empathy. It was something foreign to her -- an emotion that she had to struggle to create, at the best of times. But somewhere in the pit of her stomach, Eldriana knew that she felt pity for her friend, scared as he was. She hugged her knees to her chest, uncertain if he would want physical comfort. For the moment, she was simply offering him her presence as support. The woman nodded once, giving a soft hum of thought as he explained. "Why would she do that? Aren't mothers supposed to be...you know." Nice. Or at the very least, not in the business of cutting their children down. "I understand why you were scared, though. If I'd had to watch that--" She cut off, shaking her head. She had watched Lazarus's father try, once or twice. Never physically...but it still hurt, churned at the anger in her stomach.

"She was not a mother at all...not a mother I know of." The mage sank further in on himself. “His uncle seemed nice. The High Priestess...gentle. But his mother...it’s so hard to know she sees me as only an insect to squish. She disapproves of our union and made it so very clear that I am not welcome because I cannot give Adrianal a child.”

Eldriana let a slight hiss pass her lips; people like that were particular irritants to her, for reasons she couldn't explain to the two brothers beside her. She simply shook her head. "Gods, people like that piss me off. Felo'thore, there is absolutely no reason that you have to have a kid to make a marriage valid, or wonderful, hm? And if you aren't welcome..." She paused, ears twitching thoughtfully. "It hurts. But...you can make your own family. A new one. You've got Thordemar, and Adrianal. You've got me, hm? If she doesn't want to be a part of it then...I don't know. She sounds gross."

Thordemar looked to Eldriana and back to Felo’thore sympathetically. “What?! That’s clefthoof shit! Don’t tell me she’s one of those repopulation fanatics…What Eldriana said, though.. And...” The warrior looked his brother up and down with a snicker. “You’re privy to weird shit can’t you just...drink one of those things and Adrianal can knock you up?”

Felo’thore’s brows furrowed at Thordemar. He was about as done with that joke as he was with spellbreakers. But his eyes lifted to Eldriana, the unbridled animal she saw before had all but disappeared.”Adrianal wants children and...I do too. Just not right now.” His face grew softer with her talk of new family. Wasn’t that exactly what his parents before him had done? Thordemar turned his look on Eldriana, nodding to his brother in support. But the mage’s ears wilted. “Adrianal is so close with his family and his homelands. I don’t….I shouldn’t have to sacrifice that to love someone. I don’t want to cause the rift my mother did with the Ashelanars and I certainly don’t want to make Adrianal feel guilty either.”

Huffing, shoulders stiffening slightly, Eldriana chimed. "If all they look at, when they see you, is some sort of union that is a failure or...whatever, just because you don't have a -vagina-, then they-- I'm sorry, Felo'thore, but I think they're the ones who are sacrificing something by not getting to know -you-."

“She’s right. Yeah.” Thordemar’s lip twisted awkwardly. “You know...it’s funny you should bring that whole kids thing up. Well, it’s actually sad.” The warrior tugged a folded letter out of his pocket and set it on the tops of Felo’thore’s knees. “There’s a reason why I’ve been damned to find you. Have a look.”

Felo’thore’s hands made trembling by his lack of intake clutched the letter and opened the parchment wide, his irises swinging side to side as they comprehended the call to action on the page. The rogue fell silent beside him, looking at the piece of paper with mild curiosity. Immediately, the mage’s ears drooped with a slackening of his jaw. “K-K-Kironea….died? Wha...Magnus is….” Felo’thore looked up from the paper, almost unable to finish it out of fear turning to Thordemar. “They were with child, weren’t they? Is the baby okay?”

Eldriana tilted her lip. "That...seems sudden. At least their daughter's doing well...?"

“His daughter is alive and well as far as we know,” Thordemar confirmed solemnly. “Magnus is...not well. Aunt Xelda as you can imagine is...struggling. You and I are all she has left.”

Folding the letter closed, the mage leaned his face into his knees, heaving a sigh. Thordemar rested his large, plated palm on his brother’s knobby shoulder. “I’m really sorry I came and ruined your...forest fire drama, but Felo, our family needs us more than anything right now.” The warrior looked up and over at Eldriana, his thin platinum brows pushing together. “She is in good health at the moment. But the pressing issue is who will care for her.”

Felo’thore immediately lifted his face from his knees, pressing Thordemar with a cold, hard stare. “You have...got to be kidding me.”

"Are you saying...they want one of you to take care of her?" Eldriana blinked.

“It’s what the letter sounded like,” Thordemar nodded a confirmation, tossing his ponytail in the motion. “But it’s vague. Most importantly we need to get on the road over there as soon as possible. Magnus is damn well on his deathbed at this point and Aunt Xelda made it clear in that she is in no position to raise a child. Regardless of what their plans are, we need to leave by morning.” Thordemar shuffled up onto his feet, rocking with a clap of his knuckles to palm in front of him before offering a hand down to Felo’thore who didn’t look entirely done from being traumatized. “So we should...probably get going so you can take some time and recover a little bit, Felo. Stay over at the homestead tonight. You look like hell ran over you.”

The mage took his brother’s hand with a wrinkle of his nose and a small huff, his hair wild in every direction from running his hands obsessively through it so much in his twitching. He looked back to Eldriana, a reflection of his embarrassing state of mind. But his eyes were so much more gentle than they were just minutes ago. He blinked slowly, stepping forward with a cautious and submissive splay of his ears and moved his arms to embrace her. “I’m….sorry you saw me this way...But I cannot thank you enough...for your patience and listening,” he murmured in her ear.

Despite not normally overly fond of affection, Eldriana held the mage in a light embrace. For Felo'thore, she was willing to bend the rules a little. "You're fine. We all get angry sometimes, hm? I'm happy to listen~and if you need me again, let me know, okay?"

Felo’thore leaned back, letting his arms slip away with his mouth curling into a weak smile. “Of course. You know I would do the same.”

“Alright ladies. Let’s get the hell out of here. Lucky for you, I invested in making that seat extension on my bike so you won’t have to get THAT cozy,” the warrior barked a laugh pointing up at the flames still licking the trees several hundred feet from them. “Also, Felo are you going to put that out?”

Felo’thore looked at Eldriana and then to his raging masterpiece and then back to Thordemar. The mage shook his head. “...No.”